Sea God of the Sands: Book One of the Firebird’s Daughter Series (Firebird's Daughter 1)

by Kyrja

  “It was a wicked bargain the two of them struck that night, as the twenty or so Puj’hom knelt upon the sand before them, their hearts beating with fear at the sight of the rippling tower of the sandstorm poised to devour them whole. They were all that were left of the one hundred who had started out together, with horses, mules, supplies and what precious stores of water they could carry with them. They’d had tools, utensils, determination, and good cheer. All had been confident they would succeed in their quest to find a new home in which to begin anew. A home surrounded by trees and meadows and a stream or two. Perhaps, if they were lucky, a decent-sized lake in which they could fish.”

  “Instead,” he shook his head sadly, “whole families had been devoured by the storm, arms, legs, even heads ripped from bodies as it tore through the travelers and all their carefully-wrought plans. All gone. All lost to the fury of the gods. And now they were upon their bloody knees – those few who were left – naked and terrified. They were in shock and afraid. The bravest among them, the strongest, and the most-clever were helpless in the face of such a howling demon of a storm. Without the intervention of the goddesses, they too would be dead. And what were a handful of humans to such as they?

  “Ah, well, now you already know the answer to that, don’t you? They lived, of course. Or you wouldn’t be here, listening to my fine tale, would you? Do you know the price Amphidea extracted from Giya for allowing those first Tuq’deb the life-sustaining water their bodies craved? Can you imagine the cost to their souls? There were only twenty of them left. Each of them had seen friends and family members die. Perhaps a few of them had their children ripped from their very arms by the force of the storm. Each was naked, so the lore would have us believe. Do you imagine the flesh of their faces might have been scraped raw? Perhaps some were even blinded. Each and every one of those survivors had sand packed into their ears, eyes, throats, and crevices good people seldom mention. What could the Sea Goddess have wanted in order save their lives? What did she suppose Giya had that she could bargain with?

  “Have you remembered I told you Amphidea had already wrested control of the seas from Giya? Do you recall the hatred I spoke of the Storm Goddess holds, even to this day, for her brother, our Sun God? What, then, was the price Amphidea demanded of Giya in order to allow those poor, half-dead souls to live?” He scanned the crowd, face by face, watching as they grew impatient for him to continue. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes briefly, holding the strength of his magic in reserve, allowing it to build, willing it to work. It must, or he would never succeed in convincing these people, and the many they would tell, of the truth, and what was necessary. Amphidea, he knew, could very well decide not to allow him to continue at any moment. He could find himself dead between heartbeats and would never know the difference. He refused to allow himself to imagine what might then happen if her heir finally arrived. What kind of welcome would he find? Doubt had no place in his thoughts. Not today. He opened his eyes.

  “I will tell you the price, though few will believe. Many of you know me to be Merlarn, a priest of the Temple of Amphidea. A mere vessel held in the hands of the Sea Goddess to use as she will. You know then, that I am quite mad. Insane, some would say. And yet you sit and listen, hoping for a morsel of truth that may connect within your own heart or soul. Or you wait for me to blather like an idiot for your entertainment. I once did the same, in my arrogant youth, thinking if only I could watch how another man handled his insanity, I might be able to avoid it myself. I laughed, only because I didn’t want to be afraid.

  “There are mysteries you will never know, because you are not insane. There are voices you will never hear, because you haven’t been driven mad by them. Your free will hasn’t been taken from you by a goddess whose very name turns your bones to water. You are free to mate when and with whom you please. My life is quite different from yours. Hear then, and choose to know the truth, or dismiss my words as blasphemy. Either way, my fate will be unchanged!”

  Lowering his voice so many would have to lean forward to hear, he asked, “Have you ever tried to imagine what Amphidea might look like? You cannot, I assure you. I have seen her with my own eyes many times, and yet she looks different each time I look upon her. If you have ever gone to a lake or a stream and looked upon it, you know it always looks the same, and yet it is always, somehow, changed. The water within its banks is the same, and yet ever-changing. And so it is with the Goddess of the Seas. Her face looks much like yours or mine, but seems to move as if made of nothing more than the clearest, most-sparkling river you’ve ever see. It’s in her eyes, though, where the storm resides. Never would you wish for her to look at you with those deep, deep, haunting eyes, for fear of losing your very soul.” Slowly, so slowly, he wove his spell, releasing the magic that would let them all see with their own eyes what had once taken place in truth.

  “But, since you’ve never seen her, imagine instead, a woman of twenty years. She is slender and beautiful. Her hair, long and white, seems to be foaming at the ends. Yes, just like the sea as it boils at the base of a cliff. She stands upright and proud. Never will she bend. She is one who would be dashed to pieces upon the boulders, rather than to bow. Yes, you are right to picture her as arrogant, for she is the Sea Goddess and commands storms to rise for the mere pleasure of laughing at your terror.” He watched as eyes closed all around him. They could see for themselves the events as they’d unfolded so long ago. They could see Amphidea at last. Or, at least as much as they were willing to allow themselves to see.

  “Giya, though, she is older, settled. As old as the bones of the very earth beneath your feet. As strong as the mountains. Serene. She may remind you of your grandmother one moment and your mother the next. You will not find her baking bread in a kitchen though, as she has a gleam in her eyes that reminds you of the wild things of the forest. You would do well to remember she can cause the very soil beneath your feet to open wide and swallow you whole.” Even breathing. Not a soul moved. They were immersed in the vision. It had been a very, very long time since he’d flexed these particular muscles and was deeply pleased to learn he was still able to weave the spell. The last time he’d used this magic was when he’d defied the High Priest to aid his sister, Drena. But this was not the time to think of her. Not at all.

  “Thus did these two meet, with the vortex of the storm screaming around them – held at bay only by the will of their combined effort. Had either let go their grasp, the simoon would have barreled forth, stripping the very flesh from the bones of the few people who knelt there, gasping in disbelief they were yet alive.” Carefully now. Carefully, did Chared let loose his own hold on consciousness, trusting he would remain upright while the story played itself out in the minds and hearts of the people gathered here today. And if not, if his heart failed to beat again, perhaps that wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all. He stopped speaking, watching as the scene played out in his own mind once more. Why he’d been privy to this incredible piece of history, he would never know. He’d watched it repeated many, many times, marveling that he, alone, had known the truth for many, many years. And now, he would no longer be alone.

  “These are my people here before you,” said Amphidea. “Mine. They worship me, they receive my bounty and my blessings. And yet they sought to leave me, to abandon the shores of their birth. Thus, have they paid the price for their betrayal. And yet, if not for the reckless abandon of my self-centered, egotistical brother, none of them would have ever given thought to leave the richness of their lives within my embrace. Turn your back on him, Giya, and I will save these people.”

  “That I will not do,” she returned, her hands folded neatly inside the long cuffs of her leaf-colored robe so out of place in the empty wastes of sand.

  “You may protect them from the storm,” the Storm Goddess warned, “but you will not save their lives without the water only I can give them.”

  “He is my mate. I will not forsake him,” Giya said, her voice an even tone
, her eyes aimed directly at Amphidea.

  “Lumas is his mate, not you!” the Goddess of the Seas yelled, her voice rising in time with the winds outside the circle of power the two of them had erected.

  “She and I are one and the same,” Giya replied, as if the conversation bored her.

  “Once,” Amphidea smirked, “but no longer. People everywhere pray to you, worship you, she is nothing more than a mythological creature of the past. You are here and real and present. You are no longer one.”

  “He is my mate. I will not forsake him,” the Earth Mother repeated.

  “He is killing you and your children. He knows no restraint, no control. The trees and land are being buried alive by the sands. Will you not move to save them? And what of your children? Are you as selfish as my brother after all? Will you not move to save them?” the accusation was clear in the voice of the Sea Goddess, her loathing of Giya’s refusal complete.

  “More of your tricks, Amphidea,” Giya replied. And though she moved not in the slightest way, nor changed the expression on her face, there was an unmistakable air of threat surrounding her. “I was taken in by them once and now pay the price for that mistake by not being able to offer the smallest sip of water which was once mine to give freely.”

  “Everything will change if you will not stand by me. Everything will die,” Amphidea adopted a more reasonable tone of voice in response to Giya’s turmoil. “Would you let that happen? Look around you. Do you not feel the changes already? How much more vast must the desert become before you open your eyes?”

  “He is my mate. I will not forsake him,” she repeated. The goddess’ utter conviction was clear in her words, but something – some small inflection, some tiny change in her body language spoke loudly of her desire to accede. She was offering Amphidea a chance, a very small one, to make a suggestion she might be able to agree with.

  “They are mine,” the Goddess of Storms stated, pointing at the travelers kneeling in the sand. “Always, there will be those among them and their descendants who will know me. Who will be able to find the water. You must agree to send those who can feel the water beneath the sands to me. When the time comes, your people will have need of me,” she paused. “And I will have need of them,” she conceded.

  “A prophecy?” Giya asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “Call it a dire prediction based on historical repetition,” Amphidea replied, waving a hand in negligent dismissal, but much had already been revealed, she knew, if only the Earth Mother had eyes to see it. Chared could feel himself wondering if everyone else could feel and understand the things he was seeing and sensing, then lost himself in the vision once more.

  “Have you seen it in the Crystal Goblet?” she pressed, and one could almost feel the earth move beneath one’s feet, as she leaned her body forward just the smallest distance, towards Amphidea, so deep was Giya’s desire to know the answer.

  “Will you agree?” Amphidea asked, cocking her head with a playful smirk on her face, willfully ignoring the question.

  “You will always return them to the desert if they so desire?” Giya probed.

  “If they so desire. Otherwise, they are mine,” the Goddess of the Seas replied, a pretty half-snarl forming on her face.

  “For this lifetime alone?” one could almost taste the fear in Giya’s question.

  “I will not agree to that condition,” Amphidea replied flatly.

  “He is my mate. I will not forsake him,” Giya replied, all tone and inflection gone from her voice.

  “He is my brother,” Amphidea gave Giya a bone she might be content with. “I loved him once, but he has forgotten his children.” The Earth Goddess knew the lie for what it was.

  “You think he is drowning them, as you once did yours?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

  “Will you agree, or will you let these few die now in order to make a better bargain with those who will come next?” the Goddess of Storms asked, her body rigid with anger.

  There was only silence as Giya closed her eyes.

  “There will be more, you know,” Amphidea said, her lip curling. “They’re dying. There is no place left to turn but to the desert.”

  Giya sighed deeply, then said, “I agree.”

  Chared felt his body shiver violently as the scene was suddenly gone from his mind, along with the warmth of the sands and the heat of the Sun God. He felt terribly cold now that his was back in his own mind and body. Crossing his arms, he automatically rubbed his arms, attempting to chase the feel of this day’s chill away. He cleared his voice, amazed he was still alive, watching as those around him found themselves no longer in the desert where they would remember having been for the rest of their lives. No matter if they had never seen the unbroken sand stretching to the horizon in the fullness of their lives, this day’s experiences would convince them they had always known what it was like to live in the deepest of the deserts.

  “And so the bargain was sealed, good people. The Puj’hom were allowed to live and became the Tuq’deb by the grace of Amphidea and the will of Giya. And now, all these years and years later, the Sea Goddess demands her due. Her heir has been born and will soon be among us. Oh yes,” he lowered his voice, waiting for the crowd to hush. His eyes shifted left, then right as he waited for just the right moment.

  “He is on his way here to take his rightful place. Who among us can image what that may even mean?” Chared smiled then, a smile filled with mischief and secrets.

  “Tell us!” he heard a single voice cry out. Then a chorus of voices echoed the demand. The plea. Filled with more fear than curiosity, the people surrounding him moved closer. Yells of “Tell us! Tell us! Tell us!” moved throughout the throng until they spoke as one.

  Chared thrust his hands wide, his lips held purposefully closed, his chin raised, waiting once more for silence. Those closest to him were immediately quiet, but it took another minute or two for those in the back of the crowd to be convinced to stop their shouting. For a brief instant, Chared wished he could remain sane long enough to truly enjoy this moment in time, when he was in control of both his own mind and that of the crowd. How he would have loved to have been able to live among them as just another man. Closing his eyes, he sighed as the last of the chanting died.

  “Amphidea is dying,” he said softly. “Without her, all the waters in the world will die, and so will we.” He bowed his head then, unable to hide the hide the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. How he wanted to wail aloud! To scream his own disbelief across the lands at such a volume that Sov himself must surely kneel by his side to offer him comfort. Instead he stood taller, inhaling deeply, forcing himself to remain sane just a little longer. He never knew how long he would be able to maintain control before he would dissolve into a babbling fool unable to understand the simplest of sentences, or fell into a well of silence so deep and so absolute it never occurred to him to attempt to break free until he was allowed another brief episode of sanity. No. He must maintain control so he might tell them how to help.

  “Listen to me!” he cried, spreading his arms wide. “Amphidea’s heir doesn’t want to come.” And with that, the darkness closed over him. A small, dwindling part of Chared heard the rest of what he had intended to say. He told them to make the heir feel welcome. To help him feel at home and cherished. It would be important, he knew, to make sure the boy knew he was coming home and would help the entire world to live again. Drena would have liked that – to have her son feel welcome, here, in this very wet world. She had hated it herself, he knew, but she would have wanted her son to feel welcome. She wouldn’t want him to come here, he knew, but she would have wanted him to be safe.

  “What’s that he’s saying?” a man asked, but Chared couldn’t answer him, he was too far gone in the madness. He was drowning in the sweet insanity all Merlarns experienced in service to the Storm Goddess.

  “I think he said something about being safe,” another answered, “but I’m not sure.”

  �
�He said the heir doesn’t want to come and to be safe? Is that what you’re saying?” the first man asked. “Does that mean we should be afraid of the heir?”

  “That’s what I heard,” the second replied as he locked his fear-filled eyes on those of the first man. “How do you stay safe from a god?” he asked.

  “He’s still mortal, isn’t he?” asked a woman who’d overheard the exchange. “Just a man with flesh and bones.” She shrugged meaningfully.

  Lost in visions of Amphidea’s heir restoring order and balance, Chared lay on the ground, his unseeing eyes staring at nothing, his arms and legs twitching, while the square around him exploded in chaos and fear. Neighbor turned against neighbor, and friend against friend, as each shouted their own ideas on how to keep safe from the heir who was coming to destroy them all.

  Chapter Eight – Amphedia’s Son

  The first thing Savaar felt when he fell into the water was cold. Having been killed any number of times, only to wake up healed and whole, he’d thought he was beyond being surprised. He knew, now, he’d been wrong. Nor had he felt as though he’d somehow fallen from some great height and been unceremoniously dumped into the water. No, he’d not fallen nor been sucked beneath the ground somehow. He’d simply been sitting on the sand, speaking with Kaya, one moment, and the next he was floundering beneath some great body of water, fully clothed.

  There had been no time at all to breathe in an extra supply of air so that he might have the time to assess the situation, or even to be able to tell up from down. He could already feel his chest being squeezed, his lungs hungry for the next breath of air. But thrashing about wasn’t going to give him any more time to live. Thankful for his soldier’s reflexes, he held completely still, allowing his body to be pulled downward while he watched the bubbles from his nose and mouth begin to rise. As soon as he realized which way must be up, he began swimming. It didn’t take him long, though, to realize the surface would be out of his reach. He never stopped reaching out, one arm over the other, pumping his legs, determined to spend his last moments of life as fully alive as possible.