Visola. I promise you that I will protect her from herself.”
“I am sure that once we have killed her husband, she will no longer be depressed.”
“The sooner the better. Let us not delay—I have plenty of energy reserved just for Vachlan.”
“Your shoulder is wounded, dear. You should let me have the honor of fileting his flesh from his bones.”
“By all means, Queen Amabie. You may do that while I remove all four of his lungs, one at a time.”
Chapter 6: Ring of Fire
A snakelike rope of smoke rose from the secluded volcano.
There was hardly any wind, and the sea was unusually calm. The line of smoke was almost perfectly vertical, and the shores of the island were almost perfectly silent. With her hands calmly clasped behind her, Aazuria glared at the dark narrow coil. It was the type of thing you could not help staring at for a moment.
“I bet this really screws with the Alaskan geologists.”
Trevain’s voice startled her out of her reverie. She turned to look at him, and tried to interpret his cryptic expression. She realized that he must be experiencing a massive culture shock. She attempted to give him a warm smile, but only succeeding in slightly elongating the grim line which her lips were set in.
“We send our enemies to the sky,” she explained. She lifted her hand hesitantly and moved her fingers as if grasping a chunk of air. “When we cremate our own deceased, we scatter them in the waves to keep them close to us. We swim immersed in them. We inhale our ancestors with every breath—they are part of us. Those who intended us harm are not given the same honor.”
Trevain nodded. “It makes sense. That’s the opposite of our mythology in which the sky is good and the underworld is bad.”
“Good and bad does not matter much,” Aazuria said softly. “It is more a matter of ‘near and far.’ Not that why we do this is important. It is all wrong, anyway.” She turned away from the smoke, looking out to the sea. “Our enemies just rain back down on us, even after they have been banished to the sky. We inhale them too. We ingest them. The world is all so connected that it is impossible to escape any one aspect of it, whether dead or living.”
He studied her forlorn gaze. “What do you want to escape, Aazuria?”
“Myself.” She turned and began walking back towards the shore. She wrapped her arms around herself although she was not cold.
He frowned as he followed her, easily keeping up with her moderate pace. “What do you mean?”
She continued strolling, remaining silent for a moment before answering. “It just seems sometimes like nothing matters in the big picture. The life and death of our loved ones seems monumental to us, but to the world the difference is worth a few puffs of smoke.” She stopped wandering and looked at the water pensively. “My father is frozen solid in a brick of ice. Yet the repercussions of his actions are surrounding me and suffocating me as if he were still here. So, I am some great heroine. So, I have made some great difference!" She grimaced. "People are still dying. I almost wish Papa were still here to clean up his own mess. I could remain hiding in a quiet corner, unheard and unknown. I would not be responsible.”
Trevain observed her guarded countenance. She did not express very much emotion facially, but he was learning to understand her better. He was beginning to realize that every word she spoke was carefully chosen, and completely earnest. Although she often appeared cool and collected, he could feel that beneath this aloof surface was great gravity.
“You are thinking about Corallyn, aren’t you?” he asked, reaching out to touch her dark hair. She had only been in the sunlight for a few hours, but her hair had already darkened to its inky-black state. He felt somehow closer to her when her visage was tanned; it was how she had appeared when he had first come to know her.
“I do not know if it is worth
“I am sure that once we have killed her husband, she will no longer be depressed.”
“The sooner the better. Let us not delay—I have plenty of energy reserved just for Vachlan.”
“Your shoulder is wounded, dear. You should let me have the honor of fileting his flesh from his bones.”
“By all means, Queen Amabie. You may do that while I remove all four of his lungs, one at a time.”
Chapter 6: Ring of Fire
A snakelike rope of smoke rose from the secluded volcano.
There was hardly any wind, and the sea was unusually calm. The line of smoke was almost perfectly vertical, and the shores of the island were almost perfectly silent. With her hands calmly clasped behind her, Aazuria glared at the dark narrow coil. It was the type of thing you could not help staring at for a moment.
“I bet this really screws with the Alaskan geologists.”
Trevain’s voice startled her out of her reverie. She turned to look at him, and tried to interpret his cryptic expression. She realized that he must be experiencing a massive culture shock. She attempted to give him a warm smile, but only succeeding in slightly elongating the grim line which her lips were set in.
“We send our enemies to the sky,” she explained. She lifted her hand hesitantly and moved her fingers as if grasping a chunk of air. “When we cremate our own deceased, we scatter them in the waves to keep them close to us. We swim immersed in them. We inhale our ancestors with every breath—they are part of us. Those who intended us harm are not given the same honor.”
Trevain nodded. “It makes sense. That’s the opposite of our mythology in which the sky is good and the underworld is bad.”
“Good and bad does not matter much,” Aazuria said softly. “It is more a matter of ‘near and far.’ Not that why we do this is important. It is all wrong, anyway.” She turned away from the smoke, looking out to the sea. “Our enemies just rain back down on us, even after they have been banished to the sky. We inhale them too. We ingest them. The world is all so connected that it is impossible to escape any one aspect of it, whether dead or living.”
He studied her forlorn gaze. “What do you want to escape, Aazuria?”
“Myself.” She turned and began walking back towards the shore. She wrapped her arms around herself although she was not cold.
He frowned as he followed her, easily keeping up with her moderate pace. “What do you mean?”
She continued strolling, remaining silent for a moment before answering. “It just seems sometimes like nothing matters in the big picture. The life and death of our loved ones seems monumental to us, but to the world the difference is worth a few puffs of smoke.” She stopped wandering and looked at the water pensively. “My father is frozen solid in a brick of ice. Yet the repercussions of his actions are surrounding me and suffocating me as if he were still here. So, I am some great heroine. So, I have made some great difference!" She grimaced. "People are still dying. I almost wish Papa were still here to clean up his own mess. I could remain hiding in a quiet corner, unheard and unknown. I would not be responsible.”
Trevain observed her guarded countenance. She did not express very much emotion facially, but he was learning to understand her better. He was beginning to realize that every word she spoke was carefully chosen, and completely earnest. Although she often appeared cool and collected, he could feel that beneath this aloof surface was great gravity.
“You are thinking about Corallyn, aren’t you?” he asked, reaching out to touch her dark hair. She had only been in the sunlight for a few hours, but her hair had already darkened to its inky-black state. He felt somehow closer to her when her visage was tanned; it was how she had appeared when he had first come to know her.
“I do not know if it is worth
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