Forging Divinity

by Rowe, Andrew

  And then he waited.

  Minutes passed, Jonan’s heart rattling in his chest. Gritting his teeth, he eventually returned to the cabinet, retrieving the center bottle of the remaining three.

  The smoke should have lined anyone inside, making them visible. If they have to breathe, they shouldn’t be conscious at this point. Jonan flicked the cap off the top of his newly acquired vial and gulped down the contents.

  With the utmost hesitation, he walked back to the trapped door.

  Resh. Now or never, I guess. What would Vaelien do in a situation like this? Oh, yeah, he’d grab whoever was inside and pull the sorcery right out of them. Which I, of course, can’t do.

  I do have a knife, though, he reassured himself. It’s kind of sharp.

  He knelt down and reopened the trap door, the smoke from the room below rising into his chamber. Hope this counteragent didn’t expire, otherwise this is going to be really embarrassing.

  Jonan took a step down the stairs, tapping the right side of his head with a finger. The darkness seemed to flee from his vision, giving him a clear view of the room below as he descended.

  The mirrors lining the walls had been smashed very deliberately – perhaps even artistically. One of the mirrors looked to have been sliced apart into over a dozen equally sized pieces, and another remained within the frame, a web-like pattern of cracks spreading across from the exact center.

  Some patterns, if they existed, were more difficult to discern at a simple glance – especially given that Jonan was more preoccupied with finding the intruder.

  Once, twice, thrice he glanced over the room – even tapping the right side of his head a second time to intensify his vision further. There was no sign of any intruder within the room. Either they were gone, or their invisibility far outstripped Jonan’s capabilities at detection.

  He did notice another peculiarity, however – an indigo flower, atop a piece of folded parchment that sat undisturbed on his bed. Gritting his teeth, Jonan glanced around the room one more time, debating retreat.

  There was a clear path between the pieces of broken glass, leading to his bed. It was deliberate, though he couldn’t be sure if it was left for his convenience, or so that the intruder could easily leave.

  He walked the rest of the way down the stairs, drawing the dagger from the scabbard as he walked. Every two steps, he paused, jabbing the dagger at the empty air. It wasn’t a certain way to find an invisible watcher, but he felt better taking some steps than none at all. His strikes met no resistance.

  As he reached the bed, he swept the flower and note onto the floor using the edge of the dagger, and then flung the bed’s covers to a side, checking if someone was hiding within them. Again, he found nothing – and an awkward series of probing attacks at the air above his bed proved equally fruitless.

  With another glance around the room, Jonan spun and lashed out in all directions, and then ducked and swept up the note in his left hand, rushing back up the stairs to the floor above.

  With a swift kick, he closed the trap door, breathing heavily as he slid the rug back atop it.

  Well, he considered, this is bad.

  The mirrors had not only been his primary means of surveillance, but also his method of communicating with his only contact in the city – an ally that presumably worked for the Order of Vaelien. His orders were to report to this ally periodically, and he or she had a mirror that matched one of his, allowing them to send messages through the mirrors.

  How did someone find my hidden room? Was I careless?

  He sat upon the nearby bed, setting down the dagger, scabbard, and folded note. A grimace crossed his face as he examined the parchment – it was clearly left for him to find, and it could easily be a trap. Will this explode if I open it? He had heard of a type of foreign rune sorcery that allowed for such effects; it wasn’t all that dissimilar to what he had accomplished with his mirrors.

  But the odds of the parchment being deadly were low. If they wanted to kill me, they wouldn’t have to be so flashy about it. They would have just had to wait until I came home and slit my throat.

  He grit his teeth at the thought. Helpless again. Some things never change, I suppose.

  Jonan shook his head. Thinking like this is useless. How’d they find me?

  His contact might have been able to accomplish it. With a matched mirror, they might have been able to use some sort of spell to trace the connection between the two. Knowledge sorcery, most likely. Like what Lydia uses.

  Lydia had been in his home several times, and she had spells for detecting things that were invisible. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to assume she could also detect enchanted objects – and he had told her about how his mirrors worked. He had even given her a couple of them.

  Yes, he considered, Lydia could have found it. Or my contact has access to someone with a similar skill set. Maybe Lydia is my contact, or working with my contact. But what would her motive be?

  Jonan shook his head. I’m ignoring my best clue.

  He picked up the note, and, taking a breath, he unfolded it.

  Meet me at the corner of Abigail and Morningway in the Commons at six bells after the nightfrost rises. –V

  Jonan folded the note back up, grimacing. Vague note is vague. Maybe that’s what the ‘V’ stands for. Could have given me a description of who to look for, or –

  Jonan remembered the flower. The indigo flower – indigo like a certain Rethri woman’s eyes. Oh, bloody resh. V stands for Vorain. I just got played by a goddess.

  Picking up the dagger, Jonann shoved it back into its sheath. Tonight, six bells after the nightfrost. That’s not enough time to plan. Not enough time for my sight to fully recover – not even close.

  He lay back on his bed, thinking. She must have followed me here after our fight. I shouldn’t have assumed I lost her. Once she found the house, she could have investigated at her leisure. I can’t believe I was so careless.

  But she didn’t kill me – not when we first met, nor after she discovered my hiding place. She did smash the mirrors, though. Clearly that was meant to send a message.

  It could be someone else – the ‘V’ and the flower could be a ruse. Unlikely, though. No one, aside from Lydia and Taelien, even knows that I encountered Vorain. Unless Vorain told someone, which is also possible, but if this was one of her agents or contacts it’s effectively the same as it being her.

  It still could be Lydia, trying to scare me somehow. She has sufficient information, but still no motive. Since it’s probably not her, maybe I should go to her for help. That could tip me off if she’s responsible, too.

  But, if the intruder is watching me, going straight to Lydia puts her in terrible danger. They might have already seen me working with Lydia, they might not have. If it really was Vorain that went down there, I can’t let her know Lydia is working against Edon – that puts Lydia at too much of a risk.

  He sighed. Wish Taelien wasn’t at the palace. After handling one god, I’m pretty sure he could tackle another. I need to get that powerful someday.

  Okay. Enough self-recrimination. Action time.

  Jonan sat up, contemplating his options and resources. It was time to make a plan.

  Jonan sat across the street from Abigail and Morningway, wrapped in a blanket, a half-open bottle of whiskey at his side. An illusion wrapped him tighter than the blanket, producing false stubble, wrinkles, and blemishes on his clothes. He hunched forward, staring at seemingly nothing – but his gaze was firmly fixed on the point where his contact was supposed to arrive. Occasionally, his eyes would dart from left to right, scanning for anyone that approached him.

  As he anticipated, most passersby kept their distance from him. Many avoided even looking at him. The smell of whiskey on his breath probably helped – that was real. Not only had he needed a drink, the odor helped add to his disguise. He didn’t beg for money or mumble – he didn’t want to do anything that might garner him any additional scrutiny.

&n
bsp; He wasn’t quite sure what constituted six bells after the nightfrost rose – the ‘rising of the nightfrost’ was a somewhat subjective time. He had decided to arrive about an hour before the dawnfire set, and sat watching the area with temporarily enhanced vision. His vision had recovered only slightly during the intervening hours, and maintaining both the illusion and his sight enhancement was a dangerous prospect. He knew he could cause himself permanent damage by straining his eyes too much, but he saw no better alternative.

  The indigo-eyed woman arrived without fanfare about forty minutes after he had. She looked to be alone, and she still wore the violet robes of a court sorceress, dotted at the collar with three of the same spear-marked pins that Lydia wore.

  Jonan glanced across her body for weapons, finding none that were obvious. Her voluminous robes could have concealed daggers beneath, perhaps strapped to her legs, or even sheathed inside her boots. From his vantage point, Vorain didn’t look like much of a goddess. She shifted from foot-to-foot, glancing around the area as awkwardly as he had, and eventually began to pace.

  After a few minutes, he felt somewhat sorry for her.

  That girl broke my stuff, he reminded himself. Don’t be too nice.

  Still, he had to admit while he watched her, she looks very...normal. Even with the indigo eyes. That normalcy had a certain charm, given the madness he had been dealing with lately.

  After a few minutes of pacing, the woman turned and looked as if she was debating leaving. He stood, discarding the blanket – he’d pick it up later – and walked across the street behind her, abandoning his illusion.

  She turned around at the sound of his footsteps, taking a step back as she noticed him. Then her eyes flicked to the side of him, catching the discarded blanket, and she cracked a grin.

  “Clever, hiding in plain sight. I expected you to be invisible, and I was checking for that.” She folded her arms in front of her, her prior signs of nervousness fleeing from her visage.

  “I do endeavor to keep things interesting, miss Vorain,” Jonan replied, matching with a smirk of his own. “Now, how can I be of service?”

  “Well, if that’s the question you want to ask, you can leave the city,” she replied. “Leave and never come back.”

  Jonan put his hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. After all you’ve seen me do, you can’t think of a better way to put me to use?”

  Vorain frowned. That’s good, keep her off-guard. Keep her guessing. “You’re offering to work for me?”

  “I’m willing to entertain the possibility, given your credentials. I admit, I’ve never worked for a goddess before. It does have a certain appeal.”

  She beckoned to him. “Walk with me.”

  Jonan tensed. He had been much more comfortable staying in the same area, which he had already examined thoroughly. A walk could – and probably would – lead him into a trap.

  “Of course,” he replied, bowing gently at the waist. As he took a step toward her to follow, Vorain turned backward and slipped her left arm around his right, taking it as if she was escorting him to a ball. Jonan blinked furiously.

  “We can’t be talking about gods and goddesses out here,” she said. “Rumors quickly take on legs.”

  Jonan raised an eyebrow at her phrasing. Must be a rehri colloquialism. “All right, then. Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see,” she assured him. “It isn’t far.”

  “Lovely.” He suddenly wished he had brought his dagger. It wasn’t much, but it was more reliable than the two potions he had shoved into his pockets. He had left it behind to avoid looking like a threat, but given who he was walking with, he was beginning to regret that.

  Vorain was truer to her word than he had expected – she led him to a run-down single story house about a block away. She led him to the door and turned the handle, shoving it open.

  The entry room was about the size of Jonan’s bedroom and near-empty. A small bed lay near the back wall, and a rickety-looking wooden table sat cross from it. The only other room in evidence was a tiny washroom near the back-left side of the room.

  Vorain guided him inside, turning to close the door behind them. The wood of the doorframe was warped, resisting her push, but she eventually managed to slide the door into alignment and shut it.

  “What’s this?” Jonan inquired, glancing around.

  “This,” Vorain explained, “Is my home.”

  Jonan turned and quirked a brow at her silently, awaiting an explanation.

  “When I first came to this city, this place was a blessing. I was just a girl, and a desperate one at that. My brother and I shared that bed,” she pointed, indicating the bed in the corner, “For three years. I couldn’t have afforded even this, but the owner was desperate to get rid of it. It wasn’t a great neighborhood, you see.”

  Jonan nodded. Must have been pretty desperate to sell to a young Rethri girl. I’ve only seen a handful of Rethri in this city, and they seem to keep to themselves. “Why were you and your brother on your own?”

  She visibly tensed, her expression souring. Maybe I asked the wrong question. “Hope,” she explained. “My family had given up on him.”

  Vorain led Jonan over to the table, and she took a seat on top of it. She patted the side, inviting him to sit next to her. The table looked like it could barely hold even her weight, but he didn’t want to offend her, so he gingerly took a seat beside her, trying not to put too much pressure on it. She finally slid her arm out from his, glancing away from him toward the wall.

  “About one in every thousand Rethri is born without a functional dominion bond. As I’m sure you know, most Rethri are born with a tie to a specific dominion. You can tell which one by looking in our eyes,” she said, pointing at her indigo orbs. “When we come of age, we undergo a ritual that strengthens the bond. This helps stabilize our health and slows our aging process.”

  Jonan nodded. “I grew up near Liadra, so I’m no stranger to the Rethri bonding process. I’ve even attended a few bonding ceremonies.”

  Vorain furrowed her brow. “That’s rare. You’re one of the Order of Vaelien, then?”

  That’s a trap of a question if I’ve ever seen one. “No, but I work with them,” he replied, giving her a similar answer to the one he had given Lydia. It wasn’t precisely untrue.

  She nodded at that, seeming satisfied. “Is that why you were concerned about the children? Is this some sort of Order of Vaelien investigation?”

  And an even more dangerous question. “Not precisely. Before I get into that, though, you mentioned that some children are born without a functional dominion bond. I’ve never heard of that before, and I’ve been around Rethri my entire life.”

  “It is a sad subject,” Vorain explained, “Because the uvar – that’s our word for unbonded – are usually returned to Vaelien immediately after they are born.”

  “Returned to Vaelien...” Jonan blinked. Lissari is the giver of life to the Rethri. Vaelien represents preservation, but also death. “You mean they’re killed?”

  Vorain nodded. “It is considered a kindness. The uvar never develop properly. In the old days, before they were ‘sent back to Vaelien’, the uvar usually died within a few years of their birth. Sometimes, extreme measures were taken to protect the children – but they would age rapidly and disproportionately, and no amount of sorcery seemed sufficient to repair the damage.”

  Things were starting to click together in Jonan’s mind. “Your brother was born as an uvar.”

  The goddess nodded, raising a hand and making a gesture across her eyes. “He was. My mother died birthing him, and my father was crushed. I pleaded with my father to eschew the tradition and spare my brother. Elias – that’s my brother – was mother’s last legacy. Father didn’t see it that way.”

  “So, you took your brother and ran?” Jonan guessed.

  “Yes,” Vorain said, resting her hands on her knees. “Yes, that’s what I did.”

  She was brave, Jonan considered. Savin
g her brother, abandoning her grieving father. I wonder how different things would be if I had been that brave when...

  “The reason I’m telling you all this,” the indigo-eyed girl explained, “Is because I believe you wanted to help those children. I’ve watched you closely, and I think you’re one of few humans I’ve met that would take a risk for one of my kind.”

  “And you want my help?” Jonan asked.

  She shook her head. “No,” she put a hand on his shoulder. “No, I don’t need that anymore. But you’re sweet to ask. I wanted you to understand that the children are going to be fine now.”

  Jonan frowned. “How?”

  “When I ran from home, I chased a myth – a land where they claimed anyone could become a god. The gods, I believed, had power – the power to do anything. Maybe even save my brother. I was just a child, of course. I had barely gone through my own coming of age ritual when I ran away. I didn’t understand the ways of the gods, or even the ways of people.”

  “Looks like it worked out for you pretty well, goddess,” he said, cracking a grin.

  She chuckled. “If only that were true. I’m still just Rialla Dianis, a girl trying to take care of her brother. Edon, however, is the type of god I needed. The type of god who cared.”

  Rialla Dianis? Like House Dianis, or the Dianis Arcane College in Velthryn? That explains some things. “So, you’re saying the godhood is a lie, but that the idea behind it is good?”

  “No,” Vorain shook her head. “I’m saying that I’m not a god, but Edon is. And that he cares about people – more than any of the old gods seem to. He is working to save my brother, and others like him.”

  Ahh, that’s what all this is about. Your brother is one of the kids in that hospital, and you’ll do anything to save him.

  Jonan considered that for a moment, thinking back. “Is Edon the older man I saw in that hospital? The one who goes by Raymond Lorel?”