The Godseeker Duet

by David A Willson

  The disappearance of the first girl forced urgency upon Vorick, and he left the same day on horseback to Took, finding the other twin straight away. When the clerk demanded more money to allow the adoption, Vorick dropped a sack of coins on the desk and walked out of the building, meeting no further resistance.

  He floated the story of the girl being his long-lost daughter, Kayna, stolen from him years ago by the father of his young bride who had died in childbirth—it had taken him years to find her and bring her home. Lar had recently died of heart failure, and there was nobody in his social or political circles who challenged the account. None who cared. They valued Vorick for his wealth and power, caring little about his personal life.

  When Kayna reached age six, the first signs of trouble arose. She didn't mix well with other children, often sitting on her own, away from others. Seeing how she didn't make friends well, he thought a pet might be appropriate and instructed the nanny to buy a cat. One day, he came home from his office and found the girl in the backyard, the pet on her lap. As he approached, he noticed the kitten was motionless, but Kayna was examining a small cut on the top of her hand, blood evident.

  "What happened to your hand?" he had asked.

  "It scratched me," she said dispassionately. Vorick leaned down and picked up the kitten. Dead.

  "Kayna, why is the kitty dead?"

  "It scratched me," she said again and went inside the house.

  Upon inspection, he noticed the animal's stiffness. The skin was dry and desiccated, eye sockets empty and black, as if it had been sucked dry of all life. Harvested?

  In the months that followed, there were other manifestations. A boy who lived nearby made fun of Kayna. One day, the school sent her home after she punched him in the face. The next day, the boy's home burned to the ground and his family had barely escaped the conflagration.

  In response, Vorick pulled her out of school, hired a full-time tutor, and spent more time with her. When he could pull himself away from his duties, he took her to a cabin on the outskirts of Fairmont. There, they would explore the things that made her unique.

  At first, he thought she was blessed and became excited for her prospects. By the time she reached seven, she could store magic in a cepp. By eight, she generated heat like a flamer. It awed him that she possessed powers with no announcement, and requiring no receptacles of stored energy, instead using energy from within her own spirit. It was a chilling discovery for one who wielded no such advantage. He also found she could replenish her own energies by drawing them directly from living things: plants, trees, and animals. After doing so, she would sometimes be energized, manic with enthusiasm.

  Vorick was unaccustomed to jealousy such as this. As the only blessed in a hundred years, with two magical gifts, his acclaim had been taken for granted, and his rise to power came as no surprise to anyone. Kayna's ability to exhibit power without a cepp, however, made his own talents look mediocre by comparison.

  Little did he know at the time, that was just the beginning. By age ten, she manifested flashes of extreme strength, and by twelve she could see sources of magic, like a watcher. Vorick taught her to hide her aura so that she would not be easily spotted by other watchers. She was counseled to keep her magic secret, speaking of it with nobody. She took his advice so well she even stopped sharing with him.

  But he did not envy her headaches. The pains would be triggered by activity or stress on her body, even hunger. The result was pitiable; the child would be paralyzed with pain and spend entire days in bed. Kayna's power came at a price.

  Soon, Vorick added the Ministry of War to his control, a coup that fed his search for power far more than surgery, executions, or painting ever had. He wielded two gifts, and now he commanded two ministries. The additional influence allowed him to keep Kayna away from an announcement ceremony—he was fearful of what might be revealed in such an event.

  Kayna's early troubles fitting in with other children evaporated as she learned social graces. She practiced how to give presents and how to make friends. She gained popularity with her peers, partly because of her beauty and partly because she always knew what to say. Kayna had developed skill in the delivery of compliments, and people were drawn to her for both her wit and her generosity.

  But Vorick knew better.

  Kayna had stumbled as a young child in her attempts to charm people, and he knew the charisma she exhibited at a later age was engineered by a mind becoming adept at the manipulation of others. She had learned these skills from watching him, replacing her clumsy, childlike imitations of his own repartee with more refined interaction. But Kayna had become no skilled socialite; she was a mimic. She was good, however, and it was difficult to tell the difference between the two.

  It therefore came as little surprise that she was able to charm the queen. What vexed Vorick was that she had done so without him knowing. How had she gained access to the old woman? He thought Kayna was buried in scholastics, having little time for climbing social ladders.

  Despite his frustrations, Kayna's manipulation of an old woman who had scant years until her death would make little difference in Vorick's own plans. The queen was demanding and proud but retained little real power. The establishment of the ruling council a decade ago—Vorick's idea—had all but removed the need for a monarch in practical matters. The queen still received updates on important events, had a representative on the council, and exerted social influence, but she no longer carried significant political concern. The heavy lifting of policy and government was now undertaken by the council.

  In recent days, it was the chancellor who had become Vorick's biggest problem. Lord Archibald Holland held the highest position in the land and wielded more political power than Vorick. But the now-lengthy siege at Bann remained an open political wound, undermining Holland's policy record. The displeasure had trickled down, and just yesterday Vorick had received a reprimand for recent failings.

  It was with Holland on his thoughts that Vorick penned a dispatch to General Cross using poignant words about urgency and decisiveness. He intended to convey no tolerance for further delay; victory in Bann was needed now. Mid-sentence, a loud knock at his office door startled him, and his hand faltered on the page. Irritated at the interruption, he dropped the quill. "Come in."

  The door opened to reveal a tired-looking young man, clearly a messenger, holding a battered note. "Post from Dimmitt, m'lord."

  Dimmitt? Where in damnation was Dimmitt?

  Vorick took the post from the boy and set it aside, then reached into a drawer for a coin. He tossed a silver drachma, dismissing the intruder with a wave of his hand. Vorick then picked up the quill, intending to finish the message to Cross. Halfway through the effort, he looked aside, the messenger's battered note nagging for his attention. Dimmitt? With a frustrated scowl, he dropped the quill a second time and opened the note.

  I found the girl.

  Child of a laborer.

  Island on the southeastern coast.

  Dimmitt.

  —GK

  Vorick's eyes locked onto the first four words. All concerns about Cross' work in Bann, all his frustration with Chancellor Holland, even the irritations about Kayna and the queen vanished in the light of this revelation. He had been sending watchers to look for Kayna's twin for years but had held little hope that any would succeed. If the girl was anything like Kayna, she could grow to become a force he must have under his control, or his ambition would be for naught. Who knew what powers the girls possessed or could unlock for him? And what would happen if they fell into the hands of an enemy? To have a rival in control of such magic was unacceptable, and he vowed to act quickly. This new girl must be won, or she would be destroyed. His goals would not be unraveled by a misstep here, and there was only one man he could send on such a task.

  He grabbed the incomplete message to Cross, crumpled it, and dropped it into the trash bin. After retrieving another sheet, he penned four words, affixed his signature then placed the messa
ge into a scroll case for immediate delivery.

  15

  Strangers

  On the Road to Eastway

  Eight Days after Announcement

  Mykel found little joy on the dusty roads—long, boring days with many steps. They passed plenty of travelers, including more weary-looking soldiers that were likely returning from some campaign. Bylo moved slowly but had somehow found the endurance to walk well past sundown today, and when they finally stopped to set up camp and pull items from packs, they were forced to light their campfire in the dark. Dry firewood was hard to find, and the fire struggled, weighing down the mood of the travelers as it failed to dispel the chill in the air. Then the wind picked up and the flames danced sideways, disappearing from time to time into the wood that fueled them.

  Mykel moved his bedroll closer to the warmth and used a long stick to adjust the logs, nudging them closer to one another. The fire responded, flames surging a bit, chasing away some of the cold. Poking the logs from time to time, he considered Nara, who lay only a few feet away.

  So full of life, and everyone could see it. Bylo mentioned it often and would nod or wink at Mykel as she chattered away about something inconsequential to them but monumental to her. Trees swaying, clouds passing, or even a simple rainfall were so important to her. She was enchanted by the wildlife as well, even focusing on shrews that crossed their path, and he and Bylo smiled as she chased the tiny things. At one point yesterday, a bluebird lit upon her shoulder, pecking at the cloth of her tunic. Mykel had moved to shoo it away, but Nara stopped him with eyes of cold irritation. She then whispered something soft to the little creature and fed it a piece of biscuit from her pocket before it squeaked at her gratefully and flew away.

  Lying by the campfire now, his thoughts wandered from Nara to the tattoo on his hip and the magic it carried. Its nature was not what he had expected; it was more like a tool. He was the source of power, and it was just a conduit. He wondered if Nara's magic was just as confusing to her. This was all so new to him, and he didn't know what to think. Could he heal just himself, or could he heal others, too? How badly could he be wounded and still survive? And what other tattoos might Bylo decorate him with?

  He heard a sound, then saw two shapes approaching quickly from a copse of trees.

  "Bylo! Nara!" He lunged at the fire to grab a stick partially buried in the hot coals. His night vision was ruined by the flames, so he didn't see the sword when it sprang out of the shadows and bit his belly. The pain was deep, and panic struck him like a second blow. The figure pulled the sword back quickly and dodged Mykel's clumsy attempt at a counterblow using the stick. The man lunged a second time, and Mykel ducked to avoid the swing of the sword as it nearly missed his head, but he failed to dodge the backhand move as the flat of the blade came at him. The impact of the steel sent pain exploding through Mykel's head, then everything went dark.

  As she rose at the sudden alarm, Nara felt sympathy pains lance across her midsection, then she saw Mykel fall to the ground. She dropped to her friend and saw blood flowing from his belly. "Why?" she screamed at the man. The man smirked, sword down at his side, seemingly fearing nothing from Nara or Bylo.

  What had they done to deserve this?

  Bylo stood nearby, mouth agape, and Nara looked to him for help, but he didn’t move. She then grasped at the nearest blanket and pushed it hard against Mykel's abdomen to slow the bleeding. Her friend's face was expressionless, his eyes partly open. Unconscious. She didn't know what to do and felt trapped between fear of Mykel's horrible wound and a desire to lash out in anger at these cruel strangers. Her heart pounded painfully. What should she do? What could she do?

  She had magic if she could figure out how to use it. But she'd have to leave Mykel's side to do so, and she was not ready for that. The stress of the moment, the indecision, produced the beginnings of a headache growing behind her eyes.

  Six men had now come into the half-light. Rough-looking, they bore the stench of men who had gone too long without washing. Several grinned cruelly, displaying mouths with few teeth.

  Bylo fell against her, shoved by a man from the other side of the fire. "Take whatever you want," Bylo said. "Please."

  Bylo applied pressure to Mykel's gut with one hand against the wadded-up blanket. He used the other to check Mykel's pulse, nodding to assure Nara that he was alive.

  Nara focused on Mykel. "Wake up," she said, hand on the side of his face, not knowing what else to do. "Mykel, please."

  The men rummaged through the camp casually. One of the ruffians—probably the leader—barked orders to search the surrounding area in case valuables were hidden close by. The men robbed them of their food and bedrolls, then searched them. One found Bylo's meager purse of coins and shook it with a disappointed expression on his face while another pulled Nara away from Mykel forcefully, then searched her far too thoroughly. The man's wandering hands disgusted her, and Bylo barked in protest, only to get a fist in his belly for the effort.

  The one who searched Nara yelled out toward the trees. "Raq, when you get done over there, I have a present for ya." He grinned at Nara. "I know how you like redheads." A happy shout came out of the darkness. "Dibs!" but it was followed a moment later by a painful cry, a burbling sound, and a thud.

  "Raq?" said the man next to Nara. Out of the corner of her eye, Nara made out a glint of steel in the darkness, and she heard another body fall.

  The leader of the group came close to the fire, an irritated expression on his face. Not tall, but widely built, the man sported a shaved head that shone in the firelight. It was the only sign of personal grooming undertaken by any of the bandits. A dark, bushy beard and squinty eyes added to his menacing visage as he pointed at the man next to Nara.

  "Go check on what's going on out there, Frank."

  Frank gazed fearfully in the direction of where Raq had been searching the trees. "But…"

  "Go!" ordered the bald man.

  Frank did as he was told, but after a moment there were more sounds of struggling. The bald man shouted to another that Nara couldn't see in the darkness, more concern in his voice.

  Nara glanced back and forth between Bylo, Mykel, and the bandits, confused as to what she should do. She engaged her sight to search the darkness, spying a single glow approaching from off to the left. It had the same appearance as the traveler that had camped on the hill last night, and she wondered if the person had been following them. She realized that she was staring and feared giving away her potential rescuer's position, so she turned back to Bylo and Mykel.

  A cold, sharp pressure came upon her neck. The bandit leader, with a knife to her throat, yelled out, "Whoever you are, come for me and the girl gets it." Nara imagined the evil grin he must have been wearing on his face as he spoke. His warm, rancid breath washed across her cheek.

  The man pulled Nara back, leading her away from the fire and into shadows, causing her to stumble on rocks and bushes.

  Reluctant to cause pain but knowing that these men intended to deliver it upon her and her companions, Nara resolved to act, but as she closed her eyes, the blade cut further into her neck. Her concentration fled, replaced by terror. He pulled her back again, and she almost tripped trying to keep up with him.

  "Let go of me," she screamed.

  He laughed mercilessly and applied more pressure to the dagger against her skin. Nara squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, feeling blood drip down inside her collar, then down her tunic. She pictured the first thing that came to her mind: the rune she had seen on Mykel's hip. It snapped to the front of her thoughts, and she channeled energy to it.

  The wounds on her neck and her palm warmed and tickled, flesh knitting together. She healed, and without a tattoo!

  The neck wound had been shallow, certainly not life-threatening, and she had wasted time in the middle of this emergency. Eager to try something else, she looked at the ground beneath the feet of the man who held her fast. She reached to her inner power and willed the soil to
rise and trap him in place. The earth ignored her call, cold and deaf to her summoning, leaving her with a sense of foolishness and a lingering fear that he would cut her even deeper for her secret defiance.

  Nara looked over at Mykel, who remained motionless, in a fetal position next to Bylo. Her focus on him renewed the ache in her gut, sympathetic pains that throbbed with each of Mykel's heartbeats. Her friend was defenseless, in a dangerous place, when he should have been home, safe in Dimmitt. He was here, hurting, because of her foolishness. Because she had imbued the ceppit and nearly killed him.

  She closed her eyes and reached her thoughts out to the man who held her. They came quickly back to her, and in a moment, she was feeling what he felt, a growing and odious combination of anger and lust, greed, and hunger. Raw, like that of an animal, but familiar, somehow.

  Like an animal.

  A flash of memory moved toward the front of her mind, of an encounter in the woods several years ago. An injured wolf and the anger and pain it had felt. And how she had calmed it with her own emotions. Did she dare try that now? Would that be an invasion of his privacy, a line she shouldn't cross? Then the cold steel touched her neck again, and she realized the foolery in her misgivings. If she didn't act, this man would continue to do far worse than invade her privacy.

  Nara closed her eyes and sent feelings out to her captor, feelings of calm, of quiet, of stillness. It was difficult at first because she was experiencing none of those things, but after a moment, she was able to manufacture them. Thoughts of peace and fatigue, a desire to rest and to sleep. After a moment, the arm around her relaxed, the knife blade moving away from her neck.

  "I… I'm dizzy," he said as he loosened his grip. "I'm so sorry," he said, confused, but no longer agitated. "I don't know what came over me… I… uh…"

  Just then, Nara heard a sound of something whipping through the air nearby. The bandit leader shouted, dropping the knife from his hand and releasing her. She heard the sound of steel against bone as a groan escaped his throat and he hit the ground at her feet.