Table of Contents
Firefall
Seeking Gasta
The Keeper of the Forest
The Temple of Inari
Cryshal Kanlon
Wolf in the Fold
Twice the Trouble
Xibalba
A Question of Ethics
Mother of Wolves
Evalyce - Worldshaper Book 1
J. Aislynn D' Merricksson
Copyright (C) 2015 J. Aislynn D' Merricksson
Layout Copyright (C) 2015 by Creativia
Published 2015 by Creativia
eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
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This book is dedicated those who are my life-blood
and strong, loving support:
To Brother Wildfire and Mercurius Greyeyes, my deepest inspirations.
To Jonas Merricksson, twice lucky one, my callowayla.
To Beth Finley, who inspired me to open the door to De Sikkari.
To Michael Calabrase, Goshen, my soul-mate and nemesis.
To Chris and Brandi Gore, anamcara and truest of friends.
To John and Sam Owens, my steady and strong support.
To Anish and Tania, who helped make this possible!
To my family of heart and soul,
To my blood-family and
To my bond-family-
There are far too many of you to name here! I love you all the same, each and every one.
In loving memory of Nina Clark
who taught me my own Dance
and fostered in me a love of learning.
May the One who is All And Nothing
forever guide your steps. Nasmala!
Firefall
Isle of Whispers, Year of the White Boar, 2012 CE
Al'dhumarna yawned, stretching his essence, exploring the confines of his cage yet again. Something had awoken the Nagali from his ages-old slumber, something powerful and world-shattering. Whatever it was had weakened the binding the Magi of old had placed upon him, turning him to mythril.
With time, he would be free. All he had to do was wait. What were a few more years to one who had waited millennia for freedom? He would wait, oh yes. Wait and gather allies.
The great Nagali sent part of his essence out, questing for just the right kinds of sympathetic minds to aid him. Minds hungry for power, for wealth, for revenge. All these things he promised them, in exchange for their devotion and obedience. Sibilant instructions were given, plans laid by the trapped demi-deity against the time when he would finally be free again.
Unknown Location, Year of the Golden Hart, 2013 CE
A young man lay twitching and whimpering in his sleep, tormented by nightmares. A cool voice slid through his thoughts demanding obedience and promising swift punishment should it be lacking. The voice was not happy with his conduct of late. It showed him, through his dreams, exactly what he could expect if he continued to be a disappointment. Death was the least of these things. It whispered to him of what he was to do.
Pain seared through the young man's soul, eating him alive. He woke then, stifling a howl of fear and despair. The cold, serpent-smooth voice had given him a nearly impossible task. Seek out and slay the Keeper of the Deep Forest, on Argoth, in the heart of the Forest People's empire. The voice had given him the knowledge of 'how' to slay the great guardian. It seemed so simple, yet he knew that was not the case and he shivered, trembling to think of even contemplating such an act as the destruction of a demi-deity.
In the darkness of night he whimpered again, hugging himself. He seemed destined to be a disappointment to everyone he came in contact with. A strangled sob and the young man drew himself together. He pulled all of his unhappiness and fear into a ball and shoved it away. By morning all that was left were a burning anger, a gnawing bitterness, and the determination to carry out this task without fail.
Skycity Sevfahl, 10000ft above the Aeryth Ocean, Year of the Golden Hart, 2013 CE
Kalla kyl'Solidor snorted, thumping her staff against the ground in agitation as she strode down the corridor, red-trimmed black robes fluttering around her. Deep in the dim, dank depths of Dante's Inferno, the mage had come to seek a magister.
Culled from felons sentenced to death, a magister was bound to their mage, serving as a fierce and deadly protection, and as an extra conduit of power. Until now, Kalla had refused to take one. She felt that a mage should be capable of taking care of themselves, but the Sin' of Cryshal Kanlon disagreed, insisting that she follow tradition, and so she found herself in the pits of hell, following an overweight warden and forcing herself to ignore the lewd, sneering remarks of the prisoners they passed.
Dante's Inferno was arranged in a series of stacked levels, with the death row prisoners located at the bottom of the facility. She had been drug back and forth on a circuitous path through several levels so far and she was beginning to become annoyed. Kalla was fairly certain that there was a more direct route to the lower level and that the warden was just toying with her.
Kalla kyl'Solidor was a short female, with bright green eyes and jet-black hair, Argosian by birth. Though petite, the mage was filled to bursting with the power of her calling and the temper of her House. Despite her relatively young age, Kalla was already a maester, worthy of the prefix kyl' to her House name, skilled in healing, alchemy, and seership.
Kalla followed the warden down another spiraling staircase, but balked when he started to go down yet another shadowy corridor smelling of stale air and unwashed bodies.
“Enough! I have more important things to be doing today than traveling 'round and 'round through the dismal depths of Tartarus!” she snarled. The warden turned back, an oily smile plastered on his face.
“It is not much further, Lady, not much further,” he said.
“That is what you said three levels ago. How many does the Inferno have?” Kalla's voice was low and cold. The warden scowled at her.
“Twelve levels, Lady kyl'Solidor,” he replied in a sullen voice.
“Twelve… Basa! No more fooling around. We will go to Carron's Run now!” Reaching out, the mage touched the warden's forehead with the tip of her finger. An instant's discernment and she had a mental image of the Run. Another instant and she had transported them there.
Kalla shivered involuntarily, leaning against her staff to hide her sudden weakness. Teleportation took a great deal out of any mage, so much so that most did not even consider it in the worst of times, but Kalla was lucky in that it was another gift she excelled in. She scowled, glancing around, while the warden recovered from the impromptu trip.
Carron's Run, the death ward of the Inferno, was even darker, danker and smellier than the rest of the prison. Kalla held back as the warden walked the Run, bellowing for the inmates to line up at the cell doors, telling them what was expected. A low murmur of excitement and shuffling ensued. The chance to be a magister was a rare and lucky break for a criminal, one they weren't likely to pass up.
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The warden finished his spiel and beckoned for her to examine the inmates. As Kalla passed by she could see the man was still wild-eyed. Her little demonstration of power had put things into a new perspective, giving him a greater respect, if not for her, then for the title she bore.
Kalla walked slowly up the corridor, silently examining her potential guardians, occasionally stopping for a closer look. None held any particular attraction and she wondered, not for the first time, why the magi used criminals to serve the role of magister. Oh, she knew the theory, but surely there were better options out there…
Twice she walked the length of the corridor before a soft coughing pulled her attention to a half-hidden door at the far end. Ignoring the warden's protests, she pushed the door open, wincing at the smell of urine, old blood and infection that washed over her. Beyond lay a small room with four tiny, cramped cells, much smaller than those outside. Three stood empty, doors slightly ajar. The fourth, however, contained a shirtless man chained to the wall, feet barely reaching the ground. He looked to be Arkaddian, with his coffee-colored skin and reddish-brown hair. It was unusual for any of the Plains people to be found in a skycity and she wondered how he had ended up here.
Kalla gave the man a more critical assessment. One eye was completely swollen shut and, if his wheezy breathing was any indication, he also had one or more fractured ribs. Dried blood crusted festering wounds along his face, arms and chest. Just barely visible under the aftermath of his new wounds Kalla could see a series of older scars, deep gashes across his chest and the top of one shoulder.
The mage frowned. Whatever the man had done, surely it could not be worth torturing him over. Were the conditions of confinement in the Run and the threat of imminent execution not enough?
“What crime has this man committed that he is locked here, in this state?” Kalla demanded. The man stirred at her words, peering at her through his good eye. The warden shuffled up beside her, nose wrinkling at the stench.
“This one is of no consequence, Lady kyl'Solidor,” said the warden. The prisoner coughed again, wincing in pain.
“That does not answer my question.” Kalla narrowed her eyes.
“What does it matter, Lady kyl'Solidor? This one is slated for execution within the hour.” The warden's tone was surly.
A hoarse voice pulled her attention back to the cell.
“I am a thief, milady.”
Said thief's voice was soft and lilting, despite the hoarseness. Kalla had guessed correctly- his accent bespoke an Arkaddian heritage.
“A… thief? You were tortured for being a thief? You are to be executed for stealing mere possessions?” Kalla's voice was incredulous. “Truly… how many did you kill to warrant this?” she asked. The man shook his head, grimacing with the pain of it.
“I killed no one, milady. I merely had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He fell silent, bowing his head back down.
Beside her, the warden snorted.
“He assassinated the Lord Governor of Sevfahl,” the pudgy man spat.
Kalla turned to regard the captive Arkaddian again. Just looking at him, she didn't judge him one capable of cold-blooded killing. Kalla released a whisper of power and the cell door creaked opened.
Deciding to find the truth of the matter out for herself, Kalla reached out and touched the prisoner gently on the forehead. He flinched away, but not before she'd gained enough of an insight to realize that the thief was telling the truth. An Arkaddian had assassinated the Lord Governor, unfortunately on the same night that this Arkaddian had decided to liberate a priceless artifact from the Governor's Palace. A feeling of familiarity lingered from the brief mind-touch, momentarily puzzling her.
Kalla growled, low and deep, fury igniting in her eyes. A whip-crack of power and the shackles unlocked. She caught the prisoner in coils of air, gently lowering him to the ground. The warden gave her a sullen look.
“Lord Tysin will not be pleased, Lady.”
“I do not care about Lord Tysin's pleasure. The man speaks the truth. There were two Arkaddian visitors to the Palace that night, unlikely as that might seem. You caught a thief intent on nothing more than theft. Certainly not an offense worthy of such treatment. Your assassin is still free.”
Kalla knelt down by the prisoner, where he now lay slumped against the wall. She ran gentle hands over him, assessing the damage. He had many wounds, but most were minor, certainly nothing she couldn't handle easily. Kalla studied him for a moment, then took a deep breath, fully committing herself to her course. Hand under his chin, Kalla raised his face to look at her.
“What is your name?” she asked softly.
“Ale… Aleister. Aleister Balflear.” He attempted a wry grin. “The Sky Fox, at your service, milady.”
“Well then, Aleister Balflear, I am Kalla kyl'Solidor and I am in need of a magister. What say you?”
A single brown eye widened, then he broke out in a fit of laughter that dissolved into another bout of coughing.
“Me? A magister? Milady, no offense, but I'm a thief, not a warrior. I fear you would be getting the short end of that deal,” he replied.
“To be honest, I have no wish to take a magister at all, but the Powers that Be say I must. I'm not looking for brute strength. I value cunning and intelligence more and a fox should have more than enough of that.” Her questioning look was rewarded with another half-smile.
“Very well, milady. If it keeps me from Tysin's clutches, I accept.”
“You must be sure of this. Being magister to a mage means you are bound to them. I will be able to sense you, and you I. There will be times when I will need to rely upon you as a conduit of power, and times when I will need to rely on you for protection. If I should happen to die, so will you.”
He nodded acceptance and sank back against the wall, his strength finally starting to fade.
”Then I guess I'd better make sure that doesn't happen anytime soon.” There was the hint of a grin in his words.
“First things first. Let's get you healed.” Kalla chased the warden out of the small room and closed the door. She took a few deep breaths, falling easily into the light trance needed for this relatively minor healing and rested her hands gently on the Sky Fox's chest.
Aleister tensed, then relaxed as soothing healing energy washed over him. Bones shifted, tiny fractures knitting together. The cuts healed, pushing the infection from them as they did so. The swelling receded, revealing a brown eye to match the other. Withdrawing her power, the healer surveyed her work. Aleister was much more presentable now, though blood and infection still clung to his skin. The cuts themselves were nothing more than shiny scars along his face, chest and arms.
Settling deeper into the trance, she focused on the man before her. Reaching out, Kalla placed both hands gently on Aleister's temples and carefully probed his mind. He tensed again, cringing away from the intrusion.
“Relax. Don't fight it. That will only cause pain,” she whispered. Kalla felt him relax slowly, bit by bit. She didn't try to force her way into his mind, but waited until she felt he was more comfortable before forging the link.
The forging of the bond between mage and magister was a far cry from the brief mental touch she'd used on him earlier. In a sudden burst of power she tied the Sky Fox to her own essence. A feeling of déjà vu washed over her and she shook her head to clear it. As impossible as it was, the Sky Fox's very essence felt familiar to her. Fear and uncertainty flooded her mind and it took a moment before Kalla realized that what she felt belonged to Aleister rather than herself. Tightening her own mental shields, Kalla sent calmness to him. She felt Aleister pull his emotions under control, then a sense of gratitude from him for the stabilizing force.
Kalla drew back into herself, coming out of the trance to find a pair of warm brown eyes staring back at her. Aleister offered a shaky grin.
“Well, milady, I hope you don't come to regret your choice,” he murmured with a wry look. Kalla
sighed and shook her head, rising smoothly to her feet. She offered a hand and pulled the thief up. No, not a thief. A magister. Her magister.
“I see no reason why I should. You're a far more savory choice than some I've come across and I've been searching for quite some time to find a choice I was happy with. Come, let's get out of here and go get you cleaned up.”
* * *
A mere twenty minutes later found Kalla back at the top of the Inferno. Sure enough, there was a much quicker way through the labyrinth than the warden had taken her before in the form of a small service elevator. Another of the Inferno's wardens had taken Aleister from her before they left the Run, escorting him through a different area. As he'd left, she'd felt his trepidation and a bit later his contentment. Shortly after she arrived at the entrance he reappeared, scrubbed clean and carrying what she assumed were the belongings he'd been brought in with.
Aleister was now dressed in simple, but well-made clothes. A slate-grey tunic fell to just above his knees, belted by a thin black belt from which hung three pouches and a long dagger. Comfortable black breeches brushed the tops of a pair of the soft-soled shoes so favored by the Arkaddians (and thieves most likely, Kalla mused). The shoes allowed the Plains warriors to walk soundlessly under any conditions.
The tunic had a low cut neck and peeking through she could see a jinshin, made of longtooth claws, with one of the long saber teeth of the great Plains cats as a centerpiece. Well, that would certainly explain the scars on his chest. Only Arkaddians who had undergone their Rite of Passage wore the jinshin as a mark of surviving. Young males were sent out into the Plains to face the longteeth and slay one, the bigger the better. If they survived, they were men. If not, they became food for the prides. Apparently her newly made magister had still been in Arkaddia when his time came.
“Well, now, don't you look much better.” This earned her a dry chuckle.
Mother of Wolves (Evalyce Worldshaper Book 1) Page 1
