Defying Destiny

by Andrew Rowe

  “Indeed. And, notably, the ancient deity most strongly associated with sorcery itself. She wove rituals without equal. When she learned of her own coming death, they say she wove a ritual into the stars themselves.”

  The stars? Does he mean that literally or figuratively?

  “Go on.”

  Tarren sighed. “The goal of her ritual was to ensure her own resurrection. The full details of the ritual are unknown, even to me, but her intent seemed to be to revive herself with the fullness of her power and knowledge. If she could not prevent her end, she sought to circumvent it. A clever strategy, but ultimately, it did not work as planned.” He sighed. “The details of that story go well beyond the scope of your question. But I have studied what Kelryssia sought to accomplish, as have many others. And Hartigan made it the foundation of his immortality strategy.”

  Lydia raised an eyebrow at that.

  “Hartigan has learned to control his own cycle of reincarnation. Each time he is reborn, he retains his full memories. A member of his family who is aware of his secret finds where the child version of him is born, then retrieves him. He lives in seclusion until he is able to present himself as an adult.”

  “That is...interesting, thank you.” The story confirmed bits and pieces of what Hartigan had told her, but it provided additional context that she was missing. Hartigan had not entrusted her with the entirety of the secret, but she had gathered enough to believe Tarren’s explanation contained large portions of truth. “Please, continue.”

  “There are other methods besides those. As I mentioned, Tyrenia has a method of alchemical life extension, but some call it unsettling. And then there’s the Xixian method of reanimating corpses...one might call that a form of immortality, in a certain sense. Artinans extend their lives through some method of empowering their body with the strength of their spirit, but I confess I do not understand the full details of how that works. House Theas and House Ta’thyriel have also experimented with using spirit sorcery. Of course, there’s also godhood. The Tae’os Pantheon was reportedly mortal, once.”

  “You’re not going to tell me your own method.”

  “Am I not?” Tarren shrugged. “I believe I have said enough. I have no desire to give you insight into my personal strengths and vulnerabilities. That concludes my answer on this subject.”

  He’s implying he’s using one of the methods he already explained, then?

  Hm.

  Interesting, but not worth a follow up question.

  In truth, he’s already given me more than what some Sytirans have discovered in a career worth of study. I need to report this.

  But first, the most important question of them all.

  “What is the current location of each of the gods of the Tae’os Pantheon?”

  Tarren reached up and rubbed his forehead. “You really want to make this difficult for me, don’t you?”

  “You must understand that as a Paladin of Tae’os, the current status of my gods is of the utmost importance. They have been absent from world affairs for too long.”

  Tarren sighed. “Perhaps they have a good reason for such behavior.”

  “I suspect so. But if you know something, I would like to hear it. I need to draw my own conclusions.”

  “That may be true...and perhaps it is time.” He turned away for a moment, then back to her. “You will not like the answer.”

  “I need to hear it, regardless.”

  He waved toward the nearby table. “Sit down, please. I won’t flee, I promise. Not before I’ve answered this question, at least.”

  Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t teleport me anywhere else, either. No tricks.”

  Tarren gave a sad-sounding laugh. “Ah. Of course.”

  [He sounds sincere to me.]

  Agreed.

  With that feeble assurance, Lydia moved to take a seat near the table, and Tarren sat across from her.

  He leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the weathered wood. “There is no Tae’os Pantheon. Not anymore.”

  Lydia froze.

  Tarren gave her a sad smile. “I told you that you wouldn’t like the answer.”

  She leaned forward. “What do you mean, there is no Tae’os Pantheon?”

  “They lost.” He drew in a deep breath. “And they scattered. The survivors, that is.”

  Lydia’s hands clenched tight. “The sword...”

  “Aendaryn could no longer wield it. Not without his right arm.”

  Lydia winced. “But is he...”

  “I spoke truthfully when I told young Taelien that I did not know Aendaryn’s fate. Perhaps he lived, terribly injured. But the day he gave me the child and the blade marked an end. In truth, it was only one ending of many, however. Others had fled long before.”

  “Fled? Where and why?”

  Tarren turned his head away. “Two left for other continents. One to hide, and another to raise an army to continue a doomed war. Three chose to change their allegiance, or to simply abandon the battle entirely. And of the last...”

  Lydia gave him a faint smile. “He remained, biding his time, with the flimsiest of all portmanteaus as his name.”

  “It really is obvious, isn’t it?” Tarren laughed. “When the others picked ‘god names’, they went with things they found fancy. I just used a nickname. At that point, I had no reason to hide my mortal identity. I was the oldest, and I had quite a reputation even before we ascended. Ironically, that was what made me the most naïve. I never believed I would have a reason to hide.”

  Tarren leaned back in his chair after that, his expression distant.

  So, it’s true, then.

  One of the gods that she had worshipped since childhood sat in front of her, a being of legendary power and grace.

  And he looked old. Exhausted.

  Like there was too little of him left to live a human life, much less a divine one.

  He had been right. This was not a revelation she welcomed.

  Her next words were wistful, as she reminisced.

  “When I was at the university, we’d joke about the similarities between ‘Erik Tarren’ and ‘Eratar’. Since you were both legendary figures, there were always a few people who thought you might be one and the same. Of course, most people thought you were simply named after him, like how Keldyn Andys is named after Aendaryn. I know a priestess who named all of her children with variants of Tae’os names, it’s not uncommon.”

  Tarren closed his eyes. “I would prefer that people continue to believe the latter, at least for the moment. It is easier for me to operate in silence, as much as it displeases me. I enjoy tricks and games less than I let on. They are, at this point, an unfortunate necessity.”

  “Why? Why must you hide?” Lydia felt her usual stoicism crack. “What happened? Even if you are the last, why can’t you...”

  “I’m not a fighter, Lydia. I never was.” Tarren rested his hand on the table, scratching the wood. “I wandered the world. I saw things of great beauty and wonder. And I wrote books, hoping to spread my knowledge and joy with others.” He shook his head. “Hiding the truth is the furthest thing from what I want. It is antithetical to everything I stood for...but, god or not, I am powerless. There are things that even my knowledge cannot change on my own.”

  “But you are not alone!” Lydia leaned forward, reaching out. “Please, allow me to help you. Your paladins and priests, we can—”

  Tarren winced, pulling away. “You cannot help me, child. Not yet. There may be a time when you have that strength...but not now.” He shook his head. “I am sorry, Lydia. There is a time and a place to fight, and it is not now. Not for me.”

  “But you have a plan, yes?”

  And in that old man’s tired eyes, she saw the slightest hint of a spark. “Oh, yes, Lydia.” His lips curled. “I have many plans.”

  ***

  Lydia left Erik Tarren’s home with a mix of emotions whirling within her.

  Pain was the first and foremost among th
em.

  The Tae’os Pantheon is no more.

  She had already known that there was a chance that Aendaryn might have died. This conversation had not changed that, but it had told her something far worse.

  Some of them switched sides.

  There was no question in her mind what “sides” meant. Vaelien was the only one that could have injured — and potentially killed — Aendaryn. Unless some foreign god from another world had gotten involved, and Tarren had given no hint of such a thing.

  He hadn’t explicitly said that any of the gods had gone to work with Vaelien directly, but it would have explained a great deal. How Aendaryn had lost, why others had fled, and why Tarren himself was so cautious about revealing information.

  Perhaps the deity that she herself worshipped — Sytira — was a traitor. If so, then Tarren’s reticence to share anything with her made a high degree of sense.

  But he had helped her. Ultimately, he’d told her a great deal, and she sensed that he’d wished to say more.

  Erik Tarren — no, Eratar, God of Travel and Freedom — had told her just a hint of his plans.

  She hadn’t liked them in the slightest. But she had understood them.

  He was right about one thing, even if she might have disagreed about certain details.

  I need to find Taelien.

  And so, she lifted the comical piece of paper he’d handed to her with an arrow and “Wrynn Jaden” written on it.

  And as she turned, the arrow moved. It was a tracking spell etched into the paper.

  She might have taken him up on his offer to simply be teleported there, now that she had a better idea of who she was dealing with...but she still disagreed with his methods.

  Unlike Eratar, she had not given up on her friends.

  Aladir awaited her outside the building. “Everything go okay in there? I was about ready to order the others to raid the place.”

  Lydia wasn’t sure how to answer.

  The pain had cut her deeply, but there was something else in what he’d told her.

  A hint of hope. That spark within his eyes that hadn’t quite burned away.

  She’d fan that flame in any way she could, or she would make her own fire.

  She’d save this world with or without the gods.

  Lydia smiled at her partner. “It was awful. But I’ve learned a great deal. And we have a lot of work to do.”

  Chapter XV – Jonan IV – Branches

  Jonan rapped once on the house’s door.

  Moments passed, then he heard two knocks and a scratching sound from the other side.

  He knocked once, paused, then three more times.

  The door opened. Velas stood behind it. “Could have just used the earring.”

  “I’m a traditionalist.” Jonan definitely was not a traditionalist, but he hadn’t been thinking about the earrings, and it was as good an excuse as any.

  Velas moved out of the way and Jonan stepped inside the house. He closed the door behind him.

  “Everything secure?” Velas asked.

  He nodded. “As far as I can tell. This place is equipped with a sight-blocking enchantment, but it won’t stop Aayara if she’s the one looking.”

  “If Auntie Ess is the one who wants my shrouds to switch to the funeral variety, I’m going to be wearing that outfit pretty quickly either way.” Velas grimaced. “Still, I appreciate you looking out for me. More than I can say.”

  Jonan shrugged. “You’d do the same for me.”

  She probably wouldn’t, but he felt obligated to pretend.

  “Right. You find anything of interest at that spooky secret library of yours?”

  “Plenty.” He walked by her and sat on the nearby couch. This house wasn’t the nicest one he had access to, but it did have a decent couch. And, more importantly, it was purchased under one of his more obscure alternate identities. He hoped that might delay anyone looking for him (or Velas) that was familiar with their more typical disguises. “Nothing that seems immediately relevant to your situation, however. Plenty of references to Silks over the years — and by years, I mean centuries — but nothing that seems applicable to your situation.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” Velas flopped down on the other side of the couch, then sprawled out to take up all the empty space. “What about in that weird future part?”

  “There are a few Silk references in there, but nothing that mentions two Silks being around at the same time.”

  “Well, out with it. What’s it say?”

  “There’s a reference to a failed heist on Hartigan’s Star in which both Symphony and Silk were involved.”

  Velas raised an eyebrow. “Auntie Ess failing a heist? I know Hartigan has to have some impressive security for his most valued possession, but...”

  “Yeah. It also says something about how Symphony and Silk ‘changed’ after that, but not a lot of details. It’s toward the end of that particular book’s timeline. I couldn’t find any ‘history’ books that go any later.”

  “Hm.”

  “Hm, indeed.” Jonan turned away. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  “No, you’re good. Just giving me a place that’s a little more obscure to hunker down is useful. Most of my safe houses are back in Orlyn and Valeria. I haven’t worked in Selyr in ages; you know the lay of the land better.” She took a breath, then coughed. “Mite dusty in here, though.”

  “Sorry. Haven’t cleaned the place in...uh, three or four years. I could hire someone?”

  “I’ll take care of fixing the place up.” She waved a hand. “Least I can do. Aside from the books, you got any other angles to chase down this other Silk?”

  “Problem is that Aayara has a colossal reach. She’s got a whole city named after her. This other Silk could be a veteran Thornguard, a promoted agent of the Orchestra, an orphan she plucked off the street...or someone else operating with that name that she has nothing to do with.”

  “What are the odds that Aayara would permit someone to use that name — even briefly — without her permission?”

  “She’s not omniscient.” Jonan tapped on the couch. “But it’d be a terrible risk for whoever is playing that game. I suppose Jacinth could be dangling bait for her. I’ve heard...very little about him lately. And given their famous rivalry, it’s long past time he makes some sort of move.”

  “Fair point.” Velas sniffled, then rubbed at her nose. “Ugh. Going to have to do something about that dust soon.” She paused. “Okay. Can I beg you to look into this through some more traditional means?”

  Jonan sighed. “I have some Thornguard contacts I can ask. But the more I dig, the more likely we end up in a direct conflict.”

  “Good.”

  Jonan blinked. “Good?”

  “I don’t want to die after sipping wine from a glass. I don’t want to die choking on a cloud of gas. But a fight?” She gestured toward the Heartlance, lying up against a nearby wall. “I’ll take my chances against any other Silk in a fight. I just need to get her in front of me.”

  Jonan narrowed his gaze. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  ***

  The invasion occurred without the slightest warning. The city council building exploded in an inferno, followed by much of the palace district. Velthryn responded to the disaster promptly, but incorrectly. Fire brigades were sent to the sites of the disasters, and of course some of the local guard went to investigate...but not a full military response.

  No one had the slightest hint of what was truly happening until it was too late.

  As rescue forces reached the scenes, they were promptly slaughtered. Only a small contingent of off-duty paladins who had been near the scene managed to survive and escape. Without their warning, Velthryn may have fallen without even putting up a proper fight.

  But even that alert came far too late. They did not have the slightest hint of who they faced.

  Botheas. His sorcery was on a scale that had not been seen in the age since the vanishing o
f the gods, and he leveled it against the people of Velthryn without the slightest hint of restraint.

  Within days, it was clear that the battle against him was a lost cause. From there, efforts turned away from triumph and toward an effort that once might have been unimaginable — evacuating the most powerful city in the known world.

  Jonan closed his book and set it down on the table to his side, then yawned and rubbed at weary eyes. It had been another long night.

  He was reading the third book he’d discovered that dealt with this time period — the “Fall of Velthryn”, which supposedly took place two years in the future.

  In all cases, details were vague, but they mentioned someone — “Botheas” — who destroyed the city with unparalleled sorcerous power.

  Jonan had never heard of a Botheas before.

  A pseudonym, then? Or a title, rather than a name? Or maybe a name from a non-Velthryn language?

  Xixian, maybe? There could still be remnants of the Xixian Empire on other continents, or even just a small contingent here. There was that one esharen we found in Orlyn...

  “More poison?” Taer’vys asked, lowering his own book just enough to examine Jonan. His soft tone didn’t betray a hint of humor, but the corner of his mouth was just slightly askew.

  Jonan waved a hand at him. “No, thank you.” He took a deep breath. “What are you reading today?”

  Taer’vys lowered his book again. The writing on the cover was in a language Jonan didn’t recognize, which was a rarity.

  “A primer on the Edrian Empire on the continent of Kaldwyn.”

  Jonan raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite the jump from your usual perusal of forbidden arts and ancient secrets.”

  Taer’vys gave him a fuller grin. “Call it a personal research project.”

  “Hm.” Jonan sighed, slipping the next book off his pile and into his lap. He didn’t open it. “Isn’t that something you could read when you’re not in the restricted archives?”

  “You’d be surprised how much isn’t out there.” Taer’vys waved to the doorway back to the library proper. “And how rare it is to get a chance to peruse these things. I’d advise you to make the best of it. Maybe spend a few extra weeks on ‘researching the Shrouded One’.”