Eve of Destruction

by C. E. Stalbaum

  “Of course they weren’t,” she hissed. “They ignored her when it was inconvenient and suddenly became believers when it suited their purposes.”

  “Many on the Council think civil war is inevitable,” Maltus said. “And worse, they think it means the visions are about to come true. Eve is stuck out west trying to figure out why her mother was killed, and both Simon and the Enclave want to get their hands on her.”

  Jean’s face hardened. “You let her go out there alone?”

  “No. She’s with Gregori, actually.”

  “Oh, Goddess,” she breathed. “I’m not sure that’s an improvement.”

  “He can protect her as well as anyone else, but I’m not really worried about Simon at this point—I’m worried about Eve.”

  “Because you think Tara is right?”

  “We both understand her power,” he said gravely. “And she saw this same vision over and over again for years.”

  Jean closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She understood, all right. She understood perfectly.

  “My only hope is that the Goddess sent her this message for a reason,” Maltus went on. “There has to be a way for us to stop it.”

  “Us?” she asked, her eyes flicking open and boring into his again. “Glenn, what do you expect me to do? I didn’t even know about this until five minutes ago.”

  He stared back at her. “Tara’s visions weren’t just about Eve becoming a Defiler, as bad as that would be. She believed her daughter was the Avenshal.”

  Maltus wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected. To tell someone—anyone—that the Avenshal walked amongst them was bad enough. But to tell them that you had personally known her, that you had watched her grow up…

  Well, he knew exactly how he had reacted when Tara had told him about it almost twenty years ago. And he hadn’t been nearly as poised as the woman sitting across from him.

  “You want me to tell you if it’s true,” Jean said softly.

  “You’re the expert.”

  She snorted. “There’s no such thing as an ‘expert’ on the Dark Messiah.”

  “You believed Tara was the Prophetess long before the rest of us,” he pressed. “You’ve always kept the faith better than the rest of us. We went to church at the first of every month because we were supposed to—you went because you believed. So I need you to tell me if you think it’s possible.” He took a deep breath and folded his hands in front of him. “And then I need you to tell me what we can do about it.”

  She held her eyes on his, and for a long moment it didn’t feel like either of them took a single breath. Then finally she reached out and clasped her hands around his.

  “You love her, don’t you?” she asked softly.

  Maltus swallowed and nodded. “She made me feel like I didn’t need to have children of my own. Especially when her father died…”

  “And you loved Tara.”

  “Yes,” he said. He wasn’t sure he had ever admitted that aloud before, even if he had always known it. He had never told Tara, either, and the pain of that regret he never expected to fade.

  Jean smiled thinly. “You two were always a lot more alike than you and I ever were.”

  “Maybe,” he murmured. “But we had fire.”

  Her smile widened. “We did, didn’t we?”

  Maltus had never been a particularly virile man and never pretended otherwise. He had dedicated his life to his craft and the Enclave and never had much time for romance. He had loved two women in his life if for totally different reasons, and only one of them was still alive.

  That ship had long sailed, of course, but some bonds never completely faded. And here and now, looking upon her face for the first time in decades, he was glad that he’d come. She would help—he was certain of it.

  “There’s no precise test to identify the Avenshal,” she said after a moment, “just as there was no way to know for certain that Tara was the Prophetess. That’s the entire reason the Enclave was even having this debate. As much as the torbos like to believe magic is a bunch of hand-waving and silly rituals, we both know it isn’t that simple.”

  “Right, but there are signs,” he replied. “If I remember correctly, you became convinced of Tara’s identity because of her weaving technique. It was almost instinctual.”

  Jean nodded. “She had the power of Sight long before she was taught any serious spells. It became stronger afterwards, of course, but you know as well as I do that magic isn’t instinct—it’s learned. Otherwise the universities and the Oath Rituals and all the other hoops we make krata jump through wouldn’t be very useful.”

  “I’ve barely seen Evelyn since she left to study at Rorendal, unfortunately, but before that she never demonstrated any unusual ability. She was an excellent student, but that’s a far leap from what we’re talking about.”

  “And Tara never told you when this…transformation was going to happen?” Jean asked.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure she knew,” Maltus said. “At least, not precisely. She believed it would coincide with the start of the war, but that was as specific as the visions got. Most of them took place after Eve had already become a Defiler.”

  Jean’s lip curled. “I’m surprised your masters have had this much patience. I would have thought they’d have tested her by now…or removed her altogether.”

  “It’s been suggested, believe me,” he said gravely, “but I’ve been able to keep them at bay. The only thing I could think to do was test Eve myself.”

  “But you said you’d barely seen her in the last few years.”

  “I spoke with her just after the funeral, and I gave her a spellbook. I told her it would help her if she got into trouble out west.”

  Jean took in a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. “I can’t believe the Enclave would approve of that. And if Exarch ever found out…you would be in a lot of trouble, Glenn. You know the punishment for teaching krata before the Rituals.”

  “I’m aware,” he said, “but it was the only thing I could think of. I don’t know if she’s had the opportunity to read it much yet, but I should be able to talk to her again shortly. If you have another suggestion, I’d love to hear it.”

  “I wish I did,” she murmured. “You probably don’t remember the Osahn Scriptures, but it’s a text the more zealous Edehans have always clung to. There’s a particular passage about the Avenshal they like to bring up anytime there’s any word of a Defilement or—”

  “And so the harbinger shall walk among you, a shadow against the light,” he quoted softly. “And when the time comes, her power shall be revealed…and the Betrayer’s Fane shall finally be cleansed.”

  Jean nodded. “That’s the one.”

  “The veiled message being that there’s no way to know until it’s too late,” Maltus said. “Another of the magisters is fond of quoting it to me.”

  “He might be right,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t mean you should lose faith. You already said you love this girl.”

  “More than anything,” he whispered.

  “Then believe in her,” Jean told him, grabbing his hands again. “The Goddess always gives us choices, Glenn. Even the touch of Abalor cannot take that away from her.”

  “Next you’ll tell me I should stop meddling all together.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, smiling wryly. “Then I might not recognize you at all.”

  He grunted and held onto her hands. The Goddess had indeed given them plenty of choices over the years. He just wasn’t sure he’d made the right ones. He had never been one to overly dwell on past mistakes or let regrets weigh him down, but recently…

  Tara’s death had changed everything. It had a permanency to it that had shaken him out of a decades-long complacency. Fortunately the Goddess often seemed just as willing to give second or third chances as She was first ones, and he intended to make the best of them.

  Starting today.

  “There’s another reason I came,” Maltus
said into the silence. “After I head home and speak with Gregori and Eve, I’m going out west to meet them. Whatever is about to happen—whatever is about to come—I want to be close to it. I want to be there to protect her if I can.” He paused and smiled. “And I want you to go with me.”

  “Glenn…”

  “Things are going to get bad, Jean,” he pressed. “Simon is going to win the election, and I guarantee the Enclave won’t let him into office without a fight. There’s going to be bloodshed—there’s going to be a war. Arkadia might very well tear itself apart, and I want…I want us to do whatever we can to make it better. I want us to do the right thing.”

  She lowered her eyes but kept her hands joined with his. “You know how that sounds.”

  “Crazy? Believe me, I know. I asked Karyn the same question, but she’s…” he sighed. “She’s not the person she used to be. None of us are…except you. You never turned your back on the dream. Maybe you decided you couldn’t save the world on your own, but you still help its people.”

  “Glenn, I haven’t seen you in decades,” Jean told him. “You don’t know me, and I certainly don’t know you.”

  “Maybe not, but you could again. Even New Haven and Selerius won’t be safe for long. Like you said, they’re not really all that safe right now.”

  “And heading straight into the Dusty capital with you would be safer?”

  “No,” he said. “But at least there we can make a difference.”

  She pulled her fingers from his and sighed. “Glenn, I have a life here. In a few years, I’ll be the High Priestess of this temple. I’ve even heard whispers that I’m on the short list to become the next Exarch.”

  “In a few years, Arkadia will be a battleground or a graveyard,” he countered. “Unless we do something to stop it.”

  “That’s not fair,” she whispered, “and you damn well know it.”

  “No, it isn’t,” he said. “But it’s the truth.”

  She closed her eyes. It was unfair—the entire situation was unfair. But more than anything he could remember in a long time, he believed it. Maybe the Seven hadn’t fulfilled the promises they had all made to each other thirty years ago, but they still had time. All he needed was someone else to realize it.

  “I can’t just leave, Glenn,” she said after a minute of silence. “Not like this.”

  Maltus took a deep breath and nodded. So that was that, then. He would have to do it alone.

  “I understand,” he told her. “I just needed to ask.”

  “I’ll have to schedule a sabbatical,” she added, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Fortunately, the High Priestess has already been pushing me to take one. Now seems like as good a time as any, wouldn’t you say?”

  He blinked, and her eyes glittered as she laughed.

  “Now that’s a face I haven’t seen in a long time,” she said. “I used to enjoy making you sweat.”

  He smiled wider than he even thought possible. “As I recall, I made you sweat now and then too. Just maybe not for the same reasons.”

  She snorted. “Don’t give yourself too much credit. Maybe I just like taking pity on you for some reason.”

  “So you’re serious, then? You’ll come with me?”

  “You better be if you expect me to follow you,” she said tartly. “Because if you suddenly back out on me again, this time I’ll beat you down so hard the Goddess won’t even recognize you when you reach the Fane.”

  He laughed. He had almost forgotten how good it felt. And he’d almost forgotten the sweet sound of hers.

  “I plan on catching the evening train to Selerius tonight, and then heading out west as early as tomorrow or the next day if I can arrange things properly. Right now Gregori and Eve are in Cadotheia, but I imagine they’ll be heading back to Vaschberg soon. I’d like to get to them as soon as possible.”

  “You certainly don’t give a girl much time,” she muttered. “There’s no way I’m taking a train to Selerius tonight.”

  “Well, I can wait until tomorrow, but—”

  “You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “I hate trains. I know we’re going to have to take one out west, but there’s no way I’m getting on one just to ride fifty kilometers to Selerius.”

  “You want to ride instead?”

  Jean snorted. “What am I, twenty? Goddess, no. You’re going to rent a carriage, and we’ll leave before sundown.”

  Maltus grunted and couldn’t help but smile again. “All right.”

  “I just hope Gregori has grown up a little bit. The two of you used to be insufferable together.”

  “We’ll see. Do you want me to come back here and pick you up in a few hours?”

  “Sounds like a plan. You get to carry my bags too, by the way.”

  He mock sighed. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  Jean smiled. “The way I see it, you owe me. So…no.”

  “I suppose I deserve no less,” he said, standing. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He turned and made his way out of the temple. When he finally reached the street outside, he let out a deep breath and smiled. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt like maybe things would work out after all.

  And that maybe, just maybe, they really could save the world.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Every culture in the world had a myth about the nature of good and evil, and most had an iconic figure that represented one aspect or the other. The Dasyan tribes who inhabited Arkadia before colonization had believed in the living spirits of animals, and they revered a bear god as their savior and a serpent lord as their nemesis. The ancient Sylethi had worshipped an earth mother as the binding force in their lives, and they had reviled the moon as the face of her dark and evil sister.

  Modern Edehans liked to believe they were more enlightened than their ancestors by focusing their worship on a single being. In practice, of course, their religion wasn’t really so different than any other on its most basic level: everyone revered the Fane in one way or another, and everyone had a savior. Edehans believed in the purity and sanctity of the Kirshal, and they insisted that someday in the future, when the world had once again grown dark, She would return and offer salvation.

  But they also believed in the Avenshal, the Dark Messiah created by Abalor as a last, petty act of vengeance before his final destruction. She alone would have the power to destroy the Fane—and with it, all life. The name was spoken in parables to teach children about the nature of evil and wielded by politicians to demonize their opponents. It was as deeply rooted in Arkadian culture as their reverence for independence or steadfast belief in their superiority.

  And according to her mother, Evelyn DeShane was the very incarnation of that evil.

  Eve ran her fingers through her matted hair and once again had to remind herself to breathe. She had been sitting here scouring this journal all morning, and at times it had been all she could do not to curl into a ball and weep. It was like reading a novel where she was the main character, except that she had no control over what she might do or say.

  The past week had already taught her the harsh lesson that she didn’t know Tara DeShane nearly as well as she thought she did. This journal made her feel like she didn’t even know herself.

  “Any new insights?” Zach asked as he came into the room carrying two plates of food. The scent of the spice in the vegetables was overpowering even ten meters away; these westerners sure loved searing their tongues.

  “More of the same,” she murmured.

  He set a plate down in front of her then used his free hand to reassuringly knead at her shoulder. “Does it give any details?”

  “Yes and no. Parts of it are incredibly specific, but other parts are frustratingly vague. She doesn’t list any dates or times—it’s just a general picture of what she thought would happen. Namely, that a civil war is coming—and that it will drive me to Defile.”
r />   “Well, I still don’t believe it,” he muttered, dropping into the chair next to her and shoving a fork full of carrots into his mouth.

  Eve closed her eyes and bit back a harsh retort. His platitudes were meaningless and he knew it, but it wasn’t fair to fault him for trying to make her feel better. Without him, she wouldn’t have even gotten this far. Without him…well, she didn’t know what she would do.

  Her thoughts flicked back to the intimate moment they’d nearly shared last night. She still couldn’t believe it had happened. It was stupid for more reasons than she could count. He was her best friend, and nothing in the world was worth jeopardizing that. Given where they were—given the imminent danger they were in—they really couldn’t have picked a worse time to let their guard down.

  It was not a mistake she planned on repeating. Even if it did mean making him sleep on the couch…

  “I’m still waiting to talk to Mr. Maltus,” Zach said after a minute of silence. He glanced idly at the closed door separating their rooms. “The Queen of Darkness out there did say he planned to contact her soon, possibly tonight. We have a lot of questions to ask him.”

  She grunted softly. “Will you believe his answers?”

  His cheek twitched. “I don’t know. I want to.”

  “Yeah,” she murmured, turning around and grabbing the spellbook from the adjacent nightstand. “Maybe he can just point me to a page number then decide if he still wants me dead.”

  “I already told you he wouldn’t go through with that,” Shaedra said as the door abruptly opened. “I don’t think he’ll lie to you at this point, either.”

  Zach put down his fork and scowled at her. “How reassuring.”

  “It should be. I know him better than anyone else, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

  “Except we don’t trust you, either,” Zach growled. “And I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

  Shaedra smiled faintly. “Your allies trusted me enough to leave me here alone with you, even the Eclipsean.”

  He snorted. “More like they accepted the fact they couldn’t stop you even if they wanted to. That’s not the same as trust.”