Mother of Heretics: Bastards of the Gods Dark Fantasy (Enthraller Book 2)

by T. A. Miles

  Ashwin understood the other priest’s point before it was spoken. Priests needed a greater presence in all of Edrinor. Easier considered than executed. Ashwin knew that Ceth understood that and elected not to interrupt him.

  “Our contacts in Vynndoran are virtually nonexistent,” the patriarch wearing prominent shades of blue continued. “We’ve barely a toehold in Indhovan. We stand to lose the entire coast within a decade if not sooner. My fellow Council…what are we doing?”

  “What are we not doing, you mean, Ceth,” Ashwin said, not impatiently. The other’s brown eyes met his gaze with patience returned. He was weary and understandably so. They all were. After so many centuries of life and of appointment as protectors of magic and the life it affected, they were all battle worn. The expansion of the Vassenleigh Order’s reach and of its members was meant to alleviate some of the weight. The drastic turn their personal war with the Vadryn had taken a century ago had more than effectively dashed their efforts and obscured their vision of Edrinor’s future.

  “The borders are occupying nearly all of our resources,” Sione said. Her light brown hair fell in a collection of braids and coils down to the floor. Her form seemed fragile a woman in her articulately cut green gown, but her presence was strong and steady.

  The matriarch had scarcely finished making her statement, when a certain head of red hair appeared in the corner of Ashwin’s vision. He couldn’t help but to smile just a little at his student’s timing, and his persistent ability to locate him over distances. Perhaps they would have to work at incorporating his awareness of the individual his spell targeted, with awareness of their location, and perhaps their company as well.

  The rest of the Council offered mixed reactions to the sudden arrival of not one, but two Adepts.

  Korsten appeared remorseful about having interrupted their meeting, but as he had their attention, he proceeded. The urgency in his tone dispelled any humor the moment at first presented. “There’s more to Indhovan’s situation than we realized,” he said to all of them. Afterward, he offered apology for the interruption.

  “It’s no matter,” Ashwin told him. “In fact, you’ve come at an opportune moment. We were just discussing Edrinor’s current state.”

  “We welcome your news,” Ceth inserted. Clearly, he was eager to be brought current on the matter of Indhovan. He had labored decades to establish what foothold they had along the coast, which seemed to be drifting further and further from their old systems and beliefs, and into a future even more uncertain than the inland regions.

  Korsten stepped forward, bringing Cayri with him. “Merran and I have confirmed that there are Vadryn present in the city. We spared a young girl from possession and eliminated the demon, but there are more of them.”

  Ashwin felt the transition in his own expression, from interest to concern. It was customary and often a wise tactic to travel conventionally, so Korsten and the others had been gone for many days and probably arrived at and settled within their city of assignment for only several hours. That they had located a demon and responded to it so immediately was no surprise, but that they had resolved one and discovered more in such a brief time was troubling. It alluded to a greater presence, either in number or power.

  “They’re different,” Korsten said. “They’re behaving differently, even than what was lately discovered in the northern reaches.”

  “How do you mean differently?” Jeselle asked him.

  Korsten looked at her. “Release failed.”

  “Failed?”

  Her incredulity was matched by every other elder in her presence, with the exception of one, whose unsurprised silence was noted but not dwelled upon. Very little regarding the Vadryn alarmed Eisleth. He’d come to expect what his peers spent much of their time hoping against.

  “The vessel was peculiar,” Korsten explained. “Seeming neither man nor animal.”

  Ashwin looked to Eisleth now, whose features betrayed none of the interest Ashwin knew his brother was feeling. Eisleth had long warned them that the Vadryn would adapt. It was in their nature to survive. Ashwin never doubted him, but there always seemed to be a matter more pressing to be considered and dealt with.

  “Also,” Korsten continued, drawing attention back to him. “There are witches. Merran and I have seen evidence of an organized coven and our host in Indhovan has confirmed their presence.”

  Ashwin felt something inside of him sink and looked to the source of the projected dismay, making eye contact with Ceth. He understood. The ground beneath their feet had just become even more fragile. Their steps could not be too cautious, yet they could not stand idle. They had to act, and they had to act soon.

  “This city is at a crossroads.” Konlan Ossai leaned against the windowsill in his study, hands braced on the varnished wooden ledge to either side of him. The window was deep enough for the shelf to hold a row of books, which were held up by a statuette of a woman with a fishtail. She was curled at the waist, her dainty hands pressed against the face of the end book, working along with the heavy base of the statue to hold the row upright.

  Vlas studied the curious piece incidentally while he listened to Ossai’s accented words. He still wasn’t able to place the articulation and he decided not to distract himself with it while the man expounded on his previous statement.

  “Advancement lays in one direction, archaism in the other. Off in the distance, war rages like a faraway storm. We watch the lightning shooting down to the earth in menacing chains, but we barely hear the rumble of thunder and the wind is still a mere breeze…a whisper of threat not yet substantiated. Will it pass around us or will it fade before it reaches us? Will it hit us dead on? These are the questions that pass through our minds here.”

  “In the meantime, you do nothing,” Merran said bluntly.

  Konlan didn’t seem to take the words for accusation or offense and answered as if it were, in fact, friendly criticism. “Not nothing, my friend. We’re doing something.” The man casually wagged a finger at Merran while he spoke. Then he gestured with that same hand to the window behind him, at the city. “We’re moving forward. By the time war reaches us, it will be as pups nipping at our heels.”

  “But the war is already here,” Vlas reminded. “In the form of the Vadryn.”

  “Storm crows,” Konlan dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You and your colleagues shoot them from the sky with your magic as your arrows…”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Merran inserted.

  Konlan’s mouth tightened and he folded both arms across his chest, nodding in the way of someone who really just wanted to be agreed with, but knew that such accommodation was unlikely. “It was our hope that it would be as simple as that. We don’t discount the severity of the presence of murderous demons and we don’t disbelieve in their existence, any more than we disbelieve in you priests. That may seem a contradiction; that we’re so interested in advancement and yet we’re still willing to harbor archaic beliefs, but we understand that the world is a system and that the past carries forward with people…and with civilization. The Vassenleigh Order is an advocate for civilization, we believe. Our resident coven of purist witches would have us standing idle in the past, mired down in stagnation.”

  “Two extremes at war with each other,” Vlas summarized, feeling particularly disinterested in Indhovan’s civil disputes. “And where does the governor stand?”

  “The governor would wash his hands of all of this if he could. He would address the Morennish army as men only, disclaim the possibility of demons still in this world, and if he could have it his way he would fortify this city against attack; put a wall between Indhovan and the west, and look to the sea.”

  “Morenne would tear such a wall down,” Vlas assured the man. “They’re driven with a madness that can only be inspired by demons. It’s inspired conquest in them and they won’t be satisfied until they’ve acco
mplished it, absolutely.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that, Priest Vlas,” Konlan said with a glint of emphasis in his eyes. “I don’t doubt that at all. It’s why we’re willing to work with you against Tahrsel’s wishes and without his knowledge.”

  “We would prefer it if he knew,” Merran said and Vlas nodded in support of the statement.

  Konlan frowned, shaking his head. “His knowledge may lead to arrests and banishment from the city. It would do you no good.”

  “It does Edrinor no good for its people to be operating against one another,” Vlas told the man. “Separated by secrets, conspiracies, stubbornness, and paranoia.”

  The words drew Konlan’s mottled gaze to him again. Now he just looked like someone who plainly wanted to be agreed with or left alone and he would prefer it if Vlas particularly did the leaving.

  “Does Governor Tahrsel know of the coven?” Merran asked.

  “I don’t see how he couldn’t,” Konlan replied, separating his gaze from Vlas’ irritated glare. “They’re far too vocal to ignore.”

  “Does he understand what they are beyond stubborn?” Vlas reiterated on behalf of his colleague.

  “Does he understand that they’re practitioners of magic?” Konlan translated for his own benefit. He began shaking his head before the words had fully formed. “I cannot say. He may know and be unwilling to acknowledge. He rarely speaks of any of it and when the topic does arise, he becomes irritable.”

  “Master Ossai,” Vlas began with a weary sigh. “You and your own assembly of veritable rebels are willing to work with us, you say. If Morennish soldiers should arrive under siege conditions, what aid would you be able to provide other than to alert the governor to the impending disaster, a disaster spawned of his refusal to open his eyes?”

  “We’ve provided you with information,” Konlan reminded. “We’re willing to house you and cloak your movements within this city, so that you may locate the demons and eliminate them. We will gladly take your advice regarding the encroaching storm...until Tahrsel is ready to hear it, that is. I’m sorry to tell you that it won’t be today.”

  “Today may be the only day he and any of us have to act,” Vlas pressed. He took a step closer to Konlan and looked him directly in the eyes, because he couldn’t help but to feel that this man was half ignoring them. He also couldn’t help but to notice that Konlan matched his stare after a moment’s hesitation. A seed of distrust planted itself in that moment. “You should look to the sea, all of you. The enemy will come from there as well.”

  In the corner of his vision, he noticed Merran stand. Vlas stepped back and turned to join him on a path to the door. As they arrived at it and Merran pulled it open, a young man rose across the entry hall and went to open the main door for them.

  “Priests,” Konlan said before they’d fully exited the room. As they turned to look at their morning host, the man said, “I will see what I can do to gain you an audience.”

  Vlas nodded in appreciation and acknowledgement, in spite of what concerns their exchange had aroused in him, and then he went with Merran into the foyer and across to the awaiting exit. They walked out onto a wide stair and the city ebbing upon its threshold.

  It seemed as if the city would like to outgrow Edrinor and perhaps become a new and separate entity altogether, but leaving Edrinor behind would be leaving itself alone against Morenne with Vassenleigh a distant and unreachable sentinel on its own island. The two cities would watch each other perish and Edrinor would be no more. It seemed difficult to believe that the division Morenne had inspired so many decades ago would only have grown more pronounced.

  “What now?” Vlas inquired of his colleague as they returned to public ground.

  “I’m presuming you’ll continue to work with our allies,” Merran said. “I have demons to hunt.”

  Allies. Only in the loosest sense, Vlas was beginning to think. “Before Korsten returns?”

  “He’ll find me,” Merran assured. “Regarding our allies, there’s something you could investigate in all of our interests.”

  Vlas inquired with a silent frown.

  “Vaelyx Treir,” Merran said in reminder.

  Vlas refreshed his own memory. “Imprisoned on rebel charges.”

  Merran confirmed the information with a nod.

  Vlas followed Merran’s gaze as it traveled to the northwest of their current location—which was very near the water—where he easily spotted the sturdy towers of an elaborate hall. “I see,” he said.

  “He escaped the night Korsten and I rescued Dacia Cambir from possession.”

  Vlas did remember that detail. He wondered sometimes if people assumed that he only paid attention to the details he liked. Looking to the fortification Vaelyx Treir had freed himself from, he could only wonder, “How?”

  “We don’t know,” Merran answered. “Neither do the city constables, though with the prospect of a coven in the city and his disenchantment with certain parties, he may have made new allies.”

  Vlas nodded, understanding what was being asked of him. “I’ll see what I can learn.”

  Merran issued a final nod of his own and headed off.

  Vlas let him, looking again to the constable hall’s towers. Well, at least he wouldn’t spend the evening sitting at Irslan’s, making idle conversation while he waited for news from Cayri or for better word from the stubborn Master Konlan Ossai. If there was one thing he despised with an absolute passion, it was idle talk.

  The lily garden remained as tranquil as it ever had been. Korsten didn’t know why he should imagine it would be otherwise. Ashwin’s presence only enhanced the atmosphere. Though the news Korsten offered was dire, the patriarch accepted it with calmness and grace Korsten could only attribute to his many years...his many hundreds of years.

  As he sat upon a bench framed by blood lilies, Ashwin appeared untouchable. Layers of white gold—from hair, to skin, to robes—deep green eyes, shining with intellect and emotion, and a face that at times defied description with its ethereal qualities. His beauty was truly to be marveled at. Just to think of it had Korsten’s blood flowing a little warmer and he knew he ought not to be thinking of it. Deliberately, he gave his attention fully to Ceth, whose every feature was thin...finely carved, like scrolled wood. The man had a treelike aspect and, like the deep forests of the north, an ancient appeal. Korsten felt surrounded by Ceth’s experience and the wisdom that had grown from it. Perhaps this was what drew Merran to this particular Superior.

  “News of witches is not entirely surprising,” Ceth was saying. He tapped his lip thoughtfully, stood against the arched break in the wall across from Ashwin’s bench. Korsten occupied one side of the ledge beneath the arch, through which he had a view of more beds of red, red lilies. Cayri shared the bench with Ashwin, her hair an obvious golden-brown beside Ashwin’s lighter tone.

  “One of the Treir family did mention them, then,” Korsten surmised.

  “Vaelyx had performed investigations for us,” Ceth answered. “Not only for us, but for his cause as well. His cause, at the time I was in communication with him, was the activist agenda in the east. The activists, you may have been told, believe in strength through progress...through moving forward, if you will. The Vadryn represent the past to them...ancient ways, ancient beliefs...superstition.”

  While Korsten was nodding to acknowledge that he understood, Ashwin said, “To some, the foundation of the war is nested in myth.”

  “But it isn’t myth,” Korsten said. “It won’t disappear simply because they choose to ignore it. And I hope very dearly that they don’t believe that it will.”

  “Perhaps not so deliberately as that,” Ashwin replied with the slightest of smiles, not a look of humor, but one of patience. Korsten understood it when he heard his mentor’s next words. “Consider your original point of view on the Vadryn.”

  “Well, that
was ignorance, yes, but...”

  “Refusal to believe because you didn’t want it to be real. If it wasn’t real, you wouldn’t have to respond to it.”

  “But the activists in Indhovan acknowledge the Vadryn,” Korsten pointed out. “And priests as well. How could it serve them to maintain an attitude of dismissal and ignorance?”

  “It’s not ignorance, but rather involvement,” Ashwin explained.

  “The levels of involvement necessary to continue forward without becoming mired in the past,” Ceth added. “If the situation of the Vadryn is resolved by priests, then priests have succeeded...shielded Edrinor from the malignant corruption of demons. It will warrant a place in history...in stories of the past. Society, freed from what would otherwise have chained it to a dark era of stagnation, carries forward. Priests may still exist, but without demons waging war against them, they settle into the background and can be ignored.”

  “Oh, I see,” Korsten murmured, somewhat affronted by the notion.

  “In the eyes of these people, priests will become as custodians of an old way,” Ashwin said. “And perhaps we are in part to blame for having allowed the Vadryn to push us into hiding. What seemed a valid strategy at the time has become a detriment.”

  “A broken bone ill set,” came the all too familiar voice and method of Eisleth as he chose to join them, unannounced save for his contribution to the conversation already well at hand. “The wound is healed, even if not ideally, and forgotten. The imperfect mend is vexing at times, but not crippling. The body adjusts.”

  “And the mind lets go of hope to walk without a limp,” Korsten added, drawing eye contact from Eisleth. The man’s eyes were so dark and his manner so reserved. Korsten thought about Merran and wondered if all of Eisleth’s students shared the latter trait...if it was a form of grim resignation to their intimate alignment with mortality. Though they, as priests, would potentially live very long lives, with black as their medium color they took on an understanding of the frailty of a living vessel that other priests may have lost any true connection with over the decades, and centuries.