Falling Kingdoms

by Rhodes, Morgan

  It was so unfair. Just as Cleo had begun to look on Paelsians as kind and hardworking people, they’d been mugged, renewing her previous assumption that they were all desperate savages.

  They’re desperate because they have nothing. While I have everything.

  It was a chilling thought. Perhaps Cleo too would become more savage if she had to live in this dying land for more than a week.

  They entered the next village with its typical dusty streets and small, stone cottages with thatched roofs. In the market, which was the busiest section of the village, they stopped a few people and asked them about the Watcher.

  They received the same response they’d gotten everywhere else.

  “Watchers? Don’t know anything about that,” one woman said, her lips peeling back from broken teeth. “Don’t believe in such inane legends, dearie. If we had a Watcher among us with magic at her lovely, golden fingertips, do you think we’d have to sleep under broken roofs and eat frostbitten vegetables?”

  “She’s an exiled Watcher, so perhaps it’s different for her.”

  The woman waved a dismissive hand. “It’s bad enough that we put up with Chief Basilius, who uses our taxes for his luxurious compound working his so-called magic while the rest of us starve to death. Now he wants to steal our men for his foolish endeavors. Sickening.”

  “Quiet yourself,” her gray-haired friend whispered harshly, grabbing her arm. “Don’t speak ill of the chief. He’ll hear you.”

  “He hears nothing but his own satisfied belches,” the woman snarled back.

  The woman’s friend dragged her away before she said anything else.

  “Broken roofs,” Nic said, scanning the area. “She’s right. Half the roofs around here have holes in them. How do these people manage to survive the bleakest days of winter?”

  “Some don’t.” The voice came from a stall selling woven baskets. Cleo stopped and turned to see a small woman with gray hair and a deeply lined face regarding her with black, sparkling eyes. For a moment, Cleo recalled Silas Agallon, the wine seller, just before his sons arrived. What happened shortly afterward slid through her memory like rancid jam.

  “Apologies, but what did you say?” Cleo asked.

  “The winters are harsh here,” the woman said. “Some aren’t lucky enough to see the spring. That’s just the way it is. You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “We’re from Limeros,” Nic said evenly. “Traveling through this land doing research on a book about the legend of the Watchers of the Kindred. Do you know anything about them?”

  “I know some stories. My family used to tell them, and I know many tales passed down through the centuries, some that would have been lost otherwise.”

  Cleo’s heart pounded. “Have you ever heard rumors a woman who lives here in Paelsia used to be a Watcher? She was exiled and now makes her home in a village in this land.”

  “An exiled Watcher around here?” The woman’s brows went up. “How exciting. But no, I’ve never heard this rumor. I’m sorry.”

  Cleo’s shoulders sank. “So am I.”

  The woman gathered her wares and rolled them up into a large piece of cloth, tucking them into a pack she swung over her shoulder. “You should find shelter. The storm is nearly upon us.”

  “Storm?” Nic repeated just as a crack of lightning forked through the darkening sky followed by a boom of thunder.

  The woman gazed upward. “Storms in Paelsia are infrequent, but always sudden and severe. Our land is still touched by magic, even as it fades before our eyes.”

  Cleo’s breath caught. “You believe in magic.”

  “Sometimes I do. Lately, though, it’s not often enough.” She cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re from Limeros? You hold the slightest accent that makes me think of our southern neighbors.”

  “Of course we’re sure,” Nic said without hesitation. “Cleo and I have traveled extensively across the Western Realm as well as overseas, so we’ve managed to pick up many things along the way. Accents, habits, friends. Hopefully we can count you among the latter. My name’s Nicolo, but please call me Nic.”

  “Eirene.” A smile helped fan the wrinkles out around her eyes. “A pleasure, young man. And you”—she turned to Cleo—“that’s an unusual name you have. Is it short for Cleiona?”

  Her gaze snapped to Nic’s. He’d used her name in conversation without thinking.

  She forced her gaze to remain steady. “I blame my father for my name. He had a special interest in mythology. He didn’t discriminate among the goddesses as many Limerians would. He considered them both as equals.”

  “Smart man. Now I strongly suggest you find a room for the night.”

  They exchanged a look just as the cold rain began to fall. Cleo pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair, but it only took a few moments before she was soaked.

  “We’ll have to find shelter, but we can’t afford an inn,” Nic said. “We need food more and have not enough coin for both.”

  Eirene studied them before she nodded. “Then you’ll come home with me. I can feed you and give you a dry place to sleep for the night.”

  Cleo looked at her with shock. “Why would you do such a thing for complete strangers?”

  “Because I would hope a stranger would do the same for me. Come.”

  Eirene led them to her home five minutes away from the market. By then they were drenched through to their skin—and everything in Cleo’s bag was wet. As Nic helped Eirene build a fire in the hearth, the stone chimney rising up through the thatched roof, Cleo glanced around. The floors were tightly packed dirt, almost as hard as marble. It was otherwise very clean, but sparse. Wooden table, wooden chairs, straw mattresses at the far side of the room. While it was nothing compared to even the most modest villa in Auranos, it was certainly livable enough.

  They were given worn wool blankets to warm themselves and a clean change of clothes while their own clothes dried out by the fire. Nic exchanged his palace-tailored clothes for a simple shirt and trousers, while Cleo wore a plain woven dress without any special embroidery or beading.

  She leaned toward him while Eirene worked in the kitchen. “This itches.”

  “This too.”

  “I suppose it’s better than being nude until our clothes dry out.”

  “Oh, absolutely.” He gave her a mischievous grin. “How horrible that would be.”

  While Eirene prepared dinner, she asked them questions about their trip to Paelsia. Cleo sat back and let Nic work his special magic, weaving his tale about their research trip like a master storyteller.

  “So you seek this exiled Watcher to interview her?” she asked.

  “Partly,” Cleo said, exchanging a glance with Nic. “But I—we—also have another sibling. An older sister who’s gravely ill. We heard a rumor that this Watcher might hold the means to cure her.”

  “Grape seeds.” Eirene nodded. “Infused with earth magic. Correct?”

  Cleo’s eyes widened. “So you have heard the legend.”

  “I have. But I’m sorry to tell you that’s all it is. There had to be some explanation for the vineyards’ success, so some believe this is the reason. However, most believe that Chief Basilius himself is responsible for whatever magic makes such wine possible so his people can use that wine in rituals to honor him.”

  “What’s the truth?”

  She gave a small shrug. “It’s not for me to say.”

  Cleo leaned back in her chair, frowning. “But you did say that you believed in magic.”

  Eirene nodded. “I do, although I would never say such a thing in Limeros. While I’m no witch, I wouldn’t want such a dangerous light shone in my direction for what I believe.”

  “Do you know of any witches who live around here?” While the thought that the Watcher was
only a legend pained Cleo, perhaps she could find a witch instead. Any connection to magic was an important path to follow.

  “For a Limerian to ask about witches with interest, you must be very determined to save your sister. This is the real reason you’ve come to Paelsia on this search, not merely for your book. Isn’t it?”

  Cleo’s eyes suddenly burned with tears. “My sister’s the most important and precious person in my entire life. If she dies from this horrible disease, I don’t know what I’ll do. I need to help her.”

  The door opened and a pretty dark-haired girl ran inside, soaking wet from the cold rain that fell in sheets outside. Her eyes fell instantly on Cleo and Nic.

  “Who’re you?” she demanded.

  Eirene grimaced. “Sera, please. Be polite. These are my guests. They’ll be staying with us for dinner and overnight.”

  The girl’s expression didn’t become any friendlier with this announcement. “Why?”

  “Because I say so, that’s why. This is my granddaughter, Sera. Sera, this is Cleo and Nicolo. They’re visiting from Limeros.”

  “Cleo,” the girl repeated, turning the name over on her tongue.

  Cleo’s heart beat harder at the fear that the girl might recognize her for who she really was. She willed herself to remain calm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sera.”

  Sera stared at her a moment longer before she flicked a glance to her grandmother. “Should I set the table?”

  “Please.”

  They sat down for dinner at the small, rickety wooden table. Cleo was so hungry she couldn’t help but enjoy every mouthful of the hearty barley stew served in a small wooden bowl—something she would have turned up her nose at if she was still at the palace, but tonight for which she was very grateful And, of course, there was wine. If there was one thing Paelsians didn’t scrimp on in their difficult, laborious lives, it was wine.

  Cleo had been about to decline the offer of a glass from Eirene’s flacon, but she held her tongue. Wine had led to regrets and unpleasant memories in the past, but one glass wouldn’t hurt. She still nursed her first by the time Nic was on his third. It helped to loosen his already loose tongue.

  “You seem like you know a lot about witches and Watchers,” he said to Eirene. “Is there anything you are willing to share that might help our research?”

  She leaned back in her chair until it squeaked. “I have stories. But stories are not facts.”

  “I like stories. Love them, actually. Most of the time they’re better than facts.”

  “What about stories involving goddesses?”

  Sera groaned. “Not this again. Grandmother loves to be controversial and tell this story. But no one believes the goddesses were Watchers.”

  Cleo nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. “Do you mean Cleiona and Valoria?”

  Eirene smiled wickedly. “Are you willing to hear such a scandalous possibility? Or are you too devout in your worship, as most Limerians are?”

  Limerians believed that Valoria was an ethereal being who embodied earth and water magic. Cleiona embodied fire and air. They were equally strong, but their violent rivalry caused them to destroy each other, at which time nearly all elementia was shut off from the mortal world. Limerians believed Cleiona was the instigator of this final battle—that she’d attempted to steal Valoria’s power, leading to their beloved goddess’s demise. They viewed Cleiona as evil for this reason, the dark to Valoria’s light.

  Auranians—when they were more religious as a whole—believed just the opposite.

  “I’m open,” Cleo said, eager to learn anything about the Watchers that might help her. “Tell your tales. We’re grateful for anything you’re willing to share.”

  Sera cleared the empty plates from the table. “Tell them about Eva.”

  “I will. Patience, dear.”

  “She was the last sorceress,” Sera said. “She could command all four elements all by herself. No one and nothing else was that powerful except the Kindred itself.”

  For a girl who’d seemed reluctant to hear her grandmother’s stories again, she now seemed eager to tell them herself. Cleo repressed a smile. “So a sorceress is a very powerful witch?”

  “More than that,” Eirene said. “Eva was one of the Watchers, the beings that live beyond this world in a protected enclave called the Sanctuary. Watchers, as you may have heard in the old legends, were the protectors of the Kindred, four crystals that held the truest, purest essence of elementia. Obsidian for earth, amber for fire, aquamarine for water, and moonstone for air. The magic could be seen inside the crystals, swirling around if you were to look closely.

  “The sorceress wore a ring that enabled her to touch them without becoming corrupted by their infinite magic. For as beautiful as they were, they were also very dangerous. The Watchers guarded them to keep the Kindred safe. But also to keep the mortal world safe from the Kindred.

  “A millennium ago, the Western Realm, now divided into three lands, was united as one, and everyone lived prosperously and in harmony. Back then, the existence of magic was as accepted as life itself. Harmony in the Sanctuary translated to harmony here.”

  Cleo remembered reading in her history books, when her tutor insisted she pay attention, that Limeros, Paelsia, and Auranos were once one large land with no borders. It had been very hard for her to believe. The people from the different kingdoms were so different now, but once they had been united.

  “So what happened?” Nic asked. “I know they say the Kindred has been lost for a thousand years.”

  “It wasn’t lost, precisely,” Eirene replied. “It was stolen. While the Sanctuary seemed harmonious and the Watchers devoted to guarding the Kindred—which gifted them with eternal youth, beauty, and magic—there were a few among their ranks who aspired for more.”

  “More than eternal youth, beauty, and magic?” Cleo asked. “What’s left?”

  “Power. It has always been a strong motivator for some. A quest for power—for ultimate power—is the reason behind most evils the world has witnessed. There were two Watchers in particular driven to take more power for themselves. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  “I like the part about Eva and the hunter,” Sera said. “It’s my favorite.”

  “My granddaughter is a romantic.” Eirene laughed and got up from the table to pour them all more wine. “While Eva was a powerful sorceress the other Watchers respected as their leader, she was also quite young compared to some of the elders. Some might say she was naive. She often ventured beyond the veil of the Sanctuary and into the mortal world. It wasn’t locked then as it is now. In the Sanctuary there is no wildlife, so her favorite thing to do was bird-watch. One day, she came across a hunter who had been mortally injured by a mountain lion. He’d traveled too far into the Forbidden Mountains and lost his way. As he lay dying, she appeared to him.

  “Some say it was love at first sight. She then did what was not allowed—she used her powerful earth magic to heal the hunter’s wounds and save his life. Over the next few weeks, she left the Sanctuary to meet with him again and again. Their love only grew stronger. The hunter begged her to leave the Watchers and stay with him in the world of mortals, but she knew she couldn’t leave her responsibilities behind so easily. However, one day she found that she was pregnant, and she began to wonder if it could be different. If she could live two lives or if she’d have to sacrifice one forever—either the mortal man she loved or the other immortals who shared her magic.

  “Eva had two older sisters, who learned of her secret, and it gave them more reason to be jealous of her. While they, as Watchers, were also powerful, it paled in comparison to their younger sister’s magic.

  “When she gave birth to the hunter’s daughter, the sisters emerged from the Sanctuary and kidnapped the child. They threatened the baby’s life if Eva didn’t bri
ng them the Kindred past the veil into the mortal world. Remember, within the Sanctuary, only Eva had the power to touch the Kindred.

  “It was then that Eva made her choice. The thought of losing her baby was too much for her to bear. She took the Kindred from the four corners of the Sanctuary and brought them to the sisters in the mortal world. Each took two for themselves, and the moment they touched the stones, they were corrupted by the magic. It changed them forever.”

  “It turned them into goddesses,” Cleo said, barely breathing. “The sisters were Valoria and Cleiona.”

  Eirene nodded gravely. “The Kindred were absorbed into the sisters’ very skin. They became fire and air, earth and water. But now that the Kindred had been taken from the Sanctuary, the two were unable to return. They were trapped in the mortal world. And while they had the power of goddesses, they had the bodies of mortals.

  “Eva knew this and hadn’t warned them. Their fury combined was enough to destroy her. The child was lost. Some say she died, others that she was left on a doorstep of a peasant’s cottage as a last act of kindness of the goddesses for their dead sister.

  “The hunter found the body of his love in the forest but no sign of where his daughter was. He took the ring from Eva’s finger to remember her by . . . and to lie in wait for his moment.

  “The goddesses remained apart until the final battle, when they wanted to take the other’s power—realizing after many years that possessing all four of the Kindred would give one ultimate power and immortality even in the mortal world. They destroyed each other.

  “The hunter had been spying on them all this time. As the goddesses were destroyed, the Kindred reappeared in their crystal form. He had Eva’s ring, so he could touch the crystals without being corrupted. He hid the crystals where no one could see them or find them. And then, having achieved this last task in his life, he died.”

  “Great. A story with a happy ending,” Nic said, stunned.

  “Depends how you look at it, really.” Eirene smiled. “More wine?”

  Nic pushed his glass forward. “Please.”