The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  The Godseeker Duet

  Looking for Dei and Finding Kai

  David A. Willson

  Copyright © 2018 David A. Willson

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. 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 or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Art by Diana Buidoso

  Map by Jackson Cunningham

  For more information, visit: www.davidawillson.com

  Thank you to my wife, Suzanne, for always thinking this book would be great, and for losing so many days to the effort.

  Thanks to my early reviewers, who invested so much time into correcting my foibles.

  And thank you to God, wherever you are, for making billions of beautiful stories, each filled with their own magic.

  For Laura,

  who always manages to shine through the pain.

  Praise for Looking for Dei

  ... stunning young adult fantasy tale... suspenseful... will make readers' hearts race.

  - Readers' Favorite Reviews

  ... one of the best fantasy novels I've read in a long time.

  - Online Book Club Review

  Willson writes in a simple prose that delicately summons his fantasy world to life.

  -Kirkus Reviews

  ... a promising and entertaining introduction to a well-thought-out and intriguing new fantasy world.

  - IndieReader Review

  Willson is such a clever, clever writer. He'll pull you in, mess with you a little and, then, just when you think you have a handle on the story, he'll pull the rug from under you. Wonderful stuff!

  - Wishing Shelf Review

  Cataclysmos

  And the phyili was put asunder; separated, but not destroyed. Each defied the other, bringing conflict, pain, and death to many. In the end, only one remained.

  Cataclysmos 18:10

  Prologue

  Southside Orphanage

  Fairmont – Capital of the Great Land

  652PB (Post-Breshi)

  The toddler blew at the dandelion bloom until its seeds broke free and floated away on a breeze that gusted past the man watching her from the bushes. His breath hitched as his burdens were lifted and briefly forgotten.

  It had taken ten years to locate her. A life of study, prayer, and service to Dei in a monastery had not prepared him for so many years on the run, hiding under false names while he searched for the one he feared he might never find. His grizzled, greying beard and unkempt hair might have labeled him a beggar or a desperate criminal, but the hope in his eyes told a different story.

  Oblivious to the nearby threat, the girl dropped the crumpled dandelion stem and stumbled clumsily near a pile of stones. No more than two years old, she waddled across the overgrown orphanage courtyard, her cloth diaper askew. She plucked more flowers, her red hair dancing as she hopped after the seeds. She seemed to favor the world as her playmate, ignoring the twenty other children in the courtyard. She bumped into a small boy, fell down, and hopped back up with a baby-tooth grin before trotting off.

  When she fell, a glimpse of her back jolted the man to his task. It was the blemish that beckoned him here—an ugly red scar stretching from upper back to waist, announcing her identity as the prophetic treasure he had sought for so long. The weight of the manuscript in his backpack grounded his thoughts, and he glanced around the area. There were no fences, plenty of bushes for cover, and a single matron leisurely surveying the yard. The woman sat on the aging building's back steps, watching the little ones as they ran about. She wore a dress and would be unable to chase him. How long would it take for her to alert the authorities?

  As he surveyed the grounds to plan his escape, the girl waggled her hand at a passing butterfly and giggled as it flew away. Fortune favored his plans when she ran to a group of dandelions just a few feet from his hiding place. Squatting, she grabbed several stems, preparing to blow and release the seeds.

  The man looked over to the matron, who had turned away to manage a quarrel between two other children. Knowing this might be his only chance, he burst forward and scooped the babe up in one arm, then raced back through the bushes behind the orphanage. He ran as fast as he could, unable to avoid jostling the child in his arms. She began to cry at the shock of her abduction, still gripping the dandelion stems in one tiny fist.

  Back at the orphanage, the matron in the dress looked toward the back of the yard. The only evidence of a disturbance was a cloud of dandelion seeds that drifted upon the air, scattering in the light breeze. She turned to the many children she cared for, oblivious to the crime that had just been perpetrated under her watch.

  Part One

  The announcement ceremony is the catalyst that discovers the gifted and sets our armies apart; a fundamental difference between victory and defeat. Without it or the powers it unveils, the Great Land would not be great at all.

  Governor Maximus Arametto, Junn, 551 PB

  1

  Friends

  Village of Dimmitt

  Southeastern Corner of the Great Land

  665PB

  "Slow down," Mykel said, clearly winded. "I can barely keep up!"

  Mykel's plea made Nara realize how fast she had been running, but she didn't want to stop. Perhaps she was propelled by the anticipation of tomorrow's ceremony, but although the climb often exhausted her, it was no challenge today. She wasn't even breathing hard.

  Upon reaching the top, they turned to look down upon the village. They stood far above Dimmitt, past the altitude where trees gave way to bushes and grasses. It had been months since they last ascended the mountain, but they had never run so fast. The fervor of the exertion served as a welcome break from the preparations for tomorrow's big event.

  Mykel came up beside her, out of breath, and together they looked out over their village. She dared a glance at him, not wanting him to know her thoughts. He was dark-skinned, and she was pale. Tall and strong, his physique was muscular for a sixteen-year-old, and she imagined if someone saw them side-by-side, they would think them complete opposites. Next to him, she felt small, and weak. Even though she was barely a year younger, he seemed far older, almost like an adult.

  A drizzle spread coolness across her warm skin, and an eagle passed slowly, sustained by rising air currents.

  "It's beautiful from here," Mykel said, still catching his breath as he looked upon the coastline, the boats, and the busy dock below.

  "Yes," Nara responded. "But so tiny." She turned to view the main coast of the Great Land to the north. It made this tiny island look even smaller and she wondered what big world lay beyond her modest village.

  He turned to her. You're beautiful, his eyes seemed to say. She returned his admiring gaze and smiled briefly, then looked back to the village below.

  Nara wondered what Mykel saw in her. She didn't look like the other girls , with bright-red hair that others often commented on. Few in Dimmitt wore nice clothing, but Nara's was among the rattiest of those her age. It bothered her, but at least it covered the scar on her back. The scar she could never see.

  She didn't fault her adoptive father for the lack of money; few in Dimmitt had any wealth. Bylo was old and his work as a laborer brought few coins although he did the best that he could.

  But there were the headaches. If ever she felt set apart, broken, it was never more poignant than when she was in bed for hours, unable to move. She had always wondered why she had been afflicted with the pains. Why nobody else suffered them as she did. W
as Dei really that angry with her?

  But she felt no pain yet today, and that she could climb the mountain was a blessing. She sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward even if He didn't care to hear it.

  At their first meeting, because she was so small, Mykel mistook her to be much younger than he, but they soon became great friends. They shared so much in common: their love of the wild, of animals, and of the sea. Over the years, after completing their school, church, or family duties, they would race across the island—up the hills or the mountain, picking berries or fishing. Sometimes they would spy on other villagers or build a raft and paddle around a cove. They had become inseparable.

  "What's the smile for?" Mykel asked.

  "I've never seen the village so busy," she answered. “It seems so alive. Has it really been that long since the last ceremony?"

  "Three years," he said.

  The residents of Dimmitt appeared as tiny ants, and just as busy. They were setting up tables in the field outside the church and Nara worried that her absence might soon be noticed. She had been assigned cooking and cleaning duties today, but Mykel's challenge to race up the mountain just couldn't be passed up.

  "Bitty, are you worried?" Mykel asked. "About the ceremony, I mean."

  She smiled. It was an apt nickname; she was indeed small. He only used it in private, though, and never meant it to be an insult.

  "Not really."

  Every few years the announcement ceremony was supposed to bring great hope to the community—for magic and for wealth. Sadly, Dimmitt had not announced a gifted youth in many years. Yet, villagers held out hope that one would come soon. She had heard many folks speaking this way in recent weeks, about how it had been so long since a gifted had been announced that it must happen this time, right? Perhaps their optimism was a blessing, hardy hearts that dwelled on the positive despite all evidence to the contrary. Or perhaps their hope was a survival strategy produced by spirits that couldn't bear to consider another three years of hunger. Another three years of abandonment by their god.

  Children who recently entered adolescence would submit to the ceremony, and if gifted children were identified, it could be transformative for the village. Not only would they earn money in royal service or private employment, but the magic was a gift from Dei. A divine blessing. A reminder that they were loved.

  A child announced as a flamer could produce magical fire. A cutter could cleave flesh or even armor. A bear had magical strength. Announced as a knitter, a child would attend the Royal Academy of Medicine, where she would develop and refine her healing skills. A watcher might become a great hunter, with vision that would detect animals from far away and could help feed others in the village. If announced as a harvester, she would collect magic for others to use. That magic would come from living things such as plants or, sadly, from sacrificed animals. Each of these gifted youths would earn his or her fortune in the military or serving the crown, sending earnings home to battle the poverty that threatened to overwhelm them all.

  Nara thought of the children of her village. It amazed her how resilient the little ones were, and she longed to bring good things to them. She had heard stories of the rich folks in big cities who ate every day and whose children always had shoes. If they could see the children in Dimmitt, if they could know how precious they were, they would help, wouldn't they? Maybe they just didn't know what it was like to be hungry and cold.

  The thoughts fed a guilt within her that had been growing for years. Tomorrow's announcement might be very different for her. Although she had never endured an announcement ceremony, she had manifested gifts long ago, and not just one talent. She had several. Would the ceremony reveal her magic to all? Reveal that she had been hoarding it rather than using it to help feed her neighbors? Would they understand that it wasn't her fault, that she had been forced to keep it secret from them? Would they care? Would Mykel care? Would he judge her for her sins and abandon their friendship because of it?

  She wondered how it would feel to have the sharp blade pierce her skin. "I've heard it doesn't hurt much," she lied, rubbing her right palm.

  "I've heard that too."

  A thin-bladed dagger called a ceppit was the instrument used by the priest to reveal a youth's magic potential. The priest would intone a prayer and use the ceppit to impale each child's palm. The ceppit acted as a catalyst to awaken dormant talent in the child.

  With a non-gifted child there would be pain, no power would manifest, and they would be bandaged and forgotten. Poverty would pave their future as they assumed a mundane role among the villagers, a lifestyle of subsistence and struggle, as their parents had done.

  Some children had a different destiny entirely. Eons had passed since the last cursed child was identified in Dimmitt, but several years ago one had been announced in the village of Fulsk. A prosperous town, Fulsk sat on an island to the south. Fillion was a tall, affable boy, so they said. Nara knew someone who used to go fishing with him. But Fillion was dead.

  Nara hadn't been present, but she had heard about it from others. The ceremony started as they all did, with screaming, crying, and the blood of children dripping onto the stage. Then it was Fillion's turn.

  As the story went, when the dagger pierced the boy's palm, everything changed. Fillion fell to his knees, his face went white, mouth open in horror, and a stifled squeal left his throat. Blood oozed from multiple fissures on his head, neck, and arms. By the time the priest pulled the dagger from his palm, it was over.

  The boy's death reminded folks of the gamble all children took when they participated in the announcement ceremony. Not that they had a choice; participation was compulsory and must be completed between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. It was an act of service mandated by the crown, and according to the church, by Dei.

  "If you are announced with a gift, what will you do?" Nara asked.

  "I don't know, but I won't stay here."

  "I would miss you."

  "No you wouldn't, because you'd come with me!"

  Nara smiled at him. "Of course I would." But she wasn't so sure. Bylo was here, the only family she had ever known. She would also miss the mountain and the lagoon, the dogs that played in the streets and the smell of fish on the docks. As poor and simple as it was, Dimmitt was her home.

  "We should head back," Nara said. Dimmitt's priest would return late tonight, and little time remained to finish preparations before tomorrow's feast.

  "I'll race you again!" challenged Mykel.

  It took far less time to get to the bottom of the mountain than it had to climb up, but it was not without difficulty. Sweat dotted Nara's brow, and her hair became even messier than it had been atop the windy peak.

  As they entered the periphery of the village, Mykel waved goodbye and headed home. Nara waved back, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her friend disappeared over a hill. She walked slowly, not because of her fatigue but rather to calm her anxious heart.

  For tomorrow may reveal the secret she had been keeping for years.

  2

  Mykel

  As Mykel walked home, he thought about the girl who had captured his heart. Most of all, he pondered her smile. When Nara smiled, it would often be followed by a giggle, which would then erupt into a laugh. The world brightened, flowers bloomed, heaven opened wide, and Mykel's soul would dance.

  Suspecting she saw him only as a friend, he had never summoned the courage to voice any other expectation. So valuable was their friendship that he didn't have the courage to test it. After all, he couldn't blame her for not being interested in him. He was ugly. Sure, he had a strong and lean body and stood taller than most of the other boys. And he excelled at the more physical endeavors, like working on fishing boats, cutting wood, and hunting. Mykel had a reputation for being one of the hardest-working youths in the village, albeit one of the more irreverent ones.

  But his face.

  The cleft palate from his birth had been repaired years ago by a knitter visiting the t
own, but the evidence of it remained. The knitter had worked for the church, correcting health problems in villages that were far from the wealth of the capital, Fairmont. If there was one thing Dimmitt had an abundance of, it was poor folk.

  But the scar remained on Mykel's upper lip, and every time he gazed at himself in a clear pool of water, he was reminded that he was broken at birth. Twisted. Different. Nara saw it every day, the ever-present mark of Mykel's inferiority when compared to the others—the boys with normal faces.

  Mykel once asked if the scar bothered her, and she had cocked her head, looking at him like he was just so crazy. "What are you talking about?" she said. "Mine is way bigger."

  But that was just Nara being Nara, the nice girl. His scar was on his face, obvious for all to see, not hidden under clothes.

  As he reached the cottage that he and his little brother called home, he saw Sammy beaming with pride and working at the outdoor cut table.

  "Two today, Mykel!" Sammy grinned, brown eyes sparkling behind his long black bangs. "I'm almost done skinning them too!"

  Sammy's new traps had apparently worked, ensnaring not one but two young coneys in their jaws, and the prizes now came apart under the boy's sharp blade. What a bounty! Thanks to Dei, they would be eating well tonight.

  "Wow, Sammy. Great job."