“Yes, the little Kalyazi nightmare started it, and you finished it.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Tranavian boys, you prod and you bite, and you lash out at the world, but you don’t know, you don’t know anything at all.”
“But you do. What about those fractured prophecies you kept spouting at us?”
“Oh, you’ve long past broken those. Foretelling or prophecies are never set in stone. They are mere suggestions of how the world might turn if each piece lines up properly, they never account for a boy willing to murder his brother, or a boy willing to murder a god.”
Serefin flinched. Malachiasz didn’t.
“It wasn’t me,” Serefin whispered.
“I’m not the one you need to convince of that, little king,” Pelageya replied.
Serefin did not look at Malachiasz. How is he alive?
Dealing with Pelageya always left him more rattled and confused than before, and without any answers. He just wanted to understand what he had done.
“What happens now?”
“It depends what you want this world to be when it all comes crashing down. If you are willing to put down your vendettas for the sake of something different, or if you are dead set upon the path you walk. If you are willing to work with the Kalyazi, or insist on destroying them.”
Malachiasz’s expression was carefully blank in a way Serefin knew was dangerous.
What did Serefin want? To disappear back to Tranavia and leave the Kalyazi to whatever became of them from the fallen gods, really. He wanted to do what he did best and run away from his problems. He was very good at it.
But it was time for Serefin Meleski to stop running. It was time for him to be the king that he absolutely wasn’t good enough to be.
“And if I wanted to stop these gods I set free?”
Pelageya smiled slightly, her gaze moving to Malachiasz. His chin rested in his hands and he looked thoughtful.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” he said, a tremor in his voice. This was Malachiasz when truly terrified, not pretending to be scared for the sake of an image he couldn’t uphold any longer.
“No, you don’t. But will you interfere with your brother’s goal, or will your plans align?”
“What about—” Serefin started.
“I don’t know,” Pelageya said. “I don’t know where she fits in this any longer. I thought her a witch waiting to happen, but not a witch, not a cleric, not a, well, who knows. I can no longer see her threads. I only see yours.”
Serefin couldn’t help his gaze trailing to Malachiasz, who had paled considerably before his expression hardened.
“She’s done enough,” he muttered.
Pelageya tilted her head. “Yes, she has, hasn’t she? But haven’t you, as well?”
He didn’t respond.
“Nothing rests on the edge of a knife any longer. You’ve tipped the balance. Velyos remains, but where have the rest gone? Where do you suppose Zvezdan is? Why would he remain in Kalyazin when the shallows run deep in Tranavia?”
Serefin swallowed. “Nothing will stay here.”
“I have tried to tell you. Again and again and again. The girl, the monster, the prince, the queen. There were four then and four now and you’ve destroyed your roles so utterly but there must still be four, always four. The world has scattered into chaos after the birth of a god of chaos and there is no way to pick up the pieces, but you can try, oh, you can try. Fail, succeed, what will become of us all?”
“God?” Malachiasz asked.
“Are you a boy or a monster or a god?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, voice soft.
“No. Of course not. As if it isn’t all the same thing.”
He rubbed at the scars on his forearms absently. “I’m so hungry,” he whispered.
Pelageya regarded him almost sadly. “He’s going to grow stronger. He’s going to consume them all. You’ll get your wish. You’ll topple that divine empire. Will you help him?” she asked Serefin suddenly.
“H-help Malachiasz?” Serefin asked, startled.
She nodded blithely. “Is your enemy not Kalyazin and their gods? Did they not rip magic away from you? Will you not respond to the affront with vengeance?”
Yes and yes and yes. This would never end.
He hadn’t wanted to kill Malachiasz. He deserved any kind of vengeance that Malachiasz might exact upon him, expected it, even. There was no way he would let what had happened go without retaliation. That was all they were. That was all they would ever do to each other. That was the cycle they belonged in.
“Yes,” he finally answered. He would help Malachiasz. Whatever that meant.
Pelageya blinked as if that wasn’t the answer she was expecting. Malachiasz said nothing, only frowned at the floor for a long moment.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said at last.
Serefin didn’t. But he had lost his power and his kingdom and working with the Black Vulture would be the only way for them to pull through.
“What are the gods going to do?” Serefin asked. He needed that question answered before he could push forward. “I thought they couldn’t directly interact with the world. That’s why Velyos acted the way he did.”
Pelageya wordlessly gestured to Malachiasz, who was looking rather ill. “You don’t think about them the right way. Is he aware of the chaos that trails his wake? Does he know, actively, what he does to the world by mere existence? Of course not. Such is the way of divinity and gods. You have been in that forest. You know it is moving outside its borders. The world will flood with the horrors of Tachilvnik. The gods of the depths will bring out what lies beneath the dark water. Is this what you want? Do you want to face a war against things so much older than you? This is what the world hurtles toward with each passing day.”
“The birds,” Serefin murmured.
“Hm?”
“On our journey … The birds were screaming. The trees chewed up with decay. It was horrible.”
“The horrors did not have far to go. But they will stretch, reaching until they overtake everything. Your country will not be spared because your country already faces horrors of its own.”
“Oh,” Malachiasz breathed.
“The Vultures have not rested in the absence of their Black Vulture. And absent you have been. When was the last they heard from you? Did the ripples of your death spread like dark water? Who would claim your mantle?”
Malachiasz seemed to recede in on himself, a deep frown on his face. Absently he sliced his forearm on the edge of an iron claw. Blood welled up, trickling down his pale skin. Could he still use blood magic? He had no spell book that Serefin could see, so this was something else. Were the Vultures above what had happened? That would be fitting, in line with everything else he knew about them.
“I can pull their threads in my hands still,” Malachiasz said, his voice distant. “So, no, no new leader, not in any rightful capacity. A new Black Vulture is chosen by killing the old. It’s a cycle.”
“Rebirth,” Pelageya said. “A cycle you have broken. You retain your power, but your cult is left to scramble in your wake, and where will they look next?”