Hoping to catch up to Bylo and the youths, she chose to go directly east, across farmland rather than on roads, pushing the single draft horse hard enough that it whinnied and protested her urgings. She found them by midday, pulling to a stop as she got closer.
"Bylo, wait." She launched herself out of the wagon seat and rushed to his side. The old monk plodded along through the thin layer of snow that covered the field, seemingly unaware of her, laboring under failing power. In her vision, the rune on his thigh was glowing weakly—flickering as the magic ran low. She reached out to him, putting her hand on the arm that held Nara securely upon his shoulder. "Bylo, it's Gwyn. I have a wagon."
Bylo stopped walking and turned toward Gwyn, his eyes glassy and carrying a faraway look. Blood stained his beard and the front of his shirt. He coughed, producing more on his chin.
"You've carried them far enough," she said. "I'll take them from here."
Bylo dropped to his knees, and Gwyn helped him lower Mykel and Nara to the cool snow. Gwyn checked them; they were both breathing.
"They are okay, Bylo."
"I'm so tired," he whispered in a soft voice. "I need to sit."
He sat beside them and a moment later he lay down, putting his head in the snow. The coughing came again, and blood began to flow in earnest from his mouth.
"The strength rune," Gwyn said. "It's hurt you."
He didn't react. This was clearly not a surprise to him.
"Tell her that I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know how else…" The coughing came again, stronger this time.
"You'll tell her yourself, Bylo. Stand and let me help you into the cart."
Gwyn grabbed his hand and shoulder, and Bylo lifted his head, struggling, then lay back again. Gwyn looked at the rune and saw that it was dark. The magic was gone.
"I can't," he said. He tried to lift his head again but failed, then his eyes seemed to wander again, losing focus. "I can't say goodbye to her."
"I'll tell her for you."
"Gwyn?" His eyes found her for a moment and he coughed again, deeper, his face grimacing.
"Yes?"
"Can we trust you now?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm so sorry, Bylo."
"Please take them to Anne."
"I will."
He tried to move his hand toward Nara but was unable. Gwyn helped his fingers find hers. Nara's hand was warm. Bylo's was very cold.
"You saved them," Gwyn said. "Again."
He smiled as he closed his eyes.
"And you saved me," she said.
But Bylo could no longer hear.
37
Home
When Nara woke, she found herself lying in a wagon, bouncing along a road. It was daylight, it was snowing, and she was tired. Her head throbbed with a pain behind her eyes.
Mykel was also in the wagon, seated on her right. She sat up and he noticed her, turning to put his hand to her cheek, sadness on his face. His hair was matted with blood, and his skin was dirty and smelly. He shivered with the cold.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm so sorry."
Something was wrong. She thought back to what had happened. They had been in a big fight. The king. Kayna. Mykel was hurt. She remembered the power from the armor, so much power. Fire. Then Bylo carried her.
Bylo.
She wheeled her head around to see Gwyn on the wagon seat, reins in hand, but where was Bylo? She tried to get to her feet and tripped over a large bundle of cloth. Her right knee struck the hard boards of the wagon bed while her left knee fell upon the bundle.
It wasn't cloth.
Her hands found the seam even as the tears began to stream down her face.
Not Bylo. Please, Dei. Not him. Please please please.
Nara pulled back the cloth and uncovered his face. His eyes stared up, but didn't see her. Frozen blood stained his beard. She collapsed upon him, sobbing.
He was gone.
She was inconsolable for days. She refused to leave his side. Mykel and Gwyn tried to comfort her, to no avail. It was all too much. She spent the rest of the trip clinging to his wrapped form and wouldn't let them bury him; she knew where she wanted him to rest. They didn't argue.
Finally, they arrived at the plateau and made the climb up the snow-covered hill. Having recovered, Mykel was strong again and carried Bylo into Nara's cave. Anne met them and Nara ran to her, hugging the old woman for what seemed like hours.
Nara used earth magic to fashion a stone tomb. Anne held a lantern to chase away the shadows as Nara worked, then Mykel and Gwyn placed Bylo's body inside.
"He saved us," Nara said. "With his last act, he carried us to safety. Again. It cost him everything."
"He did much," Anne said. "A life of far more adventure than he would have planned, but also far more love." She looked at Nara. "You were his overwhelming joy, child. His greatest treasure."
"Did you know?" Nara said. "That I would lose him?"
"No," Anne said. "I only knew there would be pain. I can't see everything."
When they were done, they left the tomb and Nara sealed it over, covering even the ramp with earth. They walked down toward the cabin, snow crunching under their feet.
When they stepped up onto the cabin porch, Nara said, "You should have warned me."
"I'm sorry," Anne said.
"Not good enough," Nara said, gritting her teeth. "I trusted you." But Nara had no place in her heart for anger right now. Only pain. "I miss him, Anne," she said through tears. "So much."
"I am so sorry, dear."
"And Gwyn," Nara said, turning to their friend. "She helped us."
Anne nodded. "I thought she might eventually come around."
Nara moved to the side of the porch to take a seat upon one of the stools. Memories of their talk a few weeks ago came to Nara, although the snow and darkness cast a different mood than before. And a different concern.
"My sister is a monster," Nara said, "and now she's the queen."
Anne took a seat on the other stool. "The Great Land does indeed have a dark future with her on the throne."
"She kills for fun. Who could stop her, Anne?"
"I can think of only one person."
Nara grew quiet with that, looking out at nothing, thinking such a challenge might destroy her and still not put an end to the pain Kayna would bring. In the throne room, she could have used the armor’s magic to kill Kayna. She could have ended it right there.
"I'm not sure why I held back. It's like she's a part of me, somehow. There was a strange comfort when she was near, something I had never felt before. Perhaps that's also why she spared me."
But she would have to find the strength to stop Kayna. Perhaps it would be possible with Mykel's help. She thought of a future with him, building a home, having children. With the challenges ahead of them, it was a life that might never happen.
"I prayed to Him, but He never came."
Anne said nothing.
"Dei never came," Nara said again, stronger this time, her rising voice fueled by indignation. "In the middle of it, when that evil man was trying to kill Mykel, I prayed as I'd never prayed before. There was nothing. He didn't help. I was alone!" Her voice cracked on the final word, overcome by abandonment and loss. It was an anger at being unprepared, with so much responsibility on her shoulders, and nobody to help.
"They need you, Nara," Anne said. "The people of Fairmont. Of the Great Land. They will be praying soon, as you did. For someone to save them. They will feel the same desperation that you felt. That same panic. Through the horror and the loneliness, they will look to Dei and pray."
Nara nodded. "And there is no god to save them."
"There is, oh, yes, there is. And He will answer those prayers…"
Nara turned to Anne in expectation, hungry for some indication that Dei existed. That He was real and would bring comfort to the people of the land. That He would bring comfort to her own heart.
"… by sending you," Anne finished.
> Nara's expectation deflated as the words sank in. If Dei existed, His hand was invisible, at least to her. He would not help her directly. She may possess more power than any in the Great Land, save her sister, but she would receive no help from above. If Anne could be believed, Nara would be the help that He sends.
But the loneliness of it reached a deeper place within her. Dei's way seemed difficult, but maybe not senseless. The lack of His presence created a void that was drawing her into a role that must be filled. A part that would be played if the land were to survive the dark time that was coming. Recent events might not be an abandonment at all, but rather a calling. Could she embrace it?
Kayna would surely run roughshod over the land, taking what she would. Nara may have destroyed the king, but Kayna was every bit as powerful as the king was, probably more so, and would not be restrained by love or mercy. And now she was the sovereign, with wealth and armies at her command. Only Nara might have a chance to stop her, to rescue the land from the darkness to come. But how?
She wanted to ask Bylo, but he was gone. She looked over at Mykel, who stood quietly at the end of the porch. The task before her would be unbearable without him, but would he support her in this? Her eyes carried the question to him, and he needed no words to convey his answer. He nodded once, a gentle smile crossing his face. It was enough. With him by her side, she might succeed. At very least, she would try.
"I'm willing," Nara said, "but I don't know how to start."
"I teach," Anne said. "You learn."
Nara looked out upon the dark, snowy landscape in the direction of the Twins, which were obscured by the night. Two lonely mountains, high above all, each defying the other.
"Then I am ready," Nara said. “Let’s begin."
38
Thank You
Thank you for reading Looking for Dei. If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon.com. Sharing your opinions with other readers helps authors to create great stories for you to enjoy.
It has been an adventure and again, I thank you.
David A. Willson
Copyright © 2019 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.
Cover art and illustrations by Diana Buidoso
Map by Jackson Cunningham
For more information visit: www.davidawillson.com
Part One
He began his work, speaking the name of the earth, bringing mountains. He spoke the name of water, and the oceans rose. They formed out of nothingness, standing in defiance of the chaos. Then He spoke the name of light and it came alive, so all would see the beauty of His work. Then He smiled, for it was good.
Creation Account, First Light 1:4
1
Ennis
The man shuffled down the twists and turns of the dim corridor toward a room with a single cell in an isolated area of the dungeon—a special area, for a special project. He shivered; the thin cloth soles of his shoes provided little protection from the cold stone. He should have worn boots today.
As he got closer, he heard sounds of snarling and straining, pushing him to quicken his pace. He entered the well-lit chamber and the source of the sounds became apparent. The prisoner was flattened against the bars of his cage, arms reaching out to claw the air near a second figure that was just inches out of reach.
Dressed in leather trousers and a padded cloth coat, she looked simple today. Unassuming. Far from the fancy gowns and the pomp and circumstance that occupied the days of a monarch.
“Hello, Ennis.”
She didn’t look at him as she spoke. It was hard to read any emotion in her words, but that was always the case with her. He wondered if she felt anything at all. No notice. No courtesy. Yet another surprise visit, and he now became self-conscious about his appearance. His blemished, pale skin, balding head, and raspy voice gave him much in common with the broken people he worked on. These souls he tortured and sometimes killed. Losers at the game of life, trying to make the most of a poor hand.
The clawing, snarling creature in front of her was unceasing in its efforts, anger and hatred streaked on its face as it struggled in futility to reach its enemy. A young man of thirteen, it had pursued a normal life before its capture. Now it was huge, a misshapen monstrosity over seven feet tall, with odd bumps and torn skin where it had been hurting itself. Fitting that it would have its home in the cold dungeon, destroyed as it was, the scars of many burns over its body where tattoos once decorated its skin. The grand project. The grand failure.
“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “So sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you. How long have you been waiting, might I ask?”
“Not more than an hour, I suppose.”
An hour of watching him snarl and claw at her?
“I wanted to take a final look,” she said. “We will move on from this one. Try again.”
“So sorry, Majesty. This was the best one we’ve made. Even so, I hoped we might still learn something from him.”
She continued to stare at the creature, and there was a profound contrast between the two figures. Beauty standing before ugliness. Order in the presence of chaos. Peace staring at pain.
“No. We move on.”
She lifted a hand, and the immense creature flew backward against the stone wall, its head impacting with a sick, cracking sound. A moment later, the corpse fell to the floor. She took a step forward and reached a hand out, closing her eyes. The creature’s body stiffened at first. Cracks started to form on its skin, and it shriveled, blackened, as if being scorched by fire. Within seconds, it was an empty husk, scarcely resembling the living being it had been a moment before.
Frightening as it was to watch, it was good that she now destroyed them. Too many of the early projects had escaped and were causing chaos about the Great Land.
She turned toward Ennis, a reddish-orange glow now fading from her eyes as she stepped, coming close. His heart pounded in his chest as she reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. He worried that she would take his life in payment for the failure, but was surprised when he found her touch to be warm. A peaceful, even comforting feeling.
“Too many runes at once,” she said. “He couldn’t handle them all, and it broke his mind. It’s not your fault. Not at all. Mine alone.”
“Yes, Majesty. Um . . . I have been working on another method. Much more careful, I think. A mix of the old and the new.”
An awkward silence intruded as her hand remained on his shoulder. She looked away, as if thinking of something, staring off into a corner of the room. “Why do they grow so much?” she asked.
“I don’t know. When you stretch the container, it’s as if the body resets. A child again, in some ways. Memory loss. And it grows like a new babe, but much faster.”
“I never expected that.”
He nodded. It was indeed fascinating. But she hadn’t refused his suggestion. Nor had she consumed his spirit as a punishment for the failure. Good things.
She lifted her hand from his shoulder, the warmth and comfort now gone. Without saying anything further, she walked past him, her footsteps soon fading around a corner of the corridor.
It took great effort to scoop the sizable remains into a wheeled cart and dispose of them in the rubbish room down the hallway. Ennis then replaced the cart and shuffled back toward his workrooms, making a clicking sound with his tongue as he moved. There were many prisoners to work on, and he’d already created a gifted this week. He could make more. But gifted were not what she wanted. Not really. She wanted more, and he would deliver, somehow.
When he reached his workroom, he felt along the h
igh stone shelf, looking for something. When he found it, his hand grasped the cool bone handle and brought the tool down for closer inspection. His ceppit. A strange rune graced the handle, formed with silver scrollwork and ebony enamel. The blade was small, causing minimal trauma to his subjects. An important tool for an important job. And so beautiful.
“Thus begins another day,” he said, gripping the ceppit in one hand as he stepped outside the chamber, looking right then left for a guard. He needed a fresh child to begin his work.
“Guard,” he called down the hallway. Nobody appeared quickly enough to satisfy, however, and he clicked his tongue in frustration. “Guard!” Louder this time.
An older man appeared, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword as he ambled toward Ennis, his chain mail armor clinking with each step.
“There you are.”
The man stopped and stood in place, waiting for Ennis’ command.
Ennis’ fingers fidgeted with the handle of the ceppit, his tongue clicking in anticipation. “This time, bring me a girl.”
2
Running
Nara darted across the meadows, beneath the trees, and over the hills, staying ahead of Mykel as he attempted to keep pace. The sun was high in the sky and most of the winter snow was gone, leaving only patches of white here and there. Most of the grass remained brown and dead, although some had turned green, and the birch trees did not yet bear leaves. Spring was waking from its long, cold slumber. Fresh scents of flowers and new grasses filled the air, nascent growth overcoming the barren mountain slopes. Hope welled in her heart, growing with every stride.
The Godseeker Duet Page 31
