Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
A Note from the Author
More by India Drummond
Born of Fire and Darkness
The Gods of Talmor, Book 2
by India Drummond
Born of Fire and Darkness
Copyright © 2015, India Drummond
http://www.indiadrummond.com
Editing by Susan Helene Gottfried
http://www.westofmars.com/
First electronic publication: April 2015
E-books are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed a real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my beta readers: Ed Nelson, KC May, and Matteo Michelotti. Your insights consistently serve to make my stories better. Thank you so much for your time and support. To my editor, Susan Gottfried: You've been not only a keen eye, helping my books shine, but also a good friend. Thank you for everything you do.
You, my readers, are ultimately responsible for the success of my books. Your kind words, your messages, letters, posts, tweets, and reviews motivate me and keep me going day after day. You inspire me with your enthusiasm. Thank you.
Chapter 1
A familiar pain flooded Graiphen’s senses. It bore sweet agony through his limbs and twisted his gut, but a tingle of pleasure swept across his aging skin at the same time. He felt both hot and cold and wiped his hand across his brow.
Time had changed his features. What had been a strong jaw would probably be still considered such, but deep wrinkles marred the handsome face. The pain of his service to the Spirit of Shadow had deepened those creases even further.
“I’m coming, Mistress,” he whispered. After many months as the highest ranked priest in her temple, he still shivered when she touched his mind. Recently, he’d come to understand that the Spirits of Light and Shadow the Talmoran Empire had worshiped for centuries were real. The beings he’d always assumed to be constructs of man, divine images designed to make men behave, were living creatures of immense power. True, they were not what he’d expected based on the teachings of his youth, but those fairy tales were written by people who clearly hadn’t experienced what he had. He’d seen one of the Spirits himself. She’d returned to the realm of men and chosen him, and just thinking about it made him tremble with excitement. He’d known for some time, but now no one could deny the rising power of the temples and the reason behind it.
Once, he’d been head of the senate in Vol, a powerful man, politically speaking, but that position didn’t compare to what he’d experienced as Ultim Qardone, Highest Brother, of Braetin’s temple.
The pain returned, more intensely this time. His mistress was not a patient creature. He breathed deeply and stood, pushing away from his desk. The aching in his joints was due in equal parts to advancing age and the sting of his mistress’ touch.
Uwer, a young, studious acolyte and his personal steward, glanced up from the small wooden table in the corner where he scribbled notes, awaiting the next line of dictation. Graiphen had been drafting another edict concerning the appropriate tribute to please the living Spirit of Shadow, but the matter could wait. His goddess would not. Graiphen glanced at the acolyte, wondering if he had any appreciation for the greatness he was privy to. “I must go.”
The unpleasant sensation of Braetin’s touch rolled over Graiphen, filling him with dread and excitement. Her terrible presence brushed his thoughts as he slowly made his way from his chamber. Although the distance was short, it took him a moment to realize her call was leading him down the dark stone corridors to the inner sanctum, a place of worship only nine people could enter—he and the eight high priests who served under him. Even those nine dared not enter unless she called. His hands shook as he contemplated what she might wish from him that day. Still, the apprehension couldn’t overshadow his excitement.
The four members of the Red Manus who guarded the narrow entrance stepped aside when he approached. They must have known he was coming. He rested his strong, ropy hand on the dinner-plate-sized spider carved into the door. As he hesitated, she wrenched his thoughts and his legs turned weak. Young acolytes just learning the ways of the temple would deny their fear, but Graiphen understood that his mistress didn’t wish for him to reject the effects of her presence. She reveled in every prickle that ran over his skin. Every lurch in his chest was an act of worship, a thing not to be rushed. Her pleasure became his.
With a twist on the sigil and a firm push, he opened the ancient black door and entered. A sound like howling wind greeted him, and the door slammed behind him. A purple glow filtered through a wide, shimmering crack in the back wall. The pure black of the room somehow absorbed the eerie light, like a sponge soaking up water. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, so he could only feel the hard chill of the air, hear the clacking of mandibles, and smell something like an acid tang that made him want to breathe through his mouth.
He’d felt her presence before, heard her voice. She’d filled his mind and body with her essence to use his lips to speak to the witch Octavia. But never before had he seen Braetin’s physical form.
His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor in the center of the room. The cold of the dark stone caused the aching in his joints to intensify. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his lips.
This world belongs to me.
The voice filled his mind and Graiphen involuntarily clapped his hands over his ears.
“Yes, mistress,” he croaked.
Me! she repeated.
His chest tightened and a warm trickle of urine wetted his robe. “More people arrive every week to offer themselves.”
Not enough!
Her hunger seemed insatiable, but Graiphen believed the faithful and fearful alike would continue to come.
A cold knife-like object scratched slowly across his back. He cowered, his forehead close to the floor. She chittered and clacked as she moved around him. His skin crawled but he remained still.
She’d been angry ever since the witch Octavia had attacked her. Even more so when she discovered that Octavia had somehow surv
ived even though Braetin had known she was dead. Graiphen did not dare refute his goddess. If she claimed the witch had been dead, gone to a realm beyond the goddess’ reach, then he accepted that truth, despite not understanding how the woman could then be living and breathing somewhere in this very city.
The situation bothered Graiphen nearly as much as it evidently bothered his mistress. He’d read stories of the realm of the dead before, but he’d never heard of someone returning. The witch was powerful, even more powerful than Seba. Granted, Seba had been a mad Talmoran conduit and she’d needed Braetin’s power to defeat him. Even still, Graiphen acknowledged that he’d underestimated her. Like all Talmorans, he’d once believed The One, the presence worshiped by Octavia and the other Kilovian practitioners, to be barbaric superstition. Now he knew better. But what was The One truly?
She’d used The One to injure Braetin, channeling it through an iron spike she rammed through the goddess’ projected presence. It hardly seemed possible and yet, he could not deny that Braetin’s strength had been diminished after the battle. Only constant feeding had abated the damage. Nothing offered satisfied her.
I will call one of my brethren through you.
Graiphen stopped and considered, forgetting his fear for a moment. “Mistress?”
Why should I wait and heal slowly when another can provide what I need immediately? The bargain has been struck.
Graiphen turned the idea over in his mind. He’d learned that eight high qardone had summoned Braetin back to this world in this very room. He’d asked questions, but even now that he had been elevated to be the highest of their order, he could not discover the truth. Their mistress had forbidden anyone to speak of the secrets of her kind. One did not betray Braetin, Spirit of Shadow, and expect to live.
“What do you require of me, Mistress?”
Call to Pang.
Pang? The Spirit of Light? Eight Spirits had once ruled Talmor: four of Shadow and four of Light. The choice to call Pang, the spirit whose realm was fire, love, beauty, and passion, stunned Graiphen. Surely another would have more to offer and more kinship with his mistress. What of Slondaemon, Ness, or even Usher, the other Spirits of Shadow?
Without warning, Braetin’s form dissolved and her presence filled him. The sensation was sweet torture. Only then did he realize that even in this chamber, she was not a solid, corporeal creature. Not completely.
Her voice filled his throat, and he chanted strange words in an unfamiliar tongue. His mouth contorted to create sounds he couldn’t have managed without her forcing his body to bend to her will.
The glow on the rear wall intensified with a flash, then the surface became mirror-smooth. He saw his own face staring back at him, his eyes hollow and haunted. Beyond the reflection, the darkness intensified. Two figures stood beyond, tall but bent, wrapped in tattered robes. Long, spindly fingers were all he could see. The brows were hidden under frayed hoods, the lower faces wrapped in rags.
Looking more closely, Graiphen saw that one of the figures had a long, shadowy cord coming from its center that connected to the mirrored surface. The grey flesh rope twisted and convulsed like a living snake constructed of darkness.
The figure gestured, beckoning the other. Twisted, razor-like claws pointed toward him. The second figure stretched out a neck and seemed to peer in Graiphen’s direction. They moved at peculiar angles, as though their necks were too long and their bodies segmented strangely.
Graiphen could not move or speak, even though Braetin focused her attention elsewhere. She used him like a puppet, but with her fist clenched tight.
After what seemed an eternity of waiting and considering, the second figure reached down and opened its robe. A similar tendril came from its body and extended toward Graiphen. The pressure built within him as his Mistress exploded with joy, the elation rolling over Graiphen, almost too intense to bear.
Black spots formed in front of Graiphen’s eyes, obscuring the already dim scene. As the second presence entered the inner sanctum, Graiphen lost consciousness.
When he roused, he was uncertain how much time had passed, but it felt like mere moments. His mistress had left his body and now two forms towered over him. This second being filled the room with light, and the white flame of her presence was met halfway by the complete darkness of his mistress. Neither banished the other, and Graiphen knelt between them.
I will give this one to you to take you to a new nesting place. The voice of Braetin. Graiphen could never mistake it for another.
The second voice was strange to him, sweet, but equally terrible. You ask much, sister, but you offer little. You cannot keep all to yourself and expect to survive.
Revive your own house. Leave mine to me.
A heavy pause filled the room, the shadow and light still battling for dominance.
I want Durjin. We will live in harmony, as we once did. The souls in this realm have multiplied. There is enough for both, and the balance shall be restored.
As in the old days, Braetin replied.
But we have learned much since those days, since the deaths of our brethren. Darkness knew things we did not.
His ways were perversion. When Braetin roared with anger, Graiphen trembled.
His ways were successful.
Braetin hesitated. The sudden uncertainty in her startled Graiphen. He could sense her thoughtful consideration. Do we have an accord? she asked finally.
We do. She turned her attention to Graiphen. I am Pang.
Braetin’s voice echoed in his mind. Go to Durjin. Find the witch Seba. Bring him to me. He has learned the magic of the Children of Eurmus, a power I would have for myself. Do this, and I will forgive your trespasses.
Trespasses? Graiphen had served unwaveringly. He had seen her fed and worked without ceasing to restore her to strength. Did she blame him for her state, for the injury Octavia had done to her? If so, he had one chance to prove his worth. He had to go to the capitol.
Come, Pang said. We leave now. I am hungry.
∞
Octavia kept herself to the parts of Vol where Kilovians lived, typically the poorer quarters. Granted, many Talmorans now sought her services as a conduit since the emperor had publicly thanked her for her service. He’d credited her with saving many lives after she and Korbin had stopped the madman that had threatened the entire Council of Eight a few months before. Now that she could no longer hide her identity, she insisted all who wished to ask for her help come to her rather than her going to them. Getting Talmoran nobles to venture into the poor quarter was a first test of their sincerity.
The emperor had praised her actions and given her access to his personal healer and allowed to her convalesce at his home in Vol, while he returned to Durjin. But at that terrible time, what she required was not Talmoran medicine. She needed her own herbs, to practice the ways of her people, to experience the comforting presence of the One.
As soon as she’d proved strong enough, she returned to her flat in the immigrant quarter. Every day since, people queued to see her. Once there had been five conduits practicing in Vol, plus their mentor. Now she was the only one. The other Senne had been murdered by the Red Manus, agents of the temple of Braetin, and her mentor, Sen Rhikar, had died breaking a bond the madman Seba had forced upon him.
Now Seba was imprisoned by the empire and Octavia had been cleared of the charge of criminal heresy. Still, none of that would make up for the loss to the Kilovian community nor the deep sense of grief Octavia herself endured.
With the others of her order, the Sennestelle, gone, Octavia tried to tend the needs of all the Kilovians in the city of Vol, providing them with herbs and healing mixtures, offering prayers and a few words of solace. She attended births, presided over death rites, helped find things that were lost, and comforted those who needed her.
When it became clear the tide of people coming to her would not slow any time soon, she had asked the community for help. Kilovian leaders in the immigrant quarter set up a place for
her at a local meeting hall. This, at least, kept people from banging on her door at all hours of the day and night, although it had taken some persistence before the word had gotten out to come here instead.
Sitting in her usual seat in a small, private room in a far end of the meeting hall, Octavia turned to her new apprentice, Liara, a thin, plain girl who was far too inexperienced to be of much use. “How many more?” Octavia asked, mopping her brow. The summer was upon them, and the closed space of the hall lacked enough ventilation to keep them comfortable during the hottest part of the day.
“Four, Senne,” Liara said.
So serious, Octavia thought. The girl had not a jot of humor about her. The irony of a woman like Octavia making such an observation was not lost on her. She acknowledged people who didn’t know her well said she herself often had a grim demeanor, but the life of a member of the Sennestelle was not easy nor comfortable.
Liara, on the other hand, seemed incapable of humor. She wasn’t one Octavia might have chosen to be her first student, but even though things had changed in the city, the violent deaths of all the other conduits in the city meant families suddenly didn’t want their children to serve their community this way. Liara had come of her own accord.
“How many of those four are Talmoran?” Octavia asked.
“All of them, Senne.”
Even in days past, Talmorans paid more for her services, but now seeing a conduit had become fashionable, something Octavia detested. “Tell them to come back tomorrow,” she grumbled.
“But, Senne—”
With a raised eyebrow, Octavia cut Liara off.
The girl blushed. “Forgive me. Yes, Senne. I’ll do as you ask right away.”
“Wait,” Octavia said. Liara had still acquired little training beyond a few basic concepts and some rudimentary herb collecting techniques. She needed to learn how to deal with people. She seemed unduly intimidated by the Talmoran upper classes. “Speak to each of them privately. Ask what they want before telling them to come back another day. After they are gone, I want you to meditate on and record each case, and tomorrow, tell me what course of action you think appropriate.”
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 1
