Azár was already in bed, asleep. He stood gazing at the curve of her body beneath the covers, outlined by the diffuse moonlight filtering through the canvas. The sight of her soothed his fury somewhat. He removed his clothes, tossed them into a corner, then sank down beside her in the bed.
Azár stirred from sleep. “Husband—”
He silenced her with a kiss, driven by a desperate need to smother his rage in her. Darien felt her stiffen beneath him. He stopped and lay unmoving, stroking her hair, until the tension eased from her body.
Kissing her softly, he took what he needed.
Three great bonfires crackled in the center of the camp, tongues of flame whipping at the air. Sparks showered upward, flitting like fireflies, obscured by rolling clouds of smoke. The Malikari soldiers had gathered to one side of the fires. On the other side clustered men and women of the Jenn, clothed in horse skins and dripping with armaments. War drums beat and instruments played, vying for dominance over shouts and chants in a boisterous contortion of noise.
Darien stood beside Ranoch in the center of the gathering. The war chief raised both hands above his head, calling for silence. It took a moment. But, gradually, the drums halted and the instruments tapered off. The shouts quieted to a blur of conversation. The conversation ceased. The only sound that remained was the crackle of flames. Darien turned, his eyes skimming over the hundreds of people gathered before him.
Ranoch stepped forward, raising his voice as he announced, “Darien Lauchlin, the men and women of the Jenn have gathered to hear you speak. Say what you have come to say.”
Darien nodded, stepping forward. Raising his voice, he address all those gathered around. “Darius dreoch. My name is Grand Master Darien Lauchlin of the Order of Sentinels. I am here to ask you to lend your aid to your brothers and sisters from the north. We flee a land that has known only darkness for a thousand years. Our situation has become desperate—we have reached a crux. Either we flee the Black Lands, or we die of starvation. We no longer have a choice.”
He paused, sweeping his eyes over the gathered crowd. “The monarchies of the Rhen have decided that we should perish in darkness. No people deserve that. We don’t deserve that. We ask that you help us make a place for ourselves at your sides, where we can build homes and harvest food. A place where our children can grow to adulthood knowing the light of the sun.
“A thousand years ago, the horse tribes of the Khazahar formed the cavalry of Caladorn’s combined legions. Today, those same legions ask that you ride with us again. Help us claim this land for ourselves. Help us survive. We ask this of you, not only in the name of blood, but also in the name of decency.”
He backed away from the glow of the fires, while Ranoch moved forward to take his place. The war chief raised his voice and addressed his gathered people:
“The call of a Sentinel must be answered! It is our sacred duty to ride at his side! People of the Jenn, what say you?”
A thunderous cry went up as men and women surged to their feet, waving their arms and armaments in support of Ranoch’s request. The war horns and drums racketed back to life, booming above the commotion. The war chief turned back to Darien with a triumphant smile on his face.
“Warden Lauchlin, your request has been heard. Your people are welcome to our food, our fires, and our protection. We will ride by your side, and your enemies shall be our enemies. Together, we will conquer the North!”
Ranoch took him by the arm and led him away from the fires and the cacophony of the celebration. Darien followed him a little ways out into the dark shadows and cool air of the grassland. They paused under a stand of oak trees.
Looking back at the fires of the gathering, Darien told the war chief, “You have my thanks. Without you, we wouldn’t have received that kind of support.”
The man nodded, smiling wryly. “You owe me. Someday, I’ll ask you to return the favor.”
“Gladly.” Darien answered Ranoch’s smile with his own. Then he grew serious. Now that the treaty was secured, he could waste no time in ironing out the details. He said, “I’m going to need to divide our forces. Together, there are too many people for us to feed. If we split our numbers, we split our need for resources.”
Ranoch nodded. “That is wise.”
Darien continued, “The army of Maridur will remain behind to defend our train. The army of Bryn Calazar will continue southward and lay siege to Rothscard. I’ll take a smaller force south through the Vale of Amberlie to assault Glen Farquist. I ask that you divide your riders and travel with our armies.”
Ranoch took hold of his arm, clutching it in a two-handed grip. Solemnly, he promised, “We are yours. And you are ours, as it was a thousand years ago. The lost tribes of Caladorn have been reunited. We will always ride where you lead.”
15
Versions of Calamity
Naia stepped through the swirling colors of the membrane into the dark inner sphere of the Nexus. The transition reminded her of entering the Catacombs of Death: there was just a moment’s disorientation, as if the world shuddered and then stabilized. The curving walls within were the quintessence of black, and they enclosed her like a womb. The silvery tendrils pulsed once as if welcoming her into their midst, twirling and untwirling.
Tsula had arrived before her. The Harbinger stood in the dim nonlight that came from everywhere and cast no shadow. Folded in a bronze kaftan and absent her signature turban, Tsula looked like a cast human sculpture, standing bald and daunting in the center of the chamber. At the sight of Naia, Tsula gestured with her hand, commanding her forward.
“Today, I will teach you how to read.”
Naia knew Tsula wasn’t referring to letters or words. Her stomach twinged its apprehension. The Harbinger set her hands on Naia’s shoulders, turning her gently but firmly around and moving to stand behind her. Naia could feel Tsula’s breath against the back of her neck as her hands slid from her shoulders to grip her arms.
“Empty your mind, child.”
Naia closed her eyes and pushed her thoughts aside, until the only thing she saw within was blackness. In the absence of thought, her breathing became more relevant. Each swell and release of breath was like waves breaking and then retreating along a shoreline. She could feel her heartbeat in her temples: a serene and stately rhythm.
“Now, you must read each version of your Story in order.” The Harbinger’s voice was a low, whispering echo in her ear. “You cannot begin reading another version until the previous is complete. You cannot skip a version that might be painful and simply move on to the next. The Crescent will select the most probable versions first, but there can be thousands of subtle variations of each. You must learn to distinguish between them. Now. Prepare yourself. The first time is always the most difficult. For some, it is unbearable.”
Naia clenched her jaw as she felt the stabilizing grip of Tsula’s hands leave her arms. In her mind, there was only absence. Even the tides of her breath fell out of reach. Then, a faint glimmer of light slithered out of the blackness of nothing. A vine-like tendril uncurled before her, twisting and twining. It wound through the darkness, winding and coiling, the coils constricting around her. The darkness bled away, and her mind ran like quicksilver.
She groveled within a universe of agony, a downpour of tears raining from her eyes. Her fingers clawed at her scalp, trying to scrape away the infinite pain that seared her head. Quin clutched her tight against him, his hands running frantically over her in a vain attempt to soothe. But any comfort he could give was woefully inadequate. She was dying in agony, in terror. In futility.
Outside, the epitome of all storms—the storm that every other storm aspired to be—raged and ripped across the atmosphere. Thunder lashed against the windows, and lightning the color of blood sliced wounds in the air. The wind howled a monstrous wail as it rampaged across the earth, terrorizing the tree limbs, which fled wildly before it. The world itself screamed in mortal anguish, and Naia screamed with it.
“I�
��m here! I’ve got you!” Quin shouted over the fury of the wind.
But he didn’t have her. She was fading. The world was fading. And though it hurt, it didn’t matter. All was lost—they had lost—the world was lost. It was her fault. No, Quin’s fault. No, Kyel’s fault for abandoning them to the violence of the Reversal. Now all the men and women of Malikar would be beaten back into the Black Lands to starve in eternal darkness. Every mage was dying in torment, and every wonder they’d ever created would be erased from the world’s long memory. All was fading, all was dying. And she was dying with it.
“I can’t stand it!” she shrieked to the absent gods.
She could feel the magic field stretched around her to its thin limit. It cried out in protest, in defiance, in outrage. And then it ripped. Naia screamed her life away, feeling her mind heated to boiling inside her skull.
She opened her eyes, sobbing uncontrollably. A hand reached out and collected her into a cold embrace.
“What was that?” she wailed through terror and shock and inconsolable grief.
Tsula said without emotion, “That was the most likely ending of your Story.”
Naia shook her head against the woman’s shoulder. “No! That can’t happen! We can’t let that happen!”
Tsula drew back and, reaching up, wiped Naia’s tears from her eyes. Her face was as bland and expressionless as always. “Tell me what you saw.”
“The Reversal was happening. All the mages were dying. Magic was ending. And we didn’t break the Curse.”
The Harbinger simply nodded. “That confirms what I have seen. There are other versions still available to us, but for every second that passes, the more complete our Story becomes. And the more versions will be denied us. Soon, there will be only one version left to pen.”
She turned Naia back around. Taking her by the shoulders, Tsula commanded, “Try again.”
Drawing a deep breath, Naia closed her eyes.
The epitome of all storms—the storm that every other storm aspired to be—raged and ripped across the atmosphere. Thunder lashed against the cliffs, and lightning the color of blood sliced wounds in the air. The wind howled a monstrous wail as it rampaged through the mountains, terrorizing the clouds, which fled wildly before it. The world screamed in mortal anguish, and Naia screamed with it.
Quin was gone. He couldn’t help her anymore.
Sprawled in the center of Aerysius’ great Circle of Convergence, Darien lay in an expanding pool of blood. The blood was artery-red and voluminous—far more than one human body could possibly contain. It flowed into the gaps and crevices of the Circle’s rays, delineating the marble tiles with heightened contrast. The blood continued to advance, as if seeking to saturate the entire Circle. Or the entire world. Or the universe.
Zavier Renquist stood behind Naia and pushed her to her knees. In his hands, he held Quin’s scimitar. His face was slicked with blood, and his eyes gleamed with triumph. He drew the sword back over his shoulder, preparing to strike the death-blow that would end her life.
“Let the reign of Xerys begin!” he snarled, and cleaved Naia’s head off.
Naia opened her eyes, gasping for breath. She whirled back to Tsula. “Oh, gods! Do we have any chance at all?”
“We do,” the Harbinger assured her. Reaching up, she stroked a strand of hair back from Naia’s cheek. “What did you see?”
“Renquist sacrificed Darien on a Circle of Convergence. Something about his blood… He was trying to bring about the reign of Xerys. I didn’t understand any of it.”
“I think that is enough for one day,” Tsula said and turned away, her dark eyes wandering over the walls. All around the spherical room, silver tendrils curled and uncurled in infinite variations.
Naia nodded, feeling defeated. She did not want to read another version of her Story. At least, not today.
She fled back to Quin.
He wasn’t in his room. She found him in the library, sprawled across one of the sofas. He was leafing through a text with one hand, the other absently flipping a feathered quill.
“What is it?” he asked, seeing her face. He snapped the book closed and sat upright. “Did you see something…?”
Naia drew in a deep, steadying breath. She couldn’t tell him, not everything. Practically nothing. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered why she had sought him out at all. Wearily, she sank down beside him on the sofa.
He reached up and gently turned her face toward him. “Tell me what you saw.”
Naia pulled back, grimacing. “I can’t. If I do, then the things I saw might come to pass. And we can’t let that happen.”
Quin stared at her a long, hard moment, looking deeply into her eyes. At last, he nodded. “I’ll kill Tsula tonight, then.”
Naia gasped. “No. Not tonight—I still need her!”
Quin sucked in a cheek, looking uncertain. “But if you want to avoid the options you saw—”
“Give me one more day. I want to make certain I’ve learned everything I need to know from her.”
He looked decisively skeptical. “Do you die in every vision you have?”
“Of course.” Naia threw her hands up in exasperation. “That is the only way my own Story can end.” All he ever seemed to care about was her safety. Never mind what the stakes were, or that the future of an entire population might be in jeopardy.
“What about me?” he asked. “What do I do in these visions?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.” Naia bent over and picked up the text Quin had been reading. She glanced down at the title, but it was written in a language of glyphs she’d never seen before. She set the book aside.
Quin grumbled, “You’d better start telling me some of the things you see, before I destroy the world all over again out of ignorance.”
“I will when I find the right version for us,” Naia promised. She looked at him sadly, still haunted by what she saw. “Until then, there’s no sense worrying about futures that might never happen.”
“Come here,” he said, and pulled her down on the sofa with him. His hand rubbed her back soothingly. “You’ll get through this,” he assured her. “It might not seem like it now. But you will. And if you need me, I’ll be here for you. Like it or not.”
Naia rose with the dawn and made her way up the crystalline path to the Nexus. The sun had just started its climb into the sky, casting its light in vibrant hues of gold. The shadows clung to night’s chill, but the sunlight felt fierce and warm on her skin. Naia smiled, looking out across the volatile beauty of Athera’s Crescent, at the rippling patterns that swirled over its surface.
She wasn’t surprised to find Tsula already waiting for her.
“Are you ready to read another version of your Story?” the Harbinger asked. She smiled invitingly, an expression that seemed out of place on her face. Naia was taken aback. She tried to remember another time she had ever seen the woman smile and couldn’t think of one.
“I’m ready,” she said, adding with a sigh, “It is daunting, though. It seems we are destined to fail.”
Tsula shook her head. “There are versions still left to us, and all versions are governed by our choices. We will not run out of options until we run out of choices. And, until then, we cannot run out of hope.”
She beckoned Naia closer, her face growing grim. “I was a bit disturbed by one of the versions you read yesterday.”
“Which version?”
“You must remember to address me by my title,” Tsula reminded her.
She’d forgotten. “Which version, Warden Renquist?”
“The version in which my husband ends your life over a spreading pool of blood. It aligns with a version of my own Story that has always been highly unlikely… until now. Now, the Crescent deems it by far the most probable.”
That did worry Naia. Of the two versions she had foreseen, that was the one she feared most. She wasn’t sure why. Something about the images of the blood and the sword terrified her. It
was almost as though they were symbolic of something much more visceral.
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
Tsula glanced at her sharply. “It means that my husband has found a way to halt the Reversal of the magic field. Just as he tried to do a thousand years ago.”
Naia stood shocked. For a moment, she couldn’t react. That had never been a possibility before, at least none she had considered. Renquist had attempted such a feat a thousand years ago and had failed then—disastrously. And he no longer had Eight Servants nor eight Circles of Convergence to accomplish the act.
“How is that possible?” she whispered.
Tsula paced away, a frown of concern on her face. “I do not know. It would take the power of eight grand masters combined to stabilize the magic field. I do not know how, but it seems that my husband has found a way around it.”
Naia asked, “Pardon, but… Zavier Renquist is your husband. Do you not know his plans?”
The woman looked at her sideways, cocking an eyebrow.
Naia decided to press the issue. “To be blunt, Warden Renquist—I assume you are trying to help him.”
“Pfft!” the woman spat, scrunching up her face as if tasting something awful. “Of course not! Zavier Renquist is my husband. But any love I ever had for him died the day he murdered our daughter. Ever since then, I have not once looked upon his face.”
Naia gasped. “He murdered your daughter?”
Tsula regarded her flatly. “You do not know?”
“No….” Naia shook her head. “Why would I know?”
“Did Quinlan Reis never mention Amani?”
The name didn’t sound familiar. Until it did. Naia blinked, suddenly remembering the story Quin had told her when they’d first met. About a woman he’d loved, who had loved him back. But she had been forced to marry his brother and had died at Braden’s hand.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 124
