by KS Villoso
He allowed her to guide himself into her. “Kefier,” she said, and in the spark of an instant, he forgave her for the past three years, for leaving him behind, for all the things she had done and was about to do to him. Everything else became inconsequential. So what if she thought she loved someone else? So what if she was still going to walk away from him after this? It was his name on her lips. To hell with the rest of the world.
Buried inside her, his hips rocking a tight rhythm, he placed his lips over her ear. “Pretend you’re mine tonight,” he murmured.
“I’ve never had to pretend,” she whispered. There were tears in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it meant and wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. At the cusp of desperation and desire, he felt her lips brush against his cheek. “Do the same.”
“Pretend I’m yours?”
Her teeth grazed his neck. “Yes.”
“Heart and soul, Sume,” Kefier breathed, meaning every word.
She closed her eyes.
~~~
Kefier awakened in the morning to find himself alone in bed. He gazed at the sheets around the floor before allowing his eyes to settle on the table. Her pack was gone. So was Oji’s sword.
Last night’s memories returned, every heady detail a beacon that seemed to light his mind on fire. He was right, wasn’t he? She did make it impossible for him to stay away. Even now, he could still taste her on his lips, his every muscle aching for her warmth. If she knew the madness she drove him to, she would be cruel not to put him out of his misery.
Carefully, he began to put his clothes back on. There was a strait he needed to traverse, lives he needed to protect. He was tired of fighting the truth. He belonged to them, even if they would not have him.
Interlude
Rosha finds it easier to breathe when Arn is not around. It means sitting with Dai in an office while Master Yn Garr—who calls himself King Agartes, now—rifles through a pile of musty books and scrolls, but she has brought her own book and thinks she can keep herself reasonably amused.
Dai turns to her. She has only seen him a few times in the past three years, and he seems to grow bigger and taller each time. There are red blemishes on his face and a thin, caterpillar-like moustache on his upper lip. A handful of black hairs are also growing from his chin. “I don’t know how you can be so calm at a time like this,” he says, speaking in Jinan.
“Perhaps you’d prefer if I start screaming and throwing my hands up in the air,” she says.
Dai snorts.
Rosha returns to her book. It is about myths and legends from Baidh, and is about the only thing she can find in Fort Oras that has nothing to do with the agan or wars that Dageis had fought in. The last thing she needs is to be deeply entrenched in everything that is happening around her. Books offer a respite, at least.
But the shuffling, from the other corner in the room, suddenly becomes too distracting. She finds herself shutting the book and approaching Yn Garr. “What are you looking for?” she asks.
The king makes a sound in the back of his throat. “They had mages here,” he says. “Poorly trained mages, and not nearly enough to justify having them in the first place, but mages nonetheless. Occasionally, an army officer in a situation like this may have brought home an obscure tome from the market in an attempt to educate himself. Sometimes, the most arcane knowledge can be held inside an unkempt book within the belongings of a mundane mind.”
He pulls back from the shelf and sighs. “But, as luck would have it, this is not that sort of situation. Everything they have here, we have in our library in Cael. How The Agan Works. The Flow of Life. Mechanics of the Agan. Baby books.” He flings the book in his hand across the table.
“You want to know how Myar ended up inside Dai, don’t you?”
Yn Garr turns to her, as if her words somehow make him see her for the first time. His eyes gleam. “Tell me what you know about that,” he says.
Dai makes a sound of protest. She ignores him. “Not much. I was still an infant when it happened, but Papa told me that Dai wouldn’t wake up and that they called Ichi rok Sagar, my grandmother Narani’s son, to help. He knows about the agan because he grew up in Xiaro. They don’t use the agan there like they do in Dageis but they’ve got mages who study how it works, too.”
Yn Garr’s face brightens. “Stay here,” he says, striding out of the room.
Rosha blinks. She returns to her seat beside Dai and begins to read again.
“You shouldn’t help him,” Dai murmurs, after a period of silence.
“What do you mean?”
“Myar is frightened,” Dai says.
“Did he tell you that?”
Dai shakes his head. “He doesn’t talk to me like that. I feel what he’s feeling, if he’s close enough. We only spoke briefly, when I slipped into the agan and Sagar was trying to push him out of my body. He begged me to let him stay.”
“So it was your choice that he’s here now?”
“I don’t know. I feel like he would’ve stayed, even if I hadn’t let him. Would’ve found a way. Stubborn. He tells me when he takes over, but doesn’t let me say no. I’ve stopped trying, over the years.” He leans his head against the wall.
Rosha hears the door open. Yn Garr walks in, followed by a woman with flowing, black hair and very pale skin. “Thiri Anu-Sthura,” Yn Garr says, indicating the woman. “I hired her from Xiaro as my war consultant. These are my wards, Anu-Sthura. Kirosha Tar’elian, daughter of Enosh Tar’elian, and Dai alon gar Kaggawa.”
She bows towards them. Rosha stares back, still stuck on the name Yn Garr introduced her with. So he knew about Enosh being her father, too. Everyone, it seems, has lied to her.
The woman, Anu-Sthura, now crosses the room towards Dai. Without saying a word, she grabs Dai’s wrist. Her eyes briefly flicker blue. Rosha gets up, curious. A moment later, Dai gives a strangled cry. “What was that for?” he snaps, his voice higher now.
“Myar,” Rosha says.
“Rosha,” Myar replies. “Tell this woman that what she just did was uncalled for. She pushed Dai away. If I hadn’t returned…”
“He might have fallen into another deep sleep,” Sthura replied.
“Or worse,” Myar growls.
“So it’s a good thing you took over,” Sthura says. She turns to Yn Garr. “This is your son?” she asks.
Yn Garr nods. “I…” He steps towards Dai. After a moment of hesitation, he places a hand on his shoulder.
“Da,” Myar says. “You look well.” He reaches up and wraps his arms around Yn Garr.
Yn Garr stands still. Eventually, he closes his eyes, placing a hand on Dai’s back. “My son,” he whispers. He pulls away. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“For not having come sooner, to stop what happened from happening. For everything. For…” He swallows. “A thousand times, maybe more, I must have thought of what I would say if I ever saw you again. I never dreamed I would ever get the chance.” He turns to Sthura. “Can you explain any of this for me?”
“Keep in mind I myself do not have a connection to the agan, so I never had training for it,” Sthura says.
Dai looks up. “What you did—”
“A trick,” Sthura replies. “I learned while growing up with my sisters.
“Back home, we are taught that the soul itself is made of agan that, like congealed blood, has become its own substance. Traversing the streams, one can find oneself across the fabric to the land we call Sheyor’r. Here, you may look like what you did in life itself, retaining some of your memories and characteristics, or you may transcend your own form if you are self-aware.
“This world and Sheyor’r occupies the same space. My understanding is that we can affect Sheyor’r the same way Sheyor’r can affect us. A candle, offered at an ancestor’s tomb, may draw the soul of that ancestor back to that space. Memories. Rituals.” She glances at Yn Garr. “Your very self.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Sthura turns back to Dai. “What called you?” she asks.
“Da did,” Myar replies.
“As I figured.” Sthura looks pleased with herself. “Your son responded to your voice, reaching out across the fabric and into Sheyor’r. He encounters this body. For some reason, he is able to slip in.”
“But how?” Yn Garr asks.
“I have read that this is possible if the body is inert, but its owner’s soul has slipped through the fabric. In Ziri-nar-Orxiaro, we call this sleepwalking. A body whose owner is out sleepwalking leaves itself open for invasion. Most souls will usually bypass the opportunity—it is an unnatural thing—but if something calls out to them, like what must have happened with your boy, they can and will go through.”
“People drawing from the agan can slip through the fabric,” Rosha breaks in. “Dai’s blind to it, though. He shouldn’t have been able to do that.”
“External factors may do it. Was there another mage around the time this happened?”
“Sagar drew Dai back in,” Rosha says.
“But the first time,” Yn Garr says. “Dai’s soul slipped out when Gaven wounded him during the attack at Lake Enji. Who else was there?” He turns to Dai.
“I don’t remember,” Myar says. “I heard your voice. I went inside the body. But I did nothing, I didn’t move, for a long time.”
“This attack at Lake Enji,” Sthura breaks in. “Could it be the same one where you first unleashed Naijwa’s beast?”
“Dageian texts speak of how deaths open doors for the agan stream, allowing the soul to slip to the other side,” Yn Garr says. “But it is also said that they are open not nearly long enough for another soul to go back the other way.”
“Doors?” Sthura snorts. “Dageis would say that. We call them tears on the fabric separating our world from Sheyor’r. Small enough, they heal. I highly doubt your creature makes ‘small tears’. I’m inclined to think that setting it upon a settlement creates giant rifts we cannot see. A mage worth her salt might find plenty to study in Fort Oras.”
Yn Garr crosses the room, returning to the papers on his desk. “There was one there,” he says. “Not a giant rift. Small, too small. It killed less than a hundred Dageians—the rest fell to Hafed swords. There was a larger one in Enji, but I didn’t think…” His face tightens. “I called you, you said, Myar.”
“Yes, Da.”
“You heard me because you’ve been waiting. That must mean everyone else—your brothers and sisters…”
“They moved on, Da,” Myar says. “Only Vayna and I stayed behind. You were gone too long.”
The silence settles on them like a blanket. Rosha cannot read Yn Garr’s expression, but she feels a sense of helplessness, of having stepped into the water only to realize that one cannot swim after all. Yn Garr settles into the chair. “Rifts will open when we attack Drusgaya,” he murmurs. “I can call them back.”
“Only if they are around to be called,” Sthura points out.
“The ones that have moved on—are they somewhere else in this Sheyor’r? Deeper into this land?”
“Who can say?” Sthura says. “Our belief is that these souls return, to live all over again.”
“It is the same belief in the Kag,” Yn Garr murmurs. “Yohak of the Wood calls them back, erasing everything there ever was for the chance to start anew. If that is what happened, then everyone else is truly gone from me.” He folds his hands over the table.
“Da…” Myar begins.
“I’ve known it, of course,” he says. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. The important thing is that you’re here. And Vayna, too, if what you’re saying is true. If we can somehow recreate what happened in Enji, so we can have Vayna back with us. If we destroy Drusgaya…”
“Da,” Myar says. “You want to destroy an entire city to call Vayna to you?”
Yn Garr looks at him. “Have you not been paying attention? I am invading the city, anyway.”
“You told us you meant to attack Drusgaya and then allow them to push you back to Lon Basden. Let them think they won, so that they will concede Lon Basden to Hafod’s control,” Sthura says. “Destroying Drusgaya? We cannot even hope to hold it if we win it at all. What…”
“Have you started to question me, Anu-Sthura?”
She hesitates before dropping her head. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“The more people it kills, the larger these rifts,” he continues, staring at the map. “If we begin our attack here, we could maximize the damage. Hit the residential districts first. Are you listening, Anu-Sthura?”
“Yes,” she says. Rosha notices that the blood seems to have left her face. She nervously walks to the edge of the table to peer at Yn Garr’s map. “I will…I will have to study this. What you told me …”
“I understand. Consider this new revelation when we begin our next move. I trust your judgment.”
Sthura bows, stiffly, before striding out of the door.
“An entire city for one child, Da,” Myar says, as soon as the door closes. “Can you not stop to think about this?”
“Dageis took you all from me,” Yn Garr murmurs. “I have spent the last hundred years trying to figure out a way to strike back at them somehow. Killing Offren, only to lose the peninsula anyway…” He drops his eyes. “Discovering Naijwa’s beast offered me that chance. I would need another thousand years to gather an army with the power the creature has. It was problematic, at first, in the years when we had to rely on tunnels to move it, but after it swallowed the dragon and grew wings, the possibilities…”
“This is not war, Da,” Myar says. “You will be killing innocents.”
Yn Garr turns to him. “You do not know the darkness I’ve had to live with since I lost you.”
“I do know, Da,” Myar replies. “When you lost us, we lost you, too. It doesn’t mean you have to sink to this. Da, you’re a hero. You built Cael and Kiel with your own two hands.”
“The same hands I will use to destroy Dageis,” he says. “Leave me be, the both of you. Find some other thing to amuse yourselves with.”
The sound of his voice turns down a terrifying road. Rosha feels Dai—or Myar’s—hand on her shoulder. He leads her out of the room. “Can’t we stop him?” Rosha asks, alone with him in the hall.
“He found a way to defy death,” Myar whispers. “He was always so stubborn. My brother Gorrhen thought it would destroy us all. He was right.”
“What do you mean?”
His eyes soften. “Nevermind, little one. This is not your sorrow.”
“It is, now. My whole family’s entangled in this mess. I don’t even know where my parents are, what he did to Papa.” She feels her throat tighten. “What do I do, Myar?”
“I wish I knew,” Myar murmurs. “I wish he would listen. But he never listened.” The sound of his voice terrifies Rosha beyond her understanding.
Chapter Eleven
Halfmoon Bay was the name given to the city across Drusgaya’s bridges. Set around the mouth of the inlet, it was a mix of residences and businesses, including a vast array of farmland the further south you went. It was also where Dageis’ main military command, Fort Bastras, was based, in a large compound consisting of three barracks and an entire building, with its own courtyard, set aside for the mages’ use.
The soldiers led Sume through Fort Bastras, where they were told that Tribune Amiren’s party had come through three days ago. The Sweet Balla had taken a lot longer to navigate through the strait and coastline than the larger, oared ships of the Dageian military. Another soldier arrived to take Sume to the mages’ building.
They passed an arched garden way, where small cherry trees have begun to bloom, their tips fringed with tight, pink buds. Sume thought it was a good omen, considering. The cherry blossoms in Akki looked a lot different—white, instead of pink—but the sight of them reminded her of the childhood she had long left behind. She placed a hand on Oji’s sword. The warmth of the hilt brought her
more comfort than she had expected.
They reached the gates, which opened from within. A robed woman arrived to take Sume past the main hall and into a small, circular room with stained glass windows. Enosh was sitting with his back to the door, one hand draped over the empty seat beside him. He looked bored.
Sume turned to the other faces of the room and, as she predicted, caught sight of Bannal sitting from across Enosh.
She tugged the chair beside him. He glanced up at her, surprised. “I wasn’t told you were here,” he said. He let her sit, placing his hand on top of hers. She quickly withdrew it, placing her hands on her knees instead. When he cast her a puzzled glance, she cleared her throat, nodding towards Bannal.
Bannal looked irritated at the interruption, but continued talking. “The problem with these barriers, Keeper Solat, is that we don’t know what the effect will be when the energy collides. It is also rather impossible to create barriers throughout the entire city. He can simply attack where the barriers don’t exist.”
Enosh laughed. “For once, I agree with him. I slipped through the agan stream the last time I tried to do something similar.”
“Something which I’d warned you about,” Sapphire grumbled. She was sitting on Enosh’s left. “King Agartes is too unpredictable. We still don’t know how he plans to use the creature against Drusgaya. He doesn’t have the manpower to hold the city. He may just be counting on the idea that we don’t want to risk killing it right in our midst, but depending on what he does, we may have no choice.”
“We can aim for whoever’s controlling it from its back,” Bannal broke in.
Enosh stood up. “Yn Garr would be using a child, Bearer Kastor. You can’t—”
“Your child. We know,” Bannal said in a low voice. “One sacrifice, Tar’elian, unless you have a better idea?”
