Giya's Betrayal: Book Three of the Firebird's Daughter series

by Kyrja

  Giya felt her lips twitch in what she knew was amusement, almost diminishing the anger she’d felt only a moment ago. Almost. Her rage at having been stalked throughout the entirety of her “existence” was in full bloom. What, exactly, was she if she was subject to being monitored? Rarely had she questioned that, while she and Lumas were of the same the eternal being, they were, indeed, separate. Never had she considered resenting that small fact until this very moment.

  Lumas, had, indeed, been the first of them. She was a being who had traveled through time and space and could choose to do so even now, should she desire. Giya was fully aware that she never would. This world was her home, and would ever be, no matter the eons she might live. She had only casually pondered the question of her own survival if the world itself was ever destroyed. Even now, when it seemed as though just such a cataclysmic event was upon them. She had no proof that she was immortal nor that she would enjoy eternal life, but she sensed that her own essence would continue in the same form that she enjoyed today. She wouldn’t “die,” and be reborn into another lifetime, she would simply continue. The “how” had never seemed particularly important, nor had the question of what kind of “form” or “body” she would possess.

  And what purpose did these four individuals kneeling in front of her serve? What protection could they possibly offer if Amphedia and Denit were unable to prevent Sov from crashing into the planet? Even if she were to survive such an horrific event – how would Lumas be able to claim she had remained unharmed? Her greatest fear throughout the centuries had been that Lumas would, one day, determine it best served her own purposes to, somehow, unmake her. If she had, indeed, been created by the act of Lumas separating a part of herself into a new entity, did that mean she would be able to re-absorb or re-attach that part of her that had become uniquely “Giya” so that only Lumas remained?

  Should Denit, somehow, be destroyed, that part of Denit which had come from her would not be returned to her, any more than “parts” of a human child would be returned to its parents should it encounter an untimely demise. Chared’s mother, P’onyem, though, had done exactly that. Much like she had been created when Lumas purposefully removed a part of herself to create a new being, so had P’onyem been created when she had done the same. And that part of her which had been used to create P’onyem had, indeed, returned to her when she had died. But while P’onyem had been alive, Giya knew she would not have been able to have unmade the woman on a whim. She would have had to have murdered P’onyem if there had been some reason important enough to have needed that part of her back. Not once had she considered doing so. P’onyem had been a separate being, a life unto herself, free to make her own choices. Seeing these four strangers here, Giya felt her life imperiled, suddenly altogether uncertain whether Lumas would consider unmaking her now. Especially since she was on fire and may need additional strength to recover once she was rescued from her current state.

  “What is your name?” she finally asked, purposefully evading the man’s request to explain her current situation.

  “I am Rajesh, My Lady. These others are Ozahm, Jahari, and Borja.”

  “Rajesh,” she said, hardening her voice, “if you have, indeed, been following my every step for the whole of my life, how can you not be aware that my daughter has transformed into her true form and is, even now, in flight, on her way to do battle with her father?”

  At this, every head in Rajesh’s party jerked up so they were all looking at her with a mixture of fear and awe in their eyes.

  “Has the crystal been shattered My Lady?” Rajesh asked, a breathlessness in his voice betraying his fear.

  “No,” Hadia raised her chin. “Denit absorbed the crystal before it could be shattered.”

  “Then she will fail and this world will be destroyed.” Rajesh told them, shaking his head with sadness, as he seemed to collapse, until he was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

  Chapter Three – Sov Remembers

  Inhaling deeply, he was surprised to find that he hadn’t actually inhaled at all. And then he remembered. And in remembering, he was sad all over again. And then angry. Filled with rage. And he knew the anger was nothing more than a cover for the fear he felt. The fear of dying. Forever. To never rise again. To never breathe again. To never do anything at all. For the first time ever.

  As his lucid moments became further and further apart, it was becoming more and more difficult to realize he hadn’t, in fact, been lucid at all. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he would forget ever having been a sentient being. But now, at least, his mind was clear, and there was far too little time left to waste on petty emotions like self-pity or anger at the results of poor choices made long ago.

  He had forgotten far too many things until it was too late, and by the time he’d remembered, he had put things in motion he couldn’t take back. Things he would never be able to fix. And there it was again – regret. There was no time for regret! He knew he must remain aware long enough to do what little he could so the beautiful little world he’d created would survive.

  If only he had remembered all of his previous lives before he’d created Taiyo no Hoyo. If only he had never been so vain – and fearful! – he would never have suggested Giya create Denit. He’d been selfish then. Making her was the only way he had known of that would allow him to stay alive. At the time, it had seemed like such a simple and elegant solution. Sov sighed to himself, surprised he was still able to feel his body respond to that simple gesture.

  He’d had the best of intentions when he’d created Taiyo no Hoyo. He hadn’t been quite so panicked then. He would admit to himself – now – that his sole purpose in creating such a place in his beautiful, little world had been to ensure that those who populated his pristine paradise would serve and worship only him. That had been the goal all along. But he’d soon found that such practices hadn’t provided the energy he’d needed to maintain his own, failing health. It hadn’t been enough. It had never been enough. Not ever. Nor would it have ever been enough. But he hadn’t known that then.

  Lumas had warned him. She had. She had done everything in her power to convince him not to take that course of action. And she had begged him not to allow the killings. But he had turned a deaf ear to her. He had argued that he must survive or all of the people of his beautiful, little world would die. She had warned him. She had explained that he must die. She had. But he had been too afraid to trust her. And he had forgotten that he must die in order to live again. It was the way it had always been. He cursed the fact that he would never be able to remember his previous lives until he was close to death. It wasn’t fair! He would have done so many things differently if only he had known he would live again. He had lived and died and lived again many, many times in the eons he had been alive. And now, because he hadn’t trusted Lumas, he would die forever.

  His daughter would rise in his place. Denit. That was her name. She had the seed now. The one that he had created the last time he’d died. The seed that contained the whole essence of his being and rebirth. He had created an entire world around that seed, delighting in his creation and the feeling of new life. He remembered. He remembered everything now. And for a moment, that memory of new life made him feel brand new all over again. But it was too late. He would die again. And soon. Only this time, instead of rising from the ashes, as all beings of his race did, he would turn to stone. To ash. To a solid ball of dead rock. All because he had forgotten who and what he was. He had made the mistake of staying in one place for too long, complacent in the beauty and love he’d found. And now he would die forever.

  He knew, though, in the very heart of his hearts that if he had it to do all over again, he would have chosen to stay, chasing Lumas around the gem of the world he’d created, just so he could share a time with her. He would choose to create the world all over again, watching as the children he’d created with Lumas grew, learned, and evolved. He hoped that if he truly had the chance to do it all again, that
he would make better choices, but he wasn’t altogether certain he would. He would soon be dead, and had spent far too long being afraid of dying. Searching for what honesty remained inside of himself, he remembered he had once been a proud, virile, magnificent creature who had roamed the universe and all its wonders, skipping through space and time itself. No, he decided, if he had the chance to squeeze the life out of all of the inhabitants of the small planet he’d created, he would do it even now, if it meant he would live on. He would do anything. Anything at all if he could take back Denit’s life so that he would be the one to rise again from the ashes of the destruction of the world he’d made.

  * * * * * * * *

  Amphedia remembered the “sky” being much darker the last time she’d spread her wings outside of the atmosphere of a planet, then realized the brightness was, of course, because of her brother’s interference. Too, it been hundreds of years since last she’d taken flight in her natural form and it was entirely possible that even her perception of what she was seeing was much different than it had been when she’d been in human form while on the planet itself. Not to mention she had spent an inordinate amount of time submerged in water while an inhabitant of the planet. For a brief moment, she wondered if she should have transformed sooner in order to adjust to her “new” body’s demands. It didn’t matter whether she should have or not, she knew; unfortunately. She was here and nothing she could do would alter the fact she hadn’t considered doing one thing or another before this very moment. She could only go forward. She could certainly choose to simply leave altogether, but she knew she wasn’t going to. She wanted to destroy her brother for his arrogance and stupidity in threatening to devastate the planet and all the people on it.

  She had caused plenty of death and destruction in her time, she knew, and had even relished doing so. It was in her very nature to both destroy and nourish. Nor was her brother’s nature so very different from her own. But to cause the destruction of an entire civilization was unthinkable. What had he been thinking? Had he even been thinking? How could have not known there would be consequences for his arrogance?

  Even when they’d been very young, their differences had been obvious. Her own actions had always been very purposeful, while his had been wanton. That, perhaps, was why she loathed him more than any other reason. He never stopped to consider the consequences of his actions. In fact, she had been shocked when he had actually created a world instead of rushing without thought through the cosmos, ricocheting from one time to another, from one solar system to another, with little thought or planning – let alone any discernable purpose. And then to have stayed in one place for hundreds of years? She should have known it was going to end badly. It always did when Sov was involved.

  There had been a part of her, though, she had to admit to herself, that had been proud of him for having been so unselfish to have committed to the act of creation. She’d been a fool to think it would last. She realized now, though, that she had hoped it would have. That no matter how she despised him for his lack of consideration and forethought, that this small planet in all the universe would be a lasting haven for … if not exactly peace, then a safe haven of a sort. And it had been. She had been content no matter the chaos. No matter the wars or bitter rivalries between the gods and the impending doom of Siri Ventus’ predictions, Amphedia knew she had been content for the first time in all of her existence. And she resented the fact that it was her own brother who had taken it all away from her. Again.

  Never had she known Sov to be content in what he had. Not ever. Even when they were little more than hatchlings, he always had to have everything for himself. Nor had she been able to compete with him for the smallest scrap of attention, affection, nor nourishment. There had been a time when she had been sad that he was always the center of attention and, perhaps, even jealous. She shook her head, at herself then, her private musings sounding ridiculous to even her own ears. No, she had been jealous of him. Of course she had been. He was bold and courageous. Always in motion. He was a Firebird, a rarity even among the rare creatures of her race. Never had there been more than a double handful of her people alive at any point in time, no matter how far back in history one searched. Almost all were water creatures. Water gods and goddesses. Their natural bodies may resemble birds to some degree, given that all of them possessed strong, healthy wings, but those were rarely used other than to move from one world to another. Or from one point in time to another. More often, her people could be found deep in the oceans and seas of various worlds. Except, of course, for her brother. And the three or four others like him who had been born throughout the course of time.

  When they’d been young, he had often been able to amuse her with his antics. Even when she’d been angry with him. It was only when they had grown older that she had come to resent him.

  And the first time he had died, she had truly been distressed. She hadn’t understood just how different they were until then. She had been so angry at him for being dead. She had raged at his selfishness even then, ignorant of the fact that he’d had no control whatsoever over the way his body had betrayed him. She had mourned and raged over his body, holding him close to her for a time. Then she had cried out in alarm when his corpse had ignited, burning his body until there was nothing left for her to even cry over, other than a white-hot pile of ashes. When he had risen from that pyre, his new body larger than ever before, she had screamed both in panic, and then in joy. But he … he hadn’t even looked at her. He had never acknowledged her pain. He had simply flown away without a word. She had hated him ever since.

  And now, finally, she would be able to make sure he would never be able to hurt anyone else ever again. She would make sure of it.

  * * * * * * * *

  Everything had changed and Chared didn’t like it. Not at all. He could still clearly remember a time when he’d been a well-respected priest of the Blue Dolphin Order, living in the temple. He’d had friends then. And people had listened to him. He had recited the lore with such passion and sincerity people came from all over the city just to listen to him. He’d been as happy as he supposed anyone really could be. He’d been well-fed, with plenty of water and a reputation for deep wisdom, even though he knew some thought he might already be insane. His comradery among the Merlarn priests had been a balm to his soul, too. He had always enjoyed forming bonds of friendship instead of being alone. And yet, here he was, sitting in the sand, alone. The same as he had been for the past two days or more. He’d lost track of time, and discovered, much to his surprise, that he didn’t really mind at all. It was the first time he’d been alone for any appreciable amount of time since his mother had awakened him from his long sleep as the “Chained Man.”

  “Sleep,” though was such a relative term. He chuckled then, amused that he was probably the only one he knew on the entire planet who might think sleep was a relative term at all. It was a comfortable word, though, and Chared found that he really liked the idea of being comfortable. At least for a little while longer. When Afdal had left him, he had sat down on the sand, defeated. He had no place else to go and nothing left to accomplish. Either Afdal or Oculis, or someone else would get the crystal goblet and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. No matter what happened, Chared knew he was, at long last, no longer important in the scheme of things. He had no power, no control over anyone or anything; everything had been taken out of his hands. There wasn’t anyone who needed him to do anything, and nothing more he could do for himself, so he had decided he would do nothing.

  He knew he could have walked away, towards the nearest village, or he could have turned back to the city by the sea. But there wasn’t anyone anywhere he could trust, and nobody who would listen to him, and even walking into a place he’d never been before was just too much to contemplate. There would be people there, not just water. There would be noises and smells and complications. No, sitting right here, where he was comfortable was exactly where he wanted to be and what he wan
ted to be doing. There was a place in the back of his mind that understood he should probably be dying of thirst by now. That he probably really shouldn’t even be sitting; he should be curled up into a ball, gripping his stomach in pain. He should be moaning, desperate for the smallest drop of water. He should be panting. Perhaps even delirious – no matter if he was insane or not. But he was none of those things. He was, in fact, comfortable.

  And that strange thought led to the startling realization that it, obviously, hadn’t been Amphedia who had kept him alive all those years, chained to the rock. Giya had been right, no matter how furious he’d been when she’d said it was true. His own magic had kept him alive and whole, and wholly unchanged for twenty long years. He shook his head, feeling a small rueful smile of irony blossoming on his lips. For the first time in his life, Chared realized he was free. Truly free. He owed no allegiance to any deity, he had no family, wife, nor children, and nobody, anywhere was depending on him for anything. He could go anywhere he wanted to! It was an exhilarating feeling; one he wasn’t altogether certain he even knew what to do with.

  It suddenly occurred to him, though, that he might, after all, be insane. What if he really was laying in the middle of the desert, alone, curled into a ball, with cracked lips, gasping out his last breath, and this was all merely an illusion? And why did all the men who could feel the water beneath the sands go insane? Why had Amphedia done that? Or was it Giya who had extracted this price so Amphedia wouldn’t have the last laugh at her expense for having stolen all the waters of the world from her?

  Suddenly, it was very important to Chared that he prove to himself that he was not insane, that he really was sitting in the sand, whole of body and mind. Although he was loathe to make the attempt, he knew it was within his ability to do so, or at least it had been so, not so very long ago. He reached out a tentative hand, willing it not to shake as he did. And yes! Oh yes! He could feel the water beneath the sand! In fact, it was much closer than he thought it should have been. Nodding his head to himself, he remembered that Savaar and the “true” sons and daughters of Amphedia had been tasked with raising the level of the waters throughout the desert in an effort to stave off the effects of Sov’s scorching influence as he drew closer and closer to their world.