When the Goddess Wakes

by Howard Andrew Jones

  Rylin nodded as though he weren’t the least bit troubled. He knew many stories illustrating what could happen if a spell caster sent his spirit too far from his body. The least of these dangers was confusion, moving on to dissolution, or the consumption by entities hungry for life energy. In some reports, the souls of sorcerers watched helplessly as strange beings used their abandoned bodies to commit atrocious deeds. He pretended ease. “How far and how fast can I reach?”

  Thelar spoke with the enthusiasm of a scholar talking of his area of interest. “Theoretically you move at the speed of your own imagination. In real life it would take days to reach Erymyr’s border even traveling at a good clip. But if you remember key details and landmarks you might manage it in an eyeblink. Stretch for one remembered point, then the next, then on for the border itself.”

  Rylin remembered the wayposts where he and Elik and the governor of The Fragments, as well as poor Lasren, had exchanged horses. “And what about reaching across the Shifting Lands? There are no landmarks there.”

  “That’s when you think about the other side of the border.”

  “And then I just kind of … search along the road until I find Varama?”

  “Yes. That’s what I’d do. If you weren’t sure which way they were coming, I’d say you were in for a huge challenge.”

  They’d been told Varama and much of the relief force sent to Alantris were riding to Darassus via the Alantran Way. It was the most logical path in any case.

  “She won’t be traveling with the hearthstone active,” Rylin said. “How will I find it?”

  “You might be able to sense it even when it’s off, if you’re close. Varama will likely travel at the head of troops. She shouldn’t be that hard to find. The challenge will be getting her to see you if she’s not already using her magical sight.”

  “Her ring,” Rylin said. “If I come close enough, my presence should activate her ring.”

  “Of course,” Thelar acknowledged with chagrin.

  Rylin thought again about those vast, hungry entities he’d encountered the last time he crossed the border. “What do I do if I’m attacked in the shifts?”

  Thelar lifted the shard. “Just picture this stone in this room, clearly, and you should snap back here.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “In some ways it is. You’re moving at the speed of your own thought. I’ll monitor the threads attaching you to the stone. If something starts to go wrong, I’ll sense it and warn you. You can do this,” Thelar assured him. It was strange to hear him speak so earnestly.

  Rylin smiled as though he were not remotely terrified of hungry beings of unstoppable force lurking ahead of him. Last time he’d met them they’d been distracted by eating a horse, and he’d had rings to enhance the integrity of his existence. And he’d been in his body. He’d have none of those advantages for this journey.

  He examined his surroundings in detail. He’d lived in this apartment for years, but it had been a while since he truly paid attention to it. He did so now, seeing the way the morning light brought out the lightest patches on the smooth old floorboards, rubbing his hands against the wooden table to feel its grain, and noting the dust motes settled over surfaces. He thought about his location within the palace, its proximity to the stairs, and the windows that overlooked the courtyard. He couldn’t recall exactly how many steps one climbed to reach the second floor, which was funny, given how many times he’d walked or ran up them. He supposed Varama would know. But probably the exact number wasn’t important.

  He set his right hand to the irregular shard, which was cool beneath his fingers. He felt the shard’s rough, faintly iridescent edges. If this truly was a broken piece of some frozen aspect of the Goddess, touching it was like putting his hand on her bones. It troubled him he wasn’t more repulsed. Another worry struck him. “Is there a chance I’ll alert the queen when I use this?”

  “We’re far from the other stones. I think. Probably the queen’s exalts are busy enough and can’t be bothered to monitor us.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “No. I’m only guessing, Rylin.”

  He recognized he was delaying the inevitable. It was time to act. “I’m ready if you are,” he said.

  “I’m ready.”

  Rylin tightened his hand around the shard and thought briefly of Elenai. Maybe a lot of spell casters had gone mad using the things, but she seemed to have come through intact. He hoped he’d be able to say the same.

  The shard opened easily to him. He thought he’d been prepared, but the rush of energy was so pleasant it still made him gasp.

  Each of the stones he’d wielded had evoked a different emotion. This one filled him with confidence. It wasn’t just that he had energy to spare, he had utter faith he would succeed in whatever he set forth to do. As he grinned at Thelar he saw his companion relax and smile with uncharacteristic ease, for he, too, was sorcerously linked to the stone. We’re happy as fools, he thought, knowing it was the stone, and telling himself he’d have to be careful. In this state he might well overestimate his capabilities.

  Rylin pushed deep into the shard, glorying in access to its power. Thelar was there with him, ushering him forward. The exalt, like himself, strove not to come into especially close contact, wishing to avoid the accidental sharing of surface thoughts, let alone anything deeper.

  Rylin threaded his spirit through the stone and then back through his own body before launching from it. In a heartbeat he’d passed through the door and into the hallway, then down the stairs and out to the stables. A moment later he floated beyond the gates of the inner city, contemplating the hole in the skyline where Darassa’s statue had stood for millennia. He had been partly responsible for her destruction, and felt a pang of guilt, knowing she still lay, prone and battered, across the avenue.

  He shifted his concentration for a brief moment to ensure his body still touched the hearthstone, then resumed the view from his spirit and thought about the broken wall near the city gate. In an instant he floated there, and while he knew anger to see the crumbled stones, he felt assured by his unnatural confidence that repairs would be simple. He looked out to the ribbon of masonry marking the Darassan Way and pushed along it, passing a trio of horse troopers completely oblivious to his invisible presence, then launched toward a hill.

  In moments he had flown vast distances with disturbing ease. He knew he should feel worry as he left his body farther and farther behind, but rising joy superseded all else.

  His view of the inner world was overlaid across existing landscapes, and sometimes revealed startling differences from previous mundane travel. An entire village, complete with temple, could be seen superimposed on a set of old stone walls. He passed a mysterious glowing tower a half mile beyond the road that had no presence at all in the physical world, and over one stretch of ground he glimpsed vaporous marching figures—some ancient host had left an echo of their travel.

  As much as he realized that he moved impossibly fast, Rylin had the faintest worry that he still took too long, and reminded himself that the longer he was away from his body the greater was his danger. He decided to accelerate his progress rather than to savor these strange experiences. He pictured the hostel on the Erymyran side of the Shifting Lands, at the closest point to The Fragments. He recalled that the sign hanging in front of it had a large crack running through its silver raven’s beak.

  He had only to wish he might look upon that sign, and he appeared beside it. He heard horses neighing in the stalls, and the chatter of voices and the rattle of utensils from inside the stone building.

  He laughed in delight at his accomplishment, reminded himself, again, that this was no pleasure trip, and looked behind him. A silvery thread stretched from the sole of his right foot into the distance. That slim line was the link to his own body, the energy that, if severed, would make return nearly impossible. He touched his hand to it and felt the life force surging there, bolstered by the hearthstone shard.r />
  He considered the landscape that stretched ahead. The Shifting Lands appeared calm. Through the inner world, the terrain beyond the border was insubstantial, little more than a dream of landscape. But no storms churned in the sky, and he sensed none of those powerful presences that had chased him during his last crossing. The shifts seemed as safe as it was possible for them to be.

  Even with his bolstered confidence Rylin understood that this crossing was the most dangerous moment before him. Appearances were deceptive in the shifts and Rylin could think of no reason the insubstantial tract should be unprowled. Once he ventured into the home of energy-hungry spirits, he might as well be a fishing lure tossed into a lake, an irresistible morsel of life delightfully seasoned with magic.

  But what more could he do? He knew of no protective measures save to get done and get back, fast. He’d best be on with it.

  He called to mind the little way station on The Fragments side of the border, where he’d spoken with Governor Feolia and Lasren prior to their terrible crossing. In moments he was there in the daylight beside the stable fence, looking back down the line of his energy that stretched across the border. He wondered how much warning he’d have if one of the hungry spirits wandered upon his thread, and if he’d be able to get back if they tried to break it.

  He decided not to think about it, and pushed himself down the road. He didn’t want to advance too quickly through remembered places, worried he might skip past the people he sought. After a short while, he increased his speed, advancing only to landmarks he perceived ahead of him.

  His sense of time was distorted, but he guessed it really wasn’t very long before he spotted a dust cloud that had to be the main body of an army. Soon he saw the vanguard of cavalry, and riding even in advance of those warriors was a pair of riders in Altenerai khalats. He closed in, joyous with anticipation.

  But he discovered Varama was neither of the two. One was Tretton, dark-skinned, his beard hair gray-flecked. The other was Gyldara Dragonsbane, her gold-blond hair pulled tightly back from her exquisitely fine features.

  Surely Varama was somewhere nearby, for she would be just as eager as they to reach Darassus. He was starting to glide past when the rings of both Altenerai lit. The two reined in. While Gyldara scanned the surrounding terrain, Tretton’s eyes shifted. So far as Rylin knew, Tretton had no weaver’s sight, yet the alten looked toward him as he put hand to his sword belt.

  “Who’s there?” Tretton demanded, his graying mustache rising as his lip curled. Rylin had never examined Tretton’s aura before. Naturally the older man’s ring glowed with magic, but so too did his knife and sword, and a necklace pendant. The famously formal veteran had more surprises than Rylin had guessed.

  Rylin remained above the grass blades only a few feet in front of the veteran. “Hail, Altenerai. It’s me, Rylin.”

  Tretton heard him, for he saw the alten’s eyes twitch. Rylin’s respect for the man rose a notch. Some non-mages were sensitive to the inner world, but he’d never heard that Tretton was one of them, and he wondered if one of the magical tools he wore enhanced his perception.

  “Hail, Alten,” Tretton said, his hand still upon his sword. “Are you a spirit, or is this a spell?”

  “I live, but this is a long send. It will be more secure if I can link to Varama’s hearthstone. Where is she?”

  Gyldara cut in. “Who is it? What’s this about?”

  “It’s Rylin. He’s trying to find Varama. She’s not here, Rylin. What’s happened? Was Darassus truly attacked?”

  “Attacked and preserved. The Naor were defeated. We need your troops to hold the surviving prisoners in check; although I suppose they’re technically allies, now.” He swiftly changed the subject. “I’ll explain later. I need to find Varama.”

  “She left in the middle of the night,” Tretton said. “On a ko’aye.”

  “Varama?” Rylin could scarce believe the news. She hated heights, and had steadfastly refused to fly with even the friendliest of ko’aye, Lelanc. “You’re sure?”

  Tretton chuckled. “I’m sure. She was even paler than usual when she strapped herself in, but she was determined to get to Darassus.”

  “Well then,” Rylin said. “I guess I’m here for nothing.”

  Gyldara peered in his direction. “Ask him if there were casualties.”

  “He can hear you,” Tretton said. “You just can’t hear him.”

  “Too many,” Rylin answered with a pang. “Lasren. Dozens of citizens. Lots of squires. And we lost an exalt and some aspirants; a few of them switched sides to defend the city. The queen fled Darassus with the hearthstones and the remains of her auxiliary rather than aid in its defense.”

  Tretton’s mouth thinned as he relayed this information to Gyldara, whose eyes rounded in disbelief.

  Gyldara was asking Tretton for details when Rylin felt a tug on his shoulder. An actual, physical pull. His vision wavered.

  Tretton’s brows drew taut. “Rylin? Is something wrong?”

  “I must go,” he said, even as he felt another forceful squeeze. He thought of the details of the shard before him and the feeling of the wood beneath one hand and the cool stone in the other.…

  The miles between his spirit and his body passed in a dizzying whir of blue sky and sloping green hills and suddenly he sat breathless in his chair. He had to blink to register the room and verify it wasn’t moving toward him. He steadied against the table to prevent a crash with the dark paneled wall on his right.

  Thelar was no longer across from him, but bent beside him, and he was talking as he released Rylin’s shoulder. “There’s an emergency.”

  5

  Internal Division

  Still dazed from his trip through the inner world, Rylin had trouble latching onto the significance of what the exalt had told him until he saw Elenai waiting impatiently near the door. He was once again struck by the change in her. Elenai was tall and slim, with striking gray eyes and fine auburn hair. She’d always possessed an appealing determination and energy. Now that was coupled with confidence and certitude that was almost regal. Rightly so, he thought with a smile. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “The commander needs Thelar’s help,” Elenai answered. “We might need yours, too.”

  Rylin didn’t notice Elenai was extending his sword belt to him until he stood. He reached for it, then grabbed his khalat, which someone had draped over a nearby chair.

  He shrugged into his uniform. “What’s wrong?”

  “Early this morning an exalt broke into the infirmary upstairs,” Elenai said.

  Rylin’s eyes shifted to Thelar, who appeared just as dismayed as Rylin felt. “Which one? Why?” Surely it wasn’t Meria or M’vai.

  “Someone named Nerissa,” Elenai answered.

  Rylin recognized the name, recalling why as he finished hooking his uniform clasps. She’d stopped him, Lasren, Feolia, and Elik on the border only a few days ago.

  “She tried to free the exalts and aspirants under guard in the infirmary,” Elenai continued. “Because we don’t have enough guards to go around, N’lahr ordered the prisoners sedated last night, then placed the only antidote elsewhere in the complex. But Nerissa must not have known about that.”

  He wondered how the exalt had gotten past the security cordon outside the infirmary. Probably because squires had trusted their fellow rankers. As he buckled on his sword belt he noticed no weapon hung from Thelar’s waist.

  The exalt saw his inquiring look. “I didn’t think I’d need a sword in the palace.”

  How times change, Rylin thought. He addressed Elenai’s back as she headed out the door. “So what’s Nerissa doing now, and what are we going to do?”

  She turned her head but didn’t stop walking. “She brought four squires and an aspirant with her, from their patrol. One of her squires was killed in their ambush on the guards. Another began to question Nerissa’s skewed version of events when he saw the captured exalts and aspirants were well tended; he a
lerted us when Nerissa sent him to get the antidote. As for us, we’re going to stop her.”

  Elenai turned down the hallway toward the servants’ stair. A second ranker—the one Elenai had commended for his efforts on the wall yesterday—walked behind them, along with two older women who’d donned leather surcoats from the squire armory. He recognized them as healers. Many of the best medical practitioners were aged, for long years of study were required for mastery of their art.

  Rylin returned his attention to Elenai. “Is there anything else we should know?”

  “They’re holding at least one guard, a healer, and a nurse hostage. Two of the watch are dead and another’s wounded. We’re not sure about the fourth.”

  “They’ve killed people? How are we going in?”

  Thelar answered: “The commander wants me to try to talk with Nerissa, through the door.”

  N’lahr waited for them at the top the third-floor servants’ stair, with a squire Rylin vaguely recognized from his encounter with Nerissa’s group at the border—a dark first year with tight braids and light brown eyes.

  “Did you make contact with Varama?” N’lahr asked.

  “Not exactly,” Rylin said. “But she’ll be here soon.”

  N’lahr nodded curtly. “Details later, then. Squire Pelin here has briefed me while we got our approach ready. Nerissa possesses a hearthstone.”

  “Will the other squires fight with Nerissa?” Rylin asked.

  “That depends on how convincing we can be.” N’lahr looked significantly at Squire Pelin. “They’ve been serving with her for the last eight days, on patrol. One is a cousin. The other was an intimate of the squire killed.” His attention shifted to Thelar. “You have your shard with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to focus on talking. Loan the shard to Elenai.”