Then the sun’s fire burst over the towering rock. It rolled up the surface. It leapt into the water. It fell like a shimmering curtain: golden and white, with flashes of fiery colour. All in absolute and reverent silence.
“Behold,” Melanyr said at last, voice trembling in awe. “The power of the Avanir reborn. As it was in the days of Jethyrai ab’Estaldir, so it is now. And as those people came forward for the first Choosing, to receive the first honour of the first power capable of cleansing the Lifewater, so let us do likewise. Who will offer themselves to the Chorah’dyn, to bear the blessing of the Avanir, should they be found worthy in the sight of Yl’avah and the Tree?”
I clenched my jaw. I couldn’t bear the man’s words, shouted in ignorance to unknowing victims. They would shuffle forward in blind obedience, desperate to be noticed, to be lifted up from their meaningless drudgery. Never realizing their fate. Never knowing what they were destined for. How? How could Tala submit herself to them?
Enough.
Before the Circle could step forward, as was the custom, I threw myself into the water.
Everyone turned to stare at me. I felt the eyes of every Kyr’amanu widen at my audacity. There was no law preventing me from going first—only tradition.
I waded into the lake. I splashed towards the High Elder, pausing for a moment to meet his startled gaze. We locked eyes. I wanted him to understand this was no submission. I was done cowering in fear of the Chorah’dyn’s tyranny. This was a challenge. I would march into that light and demand answers.
A murmur swept through the crowds. I ignored them. I moved past the High Elder, and as my legs pushed through the Avanir’s water, I felt its attention shift. It was looking at me.
My heart was thrumming with energy—not all my own. A part of me wanted to turn and flee. But no! No more cowardice. No more cringing. I stepped through the glowing curtain of water that fell from the Avanir’s crown and with defiant confidence, I thrust my uninjured hand against the rock.
I opened.
Everything around me vanished in a flood of power. My mind flipped inside out. I was thrown across the Realms, across the endless stars and the earth and the empty wound of the desert—and beyond it: mountains, forests, oceans, waves that could swallow Shyandar, beasts the size of our Temple, whiteness that blazed beneath a cold sun.
That was the first instant.
The second was her.
The Chorah’dyn moved through it all. The Heart of the World, the Great Tree. I glimpsed what that truly meant. I saw the size of her, huge in the Seen, but limitless in the Unseen, connecting everything. Ordering the world against emptiness. Summoning it to hope. She saw everything, and she named it, and she called it.
She hammered against my reason, shattering it, banishing my petty quarrels with a breath. And quietly she turned to face me. She was looking at me, seeing me, like an open hand. Choosing me.
In that moment, I understood. To be Chosen was to die. Not in some distant future, but now. Here. Swallowed up by something infinitely more powerful. Whatever was left at the end would be cast off into Sumadi, but the dying happened here. There was simply no room for both myself and that.
There would be no questions. No demands. I would simply cease, overtaken by something I could never begin to comprehend.
“No!” I recoiled. “Get out! I don’t want this!”
One day you will.
“Never!”
You are broken, Ishvandu ab’Admundi. I can make you whole.
“Don’t, don’t—“
I staggered back with a cry. My heart was pounding and sweat clung to me. I blinked, disoriented. Back in myself. And my hand was empty. There was no shining star, no shard of the Avanir. I had not been Chosen.
I fled. I staggered through the falls and stood blinking at the edge of the pool. Fiery water ran through my hair and dripped off my nose, tingling where it touched. Everyone was staring at me. Then they stared past me.
I turned. Tala had followed me forward. She was standing next to me, hovering at the edge of the water. Waiting. Our eyes brushed across each other. For a moment, there was only us, only our beating hearts. And in that instant, I understood.
Not me.
My breath caught, just as she plunged through the golden spray. “No!” I screamed, diving after her. Cries of alarm burst around me. I ignored them. “Tala, don’t! Don’t!”
She pressed her hand to the stone. Almost instantly, her head tilted back. Flames danced up her arm, and I felt the presence slip into her, a piercing deadly whiteness. I seized her.
The Unseen ripped through me. I was flung through the air like a rope doll. I gasped, flailing helplessly, before I crashed to the ground. My arms scraped across stone. Water washed over me. I gasped, spluttering for air, scrambling up.
“No!” I cried. “Not Tala. Not . . .”
Guardians seized me at once.
“No, no, no. You don’t understand!” I gasped. “Don’t let her. Don’t—”
“Are you mad?” It was Umaala ab’Krushaya, dragging me away.
I fought against his hold, desperate to see Tala. “It’ll kill her!” The words clawed at my throat. “It’ll turn her into a monster. It’ll—”
The hilt of a keshu slammed against my head. I dropped into the wetness of the pool. Then arms were dragging me up, limp and dripping, from the Avanir, back through the crowds. They parted. I staggered, still protesting, though my words were weak and slurred. Only when we reached the back of the crowds did Umaala turn and plant a heavy fist on either shoulder, shaking me.
“Get a hold of yourself, Guardian!”
“But Tala . . .”
“It’s done.”
“But Tala!”
“Do I have to restrain you, ab’Admundi? Because if so, you will face the Circle for violence against a Guardian Lord. Is that what you want?”
I slumped to the ground, angry and cold with despair. I buried my face in my hands.
My hands.
I stopped. Both hands pulled away. Both turned. My sling had fallen off somewhere in the chaos, but my wrist made no protest. Wincing, I rotated it back and around, waiting for the stab of pain. It never came.
“Umaala’sal,” I gasped.
He nodded grimly. “She has touched you.”
“What?” I glanced up.
“It’s rare, but not unheard of. Take it for the blessing it is and go.”
“Go, sal’ah?”
“Back to the Hall. Do you see? She is Chosen.”
I rose shakily. Sure enough. My Tala stood at the edge of the pool, bathed in light. And in her hand, she clutched a shard of the Avanir.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
I sat slumped over the morning meal. My head was pounding. I felt like throwing up.
“Are you going to eat that?” Jil asked, pointing to my bread and egg.
I shook my head. He pounced on it, scarfing down the second helping.
Mani and ab’Tanadu sat on either side of me, eating slowly. Nolaan was at the far end. The table between us was conspicuously empty.
“I should have said something to her,” I muttered.
“It would have made no difference,” said ab’Tanadu.
“At least she’d have known the truth.”
“Truth? Do we even know what that is, Ishvandu? The Chorah’dyn is good. Trust that.” He nodded towards my wrist. “Would she have healed you otherwise?”
I slammed my fist into the table, banging cups over, spilling fresh milk and earning glares from some nearby Guardians.
“Don’t you understand?” I growled. “I would break every bone in my body if it meant Tala’s safety. I won’t let this happen. I won’t.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” ab’Tanadu replied with a note of warning. “Now we should talk about the newly sworn Guardians. Umaala will likely approach you for confirmation—”
“I can’t think about that now.”
Ab’Tanadu glanced up the empty table. “Maybe you should. Our numbers are badly in need of replenishing. And it’s important to welcome the new recruits officially—”
I stood up. “Then you do it.”
Everyone stared at me as I marched out of the dining hall. I had to see her. How could I sit here discussing plans for our kiyah when Tala was being ripped away from me? I was trying to imagine what she was going through right now and failed. Was she completely overcome by the Chorah’dyn? Was she even herself anymore?
Umaala intercepted me on my way to the camel yard.
“Are you going somewhere, ab’Admundi?”
I swore, but ground to a stop, fists clenching. “You know, sal’ah.”
“Of course. And my answer is no. Get back to your kiyah.”
I hesitated. If I spoke the truth now, it would sound like a desperate ploy to keep Tala from leaving. I couldn’t tell them about Polityr. I’d missed my chance, and who would believe me now?
I resorted to all I had left. “Please, Umaala’sal.” I cringed at the desperation in my voice, hating it.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ishvandu. But you really think you’re the first in all Shyandar’s history who’s had a loved one called away?”
“Of course not, sal’ah, but I just want to speak with her. Let me see her!”
“You know our customs. She must remain in isolation until the day of parting.”
“Yl’avah’s blasted might, why?”
“This is your test, Ishvandu. Your most difficult yet. Are you ready?” He gripped my shoulders, shaking me. “You must not lose sight of who you are!”
“She’s my wife!”
“And she’s being Chosen for a higher purpose. Think! Is this not a blessing for her? She’ll be spared the Circle’s judgment. The Choosing pulls her beyond even our reach. You must let her go. Be strong, Ishvandu! Be the leader I know you can be.”
I shook my head, groaning, though a part of me soaked up the Guardian Lord’s words. He believed in me. Even now.
“Be proud of her!” Umaala continued. “She’ll be for the saving of many. She has the honour to cleanse the Lifewater itself.”
“With her sacrifice.”
“We don’t know that.”
I looked straight at him. “I do, sal’ah.”
He blinked, momentarily startled by my certainty. He tilted his head. He seemed on the edge of a question, but instead he ended with a nod. “Perhaps, ab’Admundi. Perhaps. But in the end, must we not all die for something?”
When I turned away, he made no effort to stop me.
I waited past the first quarter of night before I pulled out the Sending stone. I sat in the dark of my room, cross-legged, turning the stone over and over, agonizing.
I wanted to speak to Tala. I needed to. But what if my worst fears were realized? What if Tala had vanished beyond my reach, swallowed up by that? I tried to imagine what I would do—and failed.
But in the end, there was no choice. I woke the stone with my thumb and spoke her name into the pulsing light.
I sped through the Unseen, seeking her, senses taut with anticipation. And yes! There! A bright coal, a tiny spark, sending tendrils of light in every direction. It was Tala! I recognized the taste, like a curtain of rain across barren land. Rare, beautiful, driven.
I plunged into the furnace of her presence.
And the spark woke. It sprang against me, crushingly powerful. White heat tore through my mind, shattering my link in a heartbeat.
I gasped into the silence of my room. Sweat broke across my forehead. Everything was thick and black around me.
“No!” I cried. I was holding the stone, though it seemed to glow brighter than usual, fierce and hot to the touch. I clenched my fist over it. “Tala!” I shouted.
The fire was waiting for me. No sooner did I touch the Unseen, then it pounced on me. Pain twisted behind my eye like a needle, cutting deeper and deeper.
I held on, refusing to be beaten. Tala! I cried through the Unseen. Tala, it’s me! Speak to me!
It pounded me back into my room, back into consciousness, but I dove in again. And again. Until the light was a wall, hemming me in, burning against me, crushing me like a giant hand wrapped around a ball of glass, squeezing harder and harder, threatening to shatter it.
Crack!
I woke in the darkness of my room, drooling on the floor. I was holding the stone, but it had gone cold and lifeless. I had to peel my hand away. Some skin came with it, and beneath, my palm was raw and blistered.
I curled my fist, trembling. Even as I stared at the Sending stone, its subtle glow began to return. Tala. I wiped my face. I clenched my teeth. How could I speak to her? How? Was she doing this? Was she driving me away?
Tala would never. No. I knew that presence, that painful immensity. It was her. The Chorah’dyn. Keeping us apart. This is what you get for your lies!
I growled and shoved the thought aside. There had to be a way! If only I could cross to the Temple somehow, if only I could see her!
The Temple.
An idea sparked. I grabbed the stone again, ignoring the painful throbbing in my mind. “Kulnethar,” I said to it.
It obeyed. I tore across the Unseen, feeling the massive presence, yet slipping past it. And at once, I found myself in a darkened, white-walled room.
A quiet murmuring filled the space. A window opened onto the gardens, filling the room with the breath of jasmine. There were rugs and shelves and opened scrolls. A bottle of ink had been left out, someone’s work—interrupted. And there was a mattress, rumpled and unmade, yet unoccupied.
I drew back into the shadows. The murmuring came from a side room, a little alcove that opened to the night air. I held my breath, wondering if I should try to speak to Kulnethar or search for Tala on my own.
Then I paused. Ishvandu. I’d heard my name. I frowned and crept to the curtain. The murmuring grew clearer.
“I know.” It was Kulnethar’s voice. Then a woman speaking, a little more quietly. Alis.
“You think I should tell them?” Kulnethar sounded doubtful.
I crept closer.
“Yes,” Alis said. “I don’t trust him to be rational in this situation, and if you’re ever going to break from his shadow, you have to be the one to do it.”
“He trusts me.”
“Of course he does. You’re a good man. But do you honestly think he deserves the same in return?”
“But when he’s just lost his wife? Regardless of my trust in the Avanir, I couldn’t imagine losing you. Ishvandu must be devastated.”
“Kulni, how do you still have any sympathy for him? After what he did to you? Blasted light and all, I could have ripped those stupid braids out of his head.”
Kulnethar sighed. “Alis . . .”
“No. It’s true. It makes me sick to think what nearly happened to you. That he would hurt you, then let you take the blame for something that was his fault. At least Tali did the right thing. And if you don’t act now, he’s going to do something drastic. I know Kulni. Trust me.”
“Maybe if I talk to him. Help him understand his options here. I mean at some point, he has to take a side. What else can he do?”
“How about sneaking into an Elder’s chambers in the middle of the night?” Alis tilted her head, glancing towards the curtain.
I scowled. How could she do that? There was no use trying to hide. I parted the curtain, peering onto the moonlit terrace.
Kulnethar sighed and brought a hand to his forehead. “Ishvandu—really?”
“I have to see her, Kylan.”
“You don’t seem to understand. These are my rooms. These are my private rooms. Unless someone is dying this very instant and I alone can stop it, you have no right—”
“Someone is dying.”
“What? Who?”
“Tala.”
He groaned and shook his head. “She isn’t dying, Ishvandu. She’s being Chosen. Sands, I knew you wouldn’t understand.�
��
“Look, never mind what you think, or what’s happening to her. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Just let me see her. Please.” I glanced at Alis. She was watching me like someone would a snake, bristling with distrust.
“I can’t, Vanya. You know the rules. The Chosen, they’re going through a transformation right now. Their minds are full of new sensations. They must be allowed time to adjust, free from distractions and interruptions. Your presence would only bring confusion.”
“Maybe not,” Alis said suddenly, tilting her head. “Maybe you should let Tali decide that for herself.”
I glanced at the woman, shocked to hear any kind of support from her. Apparently, so was Kulnethar. He stared at her.
“Alis, I can’t.”
“Actually, you can. You’re an Elder, one of the few people allowed to speak to her. So ask Tali. Hear what she says. Then maybe Ishvandu can see the truth for himself.”
“There,” I said, gesturing towards her. “See? At least someone is being reasonable.”
Alis snorted and planted herself in front of me, crossing her arms. “But before you do anything for this brute, he owes you an apology.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Don’t you dare stand there and pretend ignorance. Look!” She pointed at Kulnethar’s face. “You see what you did to him?”
“Alis,” Kulnethar said, reaching. “Now isn’t the time.”
“It’s exactly the time. He wants something from you. Well, I want something from him. I want an apology.”
I clenched my jaw for a moment, then gave a quick, jerking nod. “Alright, I’m sorry.”
“You can do better than that,” she said.
I grunted. Yl’avah’s might, this woman knew when she had the advantage. “What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to apologize and I want you to mean it. You decide what that looks that.”
I shot her a prickly smile. “Very well. I admit it. I went too far. I humiliated him in front of my crew because I couldn’t afford to be challenged in that moment. I was afraid of losing control. I was upset about Karta. I was anxious about the Sumadi. I was trying everything I could to defend your husband while still fulfilling my mission, so I overreacted. I’m sorry for causing injury and offence.”
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