Nowhere Stars

Ciaran's world is a web of razor-wire strings. His passenger's grip tangles and tightens, digging deeper into him with every choked thought. Everything is wrong. Everything hurts.

Why? Why are we doing this? It wasn't supposed to be this way. This isn't what we wanted.

<All we do, we do to build our path out of this nightmare,> Syancauri whispers.

This isn't what we promised. It shouldn't be like this. It can't be the only way.

<I promised you strength. The strength to protect yourself, to stand on your own, to climb our way to someplace better. There will be pain, but what is a little more pain for everything we have ever dreamed of?>

Now you sound just like Mom. No cost too great as long as a Keeper comes out on the other side, huh?

<I am sorry. There can be no sanctity without ✴✴✴✴✴✴✴.>

The strings in his soul tense and tug, not twisting his mind but forcing him, wide-eyed, to perceive things he already knows. He sees the ruins trailing in Syancauri's wake, the friends and followers it has lost, the towers it built in full view of a world desperate to smash it back into the earth. He remembers the first intention they shared, the promise that became their bond: There is nothing for me here.

It isn't quite true – even now, he knows that. There's one anchor that might have once held him back. But…

I'm never going to see her again.

<Do not weep for her. She is a part of this world. She has a place here. We do not. But there are other worlds, and better. Worlds where we will be happy. There must be.>

Yeah. I know.

And I know all of this about Aulunla doesn't change anything. It's a shame, it would have been great for it to join us, but there will be others. What we need to do, where we need to go, it's all still the same.

<To the source of all hope! To the font of all dreams!>

Ciaran stares up into the empty black expanse of his Wound, a protective shell waiting for him to pierce its barriers and climb to the heavens.

"To the sky," he says, grinning through his tears.

~~~

"Noirin?" I ask, kneeling beside her crumpled corpse. Even through my gloves, the clammy skin of her rash-spotted hands feels cold. "Are you in there? I heard you before. Please be there?"

No one answers. There's only Yurfaln babbling with incoherent joy.

She's gone.

No, she can't be gone because no one ever is, but she isn't here, either. What did I expect? That I could make her a nice little house next to my Harbingers? That she'd be happy there? Of course not. Whatever death is, whatever it does to someone, it's not something a human can survive intact. Not like this. Maybe if I'd done it differently, if I were better somehow, she wouldn't be drifting through me in tortured tatters, waiting however long it takes for the Fading to reduce her to nothing but pain.

All that's left of her, all that I can feel, is the overflowing warmth in my veins. Devouring her left me gorged to bursting on stolen strength, so much that when I try to clamp down on it and let the agony back in, I can't. The worst I can manage to feel is probably a normal person's baseline.

We did the only thing we could. It was us or it. She asked you.

What difference does that make to her? I killed her. I ate her. And I already know it can't last forever. There will never be enough.

I stand up, shuddering at just how easily the motion comes to me. The rest of the room is no doubt staring at me in horror. All I can see through my tears, though, is what's left of their lives, faded scraps of green overlaid and intertwined with their bodies and the curses slowly killing them.

I don't care about them. The only person who mattered here is gone, and the Harbinger who made me kill her is lost to my senses.

So I turn, run, and lock myself in my room.

~~~

Unless I'm going to run off right now, hunt Syancuari and its cultists down, and eat them all, I don't know what else to do.

I don't think I can make myself do that just yet. It'll take time for my gift to it to take root and fester. So instead I do what I've always done when things hurt too much to sleep: sit in my bed, hug Pearl, and wait for rest that never comes.

What does come is yet another unwelcome presence approaching my room. A Keeper's, this time. Their aura is held close to them, like a gaze watching me through mirrored glasses, and all I can pull from it is a name: Starlit Arbiter.

My black blood turns to ice. I don't know who that is, but are they already coming for me?

There's a sharp knock on the door. "Miss Shiel? Are you in there? This is Scolai Fianata, here with the emergency response team," a boy's voice says, low and steady.

I sit frozen in my bed. What can I do if they are? Should I do anything? It'd be what I deserve, but even so, even now… I can't give up on myself. On my miserable disaster of a life, this storm of pain and fear and hunger that will destroy everyone who dares to come a little too close to me.

Another knock. "I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened here. I'll be reporting on this incident, unless you'd prefer to take over as a Keeper closer to it."

What? I just ate a person. Why would I be allowed to take over anything, least of all an investigation into myself? Is this a trick?

"No. Go away," I do my best to shout.

"Fair enough. I understand you've had a harrowing night. May I at least ask if you sense any residual Harbinger corruption here?"

"...It took six people it corrupted with it when it left. Ask the nurses who's missing if you need their names. Don't feel anything else."

"Thank you. Please contact me on Lighthouse if there's anything else you think should be included."

"Wait, is that it?" another muffled voice asks from outside. I find myself thinking the same thing. Are they waiting to call in someone who can handle a killer Keeper? Is Roland going to try to kill me again?

No, stop that, I'm worrying about nothing. I know the rules. I'm a Keeper, and that means what I deserve doesn't matter. I can do whatever I want unless they think I'm the latest incarnation of Sofia the Deathless.

"Yes. She's under no obligation to talk to us," Scolai says. "We'd only intervene for a Keeper in active crisis, or…" His voice steadily trails out of earshot. Still, I focus on his subdued presence until it fades. Eventually, I roll back over, squeeze Pearl to my chest, and keep on waiting for… I don't know what.

Outside my window, a dim light gradually builds in strength, casting away what little comfort the dark offers. Slowly, slowly, night turns to day. I don't sleep. I don't know how I ever will again. When the Sun's first rays start blaring through my eyelids, I wish I could kill it too.

At some point, another, gentler knock on the door drags me out of my fugue.

"Lia? Lia, hey, are you in there?"

It's Dad.

The lurching pit in my stomach widens. Who told him? What did they tell him? What has everyone heard by now?

"Mmh," I mumble, then realize he probably can't hear me. I crawl out of bed, run my fingers halfheartedly through my hair, and open the door.

A blindingly bright flood of green light pours through, then reaches down and wraps itself around me, filling the whole world with the scent of fresh rain. Some forever-hungry thing inside me stirs.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

"Lia! Thank the Goddess you're okay… I came as soon as I–"

"Don't touch me!" I hiss, squirming free from Dad's embrace. Still, all I see when I look at him is a meal. I wrench my eyes away from him, sit at my desk, and collapse into my folded arms, crying silently.

"O-okay, I'll stay right here. Hey, uh, the eyes are new. Can you… see alright with them?"

What? I see just fine. I can see the overwhelming flood of life waiting for me to claim it without even looking at it. I don't know how to stop seeing it. I sit up and dig my nails into my palms, thinking of the solid, physical world and that sharp sensation and the body that's held me back every day of my life and things I see with my upside-down human eyes instead of my soul's far-reaching gaze. My vision is blurry and wet with tears, but I can still see myself in the mirror.

The whites of my eyes have gone ink-black. Watching my magic seep into me hardly feels strange anymore, though. It makes sense. It's only fair that everyone should know what I am.

Slowly, I glance back at Dad. He's still standing in the doorway, looking down at me with fear or concern or both in his eyes. It's an effort, small now but still constant, to actually look at him – to focus on what I see over what my power knows. Why is this so hard? What makes him worth so much? I barely even like him. Does magic care that it would make me worse to be the sort of person who'd eat her own father for power?

Obviously it does. Why would it work any other way?

"Sorry to show up unannounced again, you just… you weren't answering your phone," Dad mumbles.

"Oh. Sorry." Looking at it now, there's a few missed calls and a message from Aisling: We're going to make this right. Don't rush into anything stupid.

Everyone knows, then.

"What have they told you?" I ask.

"I just got the call. They said a Harbinger attacked the hospital. They said it hurt people before you fought it off, but… what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"It's my fault. It came here for me. I killed someone," I blurt out.

"...What?" Dad asks, visibly paling.

"Yes. I killed her and drank her soul for power. Leave me alone or you'll be next."

"Lia, I… I'm not going anywhere." Dad steps in, closing the door behind him, but keeps his distance from me. "I know that's something you need, but you have a safe way to do it now, right? You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but I know you wouldn't do anything like that unless there was more to it."

"Do you? Did you even know me before the magic death powers?"

"I know the girl who went around telling everyone at Grandma's funeral that when she grew up, she was going to bring back everyone who's ever died. And if you've changed since then, I don't care. You're my daughter and I'm not leaving you behind again."

I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Everyone really will twist themselves into any knots they have to if it means Keepers stay on their side.

"Could you tell me what really happened?" Dad asks, breaking an uneasy silence.

"I already did. It attacked her. Got inside her," I choke out. "I couldn't save her, my magic doesn't work that way, so I took her before it could."

"Lia…" Dad moves to put a hand on my shoulder, but pulls back at the last second. It's still a struggle to keep seeing him. "I wish you'd said that in the first place. I know I really don't understand what you're going through, but I wish you wouldn't think the worst of yourself while you're doing your best."

What else am I supposed to do? My best has never been enough.

"Hey, if I could ask about something else… how are you holding up healthwise? Has all of this at least helped on that front?"

"The doctors have no idea what to do with me. Magic's replaced most of my old problems with new ones. Why?"

"I was just thinking…" Dad steadies himself and forces a smile. "Maybe it'd be nice for you to come home. If you want to."

"What? Why?" I spit. "You just heard what I do to people. I'll hurt you. My power wants me to eat you too."

"I already volunteered for that, remember?" Dad says with a shaky smile.

"The next time someone wants to hurt me, they'll come for you."

"Yeah, well, your mom wouldn't forgive me if I let something like that get in the way of helping you. Stop me if this wouldn't help, but I don't think you want to be here any more than I wanted to leave you behind."

What do I want? I didn't like it at home, either. Back when I was constantly shuffled between there and the hospital, I'd often find myself wanting to go home while I stared at the ceiling in my own room, not knowing what that word even meant.

But… he's right, isn't he? Wherever home is, if it's anywhere at all, I don't want to be here. I'm sure that if I stay, everything about this place will remind me of Noirin and what I did to her. I'll spend every day fighting off panic about the next disaster I'll drag here.

Will any of that change if I leave? I don't know. But I'm sure that if I stay here, I'll be as miserable as I've ever been.

"Okay."

~~~

Moving out only takes the rest of the day. I've packed my things by the time Dad is done talking to the hospital staff, and there's no one left I want to say goodbye to. Dr. Hines assures me that Dr. Cantillon will be in touch to see to any specialized outpatient care I need. I still haven't heard from her about the blood stuff, but I'm not sure how much it'll matter. After all, I know all too well how to fix myself.

I couldn't bring myself to take my tarot books back from Noirin's room.

Home – or at least, my family's house – is a little place in the Shoals, with a crushed-seashell driveway, a big cushioned swing on the porch, and lots of deep-seated wicker chairs you can fall into and lose yourself. It looks about as close to a cozy seaside retreat as it can without actually being by the sea – that's a few blocks away, but Mom liked it enough that she wanted to be as close as she could. I think it would've been a bit small for three people, but it's never needed to hold that many.

I don't exactly feel better there. I don't think I will until I rip Syancauri's rotting heart out, find some impossible way to make things right for Noirin, and maybe abolish death.

But it is nice to be away from the hospital, to have some distance from all the pain I've been through there and all the memories of waiting alone in recovery rooms, fearing for my life. It's nice to be back in my room, with all my books and my blackout curtains and my big comfy bed that isn't equipped to fill me with drugs or wheel me into an operating room at a moment's notice. It's nice to know that the only infusions I'll ever need again are the ones I steal from people.

Plus, while the hospital food was always pretty good, Dad's cooking is better.

~~~

"Morning, Lia! You're right on time! Good to see your schedule hasn't changed too much. I wanted to celebrate a little, so I made those souffle pancakes you always liked. I don't know if they're still your favorite, but hopefully you still like them. Uh, I wasn't sure what you'd want to put on them, is raw honey still a problem for you?"

"No. Please give me that."

"Well, alright then." Dad sets a honey jar down next to a plate of tall, almost biscuit-shaped pancakes. "Help yourself."

So I do, and they're delicious. Still the best thing I've ever eaten. I have no idea how Dad does it. I tried to follow his recipe once and they just collapsed into regular old pancakes. These ones, though, are like eating a cloud, soft and subtle and not too sweet. They pair perfectly with the honey I smear over them, safe in the knowledge that magic won't let me die of something as stupid as a good breakfast. Even if that's only so it can hurt me more.

But they can't compare at all to how good it felt to kill one of my only friends.

I cycle through things I've told myself over and over – it wasn't like that, Noirin gave it to me and she wouldn't want me to torture myself over this – and none of them change a thing. I do my best to choke back tears between bites.

"Are those, uh, happy tears? Not too disappointing, I hope?" Dad asks.

"No, they're great, thank you. I just… don't worry about it."

"Sure, okay. Hey, you mentioned a friend coming over today? Should I make another batch for her?"

"You can if you want to, but I'll probably eat them first."

Dad beams as he starts in on his own pancakes. "Yeah, can't blame you. Maybe once she's here."

After breakfast, I settle into the living room with a stack of Mom's journals, confirming that they're all written in similar sets of squiggly nonsense glyphs. It feels wrong to be spending time on this while Syancauri is at large and Noirin is still suffering, but time is on my side, and Aisling assures me that the city is on high alert searching for it after the attack.

Speaking of, the doorbell chimes.

"I'll stay out of your hair," Dad calls. "Just let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks."

When I open the door, Aisling greets me with a raised hand. She's wearing her usual beret and an oversized boy's shirt like a dress, with black cycling pants underneath, and there's a bike parked by the porch.

"Hey. Nice place. It's good to see you here," she says.

"...Where else would I be?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you didn't run off after it alone. I'm just also surprised."

"Oh. I appreciate your confidence."

I smile as Aisling twitches the way she does when she feels a lie. She glowers at me for a moment, then slinks past me and lets herself in.

"Anyway, I don't need to," I say. "I infected one of its cultists before they left. Cursed it with something designed to be as contagious as possible. I couldn't track it down right now, but whether they kick him out or everyone catches it, I should be able to when it gets worse."

"You can do that? Creepy. Good for you."

"Yes. I'm not sure if it's new or I'd just never tried before."

"You know, I'm not on the best of terms with them, but the Church does have people who can help with the exploratory phase of figuring out your magic."

"Maybe later. But unless something new comes up, that's not really what we're here for." I flop back onto the couch, trying not to marvel at the absence of constant low-level agony and the newfound ease with which I move, and set Mom's journals down on the center table. "Are you really not in whatever secret club my mom was? It seems like they'd want you if they want anyone."

Aisling sits across from me, buries her face in her hands, and groans. "Yeah. Those assholes. I'm not, and they do. I've gotten the offer, I just won't promise to keep whole categories of information secret before I know what they are and why they're hidden. When they have questions they want my help with, they'll share things on a need-to-know basis, but they're pretty strict about what they think I need to know."

"Right. And you can't lie… if you agreed, would you be stuck with it forever?"

"No, nothing I say is binding. I can change my mind later. Making a promise I don't know if I'll be willing or able to keep counts as lying, though." She's already started leafing through the books, hmming and muttering to herself. "You know, we could've started on these a lot sooner if you told me you were Ciara Shiel's daughter. I've read a bit of her work from before she stopped publishing, which usually only means one thing."

"I didn't know it mattered! All I knew until a few days ago was that she did research for the Church!"

"And what do you suppose they research? Well, doesn't matter now. Would it be alright if I borrowed these for a while? I can't parse them right this moment, but Lucan, Haunild and I all have some experience with cryptography."

"Just be careful with them. I have no idea how important they are," I say. "I'm done with this one, too." I pick up The Fading from the end table and slide it over to her.

"What's it about? Anything important to us?"

"How before Infezea invented disease, normal people died of some kind of horrible dementia that the Messengers said couldn't be cured by any means or miracle they knew of."

"Ah. I know a bit about that, but I'll have a look anyway. Thanks. When we get to this, are there any big questions you're hoping for leads on here?"

There is one thing. Something that's been circling and circling through my mind, gnawing away at me since I ate Noirin. I doubt the answers will be in whatever my mom scribbled to herself, I don't know if there can even be an answer, but…

"Is magic evil?" I blurt out.

Aisling looks up, tilts her head, and sets a journal down. "Huh? Where's that coming from?"

"During the attack, I… killed a friend. The Harbinger got its claws into her and I couldn't burn it out, so I took her before it could. She was very sick, almost dying to begin with, but draining her was worth more than everything else I've taken combined. By a lot. By so much that I'm still overflowing with life, that I can't even let myself bleed to hold onto what's left of her. And I don't know what that could mean except that my power cares more about how much it hurts me to do something than anything else."

"Shit. That's… I've seen patterns like that. I know there's a well-established trend of a Keeper's powers giving them what they want, but leaving any complete resolution just out of reach. Mine answers questions that lead to bigger questions, then refuses to tell me anything about those. But what you're describing is the worst case I've ever heard of. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"So is it?" I ask again.

Aisling leans back into her chair, sighing through her nose. "I can't answer that without getting into a lot of annoying questions about the definition of evil. I understand what you're asking, but I don't know if magic has the intent to be evil – mind you, I don't know if it doesn't, either. Now, are Harbingers evil? Is evil something you are or something you do? Should it mean anything to us that most of them believe what they're doing is great? Those questions are only so useful, because it's much easier to figure out that they're inimical to humans, not counting any witches who are happy with their arrangements, and they won't stop hurting people unless we stop them. Magic may be difficult and frustrating and terrifying, but it's also the only way humanity can survive at all. So that's where it ends, for me. I have too many questions on my list to add abstract philosophical ones to the pile."

"It's not like I'm making up something to worry about. Magic is abstract, but it's still real. If it defines how it works by what would hurt us most, or there's some will behind it that hates us and wants us to suffer, that matters!"

"It'll matter when we can demonstrate it," Aisling insists. "I don't believe we're there yet."

"How would you demonstrate it, then?"

"I don't know. And when I don't know something, I don't fill in the blanks with my best guess at the moment. I acknowledge that there's a hole in my understanding of the world and do my best to find out what I'm missing."

"Humor me. What would convince you?"

"No. Like I just told you, I don't know. We don't know enough about what magic is or how it functions on a basic level to evaluate something like that. But if it would help, I can tell you what I think of how all this works."

"...Fine." I don't know if it will help, but I don't think I'm getting an actual answer out of her. Maybe she's right. Maybe the answer doesn't exist.

"Okay. As I said, whatever magic is, whatever it wants from us or doesn't, our existence is entirely dependent on it. It's a miracle that we're here at all. No, it's tens of miracles layered over each other in a big wobbly pile."

Aisling slouches forward, tenting her hands, and settles her head on them with a loud sigh. "We live on an island made of magic. If you imagine the world as a shoal peeking up in the middle of a stormy sea, where we've built ourselves a sand castle to hide from the waves, that's probably something close to the truth. The world beyond us, the world without Keepers holding it together? That world has no place for us. It has no rules, no structure, no logic, and it doesn't want any. Maybe someday we'll be able to make sense of it, or make our island a little bit bigger, but I don't know how we would even begin to do that. So until we can figure that out, I'm just going to do what I can to keep the tide at bay."

"But the tide is also made of magic," I say.

"Yes. So when the same force creates our greatest problems and furnishes us with the only solution, you can see why I'm hesitant to act like I know why it works that way or what, if anything, it wants from us."

As she's speaking, Aisling's phone buzzes loudly. She fishes it out of her bag, looks down at it with a frown, and then her eyes widen.

"Something came up. I think we've found them."