Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  And try as he might, he couldn’t get Therin’s advice on using the ahmaean and tracking back along the fibers to work for him. There had to be a connection, but so far, he wasn’t able to find it. He suspected there was another part to it, another trick, but it was one that he did not yet fully grasp.

  As he stood there, surveying the landscape, he stretched out his ahmaean. Since receiving Alyta’s gift to him, he had enough ahmaean that it seemed a milky white cloud surrounded him, and as he stretched it away from him, he used it to trace over the land, to feel for changes in the energy that was here. Would he pick up anything that would help him identify whether this was a place of the damahne?

  There was a faint tickle that came along his senses.

  Jakob focused on that, feeling the way it tingled.

  There was a vibration against his ahmaean, and Jakob focused on it and drew himself to it, appearing near the ruins. The stone here reminded him of what he had seen in the vision, the same pale white stones that he had seen in Thealon. It was broken and scattered in a haphazard sort of way, sprawled across the ground so that it appeared as if some destruction had happened here, rather than any sort of natural disaster.

  Jakob pressed out with his ahmaean, using it to layer over the ruins. There was a resistance to him, and one that at first tingled a little bit, and then changed to something else, a cold sort of sensation, one that left him feeling on the edge of nervousness.

  He had detected this same sort of thing before. The last time had been when he had faced Raime.

  Were they all related?

  He knew that Raime had seemed to control the groeliin, at least his comments had made it seem as if he had. Was there more to it? Had Raime absorbed—and used—the groeliin energy? Had he stolen ahmaean from the groeliin? Could that be why his ahmaean was so dark? He thought that stemmed from the fact that Raime stole from the Magi, or from the daneamiin, though there was a similar sort of energy when he faced the groeliin.

  Using his ahmaean, using the connection that he had to it, he pulled on the stones, shifting them, the way that he had done in the heart of the Great Forest. There was an image in his mind of what the city had once been, and he tried to puzzle it together, pulling the stones in such a way that they would reform, returning to what they had been, but even that was not enough. He could restructure some of the city, and build walls that resembled many that he’d seen in his vision, but as soon as he relaxed his ahmaean connection, the walls began to fade, falling once more.

  This was not for him to repair.

  Maybe he couldn’t repair it. Maybe there was something to the fact that a dark ahmaean had been used to destroy it that would prevent him from changing it.

  Jakob walked through what had once been streets, feeling the ahmaean all around him, and enjoying the way that it responded to him, the ahmaean seeming to reverberate within him, reacting to something about him. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but suspected it was important. Maybe it only meant that he was damahne, much like those who had first built the city.

  Where should he go next?

  It seemed as if he should continue to search, that he should try to understand what about him made him damahne, and what made him unique, but another thought intruded. With his ability to shift, and to travel, he wasn’t limited by borders, not as he had been. That was both freeing and frightening.

  There was one place he had wanted to go, someone he wanted to visit. But he hadn’t known what he could do—if anything—to help. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps it was already too late for his brother, but shouldn’t he try? Scottan was the same bloodline is he was. Maybe Scottan was meant to be damahne, and he had not survived the awakening of it within him.

  Jakob turned toward Chrysia, and focused. There were many places within the city he knew well enough to travel to, but there was one in particular he had always been drawn to. Strange he should shift from library to library, but that was where he wanted to appear.

  With the shifting of his mind, and a pulling of his ahmaean, he traveled to Chrysia and to the library.

  When he opened his eyes, he realized he was not alone.

  Jakob prepared to travel again, but something about the height—and the slight stoop to the spine—gave him pause.

  “Novan?”

  The historian turned to him, and a broad smile crossed his narrow face. “Jakob Nialsen. I wasn’t expecting to see you return quite so soon.”

  Jakob remained a few steps away, and his gaze drifted around the library. It was much as it had been when he had last visited, though no lantern was lit. That had always been his task, filling the oil and lighting the lanterns, giving Novan a way to easily see.

  Now, something had changed for Jakob, so that even in the darkness, he could easily see. Jakob knew that it was dark, and knew that the shadows should make it difficult for him, but they did not. His eyesight had changed.

  Darkness didn’t seem to affect Novan, either.

  For that matter, he didn’t remember Novan ever really having trouble with the darkness in the library. Had he only been lighting the lanterns for his own benefit?

  “When were you expecting me to return?”

  Novan’s gaze drifted from Jakob’s boots all the way up to his face. They paused for a moment on the sword strapped at his side. “You wear it well. I think Endric always expected you to develop into more of a swordsman than any of the Ur captains, but perhaps not for quite the same reason.”

  “Why are you here, Novan?”

  Novan smiled. “After the Deshmahne attack, I decided to return to where it all began. I thought that perhaps I could learn something, that perhaps I could discover some secret I might have missed, and the library seemed a logical choice. It is interesting you found me today. I have only just returned to Chrysia, and have only just returned to the library.”

  Jakob wondered whether that was fortuitous, or if it was something Novan had planned. Maybe the fibers had always wanted to bring him back into contact with Novan. If he could learn to trace the fibers, he might be able to understand whether Novan had come by his own choice—or for some other reason.

  “Why now?” he asked.

  Novan frowned at him. “Have you become suspicious in your time away from Chrysia?”

  “I think I have a right to be suspicious. Do you know what I’ve been through since I left you?”

  “Oh, dear boy, I certainly hope so. Brohmin sent word that you crossed over from Avaneam, and that you reached the other side of the valley. From there, I lost word. I suspect that since the Deshmahne were defeated in Thealon, you had something to do with that?”

  Jakob shook his head. “I didn’t know anything about the Deshmahne in Thealon.”

  “Nothing?”

  “We were facing groeliin,” Jakob said. “Did you know that thousands of groeliin traveled south?”

  Novan’s face hardened, and his eyes took on a distant stare. “I knew the groeliin were traveling, and that they were moving, but they rarely move beyond the mountains, and the Antrilii normally eliminate most of the threat. They were the reason the north was dangerous, and the reason I hesitated having you go on Endric’s errand.”

  Novan knew of the groeliin—and he knew of the Antrilii. That surprised Jakob, especially since Novan hadn’t shared anything with him about the groeliin—or the Antrilii. “Why didn’t you tell me when I went north?”

  “You should not have encountered them,” Novan said.

  “I should not have? You thought the Deshmahne were the only threat that I would need to face?”

  “Even if I believed that you would come across the groeliin, I had no reason to believe you would be able to fight them. Have you seen a man with no abilities face the groeliin?”

  Jakob shook his head.

  “Most are overcome by vomiting, and often cannot stand. There is something about the groeliin that poisons normal men, that prevents them from doing so much as surviving.”

  Was that Novan’s way of protect
ing him, or was it simply the historian keeping key pieces of information from him? Jakob wished he understood, but if he had, would it have changed anything for him? Would it have allowed him to face the groeliin any more effectively? Would he have been prepared?

  When he and Novan had parted ways on their journey, he had believed that fighting the Deshmahne was the greatest threat, and that had proven to be only a part of the dangers they faced.

  “Alyta. What happened to her?” Novan asked.

  Jakob squeezed his eyes closed. “She is gone. Raime captured her and tried to steal her ahmaean.”

  At the mention of ahmaean, Novan smiled slightly. “You have learned much in your time away. Did you observe as I asked?”

  “I had a hard time observing as I was trying to stay alive,” Jakob said.

  Novan chuckled, but it quickly faded. Some of the sparkle in Novan’s eyes diminished. “So she is gone. The last of the damahne is gone. Did Raime succeed?”

  “If he succeeded, I wouldn’t still be here,” Jakob said.

  Novan arched a brow at him, pressing his thin lips together as he nodded. “I suppose that is accurate. How?”

  Jakob debated what to tell Novan. Yet, for all that he had wanted to know, Novan might be the one who could provide him with answers. The historian knew as much as any person alive, and clearly had known much more than he had shared with Jakob before they parted each other’s company.

  “She passed on her energy to me,” Jakob said.

  “You are the nemah?”

  “That is what Brohmin believed.”

  “Brohmin believed, but not you. Which means that you are not.” Novan studied him, looking at him in a new light.

  As he did, Jakob became aware of something surprising. Ahmaean swirled around the historian, something that he had not noticed around Novan before. It was faint, slightly translucent, and reminded him of that which swirled around the Magi—much like it had around Roelle and her other warriors.

  The ahmaean briefly touched Jakob before Jakob’s own energy pushed back, practically repelling what Novan possessed.

  The historian gasped softly. “You are Mageborn?”

  As much as Jakob wanted to torment Novan, as much as he enjoyed being in the know when the historian had for so long held the knowledge, he needed what Novan knew, and needed to be able to use it. Tormenting him now achieved nothing—other than Jakob’s own satisfaction.

  “Not Mageborn. I am something else.”

  Novan reached to his side and grabbed the staff Jakob hadn’t noticed lying against the table. He tapped it once, and a faint white light began to glow along the length of it, forming words in the ancient language. Without touching the staff—without holding it—Jakob knew that it would do more than grant power. It would hold power.

  Novan tipped the staff toward Jakob. Ahmaean swirled out of the end of it and wrapped around Jakob. The sensation was not unpleasant, but it had none of the subtlety and gentleness that the damahne possessed, none of the friendliness he detected when probed by the gods.

  “Damahne?” he gasped. “How is that possible?”

  This time, Jakob used his ahmaean and sent it swirling around Novan, wrapping around the historian, probing along his staff, before drawing it back. Using his ahmaean this way gave him a certain understanding. He recognized Novan’s intent, and recognized something more about him: there was confusion within the historian’s heart.

  Was this why the damahne had used their ahmaean in this way? Had they done it so that they could gain a greater understanding of the other damahne?

  If so, there was something quite lovely about it, something that left Jakob feeling a greater connection to Novan than he had ever shared before.

  “She didn’t know. She said that she had felt an awakening along the fibers, and had been searching for it, but she had not been able to discover what that was. She blamed the madness on her search,” Jakob said.

  “There should be no madness when one of the damahne searches along the fibers. It has been done that way for countless generations. The damahne have always reached out, tracing themselves through the fibers of time.”

  Jakob felt relief that Novan seemed to know about the fibers, and relief that perhaps he might get answers from the historian, answers that he could not get otherwise.

  “I don’t know that I can understand it any differently,” Jakob said. “All I know is what Alyta shared with me. She searched for what she believed to be the last damahne and suspected that might have triggered the madness.”

  Novan started pacing, something Jakob remembered from his time studying under the man. It was a measure of his frustration, and his way of thinking. “There must be something else. That is why you return to Chrysia, is it not?”

  “It is. I thought that if I could help Scottan—”

  “You would be too new to your abilities to be of any good to him,” Novan said. “Risking your abilities in ways that you don’t understand them yet places not only your brother, but yourself at risk.”

  “I have to do something. If Scottan—and others afflicted with the madness—are sick because of the damahne influence, then I need to do what I can to try to counter that.”

  “I still don’t believe that has anything to do with what happened to them.”

  “Novan—”

  “I will help you.”

  “Help?”

  Novan arched a brow and tapped his staff on the ground. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t participate in this. The chance to observe the damahne learning of their abilities? There is much value in recording that.”

  Did he share with Novan the various other libraries he had discovered? What would Novan do with the information stored within the Tower? What of the volumes that he had found beneath the Forest? There would be much to gain there, but a part of Jakob felt as if that knowledge belonged to the damahne, and until he understood it better, until he understood what he was better, he didn’t have a right to share that information.

  “Why did you return to the library? If you sought Scottan, why didn’t you simply return to the santrium?”

  “I don’t know. There was a part of me that knew the library better than other places in the city. Since the temple was destroyed, and my father is no longer here, this was…” Did he share that this was the only home he had? In some ways, Novan was something of a father figure to him, and had practically rescued him from the city when he thought that he might forever be trapped here.

  What would have happened to him had he not left the city? What would he have become had he not gone with Novan? He would have needed to find another responsibility, but none had ever suited him. His father had wanted him to serve as a priest, but Jakob’s faith had never been adequate for the priesthood. It was amusing now, that he had become what his father had worshiped.

  What would his father have thought? If he could glimpse the fibers, he could reach back and understand his father better, maybe there would be more about himself that he would understand.

  First, he would have to come to understand his abilities, and learn how to glimpse along the fibers as Therin had suggested.

  Was there a way to do that and be safe? Was there a way for him to finally understand how to track the fibers to look back without walking back, to understand who he was? He was afraid of doing anything more than that, afraid of stepping back along the fibers as he had before, afraid that perhaps he might drag another with him as Therin had warned.

  What would have happened had he pulled Shoren with him? What if he had taken Aimielen? They were gods among gods, and had been powerful damahne, and Jakob did not want to be responsible for something happening to them.

  “Novan, will you come with me? Will you accompany me when I go to visit Scottan?”

  Novan tapped his staff, and light flashed along the length of it. “Of course, Jakob Nialsen. I would be honored to attend you and observe.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jakob and Novan walked through the str
eets on their way to the santrium. Jakob could shift, but doing so was unnecessary now that he was in Chrysia. Novan may have wanted to observe his abilities, but Jakob wasn’t in a rush to show him exactly what he was capable of doing, nor was he in a rush to demonstrate what it was like to travel. He suspected Novan may already have some experience, especially as Novan seemed to have known Alyta, but he wanted to keep some of his abilities to himself, at least until he understood them better.

  The city felt different from what he remembered, almost like another energy existed here, one that had not been here when he had last been in the city. He glanced over at Novan as they made their way through the streets. The historian leaned on his staff much more than Jakob recalled him doing before. He didn’t remember Novan needing the staff when they were in the city the last time, so his use now was somewhat surprising.

  “What happened when you went with Endric?” Jakob asked.

  Novan hadn’t offered, and Jakob suspected that he might not share if Jakob didn’t push. What had become of the historian and Endric and all the Denraen who Jakob had traveled with? What had become of his friend Braden? He had discovered what Roelle had done in the time since he left her, but the others had a different path in front of them.

  “The Deshmahne thought to attack Vasha,” Novan said. He tapped his staff on the cobbles for emphasis, keeping his gaze fixed along the length of the street. They passed a series of shops, and there was activity all around them.

  “What happened when they attacked?”

  With this, Novan glanced over. “They converted a few of the Denraen. They caused chaos in the city.”

  “Only the Denraen?” Jakob asked.

  “What do you know?”

  They stopped at an intersection, before proceeding onward and into the Sithrain section of the city. Here, the streets were dirtier, the buildings more run down. The overall feeling of the city changed as they entered, and Jakob felt as if a weight pressed upon his chest, one that left him feeling angry that Scottan remained here.