Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “How did the Deshmahne come to understand the groeliin?”

  “I think you’re asking the wrong question.”

  Isandra frowned. What was the right question? She stared at the page, looking at the depiction of the groeliin, a creature that was both taller and more muscular than any groeliin she had encountered. More than that, there were the markings upon its flesh, markings that did remind her of what she’d seen from the Deshmahne.

  What point was Rebecca trying to make with her? What was it that she wanted her to see?

  “How many did you say have seen this creature?”

  Rebecca nodded. “Now you’re asking the right question.” She pulled the book back, setting it on her lap, tracing her finger along the shape of the groeliin, studying the dangerous features the creature possessed. “In centuries of fighting and facing the groeliin, only one person has ever returned with word of anything similar to this. One person has returned.” She made a point of emphasizing it the second time she said it, tapping the page as she did. “Others may have encountered a similar creature, but if they have, none have returned to tell the tale.”

  “So for the Deshmahne to utilize the same… magic”—Isandra didn’t know what else to call it other than magic. It seemed that was what it was, a sort of magic that the Deshmahne should not possession, though the groeliin should not possess it, either—”means that they have studied with the groeliin?”

  How would that even be possible? How would creatures that wanted nothing but death and destruction allow any to study with them?

  “It means that someone would need to be powerful enough to influence the groeliin. They would have to somehow override the groeliin’s natural tendencies, those of destruction and death, in order to have a chance to study with the groeliin.”

  Isandra couldn’t imagine anyone having such an ability. Doing so meant they would have to be able to not only communicate with the groeliin, but also somehow overpower them. That seemed more difficult than simply destroying them as the Antrilii had being doing for centuries.

  “These markings tell us that these creatures are powerful. If we didn’t suspect that already, the appearance of the Deshmahne in the south has proven it.”

  “You know of the Deshmahne?” Isandra asked.

  “We have encountered them, and observed the type of men they are. They chase power at the expense of understanding.”

  Isandra wasn’t sure that was how she would describe them. The Deshmahne were destruction personified. They seem to exalt in it, practically calling for it. They might claim that they used their abilities to reach the gods, to demonstrate strength to the gods, but there was nothing godly about what they did. Their abilities were an abomination.

  “Was this when you realized that the groeliin shared a connection to the Deshmahne?” Isandra asked. Had the Antrilii known about the connection? If they had, and if they had said nothing, didn’t that make them complicit in the progression of the attacks?

  As much as the Antrilii had continued to fight and to defend the north, if they knew about the growing Deshmahne and groeliin threat—the combination of the two—shouldn’t they have reported to someone—possibly Endric, considering his connection to them—that there might be a connection.

  “We have never been entirely certain of a connection,” Rebecca said. “There has been speculation of one, but there has never been confirmation.”

  At least there was that. At least the Antrilii hadn’t abandoned the south to the Deshmahne, thinking the groeliin were the only threat.

  “Why are you showing me this creature?”

  “Because this creature was found near the breeding grounds.”

  Isandra studied the page, making the connection. “So the only person to have ever witnessed this creature and survived has seen the breeding grounds.”

  Rebecca nodded.

  Isandra frowned. “Jassan told me that Endric had seen them.”

  “Perhaps Jassan knows more than he let on.”

  “Did you not want Jassan to know this?”

  “Knowing of these more powerful groeliin is potentially dangerous. There is little we can do to defend against them. They are formidable, and even if we were able to do anything to counter them, we would lose many Antrilii.”

  “You want the Antrilii to avoid the breeding grounds, don’t you?”

  Rebecca met her gaze. “We would lose many Antrilii were we to try to combat these creatures. We lose enough the way it is, though fewer each year, especially as the merahl continue to fight with us. If we lost their partnership, we would be devastated.”

  “I thought your goal was to find peace, and to end the fighting,” Isandra said.

  “That is the goal of the Antrilii,” Rebecca said.

  “But not yours?”

  Rebecca leaned forward, closing the book. “Mine is to keep my people safe, Mage. I expected you to understand that.”

  Was that why she was showing her this? Was she demonstrating what she knew about these more powerful groeliin so that Isandra would convince Jassan not to attempt to face them?

  That didn’t make sense. Why prevent the opportunity of destroying the groeliin once and for all? Why not take the chance, especially if it meant they could finally find peace?

  “Let me tell you about the Magi,” Isandra said.

  “We know enough about the Magi.”

  “No. I think you understand what you believe about the Magi, but not the truth about them. The Magi have long chased peace. We possess an ancient text, one that is called—”

  “The mahne. We possess a similar text.”

  Isandra blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “Do you possess the complete copy?”

  Rebecca met her gaze again, holding it for a moment, and then she stood. She made her way to the shelf again, reaching for a book in the middle of a row of other books.

  That couldn’t be the mahne. The Magi kept their copy of the mahne—the one Isandra had long believed was the only copy—in a chamber off of the library, preserved in such a way that it was protected and kept secret from all but the Council.

  Rebecca brought the book back to her and tossed it to her.

  Sandra cautiously opened the cover and began reading.

  The words were written in the ancient language, and she had studied the language long enough to rapidly translate it. Her mind made the necessary conversion, quickly working through the words, changing the text to the common tongue.

  This was a copy of the mahne.

  How was that possible?

  The Magi believed they possessed the only copy, and that it was sacred to their people, and had been the founding of the Urmahne faith.

  To the Antrilii, the mahne was little more than another book in a row of many.

  “How is it that you have this in your possession?” Isandra asked.

  “We have many books.”

  Isandra looked up, scanning the shelves. How many others would be like this? How many others would be similarly sacred to the Magi, yet were kept on the shelf, as if they were nothing more than a common historian journal?

  “Where would you have acquired this?” she asked.

  “The same place we acquire other works. Some we have come across over time. Some have been brought to us by the Historian Guild, and others have been brought from the south, brought by those who study such things.”

  Sandra flipped through the mahne, her eyes taking in each page, recognizing that it was the same version they possessed in Vasha.

  As she thumbed toward the end of the book, she wondered—could it be complete?

  Their version was incomplete. It spoke of a choosing, the tradition of the Uniter, but there was little else to it. They were unable to fully know if those ancient traditions had merit, and if the scholars who had first written the mahne—who had established the Urmahne faith—had known something of the future.

  Most scholars long suspected that those who had written the mahne had been prophets. The Magi had
several prophets over the years, though most were minor prophets like Haerlin. As a Mage, he was otherwise unremarkable. Without his ability with prophecy—however limited—he would never have progressed as far as he had within the Council.

  When reached the end of the book, she hesitated as she turned the page. On the next page, if it were complete, there would be writings that would explain more of the tradition of the Uniter.

  Isandra closed her eyes for a brief moment and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she turned the page, her hand trembling.

  They had a version with more than the one the Magi possessed.

  How was this possible? How was it possible for the Antrilii to possess a more complete copy than the Magi? How was it possible that the version the Urmahne faith was founded upon was not as complete as one that had been trapped in the north for an unknown number of years?

  “You have the mahne. Have you known what it was?”

  “It is an ancient tradition. One that the gods participated in, using their gifts to help choose a man who might be able to bring about peace.”

  It was a simplistic answer, yet entirely accurate. “Have you known this was what the Magi used to help establish the Urmahne faith?”

  “We have known that you view this as more sacred than the Antrilii view it.”

  That seemed an understatement, but it wasn’t entirely what she wanted to speak about to Rebecca. The mahne—and the Urmahne faith—were only a part of what made a Mage.

  She closed the Antrilii version of the mahne, resting her hands on top of it. She resisted the urge to grip the sides, to clutch it to her, to hold it close and pocket it.

  To the Antrilii, it was nothing more than a book. Maybe that had been the issue with the Magi all along, viewing it as something sacred, something more than it was, when it really was little more than a historical text, a document that detailed an ancient practice. That it was an ancient practice didn’t make it necessarily better, did it?

  “The Magi call for peace, and we recognize that peace is the way to the gods,” Isandra said.

  “Peace is not the only way to the gods. If it were, would you claim what the Antrilii do is not godly?”

  Isandra could not. Not after what she had seen, and the way that she knew the Antrilii fought the groeliin, and protected those who could not protect themselves.

  And their Founders were warriors. They had been the very first Magi warriors, soldiers from the beginning. That didn’t make them any less godly, did it?

  Isandra had to believe that it did not.

  “The mahne teaches—”

  “The mahne teaches that peace is desired, but not required.” Rebecca took the book from her and flipped through it, paging toward a section in the end, to pages the Magi did not possess. “Even your sacred text recognizes that there were others who would need to fight, that peace sometimes requires war. Do you believe that your text was wrong?”

  “Not wrong. Incomplete.”

  Rebecca frowned. “Incomplete?”

  “The copy the Magi possess is not a complete version of the mahne. We have never had the section that describes what you’re talking about.”

  Rebecca began laughing. “You have based your entire religion on a text that you don’t even possess a complete version of? I think the gods would feel you were exceedingly ignorant.”

  Maybe that was the true answer. Maybe the Magi were guilty of ignorance in addition to negligence.

  Isandra had to believe that there was more to them, that they had been doing the work of the gods. Maintaining peace had value, and it had merit. Doing so had helped all of the north and south lands know peace for hundreds and hundreds of years. Without the mahne, and without the Urmahne faith, would such a peace have ever been established?

  “We have searched for the fragments,” she said.

  “Yet you have never come to the Antrilii searching for those answers,” Rebecca said. She stood and placed the book back on the shelf, leaving Isandra staring after it longingly, but at least now, she knew where to find it, even if she might not be able to reach it easily.

  “We never knew the Antrilii would have answers to our questions.”

  “You have never thought to come here and search for those answers,” Rebecca said.

  “No. We have not.”

  “What else would you tell me about the Magi?” Rebecca said.

  “Only that I understand the desire to find peace,” Isandra said. She felt deflated, defeated in a way. She had thought to come here to offer Rebecca a sort of understanding, but instead, Rebecca had been the one who had shown her understanding Isandra had lacked.

  “We desire peace, but we know the sacrifice necessary to achieve it. The Antrilii have been willing to make that sacrifice for years.”

  “Yet now, you’re saying you don’t want the Antrilii to make that sacrifice.”

  “If our people go and face those creatures, many will die. It will be generations before we are able to recover. In that time, the groeliin might overwhelm us.” She fixed Isandra with a hard expression, one that was full of the weight of her position and the weight of her authority. “It is more about our survival, and about maintaining a balance, than about not wanting to achieve the peace that the gods have asked us to.”

  Isandra understood. There was nothing that she would do differently. The Antrilii depended on the Yahinv to keep them safe and to help guide them. Doing so meant the Yahinv sometimes kept things from the rest of the people, sometimes things that might make a difference in their battle against the groeliin, but it was important for them to do so as it allowed them to maintain their connection to the people—and to survive.

  What else was there for her to say?

  Nothing.

  And that was the point of what Rebecca wanted her to see. She wanted Isandra to know that the Yahinv did all they could to keep the people they protected safe.

  “I understand.”

  Rebecca nodded. “I see that you do. Do not push on this, Mage. This is not your fight.”

  “The fight is all of ours,” she said.

  “No. This is the fight of the Antrilii. It’s one that we have honored for our entire lives. That is a commitment the Magi don’t—and can’t—understand.”

  Isandra wondered if that were true. If it had been, could it be now? Could they ignore what had happened and ignore the responsibility that they all now had to doing what was needed to remove the groeliin threat?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “You can’t come with me,” Jassan said.

  Isandra confronted him in the building that housed the Antrilii warriors. It seemed that in Farsea at least, the warriors all shared a building, and they were all together as a family. That reminded her of the Denraen, though she wasn’t certain that was the intent.

  The structure was massive, a sprawling compound that filled an entire block of the city. In the center of the compound was a space the warriors used for sparring. A barricade had been erected around it, presumably to keep the battle from spilling out into the rest of the space. Like everything else in the Antrilii lands, there was likely a name for it, some term that she didn’t know, but if Jassan had used it, she had not heard.

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  He arched a brow and she refused to step back from him. Since the healing that she’d undergone, she had been gradually feeling more like herself. She remained weakened, but even that was not as terrible as it had been. Now, it was a sense of loss, but not anything more than that, and certainly not what she’d thought might happen without her Mage abilities.

  “Jassan, there are ways that I can help when you search for the breeding ground.”

  “You don’t know that’s what I intend.”

  This time, it was her turn to arch a brow at the comment. “No? All of this that we’ve been talking about since I came to Farsea, and you think you can convince me that you don’t have any intention to go in search of the breeding grounds?”

&
nbsp; “The Yahinv—”

  “Don’t want you to go. I know this. When I spoke with Rebecca, she made it clear what she wanted of the warriors.”

  “Which was?”

  “Not to die,” Isandra responded.

  “We are Antrilii. We will face the groeliin, and if the gods require that it means our sacrifice, then it is one all Antrilii are willing to make. If it means we will be able to lay down our swords, then we will do it.”

  Isandra sighed. That might be what the warriors wanted, but that wasn’t what the Yahinv would have them do. They wanted to keep the rest of the Antrilii safe, but they had not shared with the warriors the nature of the creature that awaited them if they managed to reach the breeding ground. Should they reach them, it seemed certain they would all meet their deaths.

  Rebecca had told her not to push. Which meant she was not to share what she knew with Jassan. She understood and respected what the Yahinv intended, but she also understood Jassan’s dedication to his oath and his longing for peace—and the chance to finally join the Magi in laying down their weapons. She could not stand by. She knew she could help.

  Perhaps there was something she could do to prove to Jassan her willingness to help him. Hadn’t he told her what she would need to do?

  “Teach me,” she said.

  “Teach you what?”

  “The sword. Teach me what I need to know to be of use against the groeliin.”

  “Mage—”

  “No.” She realized she had to share what she knew. He and the other warriors had the right to know. “There is something to the breeding grounds that you don’t understand. It’s something the Yahinv have kept from you, the reason that your warriors who went to face the groeliin there have not returned.”

  “You cannot know this.”

  “I can, and I do. Rebecca shared with me what awaits you there, and the reason the Antrilii who have searched for the breeding grounds in years past have never returned.”

  “We have been outnumbered. That is all.”

  “No. There is a power there that you have not understood. The groeliin have—”