The Gift of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 7)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  The Gift of Madness

  The Lost Prophecy

  D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover art by Rebecca Frank

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Also by D.K. Holmberg

  Map

  Chapter One

  The inside of the temple carried a somber air, reminding Jakob Nialsen of what it had been like when he had visited as a child when his father had served as a priest. The temple had changed since then, reconstructed following its destruction, but there was much about it that remained familiar to him. The Urmahne had a particular way of constructing their temples, and this was no exception.

  Malaya smiled as he approached. In the time since he had restored those who had once been afflicted by the madness, he had a growing affinity for her. He remembered how she had looked when he had first met her, the way the madness had practically made her elderly in appearance, with deep creases of age on her face. But since healing her, and now that he had gotten to know her, she had youthful eyes that sparkled and reflected her rapidly improving health. In another time, and another life, he would have found her quite striking.

  “Have you come to the temple to visit your brother again?” Malaya asked.

  Jakob shook his head. “I wanted to see how you and the others were doing,” he said. He noted the faint traces of ahmaean around her, though suspected she was completely unaware of it. None of the people that he had healed were aware of the energy that swirled around them. Somehow, he would have to awaken that energy and teach them how to reach it.

  “We’re well thanks to the healing. I have… memories… that I struggle with, but I don’t think I’m alone with that.”

  What Malaya and the others thought of as memories were visions, glimpses along the fibers when they were practically trapped within them before Jakob had restored them, and by doing so, had brought the afflicted back from the madness. “Those will fade in time.”

  “Are you certain?” The way she asked made it seem as if she was troubled by that prospect.

  Jakob smiled. He remembered how scarred she had been. When he had first found her in the santrium, she had been injured. He had used additional healing to help save her, and that healing had bonded them in a way that he wasn’t bonded to many of the others. Only Scottan shared a similar connection to him. It was rewarding to see her recovering.

  “Probably,” he said.

  “Your brother is in the library if you’d like to see him.”

  Jakob smiled and let Malaya return to what she had been doing in the temple. All of the others he had healed had found some task within the temple, the high priest helping them, giving them a safe place to fully recover. He saw several he knew by name as he passed through the halls, including Paden, Bethanne, and Willow. There were a dozen or so with the potential to become damahne, and somehow, Jakob would have to help all of them reach that potential.

  He stepped away, swirling his ahmaean around him, and shifted to the library.

  The library in Chrysia was once a special place for Jakob. It had been the place he had gone for understanding and a sense of peace. With its rows of books and the musty smell that he had come to appreciate, the library had been the first place he had ever felt welcome. Most of that had to do with how Novan had welcomed him, affording him a place of solace when Jakob had none. But the library also offered the knowledge he sought. He had a strong desire to leave Chrysia, and he needed to know if there was anything more for him beyond the confines of his home city.

  He paced the aisles, clasping his hands behind him as he went. His sword, Neamiin, occasionally bumped into the shelves, and he stopped, turning so that he could reposition it. Each time he grasped the hilt, there was a flash—the now familiar surge of power that rolled through him, reverberating against his ahmaean as the blade itself attempted to augment it. With that augmentation, Jakob was more aware of the others in the city with a connection to ahmaean.

  Footsteps across the stone floor caught his attention, and he turned to see his brother approach.

  Scottan had once been the epitome of a soldier. He had served the Ur, training with the soldiers who defended Thealon until he had developed the skill necessary to join the Denraen. Had he only been well when they made their visit to the city, he might have been chosen. Years spent under the influence of the madness had changed him. Even after being healed, he remained gaunt, his eyes, once vibrant and happy, were little more than hollows. There was a solemnness to him that had never been there before. Jakob missed the energy and sense of purpose that had once defined his older brother.

  Scottan tipped his head in a slight bow. That was new. “Jakob.” There was a strange hesitancy to the way he said his name.

  Jakob nodded. “I heard you were here. I wanted to check on you.�
��

  “Did you? What did you think you would find?”

  “I don’t know. I only thought…”

  “I’m fine. You’ve made certain that I’m safe here with the others, unable to leave the temple. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Scottan turned and left before Jakob had a chance to answer.

  There was a distance between them that should not exist. They were brothers, and they shared much of the same ability—especially now that Scottan had the same potential with ahmaean as Jakob. Many others did, too. But Scottan struggled. Not only with what it meant for him—and for beliefs that he’d held for the entirety of his life—but for his relationship with his brother.

  Jakob understood where it came from, even if he didn’t know how to change it. He’d always looked up to his brother, wishing that he could be more like him, wanting nothing more than to emulate everything about him, but Jakob was not a soldier. At least, he had not been before his abilities began to manifest.

  All that had changed, like so many other things. Now Jakob was the one with experience and skill. Jakob was the one who taught, working with the others who had a connection to the ahmaean, trying to give them an understanding of what their abilities meant and how to use them. The others struggled with what those abilities meant for them, but Scottan struggled with something deeper.

  There came the sense of ahmaean surging, and he heard a soft tap on the stone.

  “How long have you been watching?” he asked as he turned to where Novan stood beside one of the stacks. The historian carried his staff with him and leaned on it more than he used to. Had the effort of learning all that he could tax him? Jakob would need him, and all that he knew, if he was to be successful.

  “Long enough to see how you look at him.”

  He frowned. “How I look at him? And how is that?”

  Novan tipped his head, and his long face appeared drawn, the weariness in his eyes extending to the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “You look at him with something bordering on pity.”

  Jakob shook his head. “There’s no pity. I love my brother. I’ve done everything that I can to rescue him from the madness.”

  “And you pity the way the affliction has changed him. You see him as the man he had been but no longer is rather than who he is and could be in the future.”

  Jakob closed his eyes. Was that what he had been doing? Could Scottan tell?

  “I remember what he was like when we were growing up. I… I can’t get over the way he’s changed.”

  “As he likely cannot get over the way that you have changed. There is much that is different for him, Jakob. The world is different. Think about what it must be like. When he succumbed to the illness, the gods were to be worshipped and there was a general peace. When he awoke, he discovered his brother was a god, there were strange creatures who worked to heal him, and that war had spread.”

  “And that our father had died.”

  Novan tapped his staff. “And that. You have the benefit of experience, which has granted you the ability to understand what has happened. Your brother does not have that experience, and he must work through everything that he has learned, trying to know what is real and what is not.”

  Jakob frowned, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. There was a reassurance to holding the blade and to the connection with his ahmaean he had from it. “Why would he struggle with that?”

  “You walked the fibers. You know all that he went through. How much of that lingers for him? Those images Scottan saw would be memories to him. From what you have told me, he was trapped along the fibers and was trapped in another person’s experience. That will take time for him to sort out.”

  Jakob sighed. He had seen the way the fibers had been twisted and had been forced to sever them and reseal them to save his brother, along with all the others who had been injured by Raime’s attack. Raime had used the fibers, twisting them in such a way to prevent additional damahne from arising, working subtly over the years until the fibers were so damaged that time itself nearly ended. Had Jakob not acted, there would not have been a future.

  “You’re right. I know that you’re right. But I need him for what comes next. I’ll need all of them if we’re to stop Raime.”

  “That’s all you intend to do? You want to just stop him?”

  Jakob stared at Novan. There was much that he would like to do, but the first thing he had to accomplish was stopping Raime. After he did, then he could figure out what came next. He hadn’t given any thought to it and didn’t know how he fit into the world, not with the abilities he now possessed, but there wasn’t time for him to think about those things.

  “What else would you have me do?”

  Novan clasped Jakob on the shoulder. There was something almost paternal about the gesture, something that was fitting, considering Novan had served as a father figure to him, particularly in the days following his father’s death. “I would have you understand how you serve a greater purpose now,” he said. “You’re one of the damahne. That means that you need to gain a greater understanding of your purpose.”

  “What if my purpose is simply to stop Raime?”

  Novan smiled at him. “There is much more to what you are meant to do than simply stop one man. Even if he is a man who has caused great destruction over the years.”

  “I need these others to help me. I managed to stop Jostephon”—and even that had not been on his own, but with Novan and Dendril helping—“but I don’t think I can stop Raime—or the powerful groeliin—on my own.”

  Novan shook his head. “What makes you think you will ever be on your own?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “That’s exactly what you mean. Only, you haven’t been alone, and you never have to be. You can walk back along the fibers, and you can borrow from the wisdom of your ancestors, something that few others can claim.”

  What would it be like if he could go back and speak to his father? Would there be any wisdom he could gain in doing so? Or would going back simply make him miss what he’d lost?

  It was why he had chosen to go back and speak with Shoren rather than anyone he knew. At least with the damahne, there was an expectation—and an understanding—of others walking back along the fibers and glimpsing that future. At least by using someone like Shoren, and going back only enough that Shoren had a memory of him, he could maintain—and develop—that rapport. He had learned much from Shoren but had also learned that Shoren didn’t know nearly as much as what Jakob had expected him to know. He might have had a city named after him, but there was much that the damahne of his time didn’t know and didn’t understand.

  “These people need your help in this time. It’s more than only your brother. There are others who have potential that you need to help.”

  “I have been. I’ve been working with them, trying to help them understand their ahmaean, and understand what that connection means for them, but—”

  Novan shook his head. “You have been working with them, but there’s something you haven’t yet done for them. Or should I say, with them. There is someplace you have not taken them.”

  Jakob sighed. “The moment I take them to the Tower is the moment that everything changes.”

  “Everything changed the moment you acquired your abilities. You are powerful. Alyta saw to that when she gifted you her remaining ahmaean. Now it’s your responsibility to see that others can access their potential. That is how you will continue to save the damahne. Help them understand how to glimpse the fibers. Help the others understand how to gain that wisdom. When you do—if you can—they will be even greater allies for you.”

  Jakob turned away from the stack of books and paused at the table in the center of the library. It was here that he had spent countless days working with Novan. Even before the Magi had arrived in Chrysia, this was where Jakob had spent his time learning, slowly beginning the transition to apprentice historian. That was why the library seemed home to him, more so than other places in
the city did.

  “I don’t know why I have such reluctance,” he said, staring at the heavy wooden table. The surface had been scratched in certain places, and there were a few stains on it, several that Jakob had been responsible for. A faint layer of dust lingered on it, more than had been present when he and Novan had frequented the library. Since their departure, the library had gone mostly unused. There were other scholars in the city—particularly of the Urmahne—but none who claimed it as home, not as Jakob and Novan had.

  “You’re afraid,” Novan said.

  Jakob looked up. “I’ve faced enough dangers to know that there are reasons to be fearful.”

  “There are reasons, and I doubt anyone would fault you if what you’ve encountered has been so much that it pushes you away from what else must be done, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are afraid.”

  “I was afraid when this all began,” Jakob said. “I come here, and I remember the excitement I felt when the Magi first came to Chrysia—but also the fear I felt following the first Deshmahne attack I ever experienced.” He looked over to Novan. “Back then, I had a certain ignorance. I think that protected me more than anything. When you don’t know what you don’t know, it’s almost easier to keep going.”

  Novan chuckled and tapped his staff on the stone. Light surged along the length of it, making the lettering written in teralin glow for a moment. Jakob felt the way the teralin stored Novan’s ahmaean, allowing it to build in intensity. It was fleeting before he released it, sending it out in a spiral around him. Jakob still wondered if the historian knew what he did? Was he aware of the way that spiral of ahmaean allowed them to search beyond the walls of the library? Or was it something else? The Magi Jakob had interacted with since discovering his abilities had not known their connection to ahmaean. They could use it, but most did not know what they did when they manipulated their energy.