Uniting the Heavens

by Emily English

  Aren sighed, dropping his arms to his sides, one hand rolling the staff. “I’m sorry, Elder. It was a rough trip home.”

  Elder snorted, but Aren heard a softening of his tone. “Excuses. The only good here is that you’ve returned earlier than I expected; I thought you had planned on a longer trip.”

  Aren perked up. “Elder, remember that time I calculated how long it takes to travel from the River Taethe to Tiede as the crow flies? My best estimate was three days. Well, forget that theory; I now know from experience that it takes as long as the Wood wants it to take. We went from river to Tiede Proper in hours.” Elder’s face was expressionless. “Hours,” Aren repeated, drawing out the word.

  “Where did you get that awful stick?” Elder asked, as if Aren hadn’t spoken, “and why did you bring it in here?”

  Aren looked at the staff. He was so accustomed to carrying it, he had almost forgotten. “It’s a long story, but the impetus for why I’m back early is this message for Lord Vir. A messenger found me at the river.” He pulled the parchment out of his vest, tried to straighten it a little, then presented it to Elder.

  “Do I look like Lord Vir?” Elder snapped. “Request an audience, but before you do, try to look and smell somewhat presentable.”

  Aren clutched at the parchment. “Yes, Elder.”

  Elder turned to walk away, his majestic robes giving the impression of floating. “It’s good you’re back. There’s a lot of work to catch up on.” He added, “And the girl will be fine.”

  So one of Dane’s rumors was actually right: Selina had been chosen. Aren was the guardian of Cordelacht’s newest Priestess—well, legally his sister Lana was Selina’s guardian. In any case, he thought his brain might explode.

  He was so lost in thought and lulled into a state of relaxation by the splashing fountain that he didn’t hear the footsteps until they were a few feet away. He turned to see who it was and found himself standing before Lord Tiede Vir. Aren dropped to one knee and bowed his head, bringing his fist to his chest.

  Tiede Vir was an imposing figure with his jet-black hair and deep-set, dark-blue eyes against his fair skin. He was almost as tall as Aren—which was not a Tiede trait—but his physique was bigger, more bulky. Aren could almost imagine the statues that would be made in this man’s image.

  “Up.” Vir watched as Aren stood up. “The girl?”

  “Selina is with the Priestess Minor, my Lord.”

  Vir looked tired and a little irritated. “One less thing to be concerned with.”

  “I’m actually back earlier than I had planned; I’ve a message for you,” Aren started, almost dropping the parchment and the staff, but recovering. “I was going to request an audience, but here you are—though, if you prefer, I can still go through the proper channels.” Vir opened a hand to accept the message, then studied the dusky, rose-colored wax seal. “It was a very long and dangerous journey,” Aren explained, realizing that the message was not in the best of conditions. “I lost my pack, gained this staff, and the message took the same beating I did.” He wondered if he was babbling, but continued anyway. “A messenger from the House of Rose spotted me at the River Taethe, and he asked me to deliver it.”

  Vir unfolded the parchment. “Why didn’t he deliver it himself?”

  Aren bit his lip hard. Was this the right time to tell Lord Vir that a mage had attacked him? It might come across as some crazy story to get attention or a sad excuse for his disheveled state. The last time the mages had risen was decades ago, and according to the histories, they were scattered and killed off. Let Vir read the message. He might think it more credible than his Apprentice did. Aren spit out the words he knew Vir wanted to hear. “Tiede Wood, my Lord. He was scared.”

  A hint of a smile lifted the corner of Vir’s mouth. “Good.”

  Aren watched as Vir read over the message. Nothing on Vir’s face betrayed what was written, but Aren heard something like a growl crawl up from his throat. Vir folded the parchment, keeping the edges aligned, his mind focused on the task, but otherwise elsewhere.

  “This message doesn’t exist. If I hear one word of a message that you delivered, I will toss you into Tiede Wood myself.” Vir’s voice was calm and even, but there was a note of tension beneath it.

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Did you read it?”

  Lord Vir, husband to Rose’s most beloved daughter, it is with great distress and anxiety that I write you this letter.

  Aren didn’t flinch, looking straight into Vir’s eyes. “No, my Lord.”

  FIFTEEN

  Selina stood before the Priestesses in Alaric’s worship room, which encompassed the west wing of the House. It was situated on the first level, but rose to the second in a manner similar to the Library. Most worshipping was done in this room, the most elaborate in the House. Thick, silk drapes in midnight blue flanked the large windows, and candles adorned the smaller open window casings. Urns of various sizes made of tortoise shell, turquoise, and jade were full of water and gathered at one corner while in another section of the room flames jumped on candelabras. It smelled of the sea and moonflower and leindra incense.

  Selina had learned long ago that Alaric was the Night god, the one that all of Tiede worshipped above all other gods, and she could see now how serious the House was about paying their respects to him. She felt smaller than usual, insignificant and lost in this space.

  Nianni stood behind her, as if to make sure she wouldn’t run away. To Selina’s left was Min. The raven-haired House Priestess was soft-spoken and hadn’t said much to Selina aside from welcoming her to the House, but she watched Selina with curiosity, her amber eyes seeming to record her every movement.

  To Selina’s right was Tiede’s Head Priestess Crina. She had sparkling gray eyes and silver hair pulled back from her sharp face. She looked ageless, yet Selina could see the years in those strange eyes and hear the wisdom in her calm voice. Crina explained that the Priestesses of Syrn would need to confirm that she was the chosen, and that she didn’t have to do anything but stand still.

  There were three Priestesses from Syrn: Syrn’s Head Priestess Estelline, Priestess Teyna, and the Seer. Selina would have sworn they were goddesses or some kind of faerie because of their regal elegance and ethereal beauty. Like Tiede’s Priestesses, they seemed ageless, and she wondered if youth was a gift they had received from the gods.

  Estelline was tall, the white hair piled atop her head, making her look even taller. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, a solid silver bracelet on each wrist catching the firelight in the room. She examined Selina without betraying her emotions.

  “Your chosen,” Crina said. “The House of Tiede offers her to Syrn.”

  No one spoke, but the Seer, standing to Estelline’s right, began to hum low in her throat. Her emerald-green eyes glazed over, and her long red hair stirred in the breeze that had slipped unnoticed into the room. “This is the girl from the visions,” the Seer confirmed, the mist lifting from her eyes. “But she’s not been blessed.”

  Teyna smiled, and her dark features and singsong accent reminded Selina of Nianni. “Where are you from, child?” Teyna asked.

  Selina looked to Crina, and when the Head Priestess nodded in approval, she said, “Aren found me here in Tiede.”

  “The Historian’s Apprentice,” Crina explained. “He’s regarded as the child’s guardian, though not in any official capacity. We’re told that he found her three years ago, and that she has no recollection of home or family.”

  “This is fascinating, but it does present a problem,” Estelline said, a sigh weighing down her words. “Never has an Unblessed been chosen.”

  “And yet,” Teyna said, “the Seer has confirmed.”

  “We will have to pray on this. With the gods’ guidance, we will find an answer. In the meantime, we place a blessing on you, Selina, and welcome you into the sacred worship of the gods,” Estelline intoned, and all the women placed their hands over Selina’s head.
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  Dozens of images, broken and colorless, new and happy, overwhelmed her senses until at last her mind settled on the sensation of the Lady in the Wood kissing her forehead.

  SIXTEEN

  When their father Mahl left them on this once-wasted planet, what seemed like an eternity ago, back when there were still eight cursed continents, he had woven certain rules into the condition of their being. There was no way to ignore or defy those rules; like puppets, they were compelled to obey, dangling about on strings with an invisible handler. The idea of it felt so real that Alaric often stared up into his evening skies, imagining and tracing the thin, unbreakable strings that led to his father’s hands.

  Alaric and his twin sister Aalae had discovered their father’s rules over the course of their lives, recording them, and in Aalae’s case, trying to find ways to break them. Their list of rules, while short, limited them in various ways. They couldn’t kill each other, for one, and they were tied in such a way that they could summon each other as long as there was no intended malice. It was a tortured existence, and they were stranded, unable to leave the planet or call on any other gods.

  It was the Summons that was annoying Alaric now, and he fastened his cape as he walked towards the borders of his Realm, waiting for his Elemental Knights to fall in behind him. He had no fear of his sister, but he knew that her Knights would be at her side. He wasn’t so vain that he would face them alone.

  They also hadn’t yet discovered whether any of the Knights could kill a god.

  A piercing cry cut through the air, and he glanced up at the phoenix that circled overhead, its tail and wings a trail of fire blazing bright against the dark sky. He watched as it tucked its wings back before diving towards him, its features blurring, the whole of it vanishing into black smoke as it neared, until the core of it smashed into the ground beside him.

  The fireball sparked and erupted, and the large Fire spirit emerged from the ashes, dressed in full black regalia.

  “Tanghi,” Alaric acknowledged the other. “Where’s Kaila?”

  The Fire spirit looked down at Alaric, his brows furrowed. “I thought she would be here by now; I haven’t seen her since morning.”

  How was it going to look when he showed up with one Knight to Aalae’s two? She’d probably make some joke about how he had no control over his Realm, and right now he was beginning to think that it wouldn’t be far from the truth. He resumed his trek, taking the shell-littered path away from the Keep, with Tanghi in step behind him.

  “Do you know what the Summons is about?” Tanghi asked.

  “The Priestesses. She claims we’re unbalanced.”

  They walked in silence from that point, Alaric aware of Tanghi doing the calculations in his head: eight Houses, three Priestesses each, another one from each House in Syrn for training. He would find that the number belonging to Light and Night across the Houses was even and that the selection of a new Priestess, rumored to be from Tiede, would tilt the balance towards Night.

  The darkness was receding, indicating that they were nearing the Realm’s borders, and Alaric squinted as his eyes adjusted to the additional light. The long, inky shadows began to give way to a hazy landscape of endless fields covered in tall white grass and littered with large, charcoal boulders, broken pieces of the pink and lavender sky sprinkled about as if they had let go of the heavens.

  Aalae was leaning against a towering rock, her Knights in full white regalia on either side of her. She was long and willowy with skin the color of honey, eyes of jade, and hair like silver snow in this light. She was everything Alaric was not, and he questioned how on Mytanth they were related, never mind being twins.

  “I would have preferred to meet at Dawn over this lifeless place,” he said, referring to the borderland where the sun was fixed low and bright on the horizon. “Sabana, Geir, I trust my sister is treating you well.”

  The two Knights bowed their heads low, and Tanghi followed suit, paying the proper respects to Aalae. Sabana’s rich, dark skin contrasted the white she wore, and with her head covered by the helm, her earthy-green eyes seemed to dance all the more. She was lord over all the dry land and flora and vegetation. She was as beautiful and cunning as her mistress; she was Aalae’s most valuable asset.

  Geir, on the other hand, was to Aalae as Kaila was to Alaric. Geir questioned Aalae’s motives and methods and often disappeared for long periods of time. He was tall with unkempt, sandy-blond hair and attractive, angular facial features. The oddest thing about him was that he wore a linen cloth over his eyes, though he wasn’t blind. He’d been wearing it for so long that no one questioned it anymore.

  “You would prefer Dawn just as much as I would have preferred Dusk,” Aalae said, her voice as sweet as a child’s song. “Let’s please try to be more honest with each other.”

  “You first,” Alaric said, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s the real reason for this Summons?”

  She waved a hand at him, as if dismissing his question. “Tanghi, it’s wonderful to see you, and so handsome in the full black.” Tanghi bowed his head again to acknowledge her compliment. “But where is your beautiful sister-in-arms?”

  “I have Kaila on a task at the moment,” Alaric said. “Now what do you want of me?”

  A knowing look stole across her face. “The new Priestess is from Tiede; this throws off the balance.”

  “Just because she’s from Tiede doesn’t mean she was blessed by my Realm,” he countered. “Yes, the chances are greater, but it’s still unknown. We can argue this once we know for sure. Next time, just send a message through Taia,” he said, referring to his mate.

  “What of the Priestesses at Syrn? Have you counted them?”

  “Syrn is neutral, regardless of where the Priestesses are from. The Seer’s gifts to select the next Priestess come from father, and to date the selection has been balanced, so what are you worried about? Your worshippers are providing you with the power you require, as are mine. We are at our second equinox. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “I don’t care for equinox,” she said, pushing herself away from the boulder and taking a step towards him. “Father didn’t leave us here to keep order; he wants one of us to rule—that’s when he’ll return, and one of us will receive the full powers of godhood and finally get off this forsaken planet.”

  “And that’s why you’re concerned about the Priestesses,” Alaric said flatly. “You’re looking to increase your power, your hold over the god-life.”

  “The books say,” she said in a singsong voice, “the mortals are the key.”

  “There’s more to it than that, and if you don’t pull back the reins on your reckless ambition, you will bring about another holy war, and it won’t matter how many Priestesses there are to lead the mortals to you because they’ll all be dead. We’ve managed to annihilate seven continents full of god-life thanks to our bickering.”

  “I’ll not be like you, satisfied with being stuck here for eternity. I will get off this rock, even if it means I have to destroy you first.”

  “You know nothing of what I want of this life, and you are the naïve one if you think I’ll stand idly by while you wreak havoc on what we’ve finally achieved: this tenuous balance,” Alaric seethed. “This isn’t a competition, and father’s not coming back to crown a victor. We protect the god-life or we die; it’s as simple as that. Father left us here because we were a threat to his godhood.”

  “Balance does not create power,” she said.

  “Your opinion has been noted.” He turned his back to her and began to walk away, with Tanghi a step behind him.

  Aalae called out, “Sabana and Geir tell me that Kaila was in Tiede Wood, then ventured into Tiede. I didn’t think you ever let her out of your sight, never mind allowing her to walk among the mortals.”

  Alaric gritted his teeth and tried to tell himself that she was baiting him. He felt Tanghi’s presence, and the heat emanating from the fire that encircled his body pushed at Al
aric, telling him to keep moving. Alaric took a breath, then continued walking.

  Kaila needed to be found and disciplined.

  SEVENTEEN

  After a much-needed bath, Aren sought out his desk in the House Library, eager to surround himself with something familiar and comfortable. Tiede’s Library was renowned throughout Cordelacht as the most beautiful and bountiful archive. It encompassed two floors on the front, eastern side of the House, its vaulted ceiling depicting the story of Alaric calling forth Fire and Water to bring life to Tiede.

  The Library was warm and extravagant. Heavy silk curtains in midnight blue framed the large windows. Stone and marble floors on the first level made the room seem more spacious than it already was, and the plush midnight carpeting on the staircase and upper level created a comfortable, cocoon-like counter-effect. The second floor had a large oil painting of one of the earlier Tiede ancestors hanging on the wall between the two balconies that overlooked the front of the House; the rest of the walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books and scrolls. There were tables for quiet study, little tucked-away corners with deep velvet chairs for relaxed reading (and napping, when Elder wasn’t around), and an impressive vault of Tiede’s most historic and treasured writings. The Library was also one of the few places in the House that used electricity.

  Elder and Aren had grand desks made of satin spiraled nightwood, a rare lumber harvested from Tiede Wood generations ago, before everyone was convinced that anything that came out of the Wood was damned. They worked in close proximity on the first floor in view of the main entrance and grand staircase. Aren had managed—with the help of Dane—to move his desk in such a way that the bookcases nearby allowed him some privacy so he could work in relative peace.

  Aren pulled out his pen, ink, and a few sheets of parchment from a drawer and began writing up his report on the death of Fisherman Begles Henrik. He recalled the scene in his head, replayed the conversations. A mage, the last of a dying cult, was determined to stop a message from getting to Tiede—a message Aren didn’t find particularly noteworthy. Did it matter anymore? If Aren wrote the truth, Elder would ask why he had kept the whole thing a secret in the first place.