The Light That Binds

by Nathan Garrison

  “That’s not it either. We’re quite happy with the territory given us for rebuilding our civilization. The cold makes us feel right at home, and there are plenty of perfectly suited caves and caverns for growing our primary crops.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “It’s our soldiers. The sudden reversal has left them confused. Angry. The more vocal among them are even saying our leaders have been charmed somehow.”

  Arivana whipped her head towards her other companions. “Is that even possible?”

  Draevenus shook his head. “There are a lot of ways to influence a person, but nothing so severe or long lasting. That’s not what’s at work here. Jasside did something I’ve never seen before. Something . . . unprecedented.”

  “After I exposed them,” Tassariel began, “she took what I can only describe as a piece of her soul and gave it to each and every one of them, showing them in a way they could not deny that we were equals, and equally worthy of the right to exist.”

  “How she did it, I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Draevenus added. “But even my sister would be impressed.”

  Arivana nodded, then turned back to Sem Aira. “What is it you need from me, then?”

  The ruvak sighed. “I don’t know, exactly. Some idea for preventing an insurrection, I suppose. Any idea at all. Both me and my masters are at our wit’s end.”

  Placing her hand on Sem Aira’s shoulder, Arivana gave her a warm, comforting squeeze. “We walked into the very maw of the abyss together and came out not only victors, but also allies with the those who once sought our destruction. We can figure this out. Trust me.”

  Sem Aira smiled.

  Arivana knew that their two peoples needed a bit of distance from each other for now, to allow time for the war’s fresh wounds to heal. Even so, communication between them needed to stay open, lest they become strangers once more. Managing such a fine balance was a task she once would have balked at. But now?

  Transitioning from war to peace has become something of a specialty of mine. It’s one burden I won’t ever mind bearing.

  The Gulf, as it had colloquially come to be called, dominated any vista one might attempt to view from this place. The rent through the land was as wide as any canyon in the Chasm and ran far beyond either horizon, as if some titanic entity had gripped each end of the continent and pulled apart until it tore. While its birth had helped put an end to hostilities, it now acted as the only border between humankind—in all its various forms—and the planet’s original inhabitants, returned once more.

  “Something funny?” Yandumar asked of him.

  Gilshamed only now realized he was smiling. He waved to indicate the Gulf looming before them. “Even in her restraint,” he said, “Vashodia still found a way to outdo herself.”

  “Of course she did. It’s in her nature. She’s not the kind for half measures.”

  The shadows dancing across the thousand-pace gap seemed to agree.

  “Have you heard from her?” Gilshamed asked.

  “Not a squeak. And don’t tell me why that should make me nervous. I already know.”

  Gilshamed smirked. “Are you afraid she might start making new plans?”

  “Afraid? No. Only the unknown worries me much, these days.”

  “You are sure of it, then?”

  “If she hasn’t gone dark to begin the next phase of her grand plan, the only explanation left is that she’s actually undergone a change of heart. Do I really need to spell out for you which of the two is more likely?”

  “I see your point.” Gilshamed sighed, uncertain if he would live to see the culmination of her next scheme . . . but quite certain that he did not care. “But to be honest, old friend, I do not want to talk about Vashodia anymore. I think I’ve had enough of her for a lifetime.”

  “Me too. Abyss, I’m not sure you’d find a soul on this planet that wouldn’t agree with you. Especially the ruvak.”

  Gilshamed nodded. While Vashodia would always be a problem, the ruvak were a different matter. With patience, he was sure they could be resolved in time.

  That is, after all, why I am here.

  He looked to the east and to the west, scanning along the near side of the Gulf for two faraway objects as they gently descended. Were he to stretch out his arm and hold a silver coin between thumb and forefinger, the image would be similar in both size and color to the two vessels now moving into what would be their final resting place.

  If the Gulf was to be the border between the ruvak and the rest of humanity, the last two surviving domiciles of the valynkar would be there to keep the peace.

  Gilshamed watch with rapt attention as they settled along the edge between darkness and light, and the immense vines dangling beneath them were guided to root within the freshly made cliffs.

  We can no longer keep thinking ourselves above others. Instead, it is time to start seeing eye-to-eye with our fellow denizens of this world. To be both bridge and barrier. To ensure peace has its fair chance to reign.

  He returned his attention to his immediate surroundings once more, settling on the friend he knew would never live to see true harmony in the world. A fact that nearly drove Gilshamed to tears.

  “What will you do?” he asked, unsure if he’d been able to keep back that thread of emotion from his voice.

  “As emperor?” Yandumar asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or as a man?”

  “The former, for a start.”

  Yandumar shrugged. “My empire has already started to break apart—literally. Why not give it a good shove out the door?”

  “You’re going through with the disbanding, then?”

  “Might as well. It’s a big place, this continent. A lot of different people with a lot of different ways of thinking and doing things. It was never meant to be burdened under solitary rule. By this time next year, the empire will be gone.”

  “Are you not the least bit worried that this is an inopportune time for such a drastic change? Weakening yourself just as the ruvak take up residence along your empire’s southern border does not seem the best way to maintain stability.”

  “The empire doesn’t care anymore. The Free States of Ragremos, however, might have a thing or two to say about it.”

  Gilshamed smiled, clapping Yandumar on the shoulder. “In that case, old friend, let me extend the approval of both myself and the Valynkar High Council. Not that you need it, of course.”

  “Ha! You got that right.”

  “What about the latter, then? What are your plans as simply a man?”

  “I’m getting too old to have much use for plans, Gil. But to start, I’m gonna follow in my son’s footsteps for a change.”

  “How is that exactly?”

  “I’m taking a few well-earned days off!”

  With a sack slung over one shoulder, Mevon strolled up a hill that had become quite familiar to him in the past year. He knew every rock and tree, every flower and bush, every twist and turn and scrape along a path that saw few feet but his own. He’d never been in one place so long. Even during the half decade he spent stationed in Thorull, he’d been constantly on the move, resting little in his endless pursuit of justice. Never able to appreciate the things he had around him.

  Never taking time for things that mattered.

  He rounded the last bend and stepped between two tall oaks that stood sentinel over the trail’s entrance. A modest meadow lay beyond, filled with scattered wildflowers in reds and purples and yellows from the treeline on either side all the way up to the gently sloping banks of the creek running cool and clear from the waterfall.

  Mevon left behind the dirt ruts of the trail and made his way towards the meadow’s lone structure, striding through grasses that came to his knees. It looked different than it had the first time he’d been here. Jasside had initially formed it for function, a temporary enclosure to ward out the elements while they took their last rest before what they thought would be the end. Since their return, he’d added a frame of
logs to the outside—to make it fit in with the other buildings in the town below—and his wife had decorated, adding color and character, in addition to modifying the house for a more extended stay: smoke rose from a chimney set in one of three new rooms; trees and bushes and other plants lined one side of the house, bearing all manner of fruits and vegetables and herbs; a stack of wood he’d split rested along the other; behind it lay a series of barrels and crates, filled with preserved meat and drying skins that he’d brought back from his hunts, along with a supply of the last and finest wines the now-dead empire had produced—a belated wedding gift from old friends.

  The sight of this place, more than anything ever had, made him feel like he was home.

  Mevon pushed through the door, careful to keep it from knocking against anything, and set his sack on their table. As he began removing the contents one piece at a time, setting each down with exaggerated care, Jasside strode in from the bedroom.

  “Did you find everything?” she asked in a gentle voice, sliding up next to him and running a hand up his back.

  Mevon grunted. “And then some. I practically had to run out of there before people started shoving things into my sack. They still insist we’re not charging enough for your vials of remedy.”

  “Oh, they’ll get used to it. This town was robbed of its healer when I left to join the revolution. The least I can do is offer a discount.”

  “Doubly so.” Mevon pulled out the last object within the sack—a spool of thread—and held it up to her with one eyebrow raised. “You could conjure all this stuff yourself, you know.”

  “I do know. But they’d get suspicious if I just gave my remedy away. Besides, it gives us a way to connect with people. Normal people. Not the kind that want or need us for anything.”

  Mevon rolled his eyes. “Speaking of which . . .”

  “The mayor didn’t ask you to become sheriff again, did she?”

  “Not this time.”

  “Good.”

  “But the sheriff did.”

  “Oh no! What did you tell him?”

  “The same thing I always do—I’ll be there if the need arises, but until then, he doesn’t have to start searching for a new job.”

  Jasside reached out to pat his arm. “I’m . . . sorry.”

  “I might believe that if you weren’t trying so hard to hold back your laughter.”

  “I wouldn’t have to,” she said, dropping down to a whisper, “if little ears weren’t so sensitive!”

  Mevon took his arm in hers and shuffled quietly into the room from which she’d come. His heart beat like a drum as he stepped up next to the crib and peered down at the tiny life sleeping peacefully within.

  Of all the many reasons he’d ever had, this was the greatest one of all to smile.

  Coda

  Serit Kai Ul-Daeris watched the other children play energy tag, frustrated that they wouldn’t let her join in. Those designated as “it” would take turns tossing mostly harmless orbs of light or dark or chaos at their fellow participants, who tried to avoid such attacks by running, or ducking behind one of the many trees ringing the hillside, or unfurling their prepubescent wings for a short burst of flight.

  Of these things, Serit Kai could do none. So she watched, and waited.

  But she did not pray.

  She’d long ago given up hope that she’d be allowed to join her classmates during recess. Or what she called unscripted time. The teachers ensured everyone played nice while under their supervision, but only kept a close enough eye while the students were outside to avoid broken bones and bloody noses.

  Instead of sulking on the sidelines for her turn at “fun,” Serit Kai stomped away through the small patch of forest bordering the school grounds. Within two marks, she’d found and pushed through the loose board on the boundary fence. Another three saw her to the forest’s end. It came abruptly, and with a harsh blast of wind, opening up to a vista that more than made up for her peers’ inability to include a freak like her.

  Heart racing, she took tiny steps until her toes were hanging over the cliff’s edge.

  And stared straight down at a drop of several thousand paces.

  They said a great city had once rested on this mountain. Mecrithan, or something like that. Not that she knew what a city was, exactly. Sure, the teachers showed them in projections during history lessons, but no one actually lived in one anymore. They were a relic of the ancient age, when limited means of transportation forced everyone to dwell in cramped proximity to each other. Sitting in a classroom with eleven other students was bad enough. She couldn’t imagine sharing a few square leagues with millions.

  Though the valley below her didn’t contain a city, it did, however, hold one of the largest gatherings of activity this world had seen in a few millenia. Serit Kai Ul-Daeris came here almost every day to gaze upon it. Forgetting, for the moment, all the morons who surrounded her and dwelling instead upon the place where everyone actually knew what the abyss was going on.

  A place where she might not have to be so alone.

  “Do you come here often?”

  Serit Kai tensed, yet was proud of herself for not squealing or jumping in fright, like one of her pathetic classmates surely would. She scanned the cliffside in search of the voice. It didn’t take her long to find a figure dressed in strange, dark robes standing as close to the edge as she, not twenty paces away. Judging by stature and vocal inflection, Serit Kai presumed the speaker to be a girl about her own age.

  “Perhaps I do,” she said, crossing her arms. “Perhaps I don’t. I see no reason to tell you one way or the other.”

  “Smart girl,” the other said, speaking as slowly as her grandmother. “Never give up information freely. Always make sure your audience earns it.”

  “I don’t recall asking for your advice. Or your approval.”

  The other girl turned towards her. Though her face was hidden within a shadowed hood, it still gave off the distinct impression of a smile. “Feisty, this one is.”

  Serit Kai felt the spark of rage light within her. But she’d had so much practice subduing it—and other emotions—that she made sure not to let even a hint of it show on her face. Anger was only useful, after all, if she could direct it, instead of letting it direct her.

  “You’re strange,” she said, testing a low-level insult to see if it had any effect. “I bet your own mother gave up on you years ago.”

  “How perceptive! Though you are correct in your hasty surmisal, you’d have to go back farther than mere years to find the point in time when my mother realized I was not the tame creature she wished me to be. Quite a bit farther indeed.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you around school before? Why do you talk so funny? Just who the abyss are you?”

  “You’ll figure it out,” the other girl said. “Or you won’t. In which case I’ll be most disappointed.”

  “That’ll make two of us, then.”

  “Wishing to watch the launch alone, were you? I don’t blame you. So many whoops and hollers. So much unbridled emotion. So many people wishing to capture your every word and gesture in hopes of garnering vicarious attention. Much better to view the event from afar. A distant yet unobscured cliff, for example.”

  Serit Kai suppressed the growl that nearly burst forth from her throat. She was used to the petty and pedantic social stigma from her supposed peers. This was something different. This other girl knew too much about her. About the real her. The one she hid from the others. And she was far too casual in her surety for it to be merely good guessing.

  Who are you?

  The question remained in her mind, this time, for she remembered the response to when she’d asked it out loud.

  She had to figure it out.

  But I don’t know enough about her, yet. Time to stop acting like such a child and decipher who it is I’m dealing with.

  Serit Kai knew the other girl was no student. She was connected with the activity below, somehow—maybe even central to
it—yet she did not want the attention it naturally drew. She also, apparently, had a keen insight into the mind, able to glean indisputable truths about people she barely knew.

  Taking this evidence, and what she could tell about the girl’s physical characteristics, only a single possible candidate sprang forth in her mind.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s impossible. You can’t be her. You can’t!”

  “Why ever not?”

  Serit Kai shivered inside her coat. She had no use for the gods; not the new, not the old, and certainly not the ancient. There was only one person, in her mind, who was worthy of such devotion as the deities inspired.

  “Because,” she answered at last, her voice like a mouse, “Vashodia Everchild has no reason to visit me.”

  The other girl let down her hood, putting all doubt to rest.

  Serit Kai felt her throat go dry. It wasn’t every day she got to meet her idol.

  “I’m afraid,” Vashodia began, “that you are quite mistaken. I have a very good reason to visit you, Serit Kai Ul-Daeris. And not just because you are a blood descendent of some dear old friends of mine.”

  “I am?”

  “Never mind that. Tell me why you’re an outcast.”

  The question stunned her with its abruptness and total lack of etiquette. “It’s because I’m a freak,” she answered instinctively. “My parents decided it would be a good idea for their offspring to sport all three types of energy within their blood. Abyss cares if that means none of them will ever fully manifest.”

  “Won’t they?”

  Serit Kai couldn’t hold back the emotion any longer. “Of course not! Everyone knows that! I have all the power in the universe at my fingertips, only I’ve had my hands cut off at the wrist. It doesn’t matter that I can feel them all when I’m about as close to harnessing them as an abyss-taken void.”

  Vashodia smiled warmly. “You certainly are a rarity, child. Even in this supposedly enlightened age. It is a problem I have too long neglected in lieu of more pressing matters.”

  “Like what?”