Chapter Eight
“So, for the record,” Van muttered, “I still hate this.”
Rook glared daggers at him, and the big man threw up his hands defensively. To be fair, Rook really couldn’t blame him. The entire situation had spiraled out of control in a matter of hours, and none of them were sure what would happen next. He had fully expected someone in the city to eventually find out what they were holding, but not so quickly.
But it could have been worse. Much, much worse. Despite the frantic fighting in the base, all of his people had survived the battle. The door guards had both been wounded, but the Darenthi soldiers had, either intentionally or otherwise, left them alive. Rook knew that wouldn’t last, though; it was only a matter of time before this took a turn for the worst and someone died. He just needed to figure out what to do before that happened.
Unfortunately, he had absolutely no idea where to start.
“There’s nothing physically wrong with her,” Tiel said, releasing a long, slow breath. The healing magic at his fingertips faded, and he brushed a hand over the woman’s forehead.
“So why’s she unconscious?” Van asked. “And why isn’t she breathing?”
The young monk sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Great,” Van growled. “That’s just great.”
Rook tugged habitually at his beard. They were all standing around on the top floor of a small inn he owned just outside the Merchant Ward. It wasn’t the most secure place in the city, but at least it offered some privacy. After organizing his people back at the base, Rook had immediately sent the others here to wait while he came up with their next move.
“The spell that was sustaining her all this time is still there, at least partially,” Tiel said eventually, the frustration in his voice obvious. “I just don’t know why she woke up or how the spell was suppressed in the first place. But I suppose we are talking about the magic of the gods—who knows how it works?”
Van cocked a skeptical eyebrow and glanced to Rook. The bodyguard still didn’t believe this woman was a divine being and hadn’t shied away from letting everyone know it. Rook certainly sympathized, but he was trying to focus on how this contradictory information fit together. On one hand, the woman certainly looked the part and had just obliterated two Faceless right before his eyes—a supposedly impossible feat. But on the other, he had yet to hear a convincing reason how most of this couldn’t have been staged by a third party. Hearing her voice hadn’t done anything to quell his skepticism, either; he had a hard time believing a thousand year-old woman would have such a perfect modern Darenthi accent. Ancient Septurian was ostensibly the same language as modern Esharian, but those basic ideograms had evolved into hundreds of new languages and dialects over the years. It didn’t sit right with him at all.
But regardless, as crazy as it might have seemed, this woman’s true identity wasn’t their most pressing concern right now. Whoever she was, someone out there knew Rook had her, and he had a pretty good idea who that someone was…
A light knock rapped on the door and Rynne stepped inside. Like the rest of them, she had managed to escape with only a few minor scrapes and bruises, and her rudimentary healing magic had already patched those up by now.
“Foren is moving everyone to the Tidebearer for the time being,” she reported.
Van grimaced. “That’s going to look pretty awkward having so many people stuffed on one ship.”
“Not much we can do about it for now,” Rook lamented. “Did anyone else stop by the base?”
She nodded. “The Darenthi sent in a cleanup squad. Just a few regular soldiers this time, though. They were in and out in less than ten minutes.”
Van grunted. “Still means they know their first team failed.”
“But not how, and that’s an important distinction,” Rook reminded him. Before leaving, he’d made sure they did everything they could to hide the specifics of the battle. All the bodies had been moved and dumped, including the remains of the Faceless. Their assailants didn’t need to know their best weapons had been thoroughly dismantled—or have any reason to suspect the Kirshal wasn’t still unconscious in her coffin.
Rynne walked over to the slumbering woman and stood there a few moments before turning back to Rook. “You still think it’s Prince Kastrius?”
“He’s certainly the obvious choice,” Rook mused. “He’s the one who hired Marek in the first place, and he probably flipped when he didn’t get what he expected. It would also explain why he only sent a small force.”
Tiel glanced between them. “What do you mean?”
“Darenthi politics,” Rook said. “The prince doesn’t want the Empress figuring out what he’s doing, so he operates through intermediaries as much as possible. He also can’t afford to draw attention to himself by sending in huge groups of Faceless to handle his problems.”
Van leaned against the nearest wall. “I still want to know how he found the base in the first place. If we have a leak, it won’t take much to find us here, either.”
“No one else in the organization has any idea we’re here. I plan on keeping it that way.”
Tiel’s entire body seemed to stiffen. “I need to take her to Jehalai. Now more than ever.”
“I know,” Rook said. “And the bottom line is that we can’t afford to keep her here, not with the prince snooping around. The longer he looks the more likely other people are to notice.”
Van groaned. “Nate…”
“It’s the only reasonable option given what we know.”
“How about what we don’t know—like, say, who these Kirshane really are and what they’re trying to pull. If you want to let him take her, be my guest. But going with him? That’s a screlling terrible idea and you know it!”
“This isn’t a discussion,” Rook said firmly, turning back to the unconscious woman and moving over to her side. “This is too important not to get involved.”
“Even if the whole thing is a hoax?”
Rook shrugged. “Especially if the whole thing is a hoax. If it is, that means there’s a new player in town—or that one of the existing factions is a lot more desperate than I thought.”
“Men of so little faith,” Tiel commented softly.
“I’ve never needed invisible gods before,” Van replied tartly. “I don’t see why I would start now.”
The monk shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. You assume everyone is out to get each other. You act like this…miracle lying before us is a harbinger of death.”
“They’re just sourpusses,” Rynne muttered. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”
Rook shook his head and placed the back of his hand against the Kirshal’s forehead. She was still warm, and his skin tingled oddly when they touched. “I know people. Even miracles don’t always work out the way—”
The woman’s eyes abruptly shot open, and she gulped down a frantic breath.
“Shakissa’s mercy!” Tiel gasped, hopping backwards.
Rook started to speak but never got the chance. In a single motion the woman managed to reach up and grab him by the throat, then spin him around until she had him locked protectively in front of her.
“Who are you?” she snapped.
Van started to move forward to help, but she tightened her grip in warning and he stopped in mid-stride. Rook struggled frantically to breathe; he clawed desperately at her fingers, but they didn’t budge.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Rynne begged, holding her hands out wide. “We’re not your enemies.”
Rook’s vision dimmed, and it seemed like an eternity before her grip finally relaxed and air seeped back into his lungs. She hadn’t completely released him, however; her legs remained locked around his and her other arm held his tightly in place.
“Good morning,” he managed.
Her breath was hot on his neck, and he could feel her muscles quivering. “Nathan.”
He nodded. “That’s right.
You passed out earlier. Do you remember anything?”
“Yes,” she said. “No…”
“Well, that seems to cover everything,” Van replied dryly.
The woman slowly shook her head. “I don’t know where I am.”
Rynne gingerly stepped forward, hands still held wide. “We’re inside an inn. We brought you here to get away from people who were attacking us. You know, those big scary guys with the glowing helmets you disintegrated?”
The woman’s entire body seemed to stiffen. “There are more of them?”
“Legions. We’re safe here, though. For now.”
She considered. Again Rook could feel her muscles clenching and unclenching as she struggled to come to a decision. Finally she relaxed her grip and let him go. He stepped away and rubbed at his neck—it was definitely going to bruise.
“You are their leader?” she asked, bringing herself to her feet. Her tattoos had begun to glow again, a bit dimmer than before.
“More or less,” Rook said. He glanced to the others in turn. “This is Rynne, Van, and Tiel.”
Her eyes flicked over to the monk. “Why are you kneeling?”
“Eminence,” he breathed. “I am here to serve you.”
She scowled. “What do you mean? Look at me when I speak to you!”
He staggered as he brought his head up to face her. “I—I’m sorry, Eminence. I don’t mean to offend you. It’s just…I never thought I would actually meet you.”
She closed her eyes and swallowed, visibly forcing herself to stay calm. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s not overwhelm her,” Rook said, holding his hands up. “I told you who we are and I mentioned we found you inside a coffin. We thought you might be dead. I’m glad we were wrong.”
“Coffin…” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t remember. I can’t…”
“Why don’t we start with something simple, then?” Rook suggested. “What’s your name?”
Her eyes locked with his. “I don’t know.”
Rook could see both Rynne and Tiel gaping from the corner of his eye. The Kirshal, the Messiah, and she didn’t even remember her own name? She didn’t seem to remember anything at all…
“It’s probably just temporary,” he managed. “You’ve been unconscious for a long time, after all.”
“How can I not know my own name?” she whispered, her voice tightening. She clenched her fists, and then without warning her muscles went limp and she started falling to the floor.
Rook was there in a heartbeat, catching her just before she hit the ground. She trembled in his grip before drawing in a sharp breath. It seemed to help her regain her strength.
“I have you—it’s all right,” he soothed.
She clenched onto his arms and held him tightly. From this close, her eyes were a striking shade of turquoise, like small orbs filled with ocean water. But behind them was a woman so terrified her entire body was shaking. It was an odd juxtaposition to the person who had single-handedly destroyed two Faceless and nearly choked the life from him with one hand.
“I don’t understand,” she breathed. “I don’t know....”
“Let’s take it slowly,” he said softly, helping her back up onto the table. He hopped up with her and kept his arm around her before glancing to Tiel. The young man’s face was pale; cracks of confusion had appeared all over his awe-stricken face. Perhaps he was trying to reconcile a lifetime of expectation with a very real—and very vulnerable—person sitting in front of him. “Is the Kirshal supposed to have a name?”
The monk cleared his throat and nodded awkwardly. “Yes, yes, of course. It varies by sect, but I think the most common are Kaytar, Lysani, Selaste—”
“Selaste,” she whispered, her eyes still flicking back and forth as if searching her memories. “That seems familiar.”
“That’s a start, then.” Rook kept his right hand on her back but extended his left in front of her. “Pleased to meet you, Selaste. My name is Nathan.”
She stared oddly at his hand for a while, but eventually she reached out and shook it.
“See, we’re making progress,” Rook said with a wry grin.
“Are you thirsty?” Rynne asked. “Hungry?”
Tiel scoffed. “I doubt the Kirshal has need for such—”
“Thirsty,” Selaste said softly. “Very thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water.” Rynne cocked an eyebrow at the monk and then scurried out of the room.
“In the meantime, I’m sure you have about a million questions you want to ask,” Rook said, his mind racing to figure out how he was going to handle this. If she really didn’t remember anything, it was impossible to say how she would react. Did she have any concept of how long she had been unconscious? Did she remember anything of her previous life? He had about a million questions of his own right now, but he needed to be careful. Overwhelming her seemed like a bad idea for everyone involved.
Selaste nodded distantly. “You said you found me in a coffin.”
“That’s right. Do you have any idea why you might have been in there? Or how you were kept unconscious for so long?”
“So long…” she turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
Rook winced at his poor word choice. “We don’t know much for certain, the ruins you were found in were quite old.”
“How old?”
He pursed his lips. “A thousand years, give or take.”
“What? That’s…impossible,” she said, trailing off. She rubbed at her forehead as if it might stir a memory. “That isn’t possible, is it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to rule out anything just yet.”
Selaste turned to Tiel. “You called me Eminence. Why?”
His hands fidgeted nervously. “You are the Kirshal, the Prophet of Edeh and the one who will restore the gods.”
“I don’t know what any of that means. Why do you believe it?”
“I’ve tried asking him that before,” Van said, leaning back smugly against the wall. “I wouldn’t bother.”
“Your return has been foretold for generations,” Tiel went on, ignoring the jibe. He reached into his pouch and pulled out the scriptures he’d stolen. “Here, look.”
He held out a page of the book with several tattoo designs on them. She studied them briefly before glancing down at the matching patterns on her own skin—which had stopped glowing completely.
“Why…?”
“We don’t know either,” Rook said. “Tiel thinks his people might be able to help, though. He was hoping you’d be willing to go meet them.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied flatly. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
“But, Eminence—”
“Stop calling me that!” she snapped, standing abruptly. “I don’t know what this Kirshal is, but I am not it.”
Rook placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Maybe not, but you do need help. Your memory loss might be the result of whatever magic was keeping you alive inside that coffin. There might be a way to undo it.”
“Magic…” she seemed to chew on the word.
“That’s something else I was going to ask you about. You apparently know how to weave.”
Selaste drew in a deep breath and extended her left hand. Almost immediately a small ball of flame appeared above her palm.
“Goddess,” Tiel whispered, shaking his head in amazement.
“Am I missing something?” Van asked. “Can’t any krata do that?”
“Krata can’t generally muster enough power to manipulate raw energy, “Rook told him. “Magi can, but they also have to worry about the Flensing.”
“Not from something that small though, right?”
“No, but taking out a pair of Faceless…” Rook shook his head. “Did you feel any pain after you did that?”
Selaste’s eyes lost focus as they stared into the flame. Eventually she closed her palm
and it vanished. “No. Why?”
“The Flensing cannot touch you,” Tiel said, eyes wide in amazement. “You are beyond it.”
Van groaned audibly and rolled his eyes. Rook threw him a warning glare. Derision wasn’t helping anyone at this point.
A moment later Rynne opened the door and stepped inside with a pitcher of water and a tray of glasses. “I had the kitchen throw on some breakfast, too, in case anyone is hungry.”
Selaste guzzled down a glass the moment it was poured. Her eyes closed when she finished, as if she was savoring the sensation.
“Thank you,” she said, eventually turning her gaze on Rook. “I’m sorry about the neck, by the way.”
“I’ll live,” he assured her with a smile. “I don’t think any of us can imagine what you’re going through right now, but we’ll help as best we can.”
“This may sound odd,” Rynne put in, “but do you want to clean up and change, maybe? It might make you feel better.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Rook said. “It might help if you had a little time to yourself. We can eat breakfast once you finish and then maybe answer some more questions for you.”
Selaste looked down at her hands as if she didn’t even recognize them. Eventually she clenched them into fists and nodded. “All right.”
“There’s a tub upstairs,” Rynne said, extending a hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Selaste cautiously took it, and Rynne escorted her out of the room. The three men sat there in silence for a long moment, staring blankly at the closed door.
“She must be taken to Jehalai,” Tiel said.
Van snorted. “We heard you the first ten times, kid.”
“Ultimately that decision is up to her,” Rook said. “I recommend letting her get her bearings a little bit first.”
The monk turned to face him. “You said yourself that she’s being hunted. How long can we afford to wait?”
“Not long,” he murmured. “Ideally I’d like to be out of the city by the end of the day, but we’ll have to see how things go first. We can’t force her to do anything.”
“She seems to trust you. Perhaps you can convince her.”
“Perhaps,” Rook said neutrally. “In the meantime, I need to contact a few of my people. Why don’t the two of you get breakfast organized?”
“Are we sure the Kirshal needs food?” Van asked wryly, glancing to Tiel. “She is beyond us, after all.”
“I don’t know if she’s the Kirshal or not, but she does need our help,” Rook replied firmly. “And we’re going to give it to her.”
His friend cocked an eyebrow. “You believe this whole memory loss thing?”
“She’s afraid,” Rook told him. “Terrified, even. She’s definitely not faking that.”
“Nate…”
Rook raised a hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Not right now. Just get things set up and try to play nice for a change.”
Van clamped down on his lip. Normally he wouldn’t let it go that easily, but with a stranger in the room he was probably willing to wait. Sooner or later, though, Rook knew he would be getting an earful.
“Fine,” the big man muttered. “Come on, kid.”
Tiel glanced between them a few times before nodding. “I thank you again for your help, Mr. Rook.”
With that, the two of them left and Rook let out a long, slow breath. Of all the ways he had imagined this turning out, this wasn’t even in the top fifty. He doubted Tiel was feeling very confident about it, either. Despite her obvious power, the Kirshal was also vulnerable in a way he had never expected. Her fear was real; he had no doubts about that.
Did Messiahs feel fear? Did they eat and drink? It wasn’t as if he had anything to compare her with. It just seemed…wrong somehow.
Regardless, that was no excuse to treat her poorly. Even if she merely was a hapless amnesiac stuffed into a coffin, right now she was also his responsibility. He had made the decision to bring her here in the first place, after all. He wasn’t going to abandon her until they got some answers.
Sighing, Rook tapped the sending stone on his bracelet. For now, he needed his people to be prepared for the worst.
The Last Goddess Page 20