Fate of the Drowned (The Broken Lands Book 3)

by Carrie Summers

  What do you think? I asked Lilik.

  I think this is the work of a civilization with much to regret. And with tremendous strength of imagination.

  The Lethin?

  Perhaps.

  “Nevyn?” I called. “Anyone?”

  As I forged onward, I spotted movement. I turned my attention toward the phantom, willing it to materialize, and glimpsed a lock of hair and the hem of a cloak as the figure vanished behind a sharp stone spire.

  “Hello?” The wind stole my words, and I shook my head and trudged toward. The cracks in the parched landscape crumbled at the edges when my booted feet tromped over them. I glanced back and couldn’t see the entrance to the shattered landscape. The rope trailed away behind me and then simply vanished as if cut. When I tugged quickly, though, I felt Azar’s resistance.

  “Nevyn?” I asked as I rounded the spire. Just barren ground and stray flakes of glinting stone waited behind it.

  Brow furrowed, I continued. After perhaps another hundred paces, the rope came tight. I waited a moment before trying again. Still, the line remained taut. Azar had run out of rope to give. I wondered whether she’d be clever enough to imagine a second coil for herself. But she didn’t seem to want to experiment. When I tugged questioningly, she held firm.

  Well, I hadn’t seen anything that led me to believe I’d find Nevyn—or any of the Lethin—here. For all I knew, this landscape wasn’t even their creation. I didn’t know how far back history stretched. Did the dead eventually move on to a different realm? And why assume my choice of corridors had led to the right place, anyway?

  I stood in place and called Nevyn’s name for a few minutes. When nothing changed, I squinted into the haze in hopes I’d missed a key detail. But there was nothing. Finally, I stepped back along my rope.

  “Tell me who you are,” a voice snapped. The woman appeared in front of me. Gray eyes peered at me, and her auburn hair was braided similarly to my own.

  I realized I was staring. “My name is Savra. Are you one of the Lethin?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I need to know if I’m in the right place.”

  “All corridors lead here eventually. Right now, anyway. Until the void is banished, all paths end in despair.”

  “Then you are Lethin. You can help me. Do you know the woman, Nevyn?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Some people still claim our failure was Nevyn’s fault. They’d go to great lengths to find and punish her.”

  Azar tugged on the rope as if to ask whether I was okay. I gave a quick pair of return jerks to reassure her.

  “Wait,” I said, suspicion pricking my thoughts. “Who are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter who I am. The void is coming. I have no desire to spend my remaining time listening to accusations and blame.”

  She started to turn, and I stepped to block her.

  “I came to ask Nevyn for help, not to seek revenge. I learned that she believed there was a way to seal the rift at its source.”

  “And when she went off alone, journeying through the darkness, the mages laughed and built their flawed seal.” The woman scoffed. “You’ve seen how that turned out.”

  “You’re angry about how you were treated,” I said gently. “I can’t change that. But please, can you tell me what you intended?”

  She looked at me in confusion. “Me?”

  “You aren’t Nevyn? You came when I called…”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Nevyn was my mother. As I said, she ventured south on her own. She never returned, and no one knows what happened.”

  “But now that you’re here why not ask her?” I asked, running my eyes over the landscape.

  The woman swallowed. “She never crossed the veil.”

  “Then she…” I pressed my lips together.

  She nodded. “Correct. The void must have swallowed her. Maybe she had a better idea how to seal the rift, but alone, she didn’t have the power to defeat the flood.”

  “Do you know how she planned to seal the breach?”

  The woman looked me up and down. “I don’t know what good the knowledge will do you. Are you like my mother? Planning to fight this alone? I certainly don’t see a legion of mages standing behind you.”

  “I don’t know what I plan yet. But I will try to fight this even if you tell me nothing.”

  She sighed. “My mother believed we limited ourselves by dividing and categorizing magic. It made no sense to her that mages were tested and sorted according to their first glimmers of ability. She believed this practice taught them to constrain themselves rather than imagining what they could be.”

  “But Nevyn—your mother was different.”

  “She was an orphan, raised by a woman who looked after thirty children at once. No one knew she had talent. She didn’t know it either.”

  “How did she discover it?”

  The woman shuddered. “It happened when the barrier thinned and the void rose. There was hatred. We hurt each other. The closer to the southern ocean anyone went, the more savage people were. They did things to each other that I can’t even talk about.

  “It was terrible even in the north. My mother discovered her power when she woke from a nightmare and found herself standing over my bed with a mason’s hammer. Her talent woke when she shielded herself from the void’s influence, dragged me from bed and took me to the mages. It was a gamble—they would’ve cast me out if I hadn’t shown glimmers of ability.”

  “That’s when she went south?”

  “Not long after. She stayed with me for a while. The other mages tried to teach her, but she ignored them and focused on what she believed she could accomplish, not the restricted forms of magic they wished to force on her. She developed her theory for sealing the barrier and tried to rally support. But they laughed and she left. I don’t know where she was when the barrier finally broke, but her absence here answers the question of her final fate.”

  “So the other mages forged the seal after the rift opened?”

  She nodded. “The queen drew energy from the people and used it to build a shield against the void. The defenses held long enough for the mages to learn how to push back the flood. But those beyond the shield didn’t last. By the time the void was banished, almost everyone outside the northern fortresses had died.”

  I shuddered at the thought of a whole civilization lost. It must have been the mages who survived to migrate to the Wildsends.

  “What was it like when the flood came?”

  “I’m surprised you want that answer,” the woman commented. “The void is coming again. Better to not know, I would think.”

  She made a good point. If we didn’t stop the Hunger from breaking through, we’d understand the horror soon enough. “I need to know how your mother planned to seal the rift. Even if you don’t believe I stand a chance.”

  The woman’s mouth twisted in consternation. “Perhaps when you hear it, you’ll join the other mages in mocking her. Mother said we should not fight the void with Mind or Body or Essence or Earth. To defeat it, we needed a magic no one believed in.”

  I blinked. “I don’t understand. What magic is that?”

  The woman’s lips twisted. “That’s all she said. At least, that’s the story I was told—I was too young to remember her.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.

  She shrugged. “As I said, I never knew her.”

  “Nonetheless,” I said. “I hope I can honor her memory by proving she was right.”

  She snorted. “Well, I wish you luck.” With that, she drifted off and dissolved into the landscape.

  I watched the shifting haze then took hold of the rope and started following it back.

  Chapter Forty

  Kostan

  An underground city

  CORRIDOR BY CORRIDOR, chamber by chamber, the citizens of Jaliss melted down through the city, a pool of life surrounded by dark and echoing sto
ne. The only light in the world moved with us, the ferro mages carrying our precious ever-burning candles and lanterns, soldiers holding torches and oil lamps high. The wheels of a few handcarts squealed as men and women took turns pulling the handles. The sickest refugees rode in the carts, atop sacks and crates bearing the last of our food reserves. Where the fountains spilled from the walls, Provs held cupped hands into the flowing water, drinking of the stone-tasting liquid before filling flasks and waterskins.

  Around halfway through our march, word came from the farthest recesses of the city. The final Heartstone had been found. I forced myself to cheer; the people needed to know I still believed.

  From far away, the sounds of scratching echoed. Stones shifted as the Spawn army dug through the rubble of the collapsed entrance. The quarrymen had rigged only the entrance stairwell; the other tunnels held mountains of stone over their heads and they’d feared a collapse couldn’t be controlled. But still, the blocked entrance bought us time. The Riftspawn would come for us eventually, but not today.

  At choke points, the soldiers at the rear of our slow procession left behind barricades of old stone furniture pulled from side chambers, sometimes lashing pieces together. From the looks on their faces, none of the builders expected the barriers to hold back or even slow the Spawn. But like my decision to stand until the end, defending the last component of the seal even though we had no hope of striking at the Maelstrom itself, the act showed that we were not beaten. We would never be beaten while human life warmed the Empire’s air.

  We had no way to tell day from night so, until the young and the elderly began to falter in their steps, we continued descending. When a young Prov child sat in the center of the corridor and yelled that he wouldn’t continue on, we stopped. Together. Bedrolls blanketed the floors of two dozen chambers. In the central corridor, half a dozen fires sprang from chunks of wood stacked directly on the floor. Air currents carried the smoke up and out cracks in the ceiling and somehow, despite it all, people laughed as they circled the fires and filled their bellies from the meager offerings in the carts and rucksacks.

  I joined my advisers in a huddle near one of the blazes. My friends were weary, their shoulders sagging. But determination kept the steel in their spines. I was proud to have known them and even prouder to have been allowed to lead them.

  From deep in her rucksack, Sirez pulled out a wineskin. She held it out to me first.

  “I—I don’t often—”

  “Just drink it, lad,” Fishel said as he walked up and joined us. As usual, he’d been strolling among his refugee charges, seeing to their needs and offering encouragement. We hadn’t spoken much lately, mostly because I’d been focused on our defenses while he’d been concentrating on our morale.

  I gave the wineskin a skeptical glance, hating to lose whatever sharpness I might retain in the coming days. Sirez rolled her eyes and shoved the container closer.

  I sought Falla’s eyes in hopes I’d gain her support. Savra would have joined me in protesting this irresponsible act, and the Stormshard spiritist had been Savra’s closest companion among the Sharders.

  Falla snorted. “Get on with it, Kostan. The longer you sit there staring, the thirstier the rest of us get.”

  Sighing, I snatched the skin and wiggled the cork out. I held it to my lips and tipped up the sloshing container, pouring a large dose down my throat.

  I swallowed then immediately sputtered and choked. Storms! My whole mouth burned, and my eyes teared enough to water a tree. “That’s the worst wine I’ve ever tasted!”

  Sirez grinned. “Allow me to introduce my friend, Whiskey. He’s rather pleased to meet you, your eminence.”

  I coughed again, my face screwed up in disgust. “That’s awful.”

  “Just wait. The taste will grow on you. That or your tongue will go numb,” she said with a wink.

  I blinked, unsure what she meant. I’d seen people overindulge during dinners in the palace—as a Scion, I’d rarely been given more than a swallow of wine or ale—but if anything, they’d only grown louder as their drunkenness took over. That hardly seemed the mark of a numb tongue. Unless you counted the slurring…

  And what about the fuzzy feeling on my face? Was that normal?

  I intended to lean back onto my arms but realized too late that my hands were still folded in my lap. I jerked and swayed as I caught my balance and quickly scanned my friends’ faces to make sure no one had noticed. To my shock, I saw—somewhat blurrily—that the Prime Protector had accepted the foul stuff and was taking a sizable drink. When she finished, she held the wineskin aloft.

  “To those brave souls who fought and died for Atal today.”

  Solemn nods followed her words.

  “To our fallen soldiers,” Sirez echoed before taking a swallow.

  Somehow, the leather pouch ended up in my hands again. I stared down at it as if unsure what to do. Sirez laughed at my confusion, leaned forward and pulled out the cork for me. The stuff didn’t burn nearly as badly the second time. I didn’t think my tongue was numb, though. Furrowing my brow, I ran it over the roof of my mouth. No, not numb. But for some reason it felt a little larger than I remembered.

  “So what in the storms-riddled wastes happened to us up there?” Sirez asked quietly after the wineskin made it back into her rucksack. She sat with legs extended, leaning back on her elbows. It looked more comfortable than my crosslegged seat—in fact, one of my feet was going numb from being pinned so long. But I didn’t think I could adjust my posture without falling over. My unsteadiness wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, though. I’d never been on a boat, but travelers told tales of the rocking and swaying of the deck. Maybe they should name their ships “Whiskey” like Sirez’s friend.

  Falla sighed and chewed her lip. “I have a theory. It’s a little vague.”

  Sitting up, Sirez unbuckled her sheathed dagger from her belt. She placed the butt end of the hilt on the tip of her index finger, stood the dagger upright, and proceeded to balance it, jerking her hand back and forth to keep the blade from toppling. After a moment, she snatched it in her free hand, leaned forward, and stared at Falla. I continued to stare at the now-empty space above her extended finger. I couldn’t have managed to balance something like that before meeting her liquid friend.

  “Well?” Sirez said. “Don’t be coy.”

  “Do you remember, just before the attack, I wanted to tell Kostan something?”

  “I do,” I said, glad for the chance to prove I was paying attention.

  Sirez’s lips pulled back in a wry smile. What? I hadn’t been that loud had I?

  “Well,” Falla said, clearing her throat. “A few days ago, my spiritism vanished.”

  “Vanished?” Sirez asked.

  “It’s just… gone.”

  “Okay, and this is connected to the confusion today?”

  Falla nodded. “I think so. My abilities were in the Mind domain. According to Savra’s sister, there were three seal components. Mind, Body, and Essence. I talked to the ferros while we were descending the corridors. As part of the training for all metalogists, they each learned what attacks from a member of the other orders felt like. They said the confusion we suffered before Kostan shielded us felt like an argent curse.”

  Fishel had been sitting a little ways back from the group, dividing his attention between our discussion and the murmur of conversation from the nearby Provs. Now he leaned forward and scratched the back of his neck. “Forgive me,” he said. “It’s probably just the ignorance of a simple innkeeper. But what does this have to do with you losing your magic?”

  Falla chewed her lip again. “Well, like I said, my ideas are vague.”

  Somewhere in my addled mind, a recollection surged then danced away. I knuckled my eye sockets, trying to chase it. “Parveld,” I slurred.

  “What’s that, your eminence?” the Prime asked with an innocent tone. If I wasn’t mistaken, even she found my drunkenness funny.


  “The bad mage.”

  “Yes, we remember who he is. Do you think he had something to do with Falla’s magic?”

  I rubbed my forehead, trying to piece it together. “He said that… that we left power behind when we fled Jaliss. He said that someone worthier had taken it. Then he told me he…” I sat up straight, sobered by my certainty. “I don’t know what he did in Jaliss, but I’m sure he’s responsible for the confusion. He told me I had to abandon the Heartstone to save you.”

  “Which is why you joined us on the front lines,” Sirez said.

  I nodded.

  “But if he caused the confusion, why tell you his tricks?”

  My head hurt while I tried to puzzle it out. “He said he didn’t want bloodshed. He only wants the Heartstones. I don’t know… maybe he still has a conscience?”

  Falla had been silent through the last minutes of the exchange. “It all fits together, though. My magic vanished, and Parveld gained the ability to affect all our Minds. If the seal component in Jaliss once protected our thoughts from the Hunger, could it be turned around and used to grant the power of the Mind domain to the Hunger’s tool? Maybe we didn’t feel the effects during the garrison attack because Parveld hadn’t figured it out yet.”

  As if Parveld needed another advantage. All at once I felt so tired. Between the liquor and the events of the day, I just wanted to rest. Tomorrow I could be strong for these people again, but now…

  “So Parveld gained the ability to control our minds, but Kostan can shield us because of his amulet. We lost the second seal, which according to Avill is… which?” Sirez asked.

  “Body,” the Prime said.

  “I guess we’re to assume he can do the same with this Heartstone? Revoke any magic from the Body domain and take it for himself?”

  I didn’t want to listen anymore. Closing my eyes, I rolled onto a hip, managed to lower myself to the floor without falling, and tumbled into sleep.