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The truth of their creation was a horror to Osha, and a blessing to Mae.
After the twins turned eighteen, their mothers sat them down and Mother Aniseya explained to them how they came to be. How, after being on the run for so long, the coven had settled on Brendok, drawn by power of the Thread. How they realized that, if they pulled on the Thread in the right way, they could create life. How unique the twins were, how special to the coven—how needed.
Almost as soon as she could manage it, Osha abandoned the conversation and left the fortress.
This was not surprising to Mae. She wouldn’t be half as familiar with the forest around their home if she wasn’t always following her sister out amongst the moss and bunta. But this was different. Of course it was different. This wasn’t a restless walk, a desire to be alone. This was an escape.
Mae had felt Osha’s reaction to their mother’s revelation in her bones. It was too much. Osha felt sunk in the depths of an ocean, endless and cold, and Mae drowned with her. Osha despaired. But Mae revelled.
She tried to keep it to herself. The twins knew their bond went both ways. They both knew intimately how Osha chafed against the edges of their life and how Mae was happy with what she had. It was both the bond and their age that had helped them balance their clashing desires, and to not fight about them constantly, the way they had as children.
Distance helped, they knew, so while Mae would follow Osha eventually, in that moment she let her go. And once she felt less like she was drowning, she let herself feel fully: ebullient. Joyful. It felt like a promise from the universe. No matter what, she would never be alone. No matter what, she would always have Osha. The Thread tied you together before you were born. Now she knew that was more true than she had ever realized.
Koril and Aniseya watched the door Osha had left through.
“We were not done,” Mother Koril said, disgruntled.
Mother Aniseya rested a hand overtop Koril’s. “Mae?” she asked, turning to look at her.
It never grew less strange, that their mothers trusted and listened to Mae so easily when it came to Osha. After their Ascension, the twins’ bond had grown and strengthened exponentially, so she’d always assumed that connection was why their mothers followed her lead. Now, she figured, it was because they knew how close they really were, even before their Ascension.
“Osha’s fine,” Mae lied. “She just needs some time to herself.”
This was not shocking news. Aniseya nodded and patted Koril’s hand. “Then we will give it to her.”
By the evening meal, Osha still hadn’t returned. Mae wasn’t concerned, so their mothers weren’t concerned either. The coven went about their tasks like it was any other day. When the sun began to set, Mae left the fortress and headed into the woods.
Nowadays, Osha usually went far past the bunta tree when she wanted to be alone, but Mae wasn’t surprised to find her sister there today. Mae stepped beneath its rustling yellow leaves to rest her hand on the trunk and tilt her head back. Osha was as high as she could get without the branches breaking. “Oshie,” Mae called.
“Don’t call me that,” Osha instantly snapped. The corresponding jag of emotion from her twin hit Mae’s chest as well.
Mae took a deep breath. “How long are you going to stay up there?” After a few seconds of waiting, she lost her patience. Tossing her hair over her shoulders, Mae climbed the tree herself. She settled on a branch so that she was on Osha’s right. Osha shifted slightly to give Mae some room, but refused to look at her. Mae sighed. “I don’t think Mother Aniseya was done explaining everything.”
Osha scoffed. “I didn’t need to hear anymore. I could guess the rest easily enough.”
“What do you mean, Osha?” Mae asked tiredly.
“Do you remember what she asked of us, when we Ascended?”
Mae blinked. That was ten years ago now, but— “Of course. We’re to take her place once she’s gone, to lead and protect the coven.”
Osha nodded, staring up at the moons rising in the sky. “They were on the brink of extinction, before they came here. Before us. That’s the legacy she wants us to continue.”
“Osha, what are you talking about?” Mae was bewildered, by what Osha was both saying and feeling. Her emotions were a riot, a sea of crashing waves.
“We’ll be expected to live here our whole lives, to stay near the Thread’s vergence. We’ll be expected to ensure that the legacy of the coven continues beyond us.”
Below the surface of the sea, the water was endless, endless, depths of yawning horror that Osha felt had no end. Legacy. New life. Children. The second Mae thought it, Osha winced. Mae squeezed her eyes shut.
“Osha,” she whispered. I’m sorry, she thought. I want this, she realized. Please don’t leave me, she begged. This revelation was new, but the wide open, sprawling, unending love Mae had for her sister was not. Even though they could both feel it through the bond, they had spent years pretending that Mae’s emotions were within a range of normal. And they’d spent just as long with the understanding that Osha did not feel the same way. She loved her, of course, but not like Mae did. And Mae didn’t want to jeopardize the love that was there, and feared that her awestruck reaction to the concept of their potential children would be a line too far.
She listened to Osha inhale, her breath shaky. “Of course I won’t leave you,” her sister said. Mae opened her eyes. Osha was looking right at her, eyes full of tears. “You are with me. I am with you,” Osha said purposefully.
Mae shook her head slowly. She didn’t want to say the next line, not now that they knew how true it was, and how much that hurt Osha.
But Osha nodded. She slid her hand across the branch to grasp at Mae’s. She wavered, then continued, “Always one, but born as two.”
“As above sits the stars. And below lies the sea,” Mae said quietly.
Osha leaned over until their foreheads touched, the spiral mark on the right side of Osha’s face pressed against the spiral on Mae’s left. Mae’s skin buzzed with the contact. She let her eyes fall shut again, feeling herself relax even as her heart began to race. Her sister finished the rhyme: “I give you you, and you give me me.”
Mae nuzzled a bit, letting their marks slide against each other. She could feel, as always, the Thread that bound them together. Powerful, unbreakable.
“Look up,” Osha said quietly. Mae did, and let out a quiet gasp at the sight. The sky was a massive spill of stars, twinkling cool and bright above them. She didn’t usually see so many, near the light of the fortress. At the top of the bunta tree, the world felt wide open—for them both.
“I don’t want to tie you down,” Mae said. “I don’t want to force you.”
“I know. And I know you won’t.” They both left the stars above to meet each other's gaze.
“We can choose our own path,” Mae said with a confidence she didn’t totally feel.
Osha smiled. “Okay,” she replied simply.
“We will.”
Osha interlocked the fingers of their joined hands. “I love you.”
What their mother always made them say to get them to stop fighting as children. Mae’s heart ached. There was nothing about her future that she dreaded or feared—nothing except Osha’s unhappiness. She looked forward to what was to come, but not at the expense of her sister. Osha knew that, and Osha knew that there wasn’t anything to be done about it. Not today, at least. Who knew about the future? Mae would start looking for that other path for them to follow, as soon as she could. She squeezed Osha’s hand.
“I love you.”