Daughter of Ancients

by Carol Berg

  An oculus! I jumped up and retreated, my back against the garden doors, all my bravado made laughable. My knees felt like mush; my mind screamed. I had seen what the Lords did with their ghastly rings of light—what the young Lord did with them. Mind and body remembered pain and helpless fear coursing through my veins like liquid ice. I laid my hand on my dagger, not thinking what I could possibly do with it, only that I needed to be as far away from this house as I could get. “You can’t hold me prisoner. I can’t be here.” Not if an oculus was involved.

  “Sit down, young lady.” His mother pointed sternly toward the stool I had deserted. “In the name of the Prince D’Natheil—my husband and Gerick’s father—who set you free of your collar, in the name of every Dar’Nethi who has suffered enslavement to the Lords as did you and that same prince, or who died fighting the Lords as did Aimee’s dear father, and in the name of every man and woman of my own world who lived in bondage there as did Paulo and I, I insist you sit here and listen to me.”

  Grim, determined, she took my shaking hands and drew me back to the stool, pressed on my shoulders until I sat down again, and crouched down in front of me, her stern face softening only slightly. Her eyes were just like his, dark and deep, filled with so much terrible knowledge. “We must know what’s happened to Gerick and whatever you can tell us about the Lady. If telling you something of our history is the only way to gain your trust, then that’s what we’re going to do.”

  She stayed right there in front of me, sitting on the rug of bright blue wool, and she told me the tale of a mundane girl who had come to love a sorcerer in a land where sorcery was forbidden, and how she had borne him a son two months to the day after he was burned alive, only to believe the infant, too, had been executed. She told me how her son had been hidden away from her and how he had come to believe he was evil, the tragedies of his childhood giving the Lords a sure weapon to twist and corrupt him. As the story of her husband’s rebirth in the body of Prince D’Natheil filled me with wonder and astonishment, my shaking eased and my fear receded.

  When Lady Seriana stopped to drink a mug of saffria Aimee brought her, the story continued uninterrupted in the soft voice of the young man on the other side of the fire. Unschooled in his speech, yet pouring out a measure of devotion as any man or woman would give a fortune to command, Paulo told how in the stables of Zhev’Na he had discovered Gerick’s fight to retain the last shreds of honor, even when he believed his soul hopelessly lost. He told me of his friend’s long struggle to be free of the Lords, and his final, dreadful conclusion that the only way to save anyone was to persuade his own father to kill him. Gerick’s resolution had rid the world of the Lords.

  I was mesmerized by the tale of his battle with the Lords . . . the tale of his talent . . . Was that what had happened to me? Had he taken me away from danger when I could not do it myself? And if so, then he had been closer to me than anyone had ever been in my life . . . and there was nothing of evil in the memory. Could he have masked it from me so completely?

  Yet, in the end, it was not for the young Lord that I yielded my past and present anger, but for the woman and the friend and the dying man in the hospice. If these three had been so masterfully deceived, then what hope had any of us to resist the demon son? And if not—if he was truly what these good people claimed—then the land and people I loved stood in mortal danger once again, and I had no choice but to fight.

  A log snapped in the fire, showering sparks into the air like a cascade of stars, and as if it were a signal, I inhaled deeply. “Yesterday morning at dawn I woke to the sound of a man screaming . . .”

  It was as well I chose to fight, for just as I finished my own story we heard shouts from the street and a hammering on the door. Aimee hurried out to investigate and returned moments later with the news that war had returned to Gondai.

  CHAPTER 21

  “They say the flames can be seen for thirty leagues,” said Mistress Aimee, whom I’d learned was the owner of this house. She whisked the breakfast things from the table as she delivered the newest details of the night’s dreadful events. Without warning, a massive force of Zhid warriors had fallen on Lyrrathe Vale, slaughtered or captured every inhabitant, and left the fertile wheat fields of the easternmost Vale of Eidolon an inferno. The imagining left my flesh cold. I knew all about Zhid raiders.

  “Prince Ven’Dar has commanded every seasoned warrior to take up a weapon and find an untrained youth or maiden to stand beside him. He is riding out himself with Preceptor W’Tassa and six hundred guards to take their stand at Lyrrathe Vale, and he dispatched another five hundred fighters—all that he could summon in the middle of the night—to the northern borders. Je’Reint has been charged to defend the city and to muster more troops to send to Lyrrathe as soon as possible.”

  “Ven’Dar must be told she’s taken Gerick,” said the Lady Seriana—Seri she said to call her, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy with the family of a man I’d once sworn to kill. “He must hear what I suspect about D’Sanya, as well.”

  “I’ll see the message sent,” said Aimee, handing a stack of plates and bowls to a wide-eyed girl who was evidently the only servant left in the house. Everyone with talent had been summoned to the aid of Avonar.

  “Je’Reint has summoned me to the palace. I go to him within the hour.”

  Paulo perked his ears up at that. “He wouldn’t send you out with the fighters? Not a lady like you.” His face took fire as it did every time he addressed Aimee. Not difficult to see how the wind blew in that quarter.

  For her part, Aimee gave him a smile that could have melted a boulder. “Certainly not, sir. Master Je’Reint is very wise. He knows that my skills are of far more use in planning strategies than in executing them.” She then proceeded to demonstrate that very fact by tipping a tray of cups just far enough that three of them fell off, splattering her white gown with tea. Paulo jumped to her rescue, snatching up the cups and gently removing the tray, while Aimee threw up her hands in good humor. “I can help them lay out an image of the terrain or the placement of troops without being on the battlefield. I’ll be quite safe and out of the way, so I don’t risk upsetting anything more important than teacups!”

  It had taken me more than an hour to realize that Aimee was blind. I had just thought her clumsy. It didn’t seem to bother her all that much, even her awkwardness. Indeed she was fortunate—intelligent, talented, well provided for, and with a naturally gracious disposition and the kind of face and figure that made men forget their own names. She even spoke of her family with love. I decided that it would be very easy to dislike Aimee.

  But then again . . . she couldn’t see the way Paulo wrapped his eyes around her. And she was the daughter of a Dar’Nethi Preceptor, while Paulo was . . . well, I still wasn’t quite sure what he was, other than a friend such as anyone might wait a lifetime to have. But I would guess that he could never aspire to a woman of prominent family in his own world. And the secret reading lessons hinted that he had never told Aimee of other yearnings she could not see. Perhaps he never would, and she’d never know. I’d always thought there was a goodly bit of perversity in the turnings of the Way.

  “Clearly we’ll have to find Gerick on our own.” Lady Seriana’s mind was fixed neither on war nor romantic attachments. “Could she have taken him back to Maroth?”

  While Aimee busied about her household, preparing to answer her summons to the palace, Lady Seriana and Paulo worked on strategies for tracing Lady D’Sanya’s movements, and for searching the hospice—just in case I might be lying about him being gone—and the second hospice in Maroth. They even discussed hiring a Finder to help them discover him. They seemed to have forgotten about me.

  I sat on the little footstool with my chin on my hand, my ugly, serviceable clothes stiff with dried mud because I had been too stubborn to yield to Aimee’s offer to have them cleaned for me. What in the name of sense was I was doing with these people? Their concerns were corrupted souls and w
ars for control of the universe; their acquaintances were Princes, Preceptors, and Lords, and men who visited the land of the dead and came back again. Vasrin had shaped no such path for me. I needed to be on my way back to Gaelie. Papa would be wondering where I was. As soon as they stopped talking long enough, I would take my leave.

  I stopped listening, wandered over to a tall window, and stared out at the deceptively peaceful sunlight bouncing off the garden walls and the city towers beyond them. The air wasn’t peaceful . . . not by a long way. War. The Zhid. Avonar’s fear was thicker than the daylight. I could feel it in the way you feel the coming of the first storm of winter.

  “You’ve never told us your name.”

  I almost jumped out of my skin. Aimee had come up just beside me. Her eyes were closed as the sunbeams bathed her smooth skin. “I’d be pleased to know you better before you leave us. And Lady Seriana will wish to tell Master Karon of you. It will give him heart to hear that Gerick was able to help you . . . that he retained some power the Lady could not control.”

  “Is it truly Prince D’Natheil who lies at the hospice? The very same?”

  “It is, though he goes only by his other name now. I served him with my Imaging in the years he reigned in Avonar, and once I have imprinted the image of a person on my mind, I cannot mistake him. He is the noblest gentleman I’ve ever known save my own dear father who has passed on to L’Tiere.”

  “It hardly seems possible.”

  “Their story is astonishing, is it not? I’d never heard it told all at once until now. Had I not been privileged to witness a small part of it, I’d never believe it.”

  “I need to get back to my father.”

  She nodded, understanding. “And then to answer the summons of your own talent in this coming war?”

  “No summons comes for such as me. Oh, I’ve useful skills, but no true talent. It seems to have been lost along my Way.”

  I waited for the effusive sympathy and subtle aversion that was the usual when a kind person finally made the connection. It probably just took Aimee longer because she couldn’t see the ugly telltale about my neck.

  Though her voice could not have been heard across the room, she bent closer to my ear. “Someday you and I will have to decide which is easier on those around us: your skills with no true talent, or my true talent with so little skill at anything truly useful.”

  I had to laugh. She spoke with such sincere good humor as to make me forget my usual bristling at discussions of true talent.

  “My name is Jen’Larie,” I said. “But I’ve always been called Jen.”

  “Jen’Larie—what a beautiful name! I’ve never heard it.” She extended her hand. “May I?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted, but I wasn’t afraid of her. I took her hand and felt the warm flow of sensation up hand and arm that accompanied a touch of sorcery. She squeezed my hand as she released it a moment later.

  “Now I shall be able to recognize you should we meet again. You are so strong and lovely and delicate all at once, just like your name!”

  Now I believed Aimee was blind. No one in all the world had ever called me lovely. “It was my mother’s name, too,” I said. “Everyone shortened mine to tell us apart.”

  “My mother shared my name, as well, but we didn’t have much confusion,” she said. “She did not survive my birth. It came too early and was very difficult. Many weeks passed before the Healers were sure I would live, with or without sight.”

  “And your father?”

  “The Lords destroyed him. Their sworn traitor used one of these horrid rings of power to control the Prince’s son, trying to convince the Prince—Master Karon—that Gerick had murdered my father and betrayed the defenses of Avonar. But all of it was the Lords and their puppet. I offered Prince D’Natheil my talents afterward. I cannot permit such horrors to happen again.”

  Aimee might have been the very incarnation of Vasrin Shaper in that moment, the stern and flawless female half of our dual god, whose image graced the gates of Avonar to warn away those who would violate our peace. And I had only thought her pretty and kind.

  “So you believe this son is worthy of his father and his mother?”

  She clasped her hands at her breast and crinkled her brow. “I wish I could find the right words. I don’t know Master Gerick well. He is very quiet and shares little of himself in company. But I’ve witnessed the feeling he bears for these three who have shepherded him from the darkness into the light, and no being of evil could devise it. When I write the image of love on my mind, Jen, it is Gerick’s care for his mother and his father and his friend that I model.”

  “And theirs for him?”

  “Indeed. I would give a great deal to help them find him. Master Je’Reint says my Imaging helps him locate Zhid sentries and outposts—he is very kind, of course. But my studies of military history and strategy and the geography of Gondai give me the basic material to work with. I’ve no such grounding that could tell me where Lady D’Sanya might have taken Gerick.”

  I propped my back on the window frame and watched Lady Seriana and Paulo shaking their heads. “She said she would bury him in the place where he was ‘hatched.’ Surely they don’t think she would take him across the Bridge.”

  Aimee turned toward the others, as well, as if she could see them puzzling over this dilemma. “No. Lady Seriana has concluded that D’Sanya will take him to Zhev’Na—that it was his ‘birth’ as a Lord to which the Lady was referring. But reports say that the temple where he was changed and all the fortress buildings have fallen. Now they’re trying to determine the location of the desert camps where he was trained to command.”

  “I’d think it more likely the Lady meant the underground chambers at Zhev’Na: the Chamber of the Great Oculus or the Vault of the Skull or Notole’s den right next to it. Those couldn’t have ‘fallen’ like the rest of the fortress.”

  “You know these places?”

  “I know every place in Zhev’Na. I lived there for six years. In the Lords’ house itself for a good part of that time. I’ve a very good memory, even in cases where I’d prefer not.”

  “Perhaps—”Aimee bit her lip. “I know you’re anxious to leave, but if you could help them make a map . . . You see, it is . . . Master Gerick’s friend . . . who is to go after him. He was only in the Lords’ house one time. It will be such a danger. What if these Zhid have occupied it again? Or if the Lady herself is there? He must be quick and sure.”

  “They can’t mean for him to go alone. And him not even Dar’Nethi. It’s lunacy.”

  “But they’ve no one else. With the Zhid on the march, no one can be spared. Prince Ven’Dar, who would gladly have found someone trustworthy to accompany Master Paulo, is gone away, and Commander Je’Reint is burdened with the defense of the city and the raising of troops. No Dar’Nethi would be willing to help Master Gerick, and we’ve no time to explain the truth to them.”

  “Well, I’ll go then. A mundane can’t bumble into Zhev’Na alone.” Only when the two at the table fell instantly silent, staring at me as if I’d said I was going to eat the moon, did I realize that I’d blurted out this absurdity at full volume.

  Aimee’s face blossomed with a radiant smile. “Bless you,” she said, quietly enough that the others couldn’t hear it. I wasn’t sure I was supposed to hear it either. She took my arm and dragged me across the room to join the others.

  Why in the name of sense had I done it? As Aimee repeated my offer and, after asking my permission, explained why I was not summoned to war, Lady Seriana and Paulo acted as if I’d taken leave of my senses—or as if I had some less-than-benevolent purpose.

  “You’re good to offer,” said the woman. “But I couldn’t ask it.” The room was suddenly so chilly, I needed a cloak and gloves.

  “It’s not just so I can kill him, if that’s what you think,” I said.

  “No, of course not.” But her cheeks flushed just enough that I knew she’d considered it.


  “And it is not a matter of your letting me or not letting me. I choose for myself. But if all you say is true, you can hardly refuse my help. You believe the safety of Avonar depends on finding out the truth about the Lady, which could depend in great measure on finding your son. I am a true daughter of Avonar. I lived in the Lords’ house. I know where to look for him.”

  “I can find my own way about.” Paulo wasn’t happy, either.

  “Fine,” I said. “But will you be able to tell if spell traps have been laid? The ruins of Zhev’Na are not a place to blunder in with great big feet and kick over the stones to find what you’re looking for. I’ve more experience and skill than you’ll get from anyone else available.”

  “Indeed, you must let Jen help you,” chimed in Aimee. “I’ve heard frightful reports of the ruins. Some say they’re haunted, that those who venture within never return, or if they do, then they’re never the same. You mustn’t risk your safety by going less than fully armed, good sir.”

  Well, he wasn’t going to refuse a plea like that. But he scowled at me, and I could guess what he was thinking.

  “Indeed, thanks to your friend and the Lords, I have no true talent,” I said. “But I do have the same capabilities as every Dar’Nethi: I can call fire, detect enchantments, and hide things—and people—reasonably well if I have no wish for them to be seen. As you can’t do these things yourself, you’re probably the only person in Avonar who could find my paltry skills useful. Therefore I shall suit you very well. And, of course, whether or not you wish me to come, I shall follow you anyway.”

  What a silly thing to say. Sometimes I wished I could stop talking altogether.

  Lady Seriana warmed a bit at my outburst, smiling as if she understood exactly what I was feeling, which I found quite annoying just when I was doing my best to understand that very thing and having no luck at all. I was determined to go and couldn’t say why. But like the mule to which my brothers had so often compared me, I plodded ahead. “And someone ought to be making plans for all those people in the hospice. If the power that keeps them well comes from Lady D’Sanya, and if we believe her power is a danger to Avonar, whether she intends it or not—”