Fate Defied: The Silent Tempest, Book 3

by E. J. Godwin

  “No one’s,” he answered. "It’s never been occupied.”

  “Occupied? What do you mean?”

  “First let me ask you a question. Do you have any children?”

  “No,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”

  “Take the halves into your hand, Loremaster,” was his response. At her widening stare he added, “I assure you, it is quite harmless in its present state.”

  Doubt fenced with determination. Then she reached forward.

  “Telai!” Tenlar blurted, grasping her arm.

  She placed her other hand on his. “We have no choice but to trust him. Please, Tenlar—promise me you won’t interfere.”

  After a brief pause he withdrew, his expression still darkened by doubt. She gave him a nervous little smile, and took the Lor’yentré into her hand.

  Both halves lay cold and inert in her palm. “Kseleksten? The First Lor’yentré? I don’t see how if it’s brand new.”

  “To be honest, I don’t understand why your Prophets used that name, or even how they knew there was more than one,” Ksoreda answered. “If another existed on this world I would have detected it by now. Perhaps he meant Rennor’s.”

  She shook her head. “Perhaps he meant Rennor’s wife.”

  “His wife? I don’t understand.”

  “That dream I told you about. It was of Heradnora when she was a young girl. She killed her mother to keep her from taking her away from—from this place.”

  “You saw this?” Ksoreda asked, and she nodded. He stood and walked a few paces away, hand on his brow. “So that’s what happened,” he muttered. After a brief paused he resumed his seat. “These spirits—they told you this directly?”

  “Not exactly. It was more like giving them permission to use my eyes and ears. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.”

  “Incredible. You may be more gifted than you realize, Mistress Telai.”

  “Are you telling me you can’t do the same?”

  “We can only communicate by sharing our bodies. But it’s far too great a risk, even with one spirit. To my knowledge no one’s ever contacted them the way you did.”

  “I imagine those Prophets could,” said Tenlar. “Unfortunately they were too stubborn about their secrets, or so I was told.”

  “This Géihtser fellow was no different. But I managed to fill in the gaps, so to speak, which led me to contact you.” He sighed. “The truth is, none of this matters now. What’s done is done. To overcome this power you will need to understand its nature, and why the Lor’yentré is such a curse to us.”

  Telai bent her gaze to her hand again, remembering Hendra’s desperation—doomed to become one more tree in an endless forest of empty souls. She shuddered and put the Lor’yentré back on the table.

  “Tell us.”

  Ksoreda walked around and took a seat next to her, angling his chair as though confiding in a trusted colleague. “Long ago my people found the secret of immortality. I only chose this older appearance to gain your trust. But our immortality comes at a price.”

  “As we are finding out,” said Tenlar.

  “You don’t know the half of it yet. What we discovered is that the key lies not in ourselves but in our parents. A mother and father are more than the source of a child’s body, they are also the source of his spirit—and therefore the Lor’yentré as well.”

  A weight settled into Telai’s stomach, and the room seemed to darken. “That’s why you asked if our parents are still alive.”

  “Yes. A new Lor’yentré like this one is useless in its present form. The mother and father must activate it first—a sort of echo of their spirits, if you will, imprinted into each half. Once this is done, the child’s spirit is transferred into the Lor’yentré the instant he touches it—giving him willful, total control over his own body. In effect, he becomes his own parents, providing a constant source of new life and regeneration. Age, sickness, injury—all can be prevented or reversed by a mere thought.” He shifted in his seat, again glancing at the metallic halves resting on the table.

  “The Lor’yentré went beyond this,” Telai said.

  “Yes. It was such a poetic and beautiful concept to us that we didn’t consider the unknowns. By giving the spirit power over its own body, we also gave it power over the physical world beyond it—great power!”

  “It’s a wonder you didn’t destroy yourselves,” she said. “But if this thing is so powerful, why can’t you use it to return the spirit to its body? Reverse the process?”

  “Because it’s only a receptacle,” Ksoreda answered. “It has no power over the spirit, or anything outside the physical world. We’ve searched for a way to reverse the process, but the secrets of the Lor’yentré were lost ages ago. We can create duplicates of the original, but nothing more. In fact, we have no choice but to create them—no one would dare live in a society where everyone else holds such a powerful advantage.”

  “Well, of course not!” said Tenlar. “Right here in Ada we’re facing the same thing with the Hodyn. I don’t hold any greater love for Caleb Stenger’s devices than you do for the Lor’yentré, but to lay down in defeat and not match power for power would be an even greater crime. What is this terrible price you speak of?”

  Telai kept her stare fixed on Ksoreda. “It’s because of what happened to Heradnora. It’s a prison—an indestructible one. Even an enemy doesn’t deserve that kind of fate.”

  “That’s the second part of the price, and the worst,” the old man answered. “The immortality that separation of the spirit provides also dooms those who lose their bodies to a totally helpless existence—forever.”

  A profound loneliness fell upon Telai’s heart. She longed for Caleb’s touch—to hold him, comfort him, to feel alive again. But he was hundreds of miles away, far beyond her powers of laroné. Perhaps he was fighting a hopeless battle. Perhaps he was already—

  She jumped up and wandered from the table, breaking the grim spell of her thoughts. Rubbing her brow, she tried to sort out Ksoreda’s words.

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” she said. “If the spirit inside the Lor’yentré is so helpless without the body, how do you explain Heradnora’s power over Warren?”

  Ksoreda lifted an unfinished goblet of wine to his lips, then twirled the remnants as Telai resumed her seat. “Remember what I said about sharing a spirit? A mere touch of the dead owner’s Lor’yentré triggers it. The living body provides the orphaned spirit with a new link to the physical world. Anyone ignorant of the risk would soon fall prey to that spirit, depending on their strength of will.”

  “Like those Raéni who sacrificed themselves at Graxmoar,” said Tenlar.

  “At least they had fair warning,” Telai said. “They were specifically chosen for that quest because of their gift of laroné. But Warren!” she cried, her voice raw with the memory of that terrible morning in Gebi. “He had no such gifts. And why him?”

  “Indeed,” Ksoreda answered. “How could any mortal ignorant of the danger, much less a child, resist her influence once she took possession at Graxmoar? The boy must have had some kind of natural protection that went far beyond laroné, a secret ability only Rennor knew about. And considering what happened at the ship, there’s only one possible answer.”

  The others only stared at him. “Don’t you understand?” Ksoreda said. “Soren—he brought him back to life.”

  “Well, of course he did,” said Tenlar. “He used the Lor’yentré.”

  Ksoreda waved his hand to dismiss the idea. “I already told you, it cannot control the spirit. It can repair flesh, but nothing more.”

  It took a while for Telai to digest this. “Are you telling me—”

  “Yes! Warren preserved Soren’s spirit, and afterward returned him to his body—all without the help of the Lor’yentré.”

  Telai searched for a way to refute his arguments, but ended up shaking her head. “How is this possible? He’s just a boy!”

  The old man shrugged his s
houlders. “I don’t know why he has this gift. But there’s no other explanation. Why else was Rennor so interested in him? Warren unknowingly transferred Soren’s spirit to himself at his death—and if I understand the sequence of events, before the Lor’yentré was ever activated.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” she snapped. “If he was able to remove Soren’s spirit, he could do the same to Heradnora’s.”

  “No. You said yourself that he wasn’t even aware of her presence, much less his own ability—that is, not until it was too late. Heradnora must have tricked him somehow. With her Lor’yentré fully activated, one moment of weakness is all it would take to force her way through, no matter how strong his defenses.”

  “So now you ask Telai to correct this terrible mistake,” said Tenlar, “by wielding the same evil that caused all this. Why should she take on this burden? Why should any of us?”

  “There’s no other choice. My people are explicitly forbidden to enter your world, especially now. The most I’m allowed is to project myself, like at the village.”

  Tenlar looked as if he had swallowed something vile. “How can you live with yourself? Letting others fight your battles for you, ones that you started. Even the Hodyn aren’t so cowardly!”

  “I won’t deny the hypocrisy. But you have no idea how precious your world is—or how seductive.”

  Telai clasped her knees to keep her hands from shaking. “What must I do?”

  “You must find your parents and take the new Lor’yentré for your own.”

  “And?”

  Reluctance crept into Ksoreda’s eyes. “Mistress Telai, please believe me when I say I would never wish any harm on you. But this won’t be easy for you to hear.”

  Telai breathed deeply, then nodded.

  “The only way to defeat Heradnora is by returning her to her prison—by destroying the body she lives in. And if you survive the encounter, as the new owner of a Lor’yentré you will have no choice but leave your world forever.”

  Ksoreda’s words fell like an executioner’s axe. No one spoke. Telai stared transfixed, her flesh like ice, hoping beyond hope that she had misheard or misunderstood him. But the old man’s grieving face left no doubt.

  Tenlar trembled with such fury that he had difficulty finding his voice. “You gutless bastard!” he shouted, tears welling. “Take your evil device away from this world, not her!”

  “Forgive me, Master Tenlar. But think of what you’re saying. Without the power of the Lor’yentré at her side, Telai will grow old and die, and her spirit will be trapped forever—the same as Heradnora.”

  Telai shuddered. The name Heradnora was nothing: a disguise, a mythical title shrouded in the past, easily dismissed. Her real name was the one that mattered: Hendra. Ever since that terrible vision it had grown like a cancer, whispering a truth far too terrifying to contemplate: it’s going to happen again.

  This time, it would be Warren’s blood on her hands. This time, it wouldn’t be a dream.

  She bowed low, wrapping her arms about herself, desperate to hold in the last dregs of strength. Firm hands grasped her shoulders, but she didn’t feel them. A voice whispered her name, but it never reached her. Nothing mattered except the black pit of terror yawning before her.

  Tenlar bent close, but his voice sounded faint and far, as if he were calling across a great chasm. “Telai—we’ll get somebody else, it doesn’t have to be you. Any Raén would be proud to—”

  She silenced him with a violent shake of her head. Then she leaped from her chair and bolted for the exit.

  She hauled back on the doors, ran through, and collided headlong into Fedrallo. He stood frozen in shock, yet she struggled with him all the same, convinced he was trying to stop her. Tenlar sprang after, but when he gripped her by the arms she threw him off with a strength that easily rivaled his own.

  With a desperate cry she sped past Fedrallo, down the passage they had come. Through the wooden maze she fled, paying no attention to where she was going, and not really caring—as long as it was away from that room and its terrible secrets. Tenlar was quick to pursue her, but his calls soon faded. She was running for her life, and with the confusing twists and turns it was easy to lose him.

  A steep, spiral staircase opened at her feet. After an abrupt stop and a moment’s indecision, she plunged recklessly down the mossy steps, her labored breathing punctuated by the jarring impact of her descent. It took little enough time to reach the bottom. When she flailed at the sealed entrance, her fists suddenly beat upon empty air, and she was through.

  The cold struck her face unnoticed. The towering trees blocked what was left of the twilight, and she came to a halt, unable to see anything but the ghostly expanse of snow at her feet. She turned this way and that, waiting for her sight to adjust, not realizing what she sought. Then it came to her.

  “Slink!”

  He was only a sled dog. What hope or use was there in that? Yet far away in Crooked Pass, where she had felt so utterly alone, a bond had formed. Slink was the only living thing she could cling to without the pity she so feared in Tenlar’s eyes.

  She called the dog’s name again, this time with all her strength, a raw shout of desperation. When the echoes died she forced herself to wait, holding her breath, trying to listen beyond the quick pulse throbbing in her ears.

  Between one beat and the next a faint bark echoed from somewhere deep in the woods. She searched in all directions, squinting between the trees, for the sound was difficult to locate. “Slink!” she cried once more, her voice getting hoarse.

  A dark silhouette bounded toward her across the dim snow. Telai laughed then, an eerie, echoing intrusion in this forsaken place. She dropped to her knees, and snow sprayed from the dog’s legs as he plowed into her. A frayed rope dangled from his collar.

  He licked her face, whining in his eagerness. “Good boy, good boy,” she said softly, slapping his sides, rubbing his ears. At last he calmed down, standing with his tongue lolling out.

  Her smile faded. The emptiness returned, and she laid her head against the thick, soft fur of his shoulders.

  The trees witnessed her suffering in silence, majestic yet cold and uncaring. Only the living thing beside her provided any solace. The quick hammer of the animal’s heart was a lifeline, a reminder somehow that happiness did exist in her world, even if she might never share in it again.

  She paid no heed to the brief splay of light behind her. The soft crunch of approaching footsteps went unnoticed. Tenlar lowered himself to her side, but he spoke no word, made no move to touch or comfort her. He merely waited, like the dog, his expression hidden in the dark.

  At last Slink tired of the encounter and sank to the ground. Telai, whose grief had slowly faded to silence, jumped back as though wakened from slumber. She glanced about, stopping at Tenlar’s faint outline against the dim snow.

  “More trouble than I’m worth?” Her smile was feeble, and her ragged voice had no heart to it.

  “We should get inside, Telai. You’ll freeze to death!”

  She looked down at herself, vaguely surprised to find that she was shivering, dressed only in light clothes without any boots or a coat. She loathed the idea of returning to that place. Yet when he offered his hand, she immediately accepted it and rose to her feet, her legs stiff from the cold.

  Light from the door opening again turned their heads. Ksoreda, a bit out of breath, hurried across the snow to stop before them. A ghostly globe like a fog-shrouded lamp hovered above his head, lighting the way.

  A minute passed in which no one spoke. A dull glint caught Telai’s attention: the divided halves of the new Lor’yentré in the keeper’s outstretched hand.

  She reached forward. Tenlar made no motion to stop her. Despite Ksoreda’s assurance of how harmless they were in this state, the touch of the glass-like surface seemed to inject poison into her soul, as if it had breached some protective shield of her own making.

  She ignored it, and gripped the Lor’yentré
with reckless determination. You got what you wanted, Father: I’m a soldier now. I have no right choices left.

  11

  Master of Secrets

  Hate is like a bird without wings.

  All the faith and courage in the world still can’t make it fly.

  - from Besir Orand’iteé

  THICK CLOUDS veiled the first light of dawn, and only a small lamp on the table in the Overseer’s study offered any relief from the reluctant gloom. Garda stood at the tall windows and watched the palace doors swing open to accept the Master Raén. She could almost hear Derré protesting another blatant disregard of protocol as he barged past.

  Garda sighed, then grabbed a wet cloth from a nearby basin to revive herself, rubbing her face and neck. She had slept only a few hours since the theft of their weapons two nights ago, and the long lines of people, wagons, and carts toiling up the streets the next day had inflicted a heavy toll on her heart. News of the fall of both Enilií and Sintel had only deepened her fears that an attack on the city was imminent.

  The High Loop, a narrow, paved road winding through the upper regions of the valley, led to massive doors hewn in the towering cliffs. Rarely had these doors ever been opened. Now they stood wide, and even from her first-floor study more than two miles away she could just make out the yellow glimmer of torches shining from within. Gortgal was the most elaborate set of caverns of them all, and offered the best protection from battle or siege. She had delayed her own departure to the caverns to maintain an appearance of confidence and strength—and to perform one last duty.

  The doors to her study stood open, and the slap of boots down the marbled hallway announced the Master Raén’s arrival. Soren nodded at the guards standing in the shadows outside, then stepped across the threshold and bowed.

  “You summoned me, my lady.”

  Garda stood near the table, dressed in a deep maroon robe she usually wore only in private; one hand grasped a soiled and tattered scroll. “I assume the evacuation to Gortgal was conducted in an orderly fashion?”

  “For the most part. There were a few pig-headed stragglers, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Ressolc saved what he could of the more valuable artifacts and literature from Gerentesk. Yet it grieves him. The enemy would hold no love for anything left behind.”