by Kyrja
Giya’s Betrayal
Book Three of the Firebird’s Daughter Series
By Kyrja
Dedication
For Charming, who loves to listen to me read.
Text Copyright @2017, Kyrja
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/RLSather
Table of Contents
Chapter One – Brothers and Bondmates
Chapter Two – Unshattered
Chapter Three – Sov Remembers
Chapter Four – Ahadi
Chapter Five – Sounds of the Sea
Chapter Six – Unpleasant Accident
Chapter Seven – Deceptions
Chapter Eight – Evolution
Chapter Nine – Sakari’s War
Chapter Ten – Nowhere to Hide
Chapter Eleven – Denit’s Father
Chapter Twelve – Giya’s Ultimatums
Chapter Thirteen – Chared’s Moment
Chapter Fourteen – Blood Magic
Chapter Fifteen – False Emperor
Chapter Sixteen – Lumas Speaks
Chapter Seventeen – The Tadashi Child
Chapter Eighteen – Nohoyo’s New Goddess
Chapter Nineteen – Fire Tenders and Kasais
Chapter Twenty – Crystal Memories
Chapter Twenty–One – Death’s Sure Touch
Chapter Twenty-Two – God of the Seas
Chapter Twenty-Three – Raito Rises
Chapter Twenty-Four – Epilogue
Glossary
People
Chapter One – Brothers and Bondmates
Sitting herself down in the chair she often used when she could no longer tolerate the confines of being enclosed in a small room, Siri Ventus, the Goddess of Wind, allowed herself a moment or two to compose her scattered thoughts. Here, on the roof of the building where she had only recently taken up residence, the air was clean and clear, but it had taken more of an effort than she would have liked to reach her destination. She had long ago accepted her blindness as a simple fact of her life, but that didn’t mean she had necessarily enjoyed the experience. In the centuries since she had taken his blindness for herself, she had taken solace that her brother no longer suffered the debilitating visions that had accompanied his lack of sight. But never had she been grateful for the inability to look through her own eyes to see the world around her.
Serat Caeli. Although his name was ever in her heart and mind, it had never passed her lips since last she had looked upon his face, some several hundred years ago. It was odd, she mused, how she could still remember details from when they were young, and even recall the sound of his laughter. Despite his terrible affliction and horrific visions, in those moments when he was lucid and aware, he had ever been one to find something to laugh about. He would gasp as the visions stopped their mad march across his mind’s eye and then he would smile at her. There was a special quality to the sound he made when he gasped that had always alerted her the visions had stopped. At least for the moment. Serat, her twin, had been born without sight in the physical world. Plagued with sudden, searing visions of the past, present, and future intersecting each other in a dizzying disarray, the images were less than useless, and often a source of great distress for her ever-so-slightly younger brother. And for her. The smile he gave her when released from the horrors visited upon him had been the most-precious of treasures to Siri. He, though, had only ever seen her smile once she could no longer see his, when she had taken his blindness upon herself.
She had been frightened that the terrifying visions would accompany the blindness, but she’d done it just the same. The inability to see had been alarming enough in its own right, but Siri had been grateful, as time passed, to discover she would not have to endure the same plight as her brother had. They were both surprised to discover the visions no longer belonged to Serat either. She had spent long hours over the past many years contemplating what they’d lost by eliminating the visions altogether. Perhaps many of the great mysteries of the Universe would have been revealed to Serat. Were they nothing more than his dreams? Or had they been prophecies? Perhaps new ideas and concepts! No matter, she often scolded herself. The important thing – the only thing of importance whatsoever – was that she had provided her brother with a life absent of the images which had driven him insane.
With her eyelids closed, she tilted her head back, feeling the gentle breeze upon the skin of her face. It was fully dark she knew, and she didn’t need eyes to know that the moon was on fire. Lumas was a powerful deity, perhaps the most-powerful she had ever encountered; that she was now engulfed in flame was evidence enough to Siri that her aid was, indeed, urgently required. Still, she hesitated a moment longer, considering. Perhaps her wisest course of action would be to leave after all. And why not? It was still possible Amphedia and the others might defeat Sov, or push him far enough away that he could do no more harm.
And yet, the smile she remembered so fondly on the face of her brother returned to her over and over, reminding her she had never seen her granddaughter, Nieva, smile. Sighing, Siri Ventus stood, raising her arms. East she faced, ever east. The east wasn’t solely the domain of the Sun God, although so few remembered it was the rising wind from the east which so often brought new beginnings and a whisper of hope. Inhaling deeply, she called out her brother’s name.
* * * * * * * *
The night sky was eerie and unsettling, reminiscent of standing near a blazing fire, but without the heat. Tyran shivered, despite the warmth of the night. Given normal circumstances, she knew she would usually be wrapped in heavier clothing, with near-frozen toes, given that her winter shoes had worn out last year and she hadn’t yet replaced them, but the weather was still mild despite the lateness of the season. Honsa had harped on the changing weather for years, a topic which she found tedious and boring, of course. His patience was renown, and often insufferable, but, she had to admit, he’d often been right even when she had wished he hadn’t been. Nor did he ever gloat or make her feel as though she’d been impatient. He had often gone out of his way to tell her how much he valued her opinion, even when hers was completely opposite of his own. Rarely had she taken him at his word. She wondered what he would have to say about the spectacle taking place above them now. Surely, no matter where he was in the world, he would be witnessing the same terrifying scene she was.
She couldn’t help but to shiver once more, reliving both the awe and the terror of having watched Amphedia transform into the … she wasn’t even sure what to call it … the creature she had become. Something similar to a bird, she supposed, but only if a bird could be said to be terrifying. If Amphedia, the Goddess of the Seas, had been intimidating when she had transformed into a towering version of herself made completely of water, with dangerous lashing tentacles, then she had been tenfold as terrible as some kind of bird-like creature. Tyran had been sure she was going to die when the Storm Goddess had first arrived in the village, demanding answers to questions nobody had asked in several generations. Especially once the Storm Goddess had aimed her ire directly at her. She could feel her scalp tingle even now remembering when Amphedia had trained her angry green eyes in her direction.
But when the goddess had transformed into the bird-like creature, Amphedia had done nothing to suggest her intention to harm anyone at all. Just the size of her had been overwhelming. Who c
ould possibly have guessed she could do such a thing? Not in all the dreams Tyran had visited, had she ever felt so completely paralyzed. And yet, there was a part of her had that wanted desperately to reach out and touch the creature she had become. Despite the enormous claws, beak, and barbed tail, she had been mesmerized, and even enchanted. To have witnessed such a thing was thoroughly awe-inspiring.
She had watched the creature take flight, becoming even larger as she had flown further and further away, stunned. She’d wanted to call out to her to come back, to take her with her, to let her fight at her side. It was a childish notion, of course, but a very real desire. She’d thought of Honsa then, and Ordan. And even Ceirat. How could she not? She’d wanted to share her experiences with her fellow mezhdu , so they would feel the same amazement. She had wondered, too, if they were experiencing the wash of fear from the people they were with. Each of them would feel it differently, especially poor Ordan. If the people they were with were reacting to Amphedia’s flight the way her own people were, he might very well be overwhelmed with their emotions.
Tentatively, she reached out to him through the bond they shared. She rarely reached out to any of them, and when she did, she almost always chose to bond with Honsa. He was the least-likely to be startled or angry for her intrusion. But she knew how deeply Ordan felt the emotions others imposed on him, and hoped to be able to provide him with a little extra stability in what she was sure would be a time of need for him. She knew he would also be able to feel her own fears, but she had long ago learned she could trust him not to betray her. Nor, she had been surprised to discover, did he hold her own prejudices against her. She had found it impossible to trust him for quite some time because he was so much younger than the rest of them, and often lacked what she considered to be appropriate decorum and attentiveness to the serious matters the four of them were charged with considering. And yet, despite their differences, Ordan had fit in smoothly with all of them. Sometimes she even thought, perhaps, the other three fit better together without her. Ordan, though, had privately assured her that she was as important and as welcome as everyone else was. And he had been the only one of them to turn to her for help privately.
There were few who would hesitate to consult with Honsa because of his connection to the land, no matter their fear of the answers he might provide. And many actively sought Ceirat’s special insight in deciding whether future endeavors might bring fruition or ruin. Few, though, cared to ask for Ordan’s thoughts, fearful he would expose their own emotions in ways that would make them feel vulnerable or weak. And her own magical specialty was the least-sought after of all, no matter how she worked to get people to trust her. Dreams could be frightening, no matter if they were true visions of the future, or simply vivid nightmares created by fear of one’s own vulnerabilities. And sometimes, they were echoes of a past the dreamers had never experienced themselves. People whose ancestors were magical beings, she had discovered, were subject to dreams of places, events, and people the dreamers themselves could never have witnessed, no matter if the dreamer possessed magical abilities themselves or not. It was these who were more-likely to seek her out than any of the others. And so had Ordan.
He’d been called upon to visit an extremely old woman near the southern-most outpost; a sparsely-populated region of the mountains not far from the desert. It was not uncommon for the infrequent visitors to the region to discover men and women who had died alone if they stopped to knock on a door or two. These were usually people from Tyran’s great-great grandparents’ time who insisted on living alone no matter the wishes of their family members. They were uncomfortable living in close vicinity to others, though were seldom able to articulate why they felt this way. All had raised their families in close proximity to their friends and neighbors, but once their own children began to have children of their own, they found they could no longer tolerate the sounds, smells, and feel of having so many others too close.
Tyran’s own theory was that their dreams were filled with the memories of their ancestors and the lives they had lived as slaves within the boundaries of Nohoyo. No matter that the men and women who had actually lived in fear and captivity all of their lives, until they had been rescued, would never have wished for their children and grandchildren to re-live their own experiences – the magic which defined them had its own say in the matter. It was rare, indeed, that a descendant of one of these would have called upon Ordan to attend her before she died, but that is exactly what had happened. And it had shaken him badly enough that he’d sought her out to help in sorting out his own dreams.
The old woman, Yujin, had asked him to hold her hand while she shared some of her memories with Ordan. Most of what she had spoken of was from her childhood, a time – by all accounts – she had enjoyed tremendously. She remembered being strong and agile, running, dancing, playing games, even singing. Ordan had frowned when he told her of what Yujin had shared, surprised by some of the details and off-hand descriptions of the environment in which she had grown up. She had not been raised in Nohoyo herself. She couldn’t have been. Perhaps her own grandparents or great-grandparents may have been born and raised in that wicked place, but Yujin had been born and raised in the Midbar. And yet the stories she shared made it sound as if she had been raised in far-away Nohoyo.
Yujin’s skin had been thin, her bones prominent. Though her voice was soft and raspy from lack of use over the preceding several years living alone, it was obvious she had taken delight in sharing her memories with Ordan. He’d stayed with her for three days and four nights, the husk of her body deteriorating further each day, but her eyes had stayed bright and her voice had been steady. She had insisted that he learn a song before she would lay down the burden of her life. It was a children’s song; more of a chant, Tyran thought. The tune itself had long been lost to those who’d once sung it, and Yujin hadn’t had the strength of breath to do more than to repeat the words in a general sing-song rhythm.
The chant had haunted Ordan’s dreams, making him feel afraid of some unnamed, impending doom. He’d said he felt foolish for approaching her with the dream, but was exhausted from both the lack of sleep and the feeling that his own life was, somehow, in peril. Indeed, he’d been near to hysteria, physically shaking, and unable to stop jumping at each unexpected noise when he’d finally come to her for help. He’d confessed of being afraid he was giving into paranoia, because he was beginning to feel certain the entire world was in danger. Running his fingers through the hair of his bowed head, he had whispered that he was no longer certain whether he was being paranoid, or if his fears were real. Tyran had ended up having to give him strong herbs in order to get him into a sound enough sleep to read his dreams. And once he was fully asleep, his unconscious thoughts turned immediately to Yujin’s memories.
It was the most vivid expression of memories Tyran had ever encountered, as if she, herself, was standing within the walls and streets of Nohoyo. She even knew this hidden realm had once been called “Taiyo no Hoyo,” or “Embrace of the Sun” in its earliest days. That wasn’t something she’d known before. She’d never heard any of the descendants of the first people from Nohoyo call it by its proper name, so was both excited and a little disturbed that she would discover this tidbit of information from a memory buried within a dream.
As she stood in the abandoned city with a huge stone building looming in front of her, she cocked her head when she thought she heard a snippet of a song. Holding her breath, she listened for it to be repeated. When she heard nothing after a short time, she stepped forward, only to turn quickly to her right when she heard it again. There, in front of her, was a small boy of, perhaps, eight years. He wasn’t looking at her, though. Instead, he was turned away from her, pantomiming some kind of dance or performance while chanting a tune. So intent was he on what he was doing, he didn’t seem to notice her at all.
Tyran had spent a considerable time exploring Ordan’s dream, discovering the boy took no notice of her whatsoever, even when
she addressed him directly while standing in front of him. Nor did he seem to be alone. Although she never saw any of the others with whom he was obviously interacting, the boy sometimes broke out laughing, or made a remark to someone she couldn’t see. The only time he seemed to react to her was when she had taken several steps away from him, to explore more of the city. He stopped completely, in mid-chant, with one foot raised, and his hands cradling the “seed” he had just been singing about. Too, instead of remaining solid, as she had expected, the wall in front of her faded to black.
Intrigued, Tyran explored the entire area, discovering that only a small space of the dream was accessible to her, all around the boy, as if he was standing in the center of a purposeful circle. Most of her own people, along with the descendants of Nohoyo frequently used circles when performing a wide variety of rituals, so she wasn’t entirely surprised. And yet, she hadn’t considered that the boy had been engaged in a ritual of some sort until she realized he was standing in a circle.
She had only been half-heartedly listening to the boy’s chant during her inspection of the area, but once there was nothing more for her to see, she stood listening to the words, eventually singing along until she felt she had them memorized.
Deep in the earth, the seed won’t grow,
No, no, no. the seed won’t grow.
Deep in the earth, the crystal glows.
And the sun will rise again.
Dancing in fire, the seed will grow,
Grow, grow, grow, the seed will grow.
Dying in fire, the seed will grow,
And the sun will rise again.
With death’s red eyes, the seed will crack,
Crack, crack, crack, the seed will crack.
Once it breaks, the light comes back,
