by Dorian Hart
I am oldest of the Conclave; the others do not know how old. To all of them, I have always been here. Each of the councils of Sparks has a leader such as me. And what wisdom Quarrol has given me tells me this: that destiny is not finished with you, Aravia Telmir. But it has done well by us for today.
Aravia, her mind awhirl, returned to where the others waited. They sat in a rough circle, talking quietly among themselves.
Dranko looked up and grinned at her. “How did things go with the god-cats?”
“They are pleased at how events have transpired,” she said.
“Step here has been telling us about Lapis,” Dranko continued. “We’re all convinced he’s still on our side.”
“She dominated my mind,” Step said quietly. “It was horrible. I would not willingly betray you.” He shuddered before continuing. “I was a passenger in my own mind, aware of everything but unable to act of my own volition.”
Dranko looked at Lapis, whom Step had set down on a mat of leaves. “And now she’s, what, lost in Aravia’s mind? While her body just flops around? I’d say you’ve ended up in better shape than she did.”
“We need to go,” said Morningstar. “Aravia, are you done here? Can we go back to the Greenhouse?”
Aravia looked up and around at the close green woods, the mottled carpets of moss and mushrooms. She placed her hand against a tree. “Yes, I’m done. The Feline Conclave is safe. Now we must save everyone else.” Pewter hopped up onto her shoulder. “Gather around. I’m taking us home. We need to deliver the Crosser’s Maze to the archmagi. We have about three weeks until Naradawk breaks out and the world ends, unless something is done. It’s time to do our part.”
EPILOGUE
“Hello? Solomea? Hello?”
Ysabel Horn hovered, suspended in space like a berry in a jam jar. She twisted and turned as she tried to see everywhere at once. In some directions, swirls of milky, vaguely colored light drifted at the extremes of her vision while elsewhere an uncountable number of stars surrounded her. One of these stars was nearer, larger than the rest, and a bright, distant object reflected its light.
“Solomea! Where are you? What is happening?”
She wished she had pressed the old man for more of an explanation when he had offered to bring her from the Endless Shore to see her onetime companions. Had she been thinking clearly, she would have asked the particulars of how she’d be getting back. From her delightful evening with the rest of the company (and they had named themselves after her! How sweet!) she knew she must be in the Crosser’s Maze, which was somehow inside Solomea’s mind. But it hadn’t made terribly much sense at the time, and she hadn’t thought the particulars would ever be relevant. Now, alone and lost, seemingly abandoned, she already missed William.
Could she move? There was no ground, nothing to walk upon, just space, as though she floated alone in the night sky. When she had traveled with Solomea, moving had felt little different from thinking. She had always been good at thinking.
“I wish to go there, to see that object in the distance,” she said out loud, in a formal and commanding tone. She had used that voice jokingly with William when they both had lived, ordering him to perform absurd, impossible tasks. “William,” she would say, “pick up that horse and bring it to the kitchen for breakfast! William, go to market and buy the third to smallest strawberry! William, tell me a story and don’t stop telling it until my next birthday!”
She was no longer here. She was there.
There hadn’t been a feeling of movement, of traveling, but her surroundings changed, and the object in the distance turned out to be two objects, two enormous spheres, one blue and swirly white with bits of brown, the other beige and orange and unexpectedly translucent. They felt close and far away at the same time.
Worlds. The spheres were worlds. How did she know? It was breathtaking, how they looked from above. Or below. Or wherever she was.
One of them was Spira. She couldn’t say exactly how she knew, but it felt obvious to her, as obvious as recognizing her own farmhouse from the outside. The other spun nearby—the moon, perhaps? No, the moon was smaller, and she could see it in the distance, navigating its circle around Spira.
The beige world—what could it be? Wouldn’t she have seen something that close, back when she had lived? And if it was a real world with people and animals and trees and all the rest, why was it so hazy, so indistinct? She had the distinct impression that it slowly, slowly drifted toward Spira.
A detail caught her attention. On one of the orange patches of the translucent world, something glowed a bright sapphire blue, as though a glittering star had set itself down. Curious, Ysabel willed herself downward toward the surface, wondering at that single sparkly feature on an otherwise dull-colored marble. This time the sensation was akin to flying, though without the rush of air she’d always imagined.
Features of the world became clear: land masses, dust-colored oceans, round-topped mountains, forests of dead, brown trees. The blue object glowed from a flat piece of orange land, surrounded by tiny specks like a swarm of ants.
Closer, closer, and her speed increased with her impatience to understand what she saw.
A few hundred feet above the ground, she stopped.
The glow came from an enormous upright ring, a hoop standing on edge. It was made of stone and radiated a furious cerulean light. Ysabel couldn’t properly gauge its size until she focused on the ants—which were not insects, but soldiers.
She tried to count them, but there were too many. Thousands, tens of thousands at the very least, and their camp stretched for miles, a blanket of tents and humanity, with a blue jewel at its center. The glowing blue hoop must have been two hundred feet high.
Above, Spira hung in the sky like a smeary blue moon, coming nearer with every passing moment.
“How long until the two worlds collide?” she murmured to herself.
“They won’t collide,” a voice said.
Ysabel turned. An unfamiliar woman floated beside her, tall, with coal-black skin and short, close-curled hair. She wore a flowing forest-green dress that undulated about her as they hovered together.
“That isn’t what’s happening,” said the woman. “The Black Circle’s ritual is working in more dimensions than you’re used to. Spira and Volpos will briefly overlap, with a single point in common. But as for how long until that happens? As things are measured on Spira, I would guess nineteen days.”
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As always, family comes first. Kate Jenkins, my astounding wife, has given me not only excellent advice, criticism, and feedback about the story, but also an inexhaustible supply of emotional support. As with all good things in my life, these books would not exist without her.
My children, Elanor and Kira, have now listened to me read aloud both books in the series. They’ve been cheerleaders, yes, but ones who ask keen questions that keep me on my toes.
Once again I owe much to my editor, Abigail Mieko Vargus, who believes in the work even while she (thank goodness!) finds thousands of faults with it. Her instincts and advice have been invaluable, as has the laser gun with which she has vaporized who knows how many errant commas.
Edward Aubry again featured as my chief beta reader. Ed’s candor and wisdom, to say nothing of his snark, would be difficult if not impossible to replace. Behind him was a host of other readers, all willing to share their unvarnished opinions on how the book could be improved: Kayla Belmore, Jim Blenko, Josh Bluestein, Jim Bologna, Andy Cancellieri, Michael Chaskes, Christopher Cotton, Karen Escovitz, Darren Frechette, Pete Gast, Alex Hart, Kathleen Hanson, Gareth Hinds, William Kirsner, Kevin Kulp, Jeanine Magurshak, Cindy Maka, Bob “Ozzie” Osborne, Elizabeth Reifke, Matthew Roy, Joshua Samuels, Leah Samuels, Paul San Clemente, Elaine Seeley, Ian Vogel, Alex White, Christopher Wicke, and Kit Yona.
My small army of proofreaders once again proved instrumental to the book’s success. They were led by Alex Hart, whose attention detail was so above and
beyond the call of reason, I could nearly have listed him as an assistant editor. Many thanks also to Wes Carroll, Fiona Heckscher, Mike Hill, Michal Klos, Deb Lack, and Vicki Wootton.
Again I’d like to thank Steven Cooper, Russell Morrissey, and all of my readers at EN World.
And, finally, a huge thank you to my parents, Charlotte and Jacob.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dorian Hart graduated from Wesleyan University with a degree in creative writing. This led circuitously to a twenty-year career as a video game designer, where he contributed to many award-winning titles, including Thief, System Shock, System Shock 2, and BioShock.
In 2016 he published The Ventifact Colossus, the first book of The Heroes of Spira. He is also the author of the interactive novella, Choice of the Star Captain, published by Choice of Games.
Dorian now lives in the Boston area with his inestimable wife and daughters.
THANK YOU
FOR READING
© 2017 Dorian Hart
For information about the Heroes of Spira series, please visit
http://dorianhart.com/the-heroes-of-spira/
