Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
And to do so, I must be that Salorian, the man that is reviled by all. The one that controls others like puppets. I do not like it, but for the good of all…I must become that once more.
So I reach out to the children first. Sallavatri, I call. It is time.
She wakes up from her nap, her thoughts bright and alert. Time for what? I'm hungry.
Time to close the Rift. Will you help me?
I will. What do you need?
And even though I hate myself for it, even though it's momentary and necessary, I reach out a mental tendril. Let me in and I will do the rest.
She opens her mind to me effortlessly, with complete trust. Then, I am in her head, roosting as I used to do with the drakoni. It is different now, though. We are joined, our minds pulsing together like a braid. It feels powerful, my strength amplified by her natural ability. Unlike the drakoni, Sallavatri is of this world, and her power is undiluted. I am careful with my small friend, wanting only to guide and gently steer, not command and force. No matter what happens, I will protect you, I promise her.
I know. I trust you.
That trust is everything. It humbles me, and it reminds me that I do this for all of us. I do this for the children, for their parents, and for my mate, who waits patiently beside my body, hoping for a future together.
We reach out to Luminoura next, and she joins us without hesitation. Her power twists around us, adding to the flare of energy we are creating. I imagine us like a comet, streaking across the sky with brilliant light. Tunjozefren joins us next, a blast of brilliance that takes us to the next level. Of all the children, his mind shines the brightest, and I wonder what he will be like as an adult if this continues. Malliope and Arthromathan twine their minds with ours. As a blazing force of mental energy, we feel powerful. Strong. Unstoppable. We can reach further than ever before.
So we keep reaching outward, seeking other minds, other drakoni children that might be willing to extend their thoughts and help us. A few more lights join our bonfire, and we are a surging blaze in the brilliant quiet of this world. It feels so good, too. Pure, and strong, and bright.
And then I feel it.
Just a hint of decay, creeping at the edges of my thoughts.
I blast it back, and the thing in the Rift creeps away, retreating. It's not enough to simply push it away, though. I chase after it, leading my army of light towards that darkness. We swarm upon the Rift, higher and higher, and I realize that the Rift is not a place. It is not a location we can reach, but a tear in the reality of this world. As we move “closer,” I feel the leaking of other minds flooding in from other worlds. Not just my world, but a dozen others. They feel wounded and unnatural, the Rift an open wound between realities.
I reach out and touch the edges of the Rift with my mind. I can feel Arthromathan and Luminoura and the others, linked to me. Their wants are my wants, their desires my desires. I can feel this world itself, a pulsing, breathing thing with a spirit…and it is wounded. It needs healing.
We can help it, Tunjozefren sends to me. We can make it better.
I imagine placing hands on the wound that is the Rift, even though my hands are miles below the sky's edge, still clasped in Melina's grip. The moment I touch the Rift, a thousand voices slingshot through my mind, few of them human. The Rift is pulling them through, spewing them into this world—or it will, if it's not healed.
Pushing all of my power and strength to the Rift, I press the edges and will it to close. Hot, white light pours from our joined consciousness into the Rift itself. It sears the darkness, pushing it back…and the voices clamoring to be heard grow dim. I keep pressing, determined to close as much as I can, but I am exhausted and drained when I pull back and survey our work. We've patched a small corner of the Rift, squeezing a portion of that enormous, city-wide tear. It's not enough. It's like the Rift itself is fighting me, which doesn't make sense. I can feel that it wants to be closed. I can feel that the wound wants to vanish…but something isn't right, and I don't have the strength to determine what it is.
We can keep going, Tunjozefren reassures me. We are not afraid.
I pause, because he sounds…muted. As if his voice is no longer as strong as it was before. That worries me. I want to close the Rift, but not at the cost of one of the lives entrusted to me. Are you hurt?