The Living God, page 3
“Are we going to stand here all night arguing about the covering of one’s head, or are we going to go plan a coup?” Rowe asked, crossing his arms. “You can work out what you really want to argue about later.”
Saran nodded. Her eyes glowed white hot, and the earth beneath their feet disappeared in a circle of light and mist. It swallowed them and deposited them in an open field hundreds of miles away. They settled near a wide ruin circle, where the grass stood hip high and wafted in a cool breeze. Fireflies floated about the field and in the dark forest around them in yellows, greens, and oranges. It was quiet, as silent as any tomb, and much warmer and drier than their camp.
Rowe swatted at an annoying horsefly as it buzzed too close to his head. “This doesn’t look very populated. I think you miscalculated, Saran.”
“I did not.” She smiled and pointed to the stone arch along the wall, motioning for them to follow.
The ruins were the span of a small village. A wide, short wall built from medium-sized granite rocks, standing three feet high in most places, surrounded remnants of a tower that once stood twenty stories high over the lush countryside of southern Adrid.
“This used to be a great school for Magi before my father had the teachers slaughtered, the children abducted, and the building burned some forty years ago. Now the ruins hide a secret.” Saran tried to imagine what the tower looked like long ago. It had been a time when children born gifted by the Core with elemental magic were delivered to be apprentices at the school. The Core chose and gave her gifts indiscriminately. No one really knew why some were born with an element and others weren’t. It was long believed that the Core gave gifts as they were needed, though it was anyone’s guess as to what they were needed for.
Saran held her hand to the stone arch leading into the circle of ruins, tilting an ear to the opening. “Can you hear it?”
“I hear nothing but crickets and wind,” Rowe said, folding his arms with a skeptical arch of his brows before he angrily swatted the fly again. “And this damn creature.” His eyes sparked a bright blue, and as he swiped his hand through the air, electricity crackled across his flesh and a tiny bolt of blue light zapped the horsefly midswoop.
“I know! Isn’t it beautiful? I’ve never heard of a masking spell so clever or so large. Come here, and I’ll show you,” the princess said, motioning for them to follow. She stepped through the opening beneath the stone arch and disappeared.
Rowe, in a panic, dashed after her and blinked out of sight.
Keleir stood quietly, admiring the arch where Saran and Rowe no longer stood. Instead of rushing after them, he looped around the wall and hopped over it. He landed in the empty plot of land visible from the outer rim and waded through the tall grass. The Fire Mage ran his fingers over the blades, pulling at it and twirling the slivers of green between his fingers. After he surveyed the wide circle and hopped back over the wall, he went straight through the arch.
The potent scent of food and campfire greeted him as strongly as if he’d run into a physical wall, a far more appetizing smell than their dinner earlier. Warm light flooded the space where hundreds of small campfires sat between cabins and tents. Torches lined a long, wide walkway leading to the back of the camp where a gigantic canvas tent had been erected. The people were happy here, dancing and talking with smiles upon their faces much the same as the soldiers they’d occupied time with earlier. But this was different. It seemed like genuine happiness, despite their poverty. It baffled the Fire Mage, and being so interested in their merrymaking, he barely noticed the armored guard patting him down or stripping him of the sword at his waist.
Perhaps it was the quickness with which the man went about it or the careful way he did it so as not to bring attention to himself. When Keleir peered down at him, the man’s face was white with fear. It was then that Keleir realized the person who should have covered their hair was him.
“Careful where you put your hands,” Rowe warned the man inspecting Saran.
The princess frowned at his protectiveness and turned her attention to the guard, who searched her as professionally and unfeelingly as any that had come before. “We will see Darshan. I sent a bird, so he is expecting us.”
The guard led them down the long, lit path to the massive tent at the back of the encampment, where he opened the flap and motioned them to enter. Saran passed through the threshold of fabric and into a wide stone room far larger than the expanse of the tent she’d seen outside.
They stood in a circular great hall with a towering vaulted ceiling supported by wide wooden beams. Tall, narrow stained glass windows lined the walls, each one depicting a different Mage with a different element. While it was night outside the tent, daylight filtered through each colored pane until the glass cast glittering jewels across the polished white marble floor. No furniture adorned the room save a wide table with parchment maps strewn across the top and two candelabras stationed at opposite corners. An older man, well past fifty, hunched over the maps, drawing wet lines with his finger that turned to inky black paths.
Saran coughed, easing toward the table and lowering the hood that covered her head. “Ishep Darshan,” she said, smiling as he snapped to attention like a ghost had called his name. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. You seemed very into your mapmaking.”
“Saran D’mor …” he whispered, coming round the table, dressed in traveling clothes, a pale shirt, and brown pants. His speckled salt-and-pepper hair faded into a short white beard. “Forgive me, Princess. I was not expecting you until later in the week.”
“I sent a message two days ago about my change in itinerary. I guess it didn’t reach you.”
Darshan frowned. “I received no communication from you. But this is a pleasant surprise. I was just going over the maps for Salara.”
Saran followed him back to the table. “Salara is just what I came to speak with you about.” Darshan lifted his eyes to the two men with her, letting his gaze settle on Keleir with an uneasy cringe. “Perhaps we can speak in private?”
“Are we going over this again?” Saran muttered.
“It is not that I do not trust him,” Darshan said, frowning. “I simply do not trust what is in him. He is cursed.”
Saran didn’t need to look at Keleir to know he tensed at the accusation. Just as he sensed her awake or asleep, she sensed him. Each movement he made, the feeling of him, felt like a ripple in the air between them. She locked her eyes on the rebel leader and did not look away.
“I have secured the Oruke within to a confined place inside him. It has not broken free in five years. It will not. He is in perfect control.” And he would stay so, as long as there was magic in the world and as long as she lived.
Darshan pressed his hands together. “I understand that, and it is comforting. However, how do you know?”
“How do I know what?”
“That it is he and not the Oruke?”
The princess stared into his aged, ocean-blue eyes and struggled not to look back at Keleir in question. Her faith would not waver simply because one man didn’t believe it possible. She believed. She had to. She was the master of Keleir’s salvation, and if she didn’t believe, then no one would.
Darshan settled back as if to sit, and a wooden chair appeared from thin air to catch him. “When an Oruke takes a host, an unborn child, it takes a host completely. It is rare, if not impossible, for one to be born with their consciousness still intact. So how do you know, Your Highness, that the man behind you is not the Oruke having played you so very well all these years?”
The princess glided her fingers across the tabletop, letting her gaze follow their path. “Because, Ishep, the Oruke wants me dead.” Keleir’s presence tingled stronger in the air. “He has a sick fascination with it, actually. He wants my blood pooled on the floor beneath him. Out of all the people in the world, when I am near him, it drives him mad. He makes no sound decisions. He is overcome with bloodlust and rage. He’s told me this, while his hands were around my neck, choking the life from me.”
Darshan swallowed hard and turned his eyes to Keleir as if he expected some horrible monster to spring out from behind his flesh.
The princess straightened with a smirk. “If it brings you any comfort, Darshan, I can assure you that in the five years since I locked him away, the things that Keleir Ahriman does to me are nothing close to murder. He is in control. The Oruke inside him fights for freedom, but Keleir is in control.”
“How long do you think he can maintain that control?”
“Forever,” Keleir said, narrowing his eyes on the questioning man. “I can maintain it forever.”
“I hope you are right,” Darshan replied, and then he turned to the Fire Mage’s brother. His face softened fondly. “Rowe, my boy, how are you? Have you heard anything from Her lately?”
Rowe touched his head. “No. She’s been quiet. I’ve not heard anything in several months.”
“The Prophetess comes and goes as She pleases, I suppose. She offers help when we need it most. Be thankful to have been chosen to hear Her voice. Now I suppose we should get on to matters. You can’t be here all night.” The four crowded around the table over the map.
“In four months, my father will move on Salara,” Saran said. “At that point, the army will be away from the capital, making it the perfect time for an assault on the city. You will have to transition the militia from Salara to Andrian. When the army arrives in Salara, they will only find villagers there. However, this risks the villagers, since there will be no one to protect them. Without protection, the Salaran’s lives will be sacrificed. You have to be willing to risk that for this plan to work, and I’m not. My father is sick; his illness has exacerbated his deranged mind. Madam Ophelia, our head healer, says he has very little time left. We could save more lives if we wait for him to die.” Saran’s eyes met Darshan’s. “If we follow this plan of divide and conquer, even if you take the capital and the throne, you will lose rebels, but you will lose more villagers. Thousands are going to die. If you keep the rebels at Salara, they can defend the walls and defend the people.”
Darshan frowned, shaking his head. “He has been sick for many years. He has not died yet. I have waited long enough … and you are not married yet. There are whispers that your father intends you to wed the Alar in the south. As border quarrels are often a prelude to invasion, Mavahan has been incredibly aggressive of late. The empire is weak. We do not have time to wait for him to die. We must act now.”
Saran’s brows knit together. “Father has made no mention of marrying me off to the Alar. I doubt he would want to merge his kingdom with someone he could not control. Not to mention, it would leave no one to govern his throne at his death. The kingdom will be thrown to the proverbial wolves.”
“There is another whisper,” Darshan said, eyeing Keleir, “that he will marry you to the Alar and adopt a son, a Mage, one powerful and feared, one close to his heart.”
The princess laughed. “There are none close to his heart.” Even still, her knuckles curled over the table as she stared at the maps. She’d heard none of these whispers, and she lived in the very palace where they were born. Her gaze fell on Rowe, and then Keleir, and both men shook their heads.
“How did you come to hear this?”
“From a chambermaid who often sits at the feet of your father in his study. She goes by Betha. The Mage to take his place, whose real name has been forgotten for another, was brought before him as a child and raised within the palace walls. He who bathed in blood: Lifesbane.”
The wood of the table groaned beneath Keleir’s grip. “I have not worn that name for many years, Darshan.”
Ishep folded his arms across his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that you’re a murderer. You might have staved off killing innocent women and children for the last couple years, but the king still admires your brutality. He will adopt you as his son, and you will be king in his stead, and I will not allow that. I will not allow an Oruke control of an army. The devastation would be unimaginable. Therefore, we will attack the palace on the same day that the army goes for Salara. Lives will be lost, but it will be worth it in the end.”
“If what you are saying is true, and there is a threat of invasion from Mavahan, then upsetting the ruler of Adrid will open a floodgate of opportunity for the Alar. Perhaps this is not the time to think of destabilizing a kingdom when we could very well be wiped out by another overzealous king?” Keleir hissed. “We have heard nothing of this Alar. This changes a great many things.”
“It changes nothing. There will be no destabilization. Saran D’mor will sit upon the throne. She is respected. The people will follow her.”
Rowe’s lip curled with a sneer. “They will kill her. The people know her as a warrior who fights in her father’s army. They do not know that she fights to save their lives in battles, instead of ending them. The legends that follow her name are not ones of glory or honor. The people do not see anything but another brutal savage set to inherit the throne. As soon as Yarin is deposed, they will seek her head too. If not that, then the nobles will move in and place themselves in power. They will want to fashion it so a man takes the throne. Either one of them or a son.”
“I have no desire to be queen,” Saran said, eyeing Darshan. “You know this. We discussed it. I would step down and pass the power to you. I would get to live my life as I wish it. The people respect you, Ishep. They love you. They will follow you. They will not follow me, nor do I wish them to.”
“The threat from Mavahan changes everything,” Keleir added. “Their army has grown in the time that we’ve been at war with our own people. We should not ignore the possibility that deposing Yarin will bring war from the south. Perhaps we should give this more time and more thought?”
“I will not,” Darshan said, standing. “That will leave more time for you to be named heir to the throne. You may not be Lifesbane now, but you could very well be again. I do not trust you, Keleir Ahriman. I do not trust the Oruke inside you. The Prophetess doesn’t trust you either. She chose your brother to warn us of your coming.”
Keleir slammed his hands upon the table, and Darshan jumped back an inch. Black seeped into the corner of Keleir’s eyes and then quickly dispersed. “I am not that man anymore! And I am not some monster whispered of in prophecy.”
“Are you so sure?” Darshan asked in a quiet whisper, watching as the Fire Mage struggled to reign in his anger.
Keleir stiffened, standing straight, and stared hard at the rebel leader before he dropped his eyes to the maps strewn across the tabletop. “I’ll wait outside.”
Saran started after him. “Keleir!”
Keleir lifted a hand and waved Saran off, ducking back through the fabric hanging across the door.
“He is a danger,” Darshan said. “You know what has been deemed by the Prophetess. No matter your feelings, Saran and Rowe, his destiny is beyond your control. He will bring devastation to this world.”
Saran shook her head in fierce denial, staring down at the floor. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she turned a stern gaze on Darshan. “I will ensure he does not.”
“You will fail.” The old Mage frowned.
A wistful smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “I will die trying, and if such a thing should happen, it will have been better to die having tried than to abandon him and let him fall freely into darkness.”
A long silence passed between them, with Rowe biting his tongue and curling his fist to keep from punching the old man across the table. After the air grew too thick with tension, Rowe righted himself and went to his brother. Darshan stared at the doorway as if hopeful that the Lightning Mage would return. When he did not, Darshan bent his head and ran his finger across the map, painting a watery line that eventually turned to black ink.
“I will attack the palace the day the king attacks Salara. We will kill the king and put you on the throne. You have the most command of the army in that area and will be able to quell any upset that might happen once he is dead. After a month, when we get word to the armies stationed in outposts throughout the kingdom that the king has died and you are queen, we will make a transition. Whether by marriage or avocation. Agreed?”
“No marriage, Darshan. I have already chosen the man I’ll spend my life with. The more concerning matter is, what if Mavahan invades?”
“Mavahan is a kingdom of men who do not believe in the Core, the Prophetess, or the Magi. They are surrounded by a great desert and live in the Deadlands. They have no magic, and no concept of how it functions. Those who cross our borders and feel the Awakening will have no idea how to hone that ability or use it to their advantage. We will crush them because of their ignorance. I have no doubt about this. Are we in agreement?”
“I believe we are, if you are so unmoving to compromise.” Saran straightened and folded her hands together. “There is another problem that we should discuss. I am to be punished, and I do not know how. I will send word once I’ve received it. It may not change your plans, but I need you to know so you can alter accordingly.”
Darshan nodded, and his gaze grew soft. “I hope … I hope he does not hurt you.”
Saran lifted her knowing gaze to him. “You know how he punishes those he cannot kill.”
The older Mage’s brows knit, and a dark cloud came over him. “Your mother was very strong, Saran. You are stronger. That is why she sought so hard to save you from him. She knew that you would do what she could not … in the end. I know she did.”
“Are you saying that to discourage any self-doubt I have?” Saran laughed at his mortified expression. “Do not worry, Ishep. I do not intend to make suicide the escape route from my father.”
Darshan choked on the awkwardness of her words. “Good! Well, be off. You have stayed here longer than intended, I assume. Be safe, Saran D’mor. The Three need you.”
Saran jolted. It had been ages since someone mentioned the Three out loud. Months since she, Keleir, and Rowe bothered to explore them in the little free time they had. Saran thought about the gleaming metal towers of the Second and how their civilizations faded sparsely into beautiful rolling green hills. The Second was slowly being devoured by its people and their wars. She could do little to help that world.
