Sky Breaker (Night Spinner Duology), Addie Thorley [100 books to read in a lifetime txt] 📗

they could see us now. So they could see everything we’ve accomplished together. Everyone knows I’d be nothing without you. But I’ll proclaim it. I’ll scream it from the top of the Sky Palace, if you’d like. I need you, Varren, and more important, Ashkar needs you—needs us.”

He hesitates so long, I think he’s going to relent. Then a flash of silver-white hair and cobalt robes breaks rank from the throng of identical sorcerers and charges at the Kalima.

Cirina screams as Kartok wrestles her to the ground.

The true Kartok.

Purposely revealing his location to force the Kalima’s hand.

“Fall back!” I cry.

But every member of the Kalima has already redirected their fury onto him. Including Varren, who raises a shaky hand and adds his rain to Kartok’s collection.

The result is instantaneous.

Cerulean light explodes from where Kartok lies—brighter than the reflection of sunlight on snow. More excruciating than the frost Kartok seared through my mind. It leaves me momentarily sightless, suspended, screaming as the walls of ice shatter and the cave collapses around us. Or maybe it’s the sky itself that’s breaking—slashing down like vicious shards of glass.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ENEBISH

THERE IS NO SHIMMERING GATEWAY. NO FLASHY RIVER OF fire that carries us up into the realm of the Eternal Blue, as there was during Temujin’s absurd ritual to enter Kartok’s xanav.

I should have known the true pathway would be quieter than that.

Everything about the Lady and Father is softness, calmness, stillness. Even now, when Kartok has deceitfully forged a key using our siphoned Kalima powers, They welcome us into Their realm with grace.

A halo of brilliant blue replaces the ceiling of the ice cave, and the face of a man appears as if looking through a window. He’s both old and young, both handsome and plain. I have never seen Him before, yet I know Him intimately. From the lines on His face to the rings adorning His fingers, each one stamped with a sigil of the Kalima warriors.

It is Ashkar, the father of our nations and guardian of the realm of the Eternal Blue, according to the mural Ziva saw at Sawtooth Mesa.

One by one, the sigils on His rings glow and, with a nod, a chasm opens behind Him. It’s blacker than a moonless night—not even I can see through the murk—but I swear I feel hands on my shoulders and fingers interlocking with mine, guiding me, pulling me, urging me forward until we erupt into sunlight and collapse into grass that’s softer than Orbai’s down feathers.

That’s one element Temujin and Kartok got right in their fraudulent world of Zemyan magic: the grass—luscious and long and green. And the sky, too. It’s a rich, saturated blue of every shade and gradient. From darkest midnight to the palest smudge of ice. But that’s where the similarities between the two worlds end. The terrain in the true Eternal Blue doesn’t resemble Ashkar or Sagaan in the slightest. Instead of leagues and leagues of endless grass and a river that looks like the Amereti, we’re situated in an expansive walled garden with bushes bearing gemstones rather than fruit—emerald leaves and ruby berries with creamy pearl seedpods. Pathways of gold dust meander through the garden, and trees made of bright orange coral drip garlands of diamonds. The air is damp and dewy and smells like the cardamom incense my mother used to burn in our hut.

I squint toward the center of the garden, where the pathways intersect. The greenery is too dense to see it, but according to every Verdenese prayer and song, the original Book of Whisperings, where the Lady and Father inscribe Their answers, should rest atop a grand pedestal.

Surrounding the garden are seven towering mountains, as desolate and craggy as the garden is lush and beautiful—almost as if representing Zemya and Ashkar, respectively. The summit of each mountain gleams with a brightness beyond the glory of the sun. When the legends spoke of journeying through the seven levels of heaven to reach the Lady and Father’s presence, it never occurred to me it would be an actual journey. A climb to salvation.

I could marvel over every tiny detail of this realm, cataloging all the ways it’s superior to the xanav. I don’t know how I ever believed Kartok’s cheap illusions could be the home of the First Gods. And these physical disparities aren’t even what truly matters. The true difference is the feeling this place invokes. While the xanav teemed with frantic, ravenous energy, extracting every speck of vitality, the Eternal Blue gives. It pours strength into your soul like sweet honey wine and warms your belly like winterberry pies fresh from the oven. Filling you to bursting.

The sensation is so overpowering, everyone is momentarily awestruck, including Kartok, who lies on his back, taking in this realm with the giddy, wide-eyed excitement of a child. Scattered around him, a handful of Shoniin and Zemyan warriors—who are, in fact, real—mutter curses and shake their heads. Not half as pleased as their generál. Maybe even perturbed. As if they were just as clueless about his true ambitions.

The Kalima warriors stumble into formation to confront the Zemyans, but their faces are drawn, their eyes frightened, and they don’t unleash the power of the sky on Kartok and his warriors. It could be because Kartok used their powers to open the gateway—what’s stopping him from using them again? Or their fear could run even deeper than that. If the realm of the Eternal Blue exists, it means the First Gods are alive and well. And if They have always been present, it means Kalima warriors are not gods and never have been. Our Kalima powers may not even work here—why would they? The Lady and Father can wield the sky Themselves in this realm.

Off to my right, King Ihsan cries softly. Beside him, King Minoak sings a Verdenese hymn of praise, his arm wrapped tight around Ziva. Ghoa, on my other side, methodically scans the space, eyes shifting from landmark to landmark, not admiring or appreciating, but