Age of Empyre, page 14
part #6 of Legends of the First Empire Series
“What did he do?”
“Eton disowned her. He turned his face away.” Mari clasped her hands together, placing the tips to her mouth. As she did, the last of the remaining light that bled through the material of the drapes and from the other rooms, was snuffed, casting them all in darkness. “Alurya cried and begged for forgiveness, but Eton refused to listen. He sealed her in stone, cutting her off from his gifts: rain, warmth, and light.”
As they sat in the dark, only a faint glow from the embers of the hearth illuminated their faces. Each stared wide-eyed at Mari. Outside, the birds had stopped singing. The breeze stopped playing with the leaves. The whole of Alysin paused as Mari told the tale. And as she did, her voice grew in depth and volume.
“Turin was unstoppable and proclaimed himself to be King Great One. His forces—the many who remained loyal to Rex Uberlin—poured out of Erebus, laying siege to each of our cities. His war escalated. He killed Ferrol first, and made a sport of it. You see, she was the first to defy him after Trilos’s death. Turin humiliated Ferrol before the walls of her own city. Then he made her watch as it burned and her people were slaughtered.” She closed her eyes, and in the embers’ light, Brin saw Mari’s pain.
“Drome was next. Uberlin destroyed him, and while he wasn’t as cruel, he killed Drome just the same. By the time Rex Uberlin showed up at my walls, he was tired, so he made my death mercifully quick. I think he regretted it. I believe—yes, even then I was sure—he didn’t want to kill me. I was his little sister. But by then he was traveling down a path that had no turns, no way to reverse course. At the time, he didn’t know about Alurya’s fate. He’d been too busy slaughtering us. Once all his brothers and sisters were dead and safely imprisoned in Phyre, he turned his attention to what remained of their children, who were fleeing across the sea to the west. While chasing down Ferrol’s people, he came upon the Sacred Grove and discovered what Eton had done. That’s when Turin challenged his own father. He brought war to the sky itself.”
Mari stopped. Her hands came down to her lap once more as she stared silently at the floor.
After a long pause, Brin asked, “What happened?”
Mari offered a sad smile. “Forever the Keeper. I wish I could tell you, my child, but I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I was dead.” Mari gave her a little smirk, like a friendly aunt who was once a very mischievous child. As she did, the room brightened. “For the rest of the tale you have to go to the source. You must enter the Sacred Grove.”
“But you know—you know what happened.”
“I’ve heard about it. Everyone has. The afterlife is rife with gossip. That’s what the dead do: We spread rumors. There is plenty of talk about what we would have done, what should have happened, and what some believe did occur. But we’re in here, and it’s not possible to separate truth from speculation. It’s best that you hear the story from one who was actually there.”
“Who?”
Again, that impish smile formed on Mari’s face as she stood and took the effort to open the drapes once more.
“Mari knows how to motivate a Keeper, doesn’t she?” Raithe said as light once more filled the homey space.
“Can you at least tell me why you have a wonderful place while Ferrol is in, well, where she is?”
“Nifrel isn’t a punishment.” Mari returned to her seat. “That’s like asking why you don’t tie your hair back like someone else does, even if you think their choice looks ghastly. To Drome, the world was always this or that, black or white. When we were children, he would stay in the clearing while the rest of us explored the woods. After we came back, he would have a sculpture made out of branches or a little house built from sticks. He was content and didn’t need more. Ferrol was always smart, arrogant, and insecure. She admired her older brothers, but resented them, too. She believed they got all the glory. If Turin hadn’t invented war, she most certainly would have. To her, Nifrel is as near to perfection as she could ask for.”
“And you?” Brin asked. “Don’t you hate your brother for what he did?”
Mari stared out the window at a distant point on the horizon. “I can’t say I’m happy with him—but hate?” She scrunched up her nose and pressed her lips together, shifting them back and forth as she searched for an answer. Since Mari had had so long to contemplate it, Brin was surprised she didn’t just know. Maybe she had at one time, but Mari had the look of someone reevaluating. “For a time I did hate him, but for me, hate is difficult. Hate is like holding your hands over your head on a dare. You can do it for a long time, sure, but it does get tiring and bothersome after a while. It’s not possible to do much with your hands over your head, and given enough time, you wonder why you are inconveniencing yourself. You question what is to be gained, and then you feel just plain silly. When Uberlin reached my walls, I went out to meet him. He didn’t look happy. He was supposed to be evil incarnate, a conquering madman. But I only saw my brother. You see, Drome and Ferrol—being twins—bickered all the time. Because I was the youngest, I was left behind. But sometimes Turin and Trilos would take me adventuring. They were my big brothers, and I loved them.” Mari pressed a hand to her lips and sighed. “I guess I still do. Doing so makes me mad sometimes, but I can’t help it.”
She wiped her eyes. “Turin—or Uberlin by then—had come to kill me, dressed in his shimmering robe that shifted color and a mantle that had a mind of its own. He held his spear, Narsirabad, and wore a silly-looking crown. He seemed so sad, and for a moment, he was my big brother again. I asked him to spare my people, to let them go. He agreed, and to his credit, he honored that promise.” She paused, looking past Brin again, focusing once more on something too far in the distance to be seen. “I would have died anyway, eventually. I only lost a few years.”
Brin shook her head. “I don’t know if I could be so understanding.”
“You?” Mari said with a laugh. “You have no idea what you are capable of—not yet. All of that lies beyond the door to the Sacred Grove. It’s time you were on your way. Come.”
With that one word, she ushered them all out of her house and up the stone-fitted path to the road. There Mari threw out her arms, closed her eyes, and tossed her head back as if basking in the rays of an invisible sun. She took deep breaths as if needing to rejuvenate herself. Once more the birds sang and the breeze blew.
Brin looked up the road at the stretch she had yet to walk. “I’m still not certain I should do this.”
“Rex Uberlin, the Great King of the World, the lunatic who fought the sky, has gone through an incredible amount of effort to get you where you are now,” Mari told her. “He doesn’t do anything without a reason, and more than anything he hates to lose. I understand it’s upsetting to feel manipulated, and no one likes to learn they’ve been lied to, but having the first king on your side does come with benefits. And you should consider this . . . he knew you’d find out, but he had faith you’d do the right thing. My oldest brother is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He can’t make you continue. You have Eton’s Key around your neck, and Turin is immortal. If you decided to stay, there’s nothing he could do to you. He can’t come in here. But know this, Turin entrusted the key to you, and he isn’t a trusting person.”
“Malcolm didn’t trust me. He gave the key to Tressa.”
Mari smiled and let her hand drift across the tops of ivy that grew on a trestle alongside the road. Where her palm passed, purple flowers bloomed. “The fact that you are here, and you have it, says differently.”
“I know it’s difficult to trust him given what you know,” Gylindora said. “I had it easier than you. I didn’t know anything about the First War when I met him, and he went by the name of Caratacus. But if it helps your decision, know this. He did bring order to my people at a time when it seemed like there was no stopping us from orchestrating our own destruction. He stopped Fhrey-on-Fhrey violence and instilled a system whereby leadership could pass without the death of thousands. I can find no nefarious reasons for him to do that, so if you ask my opinion, my counsel is to put your trust in him. And know that he has without question put his trust in you. He knew you would succeed, even before you were born.”
“But you’re not listening—he didn’t send me. I—”
“Brin,” Aria said, stopping her. “You are the only one that matters. Don’t you understand that? This hasn’t been about Tressa, or Moya, or any of the others. They were sent to ensure you made it through, and you have.”
Brin shook her head but couldn’t find the words to explain how wrong they all were. They had to be. And despite Mari leading them at a casual pace down the road, Brin felt rushed, pushed toward a fate that terrified her. Already Mari’s house was far behind them, and the road had narrowed to a path and then vanished entirely. Now, they walked through a field of swaying grass with flowers that bowed as they passed. At first, Brin thought it was just the wind, but that wasn’t it. Daisies and goldenrod dipped their heads whenever the group came near. Birds swooped as if to get a better look, and the light that had no source followed them like a friend.
If only Tesh were with me. If he could just see this place. If only they knew what waited.
She sighed, remembering her promise to forget them. Some promises were harder than others to keep, and she doubted she would ever manage to forget any of them. She was, after all, a Keeper.
“You won’t be alone,” Gylindora said.
“That’s right,” Raithe added. “The greatest of the great awaits you in the Sacred Grove.”
Mari nodded. “Eton gave an exemption from his laws for those who proved themselves deserving of his trust. For them, death has no hold. They alone have the freedom to go where they will, and do as they please. Sadly, only one has been found worthy.”
“I heard about that.” Brin nodded. “Fenelyus said there are only two in the Sacred Grove, Alurya and her Guardian.”
“That’s our understanding as well,” Mari said. “And with the exception of brief absences that hero has chosen to spend eternity in the Sacred Grove next to Alurya.”
By all accounts, the Grove was the pinnacle of all. Average people went to Rel. The ambitious were rewarded with Nifrel. And the true heroes came to Alysin. Given that, Brin wondered what it would be like in the place where the greatest of all heroes dwelled. Brin figured it had to be a place of even greater reward, and yet . . .
Can there be a better place than this? What can surpass Alysin?
She also began to speculate about the great hero whom Eton had found worthy. She’d come across every person of great renown: the First Fane of the Fhrey, Gath of Odeon, Atella, Raithe, Mideon, Fenelyus, Aria, and four of the five Aesira, including the goddess of mankind. None of them had earned the right.
“Who is it?”
“I believe you’re about to find out.” Raithe stopped and pointed at a small pool.
Of course it’s a pool. A dark sinister pool. And I bet it’s the only one of its ilk in all of Alysin.
“You can do this.” Mari grinned at her. “You’ve entered my realm dressed as a Belgriclungreian warrior and shining like a star. You, Brin of Dahl Rhen, Brin of the Book, Conqueror of the Abyss, Holder of the Key of Eton, and—whether you like it or not—Champion of the First King, Rex Uberlin. You are greater than you think.”
“Have faith, Brin,” Gylindora said. “Remember, I, too, have been where you are now. Putting your trust into his hands. When he found me, I was sitting on the bank of the River Gan, crying so hard I couldn’t finish weaving the basket I was working on. He told me that if I trusted him, together we could save my people and eventually the world. He made good on his first promise, and I believe he is working through you to fulfill the second. I witnessed miracles. My people were saved. I don’t believe he’s going to destroy them now.”
Brin nodded.
There’s no getting out of this. If nothing else, I must see what lies beyond.
She faced the pool and gritted her teeth.
“Thank you,” Brin said.
One by one, they hugged her. Raithe was the last.
“You’ll do fine,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re the only one who doesn’t know that.”
She squeezed him back. “Persephone loves you. You know that, right?”
“Yes. She talks to me all the time.”
Brin stared at him for a moment, unsure what he meant.
“Go on. Become the hero we all know you to be.”
Brin nodded and walked forward, wading into the pool. As the water rose to her chest, she thought of all those she had left behind, and once more her last thought was of Tesh.
Chapter Twelve
Venlyn
I have long wondered about Mawyndulë and why he did it. When presented with such a terrible choice, why did he take that path. Was it fame? Was it fear? Or was it something else entirely? — The Book of Brin
Mawyndulë had first entered the Airenthenon as a junior councilor, then as a senior member of the Aquila, and later as an ex-councilor. Now he arrived in the ancient chamber as a potential traitor. Makareta was at his side, and the sense of déjà vu was thick in the air.
Together they stood in the doorway, bathed in the warm glow of the late-night braziers. Mawyndulë had never been there at night. He turned back and saw how the moon cast a cold light on the snow-covered marble outside the entrance. Across the valley and standing on its own hill was the palace, bathed in shadow. The Airenthenon had supposedly been built at the same elevation as the Talwara, a fact that Mawyndulë disputed. Now the equality seemed deserved.
“It will be fine,” Makareta whispered in his ear. “You’ll see.”
He wanted to believe her, but she’d lied before.
No, that wasn’t right. She simply hadn’t told him everything. And in a way, each of them had been led astray, both of them victims. Yet in the aftermath, they lived very different lives. While he slept in the Talwara and ate at banquets, she lived on scraps and slept in the forest, under bridges, and in cellars.
Makareta had filled him in on the tragedy that had been her life since the failed rebellion. She hadn’t asked for pity, hadn’t been melodramatic about any of it. She spoke openly of her hunger-filled days pretending to be a Gwydry when she ate fly-covered trash and dressed in rags because she was too scared to use the Art for fear it might be detected. She had almost died more than once. She didn’t talk much about those times, just said she took desperate chances.
The most dangerous moment was when she revealed herself to someone she hoped might be sympathetic. That had been terrifying because she knew her life was on the line. Makareta believed the odds were against her but felt she had no choice. The next step would be suicide, so she had one chance in three to survive. She would either be rescued, turned in, or die by her own hand. Thankfully, she won that bet. Makareta never said who the mysterious benefactor was, but he guessed he was about to meet her patron.
Mawyndulë imagined her alone on the streets, hiding, cowering, and eating whatever she’d hastily stolen from a filthy compost pile. He wished she had come to him sooner. He wanted to be the one she came to when making that desperate gamble. He would have liked to wash the dirt from her face and make it perfect again. At least she had eventually come to him.
This night, Mawyndulë wore his heavy black cloak. Normally it hung in the back of his closet because he never went out when it was this cold. It became his final defense against the bitterest of days. The wool was four layers thick and cinched tightly with a leather belt. He’d pulled its large hood up, making a tiny cave for his head. Even as cold as it was, snow was still possible, and it swirled around them. His body shook; his eyes watered, and his cheeks burned from the wind, but his hand was sweaty where it touched hers.
Mawyndulë was surprised to see so many people inside. He’d anticipated only four or five unknown faces, perhaps another renegade Miralyith who had also escaped the fane’s retribution. He certainly didn’t expect what he found.
Nearly the entire Aquila had gathered.
Four councilors, Nanagal of the Eilywin, Volhoric of the Umalyn, Hemon of the Gwydry, and Osla—newly appointed as senior council of the Asendwayr—were in their usual seats. Family and some friends of the Aquila sat behind them in the lower tier, but the junior councilors were absent. In the center of the chamber—in what was supposed to be the fane’s seat but was clearly her chair—sat Curator Imaly, representative of the Nilyndd. Vidar of the Miralyith was the only seat left vacant. He was still at Avempartha, teaching the Artists on the frontier how to conjure dragons.
The assembly’s whispered conversation halted the moment Makareta led Mawyndulë in. Everyone in the chamber rose and applauded. Mawyndulë stopped short at the sight. The Aquila only did that when the fane entered.
Makareta led him to Vidar’s seat, and he realized he was meant to take his place as a representative of the Miralyith, making this as complete an Aquila meeting as possible without the always absent Instarya. Everyone sat when he did. Makareta took the junior councilor’s position that she’d occupied years ago for those few minutes before she attacked Imaly. He watched the Curator, expecting an explosion of outrage. What she did was even more shocking. Imaly smiled approvingly and bowed respectfully toward Makareta.
“We are complete,” Imaly announced. Her voice was as it had always been, making the proceedings on that dark winter’s night sound official and untainted. Still, Mawyndulë wondered if she wasn’t speaking just a tad quieter than she usually did in the light of day.
“Thank you, Mawyndulë, for coming. I realize—we all do—that this couldn’t have been an easy decision or a casual walk. The weather does fit the proceedings, does it not?” She stood up and faced them, clasping her hands before her in a solemn pose. “All of us braved the bitter storm and gathered here this night because we have come to realize that something is fatally wrong with our world.” She tilted her head back and gestured at the ceiling and the paintings of Gylindora Fane and Caratacus. “Out of a great disaster, my great-great-grandmother led our people to this place to create a better life. In Gylindora’s youth, Fhrey fought Fhrey, and did so with great zeal. Death and destruction was our existence until Caratacus found her weaving baskets on the bank of a small creek. ‘The last virtuous Fhrey,’ he called her. She, who had no desire to rule, was the one he anointed to be the first fane of our people—the one he knew could lead us out of the darkness and into a new future of peace. It is in this spirit that we are gathered here tonight.”
