by Susan Faw
The parchment was furled so tightly it was nearly impossible to unwind. She carefully unrolled it on the stone bench, using her knife to weigh down the one edge as she flattened it for reading. The script was in her personal handwriting. The ink was faded with time but still legible.
Avery’s heart leapt into her throat and started to race. She scanned the letter but quickly became lost and had to force herself to slow down and go back to the beginning. She fetched the stub of candle sitting on a wooden tray and carried it back over to the stone bench to better illuminate the fragile parchment. A thin edge crumbled in her shaking hands as she attempted to position it better. She leaned in and began to read.
If you are reading this, then you have successfully entered the temple and found the secret closet containing the garments of the gods. If you are reading this, I have to assume you are me, for no other could enter this room. It is for the offspring of the gods only and has been set aside for time without end for our use. You are one of only four godlings who can enter the true temple safely, for it is not located in the physical mortal realm but in the celestial. No true mortal could cross its threshold and trigger its secrets. You have visited the realm of the gods.
I ramble, and time is short. I fear that with the plan we are about to instigate I may forget my heritage, so I write this note to my future self. I—that is, you—and my brother Caerwyn have, after great debate and weighing of the odds, decided to become mortals. If you are reading this, we obviously succeeded, which probably makes this letter moot, but I write it for my (our) peace of mind and as a safety precaution should something go wrong with our plan. By the time that I (you) read this letter, Helga will have had eighteen to twenty years to solidify her hold on the world. The mortals, both animal and human, who have been Caerwyn’s and my charges since our father died, are in grave danger of being enslaved by Helga for all eternity.
Helga has set in play a plan to capture the Well of Souls in Cathair, which the royals of that land have long guarded through a combination of physical presence and through Caerwyn’s influence. I have heard rumours of an assassination plan, but we have been unsuccessful in uncovering its details. Needless to say, to lose the physical Spirit Shield of Cathair would give Helga the opening she needs to seize the capital and take dominion over the souls of the dead awaiting their rebirth. These souls have not been condemned to her realm. My sister grows more and more greedy and jealous of our positions over the earth’s inhabitants.
But for me, personally, the stakes are even higher, for the lives of the non-human population are also at risk. The great spirits of the animals are disappearing. Daily, I stroll through my beloved Faylea and the surrounding forests, and they grow quiet. The animals are disappearing, their voices silenced. But even more shocking is that their spiritual forms are also growing quiet. I (we) are their caretakers and yet, they are not coming to me to pass over. I can only conclude one thing, that they are being snatched away before death and enslaved in the underworld. Twisted to Helga’s desires, it can only bode ill for the world, for they could be unleashed as powerful weapons against all mortal existence. Soon, all life within our dominion will cease to exist.
We are Spirit Shields. We maintain the River of Souls. We are the guardians of the rebirth, the reincarnation of all mortal kind. This is our fight: to free the captured souls in Helga’s clutches. We can do nothing for those already twisted and turned to evil, but I cannot abide the idea that all souls are lost. I have set certain plans in place to slow Helga down, but they will not last forever. I pray that they will last just long enough.
I dare not say more in this letter, lest it fall into the wrong hands, as even in Faylea, I fear that Helga’s spies are in our midst. I have been forced to abdicate my position as High Priestess amongst great discord. I believe that Marea will be the next High Priestess, yet only a godling can be a Spirit Shield. I (we) have worn many faces over epochs of time, but this time I see Helga’s handiwork. Beware of the Flesh Clans, for they worship a dark spirit that can only be Helga.
I go into exile now and will travel to our brother, Caerwyn, to prepare for the transformation. There is a wizard named Mordecai, who can be trusted in all things. He is but a child now, yet he is the only one that Aossi has spoken to, other than the prince and princess whose twins will become our host bodies.
Something desperate is about to happen, and I am powerless to stop it. I can feel the storm approaching. The only one who was ever able to control Helga was our sister Artio, but she has been lost to us for a long time now. Her focus is on the stones and the experiments that she conducts with the moon. I do not believe her plans to be harmful, yet she will not hear a word against Helga.
You must bind the Primordial people together. Civil war is inevitable, and I fear what will have transpired by the time you find this letter. Understand that Helga will stop at nothing to divide all peoples. Her plans work best when humanity is fighting against one another. Divided, they are easy pickings for her minions of the underworld. Remember always, those souls she enslaves are possibly enslaved forever. Twisted over time, they could become an army impossible to defeat in the human realm. We must succeed in our mission.
As mortals, we have a chance to save this world. As mortals, we can have an influence that was not possible as godlings where our influence could not be known. But as mortals, we can take control and lead the living back to the light and into war, if it must be. We are their caretakers, their Spirit Shield.
Choose your path wisely. I say this as a reminder to myself. Although I cannot see into the future, I can see that much death and pain lie along the path before the end. Remember our bond. Remember our people. Remember our strengths. Remember that we are godlings. Remember.
The last word reverberated inside Avery’s skull like a thunderous gong. For the second time that day, she found herself on the floor. The enchanted word sprung the hatch of her memories, and a closed compartment in her mind burst open like a flash of lighting in a stormy sky. The crush of eons of memory made her cry out, and she let go of the paper, which rolled back up and flashed into flame, burning instantly to a fine white powder.
She remembered…she remembered everything.
***
Achak leaned against the wall of the potter’s studio and studied the prisoner cell building, counting the number of guards and patrols. So far three had entered the building but only two had come out, so one guard remained inside and possibly more. He would be wise to assume there were other guards within the building.
It was strange to see any guards, for the Primordials rarely imprisoned anyone. In fact, when Achak had left Faylea a few months ago, this building had been used for grain storage. The Primordials were a direct people. Punishments for crimes or infractions were dealt with immediately and publicly and then forgotten. They considered it barbaric to cage anything, including animals. It was the highest of insults to imprison a person, a severe slight that did not escape Achak’s notice.
It was probable that there was only a single guard left inside, as there was but one exit from the building. The stone exterior was periodically pierced with small round windows, too small for a child to squeeze thorough. No possibility of escape from those, he thought as his eyes continued to study the structure. On the top of the building, grass thatching provided a waterproof roof, yet he knew the ceiling of the cells were thick-beamed timber and mud plaster. Maybe with years to work on it, one could chisel out enough wood to create an opening, assuming one was allowed a knife or other sharp tool. No, he would have to break the woman out by going through the cell door. So, the only question that remained was how to get that door open.
His eyes ran over the thatch once again, and suddenly an idea came to him. He stood up and glanced at the sun, judging the hours left until dark. He would return when it was night to implement his plan. He shoved his hands in his pockets and with stomach rumbling strolled away in search of a meal.
***
Cyrus pulled the
hood of his robes tighter around his face as the Primordial who had recently been his prisoner walked by within spitting distance. At least he thought it was the same one. To his eyes, they all looked the same.
The woman who had come out of the temple was now being held prisoner inside the stone hut, and that interested him greatly. Regardless of who she was, she was important enough to hold in a cell. He recalled the adage from his early legion training: “The enemy of your enemy is your friend.” Whether or not she was a “friend,” she was certainly a form of leverage. How can I use her? That is the question, he thought.
“Do you have any idea who the woman is?” he whispered to his second-in-command. Fullmer grimaced painfully through the disciplinary injuries he had received after allowing the Primordial to slip away from him in the mists.
“No, Lord Cyrus. Although I have seen her before.”
Cyrus’s eyes narrowed at the words. “How could you have seen her before?”
“She was in that flyspeck, sheep-loving village out on the cliffs. Sanctuary-by-the-Sea I think it was called. I remember seeing her there when we rode into town.”
“She comes from the same village as the usurper? Cayden Tiernan?”
“Yes, my lord, I am sure of it.” Fullmer glanced around to make sure they were not being watched.
“Well, isn’t that interesting. I wonder what a Primordial would be doing in Sanctuary-by-the-Sea.” Cyrus rubbed a hand across his jaw, considering the possibilities.
“I believe she lived there. She was dressed like the rest of the commoners.”
“Even more interesting. Now I definitely want her. Come on. I don’t want to be noticed in the area.” He slipped between two buildings, heading for the woods with Fullmer at his heels.
Chapter 18
Captured
CAYDEN RACED DOWN THE STAIRS, taking them two at a time. The maidservant in the hall at the base flattened herself against the wall, soapy water sloshing over the side of her mop bucket and a bemused expression on her face as she watched the young king run past her like a child in a game of tag.
Ryder’s sword clanked against the railing as he launched himself over the side, rather than taking the last few steps, hoping to gain on Cayden’s retreating back.
“Cayden, wait!” he bellowed, his boots pounding down the flagstone. He rounded the corner where Cayden’s flapping coat had just disappeared to see the door at the far end of the gallery hallway swinging shut. Shouldering the partially closed door aside, Ryder took the next five steps in two giant leaps. Landing on the sunny gravel path leading to the stables, he crunched the remaining distance to the barn, halting just inside to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.
“Cayden!” he bellowed. In response to his call, a head poked out of a stall midway down the length of the barn.
“Yes?” Cayden’s head turned in his direction for a second and then disappeared back inside the stall.
“You’re mad, you know that?” Ryder walked up to the stall and leaned his arms on the railing, watching as Cayden tossed a blanket onto the back of a deep-chested stallion with one white sock. “There is no way you are going to be allowed to leave alone. We are going with you.”
“Fine, but you better be ready when I leave because I am not waiting for you. You will just have to catch up.” Cayden tossed the saddle onto the back of the chestnut and tightened the cinch, eliciting a grunt from the horse as he tugged it tight. Cayden tugged on the girth strap once more when it exhaled.
“You won’t leave without me.” Ryder smirked over the stall wall. Cayden glanced up at him, and his eyes caught on an object in Ryder’s hands. Ryder was holding his satchel in his beefy grip, swinging it back and forth. “I know you don’t go anywhere without this.”
Cayden made to snatch it from his hands, but Ryder stepped back, grinning. “I will be back in thirty minutes, and you will be right here.” Ryder walked out of the barn, whistling for his knights, who materialized out of the shadows. “Thirty minutes, gentlemen, and then I expect you saddled and ready to ride!”
Thirty minutes later, the clop-clop-clop of horseshoes on cobblestone and clanking armor announced the knight’s arrival. Cayden stood by his mount, impatiently twitching the reins back and forth in his hand. He peered between the stone buildings to where the knights’ horses were housed, the stable located at a side gate out of the castle grounds. Spying Ryder, he barely restrained himself from running over to him. Instead, he crossed his arms and glared at him, Ryder rode up beside Cayden, refusing to meet his eyes. Cayden swung up into his saddle and said, with a low growl, “You know, Ryder, you can be a royal pain.”
“Of course, Your Majesty, it is my duty.” Ryder bowed low, hiding his smirk. He held out Cayden’s satchel to him. Cayden took the satchel then clouted Ryder on the back of his head. Ryder’s yelp followed him as he walked the big chestnut out into the courtyard and he smiled. Ryder rubbed the back of his head and, still smirking, heeled his mount to follow Cayden.
At that moment, Denzik appeared with twenty grizzled, battle-hardened Kingsmen. As soon as he saw Ryder and the newly minted knights assembled looking as though they intended to ride with them, he pulled Ryder off to the side. The two men began to argue, hands waving and pointing at both the castle and the distant mountains, each man frowning and shaking his head until finally Ryder rolled his head skyward as if praying, cracked his neck to each side and then nodded his acceptance of the instructions with a grimace.
Satisfied, they rode over to the king. “Sire, a change in plans,” said Denzik. “Young Ryder here believes the knights could use more training and are reluctant to leave the castle with minimal fortification. They have volunteered to stay behind and continue their training and see to the defence of the castle in your absence.”
Cayden studied Ryder’s sour expression as Ryder grimaced then echoed Denzik’s words. “We cannot leave the castle undefended, and Denzik and his men know the hills better than I, having fought many a campaign in those mountains. They will be of better service and protection on this venture.”
Cayden nodded acceptance of the change in plan, his thoughts already drifting back to Ziona. “Where is Mordecai?” he muttered, impatiently. His words seemed to produce the wizard as Mordecai sauntered around the edge of the garden wall, leading an old mare as grey as his beard. She was painted with symbols that Cayden could only wonder at. The saddlebags bulged with large square objects. Mordecai refused to be parted from his books.
Cayden refused to show curiosity and studiously ignored them all, staring off into the distance in the direction he sensed Ziona to be. She was headed directly for Avery. Ziona was not answering his silent call, but perhaps Avery would.
Avery, can you hear me? Where are you right now? I am coming to you.
He waited a moment, and then a voice whispered in his mind: Cayden! It’s so good to hear your voice! Do not come to Faylea! They are not friendly to outsiders, and I fear your reception will not be what you expect. I am being retained by the High Priestess right now, although I do not know why…well, maybe I do…but she is no friend to us.
Where is Father? Cayden asked through the bond.
He is here but hurt. I will take care of him. Do not fear. I have so much to talk to you about, but we need to meet face-to-face. Do you remember the path leading to the Thunder Falls? There is a wayfarer cabin there. Meet me there in five days. I will figure a way to get out of this…place.
Are you sure you do not need help escaping? Why would they detain you? What is going on?
I cannot say, Cayden. Not now. There is too much to tell. I will find a way out. They will not hold me forever. They do not dare.
OK. Be careful! There are enemies everywhere.
I know. See you in five days.
Ryder rode up beside Cayden and examined his blank expression. “Talking to Avery? Or Ziona?” Ryder had learned of the bond from Ziona during one of their discussions after the battle and had been amazed to know that a form of t
elepathy existed between them. His childhood friend had morphed into royalty and something more. They had all changed. “Sending her telepathic love notes?” he ribbed, chuckling. “Just imagine, you could say anything to her, and no one would know what you said unless you gave it away by blushing.” The colour rose in Cayden’s neck at the thought of saying anything suggestive to Ziona. The very thought heated his blood. “See? Just like that. You are turning as red as a—”
“Ryder, shut up.”
Laughing, Ryder gripped Cayden’s shoulder. “Be very careful, Cayden. Watch for enemies. It is difficult to tell friend from foe right now.”
Cayden looked back at him and squinted against the glare of the sun. He raised his hand and rubbed at the persistent headache. Ryder noted the darkening circles under his eyes and the fine lines of strain in the creases.
“Avery. I was talking to Avery, not Ziona. She is in some sort of trouble. It follows her like a swarm of mosquitoes.” Cayden’s head swung back to where he thought Avery to be. “We will meet up with her in five days at the wayfarer cabin by the path to the Thunder Falls. Let’s get going,” he said in a louder voice. He nudged his horse into motion, and the Kingsmen fell in beside and behind him, the gates to the castle grounds opening at their approach. They clattered over the drawbridge and into the cobblestone streets of the city proper. A great cheer arose as they trotted out into the city. Ryder watched them depart then swung back toward the castle, dragging his feet to his duty.
