by Jenna Rhodes
She felt herself unravel, unmade, the vessel shattered. Her life whirlpooled in the waters of the Andredia as it rushed around her. Rivergrace fell to her hands and knees in the cascading spray. With every drop that touched her, she melted, washed away.
As she spins into nothingness, scenes flit before her eyes. From small hands that hid food and gave crumbs and strings of meat to Rufus when he came down to visit, to being thrown on a raft in high flood, to watching her mother and father swept away from her, to the raft tossing and turning and being caught up in the hand of a Goddess. Called to the sword Cerat by its maker as well as the Demon intended to be called, the Goddess struggles to deny the summons. She anchors herself in the small, half-starved body of a girl child who welcomes her in fear and loneliness and mourning and love aching to be shared. The Goddess is summoned, both into the child and into the sword, sundered, corrupted by the Demon that shares the sword, its element of riverwater befouled, Her very existence tenuous and yet . . . caged in mortal flesh, a hold that She cannot deny and must use. The other mortals are torn away, the raft is but a small pause in a moment of infinity, and She spins it away, trying to win her battle against Her enslavement.
Rivergrace tilted her face upward, seeing a reflection in the mists above her, a face looking kindly down at her, as her flesh melted into the debris of the font, her existence washing away into the sacred waters of the Andredia. Nearly twenty years the Goddess had held her in her palm, trying to stay the power of the sword which slowly sucked Her being into it save for that which She pushed into the child. The day came when the two of them as one could not hold the raft from its journey any longer and it rushed downstream in spring’s flood tide bearing her into the mortal world. Now her cage, the sword Cerat, had been broken on the very font that the Goddess gave life to, and received life from, freeing her trapped essence.
A vessel for two mortals and one immortal and now all were freed, and the purpose finished. Gently but undeniably, the Goddess reclaimed Herself from the child who had grown to a woman. Rivergrace put her hand up. She had been so much more than a vessel. Sevryn had told her truly. She held all that she had been meant for, and much, much more, beyond Vaelinars and Gods, she held herself and a love for those around her. Fulfilled, she relinquished herself as Rivergrace in surrender, and her song fell quiet.
The river roared about the cavern, then subsided into its natural bed, flowing down through the mountain as it had been meant to do, its color deepened by the agate dome overhead, the forge battered and washed away by the power of the water unleashed, and the hand of a Goddess. It swept away all in its path inexorably, carrying the debris down the mountain, cascading out into the air and daylight, falling in veils to the riverbeds below awaiting it and filling them with life.
A form washes ashore.
A splintery shard is grasped in her hand. The blood is washed from her clothing and her body, and the wounds upon her flesh are healed, thin white lines marking their path upon her. She does not breathe till a misty aura surrounds her, and a Voice that cannot be heard by ordinary ears whispers, “The pact with House Arsmyth holds, and this I give to you alone. A life for a life, a memory for those I took from you. Remember love. Arise with your true name, Vahlinora, and seek that which you loved most.” The aura fades as a rainbow does in the rain, fleeting and visible for only a moment and then the wonder is gone.
She takes a deep breath and coughs. She breathes again. The sword in her hand, what is left of it, falls into ruins. It releases a wraith which gazes down at her, touches her forehead and murmurs, “Aderro,” before it flees upon the air. Her third breath is a sob as she gathers herself, rising, riverwater falling off her in droplets to the parched ground.
She feels heat in her body, substance to her flesh, pain remembered as a dim ache. A bird flashes overhead on wing, and she looks up. It could be the same day, or another, or a new day two decades from the one she remembers last.
She has been told to search, and so she does, tracing her steps haltingly down the mountain.
Lariel sat, bowed over her weapons and armor. The sun slanted down on her, bringing the gold out fiercely in her hair, her face translucent and pale. Her shirt rode indecently high on her ribs, the hem torn away to wrap her left forearm from elbow to wrist. She looked up the mountain, her gaze fixed, waiting. She sat watch by the pool of blood Grace had left, to help sate the Demon dog.
Unheard, Rivergrace came up the trail from below. She stood a long moment, looking at the queen, at last understanding a little bit about why Lariel wore the title she did.
“I’m not there,” she said.
Lariel swung about, crying, “Grace!”
“The Andredia is freed.” Her chestnut hair stirred on her shoulders as the sun and a gentle wind dried it. She swayed with it. Lariel put her arm out to catch her by the shoulder.
“And you?”
Rivergrace smiled. “I have memories.”
Lariel hesitated with her mouth curved half-open, as if holding back. A curl of smoke reached them, smelling of roasting meat and bitter herbs. “I built a pyre,” she told Grace. “I didn’t want the Demon eating our horses.”
“Good.” She couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Black Ribbon’s ravaged body. She reached up and held Lariel’s hand on her shoulder, a half embrace. “At least the walk is downhill.”
The moon rose early in the daytime sky as it sometimes does, golden as a crown piece although not quite full, and they walked the rest of the day and all of the night under its glow. They spoke sparingly, their path taking them down the mountain trail, the water pouring from the mountain pacing them. The river filled slowly as the hungry land drank it down and they watched it first grow damp, then trickle, then become a freshet, a brook. By the dawn, when they reached the bottom of the mountain, it had gone ahead of them, and they walked by a river that would join the others, its current carrying it into Larandaril.
Garner had found Jeredon and Nutmeg before they did. The smell of woodsmoke and food reached them with tantalizing goodness, along with voices and laughter on the air. They were all wrapped in bandages, and leaning upon one another, but they were none of them mangled, not as Grace had feared.
Nutmeg saw them first. She rose to her feet and ran, catapulting herself at Rivergrace, crying, “You did it!” She spun Rivergrace in a dance about her, hands tight upon her as if she would never let go. “The river runs from here, Jeredon tells us, into the high hills and then back down into the kingdom. You did it!”
Lariel went to her knees beside Jeredon and they held each other tightly for a long moment without words. He, alone, had not gotten to his feet. Then, holding him by the shoulders, she pulled back for an intense look.
“I will walk again,” he told her. “Someday. Meanwhile, we may have to find a smith to make me a chariot.”
“That will be the second thing I order, then,” his queen sister answered.
“And the first?”
“You know the first.”
“Would I ask if I did?”
“I have a war to prepare for, but this time, they must carry it to me, for I will not rush headlong to it.”
He gave a sigh, then a nod, and they hugged again.
Nonplussed, Garner kept turning the spit upon which he roasted a few rabbits until Rivergrace leaned over to knuckle his hair. “Kiss the cook,” he responded, grinning, and she planted a kiss on his tousled head.
Nutmeg pulled the packs to her, rifling through them, saying, “Grace, you’re hardly clothed. You’ll sunburn and freckle like you always do.”
She looked down at herself, faintly surprised that she was indeed, still blood and flesh, and took the clothes Nutmeg handed to her, her thoughts still somewhat absent and far away.
On the morning wind, a horse neighed. It rang down the mountain, a faint trumpeting challenge, and they all paused to listen, their heads turning in its direction. Rivergrace took a tentative step that way.
“It can’t be,” Lariel s
aid.
“Sssssh,” her brother hushed her, his keen hunter’s gaze sweeping toward the wilderness. “It can’t be. We sent him to Larandaril carrying the body . . .” He listened, his eyes glistening.
She dropped the garments Nutmeg had pushed into her hands and walked to the rough trail, each step coming faster and faster until she broke into a run. Her heart beat in her throat with every step as a horse came into her view, hurtling itself heedlessly down the mountain pathway, Aymaran’s mane and tail bannered on the wind, and he bore a pale rider on his back.
She raced toward it as it raced toward her, and her heart leaped as he called to her, his voice full and mortal and bearing love.
“Aderro!”
Kerith Timeline
A Recollection of Some Curious Events
300—Magi create Galdarkan guards.
223—The Raymy are defeated and retreat across the ocean, leaving Ravers stranded behind.
90—Magi wars. Most magic users die and magic fades from Kerith.
0—Collapse of the Empire.
90 AE (After Empire)—Creation of City States through trader guilds.
112—Galdarkan Rebellion, the collapse of which sends the survivors into the barrens as nomads.
312—Vaelinars invade Kerith, starting a hundred years of slavery, strife, impressments.
423—Accords signed, principally between the Houses and Strongholds of the Vaelinars for their own civil wars, but are extended to the City States.
501—Bolger clans unite, begin warfare.
511—Vaelinars step in to help defeat Bolger clans, but then retire to a deep seclusion, as their numbers are hard hit. Kanako defeats the Bolger tribes, but his lineage dies with him.
700—Vahlinora is born.
703—Gilgarran dies.
721—Bolgers emboldened, and Raver raids begin anew.
723—Nutmeg Farbranch pulls a waif from the Silverwing River waters.
723—A major assassination attempt in Calcort signals new animosities toward the Vaelinars.
733—Ravers and Bolgers join together in raiding groups with new aggressions.
737—Accords Conference in Calcort brings riots, and the Accords are contested.
737—Abayan Diort begins forcible unification of the Galdarkans.
Glossary
aderro: (Vaelinar corruption of the Dweller greeting Derro) an endearment meaning little one
alna: (Dweller) a fishing bird
astiri: (Vaelinar) true path
avandara: (Vaelinar) verifier, truth-finder
Aymar: (Vaelinar) elemental God of the wind and air
Banh: (Vaelinar) elemental God of earth
Calcort: a major trading city
Cerat: (Vaelinar) deathdrinker
Daran: (Vaelinar) the God of Dark, God of the Three
defer: (Kernan) a hot drink with spices and milk
Dhuriel: (Vaelinar) elemental God of Fire
emeraldbark: (Dweller) a long-lived, tall, insect- and fire-resistant evergreen
forkhorn: (Kernan) a beast of burden with wide, heavy horns
Hawthorne: capital of the free provinces
kedant: (Kernan) a potent poison from the kedant viper
Lina: (Vaelinar) elemental Goddess of water
Nar: (Vaelinar) God of the Three, the God of War
Nevinaya aliora: (Vaelinar) You must remember the soul
Nylara: (Kernan) a treacherous, vital river
quinberry: a tart yet sweet berry fruit
Rakka: (Kernan) elemental Demon, he who follows in the wake of the earth mover doing damage
skraw: (Kernan) a carrion eating bird
staghorns: elklike creatures
stinkdog: a beslimed unpleasant porcine critter
Stonesend: a Dweller trading village
tashya: (Vaelinar) a warm-blooded breed of horse
teah: (Kernan) a hot drink brewed from leaves
ukalla: (Bolgish) a large hunting dog
Vae: (Vaelinar) Goddess of Light, God of the Three
vantane: (Vaelinar) war falcon
velvethorns: a lithe deerlike creature
winterberry: a cherrylike fruit
Personae
Abayan Diort—mercenary Galdarkan captain and leader
Adeena—a Kernan seamstress
Alton ild Fallyn—a son of ild Fallyn Stronghold
Azel d’Stanthe—the scholar of the shrouded Vaelinar domain, Ferstanthe, holder of lores
Berlash—a healer for Greathouse
Bistane—warrior poet
Bistel—patriarch of House Vantane
Bregan Oxfort—Kernan trader, powerful son of a powerful family
Cavender Barrel—Barrel family patriarch
Croft—a weasel of a Dweller
Daravan—a rogue Vaelinar, unlisted in their original rolls
Frelar—a female healer at Larandaril
Garner Farbranch—oldest Farbranch son
Gilgarran—a Vaelinar ranger
Guthry Barrel—of the Silverwing militia (D)
Honeyfoot—general supplies merchant
Hosmer Farbranch—middle Farbranch son
Jeredon Eladar—older half brother to Lariel Anderieon
Keldan Farbranch—youngest of the Farbranch boys
Kever ild Istlanthir—a son of House Istlanthir
Kobrir—known assassins, Kurtiss and Kosh
Lariel Anderieon—Warrior Queen
Lent Barrel—of the Silverwing militia (D)
Lily Farbranch—wife of Tolby Farbranch, a seamstress
Mistress Robin Greathouse—a Dweller trader
Nutmeg Farbranch—daughter of Tolby and Lily
Osten ild Drebukar—the youngest scion of House Drebukar
Perty—Mayor Stonehand’s assistant
Quendius—a Vaelinar half-breed weaponsmith and armorer
Randall Hawthorne—Grand Mayor of the free and western provinces
Rivergrace—an escaped slave of Vaelinar heritage
Rufus—a Bolger forge slave
Sevryn Dardanon—a Vaelinar half-breed of the streets
Sweetbrook—Dweller miller
Thom Stonehand—Dweller mayor of Calcort
Tiiva Pantoreth—last direct blood heir of House Pantoreth
Tiym Panner—wealthy Dweller trader
Tolby Farbranch—Dweller rancher and former caravan guard
Tranta Istlanthir—Vaelinar caretaker of Tomarq
Tressandre ild Fallyn—heir to Stronghold ild Fallyn
Willard Oxfort—a Kernan trader of great wealth and power
