The Lore Of The Evermen (Book 4)

by James Maxwell

  “Dead? How?” Miro’s breath caught. “Killian. He did it?”

  “No,” Amber said, and Miro’s eyebrows went up. “Well, yes. But he had help.”

  “Help?”

  Amber smiled. “I’ll let you see for yourself. Don’t be shocked when you see her.”

  Amber rose from the bed and went to the door. Opening it, she spoke to someone outside, and then she entered with Ella behind her.

  “Ho, Miro,” Ella said, smiling.

  Miro’s mouth dropped open. Ella’s pale blonde hair shone in the golden light of the room’s nightlamp. But she had a streak of strawberry red at her left temple, an inch wide line framing her face and falling down nearly to her waist. Her green eyes were now tinged with blue, like emeralds glinting within sapphires. Rather than her silk enchantress’s garb, she wore a dress of sky blue, thick and supple material that fit her better than the cloth of an enchantress ever had.

  “Ella . . .” Miro spluttered. “You . . .”

  “I’m still the same.” Ella grinned. “I’ve just grown, that’s all.”

  Amber’s eyes moved from one face to the other. She looked like she was fighting to keep a smile from her face.

  “How?” Miro said. “Lord of the Sky, I keep saying that.”

  “Do you remember the alchemist Tungawa’s dying words to Amber?”

  “‘Everything is toxic; it is the dose that makes a thing a poison,’” Miro said. “I think that was it.”

  “I think he knew he was onto the biggest secret of all. There’s so little we understand about essence. It gives objects incredible properties. It can bring the dead back to life. Elixir can be made from essence, turning a deadly substance into something that gives longevity and powers of rejuvenation. I think that’s the first hint we should have had that the history of the Evermen was tied to essence.”

  “You . . . you’re like Killian now?”

  “Yes,” Ella said simply. “Killian and I defeated Sentar Scythran together. In the end, I wonder if he didn’t let himself die. The knowledge that he wasn’t a god must have been the most painful blow of all. Yet, for a change,” she grinned again, “this is something I can’t explain. Aldrik, one of the Dain’s necromancers, tainted the Akari’s essence. I didn’t even know essence could be tainted, and I became sick.” Ella grew serious. “So sick. The pain was . . . it was terrible. I knew I was going to die. When I destroyed Sentar’s supply of essence, I fell into the sea, and some of that essence was mixed up with the seawater.”

  “Ella was affected by essence poisoning,” Amber said. “They took her back to the palace, and everyone thought she was going to die.”

  “I dreamt,” Ella said. “Evrin came to me, and he told me I had to fight. But it wasn’t fighting that brought me back, it was thinking of you two, and everyone else I loved. There was . . . a light. It was beautiful. But I made a decision. It wasn’t yet my time.”

  Miro spoke slowly, struggling with the words. “I have heard of this,” he said, “from soldiers who’ve been close to death but survived. The mind struggles to make sense of the changes to the body and invents gods and demons, tunnels and lights.”

  “That’s what I would have said before it happened to me,” Ella said. “But now I don’t feel so sure. I know the Evermen weren’t gods, and the stories of flying through the clouds, healing the sick and bringing people back to life come from those who struggled to make sense of their powers. But long ago, Layla told me about the Eternal, who works to keep balance in the world. I don’t know if there’s an Eternal, but there’s something out there, and it enabled me to survive.”

  Miro and Amber exchanged glances.

  “I have to say, Ella. That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Ella said.

  “I’ll reserve judgment,” said Miro. “And please don’t fault me if I continue to believe the things I see with my own eyes.”

  “I won’t.” Ella smiled.

  “Where’s Killian?” Amber asked.

  “He’s setting the city to rights, helping the wounded get attention, hunting down wandering revenants.”

  “Have you spoken?” Miro asked.

  “There’s still a lot to do. He’s the emperor and he takes his responsibilities seriously.”

  “He does,” Miro said, “but that doesn’t mean the two of you don’t need to talk.”

  Ella stared out the window, as if unwilling to meet Miro’s eyes.

  “I still can’t believe it,” Miro said. “Your hair . . . your eyes. Does this mean anyone can become like you now?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ella said. “If someone’s willing to go through what I did, then perhaps they deserve their reward. It’s not like there was any logic to it. If I hadn’t been affected by the tainted essence, would I have survived essence poisoning? What effect did the seawater have, and how much essence was in it? I just have to trust that these things worked out for a reason.”

  “Now that really doesn’t sound like you,” Miro said.

  “Do you remember when you’d started training at the Pens, you used to come home with bruises from the other boys?”

  Miro frowned. “I remember.”

  “You told me that sometimes there’s no other way but to fight. Do you remember that?”

  “I do.”

  “See?” Ella said. “It’s me.”

  “Of course it’s you,” Amber said, pulling Ella into a quick embrace.

  “Ella,” Miro said, “will you talk to Killian?”

  Ella stood, ignoring Miro’s question. “I need to go and see if there’s any news about Rogan. Before I go, can you tell me something?”

  “What is it?” Miro said.

  “The alchemist, Tungawa. Was he old, with a high forehead and crinkles around his eyes, and did he wear a black robe with a triangle bound by a double circle?”

  Miro and Amber both nodded.

  “Think on this,” Ella said. “I saw the alchemist when I dreamt. If they were just visions invented by my mind, then how did I know that, if neither of you told me?”

  Ella smiled and exited the chamber, leaving Miro and Amber open mouthed.

  67

  Another day of waiting for news of Rogan passed, another day of setting the city to rights.

  Ella sat on her bed holding a note in her hands. The paper was heavy and edged with gold. Her hands shook and her heart raced, thudding in her ears with a steady beat.

  Ella’s hands fell down to her lap, and she closed her eyes.

  For a long time she fought to calm her breathing as she thought about the message.

  Hearing a knock on the door, she opened her eyes and called out. “Come in.”

  Miro entered, and Ella immediately came to her feet. His face was pale and filled with anguish.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Rogan,” Miro said. “I think you should come now.”

  Putting the note aside, Ella followed her brother along the marble-floored corridors of the palace to an antechamber.

  Dread sank into Ella’s stomach as she looked at the door to the next room, where the healers had been tending Rogan. Sunlight shone through the open window, but the mood was somber.

  Amelia spoke in low tones to a middle-aged woman, evidently a healer, with a satchel over her shoulder and blood on her smock. Bartolo stared out the window with Shani by his side, her arm clutched protectively around her husband. Ilathor and Jehral stood together in a corner, their heads close together. Lady Alise made way for Miro and Ella to enter.

  All eyes turned to the two newcomers as they approached.

  Ella felt sudden fear clutch at her chest as she saw their expressions.

  “What’s . . . what’s happening?”

  “He wants to speak with you,” Miro said, his eyes indicating the closed door. “You need to go in.”

  Ella met Amelia’s red eyes and fought to control her ragged emotions. Ella drew in a slow, steady breath, exha
ling before breathing in again.

  “Go,” Miro said.

  Ella felt their eyes on her as she crossed the room. The dozen paces were suddenly an interminable march, each footstep an effort. She reached forward to touch the handle and pushed the door open, eyes on the floor as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

  Ella smelled the sweet stench of sickness.

  She lifted her eyes.

  The room was dark and the curtains were closed; only a nightlamp activated at the lowest setting giving Ella enough light to see by.

  Tables lined the wall, and Ella fought an involuntary gasp as she saw bloody bandages and flasks of brown liquid. The sole other piece of furniture was a bed.

  Rogan Jarvish lay on the bed.

  He looked old, older than Ella had ever thought he could appear. The pallor of his skin matched his gray hair, and he appeared to be having difficulty breathing.

  Ella couldn’t fight it anymore. She sobbed and fell to her knees beside the bed.

  “Ella,” Rogan whispered. “You’ve changed.”

  “I’m still the same,” Ella said through her tears.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve been watching you since you were small. Even though you never knew it, I’ve watched you grow. Your mother and I were friends. We spoke about you together. She loved you with a burning passion. She wanted you to have a normal, happy life, even if it meant she couldn’t be with you. Through her, I came to know you. I came to love you.”

  Ella felt tears spill out of her eyes, streaming down the sides of her cheeks. She breathed in gasps between sobs and couldn’t control herself no matter how hard she tried.

  “Take my hand,” Rogan said.

  Ella looked over his body for the first time. The blankets came up to his waist, but Rogan’s chest was black with oxidized blood, evil darkness spreading through the cloth wrappings around his torso.

  Ella reached forward and took Rogan’s hand. His palm and fingers were cold, though the room was warm.

  “Don’t cry,” Rogan said.

  Ella wiped at her cheeks with her free hand. “Is it bad?”

  “I’ve taken worse.” Rogan’s voice was hoarse. “But that was as a younger man. We all grow, and we all age.”

  Ella knew Rogan as an indomitable force. Her breathing ran ragged as Rogan closed his eyes for a time, and then he opened them again.

  “Do you believe that with age comes wisdom?” Rogan asked.

  “Sometimes,” Ella said.

  Rogan tried to laugh but fell into a coughing fit. Ella wondered if she should fetch help and started to rise, but Rogan’s surprisingly firm grip pulled her back down.

  “That’s you, lass. Always one to tell the truth. You’re right; I wasn’t wise to fight, not with Amelia and Tapel to take care of. But here I am.”

  “If you didn’t fight, Miro could be dead on the battlefield,” Ella said. “Rogan . . . thank you. I’m so sorry.”

  “Enough of that.” Rogan sighed. “Listen, lass. I have something important to say. Will you heed me?”

  “I . . . I will,” Ella said.

  Ella’s vision closed in as sadness overwhelmed her. She realized Rogan was saying good-bye.

  “I may not always be wise, but I know you. I know you sometimes better than you know yourself.” Rogan broke off with another cough. “Occasionally, Ella, you have to take a chance on life. You grew up an orphan, and you were all alone in the world when Brandon died. You’ve always accomplished everything on your own; you had no other choice. You’re brave and intelligent, but you’re also a fool and a coward.”

  Rogan’s words shocked her. He wasn’t holding back. “I’m sorry,” Ella said through her tears.

  “Don’t be sorry,” said Rogan. “You haven’t had an easy life. I want you to do something for me. Talk to Killian, Ella. Tell him the truth. Tell him all those things he doesn’t know about you, the secrets that you think are yours alone. Then let him talk, and listen, girl—listen well. Will you do that for me?”

  Ella nodded.

  “Good,” Rogan said. “Come here.” He kissed Ella’s cheek, and she kissed his in return, feeling his skin cold on her lips. “I love you, girl, as does your brother, and all your friends. But there are different kinds of love. There is the love a man bears for his woman, and the love a parent bears for a child. You need to find that out.”

  Rogan drew a shaky breath, and Ella saw tears gleam at the corners of his eyes.

  “Now go,” Rogan said.

  Ella stood and looked down at him. “Rogan,” she whispered, “I love you too.”

  “I know,” he said.

  Ella left the room and closed the door behind her. Her vision was a blur between her tears, and she was barely aware of crossing the room to stand beside Shani and Bartolo. Shani took Ella’s hand, her face filled with concern.

  Miro entered the room after Ella, and he was gone a long time.

  He finally came out and looked at Amelia. “He wants to speak with you,” Miro said.

  Amelia entered to speak with her husband, and she was also gone for a long time. Finally, Amelia came back out of the room. She looked at Ella, and her reddened eyes met Ella’s for a moment.

  Ella gasped as Amelia shook her head.

  “Please, everyone leave,” Amelia said. “I want to be alone with him now.”

  68

  “Shani,” Bartolo said as he entered their room and closed the door behind him.

  “Hello, soldier,” Shani said, arching an eyebrow. Lying on the bed, she raised her burgundy dress to her upper thigh. “What is it? Come to give homage to the goddess of love?”

  Bartolo sat next to his wife on the bed. “I want to be serious.”

  Shani sighed and sat up to sit cross-legged beside him on the bed.

  Bartolo took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

  “Here we go.” Shani rolled her eyes.

  “Please, Shani, this is hard enough as it is.” Bartolo took Shani’s hands in his own. “The war is over. Where are we going to go? I have a life in Altura, and you have a life in Petrya. Which will it be? I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. Frequent visits aren’t enough. The position of blademaster is there for me in Altura, if I want it. No one else can do it.”

  “Blademaster?” Shani said.

  Bartolo nodded. “There are recruits who need training. Altura needs bladesingers. After the war with the primate, we never regained the numbers we once had. One day we may face another enemy, and we need to be prepared.”

  “Do you think it would be difficult for a bladesinger to wear the cuffs of an elementalist?” Shani grinned.

  “Shani, please, I’m trying to be serious.”

  “So am I. Perhaps we could both be teachers. It’s about time we began to share lore between the houses.”

  “But can you leave your homeland?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “Shani!”

  “I’m playing with you, bladesinger. You make it too easy.”

  “Just speak plainly. Will you come to live with me in Sarostar?”

  “Listen,” Shani said gravely. “I love my homeland. But Petrya’s a harsh land, and change will only come about slowly. They’re talking about building a new road to properly connect Altura and Halaran to Petrya, rather than using that treacherous Wondhip Pass.”

  Bartolo nodded. “Of course I would expect you to visit your homeland, and I’d come with you. I want to get to know your lands, just as I want you to come to know mine.”

  “There’s also something else we’ll need to consider,” Shani said. “Petrya’s no place to raise a child.”

  She met Bartolo’s eyes, gazing at him meaningfully as she smiled broadly. Bartolo looked at her and frowned in puzzlement, and then his eyes widened. His mouth dropped open, and he looked down at Shani’s belly and then up at her.

  Shani nodded.

  Bartolo’s grin spread slowly across his face, dimpling his cheeks and crin
kling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m going to be a . . .”

  “Yes,” Shani said.

  Bartolo’s deep laugh rumbled throughout the palace.

  69

  Jehral stood at the highest point of the Imperial Palace, feeling the wind on his cheeks and gazing out at the sea. He ran his eyes over the rebuilding already underway at the docks and lifted his stare to scan the still waters, eventually resting on the empty island where once the Sentinel had barred the harbor. The great statue was gone now, and no one, not even the emperor himself, knew where it was. Stone blocks surrounded the pedestal. The air was warm, but the eerie emptiness of the island made him shiver.

  Jehral thought about the Empire’s future. As he gazed at the placid harbor, fishing boats appeared as if out of nowhere, heading out to make a day’s catch, and the scene was of such wonderful normalcy that Jehral watched their white sails for a long time.

  He turned, suddenly feeling a strong desire to look west, though the desert was far from this place. The Wall was gone, and rumor had it that the emperor was going to leave it that way. The Wall had long been a symbol of suppression; the last emperor had executed dissidents by throwing them from its summit. Seranthia, as capital of the Empire of Merralya, was going to be an open city.

  Past the city’s perimeter, patrols of soldiers were returning while others headed out to take their place. Several plumes of smoke indicated where the bodies of the revenants were being burned in piles. The fallen of all the houses were being gathered, and a new graveyard was going to come into being just outside the city. Everyone had lost someone they loved; yet the Empire had endured. The war with the Evermen was over.

  Behind him, Jehral heard a throat clear.

  Ilathor stood watching him with a strange expression on his face, an apprehensive cast that Jehral had never seen before. The kalif had recovered from his wounds, and he now stood proud and tall. His cloak of black and yellow billowed in the breeze and he stroked the carefully trimmed beard on his chin as he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.