The wind howled to a symphony unheard of, the drum beats in the Summoning circle near deafening as the thrum of music forced me to move, to writhe my body in tune to the melodic sounds rushing through the clearing atop the rocky outcropping that jutted out above the surging depths of the glittering ocean below.
Energy zapped through my body, undulating underneath my skin as a song tore from my throat, its lyrics familiar to my ears.
Lord of winds,
God of air,
free my sin,
claim your share
"Fel-bech de vings, Loch de ere, nuuon el byks, ilkne uoro regea."
"Fel-bech de vings, Loch de ere, nuuon el byks, ilkne uoro regea."
The words blurred together until they became nothing more than a chant, urgently delivered by the tongues of frantic Sirens swirling and twirling in a ritualistic dance that dated back millennia, the owl feathers adorning each head in a sacred crown interwoven with bay leaves and lavender.
There were no tears in the eyes of my fellow sisters this night.
There was no mourning on our tongues.
Only the sweetly bitter taste of sour vengeance.
Revenge to be delivered to the king of Valencia and my uncle who mobilized his forces on us.
Inala's eyes burned with white moonlight, as did the rest of the Sirens, their eyes unseeing but still performing the song and dance to summon Nicos, God of the north wind and ice.
My stomach burned with the intensity of my rage, quelled only slightly just minutes before the ceremony began by Oren, who I spied on the outer edge of the circle of fire, looking for all the world terrified out of his mindâeither for me, or for what we were summoning I had no idea, but it was enough to strike fear into even the bravest of hearts if Oren of all beings was scared.
Even being in his beast form wasn't enough to keep him away from the Summoning, it seemed.
I had barely remembered getting dressed, or placing the wreath upon my head.
I hadn't even worn shoes as my feet squelched in the sodden grass and muck from the earlier storms.
Embers from the fire pit containing the ashes of all the fallen Sirens from the battle beforehand began swirling upwards in a funnel, a fire tornado of ash and gleaming, glowing cinders.
The white flowing sleeves of my ceremonial gown that reached the ground swayed precariously close to the growing tower of flames until I feared that they would catch fire, but still we circled and swayed and danced and sang until the fire was in my throat, pouring out of my mouth onto the ground by my feet, the milky white color of my flames spilling out of my mouth the same shade as the blinding white of the eyes of Inala and the rest of the Sirens.
Erinna swayed beside me, eyes as unseeing as our fallen friend Sabira as her body melted into nothingness before our eyes just like the rest of them.
I tried not to gag on the scent of burnt flesh, but failed.
No one noticed, though.
They were all enraptured, entranced.
Stuck swirling and dancing to a tune carried out by our chanting and the music produced by the crackling symphony of fire before us.
My body stopped moving completely as my power poured out of me, burning acidic and stinging my skin until tears fell from my eyes, but still I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think as the pain, sheer and blinding and horrifying in its rage and wrath unleashed itself upon the world and intertwined with the growing tower of fire reaching high, high above the cloud banks that shielded the constellations from the eye.
The white moonlight fog twined around the column of orange red flames licking at the air and ground in a frenzy of wildfire, the heat emanating off of it enough to lick my cheeks and heat them to a shade of red not dissimilar to the blaze in front of me.
My power didn't stop, not even as a strand of black intertwined with it, the color very similar to the shade of my sister's hair.
Lightning struck in the distance, as if the old goddess of the moon were watching from her throne in the heavens and disapproved of one of her own being called down to the earth in such a disrespectful display.
Or perhaps it was the storm goddess Gesa, ready to unleash her wrath once more in a display similar to the one she'd given us earlier this day, to remind us of our place in this world: beneath her.
Beneath Inti, the god of the sun. Beneath Oren's mother, the goddess of beauty Adira. Beneath them all, perhaps even Nalini, who gave birth to Hefeta herself, the mother of all Sirens.
Gesa's anger was arcing across the sky in a blue-white glittering spectacle of violence that would make even the god of the seas rouse from his slumber.
The cylinder of blazing fire raining down upon the Sirens began to transform into a whorl of freezing air, air that struck out and wrapped itself around me, much like the air bubble that had encased me in its safety when I was mere moments from drowning in the Gold Sea.
My power grew as the chant became a harsh song befalling my lips, ripping the words from my throat almost before I could even think them.
"Fel-bech de vings, Loch de ere, nuuon el byks, ilkne uoro regea."
Sharp, tiny pinpricks of pain dotted along my spine as it traveled up my body, and then my hand that was enclosed on a dagger Inala had given me lifted up of its own volition and carved a slithering line down my inner forearm.
A deep gash of golden blood fell in rivulets down my arm, and though the blood loss would not kill me, it would still weaken me considerably.
Still, my injured limb reached up to grip the blade and carved an aching, piercing line into the other forearm until I was dripping golden blood upon the ground, the chants never once ceasing, as if I was unable to close my mouth.
"Fel-bech de vings, Loch de ere, nuuon el byks, ilkne uoro regea."
Glancing around, the rest of the Sirens had all done the same, and the blood seemed to have a mind of its own as it all traveled to the middle of the circle where the fire was blazing like a tempestuous fury, whipping its talons in the air that reminded me of Oren's claws as they withdrew from my body earlier, before we'd had a chance to finish our dalliance.
The blood came together in one large stream, red and gold mixing, Elder and Siren, as Velda, Olesia, and Treasa all sliced their arms open for the cause as well.
Even Sigrid had been allowed in the Summoning as well, her dark face glistening where her tears had fallen.
The blood finally stopped in the center of the pyre where the Siren's bodies had all melted and burned down to cinders and embers and mixed together with the flames until a bright explosion of a power bedecked conflagration combusted the mixture and the night fell silent.
"Fel-bech de vings, Loch de ere, nuuon el byks, ilkne uoro regea!"
The flames winked out in an instant, and the scents that surrounded the sentimentality of my childhood covered me, suffocated me in memories that had the white moonlight glow dissipating from my mouth, allowing me to stagger back and stare at the other Sirens around me, but they weren't looking at me, even if they were no longer blinded by the powerful moonlight.
No, they were staring at the cyclone of air whipping the sheer fabrics of our dresses around from the force of its power, staring at the darkened silhouette crouching in the middle of the tempest unbothered, untouched, pristine and seeming to glow as if lit from within.
Shadows encircled the form, but as the last bit of song fell from the Siren's mouths, the light exploded.
I had to shield my eyes as fractures and shards of light bloomed along my vision, burning into my irises until tears flowed freely, mixing with the dirt and black paint that had been spread on my cheeks by Inala.
We had summoned an actual god of old. A god of wrath and rage and spite and darkness, and his energy was one of pure, unabated apathy for the plights of mortals and immortals alike.
The Sirens had all staggered back, crouching on the ground and crying out in sheer agony as their dresses caught fire from the force of power that had blasted into all of us, but I was still standing, my clothing unharmed, still protected by that invisible circlet of air that had wrapped itself around me just like it had before in the Gold Sea, and even during training not long after that.
Honeysuckle and sour apple. Rich soil and dark chocolate.
"Josephine!"
I could barely make out Oren's beseeching cry, not over the howl of wind that flew from all directions.
Nicos was more than power.
He was violence, pure energy incarnate.
The figure in the winding, blasting cyclone turned to face me after hearing Oren's impassioned yell for me.
His eyes were full of starlight, glowing pure, blinding white in the midst of a raging storm, and all at once, the air around me scented with all the rich fragrances of my childhood intensified tenfoldâthe sweet tang of a fresh apple exploding upon my tongue watering my mouth, the sharp bite of a sour lemon, the long-forgotten cinnamon vanilla mixture of a loving mother-like figure as it clung to her skin, the bitter salted wash of tears as they splashed down my cheeks onto my lips, the rich aroma of fresh dirt as I fell upon tiny hands and feet, and finally, the hot splash of the metal stench of blood as it rained down and down and down, never-ending and overflowing.
Over and over, the memories became choking and overwhelming until I could hardly stand as I noticed that Oren was struck into a kneeling pose, though his strained and angered face told me that he was not happy about it in the slightest.
Everyone, Siren and human alike, was kneeling before this...God, this figure, this pillar of power who had decimated the grass and trees around the summoning circle.
"Josephine, kneel."
Inala's pleading words barely reached my ears, especially with the wind still whipping past and forcing my hair to fly in all directions.
My bare feet were sucked down into the wet, muddy grass slick beneath my feet, the only spot not incinerated by the Summoning, hands curling into fists at the anger racing through my veins not dissimilar to the fire that had once shot up high into the sky like an arcing arrow pointed straight at the old gods.
The man before us allowed the shadows around him to dissipate, and he stood before the Sirens and humans and Oren completely and unequivocally naked.
The last of his shadows, though...they seemed to call to something deep and neverending inside of me, like that last droplet of power the shadow man had given to me.
Could this be him, instead of Nicos? The god before us though...he had shock white hair. So much unlike the shadow man in my mind with inky blackness covering his head, but I didn't consider something as trivial as hair color to make up my mind about him just yet.
"Lord of Winds, God north wind and ice, please accept this robe of our finest silk to cover your perfect skin from impure eyes."
Velda rose on shaky feet and spoke clearly, though her voice was tinged with hoarseness, as if the Summoning had shredded the cords in her throat that allowed her to sing and affected her speaking voice as well.
Nicos, the god of north wind and ice. As if an afterthought, a chilly breeze came swirling through the air. I could've sworn an inky shadow pushed it forward, though.
Hopefully, the god wouldn't incinerate us with a single thought. He was supposed to be benevolent, after all.
If the lore was correct, the old gods had forced themselves upon Hefeta and she'd had a child from one of them, as almost all of the old male godsâInti, Amell, Amon and Jarek had partaken in her demise.
Nicos, having seen the damage done to Hefeta, came down and took care of her after the assault had taken place. He nurtured her and helped her bring her child into the world.
The god we'd summoned looked down upon Velda as she strode forward on shaking legs, and if not kneeling before this deity was a death wish, then surely what Velda was doing would earn herself a trip to the Everworld as surely as not kneeling would earn me my own.
Even from this distance, I could make out the cut lines of his physique, the taut muscles in his legs that seemed to go on for miles as his height towered over Velda. His hair was carved from the palest limestone mines, his face that of unrelenting beauty, a marvel to gaze upon but a terror to behold.
The old god (though old was hardly a term befitting a body no older than the age of twenty-five or so years) bent down slightly for Velda's shaking form to place the silken white robe around his shoulders and peered out around him at the Sirens and humans kneeling before him.
Well, all except me.
Velda followed his line of sight to me and turned ashen, even as I felt Oren's piercing stare upon my back almost forcing me to my knees in front of the god.
And then the man's body holding a god spoke.
"Where is Nalini's grandchild?"
***
Author's Note:
What did you think of the Summoning?
Any theories on what is going to happen next?
What do you want to happen next?
Until next time my lovely readers,
Kristen :)
***
The World of Irena: