The Truth about Heroes: Complete Trilogy (Heroes Trilogy)

by Krista Gossett

  Verity nodded, thanked the woman and left. Even though the air was warm, she hugged her arms and rubbed them, looking at the falling snow in the distance. It was possible that even though magic had left the humans, it certainly might have still manifested elsewhere. Humans had called it wild magic once, more commonplace before the elementals began making pacts. After meeting Ashe and Melchior, what those pacts entailed became clearer. Was Kalhmera omnipotent in that sort of awareness or was this unknown to her? Verity wasn’t so sure she wanted to know the answer. She felt like she might be becoming cowardly but she didn’t really want the complications that came with answers in her new life. She didn’t want to be ignorant but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know either. She headed further down the road down to the shop, hoping she could focus on something else while she was here, definitely wanting to enjoy the weather and their room more than wondering what was behind this place.

  The shop had some amazing lingerie too. She was going to have some fun after all.

  Chapter 11: Treasure You Can’t Measure

  The trip back to Wellspring Valley was becoming a new adventure every time. While it had been recovering from once being the Barren Lands for many moons now, the desert seemed to end much sooner and there was quite a bit of greenery to be seen before even reaching the old Wailing River. It seemed surreal that the dwarf’s shack still stood vigilant, as a waypoint for the travelers passing through, but the dread and wariness that had stuck with them on their first journey was a phantom of the past. Pierait had asked the dwarf if they could borrow the horse they had ridden to the old City of Sorrow (another lifetime ago it seemed) and he had readily agreed. They could have walked, of course, but there was something romantic about returning to that place the way they had first gone there, with the added benefit of Pierait not literally making Lyria sick. It wasn’t the City of Sorrow that had sparked their romance, but more the City of Abundance that they were returning to now. Despite the definite contrast between the two, they were still the same place to Lyria. Even when the place was haunting and dark, it had held its own beauty. She had remembered waiting anxiously for Pierait to return, haunted by nightmares about what he was facing alone and wondering if he would be able to return. She wanted to believe she had faith in him, but when the return rate was 0%, it had been hard for her to do so.

  Because Lyria also remembered that proximity to Pierait with her gift/curse of Touch had made her woefully ill, she reached out and stroked his skin with her bare hand, marveling at it still. The Touch had fled her when the world changed so she could touch anyone without the previous bad side effects, but at one time, Pierait had been the only one who could touch her skin without causing a cacophony of chaos to bloom wildly in her mind. The souls that flowed through him had caused no more than a calming hum in her mind. Even now, she could still sense the stream going through him, the souls looking for a resting place. Pierait seemed convinced that the cul-de-sac where he had taken on the Fount of Souls would be the key to their rest again.

  Alongside the shortened purple Barri mountains, there were little trees springing up on the hills, freshwater creeks starting to wear their paths through the lush grassy area where all used to be dust and decay. It was hard to believe this place was real and the simple beauty of it made her bold. She asked Pierait to stop so they could make love here, out of the view of the road, but still in the open air. He was all too eager to comply.

  Once they were back on the road, her thoughts went back to her memories here. Lyria had also taken on Mot, the elemental of death, in this place. She knew that Mot, like the Mother Yggdrassl, was not an elemental of the old gods and was surely still around, but he had yet to appear since guarding them on Elcarim. She wondered if he broke ties to her or if he was still around. The Mother had in a sense revoked her protection over Finn and Verity, knowing that Kalhmera had taken on their protection herself. She wondered if Mot just assumed she would have thought the same. It did seem odd now that the Wellspring of Souls and the fount of all life and the Champion of Death were lovers. Could you have one without the other though?

  At the newly erected golden gates of Abundance, they were ecstatically greeted by none other than the undead Iric. It was clear that Mot had not fled entirely or else Iric would not be the same Iric they knew. The undead were the product of Mot’s Fount of Death, after all.

  Iric helped Lyria down from the horse, not bothering to attend to Pierait. Iric was not trying to be rude; he was simply so excited to tell her all about what had happened since she had left. This place being surrounded by mountains always made it seem cut off from the rest of the continent, if not the rest of the world. They didn’t seem to understand in the least why the magic had fled and there was much apprehension and gossip about the displeasure of the old gods and wondering if they planned to punish the world more. Lyria wished she could comfort her friend but she would not break her promise to the goddess. She did her best to assure him otherwise, that the world would be at peace.

  When Lyria looked back to be sure that Pierait was still behind them, he hung back at a casual distance and smiled bemusedly, throwing her a playful wink that told her he was fine where he was. She returned the smile then turned her attention back to the rapid-fire monologue of Iric. At some point, she decided to interrupt, since the wealth of information was becoming far removed from anything she was truly curious about.

  “Iric, if I may… would it be possible to gain an audience with the King again or has he been busy in all the excitement?” Lyria asked.

  Iric looked as if he’d been punched suddenly in the gut, followed by a deep remorse and shame.

  “Where is my head? It should have been the first thing to tell you. I am afraid that the good king did not survive the big quakes, my dear lady. Abundance is currently governed by the King’s Council until a suitable replacement is found.”

  Lyria was shocked and saddened by this. She had not truly known the King; he was a kind enough man, but she recalled that he did not seem anxious to speak with her much either. The night she had dined with the king, only one of his personal guard (the dashing Silas) had seen fit to pay her any mind. She wondered if Silas were still alive, but she did not know if Iric knew the man or not so decided to wait on that question. She would find out for herself once they paid the palace a visit. She blushed a little, remembering the pampered paradise of the castle and her passionate night with Pierait there. She blushed a bit deeper, realizing there were few places where they hadn’t made love by now.

  Pierait’s voice had broken her from her revelry since he had caught up to join them when Iric’s shock had stopped him.

  “Would it be difficult to address the council?” he asked.

  Iric’s eyes drifted to the sky as he frowned and thought about it.

  “For most people, I would say yes. But you are the Wellbourne, sir—there are none here who have not heard of you and the former king’s proclamations still hold. You are an honored guest of Abundance and always welcome here,” Iric finally told him.

  “Would you be so kind as to guide us to the council then?” Pierait prodded Iric on.

  Iric drew himself up with importance and saluted Pierait. “I would be honored, Wellbourne,” Iric formally replied. Pierait sighed deeply and shook his head.

  “We are not strangers, Iric—please just call me Pierait.” Iric threw back an ear-to-ear grin and nodded sharply.

  “Will do, then. Pierait it is! This way, if you please,” Iric practically chirped back, suddenly lighter of feet as he took the lead and Lyria and Pierait fell into step behind him.

  Where the City of Sorrow was once a very dark and purple place with the neon glow of pure magic infused throughout, Abundance was golden and prismatic under the glow of the sunlight. The stones of the pavement translated well in the brighter world and Lyria was still mesmerized by how much of a contrast switch the place had taken. She had gotten to know the city fairly well while Pierait had crossed the Barren Lands and the place
s were still the same. If this place had undergone any major changes while she had been away, she was having a hard time finding what those changes could be.

  Iric had not led them directly to the central building where the throne room was; indeed, there seemed to be a procession of mourners there, confirming for Lyria that the King was indeed well-loved to still illicit such attention after death. Iric led them further on to a building on the far side of the Palace where Iric had to gain them admission. The council hall was cool and quiet, meticulously clean and no less impressive than anywhere else in Abundance. Comparatively though, it was rather plain. Iric asked them to stay put in this sort of lobby area while he announced them. Despite the very inviting couches in the room, Lyria and Pierait stood patiently, hoping that the audience would be prompt.

  It seemed only moments later, a very young man, not a teenager by any means but probably not his full height and build yet, came back out with Iric. His hands were folded in front of him and he wore a long royal blue robe accented in purple and silver. He nodded and Iric bowed to Lyria and Pierait then hurried away. Lyria mouthed ‘thank you’ to Iric as he left, his only acknowledgement a small smile. The man was handsome, with a straight aquiline nose and a full kind mouth. His hair was a bluish black color and as long as his waist but pulled back in a thick braid, his eyes a stunning orange-brown color. Pierait had probably guessed before Lyria had that this man had once been one of the Soulless. Accordingly, he must have come here after the Barren Lands changed over—the other unfortunate Soulless that visited Sorrow were always drawn to a solemn death beyond the Wall. He smiled kindly, bowing slightly. Pierait returned it and Lyria dipped into a quick curtsy.

  “The guardsman has informed the council of your arrival, Wellbourne, and… Lyria, his companion. I am Sylvas, one of the ten trusted advisors on the King’s Council of Abundance. We are humbled to have you here as honored guests. Is there anything we can do to be of service? Would you like to stay in your previous quarters, or perhaps you had something else in mind?” the soft-voiced Sylvas offered. Lyria imagined that that soft voice was deceptive and those words could cut like steel if pushed.

  “Would the old founts be available at this time?” Pierait asked now.

  Lyria had to admit she was at a loss as to what Pierait was up to here. She had been content to take a walk on memory lane and had not thought to ask. She was surprised but tried to seem unaffected by the request. He had mentioned returning to the founts but she hadn’t expected him to just cut to the chase. It might raise too much suspicion, for one.

  Sylvas tipped his head thoughtfully, which caused the silky black hair to fall in his face a little, prompting him to unfold his pale, long-fingered hands to push the hair back. The only other person Lyria had seen move with such liquid grace was Verity. The man caught Lyria gawking openly and shot her a quick, curious look before his eyes went back to Pierait.

  “The founts are not open to the public, but I suspect you already know why. However, the former king has made it clear that the Wellbourne and his companions not be restricted so you are free to explore as you please,” Sylvas told them now. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a badge, stepping forward to hand it to Pierait.

  “There are guards around all entrances, of course, and some may not recognize you. You may already be aware but there has been a lot of migration here since the Wellspring was freed so more guards have been hired to control the excitement. That badge, however, will give you clearance without the burden of explanation. If you need anything more, do return here and ask for me. I will not hesitate to attend to your concerns.”

  With that, Sylvas spun about, his silky hair lifting like fine ribbons at the quick motion, and he glided out of the room. It was hard to believe that magic was no more, the way the man moved. Lyria caught herself wondering if he had been some sort of male courtesan before gaining his freedom from his Purpose. One thing that hadn’t left her was her instinct for people’s secrets. It would not surprise her that that man had once had a corrupted Purpose. In that case, he would feel indebted to Pierait if she appealed to that. As much as she avoided unnecessary gossip, it might be a thing worth looking into.

  Lyria realized that Pierait was watching her with amusement and drew herself up indignantly.

  “Don’t look at me like that. He just reminds me of Verity, in a way, you know?” Lyria sputtered out, having started to wring her hands then catching herself and steadying them. Pierait laughed softly and linked his arm with hers.

  As they walked through the halls of the palace, they enjoyed the silence. The place still seemed like a labyrinth to her, but she knew which direction they needed to take to get to the large chambers where the founts were. Water, fire, earth, wind… Pierait lead her to each one in turn, although she found it odd that he avoided the Fount of Death for the time being. The crystals that once channeled pure elemental magic were eerily dark, no longer floating above the dais but resting in the frames below them. As they visited each one, she remembered the friends she had made that had once been connected to them.

  When they reached the dark crystal that had once been Light, Lyria studied Pierait’s face.

  “Are any of these where the Fount must go?” Lyria asked, almost whispering. The chambers were so quiet that it seemed disrespectful to shatter the silence.

  Pierait seemed far away, but he smiled down at Lyria and stroked her cheek lovingly after a moment.

  “No, no, not yet…” was all he would say for now. Lyria just nodded, biting down on her impatience.

  It was not long before the only Fount left had indeed been the Fount of Death. Lyria wondered why he had saved it for last and tried not to shiver at the cold tickling at her spine.

  When Pierait opened the door now, Lyria almost jumped seeing the Reaper himself, Mot, in a thinker’s pose and gazing at the Fount. Surely Pierait did not mean to remove the Fount of Death and fill it with souls seeking life. Mot seemed just as far away in thought as Pierait had been, not bothering to look at Pierait or Lyria as they filed into the chamber and shut the door behind them. He still did not make a move to look at them as he spoke.

  “There will always be Death in this world, just as the Mother will always preside over Life,” Mot stated for no apparent reason. Mot was not the type to converse casually so Lyria knew there must be some point.

  “So where does the Wellspring go?” Pierait asked without missing a beat.

  Mot looked at Pierait now, smiling as much as a reaper could.

  “In a hurry to be rid of it?” Mot asked then returned to gazing upon the glowing blackness of the Death Fount.

  Lyria waited, but the silence grew heavy on her.

  “We have not seen you since Elcarim,” Lyria stated without accusation, although saying the name of that cursed place had been hard to say without distaste.

  Mot sat silent a few moments more, his hand itching at stark white bone. Did bone itch or was this a sign that Mot may have been a creature of flesh once, tied to a very old habit?

  “Even for Death, the gathering is tiring work. Collecting the souls of the old gods and the elementals is no simple task,” Mot explained to her now. He did sound weary, now that she thought about it. Lyria seemed shocked by the revelation.

  “Their souls are returned to the Wellspring?” she asked in awe.

  Mot laughed at that, a raspy tired sound.

  “Their souls are Kalhmera’s, not mine, child,” Mot easily shot back. “If the souls of pure magic were returned, you humans would still have magic, now wouldn’t you? No, Kalhmera withholds magic for now. She is not quite sure if it is responsible for the near end of all things…”

  “You have spoken to her then?” Lyria wondered, marveling at that.

  Mot nodded grimly, offering no more. Lyria still had one more thing to ask though.

  “Would you happen to know where Pierait must go then?” Lyria tried.

  “You’ve already asked that,” Mot reminded her. “I know no more now
than I did a minute before.”

  Lyria muffled her dejected sigh the best that she could, but Pierait heard enough of it that he squeezed his hand around hers.

  “Still… you might stay and open your ears to the city. You have relied on Touch so often in your life, girl, that your other senses have become dulled. Should you listen now to the things plainly said around you, you might find your answer yet.”

  Mot vanished in a jet-black swirl of smoke and Pierait patted her arm.

  “We should return to Sylvas and ask for quarters until we can work this out. It’s been quite some time since we could explore the city and never with much time for luxury,” Pierait assured her now.

  She smiled weakly at him and nodded, allowing him to lead her away. The exchange had left her weary and she could use a bath and a change of clothes.

  Lyria felt like a goddess, once again donning the luxurious, sensual silks of Abundance. She and Pierait had been given separate quarters—she had been too embarrassed to mention that they could share and Pierait seemed too amused by her obvious embarrassment to correct it either. While she had bathed, she felt a delightful shiver at the idea of reenacting their nighttime romp.

  In spite of that idea, she found herself wandering the corridors more adventurously—she did not feel restricted to the quarters of a guest and Sylvas had given her her own access badge. It really had no place on her gown so she carried it in her palm as she wandered about on her own. The gown was snow white, draping from her shoulders like a toga and gaping at her breasts but hugging her torso before flowing from her hips and pooling around her feet. The gown was backless, plunging daringly just above her tailbone but a cape was pinned to each shoulder strap with a silver-leaf brooch. The front of the skirted hemline ended at her ankles but the back of the train lengthened, dragging behind her, but only about a half foot or so longer. It tugged and sagged in a mimicry of the waves of changing tides as she walked. She had donned matching white silk slippers with silver thread embroidered into matching leaves.