by Kyrja
History, Chared knew, would declare him insane, and perhaps he was, but he had done as he was commanded. Soon, Amphedia would arrive and his life, this one short life, would be finished. He wondered if Amphedia would do him the honor of drowning him, as he had done to his own mother, granting her a greater death than she deserved after abandoning her vows to the Goddess of the Seas. She had been granted one of the greatest honors of all time by becoming the mother of the mother of the heir of Amphedia, but she had thrown away all integrity when she had awakened him at Giya’s command. She shouldn’t have done that. She should have waited for Amphedia’s command instead.
He’d known what the Storm Goddess had wanted from him when Savaar had shown up at his jail cell. Why else had he lain all those years on the stone tablet, if not to listen to the whispers of the sea as it washed ashore, telling him its secrets? Why had his human body survived all those years, if not to listen to the very blood of the sea – of life itself! – as it traveled underground through secret rivulets and veins to tell him how to reach out with his mind to manifest his own desires? And the surprises he’d learned from the very moisture on the wind had stirred his imagination as he waited for the day when Amphedia would need him again. Even the rain, as it fell upon his prostrate form, had mysteries to tell him of faraway places and people who needed his help. His help. As the instrument of Amphedia’s will. He hadn’t wasted any time at all while he’d been chained to the stone tablet. He had listened, learned, and understood his own part in the cryptic plans of the great goddess he served. She needed him. She was not of this world, but he was.
And so he had used Savaar’s powers as the means to his mother’s end. Chared almost laughed out loud then, knowing that Amphedia’s “true” son thought he had committed murder using the flesh and blood of his body. In fact, Chared had used Savaar’s abilities to end the life of the woman who had betrayed his goddess.
Yes, he was ready for this life to end so that his lifewaters would be comingled with those of the sea and he would rise again in another form on another day. This life must come to a close so the next might begin. The better to serve Amphedia and her long plans for the future.
Chared closed his eyes, feeling the rain soak through him, content.
* * * * * * * *
Aidena hit the wet sand hard, knocking the wind out of her. Sprawled on the beach, she felt the waves lapping at her feet, but was unable to move, gasping for breath. Coughing and gagging, she lifted herself onto her elbows, trying to keep enough presence of mind to relax so she would be able to breathe normally again. It would only take a minute, she told herself, but she knew was vulnerable until then. Too late, she watched through the tangled hair hanging in her face as a set of feet walked towards her.
“Hello, mother,” she heard Nieva’s voice. Could it really be? Yes, of course it was her. She had seen her daughter walking through the streets with her mother and Siri Ventus. But oh – how she had hoped she’d been wrong. She struggled to knees as Nieva dropped to hers.
“Hello, Nieva,” she said, trying for a light tone, but it came out as a croak as another coughing fit shook her.
“Stand up, Aidena, it will help you to breathe easier,” she heard her mother, Hadia, say, as she helped her to her feet. Still holding on to her mother’s hand, she took a deeper breath, discovering it wasn’t as difficult as it had been a few moments ago. She hugged her mother then, motioning for Nieva to join them. A secret place in her heart wanted to cry with joy at having the two of them in her arms again; she felt a small current of warm joy wash over her and trembled. She wanted to tell them both she was sorry, for so many things, but mostly because they were here now, when they should have both been home, safe. Knowing she would never have enough time to tell them everything she wanted to say, she said nothing at all. Then she stepped back from them, wondering if she would ever see them again, and if she would survive this day. Or even the next five minutes.
As she turned towards Siri Ventus, she could actually feel something different about her than anything she’d felt before. Some kind of energy or vibration that was different than anyone else. No, that wasn’t quite true, she realized. The feel of her was much like what she’d felt when she’d met Giya. She almost giggled then, recognizing somewhere inside of her addled mind that she was terribly nervous. Not just terrified at what this goddess might do to her, but nervous on an entirely different level, as if she was a child reciting the lore for the first time, and afraid she wasn’t quite ready. She marveled that, of all the people in all the world, she was the one that got to meet not just one goddess in her lifetime, but two! Oh! And a talking owl too, she reminded herself. And, of course, there was Savaar, who was the son of Amphedia. The Earth Goddess, the son of the Goddess of the Seas, and now the Goddess of Air. Aidena really felt like just laying down in the sand and taking nap. Maybe when she woke up, she would find it had all been a very bad dream.
Instead, she turned towards Siri Ventus, noticing her eyes. They were completely white, devoid of any color, but the longer she looked at the goddess, the more it looked as though her eyes were normal. Her face was turned towards her in rapt attention, but her eyes seemed as though they were aimed just beyond her. Of course, she’d known all her life the Goddess of Air was blind, but seeing it for herself was something different altogether. And she had wings! That was something she hadn’t known. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, but felt compelled to bow her head, so she did, not certain whether she did so out of respect or fear.
“My Lady,” she said, “why are you doing this?” Aidena lifted a hand, indicating the storm building all around them. It wasn’t until that moment she realized they were inside of some kind of protective sphere or bubble, and the storm wasn’t affecting the four of them at all. Too late, she realized the goddess couldn’t see her gesture and was about to apologize when Siri spoke.
“To prepare,” she said, simply.
“Why do you want to keep Jarles from becoming Amphedia’s heir? And why do you want to level the city in order to do it?” Aidena spoke quickly before she lost her nerve.
Siri wrinkled her forehead as if she hadn’t heard her correctly. “Jarles already is Amphedia’s heir. He must take his place so balance may be restored.”
“But …” Aidena protested. “Oculis told us you didn’t want Jarles to become Amphedia’s heir, and you told me yourself you were going to level the city.”
“I have never spoken to you before today,” Siri responded. Her voice was so flat and unresponsive it was impossible for Aidena to judge whether she was telling the truth or not.
“In my mind,” she insisted. “When you first arrived in the city. I saw you and …” she turned, pointing at her mother and Nieva, “them.”
“I did not,” the goddess told her, in a tone which clearly said she would say no more on the subject, because she had spoken the truth and that was that.
“She didn’t,” her mother echoed. “She never saw you, and I would know.”
“Because you are her eyes since …”
“Yes,” Siri agreed. “Since Oculis abandoned me to follow his own agenda.”
“Are you saying it was Oculis who spoke to me?” Aidena pressed.
“I’m telling you Siri Ventus didn’t speak to you in person or using her mind before now,” her mother responded. “Most of the time, she speaks through me, Aidena, because I am her eyes now.”
“Oh,” was all she could think to say. She found she still wanted to argue the point, because she had told the others that was what had happened. But she knew she should have known better, since she’d had plenty of experience with Oculis lying to her by now.
“Well, why did you bring me here?” she asked, almost wishing she wouldn’t have, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer to her question.
“I did not bring you here,” Siri answered her, in her deadpan voice. “You came.”
That revelation made the hair on the back of Aidena’s neck stand on
end. Once again, she had done something outlandish and she had no idea how she’d done it.
“If you’re not here to level the city or to stop Jarles from becoming the heir of Amphedia, then why are you here my Lady?” Aidena asked her.
In response, the goddess turned around and pointed at a familiar figure coming out of the trees behind them. It was Denit! What was she doing here? Denit seemed to be running right towards them, and it looked as if she was surrounded by an aura of fire!
She felt Nieva tug on her arm. Aidena took her small hand in her own two and knelt in front of her, needing to see her face. She smiled. “What is it sweetheart?” she asked, a thousand thoughts and questions racing through her mind, not the least of which was how Nieva felt now that she knew she was her daughter instead of her sister.
“She is the reason we are here. That woman running. Giya made her, but she made a mistake,” Nieva told her.
Confused, Aidena looked to her mother for an explanation.
“Giya loves Sov, you know,” Hadia said.
Aidena’s first reaction was to dismiss this information as irrelevant and nothing more than ancient mythology, but then remembered the very real fact that she, herself, had been interacting with the gods. She was, in fact, standing right next to a goddess. She couldn’t very well dismiss the gods as unimportant, nor as old fables and stories if she was having a conversation with one!
“Sov is selfish and unaware,” Siri Ventus said, her face still turned towards Denit.
“Our world is dying because Sov is too close. Too fierce. Too hot. Everything is turning to desert, Aidena, and the waters are disappearing,” Hadia explained.
“Jarles must restore order,” Siri said.
“That woman …” Hadia said, nodding her head in Denit’s direction.
“Her name is Denit,” Aidena snapped. “But she sometimes is called Maw’ki. She’s my friend,” she added.
“Giya thought she would be able to contain Sov’s growing presence – his energy - within this one woman,” her mother continued. “But it isn’t working. She … Denit … is broken. As long as she lives, the desert will continue to expand even faster. If we don’t stop her, when Jarles becomes the Sea God, he will rule over nothing but the sands.”
Chapter Thirty – Sons of Amphedia
“Now what do we do” Ishra wanted to know when Aidena disappeared right in front of their eyes.
“Now we get out of the rain,” Kaya responded. “Follow me!” Not waiting to see if anyone followed him, he started running. When he heard more footsteps behind him, he increased his speed. He’d been away from the temple far too long. Savaar would be wondering where he was. He skidded to a halt in short order though, when he discovered the great mass of people standing in the rain in front of the temple.
“What’s going on?” Easif asked, stunned.
“I don’t know,” Kaya responded, “but I don’t like it.”
“What are they saying?” Ishra wanted to know.
“Amphedia’s name, over and over,” Kaya said quietly, feeling a terrible buzzing sound in his head.
“But why?” Easif wanted to know. “Is it some kind of ritual?”
“Look!” Jarles shouted, pointing at the front of the temple as the doors burst outward, seeming to flying off their hinges and a huge wave of water came rushing out, washing over the man who’d been standing on the top of the steps. They watched, transfixed, as those who were nearest the temple doors were bowled over by the rush of water gushing out of the temple and others began to scream, unable to get out of each other’s way because they were packed so tightly together.
Kaya turned to Jarles, a desperate plea in his eyes. “Do something!” he told him. “You’re their savior, save them!”
* * * * * * * *
Savaar’s consciousness had scattered badly when Sabbah had slammed into him, causing his own body to liquefy in what, to his surprise, seemed to be an automatic response. He had certainly not “ordered,” nor purposefully willed his body to become water in that moment, when Sabbah had suddenly poured himself into him.
He felt disconnected, but still retained his sense of self, as though he was watching the scene from a great distance. He could actually see Sabbah, his human body and the clothing he had been wearing transformed into a body of pure water. He was kneeling on the floor of the temple, with his Tear in his hand, methodically touching it to each puddle of water surrounding him, then moving to the next section of floor to do the same. And Savaar could feel the sensation of shock each time Sabbah laid the stone in the water, as if his skin was being systematically burned, one spot at a time. But Savaar knew Sabbah wasn’t just burning him, he was killing him, one small part of his body at a time. In fact, he could see the small patches of some kind of residue Sabbah was leaving all around him. At another time, he might have found it fascinating. He wouldn’t have guessed his liquefied body would have left anything its wake, having been touched by a Tear. Did that mean his body had left behind residue in each previous lifetime when his mother had used his Tear to kill him?
“Stop!” he heard Batal’s shout, then shifted his awareness to look for her. Either she had disobeyed him by not leaving in the first place, or she had returned using the back door, behind the altar.
Ignoring her, Sabbah continued touching the Tear to the puddles on the floor.
Savaar watched as Batal looked around, obviously searching for something, then jogged up the two short steps to the altar, grabbed the bowl of water and threw it, causing the water in the bowl to splash and mingle with that of his own. Sabbah did look up then. He did nothing more than to make a scoffing sound at her, then returned to his task. But Batal had not been idle in that moment; she had already moved quickly away from the altar, not quite running, but moving with obvious purpose to another destination.
“Sabbah!” she shouted, as she moved. “I remember you, you know. From the stories.”
“You won’t distract me,” he told her, continuing with his task. “Those stories mean nothing to me,” he said, emphasizing the word “stories” as if they were trivial and childish, and if anyone else thought they held any substantial meaning, they were not only sadly mistaken, but a complete fool.
“You are Amphedia’s youngest child,” Batal continued, her voice rising to make sure he could still hear her as she moved further away from him. Savaar could feel each and every one of the burning sensations, as if he was still in his body, a terrible searing, as the Tear was touched to a part of his leg, face, or torso. But he could also feel the whole of himself being restored. When he was in human form, it always seemed as though he “woke up” the next day, the restoration of his life and flesh occurring without his express participation or awareness, overnight. But once his mother had awakened him, the process didn’t seem to take nearly as long. He wondered how Sabbah expected to be able to touch his Tear to every bit of water in order to completely eliminate him.
That’s when he realized his brother had no intention of destroying him. He didn’t have to. He only had to take away his ability to be able to be restored. Savaar bent his will to gathering as much of himself together as he could – those part of him out of Sabbah’s sight. Concentrating, he could feel the drops and splashes of the water that would make up his body embedded on the walls, chairs, and tapestries. To his surprise, he found he was able to move the puddles of water that had been splashed with the water from the altar bowl much easier than those that had not.
“The stories tell us mere mortals that Amphedia has killed you more often than any of your brothers and sisters,” Batal’s taunting shout could be clearly heard, as she opened the door to a room where Savaar knew the priests of the Blue Dolphin Order performed private rituals.
“Your life means nothing to me, priestess, but I can take it from you, if you like,” Sabbah said, not looking up from his task.
Savaar watched as Batal disappeared into the room, wondering what she was doing. He hadn’t been in that particular ro
om, because he hadn’t participated in any of the usual rituals with the priests during his short time in the temple. He hadn’t wanted to give away his identity until Jarles arrived.
Savaar felt a sudden, jarring shock throughout the whole of his phantom body as Sabbah touched another small pool of water, feeling as if his heart might come out of his chest. He knew if he had felt that kind of pain that while in a human body, he would have been left panting and writhing on the floor. He couldn’t see through the white-hot haze of shock he felt blistering a hole in his chest and through the entire length of his body. Why was he feeling this pain?
“You were always a disappointment to your mother Sabbah!” He heard Batal yelling, but she seemed farther away than she had just a moment ago. Maybe because of the pain? Maybe he was losing touch already? And then he felt it – she had thrown a bucket of water on the floor, the liquid pushing more of the water of his own body together, easing the burning in his chest. When she threw a second bucket of water, he suddenly found he could think more clearly again.
“That’s enough!” Sabbah shouted, rising from his knees, the Tear still in his hand.
That’s when Savaar heard another voice (High Priest Abalah?) shout,” Now!” Then he felt the bliss of many buckets of water being thrown on the floor and walls. His body began to reform almost of its own accord. Using every bit of power and concentration he possessed, Savaar began pulling his body back together, and quickly.
“No!” his brother shouted, running towards the space where the water from his body was coming together, the drops, pools, puddles, and wet patches rising from the floor, the walls, the tapestries and chairs, as if being pulled into a vacuum, coalescing and reforming into his body. The water that was not his own falling away, separating from that of his own, sluicing away from him to pool back on the floor beneath him. He felt his consciousness re-established, even though he wasn’t yet able to move his limbs or head. He could feel the places affected by Sabbah’s Tear, but wouldn’t be able to repair those things until he had time to rest, if at all. Watching his brother come at him, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to avoid the impact this time any more than he had been able to avoid it the first time Sabbah had slammed into him. But this time Savaar knew what was coming and was prepared.