The Great Betrayal (The Lost Prophecy Book 8)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “But you have your full control over your ahmaean.”

  “Ahmaean?”

  Novan waved a hand. “Manehlin. Whatever you prefer to call it.”

  Isandra licked her lips. They were dry and tasted sticky, and she wondered how much blood had been caked on her face. “I was able to open myself back up to my Mage abilities.”

  “Do you know how?”

  “I don’t know. I was under attack, and I was trying to help the merahl as well as the groeliin, and…” She hadn’t given much thought to how she had recovered, only to the fact that she had managed to do so. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “Which is?”

  “If you’re not Antrilii, and I don’t believe that you are Magi, what are you? How is it that you have the control that you have over your manehlin?”

  Novan smiled. “Not all need to have the same connection, do they?”

  “Is that how you caused trouble all these years?”

  “I would rather like to think that I have helped avoid trouble all these years,” Novan said.

  “For a historian, you’ve involved yourself much more than most observers.”

  “The Historian Guild often involve themselves much more in the workings of the world than most would prefer. I have only been the most recent.”

  “I’ve met other historians, Novan. I know that not all of them are quite like you.”

  Novan watched her for a moment, before chuckling. “No. I suppose they are not. In that, I suppose many are thankful, as well.”

  Isandra waited for him to share more, but he didn’t. She found herself smiling. She hadn’t known Novan well but had heard enough stories about him, even more since coming to Farsea, to know that he was not anything like what she had expected.

  “So you simply have the ability of the gods. Is that it?”

  “It’s always more than something so simple, isn’t it?”

  Isandra considered him a moment before coughing again. It caused pain to work through her stomach, and she winced. Everything went black for a moment, and she blinked, trying to clear the pain from her eyes.

  Novan touched her arms and ran his hands over her stomach.

  Isandra winced as Novan’s hands touched her, and she felt a gentle connection, one that was soothing and reminded her of the healings that took place while she was in Vasha. Could Novan be so skilled that he was able to use the same healing technique that the Magi possessed? Would he be as skilled as what she had experienced from women of the House of Yahinv? Even their ability had surprised her.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  Isandra took a deep breath. “I don’t think you would hurt me, historian. It’s just that everything hurts.”

  Novan considered her for a moment before nodding. “Tell me. What did you experience in the mountains.”

  “Jassan didn’t share?”

  “I think your Antrilii husband thinks I am too much of an outsider to share with.”

  She wanted to chuckle, but it would hurt too much for her to do so. “We were attacked by groeliin.”

  “One of these appears to be a sword injury.”

  She nodded. “The groeliin have taken to training with swords. There is always one who leads the others. That one is quite powerful, and he can use that connection to the others to guide them, and…” She licked her lips, trying to smear some of the stickiness away. “The groeliin using the sword must always be removed first.”

  “Why do you have to remove that one first?” Novan watched her, and he stood with an interested posture, leaning toward her. She could almost imagine him with a pen and paper in hand, taking notes.

  “If we don’t remove the threat of the swordmaster groeliin, then the merahl are in danger.”

  Novan nodded as if he completely understood. It was possible that he did. Isandra knew that Novan was part of this Conclave that Endric had spoken of. Novan would have knowledge that she does not, but wasn’t sure of how much he might know about the groeliin in general. It was unlikely that he would know nearly as much as the Antrilii, but Novan might know enough to help her.

  “I’ve proven that the groeliin can be saved,” she said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “It’s about teralin. When they breed the groeliin, they use destructively charged teralin, and that causes the creatures to turn.”

  Novan tapped his lips. “It’s an interesting phrase.”

  “What phrase?”

  “The way you describe the teralin. The Guild refers to it as positively charged and negatively charged teralin.”

  “I’ve heard it described that way, as well.”

  “The word destructive has a different connotation, one that I think might be fitting in ways that the term negatively charged would not be.” He looked up down her, his lips pressed tightly into a frown as he seemed to consider. “Do the Antrilii refer to positively charged teralin as constructive?”

  “Creative, I think. I’m not sure how else to describe it.”

  Novan tapped his lips once again. Isandra decided it must be his habit when deep in thought. “There has long been a belief that teralin is the source of creation, as if the Maker had placed it here to serve as something of a reflection of the power stemming from creation. I’m not certain that I believe that theory, but there is some credence to it.”

  “You believe in a being called the Maker and not the gods?”

  “The Maker is possibly no more real than the gods.”

  “But the gods are real. We have seen them.”

  “You have seen them, but they aren’t what you imagine the gods to be. They are beings of power, and are fallible, much like any other being is fallible.”

  “Such as your apprentice?”

  Novan tipped his head. “Such as he. Jakob has gained incredible skill, and he has become powerful, but he will make mistakes. That is no different from you or me. Experience will teach him lessons and will keep him from making too many mistakes, but it won’t prevent them altogether.”

  Isandra didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. She doubted that Jassan would, either. The Antrilii were incredibly devout and had long believed in their purpose as one given to them by the gods. What would happen if they suddenly were told that the purpose they believed in had been given to them by beings that were less than gods? Would it change something about them?

  It would have to. Then again, so much had changed for many other people, perhaps it was time the Antrilii changed. The Magi had changed, the first of them being Roelle and her band of warriors. Even those on the Council had begun to change, with Alriyn taking a larger role, and discovering that he could force his mind open. And Isandra—especially Isandra—had changed.

  “Why did you return, Isandra?” Novan asked. “I know that you had left these lands for Vasha. What brought you back? What did you hope to accomplish by returning to Farsea?”

  “I came back because I bear responsibility to the groeliin.”

  “More than the Antrilii?”

  “My responsibility is different from that which the Antrilii bear. Mine has more to do with what I have discovered about the groeliin and whatever way I have to help save them.”

  “You would save them?”

  “I would find a way to prevent the Antrilii and the groeliin from fighting. If it saves the groeliin, it certainly will save the Antrilii.”

  Novan watched her again, and she had the sense that there was a calculating nature to what he did. What was he seeing when he looked at her? What burned behind his eyes?

  “Your discovery of the connection of the groeliin to teralin is intriguing.”

  “The Antrilii knew that there was a connection there before,” she said.

  He arched a brow at her. “Did they?”

  Isandra shrugged. “Endric had been here sometime in the past, and Endric had told the Antrilii that the groeliin required teralin during their breeding.”

  “And you demonstrated that by using positively charg
ed—or creative—teralin,” he said with a smile, “the groeliin would not be the same creature.”

  “But why is that intriguing?”

  “It’s intriguing because of the nature of teralin.”

  It was her turn to consider him for a moment. She watched him, waiting for some explanation, but Novan only tapped his mouth.

  “Historian?”

  “Did you know that teralin can change polarity?”

  “I’ve seen how it goes from the neutral form to the negative or the positive form.”

  He shook his head. “It’s more than that. Did you know that teralin can go from negative to positive, or the reverse?”

  She stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was telling her. If teralin could change polarity like that… “Are you saying that the groeliin could be changed?”

  Novan offered a hint of a smile. “While you’re right that we’ve known about the connection between the groeliin and teralin, we only knew about the connection to the negatively charged teralin. There had never been a belief that positively charged teralin could have a different effect on the groeliin. Some had theorized on it”—from the way he said it, Isandra suspected he had theorized it—“but none have ever proved it.”

  “And now that it has been proven?”

  “If they are dependent upon the teralin, it makes one wonder whether the other effects of teralin would be similar. And yes, it makes me wonder whether the polarity of the groeliin can be reversed.”

  Isandra struggled to sit, and the pain that had been working through her finally eased enough to allow her to look up and meet the historian’s eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that we need to find a groeliin to test this on.”

  Chapter Seven

  Roelle paused at the rocky cliff overlooking the sea. From here, massive swells slammed into the shore far below her, sending a salty spray up to her nostrils. A few ships bobbed in the waves distantly, massive sails unfurled as they made their way toward Polle Pal. Beyond those ships stretched the enormity of the sea.

  “We’re expected to cross that by ship?” Selton asked.

  Roelle glanced over at her friend before her gaze darted behind him where his cousin Lendra stood casually scratching at her arm and the tattoo she now wore. Roelle had been surprised to learn that she, too, had accepted the marking. What effect would it have on her? She was a historian, but now she was something else. In that way, she had become more involved in the workings of the world, much like Novan.

  “We don’t always get to travel like the gods, Selton.”

  Selton’s brow furrowed. “I’m not going to complain about that. It was… strange traveling the way your friend has learned to travel.”

  She cocked a hint of a smile. “Strange but also convenient. Can you imagine how much easier our battle against the groeliin would have been had we been able to travel the same way that Jakob can travel?”

  “We would’ve missed something. We needed to travel by foot to know the extent of the groeliin presence.” Selton turned away from the shore and looked at her. “Think of Rondalin and what we would’ve missed there.”

  “I’m not sure that we gained anything in Rondalin.”

  “Are you so certain? You’re the one who showed me what could have been. We tried, and we thought we had gotten through to them.”

  “We wasted time. We might have saved more had we not spent that time trying to reach the Deshmahne.”

  “And had we not gone to Rondalin, we would never have known that the Deshmahne could be anything other than violent attackers.”

  Roelle looked over her shoulder at the line of Deshmahne behind her. They had become allies, but they were uneasy allies. The High Desh had sent his men along with her and had agreed to counter the groeliin threat together, but they still weren’t completely aligned. How could they be when they had spent so much time battling each other?

  “They are complicated, aren’t they?”

  Selton sniffed. “Everything is complicated. Things we thought were simple and obvious are not at all.”

  Had things been simple, they would have remained in Vasha, and they would have continued their Magi education, becoming fully fledged Magi, but they would have lost something in the process. Had they done that, had they spent time becoming Magi like those who had come before them, would the groeliin have been defeated? Would the High Priest of the Deshmahne have succeeded? Would they have gained an understanding of the Antrilii? The world was changing, and they had changed with it. They had no choice but to change.

  That complication was exactly what was needed.

  “You know, if you’re afraid of sailing, you can remain here,” she said.

  Selton glared at her and looked as if he wanted to punch her. “There’s not much that I’m afraid of—”

  “Other than getting beaten by me.”

  “I’ve not been beaten by you.”

  “Not until recently.” She had grown stronger, her energy having been restored by the Deshmahne, the poisoning of the negatively charged teralin no longer consuming her the way that it had. It had left her changed even more than she had been before. Roelle wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, only that she felt drawn to both polarities of teralin.

  Had the Deshmahne anticipated that?

  “Not until recently,” Selton said. She shouldn’t tease him like that. She knew better than to do so, knowing that Selton worried about her and worried about what changes were taking place within her as a result of the Deshmahne healing, but he needn’t worry about her. “Does it hurt?”

  His gaze drifted to her arm that was covered by the silky clothes she wore. They were in the style of Paliis, the flowing and loose-fitting style that Roelle had taken to wearing over the last few weeks while training with the Deshmahne. With the heat of the city, the thin fabric was the only thing that allowed her to stay comfortable. Her Mage robes were far too heavy and warm.

  Roelle pulled up her sleeve and showed the marking. It had been a gift from the High Desh, his way of proving to her that the Deshmahne were not the evil that she had once believed. But then, by the time she had acquired it, she hadn’t believed they were evil.

  “It’s strange, but I don’t know that I could say that it hurts. Sometimes, it almost seems to move.” She stared at it, trying not to think too much about what it meant that she saw a haze of dark energy around it, too. It was the same as what swirled around the Deshmahne, and it reminded her far too much of the negatively charged teralin. She didn’t feel different, but then, would she?

  Selton considered her for a moment, staring at her before shaking his head and letting out a heavy sigh. “There are times when I wonder what the Council would think if we were to return. Would they welcome us back or would they say that we’ve changed too much to serve as Magi?” He nodded to her arm. “And now with that, I don’t think there’s any way you could return.” He looked up and met her gaze. “Does that bother you at all?”

  Roelle held her friend’s gaze. “I know that it should bother me, but the moment we left Vasha and went north after the Deshmahne, I don’t think we were ever destined to return to our previous studies. How could we be the same as the Magi who instructed us, especially as we began to learn more about what was taking place in the world? How could we return when we know there is so much more than what we were taught?” She took a deep breath and turned her attention back out to the sea. The ships had moved closer, and a few others began to become visible in the far distance. “The world is much larger—and stranger—than we were ever taught. As much as anything, that’s the reason that we can’t return to Vasha, at least not in the way that we once had.”

  “I know, it’s just that…”

  She nodded. “I understand what you’re going through. We’re all going through it.”

  Selton crossed his arms over his chest, and his fingers twirled in the fabric, twisting it together. “I don’t think you do. You accept this new world so much
more easily than I can. Because of you, others have taken on the Deshmahne tattoos—”

  Roelle raised her hand, cutting him off. “They’re not Deshmahne when they are placed on us. You attribute too much to them. When they’re placed on our skin, they are little more than markers that add to our connection to the manehlin.”

  He cocked a disapproving eye at her. “They are much more than that, Roelle. There is something different, and they mean that we are something different—at least those who have agreed to take them on.”

  She could not disagree with that. Selton was one of only a few of the Magi warriors who had not yet taken on the tattoos, though most who had not weren’t opposed to it, they simply hadn’t found the right donor.

  That was the most surprising thing to Roelle. The Deshmahne took power—that much was true—but not in the way that she had believed. At least, these Deshmahne did not. The High Priest and those who had gone with him had acted differently, stealing power, but in Paliis and with the High Desh, it was freely given. There was something in the way that they used the teralin that augmented them. More than that, it gave those who were otherwise powerless a chance to understand and know manehlin.

  The more that she thought about it, the more that she had come to believe that was something to value. If others were able to reach an understanding with manehlin because they could access it, should they be stopped from doing so?

  “It was something we needed to do,” she said.

  “Are you sure? I think we could continue to serve the way that we need to without having altered ourselves.”

  “Altered? In a way, we were altered the moment we first took a life, Selton. That changed something about us, changed who we are, and everything that we have ever believed as Magi.”

  His face clouded, and Roelle knew that she wouldn’t get through to him, not in this way. Selton had begun to struggle with everything that happened to them. It had gotten worse when they had begun working with the Deshmahne of Paliis. It might’ve been easier for him to have remained in Vasha, so that he could have encouraged the Magi to participate in what was taking place, perhaps even returning to his role as an apprentice. He might have benefited from that sense of normalcy. It was something that she hated to consider, but for her friend’s sake, she wished that he could find the peace that he seemed to be missing.