“We should at least send the traitors to the front lines,” Bit’rudam said. “Let them lead the assault.”
“And set the wheel of old rivalries that undid our people turning again? No.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air. “See, all the mistakes, all the errors—the Caleefs kept allowing them to be repeated, but I won’t. We will stand together from this day, or we don’t deserve to stand at all.”
Bit’rudam took her hand. “And I trust your wisdom, with all that I am. I only worry one of them might stab you in the back.”
“Let them try.”
Mahi strolled along the deck, every warrior and sailor she passed taking a moment to show their respect. She swung around the center mast, then moved toward a portion of grated wood covered by a tarp.
She stepped over and ripped the tarp aside. There were no supplies inside the storage compartment, only a man. Because that’s all Babrak was—a man, and barely one at that. The black paint he wore flaked off his body along with dried blood. His beard was unkempt and messy. Even his belly had shrunk after he’d been left to starve in the Glass Castle dungeons for months while Mahi’s people helped clean up Yarrington.
She hadn’t intended to stay so long before taking back Latiapur, but Torsten had earned the aid. He could have held onto Babrak as a rebel against the Kingdom but turned him over without complaint. What a day when she could trust a Glass King over a legendary afhem.
“We’re here, pis’truda,” she said, crouching over the grate.
He peered up, squinting against the brightness. Mahi wanted to kill him so badly, both now and in the battle, but she was glad she’d showed restraint then and would continue to do so. Now he looked just like he deserved to—like a stray dog.
“Mahraveh, please, listen to me,” he stammered, voice hoarse from hollering as they stuffed him into storage and left him there for the long journey. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You have no idea what I’m going to do,” she replied, seething.
“You spared my men. They are loyal to me—I can help you. Let me atone. I will serve you as I always should have. I see now that the Current flowed at your back, not mine.”
“Shut your mouth, filth!” Bit’rudam barked, stomping on his fingers, which clenched the grate and sending Babrak cowering like a rat.
Mahi held up a fist to stop him, then leaned over the supply compartment.
“Our people deserve mercy,” she said. “They followed only what they knew, but not you. You are infinitely more greedy than the Glassmen you so revile.”
“You’re making a mistake!” he rasped, clutching the grate again. “You entitled, skinny, wench. You won’t hold this Kingdom longer than a day. They’ll tie you up by your feet over the Sea Door if the treacherous Glassmen don’t invade first. That is your fate, puny girl, and you know it.”
Now it was Mahi’s turn. She seized his hands and pulled. His face hit the grate. “No, Babrak. You see, all those people you left behind in Latiapur, who you believe are loyal to you… they will lay down their weapons. And then, they will watch as you are dragged through the city. They will witness your dishonor as you honor the old ways, take up the Dagger of Damikmagrin, and end your own life in shame.”
“I would never,” he grunted.
She pulled tighter. “And as the Current stops flowing in your veins, a new age will rise to greet us. The Black Sands will never be owned by greed again. That is your fate, pis’truda.” She let him go, and he collapsed back into the shadow. “There will be no battle today; no more Shesaitju death.”
He released a soft, pathetic chortle. “A hypocrite to the end, just like your father. You show my men mercy and not me. You will be the end of the Black Sands.”
“No, Babrak,” she said, calm as a Caleef should be. “You are not Shesaitju. You are not even worthy of the air you breathe.”
Bit’rudam cursed him, spat at him.
Mahi grabbed the end of the tarp and pulled it back into place until all she could hear were the muffled sounds of him cursing and pounding the wood. Then, she stood and turned to face Latiapur like she’d never seen it.
Free. Home.
The mystics had been responsible for many horrible things. However, as Sora stood upon the shore, looking up at the Red Tower, she realized how vibrant their history was. An entire city was built around this place, and the carvings on each tier spoke of untold wonder.
It also spoke of greed, vengeance, corruption.
These things, and more, were the foundations for the fall of the Mystic Order, just like every other foul government of man.
Now, with Torsten Unger tricked into being named King of the Glass Kingdom, there was hope for reform, she hoped. Perhaps with the fall of the Nothhelm line, peace amongst races, creeds, religions, and cultures would be a reality not based upon bending the knee in the name of a single god.
She’d traveled to Yaolin City—which lay in ruin behind and around her, inhabited only by refugees and hideaways. She’d come to fulfill a promise to Torsten, and close the Well of Wisdom, cutting off the breach from Elsewhere. But on her way there, she’d realized her true purpose for the journey.
A different kind of closure.
This was the place she and Whitney were meant to go together after the Webbed Woods. This was the intended trip that started everything.
The iron gate around the tower squeaked as she passed statues of Glass soldiers placed as metaphorical guards. It wasn’t locked anymore. There was no reason to keep anyone out. She was the last mystic in the known world.
As Sora walked, grass sprouted up from the dry ground, filling in her footprints and spreading along like the earth itself rejoiced over the return of the new Ancient One. For that was what Sora indeed was now. Although she didn’t realize it, she’d felt it from the moment Aihara Na’s body was destroyed, and power surged through her on the battlefield.
Little did Nesilia know that her actions, destroying Bliss in the former Ancient One’s form, was also her ultimate downfall. It was what allowed for such raw energy to take down Freydis, to collapse the crypt, to build the ice bridge that led Whitney to end it all…
To end himself…
Sora shook those thoughts from her head. She would not let his sacrifice be in vain.
Stagnant pools of water surrounding the tower came to life in her presence. The vines scaling the walls, which were dead upon her arrival, now teemed. It may have been her imagination, but even the red stone seemed somehow brighter. She’d never thought about it before, but it felt as if the blood of Pantego flowed through its walls.
She moved slowly, the first time in weeks she could rest. These past months, as she pressed across the ravaged continent, it was this moment for which she longed. Her spirit begged for it.
Another long stride took Sora to the tower’s gem-encrusted front doors. They opened of their own accord, as if the tower itself were beckoning her inside. She realized, it was.
This was far different than the last time Sora had been there, blindfolded like a prisoner, led through countless tests and trials to prove her worth. She recalled Madam Jaya and Kai—sweet Kai—and all those mystics who’d been slaughtered by Nesilia using her own powers. She remembered it like yesterday, yet it also felt like a million years ago—a distant memory in light of her new calling.
Presently, there was no need to prove her worth. She was all that was left of the once-grand Order. She would have to remedy that.
Crossing the entry hall, she stepped over bloodstains and passed upturned furniture before descending the circular stairs. Rooms cycled by, and with them, memories, each one belonging to one of those mystics. Though the rooms were now empty, Sora imagined filling them once more with those more worthy of carrying the gift of mystics, those who would care for and protect the virtue of Pantego, not exploit it as her predecessors had.
She would show King Torsten, who still ruled these lands, that magic wasn’t something that needed to be feared, that
it could help people. More than that, she would prove it to herself.
Sora stopped at one open door and stared inside. Beyond its threshold was a white room far larger than should have been able to fit within the tower. She still wasn’t sure if it was magic or if they were just far enough below the waters that it extended beneath them, but it was in that room where she fought Madam Jaya in the form of Muskigo. How she hated that man, feared him, yet from his loins came one of Sora’s greatest allies. Though she may not be Queen, Sora would strengthen the bonds between her people and those beyond the boundaries of Panping.
If not her, then who?
She continued downward until she reached the bottom. Large stone doors that she and Aquira had once blasted with flames loomed before her. She hoped she’d made the right decision in leaving the wyvern with Gentry. They’d forged quite a bond while Sora was trapped in Nowhere, and Sora knew that what she was meant to do had to be done alone, unhindered by emotion or distraction. Aquira brought too many memories that might cloud her judgement.
When she last stood before the stone doors of the Well of Wisdom, Whitney had been dead to her. This time, however, there was no hope of his return. After months, traveling by foot under the light of Celeste and Loutis, Sora had finally come to peace with that fact. She vowed that Whitney would live on through her valiant and just actions.
It was true, Whitney sacrificed himself for Sora, but he also did for others what they couldn’t do for themselves. He had become the savior no one ever expected he was capable of being.
Sora knew that to be eaten by an otherworldly wianu meant eternity in Nowhere, but she had to hope and pray there was redemption for one who did it so selflessly.
She laughed to herself at the thought of Whitney Fierstown being a savior, at the self-proclaimed World’s Greatest Thief doing anything selflessly.
Oh, the way things change, she thought.
Beyond the heavy stone doors, the Well of Wisdom called to her… begged her to complete the task she’d started so long ago. Within that pool was not just the entrance to Elsewhere, but the combined memories of every mystic who’d ever lived. It would contain everything she would need to lead Panping back into the powerful and prosperous Kingdom it once had been.
She believed that, under her guidance and friendship with Torsten and Mahraveh, there would be no fear of the Well and its powers becoming tainted. Not this time. She would not dishonor Whitney or her mother by turning his sacrifice into yet another war.
She stepped toward the doors, expecting to need to use all her strength to coerce them open, but this time they burst wide on their own. Cold greeted her. No longer were the waters blue with life, but they were black and rancid. The smell of death crinkled her nose. Spirits and demons whispered foul things in the darkness.
Sora would find a way to undo Nesilia’s corruption. Somehow, she knew she had the ability to do it—a gift passed down from the spirits of her ancestors… from her mother.
This war with Nesilia had begun at the hands of her father and mother, both, when their decisions awakened her. It would end with Sora, here, now.
The Pantego Whitney Fierstown had died to save would be rid of Nesilia’s darkness, once and for all.
“Where am I?” Nesilia asked, spinning. All she could see was blackness in every direction, spanning infinitely. It was like she was back buried beneath the mountain.
“Iam!” she screeched. “Is this another of Your tricks? I won’t be stopped. Pantego is mine!”
Her voice echoed like the darkness, in every direction, spanning infinitely. But the sound only vanished into the nothingness. Nobody answered.
She started forward, legs quaking as nerves set in. “No, this can’t be,” she said. “I won’t be buried again. I won’t be stopped.”
She screamed her throat raw and spun again, searching for a light, anything that might lead her out. She roared until she couldn’t any longer, and she fell to her knees. Only, she had no knees. She could feel and touch nothing—was nothing—just darkness.
Suddenly, a force wrenched her back. Heavy, ravenous breathing reached her ears.
“Who are you!” she yelled. The moment she turned, the presence was gone. But when she turned again, a figure stood before her. He was barely visible but for a gleam of silver hair.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Nesilia,” he spoke in thick Breklian accent.
“You?” she spat.
“Me,” Kazimir said. “I so look forward to our eternity together.”
Nesilia growled in frustration. “If you’re here, then that damn thief is—“
“Gone,” Kazimir said. Then he snickered. “You will appreciate this. With His last bit of power in this plane, Iam plucked the thief away and brought him to the Gate of Light. No, Nesilia. Here, it is only we who are to be damned forever.”
“Iam… took… him?” she stammered. “Over me!”
“Of course, he did. You are damned.”
“No! I will find a way out, and Pantego will fall, I swear it. I’ll kill every last one of them, and then I’ll climb to the Gate of Light itself and stab Iam through His rotten heart!”
Kazimir circled her. “Then I have to ask you, Nesilia. Do you not wish for more?” He lifted her chin with his finger, showing a glimmer of his fangs.
“Yes, yes, upyr. I do. I will give you everything if we get out of here. A world of your own.”
He removed his finger, and her head sank.
Then he whispered, a hint of laughter in his tone. “Too bad. It’s you and me here, alone. For all eternity. Dead... but not buried.”
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Jaime is the Audible #1 bestselling author of THE BURIED GODDESS SAGA. He lives in Texas with his wife and two kids. He enjoys anything creative, from graphic arts to painting. His office looks like the Avengers threw up on the walls.
Jaime has been writing since elementary school and is a bit of a grammar officer—here to correct and serve.
Rhett is a Sci-fi/Fantasy author currently living in Stamford, Connecticut. His published works include books in the USA Today Bestselling CIRCUIT SERIES (Published by Diversion Books and Podium Audio), THE BURIED GODDESS SAGA and the THE CHILDREN OF TITAN SERIES (Aethon Books, Audible Studios). He is also one of the founders of the popular science fiction platform, Sci-Fi Bridge.
If you enjoyed The Buried Goddess Saga, check out our newest collaboration The Luna Missile Crisis.
Audible number one best sellers Rhett C. Bruno and Jaime Castle return with a relentless sci-fi adventure that asks: What if?
The year is 1961. The Cold War is in full swing and the space race is on. Russia aims to send humanity to space. But what if space comes to humanity instead? Yuri Gagarin’s epic flight into space is disrupted when an alien Mothership jumps into orbit, causing a cosmic car crash that defies all odds.
Everything changes. The US and USSR must quickly put aside their differences. In exchange for the Earth’s help in the rebuilding of their Mothership, the mysterious aliens, the Vulbathi, offer promises of technology beyond humanity's wildest dreams. All the while, the world asks whether the Vulbathi are saviors or conquerors.
When an alien tech counterfeiter's mistake sets off a chain reaction, the fragile peace is threatened. Connor McCoy didn't mean to upset Earth's new intergalactic neighbors. He only wanted to make some cash.
Now, Connor is the only person who can stop the doomsday clock from striking midnight. That is if his estranged brother, an agent in the new Department of Alien Relations, doesn't stop him first.
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