V. H. King's Ink

Rashada tilted her head as far back as it would go and she still couldn’t believe it.  Two puffs of hair, held in place by bright blue elastics, angled at the wall instead of the ceiling.  She breathed and blinked and stared some more. 

By her side, Silly stood with zis hands in zis pockets.  Casually looking at all the streaks of silver and orange, purple and green, blue and pink against the black curtains hanging in the stadium.  Except for the emergency lights, the stadium was completely dark.  The hum of the climate control system felt far away, like an idling spaceship. 

“What’s it feel like?” Silly asked.  “Is it the way you remember?”

A soft blue light pulsed at Rashada’s fingertips.  Memory was a tricky thing, but there was no doubt about the feeling.  She could feel this like—

“The Temple,” she said softly.  “The Temple of…”

Almighty Dreams, Silly finished silently.

Shadow nodded.  The nickname had come from the dark shapes that danced in time to Rashada’s magic.  Shapes that could strangle, shapes that could solidify into portals, shapes that could shift and saunter and shimmer.  Magic was sneaky that way.  Silly eyed the blue as it wavered in a flame-dance, touching Shadow’s elbows.  Silly was another nickname, based entirely on the fact that zi was notorious for clowning around.

The Temple of Almighty Dreams had been the first and last altar in the Tide territory.  The Rustics had destroyed it in the battle that had led to surrender, but magic was still alive and well.  It hadn’t been magic that the Rustics wanted to get rid of, anyway.  It was the way the Tides had practiced it—like there could be no greater act than infusing honor and praise for the gods into every thought and action.  The Rustics practiced magic as a means for whatever they desired, rather than learning to desire magic itself. 

“Sil, this…this is…”

The rest of it was still in the back of Shadow’s head, which was still tilted as her eyes roamed section after section, level after level.  Leaning back like this made her feel floaty, like gravity had weakened somewhere between the corridor and the steps where the two of them stood.  Shadow had felt that same feeling, slightly dizzy and a little fluttery. 

“I’m not going to say it’s the best thing I’ve ever done—“

“But you want to.”

“There’s never going to be anything like it again.”  Silly sighed. “I know that much.”

Just like home.

Silly takes Shadow’s hand and pulls her from the tunnel opening and down the stairs.  The stadium seats are invisible behind the long curtains.  Black silk, rippling in the air conditioning.  Invisible seats, but Shadow doesn’t feel like those seats are empty.  She and Silly aren’t alone here.  There are spirits, watching.  Elders with their critiquing eyes and wise-ones with their pensive frowns.  You learned early on, back home, that everything was a test.  Anything could prove the best or worst of your character. 

Silly leads her down the concrete steps—spray-painted a metallic gold.  The spray-painted staircases are the only things that demark gaps in the curtains.  Gold to indigo, indigo to navy and then turquoise.  Pine and pastel green.  Deep red, burning magenta, glorious orange and halo-yellow.  Silver, and then on the other side of the gold staircase where they stood, the infinite white.  That ghostly portal through which all things must pass. 

A squeeze as Lucille presses zis fingers into her palm.  She is looking too long—she always looks too long.  But she can’t help it.  So much through that door, never to return.  One day, it would be Silly.  One day, it would be her. 

Silly tugs her arm, drawing her attention to the constellations of each world.  Rivers, Ravens, Roots.  Signs of thunder, of dragons, of skulls.  But there were also signs of hills and mountains, seas and songs.  It wasn’t an exact replica of a mage’s vision, but it had the feeling of it. 

That total encompassing darkness. 

The pure dazzle of such bright color. 

The resounding beat of your heart in your ears as you recognized the power of each symbol.  Knowing you had been called to wield those symbols for something good.  Something worthy. 

You could get lost in it. 

Imagine: being shoulder to shoulder with the stars.  To reach out and touch divine ether.  Unfiltered, unfettered…

As above, so below—

Let every travel know this truth;

Being within, leaving without.

Doings bring due, so may it be done unto you.

One of the first lessons the two of them had ever learned, even before their mage training.  Hand in hand as they were now, it was a lesson taught from the youngest to the oldest.  Nothing happened, in this or any other world, without consequence.  Shadow had stood in somber wonder, her brain trying to absorb such a complex integration of space and time.  Lucille had been brazen as ever, zis confidence never ceasing to amaze Shadow.  Sometimes it had terrified her, and there was something about its terror that made it all the more comforting. 

Whatever we face, we’ll face it together.

Learning cosmology at the knee of the Stav elders had been one thing.  Stav Arielle had been Rashada’s favorite, with the way her voice had always rung with emotion while teaching lessons in song.  Rhythm and silence were the languages of craft more than the signs.  One had to listen, to feel, to hear—beyond, beneath, between.  The borders of the world were sometimes thick and sometimes thin, but you couldn’t force them to bow to your will.  You had to learn to lean in, to engage with the world as it was while believing in what it could still be. 

Silly had listened. 

“It’s everything.”  Shadow tugged Silly into a hug, squeezing zim tight.  “You did it, Sill.  You did it.”