The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia

by James Berardinelli

Book Two, Final Chapter

  The original final chapter of Book Two was considerably different from the final one. Certain scenes with Justin originally intended for the end of “The Curse in the Gift” were moved to the beginning of Book Three. Scenes with Myselene and Sorial/Alicia were expanded. And this scene, accompanying Rexall and Warburm on their flight from Vantok, never made it. This is another case of a scene I liked but ultimately didn’t think fit. In fact, of the six deleted scenes included in this volume, this is my favorite.

  Four days out of Vantok, four days since the battle had been lost, and there was still no sign of pursuit on the main thoroughfare that connected Basingham with its wounded neighbor to the south. With the turn off the North-South Road accomplished, the route went directly westward and showed signs of frequent maintenance. Basingham’s economy relied on trade with the other cities and every road to its gates was kept in the best possible condition. Still, the passage of so many unshod feet, boots, hooves, and wheels over the past few days had done their damage. The once-smooth surface had become badly rutted and the usability of the road was in steep decline.

  For Rexall and Warburm, the biggest challenge of the past half-week had been gathering their two charges and escaping Vantok before Justin had begun his final, decisive assault on the city. But, disguised as a poor merchant and his underfed, underpaid bodyguard in a rickety covered wagon, they had charged past the western checkpoint while Azarak’s forces had still held Vantok. Now they were just one more wagon in a refugee stream that stretched across dozens of miles. It appeared that The Lord of Fire cared little about those who had fled the city, most with all their worldly possessions in small satchels.

  It was difficult to tell whether or not Ariel was healthy. She was unconscious but still breathing, and Rexall assumed the regular rising and falling of her pockmarked chest was all that mattered. Physically, she was in horrible condition but none of her poxes and rashes and other afflictions seemed immediately life threatening. It was hard to imagine that this wreck of a woman was Sorial’s sister and Kara’s daughter. Strange to think that he was traveling some of the same roads with Ariel that he had traversed not that long ago with her mother. Different circumstances, different destinations, but the same roads.

  Ferguson was a model prisoner. He answered questions succinctly and politely and never said anything unless spoken to. He allowed himself to be guided and never put up even token resistance. Rexall guessed that, despite his having been locked in a tiny cell, Ferguson understood enough of the current situation to recognize that his best chance of survival and continued good health was to go along with his two former associates. While in the wagon, he spent a great deal of time in contemplation. In idle moments, his gaze often wandered to Ariel, almost as if drawn there by an involuntary compulsion. Rexall wondered if he was considering his failure where she was concerned. Here was a wizard he had been instrumental in creating, working with the enemy.

  The procession of refugees was somber. The sense of devastation and loss was exacerbated on the second day out of Vantok when word filtered up the road that King Azarak had been executed by the usurper. Reports of his demise were uniform in the details: he had faced his fate with grace and honor, his manner of death had been by fire, and he hadn’t uttered a sound as the flames devoured him. While this execution was in keeping with what might expect from The Lord of Fire, it assured there would be no head to display on a pike. Azarak was to be spared that final indignity.

  The news hadn’t surprised Rexall. Looking back toward Vantok on the first night and seeing the reddish penumbra, he had known the city had fallen. Azarak hadn’t been the kind of king to flee, leaving his men behind, although plenty of rulers would have. So either he had died in battle or had been taken captive. Rexall wondered whether Queen Myselene knew; he assumed she had been told. By now, she might have reached Basingham. By right of succession, she was the sole ruler now, a queen without a city.

  The next step was unclear. Most of those fleeing Vantok weren’t thinking more than a mile or two ahead. Many would spend weeks waiting for word of loved ones who had fought and, in many cases, perished in the battle. For them, the uncertainty of not knowing would be worse than the confirmation of their fears. Few would ever know for sure. Rexall assumed The Lord of Fire, needing to prevent pestilence, would burn all the dead.

  For Rexall, Warburm, and the prisoners, much of what happened next depended on Sorial. There had been no word about the fate of Vantok’s wizards. If either or both were alive, Rexall expected to meet them in Basingham. If weeks went by without word, he and Warburm would have to engage in a lengthy discussion about how to proceed. Sorial’s instructions had been specific but might not be practical under the circumstances.

  The prospects of winning the war without the aid of magic were dim. Rumors of those who had seen Vantok’s fall claimed fire creatures from the sky had attacked. If The Lord of Fire possessed a menagerie of monsters long thought dead, who could stand against him? Perhaps life under his stewardship would be tolerable. The difficulty would be surviving long enough for the continent to return to a state of peace. After learning what had happened at Vantok, would the king of Basingham defy Justin or surrender peacefully? And with The Lord of Fire, was there such a thing as a “peaceful” resolution, or was he determined to spill as much blood and spread as much destruction as possible?

  Pulling aside the burlap that divided the inside of the wagon from the driver’s area, Rexall stuck out his head to get a lungful of clean air. It was as warm out in the sunshine as it was in the wagon, but the air wasn’t as stifling and the smell didn’t wrinkle the nose. Warburm, who was casually steering the horses with only one hand on the reins, glanced in Rexall’s direction when he noticed the younger man’s head emerge. “Everythin’ all right?”

  “No problems. Both of them are quiet. Ferguson is either dozing or praying or whatever he does with his eyes closed.” Maybe living in a fantasy world where he, not Justin, is taking over the continent.

  “At this rate, it be another five days to Basingham. If it weren’t for my promise to Sorial, I’d suggest we done head east and find some nice, quiet little village and lie low for a while. This Lord of Fire ain’t going to be attacking small places, only the bigguns. Best to stay clear of Basingham and Earlford.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”

  “To Vantok? Nay. By now, prob’ly all that be left of The Comfort be the cellar. Only thing that won’t burn. Time to move on. The questions be: where and when?”

  From the back of the wagon, Ferguson spoke - the first words he had said in more than a day. His voice was quiet but commanded attention. “As usual, you ask the wrong questions, innkeeper. Justin must be opposed and defeated. You might think he merely seeks to change the world order but, if he succeeds, he will end it. The ‘where’ and ‘when’ of finding him aren’t in doubt. It’s the ‘how’ of defeating him that must be studied. This is the first great challenge of the gods’ passing. Like it or not, the duty of protecting the future has fallen at least in part on your shoulders. No matter how you shirk it, it will find you out.”

  Deleted Scene #6: Sorial & Alicia

  Book Three, Chapter Twenty-Eight

  This is a conversation that took place between Sorial and Alicia in advance of Justin’s attack. It’s mostly reminisces and remembrances and seemed a little self-indulgent in context. Bits and pieces of this conversation were parceled out to other parts of the book, but I thought it would be worthwhile to read the entire thing as I originally envisioned it. Plus, this is the only “deleted scene” I have in publishable form that features the two main characters. Everything else with these two made it into the books.

  “I love you.” Sorial said the words solemnly. He felt like he didn’t say them enough. Annie had once told him that women liked to hear the emotion expressed often. Sorial realized it was as important to the one saying it as to the one it was being said to.

  Alicia rewarded his st
atement with a faint blush and a girlish giggle. Sometimes it was so easy to forget how young she was. How young they both were. War and magic had aged them. No one who didn’t know their true ages would believe they were a day under 30. Sorial didn’t have any hair but he suspected that if he did, it would be graying. And Alicia’s face, although as beautiful as ever to him, showed crinkles around the corners of her eyes and mouth. Magic was eating them both up and there was no way to tell when they might be able to scale back their usage of it.

  “You know how I feel about you, stableboy.”

  He smiled. Deeds counted more than words and she had shown her devotion often enough. When it came to sacrifices of the heart, she had surrendered as much as he had, if not more. “At least whatever happens from here out, we’ll face it together. Too much of what we’ve gone through, we’ve been apart.”

  “And every time we’re reunited, you’ve lost another body part.” She reached out to touch the side of his face scarred by acid. There had been nothing she could do for it, although she had tried. It seemed that, in order for her to heal, the wound had to be fresh.

  “I didn’t see the acid coming,” Sorial admitted. “But I knew what I was risking with the efreet and the djinn. When you touch fire like that, things are going to get burnt up.”

  “At least you’ve kept one important part.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  “It’s amazing to realize that a week from now, this will all be over. Obis’ fate will be sealed. Either we’ll be dead or Justin will be.”

  “Or maybe all three of us. I can foresee situations in which you and I will give our lives to end his bid. If Justin dies, the djinn will quit the battle. They’re bound to him. Then it will be army against army and I have little doubt the forces of Obis would win in that conflict. You and I have one purpose in all this: kill Justin.”

  “When did you become so bloodthirsty?”

  “Not exactly the same girl who wandered into your stable that day, am I?”

  “How many lifetimes ago was that?”

  “What did you think of me back then? I mean what did you really think?”

  Sorial considered, wondering how honest he should be. It took less than the blink of an eye for him to decide that she deserved the truth, even if it wasn’t flattering. “I thought you were a little bitch. Stuck up. Looking down her nose at me. I couldn’t understand why you were there and I wished you’d just go away.”

  Instead of appearing taken aback by his comments, she nodded her agreement. “I thought so. With you… it’s strange. I think you were the first boy near my age I had been that close to. The stable was awful. It stank. And you smelled like the stable. But I was so lonely in those days. It wasn’t until we had known each other for a while that I started thinking of you as a possible lover. For the longest time, I just wanted you to be my friend, but I couldn’t think how to make it happen. I knew you didn’t like me. And being around you could be exasperating. Then you were with Annie and I was so jealous of her. She had everything I didn’t have and I knew you were having sex with her.”

  “At the time, I thought I loved her. Now, I realize that what I felt for her, whatever it might have been, ain’t nothing like what I feel for you.”

  “And Myselene? What do you feel for her?”

  He knew it had been difficult for her to ask the question. On some level, she felt threatened by the queen. Perhaps it was simply because he had slept with Myselene. Or maybe it was because the queen could give Sorial what Alicia couldn’t.

  “What we did, we did out of necessity - a necessity you realized before I did.”

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it. She’s a beautiful woman and I’ve seen the looks you two have sometimes exchanged. I think if I die in this battle and you and she live, you’ll be the next King of Vantok.”

  Practicality might dictate that but he knew it would never happen. “If you died and I was unlucky enough to live, I’d become a recluse. Duty can only take you so far and when there’s nothing left to live for. For years, you’ve been everything to me. Filling my every waking thought. Getting me through Langashin’s torture and the long, lonely days after the portal when I was learning. Losing you - I don’t know how I’d go on. Myselene is a sexy, seductive woman and, yes, my body enjoyed our nights together. But my thoughts were always elsewhere.”

  Sorial could tell by her expression that he had said something right. It was, he admitted to himself, a rarity. He wasn’t good with words and, more often than not, when he tried to use them to express his feelings, he did a horrible job. But the softening of Alicia’s features informed him that wasn’t the case this time.

  “Do you ever miss those days back in the stable? I know it sounds peevish but there are times when I think those were the best days for us even though we weren’t together.”

  “I think our memories play tricks on us, make us think things were better than they were. When I think hard, I remember the sweat, the stink, the back-breaking work, and the sense of despair that it seemed like it would never end. And with us, I just remember how hopeless the possibility of our being together seemed. We’ve got plenty of problems today and I ain’t got all the body parts I had then, but I have you and I can take you to bed right now and that makes today better than yesterday.”

  “We paid a price for being together.”

  “Not as bad as it might have been, though. On the day I left Vantok, the odds of us being here, together, weren’t good. You thought I was going to die on the trip to The Forbidden Lands and there have been plenty of opportunities along that journey and the ones after for your fear to happen.”

  “How morose we’ve become, stableboy,” she said after a while of looking at him. “I guess that’s what staring at the possibility of death does to a person. I never really thought about dying until I was on the road going north with Vagrum, your mother, and that whore-snake Rexall. Out there alone, being followed, I realized for the first time that I could actually die. It was a terrifying thought and it got even scarier when we were ambushed. I know I’ve grown a lot since then. I’ve killed people - and not just a few of them. I’m responsible for your sister’s death even if I didn’t kill her. I regret that.”

  Earlier, she had told him about her final encounter with Ariel and it was clear it haunted her. Sorial knew Alicia believed there should have been some other way. He disagreed. When he and his sister had struggled outside Basingham, he had known any hope for reconciliation, however unlikely it might ever have been, was gone.

  “She was deeply conflicted about me,” he said. “Before I became a wizard, she watched over and protected me. In The Forbidden Lands, she saved my life. She could have achieved Justin’s aims by not doing anything. I probably would have died. But she was deluded by a fantasy of our being a family - me, her, and Kara. It was never a real possibility but I’m not sure she saw that. My becoming a wizard was a blow to her but I think what broke her was learning that our mother was dead. After that, she had nothing to live for.”

  “But to die like that…abandoned by your element…”

  “She was hunting you, Alicia. Not the other way around. She was there to trap you and, had the situation been reversed, she would have killed you. She was my sister and I’ll always feel a measure of regret when I think about her. But in the end, she sided with Justin and Justin is our enemy.”

  “Sometimes I hate what we’ve become.”

  Sorial nodded. He understood how she felt. Back in Vantok, Ferguson had admonished him that he wasn’t ruthless enough. That no longer applied. The question was no longer whether Sorial could find ruthlessness within him but whether he could find mercy. “We are what we and others have made us. But we have each other and they may end up being both our salvations.”

  The Prelate’s Legacy

  Chapter One

  Her mother had assured her that the restrictions were for her own good. The bars on her windows - for her own good. The guards at her door - for her own good. The men
who shadowed her every move - for her own good. It was strange, she thought, that all these things for her own good were nuisances. Despite being “the second most important person in the world” (or so they repeatedly said), she had little power and less privacy. She wasn’t even allowed to visit the privy chamber on her own. At least her protectors gave her a little dignity and stayed outside rather than watching to make sure nothing crawled up out of the hole to snatch her.

  Someone smarter than her had once provided this nugget of wisdom: “Privacy is the purview of the common folk. Those with titles must endure the loss of freedom in return for the other benefits that come with rank.” She was still trying to identify what those “benefits” were. She was sure she’d eventually uncover them - hopefully before she was too old to enjoy them.

  Things would change very soon, or so she hoped. Her Maturity - the day on which she would earn the right to be called a “woman” - was a mere fortnight away. She feared, however, that there would be fewer lifestyle alterations than she might wish. The rules that applied to most girls didn’t apply to princesses, and the rules that applied to princesses didn’t apply to Her Highness, Princess Kara, heir to the joint thrones of Vantok and Obis.

  If not for the quirk of birth, she might have been Kara the serving girl, being chased by boys through the city streets and rewarding the most persistent with a kiss, enjoying a roll in the straw, lingering in the fields on Midsummer’s Day… The possibilities seemed endless. As it was, she had never been chased or kissed, had never rolled around in anything resembling hay, and had never set foot in the fields without an army of protectors. Someone had once told her that all little common girls yearned to be princesses. She wondered if all princesses yearned to be common girls. When she had mentioned this to one of her tutors, the rebuke had been stinging: “Ingratitude doesn’t become a princess. Think of all the peasant girls who go to bed with empty stomachs, who have to work from dawn till dusk with callused hands, blistered feet, and heavy arms. Yes, there’s a price for being a princess, Your Highness, but it’s nothing like the price for not being one.”