“I know nothing of the sort,” Victis replied. “I say we march to our glory.”
Both men laughed heartily and quickly finished off what remained of the wine, now disregarding the cups.
Lousis told Mohanisi and his captains of the plan. At first they were shocked, but as the audaciousness of what the king was proposing sank in, their enthusiasm grew. Before long they were full of the idea.
In less than an hour the army was prepared and all set to move forward.
Mohanisi walked up to stand beside Lousis’ horse. “You do realize that you will make me into a liar,” he said. “Lady Selena will not be pleased.” His tone was typically serious. Rarely did he smile or show emotion.
“And why is that?” said Lousis. “I intend to live.” He paused. “Hell...I intend to win.”
Even though he tried to stop himself, the corners of Mohanisi’s mouth began turning up. Higher and higher they lifted until his smile was big and cheerful.
Then, all at once, he threw his head back in unrestrained laughter.
*****
In spite of objections from the human commanders, Nehrutu and Aaliyah decided to inform the army of Gewey’s fate. Lord Vasko, a stout, humorless man from Sieren Bay, pointed out that there was nothing to be done, and that knowledge of his death would only demoralize the troops.
Though Nehrutu agreed, Aaliyah would not be dissuaded. Through their bond he could feel her pain slowly turning inward and becoming wrath. She had come so far and fought so hard, and now the very person they thought was destined to save them all was gone.
At first, the news had exactly the effect that Vasko predicted. Word of Darshan’s demise spread like a disease, infecting everyone. Whispers of surrender and rumors of desertion could be heard throughout the camp… even from some of the elves.
Aaliyah took no notice of this, instead issuing orders for the entire army to be gathered along the shore. Nehrutu wanted to comfort her, but surges of white hot fury kept him at bay. She had come to a decision and her heart had hardened. Whatever she was going to do, he knew that surrender was out of the question.
The narrow beach could barely hold the entire army, forcing everyone to stand tightly together. Aaliyah was nowhere to be seen, and after a time the mood began to get restless. Nehrutu could feel that she was near, but when he tried to find her he was met with stern resistance. He was quickly learning that their bond carried with it a responsibility to respect the privacy of the other, even when you were desperate to know the thoughts behind their emotions.
Just as voices were starting to grow loud and irritated, the wind suddenly rose, gaining strength until it was a roar in Nehrutu’s ears. He could feel the power raging through his mate as never before. He reached out and offered to add his strength to hers. This time he was met with gratitude and acceptance.
“Darshan is dead!”
Aaliyah’s voice descended from high above. The sheer volume and power of her words caused people to flinch from shock before gazing skyward.
Aaliyah was using the flow to carry her more than fifty feet above the water. Clad in armor, her blade in hand, and with hair whipping about like dark flames, she appeared to those below almost like a goddess of war.
All eyes were fixed upon her as she drifted down over the surface of the churning sea. The white caps of the breakers lapped at her feet, while the spray from the waves crashing onto the shore formed a mist around her slender frame.
“Darshan is dead!” she repeated. “Because of this my heart aches…and I am afraid. Do you not also feel the fear that corrupts your heart now that our savior is no more?”
Nehrutu stared in wonder as tiny flashes of light appeared, swirling and dancing around every soul assembled on the beach. The sound of bells and the laughter of a thousand children drifted on the wind. Just at that moment the sun was at Aaliyah’s back. She held out her arms and the light split, spreading her shadow across the water and centering her silhouette in the setting sun.
He knew that Aaliyah was using the flow of the spirit. Through their bond he could feel it echoing within him like music inside a great stone amphitheater. He had experienced its effects before when with Darshan at the feast in Valshara. That time it had nearly broken his mind. But this was different. Powerful and limitless, yet gentle and kind. So completely unlike the frenzied might that was Darshan.
“But now,” she continued. “It is time to banish our fear and embrace our fate. Elves! Your lands and loved ones need your courage. Will you now abandon them? Will you cast aside bonds of family? For soon our enemy will scorch the earth from the desert to the sea.
“Humans! Your cities burn and your people are ravaged by war. Will you throw down your swords and leave them to the mercy of an enemy who knows not the meaning of the word? Will you allow them to murder your kin and destroy your homes with impunity?”
The flow settled on the army, but rather than penetrating them, it washed over everyone like a gentle rain. Their faces became flushed and their eyes filled with the fire of renewed passion: a determination that was more akin to love than fury.
“Darshan is dead!” The words tore through the air. “And now it is left to us to save ourselves. And to save those whom we love.”
Her eyes fell on Nehrutu as she floated toward the shore. The army gave way sufficiently for her feet to touch the sand just in front of her husband.
“And it is those we love who will fill our spirits with the strength for victory.”
The crowd exploded with cheers and cries of vengeance against Angrääl and its king.
Aaliyah touched Nehrutu’s cheek, smiling. “Let us show the Reborn King and his armies what it means to make war on free people.”
Without even waiting for orders to do so, both elves and humans immediately began filing from the beach and making ready to march on the enemy. Aaliyah and Nehrutu stood watching them until they were alone. She then took Nehrutu’s hand and led him back to camp.
He looked into her eyes as they arrived. “That was….”
He was incapable of finding the right words to finish his thought. Instead, he sent his feelings of awe and joy through their bond.
“It was necessary,” Aaliyah said, kissing his cheek. “I would not have a lie become their battle cry. And yet, I would not have them lose hope either.”
“So you think we can be victorious without the power of Darshan to aid us?” he asked.
“I think we no longer have a choice.” Her voice was resolute. “And I will most surely not wait for the Reborn King to sail across the Abyss and attack the lands I love.”
Chapter 11
Basanti sat cross-legged on the carpet inside her spacious tent. The marble floor beneath kept it cool and pleasant against the heat of the summer.
She had left her name behind long ago. Only two people now knew her as Basanti, and she missed both of them terribly. These days she was known as the Oracle of Manisalia. At first she hated life in the small town. The people had erected a temple for her to live in, but she had never felt comfortable within the opulent marble structure. Its cavernous halls and chambers made her loneliness even more pronounced. And when it was proposed that a statue be erected in her honor, she had come very close to running away.
The only respite from her solitude, other than the people seeking her wisdom, was when Felsafell came to visit. She had grown fond - more than fond - of him. She always thought it was amusing when people would see her walking the streets of Manisalia on the arm of a bent, scraggly old man. Only she could see his true form in all its splendor. But his visits were becoming ever more infrequent and short as demands on her time increased.
Pósix had been highly pleased with Felsafell for the creative way he had found to protect her. She strengthened Basanti’s ability to foretell the future, and in appreciation of Felsafell’s achievement had granted him a boon – though she found his request to be odd.
He asked that the goddess destroy the temple that Basanti so detested. An
d not only the one currently standing, but also any others that the people might try to build in its place. Reluctantly, Pósix complied. It was in that moment that the Oracle’s heart belonged to him.
In only twenty years Felsafell managed to convince people that the foundation was built on the very spot where the gods had first breathed life into humankind, and because of that no structure could ever stand there. After a few more temples collapsed, the story became an established fact passed down through generations and no further attempts were made. Only the immense floor remained. Basanti told her followers that this was where her powers were at their strongest, just in case any thought to build her a temple elsewhere. The only solution after that was the tent where she now dwelled. It allowed her to feel the open air and reminded her of days when life was simple and free. Though she would rather be wandering the world with her brother, it was not such a bad life.
She guided both the mighty and the meek with her visions. And while many of them left her tent more confused than when they arrived, she was satisfied that the gods were revealing their plans through her and was honored by their faith. In spite of all that had happened, she still trusted them.
A comely young woman poked her head inside, smiling brightly. Shilsa had served the Oracle since she was little more than a child and was Basanti’s favorite amongst all of her followers. She waved for Shilsa to enter and offered her a seat. The woman complied with the elegant grace of a noble born. In her arms she carried a small, plain wooden box. Just as she sat, the fuzzy head of a puppy poked above the rim.
Basanti squealed with delight. “Where did you find it?”
Shilsa carefully lifted the animal out. It was nothing more than a mongrel, but with black patches scattered all over its soft, medium-length white fur, there was no denying that it was truly adorable. The puppy whimpered and whined as it was handed over to the Oracle.
Basanti held the furry bundle close. Within seconds it began licking her face excitedly.
“It was left just outside your tent, My Lady,” said Shilsa.
“Left by whom?” she asked. But in that moment, it didn’t really matter.
Shilsa held up her palms and shrugged. “We don’t know. It appeared from nowhere. One moment it wasn’t there, and the next it was. Some of the others think it must be a gift from the gods.” She reached inside her sleeve and pulled out a small scrap of parchment. “There was a note with it as well.”
“Read it,” said Basanti, unwilling to put down her new companion.
“It says: His name is Felsafell - a gift to keep you company and help you remember more carefree days.” She folded the note and frowned. “What does it mean?”
Basanti giggled as the puppy continued with its barrage of kisses. Eventually, she placed it on her lap. It struggled and squirmed for a few seconds, then settled down and rested its chin on her thigh. “It means that I have a visitor,” she said. “I will see no one else today.”
Shilsa stood, smiling with approval. “It’s good to see you happy, My Lady.” Just as she was about to exit the tent, she paused. “Should I bring food and wine?”
“No, thank you,” Basanti replied. The puppy was already beginning to doze, kicking slightly and grunting as it dreamed. “My guest always provides the meal.”
“What is your friend’s name?” Shilsa asked. “So that I know who to allow in.”
“There’s no need,” she replied. “You won’t see him enter.”
Pretending to understand, Shilsa nodded and left.
The tent flap was still moving when Basanti heard a movement behind her.
“What did you bring, old hermit?” she said, doing her best to sound serious. “Aside from this mangy animal.”
Felsafell moved nimbly to take a seat across from her. In his left hand he held a basket, and in his right, a large jug. “If my gift does not please you, I’ll gladly take it away.” He set down his load and reached out for the puppy.
Basanti recoiled and glared at him. “You will do no such thing.” She maintained her look of anger for as long as she could before finally bursting into gay laughter. “You have stayed away for far too long.”
“I will come more often if you wish it,” he promised.
“Of course I wish it,” she mocked. “You know that you do not need to be so formal with me.”
“And you know how I sound when I speak the new tongue,” countered Felsafell. “Though it does indeed fit in with my current appearance.”
From the basket he produced a loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a string of summer sausages. Basanti’s eyes sparkled at the sight.
When the meal was finished they talked cheerfully for several hours. Regardless of how long they were apart, after only a few minutes together it always felt as if he had never left. Just one thing was missing. One thing that gnawed at her heart.
“Have you heard from him?” she asked, trying to sound as if it were merely a passing thought.
“Yanti has become quite adept at avoiding me,” he replied. “I do not think he likes that I keep track of him.”
“How long has it been?”
Felsafell leaned back and sighed. “More than fifty years. I lost sight of him as he was heading west. He was still searching for the god stones. At least, I think he was. With Yanti it is difficult to know what he is planning.” He looked at her with sudden concern. “He has not been here, has he?” But the sorrow behind her eyes already told him the answer.
“All I want is for him to send word,” she said. “Just so I can know he is safe, and to show that he still thinks about me sometimes.”
“Of that there is no question,” he assured her. “Everything he has done - even his blunders, has been to earn his place beside you.”
“I asked Pósix to redeem his spirit,” she said. “I begged her to repair what he has damaged. I explained that he only did it to protect me.”
“And what was her reply?” He moved close enough to allow her to lean against him.
“She said that she was forbidden.” As tears began to take form, Basanti buried her head in Felsafell's chest. “She told me it had been decided that Yanti was to be left to his own fate.”
“I know it is difficult to understand,” he said, stroking her hair. “But the gods do not act without purpose. I will find him for you.”
She looked into his eyes. The old man was gone, replaced by his true form. “No. I cannot ask this of you. I must wait for him to seek me out.” She forced a smile. “You have been so good and kind to me for all these long years. You have served as my protector and friend. And never have you asked anything for yourself in return. Why?”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Because what I desire is far beyond anything I could dare to hope for.”
Basanti’s heart raced. “If what you desire is me, then I have already been yours for a very long time – in both body and spirit.”
Felsafell averted his eyes. “How could you love me? I have driven your brother away, and made you into little more than a prisoner in this place.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “You have been the only reason I have not gone mad with loneliness. You saved me from a world that fears what they do not understand.” She moved in closer. “And my brother chose his own path. You did what I could not. And for that I am eternally grateful.”
Felsafell simply stared at her, for the moment transfixed and unable to speak.
Basanti’s mouth gradually turned upward into a girlish grin. “Of course, if I have misunderstood your inten–”
He leaned in and kissed her. The hundreds of years of waiting suddenly seemed like fleeting moments as he lost himself in the softness of her lips. Basanti wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body close. Within seconds, their hearts were beating in unison.
Their mouths finally parted, the loss of her touch bringing forth a soft moan of sadness from Felsafell. He wanted to say something - to tell her of all the things he was feeling - but she put he
r finger to his lips and stood up.
He watched as her graceful form glided across the tent to, one by one, put out the lamps.
*****
Felsafell remained in Manisalia for almost a month. Each day was a gift as they laughed and talked, and each night they explored their love - their passion climbing to heights neither could ever have imagined.
But through all of their joy, Felsafell could tell that thoughts of Yanti still weighed heavily on her mind. Eventually, he told her that he wanted to discover what had become of her brother, but promised to return the moment he had news to tell. Their parting nearly broke her heart. Once he was gone Basanti refused to see anyone for weeks, and very soon the line of supplicants outside her tent was stretching out for more than a mile.
Her attendants worried over her ceaselessly, but she didn’t care. Shilsa tried every day to bring her out of her melancholy, though these good intentions only succeeded in provoking a series of angry outbursts. Basanti always felt the pang of guilt immediately afterward, but she was finding it impossible to govern her emotions. Life seemed completely empty and meaningless without Felsafell. And though she understood why he had left, hundreds of years of emotional solitude had been washed away in that magical moment when they had first kissed.
And now she was alone again.
After three weeks, she finally built up the strength to venture outside of her tent. She walked until she was beyond the last of the people still awaiting an audience. That none of these had seen her before allowed her to pass unnoticed, and for this she was grateful. Millions of stars, bright in the cloudless sky, were made even more visible that night by the absence of the moon. The clean, brisk air felt good on her skin. She looked up to take a deep cleansing breath.
“You cannot allow yourself to despair,” came a kind, musical voice from the darkness just beyond her sight. “Felsafell will always find his way to you.”
Basanti knew at once that it was Pósix. “I know. But his absence leaves such a painful hole in my spirit.” Her heart was struck by a terrible thought. “You will not forbid us….”
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6 Page 44