by Elina Vale
The wind blew, and Shri shivered in her wet clothes as the memory passed.
Was the modest cottage before her the home of gods? She had expected something different. Maybe a palace? Sniffling, she wiped her running nose with her sleeve and started across the meadow. She walked to the top of one hill, then another, but it seemed she never came any closer to the cottage. Whether by magic or divine mystery, the cottage remained the same distance away no matter how many times Shri crossed the hillside. She glanced around. There was nothing else.
Tired and shivering, she sat down and crossed her legs.
She closed her eyes.
The hay and tall flowers tickled her hands and face. Bugs buzzed and skittered around her. The wind was warm, but she shivered.
A quick sense of disorientation swooshed past her.
She opened her eyes to find that she was sitting before the cottage.
Standing up, she wiped her trousers and stepped forward. She didn’t peek through the windows, but bravely knocked on the door four times.
A woman opened the door. She was not much older than Shri. Her white, wiry hair coiled at her waist, and she wore a simple blue tunic without any decoration. She shone with a sense of serenity and peace.
“Good evening,” Shri greeted.
“It’s relatively late for a visit, isn’t it?”
Shri nodded. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to arrive so late.”
“Come back when it’s light out.”
“If you’ll forgive me,” Shri said, “I am in a bit of a hurry.”
The woman wrapped her arms around herself. “You people... always so hasty with your lives. But I know who you are and why you have come. Please, come in, Shri. You may call me Solige.”
Shri had no idea who the woman was, how she knew her name, and why she was here in this cottage. Shri remembered the tale Roxana had told her about the goddesses, but she didn't recall anything about a cottage or a woman named Solige. She followed Solige inside and found herself in a cozy little residence. There was a fireplace crackling with comforting flames. The smell of food lingered in the air, which Shri assumed came from the pot above the fire. A small round table stood between four chairs, across from a featherbed on the far side.
Solige gestured her to sit on the chair near the fire.
The warmth dried Shri’s clothing. “Is this your home?” she asked. “It’s lovely.”
“I am here when I need to be.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes, it’s one of my homes.”
“Are you...” Shri didn’t know how to ask.
“Am I what?”
“...alone in here?” Shri said, closely examining Solige.
The woman merely smiled, pouring tea into a mug. “We are never truly alone.” She offered the mug to Shri. “The world breathes with us. For now.”
“Do I even want to know what that means?” Shri mumbled, sipping from the mug. The warm liquid was sweet. It traveled down her throat and washed away her fatigue in an instant.
“I think you don’t need to know more,” Solige said. “What you need to do, however, if you wish to claim the throne—"
“Actually...” Shri interrupted. “I don’t want the throne.”
Solige gestured for Shri to be quiet. “If you wish to claim the throne, you need to enter Emba. The way is through that door.” She nodded to her side. Beside the cozily burning fire waited a simple wooden door.
“What is behind it?”
“I mustn’t tell. You’ll need to find out for yourself.”
Shri took another sip from her mug. The tea had brought her strength back, and it had soothed her nerves. Standing, she straightened her tunic, which was no longer wet. “I suppose I should find out, then.”
“So soon?” Solige asked. “You could join me for supper.”
“I wish I could,” Shri said, feeling somewhat frightened of the woman, “but I have no time to waste.”
Solige nodded and walked to the kitchen, where she lifted a large knife and began to chop vegetables. “Yes, I understand. Good luck, Shri.”
Shri walked to the door and clutched on the handle.
“Oh, and Shri,” Solige said, her eyes still fixed on the knife. “Trust in yourself. Your gut is rarely wrong. You will know what is true and what you need to do next, but you must not doubt your feelings.”
Nodding, Shri pulled open the door.
When Shri had been in the Gate Run, she had gone through four magical gates, one by one. Every time the one she had gone through had vanished, she had to find the second one in a world filled with monsters and traps. But this door stayed put.
What was in front of her was something she hadn’t expected. It was a huge, white cavern. Its walls rose high like the dome of a temple, its floor was covered in black sand. There were more than fifty curved blades planted on the wall. They shimmered lightly.
A stone pedestal, three feet high, rose from the center of the cave. Something rested on it, but Shri couldn’t see what it was. Still, there must have been cracks or openings somewhere above, because the cave was lit by an uncertain light, and there were no torches or magical orbs to account for it. The glow seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. Shri’s heart pounded in her chest. To calm herself, she reached for her fountain. It was there, but when she tried to grasp it, it alluded her. A shiver ran down her spine. If she had lost her magic again, this journey would be all for nothing. She needed magic to free her family, to get Father away from the Spike.
She closed her eyes and took a calming breath.
It’s fine. This is a divine place, a magical place. It’s Emba.
Maybe something in the cave wasn’t allowing her to use magic. Carefully, she stepped onto the black sand and waited.
Nothing happened.
She took another step, then a few more when nothing disturbed her. Bravely, she walked to the center, all the way to the pedestal. On top of it sat a wooden stick. It was slightly twisted, perhaps the size of a knife, but the surface was smooth. Detailed carvings traveled up its length. It was fastened to the rock. Perhaps it was a handle? Maybe the pedestal would do something when she pulled it.
Shri studied the cave for a while, but there was nothing else to do. She moistened her lips and blew the air out from her lungs, turned her shoulders around a couple of times, and stretched her fingers.
“Okay. Here we go.”
When Shri touched the wooden stick, she felt a shock paralyze her body. Her hand cramped around the stick, as it started to glow with a bright white light. Her skin stung, and in terror, she beheld some mysterious white goo traveling along her fingers. It burned, leaving a mycelium-like substance on her skin, soon covering her entire hand. Rapidly, it spread up her wrist and arm. Shri screamed in pain. Her entire body cramped, her back arched and her face grimaced in agony. The doubt that Solige had warned her about overcame her.
Roxana was wrong.
Shri wasn’t the descendent of Argos. Maybe she wasn’t even the descendant of Garmand. She was unworthy of the mark.
This is how it ends...
All this way for nothing. No magic, no Mark of the Daughters. No hope. Her heritage was a sham.
It burns!
Just a laughable coincidence.
But was it really a bloodline that made one worthy? Or was it something even more important? Of all her confusion, she knew one thing about herself: deep inside, she was pure and good, regardless of her lineage.
No... I AM worthy... She fought back against the pain. My cause is just. I’m going to help my family, help the Mairas if I can, and even if I’m not a Maira, I WILL CLAIM THE POWER TO SAVE THOSE WHOM I LOVE! I AM WORTHY OF THAT MUCH!
But eventually, the pain ended, turning into a cooling, tingling feeling. When she dared to open her eyes, she noticed that the white substance had spread up the length of her left arm, all the way to her shoulder. It sparkled like silver, decorated by gorgeous lace images. The designs were similar to the ones
she had seen on Tarinna Goldring’s wrist, but much larger.
The wooden stick pulsed in Shri’s hand. It had turned into a white and silvery wand, and it was no longer attached to the stone. There was power in it. Curious, she reached her thoughts out to the wand. The instant her mind touched it, a twirl of magic swallowed her.
She found herself standing on the rocks above Lighthaven. The city lay below, and ominous clouds filled the sky. Two men stood on the precipice, one old and one young.
The old man turned to face Shri, but he seemed to look right through her. He had white hair and a similar beard, blue eyes, and a high-peaking nose.
“Sire, Perivalos is lost,” the younger man said. “You’ve been searching for three years. You must accept that he is gone, and we need to decide what to do.”
Turning his weary eyes to the young man, the older man said, “So eager to make plans after my death, are you, Herion?”
“Sire...”
“I am aware that Perivalos’s death must be made official. But you do recognize that when time escapes me, the people must decide if the Goldrings or the Coldwaters will take the throne?”
“The Coldwaters don’t have an heir. It must fall to us Goldrings. You can declare, Sire, that you wish my family to have it. It will strengthen our claim.”
“I will not do so. The Coldwaters deserve their chance. Sara is with child.”
“Sara is nearly forty years old. She’ll lose this child, just as she lost the others. But Goldrings do not lose their children. We have vigorous blood, and my son will soon marry and produce many heirs!”
“I understand that the Goldrings have always been loyal and true to the Moon-Storm line,” the old man said. “But I am concerned, Herion, about the acts the Mairas have committed on your watch. So many murders. So many seashore villages burned to the ground. We have never slaughtered innocent people. We may be called ‘rogues’, but you don’t know the true reason we adopted the name.”
“How can we hold ourselves back now?” Herion shouted. “With little effort, we could rule the sea! All the seas! We could be the most feared of all races, and the glory and respect we deserve would be ours!”
“That sort of talk is the reason why I will not recommend the Goldrings. When I’m gone, the people will choose for themselves.”
“We deserve this opportunity!”
“My decision is final.” The clan-leader turned to study the city. “Even if we are forced to act as pirates, to present ourselves as criminals, we are true warriors at heart. We must never forget that. When the time comes, we must be prepared to claim our destiny. Will that happen with the Goldrings leading us?”
Anger blazed on Herion’s face. “The Mairas will become the might of the seas. That is our destiny. You won’t be able to stop it when you’re dead.”
With those as his ultimate words, Herion shoved the clan-leader off the cliff.
“Good-bye, Garmand Moon-Storm.” He straightened his back. “It’s a shame about the poison that will cause Sara to miscarriage, but it’s time for the Goldring era.”
Shri felt another swoosh, and a gentle wind fluffing her hair, and once more her surroundings changed.
She was back in the cottage.
“You still hold the wand.” Solige stood, her expression peculiar.
Looking down, Shri realized that she was, indeed, still clutching the silver wand.
“That has not happened... in a very long time,” Solige said.
“I have the markings.” Shri observed her arm with wide eyes. Silvery dust glimmered and moved within the brand as though it was alive. “What does it mean? Am I really Argos’s great-great-great- granddaughter?”
Solige nodded. “You are.”
“But... I was uncertain. It was only a theory that I was his relative, and I doubted that theory.”
“You believed in your cause,” Solige said. “It’s a good cause. A righteous cause.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Shri, your inner strength and purity do not determine your heritage,” she said. “It’s your heritage that gives you those things. Argos was a good man. Selfless. Determined.”
"So was Garmand, if the vision I had was correct,” Shri mused. “If I am indeed a Moon-Storm, Herion Goldring killed my great-grandfather, and he destroyed the Coldwater clan.”
“That’s true.”
“I don’t know much about politics, but that was undoubtedly treason.”
Solige drew closer to her. “Those markings on your arm reveal that you have a legitimate claim to the throne. But the wand... You’ve recovered it from Emba. That can only mean one thing.”
“What?” Shri whispered, too scared to discover the truth.
Solige looked at Shri, and suddenly there was something more in her eyes. There was something grand and ancient, as though she held entire universes within herself. She was not an ordinary woman. Shri began to feel that Roxana’s legends were more than just tales after all.
“Shri Moongale,” Solige smiled. “You are the next one to wield the power of the Heart.”
“What heart?” Shri thought back over all the stories she’d learned on her journey. “Do you mean... this is the Heart of Senatai?” Shri stared at the wand in her hand.
“The mighty King of the Sea, the one you tell stories about, was Argos, the most powerful senatai of all time. He and Ordan were equally powerful, and they both represented a force of such power. The Doh, meaning the soul, and the Dien, meaning the heart. And now, history is repeating itself. When the Black Star was found, the heir of Argos had to be born. Argos’s blood runs in your veins. You were born to oppose the Black Star.”
“I don’t understand,” Shri whispered, squeezing the wand in her hand. “What are Doh and Dien? Please, explain it to me.”
“They are equally powerful talismans. When they come together... No!”
Her eyes grew wide as the door to the cottage slammed open. Solige’s form began to vibrate, growing pale and transparent, then vanished into thin air.
Jogen Bloodrock entered. He held a shimmering dagger. His eyes looked feverish. “Did you really think you could avoid the High Mistress, Shri? She wanted to know for certain if you were the Black Star’s counterpart.”
Shri’s heart broke into pieces.
Jogen was a traitor.
CHAPTER 24
EVEN AFTER ALL THE YEARS she had been gone, Eavan still remembered every route in and out of the Spike. She knew every hidden path, every narrow corridor. But this was a challenge, even to her. The city was closed. Boa was in there, alive. She knew it. She felt it.
After she had taken King Magnus to safety, she had gone back to search for Boa, only to discover that he was gone. In order to distract Shea while Eavan dealt with the king, Boa had taken it upon himself to create a diversion. But Eavan knew that Shea wasn’t a fool. Boa had betrayed her, and now, under the influence of the Black Star, there was no telling what she would do to him. He was still alive, that much Eavan could tell, but something interfered with her ability to track him. Had Boa lied when he said he lost the pendant?
Eavan still remembered their first journey together, when they sought out that pendant. A gentle smile played on her lips as she leaned her back against the outer Iron wall. So many things had happened since then.
She rested her head against the iron surface. Behind the wall, the city rumbled. The miserable slaves in the Pit stretched their existence one day at a time, hiding behind the corners, vanishing like shadows into the meandering gauntlets at the sight of a pike-holder. In the Fourth and Third ring, they would pretend they were free, and the second one... a boiling pot of senatai and drokashai. Minor regular city folk... or had Shea eliminated all the non-magical, ordinary people away from the Second ring?
Through the cold smoothness of the wall, Eavan felt the responsibility weighing on her. Tens of thousands of people suffering behind her back. And soon, she would have to lead an attack upon their world. She would be respon
sible for their deaths.
Boa’s words echoed in her mind. “You can’t rescue everybody. It’s not your task, Eavan.”
Boa.
How many chances had she lost? How many times could she have let herself love and be loved by him, only to turn him away? And still, he had been there; her most loyal companion. Eavan did love him. Desperately. But throughout her training, all of her years in search of Shri and the Heart...
She stopped her thoughts. Excuses. Boa had been right. She was terrified. Once they came together, how would their relationship change? What would happen during battle, when one of them was injured or killed? And if there was passionate love... It would weaken them both.
Eavan moved away from the wall. She was half a mile from the main gate of Ironflare, and there was no chance the guards would simply let Eavan Firestone walk in. She needed to become someone else.
She arranged the sparkles in her mind, feeling the enormous drain on her Fountain, and then knocked on the gate.
A tiny window opened in the flat surface of the gate, revealing the somber face of an unfriendly pike-holder.
“The city is in lockdown,” he announced.
“No kidding,” Eavan said in an altered voice. She leaned closer to the hatch. The man within could see a woman with a round face, short ebony hair, and steely eyes, wearing the outfit of a Third Ring citizen. She was doing her best to mimic Odelia Greysand, a gatehouse warden whose image she had once taken from Boa’s mind. “Didn’t Padet mark it there? He was supposed to mark it. That ass.”
