by Lexy Wolfe
He nodded solemnly. “And I was afraid to ask. You always put what I wanted first, but what I want…is what you want. I feared if I even asked, you would answer assuming what I wanted. If it is like what Storm and I have as th’yala who share pleasure and company but never children, or a season dance where we could part ways once a child was conceived—”
Her expression filled with horror. “I could never leave you if we had a child!”
Skyfire smiled. “Or a lifemate. But now that we are Guardians, I could not fathom the idea of you enduring life without me if we were tied soul to soul.” He explained, “I am still a Githalin Swordanzen. The odds something will kill me within a few years is as high now as before we got the Timeless One’s blessing.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Denying it won’t change anything, beloved. I am what I am. If you wish to please me, tell me what it is you truly want for yourself.”
After several long minutes, Lyra bit her lip. “I don’t…know. Is there nothing else? I mean, I don’t know about having children yet. I’m just…I’m just not ready! But I don’t want to never have any, either.”
He blinked. “You don’t want to have them with me to make your father angry?”
She shook her head. “I don’t care about my father. I care about you. I want my children to know love. They should not feel like they are tools to be used or cast aside. They shouldn’t be used as tools at all.”
He considered. “It is rare, but there are love mates. It is not as immutable as th’yala or lifemate.” He searched her eyes. “But it is…avoiding them until you choose otherwise.”
“I would like that.” She stood up on her toes to press her lips against his. He returned the affection with as much emotion as her. “A lot,” she murmured. With a small sound, he swept her up into his arms.
The massive network of caverns that comprised the Archives echoed with the high-pitched song of Petal as the forest sprite flew in lazy circles around Terrence. The oblivious young man startled when the senior archivist touched his shoulder. “Oh! Master Ranshya. Forgive me, I did not notice you.”
The woman’s bright smile lit up her face. “You are forgiven, of course, Illaini Dusvet. I wondered if you would be so kind as to, ah, convince your tiny companion to save her songs for the trees? Outside?”
“Huh?” At that moment, Petal swooped close with a particularly resonating shrill. “Oh, dear goddess, I am so sorry. I did not realize she followed me today. Petal!”
Her singing stopped immediately and the sprite zipped back to hover in front of him. She smiled and waved at the woman. “Hello, Master Ranshya!”
Ranshya’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Hello, Petal.” She offered a respectful bow to him. “Thank you and good day, Dusvet.”
Before Petal could resume her flight and song, Terrence grabbed her out of the air. “Would you stop singing for a little while? Not everyone appreciates your songs. They are distracting the others here.”
The sprite’s expression fell, contrite. “Petal sorry. Petal thought song would make place less gloomy.”
“It isn’t gloomy, it’s quiet,” he stated evenly as he resume his stroll through the archives. “I came down here because I was trying to find a way that would let us all communicate with each other no matter how far apart we are.” He sighed, looking in the vague direction of the dormitory. “And you could cut the tension with a knife since Kendle is still there and Storm has not awoken yet.”
“Warrior will wake up! Petal sure!”
He considered his response as they headed toward the racial archives. “I very much hope so, Petal. I know she is strong but she has come close to death so many times just since I’ve known her. It must be very hard on her. Most people I’ve heard about who’ve suffered grievous injuries were never quite the same again. I worry she won’t be as strong one day and a fight she should win will…” He shook his head. “I should not dwell on such things.”
Zhekali’s heir.
He had started to turn toward the Forentan hall when the whisper stopped him. Petal tugged a strand of hair. “What?”
“You didn’t hear that?” He looked down both the Forentan and Desanti halls, then peered around the archway to the main archives, but no other was near them. “I thought I heard someone whisper to me.”
“Petal not hearing anything,” the sprite stated. “Maybe Terrence thinking hear whispers because worrying so much.”
“I am not imagining things!” His voice was little more than a hiss of irritation. “I know I heard something.”
Zhekali’s heir.
“There it is again! Are you certain you didn’t hear anything?”
“Petal sure! Only hear you,” she assured.
Terrence backed toward the plain wall flanked by the two racial tunnel entrances. He stared into the main chamber of the archives, he muttered, “I know I’m not going crazy.” Without warning, he felt something grab his robes and yank him backwards. He did not even have a chance to yelp before he fell through the wall as though it were no denser than the curtain of a gentle waterfall. Petal grabbed his hair, her wings buzzing with her vain effort to pull him back.
A smooth, cold hand covered his mouth to muffle his cry of surprise. Petal squeaked and dove to hide in his pocket. He flailed to regain his balance and get away from his captor. His heart thudded in his chest as he turned, then felt as though it skipped a beat as he stared at the place he found himself.
Unearthly structures of spun crystal rose from the floor to others that reached down from the ceiling to create luminescent pillars. Rough granite embraced lightning-like veins of pastel marble. Plant life unlike any he had seen clustered in patches around faceted sunstones on low, etched columns. The sound of running water echoed through the chamber. “Where…am I?” he asked in a bare whisper.
“This is the divine archive, when the Roylat still served the Timeless One as protectors of the mortal world,” a serene, feminine voice by his shoulder answered. He turned and took several steps back from a woman who appeared cast from colored glass. Even the garments she wore resembled spun glass. She smiled faintly and, with a hand over her heart, she bowed slightly at her waist. “I am Bastille, the voice of Fortress.”
“Voice? Like the Voice of the Oracle Stone speaks for the Knowing One?” She nodded with an amused smile. “The mountain is alive?” he blurted out, gaping.
“Of course it is. How else would it grow and change as the world changed?” She tilted her head. “Do you think the gods have time to fuss with a single mountain continuously?”
Terrence felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “I, uh, never really thought much about it, to be honest.” He shivered when her smooth, cold fingers touched his chin, turning his face up to meet her gaze again.
“You would have eventually, because that is who you are. I have been alive for quite a while. It is difficult for me to perceive time through the eyes of those whose wakeful existences and memories are so brief.” She turned and followed a well-worn path. “Come. They are waiting.”
“’They?’ Who are ‘They?’” he asked. He looked back toward the smooth, plain wall. “Why don’t I feel the others of my tribe?” His wonder fled in anger. “Did you break my tie to them?”
“No. They are still there. However, they are in the mortal realm, and this is a divine one. Time flows differently here,” Bastille replied. “The mistress slowed its flow around this place even more because She knew you would be alarmed when I brought you here, and those tied to you would sense it. It would not have gone well for Zhekali to attempt to seek her lost one in her current condition. I am sure the others of your tribe would be as distraught in seeking you. The Guardians are rightly sensitive to the memories that live here coming to any sort of harm.”
“She is not Zhekali.” Terrence made the correction out of reflex, his brief anger swallowed by curious wonder, taking in the surreal surroundings. “She is Storm il’Thandar.”
Bastille glanced
over her shoulder, her eyes sad. “You do not understand the passion that burns within your chieftess. She will sacrifice everything to protect those she loves. Everything. She always has. Who she is or when she was, she fiercely protects them.” She looked forward again. “To find you here, she would become Zhekali again. And in finding you, she would lose all of you because the divine edicts demand distance between mortals and immortals. It would do more than break her heart. It would crush her spirit, and only oblivion would give her peace. The ancient trinity cannot afford to lose her.”
His attention had focused on the crystalline woman’s back, losing interest in his surroundings to listen to her words. “The Raging One would go mad in His grief. As would the Totani.” He shook his head. “The great balance would collapse and the world would die. All for one woman.”
“She is more than a mere woman. All of you are more than merely what you define yourselves as. One day, perhaps, you will understand the truth. For now, yes. Your perception is correct. Zhekali’s value to the ancient trinity is considerable. They were not only willing to break divine edict stop the curse that had entrapped her, but deemed the repercussions less damaging than permitting things to end as they would have, had her lifemate not completed healing her soul.”
Terrence frowned. “What would have happened?”
Bastille stopped before a trio of platforms; one bearing a large boulder; the second, a pool of water; and the third, a pool of molten rock so hot, the air above it swirled chaotically. She turned to face him. “Zhekali and Avarian’s souls were being reborn in bodies that most closely echoed the ones they had perished in. Aelia na’Zhekali is the last of her mortal bloodline. Had she died, her soul would never have returned. Eventually, ceased existing at all.”
“Even if the Raging One would not have lost Himself in His grief over losing Zhekali, Avarian’s line would have died out with his current incarnation. He would have avoided taking on a mate, never sired children, grieving a loss he would not have consciously understood.”
“But Jaison could carry on the na’Zhekali bloodline. And Ellis is Ash’s granduncle.” Terrence crossed his arms. “It would not have completely died out.”
“Perhaps not. But it would have taken considerable time for a descendant of Jaison to come close to being nearly Zhekali physically. It is uncertain what would have happened if Avarian was reborn, but she was not as they had been. I’m not sure it would be possible and waiting too long to be reborn risks the soul fading into oblivion.
“Such is the nature and danger of lifemating. I cannot even begin to explain what the repercussions would have been with their losses.” She smiled in reassurance. “But that is the past and none of it happened, thankfully.” She turned toward the strange platforms, putting her hands palm to palm over her heart and bowing. “I have brought him as You requested.”
The young man jumped back a half step as the rock unfolded, fire and air swirled together and water coalesced into the form of a mermaid. Unable to think clearly, he dropped to one knee, dropping his head in deep respect.
“So, this is Zhekali’s heir Tristan?” the Unchanging One asked, skepticism in Her gravelly voice. “It is obvious he has been reborn. Several times since the Second Sundering. It has changed him. He is not who he had been.” She crossed Her arms. “I am not impressed.”
The fiery figure rolled His glowing blue eyes toward the ceiling. “No one impresses You.” He focused his gaze on Terrence. “Be at ease, youth. You are not in trouble and We do not punish without cause. Order perpetually sounds unhappy.” Glowing white eyes narrowed as She glared at Her sibling.
The Timeless One shook Her head and gave a gentle smiled to the human. “You must forgive My siblings. It has been a very long time since either has directly interacted with mortals. They entrusted the world to the divine servants and younger gods and felt They need not interfere.” She looked at the pair. “Or pay closer attention to what was happening.”
“I admit remaining isolated was a mistake! Look what Desantiva and Forenta had allowed to happen,” the Unchanging One exclaimed. “It has gotten so far out of balance, it could collapse if We do not ensure things are mended properly.”
“Do You really want to relive the First and Second Sunderings, Order?” the Changing One asked in droll tones. “I, for one, have no desire for that one’s return born of anger with Us for blaming others and taking none for Ourselves.”
White eyes narrowed. “Fine, Chaos. We are also at fault. Regardless,” She began.
“You both do realize whom You are arguing in front of.” Ice edged the Timeless One’s otherwise mild tone. She gestured toward Terrence, who took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide. “You would do well to remember Tristan. He does not need bloodline to bear the mantle of Zhekali’s heir.” The two quieted, averting Their gazes.
The watery figure turned a gentle smile to the young man. “You are not in trouble. We seek your assistance.”
“…My assistance?” he echoed. “But You are…gods. The first gods! I am just a mortal.”
“A mortal who bears three divine marks,” the Changing One pointed out. He looked at the Unchanging One. “Which should more than compensate for having been reborn several times. You must get over Your prejudice against change, dear Sister. Humans are quite clever when they need to adapt.” The rocky being waved a dismissive hand in irritation.
Terrence took a half step forward, his hands held out in a plaintive gesture. “I bear three divine marks, but I do not even know what that means! Only a short time ago, I was just a lowly, naïve apprentice mage. Suddenly, I became Githalin, senior journeyman than master and Illaini, and now.”
He touched the metallic marks on his right cheek. “Now I am also a Dusvet Guardian.” He frowned at the three surprised gods, not noticing Bastille covering a smile on her lips at his scolding tones. “I can’t even begin to explain how inadequate I feel, and now you are expecting me to do something You cannot?” He crossed his arms, scowling. “Or are You just being lazy and foisting jobs off on someone You can blame for his failure and absolve Yourselves?”
“No question,” the Unchanging One stated in grudging tones. “He is Zhekali’s heir. No one else would be so brazen.” She grunted and stepped back. “I am satisfied.”
“As am I,” the Changing One added. “We will abide by Your decision, Time. He is worthy to serve Us.”
Terrence’s eyes widened in shock. “Dear gods, no!” he exclaimed, startling the trio. Bastille turned away, light shimmering off her shoulders as she repressed outright laughter. “No more divine marks! Please, no. The heightened awareness from these three is nearly more than I can manage now! I cannot endure more.”
“We need not bind you to Us directly,” the Changing One stated, His surprise easing into amused reassurance. “You are already bound through Our younger siblings, who are a part of both of Us, and your own desire to protect the world.” He paused, turning to the Unchanging One. They touched palms together.
The Timeless One raised Her cupped hands to catch the small object that fell from Their palms. “Take this as a holy altar to Us. It will permit you to reach out to Us, if you have need to speak with Us. We will answer, aid if We can. Remember. Even We are bound by the divine laws.”
Hesitating a heartbeat, he stepped forward and lowered his eyes as the Timeless One draped the pendant around his neck. He touched it gingerly, then cupped the small, wire-wrapped object to study. A spark of light swirled within the heart of a perfect crystalline structure with multiple triangular faces. He looked up at the three, confused. “But what do you expect me to do? I am little more than a novice in anything. Most of the other na’Zhekali have more power than I could dream of having. And experience—”
“Humility is a fickle virtue to embrace.” The Unchanging One’s tones were several degrees kinder. “One to be practiced with great caution, else you risk hobbling yourself with either arrogance or timidity. Take care you look at yourself through objective eye
s. As much as is possible.”
“Tell me, youth. Are you stronger now than when you were born?” the Changing One asked, his voice echoing the kindness that touched his counterpart’s. “Are you the same as you were then? Will you be the same as you age?”
“I am not the same as I was then, no. But, I am a Dusvet Guardian,” he pointed out. “I will not grow old like I would have before. My body will age more slowly unless I use temporal energy.”
“Unsvet Guardians age,” the Timeless One corrected in mild tones. “Because they do not possess within them the balance that both marks bestow. It is very slow aging, yes. But it is still aging.” Her cold fingers brushed his right cheek, leaving a trail of dampness in their wake. “Dusvet Guardians do not age physically unless they choose to or overextend themselves while wielding temporal energy without taking time to recover, requiring My direct aid to correct. You will age until your physical prime, then you will stop. Some of the others will regress. It will be the same for all of you.”
Terrence frowned, tilting his head. “That is why Almek nearly died? Because he overextended himself? Not because of how old he is?”
The temporal goddess was thoughtful. “He was more a victim of a compounding of the weight of years and overextending himself. However, there are many subtle reasons he aged. Perhaps the most profound reason was loneliness. He has been the only Dusvet Guardian for a very long time in mortal perception. Even We have known the weariness of the soul that one feels only oblivion can soothe. But My Sentinel is no longer alone now because you and your tribe overcame the obstacles of your trials to earn My blessings through your colors.”
With a heavy sigh, Terrence looked away. “I was not tested. Kendle said they did not dare because—”
“Do you think not?” the Timeless One asked with serenity. “Or do you believe, as many do, that Guardians are only tested within the mountains of the imprisoned Roylat?” She smiled when he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again, frowning very much like Ash would, pondering Her words. “The task We ask of you is not simple. We do not expect you to accomplish it alone nor to do so quickly, anymore than We expect the task set to Aelia na’Zhekali to be completed with swiftness. The task is as much a part of you as it is woven through existence, because it is difficult for Us to look at the world objectively.”
