Sea God of the Sands: Book One of the Firebird’s Daughter Series (Firebird's Daughter 1)

by Kyrja

  “A very powerful goddess has touched you,” Kaya had told her, his face solemn, his own eyes steady.

  The hair on the back of her neck had stood on end, and she’d actually shivered. She shivered again just thinking about that moment. She’d immediately thought of Amphidea, of course, but had reconsidered, since she’d almost drowned. It was still possible though, given that Savaar had actually died before finding himself alive, well, and able to rescue her. If she had actually died, would she have found herself awake with gills and webbed fingers? If so, then why had Amphidea ordered Savaar to save her? None of it made any sense at all, and it hurt her head to even think about it. There was no way it could be Giya, because she’d never been able to grow even a single wind weed all her life. That only left the Goddess of Air – Siri Ventura. But that made no sense at all! Aidena didn’t know of anyone who worshipped her, or served her, or even where there might be a temple dedicated to her. And why would a goddess “touch” someone, as Kaya had said. And what did that even mean? He’d said that it was hidden from her, that she was not ready to discover her own heritage.

  “How would you know?” she’d asked. “You’re not even from here! You don’t know our gods!” she’d lashed out angrily. In fact, she hadn’t even known there might be other gods in some other part of the world.

  “Gods do as they wish,” he’d shrugged. “And why not? What is the point in being a god if you cannot do as you wish?”

  Aidena hadn’t ever thought about gods or why they might be the way they were, other than to wish they were sometimes different than they were. Kinder, perhaps. More forthcoming about why they did some of the things they did. Gods were just a part of life. They did what they did and you did your best to serve them in whatever way tradition dictated. She’d grown up in the desert, a Tuq’deb, so of course she honored Sov. But she also gave thanks to Lumas for the coolness of the night and to Giya for her bounty. That’s what everyone did, except for the Undia, of course. They were required to learn prayers to Amphidea and celebrated different holy days than the rest of the Compania did. There wasn’t anything odd or unusual in any of it. But now that these powerful deities were taking a hand in changing the very lives of everyone around her in such an obvious way, she was beginning to wonder about things she’d never considered before.

  Especially right now. They were nearing the place she’d last seen Jarles, when she’d fallen into the sea and still hadn’t found the caravan. It seemed impossible they hadn’t even come this far, no matter that they were so slow-moving as to almost be standing still. Maybe they’d turned around, or gone further south. She’d been away from the caravan for three days. They should have been much further west than where she was right now. She was beginning to wonder if something had happened to them. After everything she’d been through in the past several days, she wasn’t sure if she would be surprised to learn the entire caravan had been swallowed whole!

  And there was the storm. Maybe they’d had riders out and knew the storm was coming, so had dug in, waiting for it to pass. This far west, there was nothing more they could have done, she knew. There were no cities or structures to slow the storm. No caves or anywhere else they might find shelter from the fury headed right their way. She’d tried to tell Savaar, but he wouldn’t listen to her. Scoffing at the idea of a storm, he’d reminded her his mother was the Storm Goddess, so he had nothing to fear. He was determined to find Jarles no matter the cost. Aidena wasn’t so sure. In fact, she could feel the skittishness of the ray beneath her as the storm drew nearer. Even the beast knew this was no ordinary storm. And what did a sea creature know of tornadoes and simoons? She was going to have to find a way to make Savaar understand being out in the storm was madness. If he wasn’t prepared to abandon the ray, or allow it to return to the sea, then they needed to turn west, not continue their eastward trek. And they needed to do it fast. The storm was huge! Absolutely monstrous! Aidena was amazed to feel the absolute fury pounding through the thing. She felt like it was alive! If she didn’t know better, she would swear she could feel it reaching out for her.

  Looking behind her, Aidena could see the horizon was a solid whirlwind of brown. The churned sand was rising higher and higher as the wind dug deep into the layers of desert, sending tall plumes so high they blocked out the sun. She could feel the vibration of the storm on her skin and wondered at the calm she felt. She knew she should have been terrified. It was unlikely they were going to be able to outrun the storm even if they turned away now. And yet, she found it almost impossible to take her eyes off of the solid wall of death moving quickly – so quickly! – right towards them.

  She heard Kaya shouting something but was unable to understand what he said. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the noise of the storm or if he was turned away from her, shouting at Savaar. It just didn’t seem to matter. The storm was coming and she was going to be swept up into it, and that’s all that mattered. She could feel herself aching to be a part of the whirling mass of destruction. She wanted to fling her arms wide and dance with joy and exhilaration! Oh – to be a part of something so thrilling! To race across the sands unfettered, unencumbered by clothes and skin and feet! To just roar freely from one place to the next, scattering herself into tiny particles and reforming all over again in an instant! Aidena hadn’t even known she’d stood up, let alone started walking to the edge of the creature until Kaya gently took her outstretched hand in his and placed his other on her face. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head a little, as if she’d just woken up, then turned to look at him.

  “You mustn’t do that,” he told her, speaking to her as if she was a child. Indeed, she let herself be lead back to the center of the ray, passively following Kaya’s instructions to sit back down. She shivered, still feeling the power and thrum of the storm, feeling disconnected from everything else around her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be out there, running with the wind. Dancing with the wind! She should be the wind! Without conscious thought, Aidena rolled away from Kaya, and off the side of the gigantic creature Savaar had called from the sea. She heard Kaya calling after her, but it just didn’t matter. She belonged to the storm. It was calling her as if she was its child. A long-lost child, finally come home. She rolled as she hit the ground, then sprang to her feet, running without even feeling her feet touching the sand. She was home! She was free! She screamed, not even knowing what she was screaming.

  Later, she wouldn’t be able to recall whether she’d thrown her arms wide as she ran, or what she’d been thinking at all. Later, as she lay shivering, wrapped in three blankets, inside a tent too warm for most others to bear for long, she wouldn’t be able to recall the insanity that had gripped her in that moment. She only knew she must join the storm. She must return home. It was the only way she would ever be whole. And so she had run – faster than any human had a right to run. And as she’d entered the outer edges of the storm, she’d been lifted off her feet into the roaring maw of the monstrous storm which should have shred the skin from her bones and stolen the breath from her lungs.

  Chapter Thirteen – Through Oculis’ Eyes

  Oculis shrugged his shoulders and blinked. He’d been watching over Aidena for hours as she lay recovering from her ordeal with the storm Siri had birthed. By now the goddess would have already screamed her throat raw with frustration at not being able to see through his eyes and would have calmed down again, impatiently awaiting his return. Perhaps she would finally heed his warning the time had come for her to find another to use as her eyes in the physical world. He knew, though, that after so many years together, the very thought she could no longer rely on him to play the role into which she had cast him was alien. Unacceptable. Even absurd. And yet, he had demonstrated his independence repeatedly, leaving her unable to see; truly blind, as she had not been for centuries. The fact that she’d done it to herself wasn’t something she was ready to accept, and yet her lack of sight at this very moment in time should have been proof enough for her to under
stand nothing would ever be the same again.

  There was a small part of him that mourned the simplicity of life he’d known for the eons he’d served as her sole companion and the true affection he’d known by her side. Much, he mused, as a grown man might sometimes mourn the loss of closeness and comfort he’d felt for his mother as a child. Just as the man, no matter his desire in the matter, was unable to forgo his freedom and independence for the return to a simpler time, Oculis knew he would never again be obedient to Siri’s will.

  He had been given into her care long ago, in another place, before they had come here to live among those who owed their existence to the sun god, Sov. Nor had she always been blind. Her twin brother, Serat Caeli, however, had been born without sight in the physical world. Plagued with sudden, searing visions of the past, present, and future intersecting each other in a dizzying disarray, the images were less than useless, and often a source of great distress for the young God of Air. And for his ever-so-slightly-older sister.

  When Serat was very young, he’d had a re-occurring vision of an owl. Too often the visions he endured skittered quickly across his mind’s eye, giving him no idea if what he’d seen was something already passed, yet to come, or was happening right in front of him. But the vision of the owl grew longer and stronger until he finally dared to share the details with Siri. It had taken some time, but one day she was able to understand where the owl could be found from the descriptions Serat provided. She took him to the place he described and sat him down, waiting. Nor did it take long for the owl to make its appearance. Young and alone, the owl had walked directly over to Serat, as if it had been waiting for him. Although its arrival hadn’t created any dramatic changes for the young god, as he and his sister had hoped, it had provided him with comfort for many years, especially during his more lucid moments, when he was free of the visions.

  There were times when Oculis wished he could remember the boy in more vivid detail, but his mind no longer functioned in an animal state; he no longer saw the world and its wonders through the eyes of an owl. Yet there remained an echo of affection for the image of Serat Caeli he still held somewhere in the center of his being, even though he had been given into Siri’s care many long years past. Driven mad by the visions that haunted him, his sister could no longer allow him to be tortured. Siri found the means to give Serat her sight, taking his blindness for herself. Because the visions were his to endure, she did not inherit them when she traded all the sights and colors of the world for the darkness her brother had experienced from the moment of his birth.

  Perhaps because it was a selfless act, perhaps because Serat possessed some gift or magic he’d held in reserve, or perhaps for some reason he would never understand, Oculis found that as Siri’s eyesight dimmed, his own was enhanced in such a way that he could understand she was seeing through his eyes. He still remembered the shock of awareness as he felt, more than heard, her thoughts and instructions. Nor had the transition come easily for either of them. And yet, it had come, so that he had been able to become a part of her and she of him. He still found himself remembering moments of having pleased Siri for having anticipated her needs correctly when he was nothing more than an animal – a pet. It pleased him, too, that she had always treated him as much more, when she could have easily mistreated or abused him to get what she wanted from him.

  Having magically-enhanced eyesight wasn’t enough to save Siri from banishment though. She had been the Goddess of Wisdom before she’d saved her brother from the visions, but nobody had believed a deity who was blind could be wise, and so she had been exiled. Before she left behind the world which had once opened its collective heart to her, Serat had gifted his most-precious possession to her, that she might never be alone, his owl. And so had Oculis always been with Siri Ventus since.

  As an owl, Oculis hadn’t concerned himself with the reasons for his mistress’ requests; he simply did as he was bid and was rewarded for his efforts. Whatever plotting and scheming Siri had done had been no concern of his. Food and affection were enough reason for him to go where she asked, or to watch the things or people she wanted to see. Even as their connection grew and his understanding of her desires became second nature, he had never felt the need to question her motives, nor to comprehend her goals. These were no more important to him than the color of her clothes or whether she was wearing shoes. Too, their mental link allowed him to understand her in ways which he would never have otherwise been able to do. He had enjoyed a life no other owl would understand and had genuinely cherished Siri – or what had passed for affection between them.

  Until the crystal goblet. Oculis sometimes wondered how Siri could be so unaware of what it was, and what she had wrought with it. She had never given the smallest thought to what it might mean to gaze into its depths using his eyes to do so. It was, as she had recognized it to be, an instrument through which one could perceive the future. But it was more. So much more.

  Because of his longtime, intimate connection with her, Oculis knew she understood the goblet had been the unexpected result of that moment in time when many gods and goddesses had come together in one bright, shining moment to form this world. It was the physical manifestation of the focal point where all of the energy from that effort had coalesced. He considered that, perhaps, all of creation was similar. Perhaps there was that, within each living thing that could be pointed to, to say “This is where it began.” Shrugging his shoulders, he decided it didn’t matter whether there was or not, and marveled yet again at just how different his life was now, than it had been for so very long. He never should have lived for hundreds of years, but had never really quite understood that simple fact because of the magical enchantment Siri had cast over and through him.

  And now, he was more. Not only was he able to question his own existence; he could transform into human form in order to create his own children as well. As was evidenced by the young woman he was watching over now. Aidena was both his daughter and the mother of his child. He had helped to create her at Siri’s request and the mother’s consent so that she might, one day, become her heir.

  Siri’s plans for her, though, had changed because he had then caused Aidena to bear her own child, without consent by either his daughter or the Goddess of Air.

  Yes, Oculis thought to himself yet again, Siri really should understand by now that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Fourteen – After the Storm

  Aidena looked at the vine in her hand and gasped as it began to give off a soft, white glow. Of course she had hoped it would glow; everyone hoped their vines would glow. No one just held a candentis vine without wishing with all of their might that theirs would be one that would glow. She felt her body tense with suppressed excitement, wanting to shout out so everyone would look and share in her joy with her. But she held completely still instead – as still as her quivering hands allowed her – afraid even to blink, lest the glow fade or disappear altogether.

  It was said the candentis vine was a gift from the Earth Goddess, Giya, to her Tuq’deb children in the desert, so they would know she was always with them, even in the harshest and driest parts of Sov’s domain. Aidena knew she wasn’t alone in automatically thinking of healthy, green, growing things when she thought of Giya, despite the fact that everyone knew the goddess favored the bareness of the desert, where she met daily with the Sun God, Sov.

  Legend held that Giya had created the vine from her tears so that none would ever again parish from thirst. The roots of the plant were said to attract the water beneath the sand, or even that they grew all the way down to the water far beneath the surface. There were many stories, legends, and rumors that could all be true, or none of them might be. Supposedly the vine had once grown all throughout the desert, refreshing people in their travels on their long treks across the dunes, the shoals, and even the driest flats. The rumors Aidena had heard said you had only to place one of the leaves under your tongue to feel refreshed all day. She’d tried it o
f course; everyone did, sooner or later. She had also chewed the leaves, grimacing at the strange, bitter taste, determined to see for herself if it would work. But, of course, it hadn’t.

  Now, instead of all Tuq’deb being refreshed by the leaves of the vine (if that part was ever even true) everyone gathered together each year wherever it grew, after the fruit was harvested and the vines began to wither with the summer’s increasing heat. There were very few viable candentis vines throughout the entire desert, but each place where it grew, it flourished, providing plenty of sweet, juicy, fruit for a short time. The fruit was more oblong than round, with a thick skin. When shaken, it sounded like it was filled with liquid. When pierced, the juice would dribble out a little at a time, and was sweet without being syrupy.

  None of the seeds from the fruit had ever been known to produce another vine, though. Only cuttings from the vine produced the next generation of the plant, and only ever those which glowed. Generations of Tuq’deb had planted seeds and cuttings in every imaginable environment, experimenting with various soils throughout each season of the year, Aidena knew. But only those cuttings which glowed when touched would propagate, and only after all the fruit had been removed. To have a candentis vine growing in your own village was a true blessing. And now she held a glowing vine in her own hands.