by Giles Carwyn
“I used to think that way,” Brophy said, suddenly feeling an intense dislike for this man. He breathed through his anger and touched the pocket that held the shard of his father’s heartstone.
“Were you right to think that way?” the priest asked.
Brophy paused. They were a few steps inside a set of towering doors that led outside into the imperial gardens. A light rain fell on the myriad flowers beyond and Brophy could smell the wet earth.
“What do you mean?”
“Were you right to think that all would be made clear to you when the time was right?”
Brophy thought back to that moment when he took the Test. He remembered the blinding pain and flood of joy when he thrust the shard of the Heartstone into his chest and heard Her voice clearly for the first time.
“Do you regret the part you played in the struggle against the shadows?” the priest continued. “Do you resent the years you lost, the burden you still carry?”
Brophy reached into his pocket and squeezed Brydeon’s heartstone in his fist. He had a sudden urge to yank it out and plunge it into the old man’s eye. But the more he held it, the calmer he became.
“I don’t know what I think anymore,” he said tightly. “My mind is not my own. My heart betrays me.”
“Yet here you are, searching for a better view.”
Brophy paused. The priest was leading him somewhere, steering him with this conversation, but he couldn’t see where. “I suppose I am.”
“Remember, a lifetime of choices brought you to this spot. You chose over and over again the path that led you to this moment, standing next to me. You were not bought here like a babe in arms by Lady Arefaine or His Eternal Wisdom. You walked here as a man on your own two feet.”
Brophy stared closely into Dewland’s powdered face. He had fierce gray eyes under a deeply creased brow, etched with decades of concern. Brophy wasn’t sure how much he should confide in this man. Was he a rival of Arefaine’s or a potential ally? And where did Brophy’s own loyalty lie? Was he following Arefaine’s sleeve or the dead emperor’s? Or was he trying to follow his own?
“Do you support Arefaine as regent?” he decided to ask.
“Absolutely. His Eternal Wisdom and I discussed the succession extensively before he left for Ohndarien.”
“Then you knew he would die?”
“I knew everything, Brophy. I helped His Eternal Wisdom choose the exact words he spoke to you before his death. All of this has been planned for years. Perhaps it has been planned since Oh went into his cave.”
Brophy hissed. “Enough prophecy and mysticism!” His voice echoed in the long hallway. “Speak your mind. What do you want from me?”
Dewland paused, taking a long breath before speaking. “A better question might be: What are you seeking from me?”
Brophy’s lip curled. “I want answers. I want an end to these stupid, cryptic puzzles. I want it simple. What is this choice that Arefaine will have to make on Efften? How do you expect me to help her make the right one?”
“I will answer all of your questions very soon, but there are two things I would like to show you in the garden first.”
Brophy glared at the priest.
“Please, I assure you. The vagueness, the delays, the incomplete information were all crafted to make your task easier, not more difficult.”
“How does herding me like a sheep make anything easier?”
Dewland smiled at him and shrugged. “Will you come?” he asked with that infuriatingly calm tone.
Brophy stalked outside into the steady rain. The old priest had to hurry to keep up with him. The gardens were strangely comforting. The towering May Dragon trees hid the gray skies behind a leafy green canopy. They felt like loyal sentries protecting a sacred space. The gardens were carefully arranged, but still felt natural and welcoming. He looked around with different eyes and slowly regained his composure. Despite the unnaturally thick vegetation and constant rain, he realized this was the most comforting place he had yet found in Ohohhom.
“The peace of Oh flows down from his cave into these gardens,” Dewland said, as though sensing Brophy’s emotions.
He glanced up the hill, spotting the winding path up the mountainside through a gap in the leaves.
“I think the quiet rain and the trees have more to do with it,” he said.
“Oh’s reflection stares out from all things.”
The priest’s platitudes annoyed Brophy, but he kept his silence as they continued through the gardens for a few minutes. Brophy paused when he noticed a section of the mosaic path they were walking on. It showed a single eye, black as night. A tear fell from the corner of the blackened orb.
“What is this? What are we walking on?”
“This is the Path of Oh. The mosaics start on the Dragon Bridge and continue halfway up the mountain. The images tell the story of Oh’s life.”
“Arefaine told me much of his story. I know he corrupted himself and then sacrificed his life to lock the black emmeria away. Is that what this shows, his corruption?”
“Indeed it does. The images on this path tell the entire story from his humble birth to his transcendence and betrayal.”
Brophy tapped the image with his toe. “So this god you revere so much was once a man like any other?”
“He was.”
“And he discovered magic.”
“The sacred flames have always existed, but Oh was the first to embrace them.”
“I heard he got a little too close.”
Dewland nodded. “Long ago, they called black emmeria the smoke from the sacred fire. Oh used those flames to unite the twelve tribes and defend them from their many enemies. But he did so at terrible personal cost. After wrestling so long with that dragon, he finally accepted that the allure of such great power was too much for any man to resist. He turned his back on the flames and gave his life to remove that temptation from the world.”
“That certainly didn’t stop the mages of Efften from perfecting the work he started.”
Dewland paused. “Arefaine didn’t tell you the rest, did she?”
“The rest of what?”
“The rest of the story.”
He paused. “No. She didn’t.”
Dewland nodded and a bitter frown tightened his powdered lips. “Let me show you.” He led Brophy farther along the path, telling the story that followed the images below their feet.
At first they traveled the story that Brophy already knew. It showed the emperor’s unsuccessful struggle to resist the black emmeria and his eventual sacrifice to lock it away forever. His restraint and self-sacrifice was the cornerstone upon which the entire Ohohhim culture was built.
Father Dewland stopped over an image of a simple silver tomb standing alone in a cave. “This is where the story should have ended,” he said. “This was to be the end of that abomination. But the call of power is hard to resist, and some could not see the wisdom in Oh’s decision.”
The next image showed a man standing next to Oh’s coffin, his face turned in rage toward the heavens. Dewland walked slowly from image to image, narrating as he went. “After Oh’s sacrifice, his disciples fought for control of the empire. The twelve kingdoms splintered and fell into a long and bloody civil war. The leader of the rebels was once Oh’s most talented pupil, a man named Efflum, who had lost his wife in a war with the Vizai. He blamed the emperor for his wife’s death and refused to follow Oh’s example. He lost the war and was banished from the empire, but he and his followers returned to Ohohhom in disguise and fought their way into Oh’s cave. The emperor’s supporters tried to collapse the tunnel to seal Oh’s tomb. Efflum survived, but many of his comrades were crushed by the falling rubble. In his rage, Efflum killed his rivals and stole Oh’s silver coffin.”
The images stopped at an elaborate wooden gate in the garden wall. Beyond it, the path continued up the valley toward the Cave of Oh.
“He stole it?” Brophy asked. “Why?”
; “Power. All the tainted ani in the world was trapped within that coffin. Ever since his wife died, Efflum was cursed by an insatiable thirst for power.”
“What did he do with it?”
“He fled to an island in the middle of the Great Ocean. Several hundred of his followers joined him, and together they released the foul magic from Oh’s coffin and used it to found the nation of Efften.”
“So the archmages of Efften were all renegades from the Opal Empire?”
“The first of them, yes. They turned their back on Oh and left their homes in treachery and disgrace. We tried three times to invade and punish Efflum’s betrayal. We failed three times. They freely used magic that we refused to touch and tens of thousands lost their lives in the attempt.”
“Does this path tell the rest of that story?”
“It does.”
“I would like to see it.”
“I would like you to see it also, but our Mother Regent has ordered this gate to be locked, something that has never before happened in my lifetime.”
“Why?”
“Perhaps she does not want you to visit the Cave of Oh. Perhaps she is afraid of what you will hear there.”
“You fear her, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, very much,” he said, though his tone was as calm as ever.
“Why?”
He smiled gently. “Let me show you.”
Dewland led Brophy off the main path back into the gardens, past the dripping ferns and meticulously manicured shrubs to a place where the foliage was overgrown. Twisting vines stretched across the ground and wrapped around a particularly beautiful tree with wide branches and fat leaves. Red blossoms speckled the boughs.
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Brophy asked.
“It is. I was Arefaine’s teacher when she was growing up,” Dewland said, stopping in front of the tree and turning to face Brophy. “I was her second teacher. A man named Father Lewlem was the first.”
Brophy nodded, wondering again at the light that constantly accompanied her, at what she must have done to create such a thing.
Dewland looked up at the red-blossomed tree. “This tree was planted to mark the spot where that great man died. Arefaine killed him when she was still a child.” He watched Brophy’s reaction, but Brophy kept his emotions carefully hidden. “Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that the black emmeria killed him. It appeared to be a normal death. He was an old man, but the truth was never in doubt. Father Lewlem and I were very good friends. We spoke often of his struggles with the girl and his fears of what she was capable of.”
“That was years ago. She was a child.”
“In many ways she is still that child.”
“So you don’t believe that she can redeem herself?” Brophy fought with his emotions. “You don’t believe she can escape what has been done to her?”
Dewland looked up at him. The old man’s skin crinkled around gray eyes filled with emotion. “She must redeem herself. That is our only hope.”
“Then tell me how. What does she need to do?”
“What did the emperor tell you?”
“He said I had to teach a lost child how to love.”
“What do you think he meant?”
“I think he wanted me to seduce her, manipulate her in some way.”
“Have you seduced her?”
“No,” he said, his voice tight.
“Why not?”
“Because I care more about her than your emperor and his plans for her!”
“I see,” Dewland said with a slight bow. “I don’t blame you. I, too, have great affection for her. She is extraordinary in so many ways.”
“Isn’t that a crime here?” Brophy spat, wrestling with his temper.
The priest nodded. “I suppose it is.” He walked up to the tree, touched some of the leaves. “I took Arefaine’s education upon myself after Lewlem’s death. I worked with her for years. When she was thirteen, I took her back to this place, told her what she had done. She has not spoken to me since that day.”
Brophy said nothing.
“The young woman has an amazing capacity to avoid what she doesn’t want to see.”
“That’s a very human trait.”
“Yes, but some have it more than others.”
Brophy took a deep, easy breath. He was quickly losing patience with this man. “You promised to speak plainly. I’m still waiting for you to keep your word.”
“Very well. I wasn’t sure if you truly understand how dangerous she is. Arefaine will not hesitate to kill anyone who thwarts her desires.”
“I know that.”
“And she still believes that she controls the black emmeria, when, in fact, it controls her.”
“I know that as well. But I believe she can overcome it.”
“That is very admirable. I hope you are right, but I question how well you know Arefaine.”
“I know her well enough.”
“Really? What does she desire more than anything else?”
Brophy closed his eyes and imagined her curled naked around him as he pretended to sleep.
“She wants what everybody wants. She wants to be loved.”
“Precisely. She is hungry for love, for home, family, acceptance.”
“Do you blame her, after the way you’ve treated her all these years?”
Dewland lowered his eyes and let out a little breath. “That was hardly an accident, you realize.”
“What?”
“The emperor chose to isolate her. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, to treat her so coldly.”
“You did that on purpose?”
“To our shame, yes. We could think of no other way.”
Brophy snarled and grabbed the little man by the front of his cloak. “Other way to do what?”
Dewland put his wrinkled old hands on top of Brophy’s.
“Please, Brophy, this anger is not your own.”
“A lot of it is!”
For the first time, Brophy saw a flicker of fear in Dewland’s eyes. It sent a cool thrill through him.
“You must understand what we are up against,” Dewland said.
“No one knows better than me what we are up against,” Brophy hissed. “I was trapped in that dark hell for eighteen years!”
“And Arefaine was in there for three hundred. She committed her first murder at three years old. She killed Father Lewlem because he wouldn’t let her eat poisonous berries.”
“She was a child!”
“Yes. A child who could destroy the world.” Dewland looked pointedly at Brophy and he relaxed his grip on the old man’s cloak. “How would you parent such a creature?” Dewland asked. “How would you bring a soul who had spent lifetimes in the darkness back into the light?”
“With compassion,” Brophy said. “With love and tenderness. Not with manipulation and neglect.”
“You would have shown her love?”
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t, have you?”
Brophy picked the priest up and slammed him against the trunk of Lewlem’s tree.
Dewland swallowed and chose his next words very carefully. “I’m not condemning you. Arefaine is not very easy to love.”
“That has nothing to do with her.”
“You are in love with the Zelani?”
“Yes.”
“And not in love with Arefaine?”
Brophy paused, took a deep breath. “We are becoming closer.”
“But you are not in love with her?”
“No. I’m not.”
Dewland slowly nodded. “That is unfortunate, but, in the end, you don’t have to love her. She has to love you. That is all that matters.”
“Enough!” Brophy roared, pounding him against the tree again. “Enough of your riddles. Tell me what I need to know.”
Dewland placed his hands gently on Brophy’s shoulders. “I will tell you everything I can, but you must promise me you will go to the cave first. F
ind a way past the gate. Go there and listen for the Voice of Oh. It is the only thing that can convince you to see the wisdom in what you will surely call madness.”
Brophy shook him. “Just tell me.”
Dewland paused for a moment. His brows drew together, but then he sighed. “Arefaine must complete what Oh started. She must bring all of the black emmeria to Efften and—”
“You want her to kill herself! You want her to sacrifice her own life to contain the emmeria forever.”
Dewland nodded. “Yes. That is the only path—”
Brophy threw Dewland away in disgust. The old man flew into the bushes and rolled across the ground. “You disgust me.”
“Brophy, she must—”
“She must? She must! What about you? What must you do?” Brophy pounded his fists together to keep them away from the old man’s neck. “There’s a dragon out there, a dragon that needs to be killed. Yet you’re perfectly happy to feed your children to the beast rather than go face it yourself.”
“Brophy, I would face that beast if I could, but I don’t have that kind of power. None of us have that kind of power. None except her.”
“She’s the only one. The only person who can kill the man from my dreams?”
“She is. But slaying him would be pointless. If she killed him, who would be left to kill her? Ani is the problem. The sacred fire burns all that it touches. It must be contained forever. She must finish what Oh started.”
Brophy’s lip curled in disgust. “Arefaine will never throw away her life for the likes of you. And I wouldn’t let her even if she wanted to.”
The old priest sat up with a wince, cradling his arm against his chest. “She might,” he said softly. “To save your life. She might do it for love.”
Chapter 6
Ossamyr paused at the rail of the little bridge shrouded in mist. A series of waterfalls spilled over moss-covered rocks in front of her, so close she could almost touch them. Behind her, over the other rail, the mountainside dropped away to nothing, the water falling a hundred feet before plunging into a narrow pool.
She couldn’t hear any birds or forest creatures. The light drizzle camouflaged all other sounds except the distant roar of the waterfall far below. She was so high on the mountainside that she was practically lost in the clouds. She couldn’t even see the city anymore, and the palace was a dark blur lost in the haze. She tracked the course of the river as it snaked down the narrow valley over a series of cascades and disappeared into underground tunnels beneath the Opal Palace. Ossamyr had used those tunnels to slip past the palace into this narrow valley. She hadn’t even gotten wet doing it. Like everything in the Opal Empire, the Ohohhim storm sewers were clean and well made, with broad pathways on either side of the river course. She hadn’t seen a single lock or sentry anywhere in the palace. Any Ohohhim with the courage to step out of line would find herself in a thief’s paradise.
