The Unforeseen One

by Lexy Wolfe

  “Thandar loved your father. Even if he railed against his sending you away. It was divinely permitted and…necessary to protect you. And the tribe, even if no one realized it then.” Storm smiled at the question in his eyes. “Hunter was one of the few normal humans he shared a bond with.”

  “Oh. I see.” Jaison sighed. “Well, I suppose it makes it less confusing then, hm?” He raised his cup to Storm in a salute, both ignoring the confusion of some of the others. She returned the gesture with a knowing grin.

  “You are suggesting we become part of the Tyluran?” Jarota pursed her lips. “Perhaps that would be a sufficient connection for Su’alin needs.”

  “At least until such time that understanding of our Path comes to the tribes. Maybe one day, they will welcome having Su’alin among them instead of having to track down a tribe during their migrations.” Star met Jarota’s gaze. “No one should be forced to walk any Path. But perhaps spiritwalkers might be seen as the warriors protecting their tribes in the dreamscape as others do in the waking world.”

  Jarota studied the younger woman with narrow eyes. “I have known you all your life, Githain Su’alin. Even without Citali’s gift, I know the intention behind your words. I am no leader.”

  “I disagree.” Skyfire took out the tasad. “You did what you could to protect the others from our father’s vagaries. You know the traditions, but you are willing to consider new patterns. I do not know anyone who would be more suited to take Roshisan’s place.”

  The murmurs around the table grew as several of the former tribe encouraged Jarota to accept the mantle. She held up her hands to bring silence to the group. “This is not a decision to be made lightly or in haste. Allow me to meditate on it.”

  “Of course. Once our meal is finished, I will show you where you may go while we remain here.”

  Jarota blinked. “We will be permitted to leave? I…had thought…” She shook her head. “Forgive me, Githalin Dusvet. How long do we have here?”

  Storm yawned, stretching stiffly. “When Keeper informs us our presence is no longer desired.”

  Marcus walked up to the huge Sevmanan, clearing his throat and waiting until the man turned his pensive gaze to him. “Excuse me, Dusvet Guardian. Githalin Storm asked me to tell you she wished to speak with you.”

  “Of course.” He looked away from the group of Su’alin in the courtyard below, watched over by Windsong, Pacer, and Rockspar. “Is she in the sleeping area?”

  “No, sir. I’ll take you to her.” They walked through the main room they had dined in the day before to a side stairway. It curled upward and ended in an antechamber before another set of two doors. “She is in there, Dusvet.” At the man’s arched eyebrow, the boy smiled at the unspoken question. “Only those invited are allowed inside.”

  “I see. Thank you, Apprentice.” He pushed the door open, surprised at the ease it moved with. As it gently swung shut on its own once he stepped past it, he stopped short to stare. Water flowed from a channel along the wall in the high-ceilinged room onto a statue of the Timeless One. Her hands were raised to catch it, flowing down her form into the dark pool central to the chamber. Storm sat on the top step across from the statue by the prone body of Ash, her hand resting on his.

  Near her, Nolyn paced with his arms crossed. He looked up at Tyrsan. “Ah, good. Marcus found you.” He turned to Storm. “Do you want me to leave?”

  The young woman shook her head. “No. You are as close to a Forentan representative as we have here. He…cannot speak on your people’s behalf right now.” She squeezed her lifemate’s hand. “And I know he trusts your perspective without question.”

  Tyrsan found his voice, having barely noticed Storm and Nolyn’s conversation. “There is…a temple to the Timeless One here?” He frowned at her. “You and Skyfire had known about this the whole time you were in Fortress? And you said nothing, even after…”

  “No. Just me.” She looked up at him, waving him to sit across from her. “Only Githalin had been permitted to see this place. All others who Keeper invited required blindfolds if they wished to leave. He has made an exception this time because of the changes since Almek went beyond First Home.”

  The man sat, but his frown remained, changing from nascent anger to perplexed. “But there are Desanti servants here who—”

  “They never leave the white tower. When they are chosen to serve here, they die here.” Storm closed her eyes, the lines of exhaustion having lifted little. “It is an honor, but a sacrifice as well, for there are no battles here. No blood may be spilled. No struggle to live, no means to die but of old age.”

  “Is peace so abhorrent to Desanti?” Nolyn asked, as much curious as dismayed.

  “It is not a matter of war and peace,” Tyrsan answered. “But testing one’s fitness and strength against others or the land itself. Death is only acknowledging that one is too tired or no longer strong enough to take from the land, so it is giving one’s self back to it. There can be no change, no growth, without something that forces it.”

  Storm’s appreciation showed through her smile. “You understand my people.”

  Tyrsan smiled faintly. “I have had much the same personal philosophy. It took me most of this journey to realize an entire people shared it.” His amusement faded. “But why can they never leave? Serving the Timeless One should not be considered a death sentence.”

  “To serve is not a condemnation. It is a great honor, but it is also a sacrifice to us. As is service to the gods, because there are things that must be given up.” She waved a hand. “This place is the most sacred, vital secret of the Desanti people. No risk of revealing what was here was permitted. I only understood the entirety of what this place was when I saw the archives within Fortress, especially those of my people.”

  She took a breath, exhaling loudly, as if summoning strength. “In the aftermath of the Great War, the Timeless One accepted the Raging One’s desire to withdraw from the world. To be forgotten so He, the land and His children had time to heal from the deep wounds suffered.”

  Nolyn smirked. “A little hard to be forgotten when there is a place filled with detailed, written records about you.”

  Tyrsan sighed. “You do have a point.”

  Storm’s eyes remained on Ash as she spoke. “When I would come here, Keeper asked me the same thing. I always answered no. Alanis Tyluri Garyt relayed it to me in First Home during the Time of Gathering. This time, I had no answer.”

  “What was the question?” Tyrsan and Nolyn asked in unison.

  “Is the world ready for Desantiva’s children to return to it?” a male voice asked from across the pool. Both men looked up sharply, staring at the strange man regarding them from the water. He emerged from the pool by the statue, his lower half much like the Timeless One’s mermaid tail. Tan mingled with pale blues and oranges from his hair to his fins. His eyes, however, were an almost glowing aqua in their intensity. “Is it time for the archive of the temporal mistress to be returned to Her First Home in the realm of mortals?”

  “Keeper, this is Tyrsan.” She gestured toward him. “And this is Nolyn. I trust their opinions more than my own in regards to your question.”

  “I would think you would know better since you’ve been out in the world to see for yourself,” Nolyn observed. He held up his hands at her annoyed glare. “I’m not trying to avoid answering. I just do not feel qualified to render such a judgment.”

  Storm sighed. “I cannot because I am biased. I still feel we do not belong out there, nor does anyone belong here. My head knows nothing would be perfect, but my heart would leap at any falter. Any misstep. Anything unfortunate and hold it as proof things should return to the way they have always been.”

  “You don’t believe your people are ready to face the world.” Tyrsan rested his hand on her knee. “Your opinion is hardly a matter of bias. You have experienced the prejudice beyond Desantiva for yourself.”

  She covered Tyrsan’s hand, looking up at the mage. “But I c
annot say that my experience would be the same for all now. Not all of us are unready. Star proves that some might acclimate to the world outside Desantiva well. You prove that some outlanders might accept us ‘savages.’”

  Nolyn exhaled. “Not easily. And not everyone is so willing to show tolerance. We do not even show it for our own people most times.”

  “None of you believe the world is ready, nor is Desantiva ready for the world. This answer is not satisfactory.” The two men jumped when Keeper spoke again, having forgotten he was still there. “Things cannot remain as they are. Fortress cannot continue without representation from all four lands. Desantiva can no longer be forgotten, nor can Desantiva ignore the world.”

  Nolyn held out his hands toward Keeper. “But you can’t just throw them all back together at once! You may as well throw cats into a half filled rain barrel. It’d be just as bloody.” Storm looked at the man with a confounded expression, utterly confused at the analogy. Keeper crossed his arms, arching an elegant eyebrow at the mage.

  Tyrsan coughed into his hand, hiding his grin. “I do agree that trying to reunite the estranged nations needs to be done, but I do not think doing so quickly is wise. A more gradual introduction to one another would be best.”

  Keeper’s impassive regard fixed on the Sevmanan warrior. “How do you suggest such an introduction proceed, Dusvet Guardian?”

  “The biggest problem has always been a lack of communication and understanding.” He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. “And assumptions to fill in what was unknown. It made it easy for those who wished to fan the flames of hostility to make lies into facts. They could tell exaggerations that made even the most inane lie appear plausible.”

  As he started pacing, Nolyn took his place on the step by Storm and Ash. “Education is the best course of action. Understanding the truths and fallacies of the other lands, learning what is believed of your own culture, not to feed the misconceptions that cause strife.”

  With a small smile, Keeper nodded. “You are as passionate as you are wise, Dusvet Tyrsan. I know you have earned the respect of many of the warrior folk with your physical prowess. Would you be willing to bear the mantle of Dulain once more and serve the temporal mistress here in the Citadel?”

  Tyrsan spun back so quickly he nearly hurt himself. “What? I mean, I would be honored but I’m Dusvet,” he responded in reflex.

  “The number of colors you bear matters nothing to the position you hold for Her. When the numbers of Dusvets swells, the Dulain of Sanctuary within Fortress may well bear two colors again.” Keeper added, no smile on his lips. “And only a Dusvet would overrule an Unsvet with less argument over age or seniority.”

  “You once told me you wished to find the lost Desanti archives, Tyrsan.” Storm approached him, putting a light hand over his heart. “Would you not wish to protect them, be able to learn from them, while guiding the descendants of Fortress’ vanished Guardians of Time to return to Her service once more?” She asked with a firm tone, “Are you not na’Zhekali?”

  He sighed with a weak smile, clasping her hand, squeezing it as his shoulders sagged in defeat. “You are impossible to argue with, Alanis.”

  “Only when you know I am right.” She looked at Keeper. “You have my answer. I entrust my tlisan to learn our history and not betray our faith in him to help guide the people to learning new patterns needed to accept and be accepted by the outlands.”

  “Come then. Allow me to introduce you to your charges.” One of the two doors framing the pool opened. Keeper dove and disappeared in the darkness. Tyrsan hesitated only until Storm made a shooing gesture.

  He managed a smile. “Thank you, Aelia. I have no words to—”

  “You do not need them.” She put her hand over her heart. “I know. Now go. Those silly books are waiting for you.” He nodded, rubbing one eye with his fist impatiently and leaving a damp trail on his cheek as he walked through.

  Nolyn jumped up, catching Storm before she collapsed. “You are pushing yourself too hard,” he scolded, walking her back to Ash’s side. “I always told Ash he needed someone as strong as you to keep up with him.” Glancing at the still unconscious, aged man, he shook his head and wagged a finger at her. “This was not what I meant.”

  “I know.” She sighed, looking at her lifemate, running her fingers along his cheek. “So much has changed. How do I face the world now. All my patterns are broken.”

  The Guardian mage inhaled deeply, grasping her hand and pressing a kiss into her palm. “We will discover that…together…my Swordanzen.”

  “Ash!” The two said in unison. Nolyn smiled, keeping a hand on his brother’s back when Storm threw her arms around his neck, keeping them both from tumbling into the fathomless pool. When she finally loosened her embrace, she looked up into his eyes. “Are you ready to go home? I have this strange need to hear Miss Kelafy scold and claim I am not eating enough.” He embraced her as she rested her head on his chest. “And sleep in our bed. Though it will be crowded with Skyfire and Lyra as well.”

  Nolyn frowned. “Now wait. Are you racing to see who is going to cross the blade first? Neither of you are in any shape to ride, much less open a portal!”

  “They don’t need to.” Terrence walked in, Petal and Nim riding on his shoulders. Behind him, Izkynder bolted to the pair, trailed by Chitta and the other chitan that followed them. “I can do it for them.”

  Ash stared as he shifted to get to his feet. The young man caught the other by the arm, helping him remain standing as he studied him, a shaking hand touching his hair and his cheek. “Is this what…Tristan would have looked like?”

  Terrence nodded with a sad smile. “Avarian and Zhekali never got to see their youngest son grow up. Sorry I can’t give that back to them.”

  “But why? How?”

  “The why is…complicated. The how is—”

  “More complicated,” Nolyn replied in dry tones as he let Storm lean on him. Terrence guided Ash out of the chamber ahead of them. “If I didn’t know he was not your blood son, I would swear he inherited being difficult from you.”

  Terrence laughed. “There is someone you need to meet before you go back to Forenta.” The large room was empty save for two figures in the moonlight in the center of the room. Both turned, their wings fanning slightly as they bowed. “Ash, this is Trisari Thesrial and her and Thandar’s daughter Nachalya.”

  “It is an honor to meet my guide’s reborn parents. Please, allow me to serve you.” The young divine servant waved her arms wide, wings unfurling to full extension. A low table appeared with pillows and a steaming teapot with several delicate cups.

  Ash stared for many long minutes before he blinked. “I think…no. I know I need to sit down for this.” A moment of realization dawned and he looked at Storm. “Aelia. Thandar and you…are you…?”

  “We are whole,” she confirmed. “And my choice is mine to make when I wish. No one will attempt to bring Zhekali back.” She stumbled, leaning into Nolyn with a grimace. “For now, there is much Terrence wishes to tell us about what happened to him. And us.” He nodded, accepting a cup of tea as he gave his former apprentice his full attention.

  Lexy Wolfe is the author of the epic fantasy books of The Sundered Lands Saga and Doom and the Warrior. After her time in the Army as a Russian linguist, she continues to serve as a translator between technical and business folks. Lexy enjoys learning about everything, with a special love of all fields of science. Having set aside a childhood dream, inspired by Carl Sagan, of becoming an astronaut and traveling to other worlds, she now weaves vivid worlds and vibrant characters into intricate stories.

 

 

 
ale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share