“How lovely to see you too. Did you have a nice trip?”
“Heh. Very funny. Now why in the abyss is everyone back in the Veiled Empire?”
She shrugged. “We might have had a setback or two. No matter. I’m preparing a contingency that, while on a somewhat longer timetable than I had initially hoped, should prove effective in seeing our ultimate end met.”
“Our? Don’t try fooling me, sister. There is no ‘our’ about anything you do.”
“Brother, you wound me! Everything I’ve done has been for the benefit of others. Believe me when I say, future generations will thank me.”
“If they do, it will only be because you alone survive to write the history books. All the praise in the world means nothing if it comes without choice.”
“Oh, bother your negativity. I suppose you contacted me for a reason? Please get to it.”
“A reason? Abyss below do we have a reason!”
“And that is?”
Draevenus smiled at last. “Rally the troops, Vash. Tassariel may have found a way to end this war.”
Chapter 21
Jasside listened raptly as Tassariel told her tale, afraid to even breathe lest she miss some crucial detail. Vashodia wouldn’t, she knew. And of all those who had gathered to hear the news, her former mistress gave her the greatest worry. She could count on Mevon, Arivana, and even Gilshamed to maintain level heads, and combine their intellect with whatever new information arose to construct the best possible course of action. With Vashodia in the room, however, even the most stolid will could become subverted. Usually, no one even knew it was happening.
“. . . and so,” Tassariel concluded, “when my father turned those ships away with nothing but purest light, I knew exactly what it meant. What relationship exists between our magic and theirs.”
“Oh, yes. Tell us, please,” Vashodia said. “Enlighten the feeble minds of those of us too stupid to figure it out ourselves.”
Tassariel frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to hear it?”
“Do go on,” Jasside said, throwing a quick glare at her former mistress before facing the valynkar woman once more. “She’s just mad you know something she doesn’t. It’s an . . . unfamiliar feeling to her.”
Vashodia waved a hand dismissively. “All knowledge will be mine eventually. And I am such a patient little girl.”
“Then why berate her?”
“I merely find the notion that she and my brother actually stumbled upon information that could be considered useful—crucial, even—a bit preposterous.”
“But . . . isn’t that why you sent us?” Draevenus said.
“What?” Vashodia said, sounding surprised by the question. “Yes, of course. I mean, I had hoped you would. Naturally.”
Jasside sniffed out the lie immediately, and judging by the expression on his face, so had Draevenus. For one thing, Vashodia never hoped for anything. She made calculated decisions based on well analyzed information and several lifetimes of experience. The future, to her, was one of likelihood, not hope.
But if you didn’t expect their mission to succeed, why send them at all?
Another look at Draevenus, whose face softened with glistening eyes, provided her answer.
You sent him away to keep him safe, didn’t you?
Granted, penetrating deep into enemy-held territory wasn’t typically considered risk-free behavior, but in this case it made a kind of sense. His particular set of skills would have allowed him to pick his engagements, fighting only when relatively sure of victory, while keeping hidden the rest of the time. If he’d stayed with the main group, he’d have been exposed to far more danger. His sister had even sent along a companion in case things became . . . messy.
Vashodia always did have a soft spot for her brother. Perhaps, there was hope for her soul yet.
“I believe we are deviating from our purpose in gathering here,” Gilshamed said. “I, for one, would like to hear what my niece has to say.”
“I agree,” Arivana added. “Please, Tass, tell us what you’ve learned.”
Tassariel stepped forward, risking only the briefest glance at the glowering Vashodia. “As I was saying,” she said, “our sorceries interact in a most peculiar way. You casters have seen it firsthand, I’m sure.”
“They attune to us,” Vashodia snapped. “We know this already.”
“Yes, but it is more than just becoming similar to either light or dark. It’s deeper than that. More . . . personal.”
“What do you mean?” Jasside asked.
Tassariel paused for breath, and when she spoke again her voice took on a wondrous, breathless quality. “When you use magic, you’re exerting your will on things outside yourself. Each time you do, I think, a piece of you goes with it. Now, light and dark are too opposed for us to feel any effect when used one against the other, but with chaos it’s different. If not exactly a middle ground, it seems almost like a bridge of sorts. And when our energy touches theirs, so do our souls.”
Vashodia rolled her eyes. “There aren’t enough days left in my life to explain how wrong you are.”
“I am not wrong,” Tassariel said, straightening her back.
Jasside was torn between defending Tassariel and agreeing with what her former mistress had taught her. She knew the deeper mysteries of the energy coruscating throughout the universe. She’d seen the way it worked on the most fundamental level with her own eyes. She even had theories as to how humankind had come to harness it, and nowhere did they allow for something so intangible as the soul.
But what if I’m wrong about that?
She peered down at the diminutive mierothi, dressed as ever in dark robes, and asked herself an even more disturbing question.
What if she is?
“When you fight the ruvak,” Tassariel said, meeting Vashodia’s unwavering stare without flinching, “tell me, what is it that you feel?”
“What I feel?” Vashodia giggled. “Why should I feel anything at all? Clever as they are, it’s still just sweeping away maggots.”
Tassariel nodded. “Arrogance, then. And disdain.” She turned to Gilshamed. “What about you, Uncle?”
He sighed, eyes lowering. “Futility.”
Tassariel began turning towards Draevenus, but stopped halfway as they both made sharp, whispering inhales. It seemed to Jasside that neither of them wanted to hear what the other felt. At least not in front of a crowd. The valynkar woman instead cast her gaze upon Jasside, lifting an inquiring eyebrow.
“Hate,” Jasside said, furious with how easily the word had come to her. “Hate . . . and fear.”
Mevon, at her side, gently squeezed her hand.
“As it is with most other casters, I’m sure,” Tassariel said.
“So you’re saying what, exactly?” Mevon asked. “That the ruvak feel what we feel when we fight them?”
Tassariel nodded.
Mevon grunted. “That explains why the fighting grew ever more bitter as the war dragged on. When it comes time to kill, no matter the justness of your cause, there’s little room in your heart for anything considered good.”
“No. My father, on the other hand, felt none of those things. All he felt was guilt. And I think we can all agree that those who are consumed by guilt don’t often face their problems.”
“No,” Gilshamed said quietly. “They run.”
The room fell silent as everyone contemplated the words already spoken. Jasside’s mind ran wild with implications.
If we could make them feel something good, something other than fear and hate, futility and guilt, what might happen then? All efforts at communication have been met with silence so far. Maybe we’ve just been speaking the wrong language.
But Vashodia didn’t seem to see the connection. “This is all pointless,” she said. “What are you going to do? Spit rainbows of happiness at our sworn enemy and expect them to lay down their arms?”
Jasside’s elation slipped away at the words. Not because of any
vehemence on the speaker’s part, but because of how nonchalantly they were spoken. They were enough to make her feel foolish for her recent thoughts, which, she knew, was exactly Vashodia’s reason for saying them. Even so, unfortunately, Jasside now found it hard to disagree with her former mistress.
For all her faults, the woman knows a lost cause when she sees it.
Not Gilshamed, though. “What would you suggest, then?” he asked, staring down at Vashodia. “Nothing we have done thus far has done more than delay our eventual fall. Even this reprieve is only temporary. I am certain that no one present is under the illusion that the voltensi will hold the ruvak back indefinitely.”
“Which is why we must go on the offensive,” Vashodia said.
“Are you mad?” Draevenus said. “Never mind, don’t answer that. But trust me when I say, leaving this continent in anything other than clandestine elements is suicide. You don’t know what’s out there.”
“On the contrary, dear brother. I know exactly what is out there. Including the fact that no more reinforcements will be arriving for our friends from the void.”
Jasside was about to ask how she knew as much, had even opened her mouth to speak the question, but shut it without a sound, shaking her head. Vashodia was ever miserly with her sources of information. “What’s your plan, then?” she asked instead.
Vashodia smiled. “Well, they’re spread out at the moment. Many are consolidating their hold on the lands beyond, while the rest are probing the empire for a breach point. You know all about that, don’t you, Gilshamed. Tell me, if you’d had a few million friends helping you out, would it have taken more or less time, you think, to find your way in?”
Gilshamed only frowned.
“Precisely,” Vashodia continued, as if he’d answered. “We’re lucky they haven’t found one already. In the meantime, a few well-timed strikes against vulnerable strongholds and logistical points, and the ruvak will start thinking twice about an assault. Now are there any other arguments, or can we start smoothing out the details?”
Jasside looked up at Mevon, searching his face for guidance. Though he appeared troubled, mirroring her own feelings on the matter, after a moment he merely shrugged. Glancing around the room, it didn’t look like anyone was about to raise an objection. She sighed, settling into the idea of a long, slow war of attrition that would likely see them all die of old age—including the valynkar and mierothi—before the conflict was over.
That is, until one small voice spoke up from the quiet.
“No,” Arivana said.
She held her breath, waiting for someone to shame her into silence. Vashodia, however, only crossed her arms, holding a smug look on her face that said I can’t wait to hear this, louder than if she had shouted it.
As for the rest . . . well, it was hard for her to describe what she saw. There was a kind of yearning there, in each rapt visage, a longing for something they all needed yet were too afraid to grasp. Not that she could blame them. She knew that maintaining even a thin grip on hope, especially when faced with such impossible odds, required an extraordinary expenditure of energy.
One benefit of youth, at least, is that I have plenty of that to spare. Maybe even enough for the rest of you.
“I may not be a caster,” she said, “but if I’m hearing correctly, it seems possible that we might influence the ruvak with sorcery in a positive way. Although it’s easy to make it sound absurd by using words like ‘rainbows of happiness,’ the idea should not be so easily discounted. At the very least, I think we should give it a try.”
“Give what a try?” Jasside asked.
Arivana shrugged. “I have no idea. Obviously, those of you who can use magic will have to work out some sort of process. All I’m saying is that we should travel this path first before going on the offensive. Because once we do, nothing but scorn will come from our efforts to begin talks of peace.”
“Peace?” Jasside shook her head. “As much as I’d like to believe it’s possible, nothing we’ve seen from the ruvak suggests that they’re interested.”
“Which is exactly what Tassariel was pointing out. If what she says is true, then we can’t know peace is impossible until we give it a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“And in the time it takes to try, our opportunity to turn the tables will have passed.”
“Is that you talking?” Arivana tilted her head towards Vashodia. “Or her?”
Jasside’s eyes narrowed in anger, but it was replaced just as quickly by shame. A moment later, the anger returned, only this time it was directed inward. Arivana understood the reaction perfectly. The woman had probably told herself not to let her former mentor influence her thoughts, yet had still failed.
We can set all the wards in the world, but there’s no guarding against those we care about the most.
“The ruvak aren’t all that different from us,” Arivana said quietly. “And if anyone can claim to know that, it’s me.”
Encouraged by the lack of challenge, Arivana swallowed and trudged onwards.
“This war doesn’t need to end with the total annihilation of one species or another. I have to believe that. I hope you all do, too. Now, I can’t guarantee any attempt using this newfound knowledge will succeed. Far from it. In fact, I expect any gamble we take will have odds so long as to make a betting man weep with joy just for the chance to pick against us. Still, I think it’s a risk worth taking. If we could just get them to pause—just for a moment—and see us as something other than a hated enemy . . . or see themselves as something other than righteous avengers . . .” She shrugged, lifting her eyebrows.
With her point as defined as she could make it, Arivana ran out of words to say. She looked around the room, searching every set of eyes to see who—if anyone—would support her.
The first person to do so was the last person she had expected.
“She’s right,” Mevon said.
All eyes turned to him as he spoke. Most people seemed surprised, though none more so than the queen. He gave her a nod, and the look of gratitude that came over her features—and Jasside’s gentle pat on his arm—let him know he was doing the right thing.
“Anyone can see that the ruvak are fanatics,” he continued. “And knowing what we do about their origins, it isn’t hard to see why. They’ve been banished from their home for thousands of years, every moment a reminder of what they lost, and blaming all their suffering on a nightmare from the ancient past. Blaming us. For whatever they knew about us from that first encounter, so long ago, surely grew more sour with each telling, painting humanity in ever more grotesque light until our extermination must seem not only righteous, but the only thing that matters.
“They’ve convinced themselves of this, I’m sure, and are too blinded by it to accept the truth. If we could open their eyes for even a single moment, they might see the lie for what it is. Will they change their minds? Who can say. But like Arivana suggests, I think we should give them that chance. Because sometimes,” he added, angling his gaze to look down upon his wife’s glowing, upturned face, “that’s all people need to turn away from the darkness in their hearts and turn instead to something better.
“Something . . . good.”
Tassariel smiled. This was exactly the kind of response she had both hoped for and feared, but now that the moment was here all apprehension vanished. And though the momentum was building, she could tell it hadn’t begun rolling just yet.
Time, perhaps, for one more little push.
“I agree,” she began. “And I think it’s important to remember, that though the ruvak have committed atrocities against us, we’ve done far worse to ourselves. We all came from different lands and walks of life, and at one point our peoples warred, killing each other with bitter savagery that not even the ruvak could match. Yet . . . here we are. No matter what lies behind, I think it’s time to start looking forward. And I, for one, don’t want to live in a future where we wiped out another intelligent race without
at least trying for peace.”
“Neither would I,” Draevenus said, stepping up next to Tassariel as the vision faded from his mind. Another gift of insight from Ruul that felt as if it would be the last.
Vashodia is the key, Ruul had told him. Through her, all possible outcomes flow. Yet, she is an imperfect creature. Though she will resist, you must guide her, Draevenus. You, and the others gathered to your cause, must remind her that no matter how superior she may be in matters of the mind—yes, even unto both Elos and myself—that she cannot discount matters of the heart . . .
“Not you too,” Vashodia said, appearing legitimately wounded as she stared up at him. “I thought you, of all people, would have more sense than to fall for this sentimental nonsense.”
He shook his head. “You know me better than that, Vash. You just don’t want to admit that the days are long past when I would stand blindly at your side.”
“I never thought of you as blind.”
“Blindly loyal, then. But that was back when you and I agreed—if not always on methods, then at least on our goals. Nowadays, even that can no longer be said.”
“I’m to stand alone, then? With not even my brother to have my back?”
“I’d like to—I really would—but in this you are, quite simply—” he swallowed before finishing “—wrong.”
She crossed her arms. “Survival is wrong now, is it?”
“At the cost you suggest? I don’t know. Maybe. But despite the fact that you think you’ve accounted for every possible factor, there’s one I know you’ve left out.”
“And that is?”
“Love, sister. You said it yourself, not too long ago—it can be a useful tool. And for this, it might be just the one we need.”
She flicked a hand angrily. “Love is for the weak.”
“So you name every person here. Every person. That includes yourself.”
Finally, she laughed, a bitter sound he’d come to expect from her every time she coiled about herself, turning away any chance of connection with the outside world. “There’s no room in my heart for anything so pointless. All that is within me . . . is darkness . . .”
The Light That Binds Page 36