The Ventifact Colossus (The Heroes of Spira Book 1)

by Dorian Hart

  The others became quiet in a hurry and stared at him. His face reddened beneath his beard at the notion they thought him worth listening to. He was still overwhelmed, but being in the presence of his friends helped to calm him.

  First he told the others about Abernathy, currently convalescing in Kibi’s bedroom. “Guess the gargoyle must a’ come after him. He said ’cause of our warnin’, he was able to beat it, but while he was dealin’ with it, that’s when that Dreamborn fellah showed up.”

  “I’ll check on Abernathy as soon as I have the strength to get out of this couch,” said Dranko. “Maybe next week or the week after.”

  It didn’t seem like a joking matter, but that was Dranko for you. Next, Kibi reported what Bumbly had told him about the Eyes of Moirel and the Sharshun. “I think we oughta do what it says. We ain’t got no new orders from Abernathy, and the world gettin’ unmade sounds like a thing we oughta keep from happenin’.”

  On that topic there was unanimous agreement.

  “One more thing,” said Kibi. “I found this in Hodge’s office back in Seablade Point.”

  He produced the scrap of prophecy and read it aloud. When he was done, Aravia asked to see it, and he handed it over.

  “It’s obvious, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Nope,” he answered. He was never much good at riddles.

  “Well, here, think about it. As the Emperor was driven out, so were we also, for a long season, a bitter season and a cold. Abernathy told us that Emperor Naloric had fire-worshipping allies during the war that ended with his banishment. Those would be the Kivians, Hodge’s people, who came from the land on the other side of the Uncrossable Sea.”

  Kibi pondered. “So what’s a Ventifact Colossus?”

  “I don’t know,” Aravia admitted. “But according to Hodge’s prophecy, it’s going to get killed by three Stormknights, and that will signal, or herald, or otherwise coincide with the Kivian Arch opening up.”

  Stormknights, Kibi knew, were warriors who venerated Werthis, the God of War.

  “And that’s good, right?” Kibi hoped he was keeping everything straight. “We need that arch open so we can get to Kivia and find Abernathy’s maze that will stop Naradawk.”

  Ernie’s eyes grew wide. “But we just stopped them, didn’t we? We killed Hodge! What if we needed him to keep doing his rituals, to open the arch for us?”

  “There’s still too much we don’t know,” said Aravia. “Mostly I wish I knew what a Ventifact Colossus was.”

  “Aravia, if you don’t know what it is, no one does,” said Tor.

  “Previa might,” said Morningstar. “I’ll pay a visit to the temple before I go to bed. We’ll see if there are any records of a colossus in the Ellish archives.”

  Once their conversation was over, the rest of the company went to sleep. Kibi was tired, too; though he had been spared the worst ravages of Hodge’s fire spell (for which he still had no good explanation), he was bone weary and ready for sleep. Of course, Abernathy was in his bed, but he didn’t mind taking the couch for a while.

  But first he went to the kitchen for the heaviest cast-iron pot he could find. Into this he placed the Eye of Moirel, then wrapped the lid tight with a long length of rope. In the basement he chose a second iron trunk (since there was a hole blasted right through the metal of the first one he had used) and set the pot down inside it. Trunk locked, closet door shut, he wondered if there was anything more he could do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  EVERYONE READY TO go?”

  Morningstar stood by the Greenhouse door, tapping her foot. For all that Charagan was in peril, most immediately from world-unmaking gemstones, her companions showed a troubling lack of urgency. Was it because they were rudderless without specific instructions from Abernathy? Grey Wolf would have kicked everyone out the door by now. Where had he gone? Was he even alive?

  “Almost!” called Aravia. She was cramming her pack—and also Tor’s—with books.

  Ernie came in from the kitchen and handed out loaves of bread. “Some things can’t be rushed.”

  “Fine,” Morningstar grumbled. She glanced at the sunshine streaming in through the window and squinted into it defiantly. Dranko was reclining on a living room couch, looking peaked. Before breakfast he had been to see Abernathy but could not wake the old man.

  “Hey Aravia,” said Dranko. “Now that you can cast teleport, why are we bothering to walk anywhere?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. I can only teleport to a place I’ve been. And the more familiar I am with the destination, the less likely it is that something will go wrong.”

  “Should I ask what kind of things can go wrong?”

  “There are several possible failure cases,” said Aravia. “We could end up missing the target by arbitrary yards or miles. Or we might mistakenly arrive in a place with superficial similarities to my intended destination—like I intend an arrival at the Old Keg but take us to the Shadow Chaser instead. Worst case is solid displacement, where we end up embedded in the ground, or walls, or trees, or even other people. That would be messy.”

  Dranko winced. “How messy?”

  “Fatally messy.”

  “Right.”

  “Also, until I refine my technique and get a lot more practice, a single teleport will take nearly all of my casting energy, so I’d rather only use it to take us someplace we know is safe.”

  “Do you think we’ll be in danger, going after another Eye of Moirel?” asked Tor. “It’s just a gemstone, isn’t it?”

  Kibi shook his head. “The green Eye we got, it said them Sharshun fellahs were after ’em too, and you know from experience how dangerous they are.”

  “Right,” said Tor with a grin. He probably relished the thought of a rematch.

  * * *

  Though the Eye of Moirel’s instructions to Kibi had been cryptic, Aravia claimed they made perfect sense. To demonstrate, she drew by memory a detailed sketch of a region twenty-miles east or so from Tal Hae, where the Talflun River took a sweeping curve through a cluster of hills. As for “a mouth opens,” she guessed that the mouth of a cave was the mostly likely interpretation.

  After the long cross-country marches and multi-day journeys in the holds of ships, a two-day stroll across fields and meadows was more than welcome. Morningstar still found the sun too bright, and kept her hood drawn forward to shield her eyes, but it was tolerable. Had it truly been less than two months since her dispensation from the church to travel in daylight?

  When all of this was over, how would the Ellish temple react to her acclimation? More and more, she found herself caring less and less. Her devotion to Ell Herself was not diminished, and her encounter with Previa had given her some hope that her sisters’ rejection need not be universal. Either way, let the others think what they would; Rhiavonne had sent her into the blistering desert, and she had emerged burnished but no less a sister of Ell than before.

  “It all looks so green,” she said as they hiked alongside a burbling stream. “I can distinguish colors with my darksight, but they’re different. Muted. I know it’s blasphemous to say, but it makes me sad that my sisters don’t get to experience how colorful the world is. They can only remember it from childhood.”

  “It’s your destiny,” said Dranko. “Why do you think Ell named you Morningstar and gave you white hair? You think She didn’t know you’d end up tromping around outside looking for magic rocks?”

  “It makes more sense now,” she admitted. “And I try to be appreciative that I’ve been put in this position. But I’d always hoped that when I learned the reason I was born so different, it would be something that would make me less of an outcast among my sisterhood. But that was not to be. I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  “Believe me,” said Dranko, “I sympathize. But look on the bright side. Someday, when we’ve saved the world, are famous heroes, and they’re having parades for us through the streets, you can go back to your temple and tell them all where the
y can stick it.”

  Morningstar smiled but said nothing. Sometimes Dranko was almost tolerable.

  After a few seconds’ pause, Dranko added, “When I said ‘look on the bright side,’ that was just an expression.”

  “I don’t want to be famous,” said Morningstar. “A life without friends made me value simplicity. As much as learning to adapt to sunlight has been a transition, it’s been just as trying, accepting that my life is never again likely to be simple.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Dranko. “How much simpler can our purpose be than ‘stop a world-conquering evil monster from busting out and killing everyone?’”

  “But we’re not doing that right now. We’re—how did you put it—‘tromping around looking for magic rocks.’”

  Dranko grinned his tusky grin. “Stopping the world from being unmade by blue-skinned bald guys will have to suffice.”

  * * *

  Morningstar had a dream that night. It was no ordinary dream, but not a Seer Dream either, or however one might describe her encounter with Aktallian Dreamborn. It was, she felt, the end of all that she had been, and the beginning of all that she might become.

  Greetings, Morningstar of Ell.

  All around her was starlight and grass, the air crisp with midnight chill. She was armored in a shirt of mail rings, and a triangle shield was on her arm. Her mace was at her belt.

  The being who had addressed her was majestic and dark, an angelic woman wrapped in black robes, a sword upheld, her feet hovering inches above the turf. But Morningstar did not fear her—at least, not in the same way she feared Aktallian. Divinity shone from the angel’s noble face, her holiness so spiritually effulgent that Morningstar shielded her eyes and fell to her knees.

  Rise, Morningstar. Rise and be glad, for you are chosen.

  Morningstar stayed kneeling, looking at the ground. She didn’t understand but didn’t need to. “I am not worthy of being chosen.”

  That is not for you to decide. Nor would it matter, were it to be true. Ell has chosen you. Look upon me, child.

  With an effort of will that bettered any she had made in this life, Morningstar raised her eyes. The angel’s face was stern but merciful, beautiful but perilous. It was pure. Morningstar was not looking upon the face of Ell, but on something that reflected a part of Her grace.

  “What must I do?” she asked. “For what have I been chosen?”

  You are a child of darkness, but you are the Child of Light and the Daughter of Dreams. Ell has made you a Dreamwalker, the first in a generation.

  “I’m sorry…I don’t know what that means.”

  All dreams have a place, and all dreams linger. Together they form an expanding tapestry through which some may walk. The Tapestry is many things to many dreamers, but for you, Morningstar of Ell, it will be a battlefield, and you must be ready to fight.

  “Aktallian. Is he whom I must fight? I am not strong enough.”

  You will be. I will train you. And when the time comes, you will find others from your sisterhood to fight by your side.

  Morningstar bowed her head again and still would not stand in the presence of this avatar of Ell. “How is this possible? The Gods cannot interfere directly in the mortal affairs of Spira. The Injunction forbids Them.”

  I am bending the rules. We are not on Spira. I will train you here, in the weave of the Tapestry that you have dreamed. Now stand, Morningstar of Ell.”

  Morningstar stood and looked upon the face of the avatar. “Is this my destiny?” she asked. “To throw down Aktallian? But what of my service to Abernathy?”

  The future is a thousand roads to a thousand fates, and the Gods see them all, but they cannot tell which path you will walk. They can but set out lights to guide your way. Now I have talked enough. Morningstar, Shield of Ell, Child of Light and Daughter of Dreams, defend yourself.

  The angel advanced upon her, sword raised, her blade shining bright beneath the stars.

  * * *

  Morningstar awoke the next morning with a soul-shivering thrill. She lay in her bedroll, looking up as dawn’s spreading pink glow gently filled the sky.

  I am a Child of Light and a Daughter of Dreams.

  She felt refreshed and energetic, despite a clear memory of having sparred with the avatar for hours. Should she tell the others? Her experience with the avatar had been intensely personal. Her soul had been both humbled and uplifted, its most burning question given a gloriously terrifying answer.

  At the temple in Port Kymer there had been no one close enough to share her heart’s secrets. She had been grateful to those who merely showed her indifference and not the mingled fear and hostility that had become so commonplace. Faced with years of passive-aggressive resentment, Morningstar had set her life’s trajectory towards solitude and simplicity, prayer and practicality. She tried mitigating her bitterness with meditation, with limited success.

  All of that had been disrupted with Abernathy’s summons. She felt a growing bond with her companions, naturally, and was still exploring the reality of having friendships, but there remained a part of her that was skeptical, fearing it was all ephemeral, an illusion. Were they truly friends or merely victims of the same circumstance? She would tell them about the avatar one day, sooner if it became relevant to their tasks, later otherwise, but not today.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Dranko sitting up and belching.

  Definitely not today.

  * * *

  They ate a hurried breakfast. Morningstar did her best to move things along, to instill a proper sense of urgency. Grey Wolf wouldn’t have tolerated any dawdling. She wondered again where he was. And yet, more than anything else in her mind, there was the dream and the avatar.

  You are the Child of Light and Daughter of Dreams. Ell has made you a Dreamwalker.

  Her spirits were lifted, albeit on a frightening updraft. Goddess, but Dranko had been right. She had so many questions, and no one to answer them. Was there precedent? First in a generation, the avatar had said. So what had Dreamwalkers done in previous generations? Should she announce this officially within the temple? Send word to the High Priestess Rhiavonne?

  “We should only be an hour or two from the bend in the river,” said Aravia, “but given the vague nature of our instructions, we should be on the lookout from the outset.”

  The hills were barely worthy of the name. They rose tentatively out of the farmlands, grassy even to their tops, though here and there some bare bouldery patches poked through their green flanks. The Talflun, a narrow and lazy river, carved its shiftless path through the hills, wandering along a shallow valley running southwest to northeast.

  Just as the Talflun took a wide turn southward again, Dranko called out that he could see black spots on the hills ahead. Morningstar envied him his superior sight; her own vision was still uncertain during the day, especially when the sun was out. It was another five minutes before she could see what he meant; the slopes of the hills on both sides of the river became steep and barren, and riddled with crevices near ground level. Many of these were wide enough for a person to fit through, but only a handful were worthy of being called caves.

  “That’s a lot to explore,” said Tor.

  “Maybe one looks more like a mouth than the others,” said Ernie.

  In another five minutes they had reached the scattering of jagged black clefts in the hillsides. Fortunately the river here was shallow and its current weak.

  “This’ll go a lot faster if we split up,” said Dranko. “But we should stay in pairs. I know there’s been no sign of anyone passing this way, but I suppose there might be bears or…or tigers or something living in the bigger caves.”

  Morningstar looked at him and laughed. “Tigers?”

  “This isn’t really my area of expertise. Put me in a city and I’ll be king of it soon enough, but all this nature…” Dranko scratched himself indelicately.

  Tigers notwithstanding, the plan was sound, and it gave her an excuse to separate
herself from Dranko. “We’ve got three who are trained to fight,” she said. “Me, Tor, and Ernie. Dranko, you go with Ernie, and Tor will go with Kibi. Aravia, why don’t you come with me? Each pair, make sure you stay within shouting distance of at least one other, and every half an hour or so everyone should leave the caves and make visual contact.”

  “So,” said Dranko. “You’re in charge, then?”

  Morningstar sighed. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  “No, no, it was more of a general question.”

  “Then here’s my general answer. Yes, until someone else wants to be.”

  Dranko swept his arm toward the caves, palm up. “Ladies first.”

  Grouped as Morningstar suggested, Horn’s Company combed through the hill caves. Morningstar and Aravia headed a hundred feet downriver, stopping to peer into a few openings too small for either of them to crawl through. First Morningstar would stick her head in (or put her eye up to the hole for the smallest ones) and check with her darksight. Then Aravia used a light-coin to inspect each cavity, hoping to catch the glint of a diamond, assuming all the Eyes of Moirel were the same.

  It was difficult to concentrate. Ell has made you a Dreamwalker. She imagined confronting all of the sisters who had mistreated her over the years. There was a plan for me all along. I am every inch the sister that you are, and then some. But it shamed her to entertain those fancies. This is the plan, or part of it. Keep your focus, Morningstar of Ell.

  After a half-dozen of the rocky holes proved empty, Morningstar looked back over her shoulder. Dranko and Ernie vanished into a large cave on the far side of the river.

  “The Eye said, ‘A mouth opens,’” said Aravia. “I’d say that points to a larger cavern, and that we’re wasting our time with these little holes. Let’s head to the big ones and worry about the small ones later if we need to.”