The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Hi. Um. What are you doing?” he asked.

  She continued her stride, hips seeming to draw circles in the air. Whitney blinked, turned away, turned back, blinked again. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Instead, he merely pushed himself up on his elbows, suddenly aware of his own body. As hot as he was, he pulled the blankets up to cover himself.

  “I told you, you deserve a reward for your heroics on the bridge,” she said.

  “Most people just give out ribbons, or autlas,” Whitney said, flustered. “This… Talwyn—”

  “Shhhhh,” she said, now so close Whitney could feel the heat of her skin. She grabbed his hand and moved it toward her navel, but Whitney forced it to her hip.

  “Listen, I’m flattered, really,” he said. “I’m honored. I’m… many things. But, you don’t want this.”

  “Trust me, I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” she said, pushing against his hand. Strands of hair tickled his chest as she lowered her face toward his and said, “And I want this.”

  Whitney squirmed and slipped around her, coming out the other side. She turned, glanced down at him in naught but his underwear, and then, smiling, said, “Whitney, I know you want this.”

  “I—I—Talwyn, just listen to me for a moment…” he said.

  But she already had her hand against his chest and pushed him backward. “It’s been a long… hard… journey and we are all ready for some relief. Maybe we could help each other?”

  “I don’t…”

  “You can make believe I’m her if you need to.”

  Whitney’s eyes went wide. “How…”

  “I’m Glintish Whitney. This, all of this, life at its rawest. It’s all art.”

  “Art.” Whitney chuckled. “Yeah.”

  Whitney pushed Talwyn back and onto the bed. She was smiling, but her grin quickly left when she noticed he wasn’t following. Instead, Whitney grabbed his shirt and pants from the floor and threw open the door. He hopped down the hallway on one leg, getting dressed and said, “This is not right,” to no one in particular.

  Gentry’s room wasn’t far, and Whitney didn’t bother to knock.

  “Huh,” Gentry said, half asleep as Whitney swept in.

  Whitney clicked his tongue, and Aquira’s head popped up. “Just going to take Aquira out for some fresh, rainy air. Don’t mind me. Keep sleeping.”

  “Mmmmhmmmm,” Gentry said and then rolled over.

  Whitney scooped up the wyvern and placed her on his shoulder. She blinked lazily, then draped herself like a warm, reptilian scarf around his neck. With Gentry growing so close to Aquira, Whitney hadn’t spent nearly as much time with her as he’d become used to. Probably because every time he saw her, he thought of Sora.

  He also hadn’t realized how heavy she’d gotten. When they’d first met back in the Winde Traders Guild, she’d been barely larger than a house cat. Now, her head hung to Whitney’s chest on one side and her tail even lower on the other. She must have doubled in size.

  He softly shut the door and passed Talwyn on the way downstairs. “Excuse me,” he whispered. “Sorry.” She still looked utterly stunned, like she’d never been rejected before in her life—which she likely hadn’t. He couldn’t believe he was doing it either.

  Whitney said he was sorry, but he wasn’t, not really. He’d never have thought Lucindur had meant this when she said they’d figure out a way to repay the debt. What was she thinking, that Whitney would just throw himself at her daughter in order to find Sora? The Glintish people were obviously loose with their sexual exploits, and although Whitney could’ve been found in many a bed over the years, things were different now, and he thought Lucindur knew that.

  “Lucindur!” Whitney shouted as he reached the Fettingborough cemetery grounds. Aquira lifted her head, then put it back down again just as fast. Grass was still matted from where he, Rand, and the cowardly Grint Strongiron had battled the Northmen. Drav Cra bodies were sprinkled about, the last to be cleaned out. They all deserved to be burned, or worse.

  Lucindur didn’t respond, but Whitney could see the candles burning softly next to the old undertaker’s shack.

  “How dare you!” Whitney growled.

  Lucindur didn’t even twitch. She sat on a cushion no doubt stolen from the Pompares’ carriage, legs crossed, lightly plucking at her salfio. A stream of smoke billowed from a pipe pressed between her lips. Around her, Fireflies rose and fell, softly glowing like magical energy.

  “If I knew this would be the cost—”

  “Shhhhh,” Lucindur cut him off.

  “I am tired of being shushed!” Whitney shouted.

  Lucindur stopped played and turned her head. Just her head. “What are you prattling about?”

  “Your daughter. You expected me to, what, pleasure your daughter in return for finding the woman I love? What kind of sick, twisted, Glintish—”

  “Pleasure my daughter?” Lucindur laughed. “Whitney, I assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then how did she know about Sora!”

  Lucindur stood and laid her salfio to the side. She took a quick puff of her pipe and said, “I didn’t say a word to her about Sora. She said Sora?”

  Whitney thought for a moment. Talwyn hadn’t said a name, he didn’t think.

  “Not exactly,” Whitney admitted. “She said, ‘You can make believe I’m her.’ What was I supposed to think?”

  “It’s not exactly a secret that you’re pining after someone, Whitney Fierstown. For a thief, you don’t mask your emotions very well. At least not during this season of life.”

  Whitney ran a hand through his hair. “Former thief. So, you didn’t send Talwyn to my room in exchange…” He let his words trail off. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough night.”

  “For us all,” Lucindur reminded him, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress absentmindedly. “And how is my daughter? Did you turn her down gently?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You will right that wrong when we are done here, yes?” Lucindur asked. It wasn’t a question, although it was posed as one.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My daughter cares for you, Whitney. Gods know why. She’s not used to being turned down and is never shy about her wants. She’s not weak either, but I will not have her sulking. There’s a long trip ahead of us and today has been difficult enough. Now, give me Aquira, and take a seat.”

  Whitney handed the wyvern over, then looked around for another cushion. When he didn’t find one, he looked back to Lucindur, but she was seated again with Aquira curled up in her lap. Lucindur’s eyes were already closed, and her fingers were moving along the fretboard, strings vibrating beneath her fingertips. They slowly began to glow blue, like the nightcap mushrooms that shone in the forest of Troborough where Whitney grew up.

  Whitney lowered himself to the cold earth. The ground was squishy and wet, but he settled in and cleared his throat.

  “Just relax and let the song wash over you,” she said.

  “Mmmmmkay?” Whitney closed his eyes and tried to focus, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to be focusing on. “Like this?” he asked.”

  Lucindur didn’t answer. She just began singing, slowly at first, the pace picking up gradually.

  Let your mind be opened,

  eyes be opened.

  Let the winds of eternity

  bring upon them clarity.

  Your eyes can’t see

  but your mind is free

  to travel Pantego

  wherever she may be.

  Lucindur continued playing the stringed instrument, notes echoing in the still of night. As time passed, Whitney grew uncomfortable, then discouraged.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said.

  Light upon stars

  dancing afar.

  The nameless, the lost

  Forgotten at great cost

  Upon song and light

  give us sight.

  The fireflies bega
n dancing around Lucindur in an unnatural fashion, and Whitney realized they weren’t fireflies at all. Lucindur kept singing, but Whitney didn’t hear the words. He just watched as the streaks emanating from the light specks grew in size until all that could be seen was an ever-moving bright spot. Aquira purred—a sound Whitney’d never heard her make.

  The salfio chords were so loud now, Whitney wondered how anyone in town wouldn’t hear and come running. But Lucindur’s voice still cut through, and she hardly projected at all.

  See what you came to see.

  See with your soul, not with your eyes.

  Instantly, the light died away; the sounds died away. Pressure built around Whitney’s ears as if he were underwater. Whitney tried to open his eyes but found that, despite the utter darkness, they were already open. He began to panic. Everything was gone. There was no sky or stars. He couldn’t feel the wet grass beneath him. It was just emptiness, and he was terrified he’d fallen into Elsewhere again.

  “Hello?” he called. His voice echoed like he stood at the bottom of the Jarein Gorge. “Lucindur!”

  Nothing.

  Whitney’s heart beat in his throat, horse hooves driving him deeper and deeper.

  “Oh, Gods, not again,” he said. “Not again. Please, Iam, not—”

  “No!” shouted a voice Whitney knew. “No! No! No!” It was distant and hollow, but he knew it well.

  “Sora?” he said. “Sora!”

  “Gold Grin!”

  Gold Grin? Whitney thought, then yelled, “Sora!”

  A moment passed, and Whitney still couldn’t see anything, but he felt something: hope.

  “Whitney!”

  “Sora!”

  They shouted each others’ names back and forth while Whitney pumped his legs. He had no indication he was moving at all, and her voice came from every direction at once, but he refused to stay still. He spun circles, desperate to find the source of the sound.

  A sudden, loud boom, like a massive metal door slamming shut, buried Sora’s voice, stopped him in his tracks. He turned, and his eyes were met with a blinding light not unlike what he’d seen in Elsewhere, pulsating from the top of Mt. Lister.

  “Gods, no. Not this place again,” Whitney said aloud.

  Then, within the light, he saw Aquira’s shadow, flapping no-longer-injured wings and heard her trilling her tongue.

  “Aquira…” Sora whispered under her breath.

  Even in silhouette form, Sora was unmistakable. All breath fled Whitney’s lungs, and he collapsed to his knees. As soon as enough strength returned to his members, Whitney began crawling, then pushed himself to his feet, and he ran to Sora. But as much as he ran, he didn’t seem to draw closer. He called her name again. She turned, staring in his direction, through him more than anything.

  “Whit,” she said. “Oh, Whit. Is that really you?”

  “What you don’t recognize me?” He smirked through his tears. “Sora, where are we?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Sora, are you okay? What do you mean ‘nowhere?’” Whitney asked.

  “I don’t… It’s awful.” Sora tried to grab Aquira who flapped in front of her, but her hands passed through. “Whit. It’s awful. How did you find me?”

  “You’re the one who understands magic.” Whitney shrugged. “I think Lucindur…”

  “Lucindur?”

  “Don’t worry, she’s only a friend,” he snickered.

  Neither he nor Sora may have been able to approach each other, but she smiled and shook her head. It was the same look she gave Whitney every time he told her something ridiculous. The look he’d go through anything to see again.

  “And I thought you only worked alone?” Sora said.

  “You changed me.” He reached out as if to touch Sora’s cheek. She closed her eyes like all she wanted was to feel the warmth of his hand. But he couldn’t draw any nearer.

  “You can’t,” Sora said. “I think… I think we’re in my mind or, somewhere between Elsewhere and our world,” Sora said, unsure.

  “Your…” His lump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Between?”

  “Whitney, the things I’ve done. The awful things.” Something happened, and Sora dropped to her knees, then clenched her stomach and curled up. Aquira lowered herself and nuzzled at Sora’s arms, unable to physically touch them.

  “What’s wrong?’ Whitney asked, trying to approach. As soon as he got close, he was far again. “This isn’t making any sense. Is this real?”

  “I’ve been asking that question since it started,” Sora replied. “Light of Iam, Whitney. The things I’ve done.” Sora sat up, and the terror in her expression rocked Whitney to his core. He’d never seen her like that before, even the first time she encountered Kazimir. “Nesilia. She—”

  “Nesilia?” Whitney interrupted. “What are you talking about? Sora, where are you?”

  “She’s using my body, Whit! She’s done all horrible manner of things with it.”

  “Where are you?” Whitney asked sternly. “I’m coming to find you in Panping. Whatever the mystics did to you, I’ll stop them.”

  “The mystics are mine!” a deep, sultry voice echoed all around them, making Whitney’s very bones chatter.

  “Who is that?” Whitney asked, spinning.

  “No… no… get out of here.” Sora reached for her head and squeezed. “Leave him alone!”

  “So, after all this time the thief still cares for you?” The being formed in the shape of a shadow behind Whitney. Dark fingers wrapped over his shoulder and he spun, but whatever demon it was turned to mist and appeared back in front of him.

  “Leave her alone!” Whitney shouted.

  The demonic woman laughed. “You never should have escaped Elsewhere, foolish mortal. Sora banished you there because she knew she didn’t need you anymore. You’re worthless. She didn’t need love. She has me.”

  “No!” Sora screamed. “No, Whit, don’t listen to her… She’s trying to… pull me away. Argh, I can feel her taking back control. She’s so strong.”

  Whitney ran through the demon’s incorporeal state and to Sora, now able to approach her. He couldn’t touch her, but he kneeled to stare straight into her amber eyes. She was more beautiful than he ever remembered, like a queen out of a children’s story.

  “Whitney, wherever you are, you have to hide,” Sora said. “I can… feel her anger that you intervened. Our connection weakens her hold of me… it…”

  “Nothing weakens me!” The demon’s voice thundered. The blackness of her form enveloped them, set to swallow them whole. Aquira cowered between them, and Whitney had never seen such dread in the wyvern’s eyes. She lowered her head and squealed.

  “Sora… Sora… tell me where you are,” Whitney said. “If she’s in your head like with King Pi, I’ll get her out. I’ll go to Torsten. He’ll know what to do.”

  “No, it’s more than that. I’m in between… we’re both of us…” Sora squeezed her head with her hands and her eyelids shut. “If you care about me, find a way to destroy me. You have to destroy us.”

  “Sora…” Whitney went to wrap his hands around her shoulders, but they passed right through. “I do love you. You know I do. I’m going to find and help you. No matter what.”

  “No. Whitney, listen to me. No!”

  “The only thing you will find is a grave!” Nesilia roared, her darkness now closing in and whipping around them.

  Sora vanished in a blip. Whitney fell forward, then searched frantically. His heart thumped against his rib cage. He spun, and saw her behind him now, searching the darkness, confused.

  Aquira rose again and unleashed a roar like nothing Whitney had ever heard from her. No longer was she the runty little wyvern. Before his eyes, she grew into a mighty dragon. Still, she retained her form, but she was massive, and the sound could have scared the skin from a zhulong.

  “Settle, my pet,” the demon said. “I will find you, and you will aid me in my quest.”

&n
bsp; Aquira shrunk back into the darkness.

  “What is this?” Whitney said, aghast. “Where is she!”

  “I have to thank you, Whitney,” said the voice. “Had Sora not been so obsessed with saving you, she’d never have opened herself up to my influence. All the power of the mystics and Elsewhere. It’s so lovely. Now I have it all.”

  Whitney heard Sora scream and searched. She appeared, staring at him, eyes wide. Then she was gone.

  “She… Sora… this body… so beautiful it has men bending over backward—sometimes literally—to please her,” Nesilia said. “To please me. She’s so powerful she can withstand even my infinite power without bursting at the seams.”

  “Who are you?” Whitney demanded.

  “You know the answer to that question. You’ve always known.”

  And he did. The Buried Goddess could not be mistaken. He’d felt her presence so many times before and hadn’t even realized it. Redstar, the other warlocks, their power was hers, not their own. He recognized her from right before he and Sora were torn from Elsewhere, him to mount Lister, and her to the Red Tower and what he’d thought were mystics.

  “Nesilia,” Whitney whispered with venom in his tone. “Stop this right now. Let Sora go!”

  “Nothing on Pantego or in Elsewhere can stop me,” Nesilia replied.

  Sora cried out. Whitney turned again and saw her, now on her knees, crossing her chest with her arms, shivering. “It’s so cold,” Sora said. “Whitney, it’s so cold. Run, please run…”

  “Where are you?” Whitney asked again, accentuating each word with purpose.

  “Cold. So cold”

  “Brekliodad?” he said. Did Kazimir somehow find her and drag her back to his homeland? None of this made any sense. “Are you in Brek? Where are you, Sora? The mountains? Drav Cra?”

  “Yes,” Sora struggled to say through a clenched jaw.

  “Which one?”

  “My body is there… but my mind. I’ve—killed so many, Whitney.”

  “That’s enough, children,” Nesilia spoke, calmly now. “It’s my turn.”

  Sora screamed and grasped her head, pulling at her hair. “Get out. Get out. Get out!”