by Kyrja
Amphedia had killed them all, of course, although it had taken some time to track each one down. Too much time, from what Savaar had learned, since the last of them had been able to find, and then kill, S’ray before they had died themselves. Of course, for all he knew, his mother had encouraged the men to kill her, leaving Jarles more vulnerable without mother or father to guide him. He had to admit he could understand the logic in such a course of action.
Savaar had no idea what had possessed Abalah to resurrect the order, nor did he particularly care. What was important to him was that the Blue Dolphin Order was considered by most to be corrupt and its high priest to be a self-important megalomaniac. Any of the other orders would surely reject the offer he was about to make to High Priest Abalah in favor of common sense, if not out of fear of retribution from their terrifying Storm Goddess. He didn’t particularly like that so much rested on Abalah agreeing with his plan, but had little doubt he would accept. At least, that’s what he’d told Jarles.
Savaar leaned further back in his chair, causing its front legs to leave the floor while he balanced on the two back legs. He was sitting in the outdoor patio section of a tavern with what he knew others would think of as a beautiful view of the sea. He wouldn’t disagree with them, but knew his own opinion of the view was colored by what he knew to be waiting out there for him.
Taking a longer drink of his tea, he let his mind return to his memories of his first encounter with Jarles. He’d been furious. Livid with white hot anger. He’d wanted nothing more than to end his own life once and for all, so he would never have to suffer betrayal and murder yet again. But, of course, he wasn’t able to kill himself and stay dead. Only Amphedia could do that, and she no intention of letting him rest. She might kill him, or have him killed, over and over again, but as long as she existed, he would be kept readily available to use as some kind of tool whenever she had need of him. He’d wondered whether she had brought back any of his brothers and sisters this time, but decided it didn’t really matter. Even if she had, he might never know it until it was too late; at least two of his sisters and one of his brothers would be more than happy to assassinate him without hesitation. There was just no point in wondering if he would end up dead or slowly tortured. Either it would happen, or it wouldn’t. Thinking about it wasn’t going to stop it from happening.
Once he had realized who he was, he knew his mother would have only brought him back to life – yet again – for some foul purpose. He’d fallen for her tricks more than once, and would just not ever do it again. Not ever. And so he’d sought out the man who’d been proclaimed as “Amphedia’s Heir.”
He’d thought it would be a simple task, since Jarles hadn’t been so far away. He’d intended to confront him the very same day as he’d discovered he was the true son of Amphedia, even calling and then abusing a giant manta ray from the depths of the sea. He had much to atone for in having done such an abhorrent thing, he knew, even though the ray had survived the ordeal and he’d been careful to keep it as healthy as his mindless anger had allowed him to.
But his mother had gotten to Jarles before he had, stealing him away through the waterways beneath the sands. His anger had cooled by several degrees by that time, but had spiked again once he’d discovered the heir had been taken from him. And then there was the storm. A simoon of such magnitude as to be terrifying. Surely he would have died again had Aidena not been who she was.
Savaar leaned forward in his chair again, setting the empty glass on the table considering her. Again. He couldn’t get the young woman out of his mind. The puzzle of her at any rate. Kaya said he was absolutely certain she hadn’t known she was Siri Ventus’ daughter. He’d hated to leave her behind, but had no choice if he was going to find out what his mother had done with Jarles. He shuttered, remembering the way the simoon had collapsed upon itself as Aidena had been lifted into the air. He’d been close enough to see the expression on her face before she’d fallen face-first into the sand. She’d been elated as she was lowered gently to the sand, proud even – as if the storm had been her own creation and she’d been delighted with the results. But as her feet touched the sand and the last of the winds had disappeared, she’d been devastated. She had wanted the storm to continue, much as a child wants to continue to play, even though bedtime has long since passed.
He’d left her in the care of the people with whom she’d been traveling before she had fallen into the vision his mother had created especially for Jarles, after speaking with a woman by the name of Denit. He’d been impressed by her no-nonsense, take-charge attitude, but less so with the leader of their caravan who’d introduced himself as Kerr, the grandfather of Amphedia’s heir. Another pompous, self-serving idiot Savaar was just as glad to never have to deal with again.
Why though, had Aidena not known she was the Goddess of Air’s daughter? He understood perfectly why he hadn’t known he was Amphedia’s heir – because his mother knew he would be furious and would work against whatever plans she might have for him. He’d never heard of Siri Ventus having any children, other than her owl companion whom she used to see the world. Oculis was another mystery he would need to explore, and quickly. He had obviously become much more than Siri’s eyes, and he would need to discover whether the “Bird Man,” as his mother called him, would be his ally or his enemy.
To his credit, Jarles had asked after Aidena when he’d found him. His mother had hidden him away, but had left him alone and in a place where he, himself, had often gone when he wanted to be left alone in past lives. It was a beautiful little cave, filled with healthy life and sunshine during certain hours of the day. Instead of being secluded in a deep hole further from shore, this cave was practically in the shallows. Still inaccessible by all but those humans who could hold their breath for a very long time, it was a place he had claimed as his own in another lifetime. Even those who served his mother beneath the waters understood this one place was his, and his alone. He had no idea whether his mother had wanted him to find Jarles or not, but didn’t discount the very real possibility that she had wanted him to form an alliance, or, perhaps, even a friendship with her “heir.”
He hadn’t known what to expect once he met Jarles, but he was surprised to find he actually liked the young man. In some ways, he reminded Savaar of Kaya, although Jarles seemed much more bitter and less-likely to trust others than Kaya. More, Savaar supposed, like he was, himself.
Jarles had been surprised to find himself truly under the sea, instead of in some vision of Amphedia’s, so had been patiently waiting for the experience to end. He took pains to explain the “visions,” as he called them, were real-life experiences, and not dreams nor merely images Amphedia had planted in his mind. Since he hadn’t known what to call them, he’d used the word repeatedly until it felt comfortable. He had admitted that while he actually enjoyed much of what he’d experienced, he had fought against believing any of it was real for much of his life, and that using the word “vision,” helped him to keep the reality of the situation from being as “real” as he had always feared it really was.
Jarles had been told he was to be Amphedia’s heir since he was very small, thanks to his mother’s tutelage. His mother, Savaar was surprised to learn, had warned him against trusting Amphedia to the point of refusing to teach him the appropriate prayers all Puj’hom learned from an early age, and the Tuq’deb who could feel the water beneath the sands were required to learn once they had been named Undia. He’d been resentful of having his whole life planned out without any say in the matter – which was something Savaar could appreciate.
Too, Jarles had shared with him what had really happened to his mother. Amphedia had shared the vision with him as a “gift” to help heal the wounds between them. Like Jarles, Savaar had been skeptical, given that it had come from Amphedia, but since it had done nothing to forward her agenda, and had given Jarles some measure of peace, he was willing to accept that this vision was closer to the truth than the version of events spread ab
out by the priests. Still, Amphedia’s motives remained suspect, as she should have prevented the priests from raping S’ray in the first place. If not for the woman’s sake, then for her own selfish reasons in having been disobeyed in this very important instance. Let Jarles have his comfort, but for himself, Savaar would continue to seek ways to unravel the mysteries his mother had created surrounding Jarles and his parentage.
“Excuse me, my Lord.” The words were repeated. He’d heard them the first time, but hadn’t registered the fact that the speaker was talking to him. He mentally chastised himself for having allowed himself to get so lost in his memories he hadn’t noticed the woman approach. He’d purposefully seated himself in such a way as to make it obvious he wanted to be alone, but was still able to watch the street for Abalah’s arrival. He’d also specifically requested that he not be disturbed, even for a refill of his tea. He opened his mouth to re-iterate his directive, only to realize the young woman standing in front of him was not his waitress.
The color of her dark, dusty skin and her dark, dark eyes announced she was obviously from the desert. Her attire screamed of her vocation as a priestess. Before he said a word, she spoke again.
“He will be delayed. High Priest Abalah. But not for long.”
“What …?”
“I am Batal, a priestess of the Silver Swordfish Sisterhood.” She paused then, as if she was hesitant to say the next part, but only for a moment. “We recognize and honor you, Lord Savaar, and stand ready to serve you should you find our service worthy of …” here she paused again, taking a steadying breath. “There is much more I would say to you, my Lord, but we could only delay your meeting with Abalah for a brief time. If we can serve you, you have but to seek us out.” She closed her eyes briefly then, nodding her head slightly while making a motion with her left hand Savaar recognized as the Infinity Symbol – a sign of his ever-lasting life – she turned and walked calmly away as he stared after her.
Savaar felt a grin slide across his face, knowing he would most certainly be taking Batal up on her sisterhood’s offer. Unlike the mad priests of the various religious orders throughout the city, the women who served as priestesses for the Tuq’deb men who came to the Temple of Life seeking to create the “savior” were not insane. But they would certainly be adding to the insanity of his plan when Jarles finally made his entrance to the city.
He looked up then, recognizing the silver and blue robes of the Blue Dolphin Order as Abalah rounded the corner. If he was going to be forced to be alive, he was going to make sure this life was an interesting one, and there was a certain high priest who was going to help him to do just that.
Chapter Seventeen – What Happened to Drena
Jarles tilted his head back, watching the bubbles rise from his lips, amused. More than once he’d thought about following the bubbles to the surface, but hadn’t done it yet. Soon though. He had to give Savaar a little more time before following him to the city. There was always the very real possibility that Amphedia would prevent him from leaving, but he’d come to understand that she needed him. He’d had plenty of time to think about what she wanted and why she even needed or desired an heir. Especially since Savaar’s visit.
Why an “heir” who wasn’t of your own blood? Why go through all of the utter chaos and mess of creating a human heir, when a child of your own would make more sense? For most of his life, he’d simply refused to think about it at all, doing his best to live his life as normally as possible. He’d done everything he could think of to avoid any responsibility for being anyone’s “savior” or having anyone depend on him for anything.
Those days were gone now, though. No matter his fears or inadequacies, he was going to be held responsible for all manner of things, whether he did or did not step forward to claim what some would call his birthright. Savaar had made that abundantly clear, even though he held out the suggestion of leaving this land altogether, as he had done, when he’d gone to war. At another time in his life, he would have left the moment the suggestion had been made. But now, as tempting as the thought was to leave everything behind, he had begun to understand that this was his home and these were his people. If he walked away, there was no guarantee Amphedia wouldn’t start the cycle all over again, disrupting the lives of thousands of more people for hundreds of years. So that one day, another young woman would die at the hands of the Storm Goddess’ faithful.
No, he wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. He had a hundred things to consider and worry about if he went forward with his mad scheme, not the least of which was if she would try to destroy him once he stepped forward in the way he and Savaar had planned. His new friend had baulked at his suggestion that as the recognized heir of the Storm Goddess, he would announce that Amphedia’s own son would be a much more suitable substitute, and that he, Jarles, would be Savaar’s emissary. That would leave Savaar free to rule the seas and waters of the world, while he would be his human representative among the people. He shuttered to think of the tremendous responsibilities he would be required to undertake, but he was, after all, not a god, and Savaar was. The trick, of course, would be to convince the people to accept his proposal. Not to mention Amphedia. But even without her, if he could get the people to recognize and worship Savaar, then her power would diminish. He’d learned that from Savaar as well. Without humans to serve and worship them, the gods diminished. Of course, that didn’t mean that Amphedia wouldn’t still have enough power to kill him, or even everyone in the city if she wanted to. He had hoped to persuade her by pointing out that Savaar’s power was much more potent than his own, but she hadn’t made an appearance in quite some time.
Jarles sighed, as he often did when thinking of what lay ahead, once more watching the bubbles rise to the surface. He wondered whether his mother ever understood what his true role would be once he was proclaimed Amphedia’s heir, and how he was supposed to achieve such a lofty title in realty in not just in name. Didn’t an heir step forward to rule once their predecessor had died? Amphedia was a goddess – she wasn’t going to die. Not soon and not ever. What possible role did the heir to a god play?
His mother had been on his mind a lot these days, ever since Amphedia had showed him what she claimed was a true vision of what had really happened to her when he had been conceived. Of course, he had been ready to dismiss the vision as fiction out of hand, but since what he’d seen and heard had included parts of the goddess’ own duplicity, he had trouble rejecting the vision as entirely false. There was, in fact, much that he wanted to believe as true. And being able to see his mother when she was so young and alive was a gift in and of itself. How he missed her and longed for her to be here now!
Jarles settled back against the seaweed covered coral, closing his eyes, allowing the vision to come again. As he settled further into the hard surface of the coral, seeking a more comfortable position, it seemed as though it was hugging him, perhaps even holding him in a loving embrace. The sand beneath him, too, seemed to conform to his body, filling in the gaps under his knees, cradling him. And he felt warm. A comfortable warm, as if he was already asleep. He thought about opening his eyes, but found his eyelids were too heavy to open. He felt himself drifting off and decided it didn’t matter. He was as safe here as he was ever going to be anywhere. As the vision began, he could tell there was something different this time. He could tell right away. Struggling to take a deeper breath, he felt himself changing, his body rearranging, as if he was in his mother’s mind and body.
Four men with silver half-masks filed into the tiny room, surrounding Drena. Other than the masks, none of them wore anything more than a thin layer of silvery-blue material tied loosely around their hips. She watched as they disbursed silently around the space where she and Jonath had lain together such a short time ago, feeling particularly vulnerable kneeling instead of being poised for fighting by resting her weight on her heels like she’d been taught. She suddenly felt embarrassed for having allowed her guard to slip for the tiniest of mom
ents; even in the privacy of her own bedchamber, she’d always – always! – been prepared for battle. Except for now; right this moment. All her life she’d trained for exactly this kind of situation and this was the one moment she was least prepared. Drena mentally shook her head in disbelief at the humor of the gods. She’d come to this small room to make love to the man of her heart, not to fight. And now she was going to pay for her small lapse in attention to a lifetime of dedication, she could feel it. One small moment in time, and she would pay for the rest of her life; there was no doubt in her mind at all.
She could smell the havah weed on the men as they surrounded her and wondered at the purpose of their having inhaled the substance. Havah weed was a strong herb normally reserved exclusively for the holiest of ceremonies among the water people. Or so she’d learned in her time among them. The purpose of the herb in their rituals was supposedly so secret that few knew why it was even used. Still, she’d smelled it often enough in the Temple of Life where she went to kneel in homage to the hated Amphedia to recognize the bittersweet scent and taste the tang on her tongue as the men filed past her. They must have done more than smudge themselves with the weed to be so drenched in its aroma. Nor did she think smoking the substance produce such an overpowering stench; she wondered just what they’d done with the herb to make themselves smell so strongly of it.
Drena gazed around the room, noting the men all seemed to be of an age close to hers, at least judging by the obvious muscle mass on display; it was difficult to be certain with the masks covering half of their faces. All were fine specimens of their race, broad shoulders, flat abdomens, tanned, oiled skin gleaming with the slickness of having been anointed. What she could see of their faces, though, were all horribly blank; not a hint of malice nor compassion written in their features, each staring straight ahead, with no interest whatsoever in her. Then she saw the tattoos on their lower abdomens and knew each of these men were priests. Merlarns. Undoubtedly already driven mad by their strange goddess for the sin of having been born for no other purpose than to produce their mythical savior. She almost laughed then, knowing none of them had been chosen for the sacred act so long promised to their kind, but instead kept her silence, noticing a fifth man as he stepped into the room.