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

by Kyrja

  “Maw’ki!” Kaya called out, panting, “You know me.” He bent over then, putting his hands on his knees, catching his breath, while Aidena did the same. “I met you in the desert when Savaar and I brought her to you,” he told her, nodding once in Aidena’s direction. To Jarles’ relief, his grandmother relaxed her stance, having recognized Kaya.

  “Siri Ventus,” Aidena blurted, unwilling to wait another moment to tell them. “She’s in the city. With my mother and my … my daughter. And Oculis is here too, ” she added.

  “What?” Jarles heard Maw’ki echo his own astonishment.

  “How do you know it was her?” Maw’ki asked. “You told me you’ve never seen her.”

  Jarles watched Aidena close her eyes, inhaling deeply, then her body gave a little shiver. He didn’t know if she was feeling fear or anger, but when she opened her eyes again, she told them, “She looked right at me, with her cold, dead eyes and laughed at me. I could hear her in my head, Denit. She said she is going to make sure Amphedia never has a chance to have her heir, because she is going to destroy the city.”

  Chapter Twenty- Two – Amphedia’s Offer

  There were far too many candles in the temple, especially near the altar. Savaar wondered why they didn’t just open the windows and doors so there would be more light. He’d been a soldier far too long in this lifetime to appreciate the waste. He felt the corner of his mouth quirk at the thought of how he’d spent his life. If he was in a military camp now, instead of this pretentious stone temple, he knew he could get much more accomplished in much shorter order than it felt like he would ever get done here. He closed his eyes, his arms outstretched, supporting his weight on the top of the altar with his palms. His back was to the empty rows of seats where the people attending worship services sat. He rarely came into the temple itself, careful to only allow certain members of the Blue Dolphin Order to see him, and never the general populous. It wasn’t time yet. Soon though. He suppressed a sigh, knowing he was tired of being careful. Of the entire charade. Sometimes he wanted to just walk away, but he knew his mother wouldn’t let him. She would find a way to lure him back to her, so she could kill him all over again.

  “Yes, Abalah,” he said, responding at last to the high priest’s question. “He is in the city and is on his way here now.” He could almost hear the man’s heart rate accelerate at the thought of having one of Amphedia’s legendary, some would say “mythical,” Tears in his own hands. He sighed to himself yet again, wishing the Tear Kerr was bringing was his own, so he could have peace at last. He pitied the men, both the one who currently held the damned thing and the one who coveted it so badly. They knew nothing at all of what it really meant to be a true child of the Storm Goddess. If he had his wish, he would destroy the Tear the moment Kerr walked through the temple door, giving whichever of his sisters or brothers it belonged to eternal peace instead of death after brutal death. Eternal life wasn’t at all what humans thought it was, when it wasn’t your own to do with as you would desire. Eternal slavery was all that awaited anyone foolish enough to evoke the powers inherent in the Tears of Amphedia. Or eternal war.

  “Oh, and Abalah?” Savaar said, when he heard the high priest turn away.

  “Yes my lord?” the man stopped once more, waiting.

  “Once you see him enter the temple, bar the door. We don’t want him to leave until he surrenders the Tear.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Abalah responded, then resumed his trek towards the exit.

  Savaar knew it had been a long time since Abalah had taken orders from anyone; he was the one who usually sent others to do his bidding. But he had eagerly assumed the subordinate role once Savaar had arrived. Undoubtedly due to his assumption he would gain some kind of favor with him once he took his “rightful” place as the savior. Savaar reached out with his left hand, picking up the ever-present bowl of water from the altar, dipping two of the fingers of his right hand in the liquid. As he stirred the water, he allowed the digits to loosen their human form, becoming water. It had been a very long time since he’d allowed himself the pleasure of becoming pure water, with no shape at all. And especially with no purpose other than to simply “be.” Even when he’d gone looking for Jarles, he had only partially transformed, and only so he could find him faster.

  Nor had he completely transformed when he’d drowned Chared’s mother, P’onyem. He hadn’t intended to kill her, nor to even harm her in any way. He knew he couldn’t rightfully call what had happened an accident though. He’d gone to see Chared to glean as much information from him as he could about Jarles. He’d learned the man had long been Amphedia’s favored servant and had, indeed, been present when Jarles had been conceived. Abalah had sneered when he’d mentioned Chared’s name, telling Savaar he should have died with the others, long ago. But Savaar had listened carefully and understood Abalah was afraid of Chared. He was, in fact, in awe of the fact the man had survived more than twenty years of self-imposed punishment, chained to a stone tablet. No one he’d questioned really understood why Chared had done that; everyone assumed Amphedia had punished him. Opinion was split between admiration for such devotion, and anger for keeping his silence about what had happened to all the priests when the savior was conceived. All agreed, however, that with his release, Amphedia’s heir must be drawing near. They no longer called Jarles that though; not since he had arrived.

  Savaar had only introduced himself to Chared, standing behind the bars of his jail cell, when P’onyem and that damned Oculis had surprised him. He’d really had no choice at that point; there was no place else for him to go. He had poured himself into Chared, merging with his body, taking possession of his mind. He wasn’t really certain what had happened after that, though. He remembered feeling enraged and the need to flee, but they were in his way. Too, he had known Oculis was a threat to Jarles and … Savaar stopped, considering. His thoughts felt foreign to him. As if his memories weren’t entirely his own. Every time he tried to remember what had happened in that jail cell with Chared, it felt as though his mind was shying away - no, skipping away from his grasp. But he had been there. Had felt her throat in his hands.

  Savaar held very, very still then, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. They had not, in fact, been his hands. They had been Chared’s hands.

  “Amphedia has found her heir and has drowned him.” Savaar repeated the words out loud now, remembering having spoken them with Chared’s lips. Then he whirled around, all thoughts of Chared, his mother, and Jarles immediately discarded. He felt his heart beating erratically, knowing exactly what, or, rather who, he would find there, behind him.

  “Mother.” The word came out as an accusation. He looked down at her from where he stood at the altar, two steps above her. She was tall, regal, and composed, with a look on her face as if she’d just done something malicious that had pleased her greatly. Without bothering to take a breath to compose himself, he laughed at her. “Here to kill me again, are you?”

  Her lips twitched in a half-smile, but her eyes never left his. “Not yet,” she said, then turned away from him.

  “Why am I here?” he called out to her retreating back, pleased his voice was calm and deliberate, instead of strained and screaming. All the muscles of his body were rigid with anger. It had been a long, long time since he’d felt anything but anger towards her. Blind fury, really, but she knew that, he reminded himself, so was determined that this time, his would be the voice of reason and quiet control.

  “I was hoping you would tell me,” she replied, a slim eyebrow raised, as she faced him again.

  He would not take the bait. Would not. He could not imagine for the smallest moment she didn’t think he was here to usurp her. In no way would he give her the slightest idea of what his true plans were. “Is there somewhere else you would rather I be?” he asked her.

  “Come home, Savaar,” she said, quietly. “Leave these people in peace,” she replied, her face a study in sincerity. He felt his eyebrows raise in genuine surprise
at her response, but knew better than to believe she wanted nothing from him.

  “Will you leave them in peace, Mother?” he asked, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt as to what his own thoughts in the matter were.

  “I will give you what you want,” she said, holding his gaze tightly, then slowly holding up her hand to reveal a perfectly formed, teardrop-shaped gem.

  Savaar felt the world fall away from him, the walls of the building surrounding him, the floor beneath him, the city around him. Nothing else mattered but that small token held in his mother’s out-stretched palm. He thought he might actually faint, his head was buzzing so loudly. He felt completely disconnected from everything around him, focused completely on the gem. He blinked, then blinked again, feeling his heart hammering in his chest as if it might explode. He didn’t remember raising his hands to cradle his face, but felt them now, covering his own mouth. He should pay attention to that, he knew. He could not trust her to offer it to him without condition, and if she was offering to let him finally rest, then he knew he should run away, leaving the offer rejected. He knew that she was only teasing him, trying to get rid of him, but the temptation was overpowering. How he had longed to die and never return to the ever-repeating cycle of her abuse. Who in their right mind would want to spend lifetime after lifetime, knowing they would be killed once they’d performed whatever service their wicked mother wanted from them?

  He knew she was only trying to lure him away from Jarles and her plans for him, he knew exactly what she was doing, and yet … yet …

  “All hail Lord Savaar!” he heard a woman’s voice break the heavy silence of the temple. Looking up, he saw a dozen or more young women come running into the temple, all screaming his name. For a moment longer, he was confused, not understanding who they were or what they wanted. When he looked back at his mother, she closed her hand on the Tear, her face a picture of quiet fury.

  “You will regret this,” she told him, then disappeared, leaving behind nothing more than a small puddle of water on the stone floor at the foot of the altar.

  Chapter Twenty- Three – Eruitt’s Errand

  I will not be played for a fool. Eruitt had said those words, and had meant them, fearful even then he would still be taken for one, or perhaps even worse. He hadn’t been eager to get himself involved in anything to do with the gods or their spirits, or even people who could do strange things. He knew he’d been off balance ever since he’d last seen P’onyem, and wanted to blame his poor judgement in agreeing to this “small task” on the fact he hadn’t been himself. In truth, he was still angry with P’onyem for having left him behind when Oculis had shown up. She should have let him help her. Instead, she was dead. At least, that’s what Oculis had told him. How would he ever know without seeing her body though? She’d been turned to sand, according to the soft-spoken man with the yellow eyes who claimed to have been P’onyem’s former lover. Of course, the fact that he could transform himself into an owl, and could even speak while in owl form did tend to have an influence on his opinion, Eruitt knew. He constantly chastised himself, though. Just because the man appeared to be an “otherworldly creature” didn’t mean he had Eruitt’s best interest in mind.

  Oculis said he had sought him out because he knew P’onyem had trusted him, and that he needed to be able to depend on someone he could trust too. He’d known things about P’onyem that Eruitt knew to be true and other things that sounded very much like the woman he’d known for the past two years, and the things she would have done or said. She had been a balm to his shattered soul when he’d arrived in the city, lost and alone. He hadn’t even had any real idea why he’d come. He’d only known he had to, whether he wanted to or not.

  In another lifetime, he would have come because it was dictated that all Tuq’deb who could feel the water beneath the sand must do so. But that was before Jarles was born. And even though he’d been born two years before Jarles, it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Jarles had been recognized, for the most part, as Amphedia’s heir. Nobody sent their children who had come of age to the city any longer. The covenant Giya had made with Amphedia generations past was done. The Tuq’deb were free to stay in the desert and the Puj’hom were no longer required to welcome them, nor to mate with them, in the hope of creating the savior. He was already here. Had already been here for more than two decades. And yet … some Tuq’deb were unable to ignore the burning desire, the absolute, physical need, to come to the city in search of answers they would never find. P’onyem had found him within two days of his having arrived in the city, hungry, angry, and confused. She had taken him into her own home and cared for him, helping him to begin his new life.

  In time, she had shared with him the fact that Jarles was her grandson, and small stories of what he was like when he was a child. She had done her best to help him understand being angry with Jarles for not simply surrendering himself to Amphedia was selfish, if understandable. Eruitt rather thought it might be understandable for Jarles to want to avoid Amphedia and the tremendous responsibility she represented, but that he was being selfish for not accepting his own role as her heir.

  And now, here he was, leading three of Jarles’ companions to Savaar. Trying to understand if he was doing the right thing or the wrong thing was giving him a headache. He was sure he was being played for a fool. Why, he kept asking himself, would the companion to the Goddess of Air want to help the heir of the Goddess of the Seas? Did the gods work together, or against each other? On one hand, he knew Giya and Amphedia had worked together to create Amphedia’s heir – Jarles. But he had watched as Chared told his story in the square and had seen with his own eyes the images of Giya and Amphedia practically at each other’s throats. He had heard how Chared casually mentioned that Amphedia had tricked Giya into surrendering the seas. And Siri Ventus was somewhere in the mix too, playing Giya for a fool. Not to mention Sov himself, turning the whole of the world to sand without any regard for the people who worshipped him. He had so many questions, and nobody he could trust to turn to for answers!

  It seemed like the whole city had changed since P’onyem had made Chared wake up. Eruitt had seen him, of course. Many times. While he wasn’t exactly in the center of the city, he had been laying on the stone tablet not far from the Temple of Life for a very long time before he had ever arrived in the city. The first time he’d seen Chared laying there, he’d thought he was dead and wondered why he was still there instead of having been burned, thrown into the sea, or even buried. Seeing him had given him a terrible shock until he’d realized he wasn’t dead. But even then, he had never felt comfortable seeing him lying there, and had wondered how everyone had gotten so used to seeing him chained like that. They walked by without a glance in his direction, no longer seeing his tattered and torn clothes, his cracked lips, and closed eyes, as if he was nothing more than some discarded rag to be ignored, perhaps even disdained.

  Everyone had just called him the “Chained Man.” He hadn’t ever heard anyone call him by his name until after he had appeared in the square with his story, and his magic, and then had collapsed. P’onyem had been terrified for her son then, worried the crowd would rip him to pieces. But they hadn’t. In fact, most were afraid to even touch him. But his story, and his message of the heir not wanting to come had had the opposite effect of what P’onyem said was supposed to happen. Everyone was afraid of Jarles now. Everyone was waiting for him to arrive so they could kill him. At least, that’s what he’d heard. Eruitt hoped they were just afraid of Jarles, and in their fear, they were boasting of what they wanted to do. He desperately wished P’onyem was still alive so she could help make things the way they were supposed to be. He wasn’t sure whether it would be a good thing if Chared showed up again. It would probably be more dangerous than anything. He was afraid of what people would do to him. They probably wouldn’t listen to him at all.

  And what, a small voice in his own mind asked him, would they do to you if they knew you were with three of Jarles’ companion
s right now?

  “How much further?” he heard Ishra ask from behind him. Ramil and Easif were walking on either side of him, while Ishra trailed a short distance behind. If he had to guess, he would have said all three were hunters or warriors. They were all so serious and quiet. He would have preferred they were more talkative so he would feel more comfortable. He could have asked them about their clans, or if they knew people he had known. Then again, if they were more talkative, he probably would have had to answer more questions. Eruitt knew if he would have had to explain more than he already did, he was sure he would have felt even more uncomfortable.

  Oculis had pointed them out, then had left it to him to approach them to invite them – somehow! – to follow him. Oculis had suggested he lie, telling them he was taking them to meet Savaar. He had told Eruitt he knew that’s who they were looking for, but wanted a chance to talk to them before they did. He just wanted the opportunity to talk to them, he had repeated over and over until Eruitt was convinced the man had something else in mind, entirely. He had refused to lie to them, threatening to walk away from the owl-man until he promised he wouldn’t harm them. In fact, Oculis had told Eruitt exactly where to find Savaar so that he could, in truth, lead them to their intended destination once he’d had a chance to talk to them.

  Eruitt thought if someone would have approached him the way he had approached them, he was pretty sure he would have turned and walked away, no matter how curious he might have been. He’d been entirely honest with them, saying nothing more than he’d been sent by the companion of the Goddess of Air to ask if they would allow him to talk to them. Easif had asked how much he’d been paid to deliver the message, while Ishra had wanted to know what Oculis wanted to talk about. It had been Ramil, though, who had stepped closer to him, leaning down a little bit to make sure his face was even with Eruitt’s before asking if he would be eager to learn what their host was going to say.