Vortex Chronicles: The Complete Series (Air Awakens: Vortex Chronicles)

by Elise Kova

  “Young one,” a voice that sounded like every man, woman, and child in the world speaking all at once startled Vi from her thoughts. There was silence, then the voice again. “My Champion.”

  “Y… Y…” Vi could barely form a word. Her mouth was new, foreign, strange.

  She turned in place, aware she was no longer falling. But all around her was nothing more than bright light, swirling yellows mixed with blues and whites. The same colors and intensity as the flames that had engulfed her.

  “I am here.”

  “Where?” It felt like eternity stretched in all directions, all possibilities contained within.

  Vi looked behind her, and when she turned forward again she was startled to see the shadow of a woman. A long veil covered her face, bolts of silk hiding her form. A crown of pure light sat on her head.

  “Queen Lumeria?” Vi said, finding her voice once more.

  “No. It is I… I who have seen this world from its start. I who sowed the seeds of life. I who gave you ground to grow in. I who gave you light to grow by.”

  Yargen. Vi would’ve dropped to her knee, but she was too stunned. She also wasn’t completely certain she could move her knees. Her body was as fresh and primordial as the light around her, yet it mirrored the woman she’d always been.

  The magic of the Goddess was within and around her. But mortal flesh still covered that power. She was neither divine nor mortal. A familiar sensation for the princess who had never belonged in any one place—who had never been any one thing.

  “Yes,” Yargen spoke as though she heard Vi’s thoughts, because of course she heard Vi’s thoughts. Vi stared at the face—veil—of a goddess. “I am in everything. I am everything. My essence, my being, cannot be comprehended by you or any mortal mind. So this is merely a form your consciousnesses has created, to make me something you can understand—a meager shell for all I am…” She slowly raised her hands, fabric floating unnaturally weightless through the air. “Because this is all I am.

  “Or, should I say, all I was.” Her hands lowered just as slowly. “I have given you a boon once more, my Champion. Your mind does not deceive you—in you is the last of my power from this world, collected from what fragments were left. The flame has been extinguished. With it, the world you knew is gone.”

  “Gone?” Vi repeated in quiet horror.

  “The world you were born into, the people you knew, the way you knew them, are no more.”

  Gone. Everything was gone. Everything Vi had ever loved, would ever love, vanished at the whim of a goddess. Her mind ached and Vi didn’t know if it was from the struggle of trying to comprehend what was happening, or from what she’d already endured. She would cry in the face of such a truth, but Vi wasn’t sure she even remembered how.

  “Do not despair,” Yargen soothed. “They are not gone forever. Just as you are not gone forever. You now possess a new shape… as shall they.”

  “What? But you said—”

  “This is the only way to thwart Raspian. The only way we can prevent him from destroying my world of light. We must begin anew in the shell of the former world and preserve my power, this time, so that I may face him once more in our deadly, eternal dance.”

  “A new world,” Vi whispered.

  “Yes, but a familiar one. Everything as you knew it has been wiped away. But the lines of fate remain. The life that was cultivated can still thrive. Everything is as it was, but new once more.”

  “I… I don’t understand.” Vi shook her head. She wanted to. She desperately wanted to, because somewhere amid all the talk of the world ending was hope. Vi could hear it, and she lived for that hope, even if she didn’t yet understand its foundations.

  “You will, in time,” Yargen assured her. “We begin anew. I return you to before the first moment where fate was changed. I place you back in a new world. You will be free of the bonds of time because my magic is in you. I have given you the power that lived in the watch your past self carried. I have bestowed the power of my Voice and the last vestiges of power from the flame on you as well.

  “Together, we have scraped together my meager remnants to make this attempt at a world in which I am not weakened. When I rebuild this new world, you shall enter it as you are, knowing all you know. However, you shall be immune to time’s flow, a traveler among mortals.”

  A new world. A traveler. If Vi understood correctly, the world was being remade with the crystal weapons still intact. But that meant…

  “But what about my world? My father, my mother?”

  “The only world that exists now, is the one we exist within. I am the fount of life and time. There is no other world.”

  Vi shook her head and fell to her knees. What was it for? What was everything for? She’d struggled and fought to spare the world from ending, only to see the world end anyway? Raspian wanted to destroy the world, so Vi fought against him… only to see it destroyed by a different god.

  Yet, if Yargen spoke true, there was still a chance to save it.

  The Goddess approached, stopping before her. Queen Lumeria’s shifting silks floated through her vision as Vi stared up like a hopeless acolyte, beseeching forgiveness and mercy.

  “Regain your birthright as Champion,” Yargen intoned.

  The spear that was bestowed. A voice that both was and wasn’t her own replied from within her mind.

  “Assume your mantle as Champion.”

  To defend the Crystal Caverns.

  “See my power is never turned on itself again. See I am not weakened. See I am able to stand against the incomprehensible darkness that rages at the edge of your mortal world.”

  The air was sucked from Vi’s lungs.

  Light turned to darkness and she was falling again. Yargen vanished from before her and Vi was left alone. The wind sped around her. Her eyes dipped closed.

  If she hit the ground at this speed, she’d die.

  Perhaps that was the best end she could hope for.

  But she couldn’t die. For in her was the power of Yargen. Wasn’t that what the goddess had said? And that power condemned her to remain adrift in the sands of time.

  Vi gasped for air, opening her eyes wide. She lurched upward, the watch around her neck thumping dully against her chest. The world around her was bright—uncomfortably so—but not the same brightness she had just endured.

  And certainly not the same brightness that peeled off her skin like some primordial, godly afterbirth.

  Rubbing her hands over her arms and shivering in the heat, Vi looked around. She’d thought of herself in the sands of time… but now she was just in regular sand. Hay was scattered at her side, damp-smelling and foul. Whatever animal lived here would need something fresh, if the animal was still alive at all. The stables she was in were completely empty.

  People drifted past on the other side of the gate. None of them noticed her or looked her way. Perhaps they couldn’t see her at all.

  Vi stared down at her trembling hands. She opened and closed her fingers slowly. They still worked. She could keenly feel her nails digging into her palms when she balled them, just as she could feel the thin layer of sand shifting over hard-packed earth beneath as Vi pushed herself off the ground.

  Swaying, she took one step forward, then another. She knew where she was before she emerged from the stable. The people were easy enough to identify, the architecture of the city even easier.

  The city stables of Norin stretched on either side of her as Vi emerged along the main road. She remembered passing through these markets and streets with Jayme. At least, she thought she remembered…

  Perhaps this whole time she’d been in one endless fever dream. Perhaps none of it had been real. Perhaps she’d been marching home with her family, took a detour to Norin she couldn’t recall at this moment, and suffered heat fainting. She’d only dreamt her father gone, her mother ill. She’d only dreamt of Taavin and Meru and—

  “What do you think will be in the proclamation?” a wife asked her
husband as they passed. Her voice was low, and as weak as her body looked.

  Vi turned and stared. Luckily, the woman didn’t notice, because Vi didn’t think she could wipe the shock off her face if she tried. The wife hadn’t been speaking common. She was speaking the old language of Mhashan—and Vi could understand it with perfect fluency.

  “Hopefully an end to this war,” the man murmured in reply.

  War. Vi’s whole body continued to tremble. She ran her hands over her arms, trying to comfort herself. But her palms smoothed over fabrics she hadn’t ever owned in a style she didn’t recognize.

  Dragging one foot forward, then the next, Vi began to march with the rest of them. Ahead was a castle. Her gaze drifted over familiar spires, working to make sense of them. She’d read enough to know the architecture of the castle of Norin anywhere. But seeing it now was impossible.

  She had just been in Risen. Her head ached as her head tipped back and her eyes lifted. She squinted at the sun, wondering if Yargen was watching her right now—watching her attempt to complete the task she’d been given.

  Watching her attempt to make sense of what on the Goddess’s earth had just happened.

  A crowd collected in an open area at the end of a long bridge that connected the castle and city over a dry moat. Guards were gathered in a semi-circle, blocking entry to the bridge. None of the populous seemed interested in fighting them. The people were harrowed and gaunt. Every man, woman, and child had the haunted eyes of a soldier who had seen far too much.

  Without warning, a woman stepped up onto a tall box that had no doubt been carried out expressly for this purpose. She was just high enough to see over the people. Vi stared, slack-jawed, at an oddly familiar face. It was not identical to hers. But it was so close that it was like looking into a mirror.

  Even from Vi’s distance, she could see the woman had angular black eyes, jutting cheekbones, and a sharp chin. Her skin, a deep tan darker than Vi’s own, paired with straight black hair. Hair identical to Vi’s.

  Vi opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t form words. Not that she knew what she would have said, anyway.

  “People of the West,” the woman began, “this siege has gone on for nearly ten long years. But I am Fiera, Princess of Mhashan, youngest daughter to King Rocham, and head of the Knights of Jadar, and I have received a vision from the Mother above. The end is near, and we must be ready for it.”

  to the hundred and eleven

  who have my eternal gratitude

  Prologue

  Fiera eased herself away from the smoldering remnants of the fire she’d been using to peer along the Mother’s red lines of fate to catch glimpses of the future. She sat back on her heels, hands on her thighs, and stared out the wide, open window that overlooked her dying city. She had been charged with the sole duty of protecting themf… and she had failed.

  “At least it will finally be over,” she said thoughtfully. The words made her vision real.

  For nearly ten long years, the Solaris Empire, led by Tiberus Solaris, had laid siege to Norin. Mhashan would not fall easily. Fiera had used the sword to see to that. And her father would never surrender; the blood of the greatest king to ever live, King Jadar, flowed through his veins and hers. They had a family name to honor, though their ideas about how exactly to do so couldn’t have been more different.

  She pushed herself away from the small fire pit, standing. Her scrying room was attached to one of her sitting rooms, accessible through a curtain. Fiera made her way across her chambers and into her closet. She’d need her finest to deliver this message. If they were to fall, they would fall with the same dignity they’d lived and fought with.

  Dressed in deep crimson splashed with accents of bright silver, a decorative pauldron over one shoulder with chain mail draping off, Fiera stepped into the halls of the castle.

  Things were quiet. But they usually were these days. Hunger was beginning to scrape the very bottom of every citizen’s stomach. Most of the castle staff had been dismissed long ago with the command to conserve their energy. Fiera knew at least half of them were dead now.

  Only an extremely loyal few remained at their posts.

  Heading down a wide staircase, Fiera stepped into a side hallway accessible through a narrow door on the side of the stairs. When she was a girl, this hall had been filled with the sweet scents of perfume and fine soaps, imported from the Crossroads. Now, it was merely damp. Humidity beaded on the walls from the heated washing tubs. Sweet-smelling soaps had run out long ago; now, the best they could do to clean their clothes was boil them.

  A middle-aged man tended the steaming tubs. Magic radiated off of him, sparking throughout the room as he kept each of the large, wooden basins bubbling hot. He went from tub to tub, stirring the contents.

  “Hanc.”

  “Your highness.” The man released the over-sized spoon he’d been holding and dipped low into a bow. When Fiera was young, an elderly woman would threaten to crack her knuckles with the too-large spoons if she was caught snatching soap shavings for her personal use. Fiera didn’t know where the woman was now; she’d vanished like all of Hanc’s other helpers. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to collect all the bedsheets in the castle and begin stitching them together.” Luckily, the tubs were filled with colored garments. That meant he should have plenty of white sheets at his disposal. “It doesn’t matter if they’re clean and the stitches do not need to be tidy—merely sturdy.” He stared at her, clearly working to process the odd request. “I need you to do this with haste, as many as you can. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, your highness,” Hanc said slowly. Then, timidly, “Any particular way they should be stitched together?”

  “Not really. So long as they are white—or close enough to white—and the banner you make is large, it should be enough.”

  “I shall do so when I finish this wash and—”

  “You shall do so now,” Fiera interrupted firmly. “There is precious little time. Remember, you need to do as many as your hands can bear in the coming hours and only stop when the time comes to use what you have produced.” Hanc gave a small nod. Fiera wished she could tell him more, but it was better not to. They all needed to keep their faith in these final hours. Ignorance while doing so was the best she could give them. Fiera went to leave, but paused in the doorway. “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell no one of this task save my brother. But wait to go to him until the time is right. Perform your duty as discretely as possible. Start with the sheets not on beds to avoid suspicion, then those in vacant rooms. Use my quarters if you need a place to work.” Fiera doubted she would spend much time in them in the hours to come.

  “How will I know the time is right?”

  “Trust me when I say that you will.” It would be obvious what he was making when the time came for it—if it wasn’t obvious already. “Work with speed, Hanc.”

  “Yes, your highness.”

  Fiera left him and started back up the stairs. Her hands worried the familiar stone banisters as she wound up to the royal council rooms. A war council was convened at all times of the day, it seemed, though the discussions had dulled the longer the siege dragged on.

  When she stepped into the stately room, the men and women who had been lounging in velvet tufted chairs stood instantly.

  “Your highness.” They bowed rigidly, hands at their sides.

  “Captain.” Zira, Fiera’s head knight and right hand, saluted.

  “Report on the city’s status,” Fiera commanded.

  “Grain stores have been entirely depleted outside the castle,” Denja reported, adjusting the scarf around her head. She had once been a councilor of commerce, and a good one at that. But the war had robbed her of much purpose other than rationing. Perhaps, in the days to come, her skills with negotiation could be put to use again. “We’re relying entirely on the sea now.” Her eyes were now on Twintle.

  “In the wate
rs we dare to sail, fishing has been scarce… Though, the fishermen claim that with the season’s shift, new fish should come to the area. There’s still the reserve of dried fish at my warehouse at the docks,” Twintle, councilor for maritime, picked up Denja’s report.

  “No breaches reported by the guard along the outer wall. No movements of the Imperial army since half their forces retreated two weeks ago,” Zira added.

  It was a standard report Fiera had been receiving for years now. The only variant was that each time she heard it, there was less and less to say. Most had thought she was far too young to be placed at the head of the Knights of Jadar five years ago when it happened at her seventeenth birthday. But war changed girls into women, and softness into steel.

  “Any report of Imperial ships at sea?”

  Twintle shook his head. “Not since our last effort to drive them away.”

  “The pirate Adela?”

  “No sightings,” Twintle said, with no small amount of relief.

  Fiera nodded, relieved as well. They had enough to worry about. Adela could go terrorize the brutish and uneducated masses on the Crescent Continent.

  “Open the grain stores of the castle to the soldiers. Denja, anything you can dredge up from the bottom of barrels in the castle or city is to be turned out. Ask the nobles again to search their larders—by surprise this time. Let’s see if we can’t find anything hidden away in their cabinets. All combatants have first claim. Let the people eat after our military, and then a curfew is in order. All non-combatants are to remain indoors.”

  “If I open my warehouse—” Lord Twintle began from the other end of the table.

  “You will quickly run out. Yes, I realize.” Fiera rapped her knuckles against the table twice; a ring in the shape of a silver phoenix rung out loudly. “This ends in the coming days. Feed our troops, give them strength.”

  “You had a vision.” Ophain, her brother and eldest sibling, said softly from the head of the table opposite her. He still had not risen to greet her.