Perils of the Past

Her past life clutched a secret. Tonight, she’d pry it free.

Antarna shuffled along a narrow ledge, keeping her back to the sheer mountainside. Her scarf, wrapped to the bridge of her nose, fluttered against her lips with each breath.

The hungry maw of the cave loomed ahead, many shades darker than night. Bluish-white icicles descended from its upper lip. The answers she sought were closer than ever. Antarna squeezed the hilt of her sword.

Her boot slid on the ice-crusted snow. As her toes left the ledge, her heel dug in and sent a cascade of white into the swirling clouds below. Antarna grounded the tip of her scabbard, finding reassurance in the additional point of contact. A long fall onto sharp rocks would’ve been an embarrassing way to go.

Enthriff loosened his grip around her wrist, smooth scales sliding over her skin. His fern-green head emerged from her cuff.

‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

Her companion retreated into her warm sleeve and slithered up her arm to settle on her bicep.

Hunched against the lashing wind, she continued. The temple she called home grew smaller behind her and the gaping mouth of the cave larger. All around, jagged peaks reached for twinkling stars.

Antarna left the ledge and savoured the safety of the wide landing before the cave swallowed her whole. The wind subsided, its howl replaced by dripping water that echoed throughout the rock chamber. A two-tailed ice worm slunk into a crevice. She held her cancryst high, and the crystal’s yellow light peeled away the dark. No larger than a candle, it blazed twice as strong. Still, the bulk of the cave remained steeped in gloom.

Icicles gave way to stalactites and stalagmites—the cave’s longer, sharper teeth. She wove between them, heading towards a flat section of the rock floor where five concentric circles had been laid in pebbles. A spiral plant unfurled from the roof and started to emit a soft, sky-blue glow. Neighbouring plants awakened, unfolding and radiating the yellows and oranges of a sunset as if not to be outdone.

Antarna set the cancryst down on its hexagonal base and removed her cloak, scarf and gloves. She rolled up her sleeves, revealing a bloodsucker clinging to her arm, masquerading in white like a snowflake. Six thin legs and two transparent wings extended from its furry body.

‘Enjoying your dinner?’ Antarna stretched out her arm.

The insect removed its needle-like mouth and departed. As a child, she would’ve swatted it and taken pleasure in the red smear.

A bump grew on her amber skin. Her mother used to treat bites with the sticky sap of a carnivorous plant. Ten years had dragged by since Antarna had felt her mother’s touch or heard her silky voice, memory ever a poor substitute. Hopefully her mother had been reincarnated into a life with loving parents who treated her bites with care.

The bite itched. Enthriff uncoiled, glided down her arm and nuzzled her. She petted him in reply. If the danger had been greater than a hungry insect, he would’ve warned her.

Antarna placed her left foot atop a chest-high rock covered in spongy lichen and leant forwards. A stretch spread down the trio of muscles at the back of her thigh. Last year, she’d spent every night for a month meditating on this ice-cold rock, searching in vain for a way into her soul. Tonight, it would all be worth it.

A patter of footfalls rose above the rhythmic drip of water. Antarna lowered her leg and turned to face the entrance. A man’s silhouette emerged from the shadows. Light from her cancryst glinted off the enlarged eyes of her mentor, his golden irises stretching their length and width, absent the whites in her own. Gil held neither crystal nor lantern, having crossed the ledge to the cave by starlight alone—an advantage of being born in the cavern, an underground city almost as large as her birthplace. Age had taken the colour from the priest’s beard, but he moved towards her with youthful energy and grace.

He freed the strap of his bag from his shoulder and lifted it over his shaved head. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘Why is it always the same vision?’ She couldn’t endure another night of failure, churned up and spat out by the same distorted fragments.

‘Think of the soul like a diary that preserves a record of your every thought and action. Until you learn to turn the pages, you’re stuck reading the last entry of your past life.’

‘That makes sense.’

A droplet fell from the roof onto Gil’s cheek. Captured by a deep wrinkle, the water ran down its length. He flicked it off and pulled open his bag to reveal a cylindrical drum of stretched shagrontin skin. A bundle of fabric sat on the top of the instrument. Gil unwrapped it to expose a dark ribbon with three silver bells tied along its length. It jingled as he attached it to his ankle. ‘Shall we?’

‘Yes.’ She ran three fingers along the curved scabbard of her sword, smooth wood slipping by.

Enthriff constricted, causing one of her fingers to twitch.

Jealous? She raised her forearm to her lips and kissed his narrow body.

Antarna drew her sword, and the steel caught the light. She wrapped the hardwood scabbard in cloth and put it on a rock free from ice. Water, even frozen, forever played the part of steel’s enemy.

Antarna removed an onyx vial from her cloak pocket. Careful to point the top away from her, she pulled the stopper free. A familiar shadow slid forth, more solid than any shadow should be. It crossed the five circles and took form in their centre, rising to mirror her height, build and weapons. There, it waited, motionless.

Her brother used to train in swordcraft against the shadow under Father’s watchful eye. She embraced the nostalgia. The ebb and flow of the duel. The pride on Father’s face as her brother took the upper hand. Their laughter at the elaborate flourishes her brother added to his celebration bow. What she’d give to hear that sound again.

Entering the circles, Antarna took her shield from her back and slipped it on—one strap across her forearm, another in her hand. The thin strap didn’t impede her when she gripped the hilt of the stout dagger hanging from her belt. She unsheathed the blade, and it extended past the rim of her shield. Taking deep breaths through her nose, she rolled her shoulders and then adopted a fighting stance. The arcane shadow did likewise.

Gil adjusted his musical instrument. ‘Remember, after you defeat the shadow and leap, you’re looking through a window to your soul at events already written. Relinquish any sense of control and observe.’

The slow beat of the drum filled the cave.

The shadow launched forwards.

I am wind. With quick feet, Antarna avoided the strike, circling away.

Unrelenting, the shadow continued its assault.

I am water. Antarna retreated like the sea drawing back from the shore until the outer edge of the last circle was a step away.

The beat quickened. She was a wave crashing upon the beach, her sword an extension of her arm. Her steel blurred as she feinted and sliced. But for each strike, the shadow gave an answer. Sweat gathered upon her brow.

The shadow sprang into the air.

I am earth. Antarna stayed grounded. She met its blow with a hard block, her weight even and centre of tension low. Her exhale formed a white cloud that quickly dissipated, succumbing to the cold.

The pair separated. The shadow held the middle of the circle, controlling the space.

The drum rose to a crescendo. Harsh and fragmented, the beat rebounded off the irregular cave walls.

I am fire. She closed the distance. As her brother had done in a fight years ago, she turned her opponent’s shield with her own, creating an opening. Her sword sliced through the gap and delivered the killing blow.

The shadow-form crumbled to the floor and disintegrated into a dark cloud. Tendrils of darkness slithered back to the vial.

Gil shook his ankle, the bells tinkling, marking the moment for her.

Antarna threw her sword to Gil and slammed her hand over her heart, feeling it pulse under her palm. Closing her eyes, she slipped into the vastness of her mind. A network of spheres joined by delicate silver threads stretched in all directions, like a young god had found an endless ball of wool and decided to link the stars. She settled softly within a sphere glowing with the fresh memory of her duel with the shadow. Orbs, vibrant with recent experiences, abounded to her right—a labyrinth she’d lost herself in before learning to clear away the noise and clutter through facing the shadow. Antarna rushed down a thread in the opposite direction, passing dormant memories of her early days on the mountain, bedridden and racked with pain. The sound of Gil’s bells rose, and she chased it. Turn after turn, the spheres grew darker and bells louder.

Show me the way.

She ventured deeper.

Fierce, blinding light banished the darkness.

She leapt into her soul.

***

Antarna collided with her past life. Shock waves surged through her mind. Reeling, she fought to orientate herself in this foreign male body. His skin felt like a swarm of parasites crawled on it. Noises swept over her, loud and jumbled. Bright lights stabbed at her. A fathomless wrongness pervaded her brain’s every nook and cranny. She refused to submit to the urge to return to her own body.

I belong here. Laughter and chatter emerged from the discordant sounds. The light dimmed.

She opened herself to her previous incarnation, lowering her walls. His thoughts invaded her own, wholly indecipherable. A blizzard that snatched her into its chaotic clutches and tore pieces from her. She’d been here before, more times than she’d like to admit. Instead of retreating in on herself, against her every instinct, she welcomed him in.

Tell me your name.

His thoughts continued to pummel her, and she lost touch with herself. Her memories slipped away. The link to her body frayed so thin it could be severed, leaving her detached and hollow. Antarna stayed dangerously open to him and repeated her request.

His voice reached her, ‘Sal—’

The roar of his other thoughts drowned out the rest of his name.

Greetings, Sal.

The hazy outlines of a boy and his mother took shape.

Antarna tried to blink. Her eyelids didn’t respond. They weren’t her own. You’re looking through a window.

Warm, humid air filled his lungs. The heavy perfume of nicarmia flowers abounded, their sweet fragrance familiar from her childhood.

The boy and his mother finally came into focus, garbed in cloth of rich reds and yellows. Bronze beads adorned the mother’s braided black hair. They stood, like Sal, in the dappled shade of a nicarmia tree, one of many that lined a meandering pebbled walkway to the palace. Indigo flowers, fallen from the trees’ generous canopies, carpeted the pebbles of the Purple Path. The dark walls of the bowl-shaped crater surrounded them.

A crowd stretched along the length of the path, their gazes on a procession with Antarna’s grandfather in the lead—a man she’d never met. He waved to the crowd, his thigh-sized arms bulging. Behind him, her father and uncle followed, oddly young. Hunters pushed handcarts filled with their prey.

Her past life squeezed the hilt of his bone knife. Just a little closer. Brutality clung to every word. The thought overtook her. Became her own. His anger roiled, raw and hot and intense. And it saturated her. Bloodlust throbbed through them.

Today, he would kill. She would kill. They would kill.

Antarna fled.

***

She wrapped her arms around herself—around her familiar body. Her fingers brushed the crescent scar on her hip. Ever attentive, Enthriff unwound from her forearm and glided over her skin.

Gil leant forwards. ‘You look pale. What did you see?’

‘It’s not what I saw but what I felt. He’s furious and out for blood. My family’s blood.’ Antarna shivered. ‘He could be …’ She trailed off, unable to say the word “Resatrium” after what the rebel group had done to her family.

‘But you didn’t see him act upon his rage?’

‘No.’ It was true. He could’ve changed his mind. That would make more sense than her goddess allocating her the soul of someone who’d sought to murder her father, uncle and grandfather. She stood in the centre of the five circles of Zentrina, the goddess of death and rebirth. Zentrina would not have wronged one of her devotees, surely.

‘You have only glimpsed the smallest fraction of his life. Don’t judge him yet.’

‘I won’t.’ And she meant it. ‘As you suggested yesterday, I reached out for his name and got the start of it.’

‘Excellent.’ Gil put his drum back in his bag together with the bells. ‘The rest will come. When it does, you’ll be able to use that to ground yourself in the vision.’

She slid her sword into her scabbard, donned her cloak, and tightened her scarf. Gil led them out of the cave. Pale moonlight shimmered off the ledge that stretched like a delicate ribbon. Beyond it, the grey stone of Zentrina’s five-storey temple melded with the mountainside. Light from a room at the top of one of the temple’s towers poured into the night.

They navigated the narrow shelf in silence, absorbed in the task. A cloud engulfed Antarna, cool and damp. It blurred her surroundings. A bitter wind cut through her clothes, tugged the cloud away and sent it skittering alongside a cliff.

Before long, they left the ledge. Five concentric circles had been carved into the temple’s wooden door. Elegant flowing text filled the spaces between the four outer circles. In the centre of these rings stood the image of her goddess in a billowing cloak.

Antarna ducked as she entered. The heavy door and stone dampened the roar of the wind to a meagre sigh. They descended a spiral staircase. Unlike her mentor, she leapt over every seventh step.

At the fork at the end of the corridor, Gil turned to face her. ‘I almost forgot to mention, Priest Weslutch is looking for you. He’s back from the crater.’

‘Thanks.’ She wasn’t ready for Weslutch to pass along another scroll from Father.

Gil brought two fingers to the centre of his forehead, between his eyebrows, then lowered his hand to his chest. Antarna followed his lead, touching her spiritual third eye and then splaying her fingers over her heart. He turned towards the priests’ bedrooms while she went in the other direction.

Reaching into a recess in the wall, she swapped her cancryst for a smaller one. ‘Light, please.’

The crystal obliged.

At the armoury, she hung her Daslercian sword between one of bronze and another of bone. Steel was rarer than gold, for the secret of its forging had perished with the former kingdom of Daslercia. All blades pointed right, conveying trusting, non-hostile intentions; left-facing grips couldn’t be drawn easily with the right hand.

On leaving, Antarna deviated around the library, not risking another run-in with its guardian, whose leniency had died years ago in the desert alongside her sense of humour. The walls gradually constricted until her shoulders brushed against them.

She opened a door. Against the wall, a full set of armour made of bone plates and wooden slats stood in shadow, complete with a face mask and crested helmet. Countless relics graced the temple. This one heralded from the crater, perhaps even having belonged to one of her ancestors.

As she passed the armour, it moved, a gloved hand grabbing her arm. The grip clamped down like a hunting trap. Her training took over. She twisted and raised her forearm, forcing the attacker’s wrist into a position of weakness, and broke their grip with her free hand. Going on the offensive, she brought her elbow through, rotating her torso for greater power. The attacker ducked, and her blow glanced off their helmet.

The ancient headpiece slid sideways, revealing a mop of fiery hair.

‘Tozias?’ She extended her cancryst.

Her friend raised his hands. ‘I surrender.’

She leant against the wall and chuckled. This had to be one of his better pranks.

‘Help me out of this.’ He raised his arms awkwardly.

‘And miss the fun of seeing you struggle?’

And struggle he did, stretching for places on his body he could barely reach to pull at knots he’d tied too well. How he’d even got into the armour in the first place was beyond her. Halfway through, she took pity on him and helped remove the shoulder guards and chest piece. Underneath, he wore the thundercloud-coloured robe of their goddess.

Tozias led the way to the sleeping quarters, arms stretched wide, webbed hands brushing against the stone walls flanking him. His ivory skin—distinctive of lake islanders—contrasted against the ash-grey passageway. Thin, blond hair covered his arms, apart from a section near his wrist where lightning had struck. In gratitude for surviving, he’d joined the temple the next day. Now he bore Zentrina’s mark on his forearm: holy text revolving within their goddess’s circles.

‘Priest Weslutch was asking after you.’ Tozias looked back at her.

Antarna shed her cloak and slung it over her shoulder.

‘But you have more important things on your mind.’ He tapped two fingers against his temple.

She unwound her scarf. The soul of a cowardly man who had ambushed her family weighed heavy inside her, rotten and repugnant. A violation of her body. A perversion of her identity. A betrayal of the trust she’d placed in her goddess. Unless Sal had second thoughts.

‘Your time with Gil left you with more questions than answers, again.’

‘My past life may have done something unforgivable.’

‘Did they?’

‘I’ll find out tomorrow.’ She lengthened her stride. ‘I must.’