The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga: Stories from Ayberia

by James Berardinelli

  Kara regarded herself critically in her polished dressing chamber looking glass. She was the spitting image of her mother, which wasn’t a bad thing at all since Queen Myselene was recognized as one of the most beautiful women in the world. Her northern heritage was evident: hair the color of coal, dusky eyes, skin as pale as alabaster. She wondered which of her features she had inherited from her father. She hadn’t known King Azarak; he had died shortly after her conception, killed in war three seasons before her birth. She had seen his portraits but, since most of them had been painted after his death, their exactitude was questionable. Maybe she had his nose. It was the one feature that didn’t match her mother’s. It was a little too big although everyone assured her it wasn’t as ugly as she thought it was. If she could have inherited one thing from her father, why not his ears or the regal chin?

  Noticing her maid hovering in the background, Kara asked for today’s wardrobe to be laid out. This was “Temple Day” - the one day of the week when she was allowed to leave the palace grounds. Unfortunately, the destination and purpose didn’t fill the princess with excitement. Her trip consisted of being escorted to Vantok’s oldest structure in order to be subjected to three hours of lectures and an equal period of “contemplation.” Meditation, she had learned, was just a fancy name for taking a nap. It only became embarrassing if one snored or drooled but, over the years, Kara had trained herself to avoid dreams and deep sleep. Her instructor, Vice Prelate Victor, had recently complemented her on her mastery of meditation.

  For many years, Kara had enjoyed “Temple Day” the least of her weekly appointments. She preferred horseback riding, archery, knife play, and even mundane subjects like history, geography, and reading. Learning about a dead religion and spending hours “calming the mind” were as boring as anything she could imagine. But that had all changed a season ago when ancient Brother Petronius, Kara’s instructor for more than a decade, had died of old age. He had been replaced by Brother Bartholemu, a young, virile, and handsome man with thick blond hair and stunning green eyes. Suddenly, “Temple Day” had become less of a chore.

  When it came to affairs of the heart, Kara possessed a naïveté born of inexperience. In her fifteen years, she had never so much as experienced a crush so her feelings for Bartholemu, which included an unsettling brew of giddiness and anxiety, were foreign. She supposed she loved her mother and probably Uncle Rexall but, beyond that, she had never experienced warm feelings for anyone. So the attachment to her priestly tutor had blindsided her and unwittingly made her vulnerable.

  Kara knew that her Maturity wasn’t only the day when she would graduate to womanhood but also when her betrothal to an unknown man would be solemnized. She would officially be invested with the title of “The Wizard’s Bride” - a quaint custom that was being revived after fifteen years of dormancy. The last Wizard’s Bride, Her Most August Magus Lady Alicia of Water, had married His Supreme Magus Lord Sorial of Earth shortly before her father and mother had been wed. Recently, Queen Myselene had decided that it would be a politically savvy move to marry the heir to her kingdom to a wizard. At the moment, however, there was only one wizard: Lady Lavella of Air who, in addition to being old, was the wrong gender for a royal liaison. So Kara would become engaged to the next Lord of Fire, Earth, or Water, whoever he might be.

  For royalty and the nobility, marriage had everything to do with political capital and little or nothing to do with love. Her mother had admitted not loving King Azarak until after their marriage. A practical marriage had seemed entirely sensible to Kara until the first time she had found herself staring deep into Brother Bartholemu’s emerald eyes. When he smiled at her, she blushed. When he praised something she said or did, she blushed. When he patted her on the arm or shoulder to indicate approval, she blushed. With skin as fair as hers, the change in coloration was impossible to hide.

  Kara knew she wanted to do things with Bartholemu. She wasn’t entirely sure what things but they were probably naughty. Things that were reserved for the marriage bed. Things that the maids whispered and giggled about. Things her mother would call improper. Things that almost everyone seemed to know about except her. Kara wasn’t ignorant about what went on between men and women, but knowing was different from feeling and feeling was different from experiencing. She had an itch and she wasn’t sure what it would take to scratch it.

  Was it possible that Bartholemu liked her? Not just as a teacher for a student or an adult for a child, but as a man for a woman? He wasn’t that much older than her. Certainly not more than ten years and perhaps as few as five. In two weeks’ time, the law of the land would classify them both as adults.

  She shook her head as if to clear away a fog. Foolish thoughts, best dismissed, and most definitely not for her own good. Fantasies unworthy of a princess and doubly unworthy of a princess soon to be named The Wizard’s Bride. Still…their appeal lay in their waywardness. What would Bartholemu think of her if she told him? Would he be receptive or scoff at her feelings as the delusions of a little girl? Of course, she would never say anything to him. Kara thought of herself as a shy person, not given to bold actions. It would take real courage to open up to Brother Bartholemu like that. Courage like that of her mother and Uncle Rexall, both of whom had survived a war (and, for more than a decade, living with each other).

  She resolved to banish the thoughts from her mind and avoid being captured by his placid gaze. And perhaps she actually believed such a thing would be possible right up to the time when she arrived at the temple later that morning.

  * * *

  Queen Myselene, the ruler of the two most important cities in human habitation, was gnawing on her fingernails. Pacing barefoot back and forth across the plush carpeting covering the floor of her sleeping chambers, she displayed the poise of a caged animal. Lounging in bed watching her idly, Rexall, her red-haired lover of the past dozen years said nothing. During his time as the queen’s consort, he had learned when best to hold his tongue in her presence. Myselene wasn’t always the easiest person to live with and an ill-chosen remark could make him wish he had been born mute. So, displaying a patience few of his male friends would credit him with, he waited.

  “She’s too damn headstrong!” exploded Myselene at last, coming to a sudden halt and stomping a foot in a curiously childish gesture. “She’s going to have to learn that she can’t say or do anything she wants.”

  The topic of her consternation was, as usual, her daughter. Rexall resisted the urge to say what he was thinking: Like mother, like daughter. Instead, he offered, “She’s nearly at her Maturity. That may not mean much to older folks like us but it means a lot to her.” Rexall remembered his own Maturity…well, the beginning of it, anyway. By the end, he had been so drunk that he couldn’t say what had happened with the two girls in the stable. Had that really been nineteen years ago?

  “Maturity Day is a peasants’ celebration.”

  “In Obis, perhaps, but we’re in Vantok. Here, it’s recognized by everyone regardless of rank or class.” She knew that, of course, having spent as much of her life in the South as in the North. Sometimes she needed reminding, however. “We’re going to have to start making concessions.”

  “After what she did today??”

  Rexall winced. Kara hadn’t picked the best time to slip away from her guards and lead them on a merry chase through the city. He had been trying for a year to persuade Myselene to loosen the reins. The girl’s understandable but impetuous actions hadn’t helped the cause.

  “She’s not a baby anymore.”

  “No, she’s the heir to the throne of two cities, and maybe more if I can formalize this confederation. She needs to learn that freedom comes after responsibility not the other way around.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I spent my Maturity Day drinking and doing things you probably don’t want to know about. And you weren’t that much older than her when you made the trip to Vantok to seduce a king. Give Kara a chance to do things. To succeed
or fail on her own. And if her bloodline runs true…”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “That’s the heart of your worry, ain’t it? It ain’t the Maturity Day or the betrothal. It’s the portal visit. It’s finding out whether she’s got her father’s talents or not.”

  Rexall knew his words were careless. They almost never referred so openly to Sorial as Kara’s father. As far as the world was concerned, she was the only trueborn child of King Azarak - the rightful successor to his realm. But Azarak’s inability to sire an heir had forced Myselene to “recruit” Sorial for the duty following the king’s death. Had Kara been Azarak’s daughter, the likelihood of any magical aptitude would have been slim, probably not even worth testing. Sorial, on the other hand, had been bred with the express intent of creating a wizard and his potential might have been passed to the next generation. Kara’s aptitude or lack thereof wouldn’t be known until she made a journey to Ayberia’s lone surviving portal to see if it called out to her. The trip was planned for shortly after the princess’ formal investiture as The Wizard’s Bride.

  The queen gazed at her lover with a stricken look. Sixteen years since he had first laid eyes on her, she was as beautiful as ever. With lustrous dark hair and deep, chocolate eyes, her features no longer represented the unlined perfection of youth but the passage of years had lent them refinement and elegance. At eighteen, she had been called the most remarkable woman of noble birth to grace a court on the continent. At 34, that hadn’t changed.

  “I don’t know whether it’s better to hope she’s a wizard or that she isn’t!”

  Rexall understood her quandary. There was nothing straightforward about being able to command magic. At one time, he had been close to Sorial and the former Lord of Earth hadn’t always been at ease with his capabilities. Most people viewed magic as a “gift.” They associated it with power, prestige, wealth, and veneration. The only honorarium higher than “Your Magus” was “Your Majesty.” However, on more than one occasion, Sorial had referred to it as his “curse.”

  “Ain’t nothing any of us can do about it one way or t’other. It’s been set since the night when Sorial got you pregnant. Are you gonna tell her the truth about him?” This was another point of contention between them. Rexall believed that Kara deserved to know the truth, if for no reason beyond understanding the potential of magic in her lineage. Long after he and Myselene had died, that potential could surface. For the sake of future generations, the information needed to be available to the family. The queen, however, was concerned that if the truth of Kara’s parentage became known, it could undermine her daughter’s legitimacy as the rule of Vantok. Rexall didn’t think that was likely. Over the last fifteen years, Myselene had calcified her position on the throne and no one would object to her daughter occupying it after her, regardless of who the father was.

  “No one can know, least of all her. She has to go to her grave believing she’s Azarak’s daughter. What good could possibly come from her knowing she’s the daughter of the Magus Supreme?”

  Recognizing this wasn’t a battle he was going to win now, if ever, Rexall dropped the matter. “If she is a wizard, I don’t think there’s much doubt which element she’ll control.” He chuckled at that. Unlike her father, whose affinity had been for earth, Kara was drawn to fire. At the age of eight, she had nearly burned down a wing of the palace by building a bonfire in an ambassador’s guest quarters. A year later, she had accidentally set her maid’s hair aflame while transporting hot embers through the palace corridors. She loved the pungent odor of burning things as much as Sorial had delighted in the smell of loam.

  “No, there isn’t,” sighed Myselene. “My daughter, The Lady of Fire. It has a ring to it. But I’d prefer for her to be just the Princess of Vantok-Obis. Marriage to a wizard is the closest she needs to come to magic.”

  “Speaking of which, Magus Lavella is anxious to know when you’ll make the portal journey. She has candidates awaiting installation but she won’t do anything until Kara’s situation is known. She’s holding back on Fire for obvious reasons but won’t move forward with Earth or Water either because, if Kara is a wizard, she wants her to be the first of this generation as well as her natural successor.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to plan it, then. But, future wizard or not, she’s still going to be punished for what she did earlier today and I don’t want to hear another word from you advocating ‘greater freedom’ until after her Maturity.”

  Over the years, Rexall had learned that Myselene admitted defeat in a way that made it sound like she had won. On this occasion, she avoided meeting his gaze which was good for him. She wouldn’t have been pleased to see the tiny smile playing on his lips. His response was a seemingly sincere, “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Chapter Two

  Viewed in retrospect, it had been a mistake, although it hadn’t felt like one at the time. She could see, however, that running and hiding from her guards - a spur-of-the-moment, impulsive exploit - hadn’t been the wisest course of action. Nevertheless, although she suspected the punishment would be harsh, those few hours of freedom had been delirious. For the first time in longer than she could remember, no one had been watching her every movement. If she had thought it through, she would have had a disguise prepared so she could have prolonged the adventure. But, dressed as a princess, there was only so long she had been able to remain untethered in the streets of Vantok. Eventually, the Watch had found her and cordially (but firmly) escorted back to her rooms.

  She wanted to blame Brother Bartholemu although she knew that deflecting responsibility wasn’t a tactic of which her mother would approve. To do so would merit a stiffer chastisement rather than a more lenient one. Still, seen from a certain perspective, it was Bartholemu’s fault. Or at least he had been the catalyst. Even in her current dire circumstances, awaiting the wrath of the queen, she couldn’t help but smile when she remembered how he had spoken to her.

  “Someone as lovely as you needs to flower. The palace stifles you. Someday, maybe you’ll get the chance to find out what it’s like to walk the earth without a royal title attached to your name.” Those had been his words. Or as close to them as Kara could remember. Although he hadn’t been giving her permission to run away (not that he had the authority to do so anyway), he had sounded like he might approve of it. Now she wondered. Maybe she had misunderstood. She chewed nervously on her lower lip. She decided that, regardless of what penalty she might face, she couldn’t tell the queen what Bartholemu had said. She might be barred from ever seeing him again. She’d get another old, wrinkled teacher like Petronius - maybe even Prelate Belmar, the wizened old man who had headed Vantok’s temple since its restoration. She could think of few things less appealing than spending a full day every week in the company of that pompous old windbag.

  Kara heard voices beyond the outer door to her rooms. She steeled herself to face her mother’s cool fury but, when the door swung inward, it instead admitted Uncle Rexall. A somber expression masking his features, he beckoned for her maid to leave then took a seat in the sturdy chair opposite the bed on which she was reclining. Only when they were alone and he was thus settled did his face break into a wide grin.

  She couldn’t hide her answering smile, although the expression was born more out of relief than happiness.

  “I have to say, Your Highness, it’s refreshing to finally see a streak of independence emerge. I was beginning to worry you were too perfect. I think your mother sometimes overlooks the need for any prospective sovereign to sometimes flout the rules.”

  “Then you’re not mad?”

  “Me? No. Your mother… that’s another matter. I convinced her it would be better for me to have this little talk with you. Her coming here wouldn’t have been productive. She would have done a lot of yelling and, although I’m sure that would have made her feel better, it wouldn’t have solved anything. I understand the impulse that led to today’s incident.”

  “You? You’re a so
lider.” Kara couldn’t think of anyone who led a more regimented life than a solider except perhaps a princess.

  Rexall surprised her by laughing. “That’s who I am today. But I ain’t always worn this uniform. When I was your age, I worked in a stable and spent every last stud I earned on whores and ale. If I didn’t like a law, I broke it. And there were a lot of laws I didn’t like. Sorial and I got in some of the most ludicrous scrapes although I’ll admit most of them were my fault.”

  Kara gaped. These were stories she had never before heard. She had always assumed Uncle Rexall was just an average soldier her mother had taken a fancy to. “Sorial? Magus Sorial?”

  “Ain’t anyone ever told you about my history? When we were young, Sorial and I were as thick as thieves. We had the kind of freedom you dream of and, believe me, we would have traded it to spend every night in a bed as soft as yours. Sorial used to talk about duty a lot. Sometimes I thought it was his favorite word. I mostly ignored him. Duty was about as far away from fun as you could get and I was all about having fun. It took me a long time to understand its importance. Part of the reason I’m with your mother is because I love her - her and you and your brothers. But the other part is because it’s my duty. I accepted this position long ago. We all have our duties. Yours is to be a princess and to act accordingly. That means not running away and scaring everyone half to death. Your guards are going to be punished because of what happened. They failed at their duty. Half pay for two weeks and extra hours. Didn’t think of that, did you?”

  Kara didn’t say anything. She felt sheepish. She certainly hadn’t meant for anyone to get hurt. Less money and more work for those men would be a genuine hardship. And all for just a bit of foolishness. Her uncle was right. She hadn’t thought of that.