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

by T. A. Miles

  Several of the demons were currently being dragged and flung about, stuck on the impaling roots. They clawed viciously at the wood jutting through them, but to no avail. In one instance, several of the creatures had managed to sever a wooden tentacle, freeing their fellow. Still, a portion of the wood remained stuck in the body, which didn’t appear to be bleeding.

  Merran nudged Korsten’s arm and directed his attention to the balcony railing. A form that was very unlike those battling the crone’s wooden soldiers stood upon it. The girl Korsten had last seen in the presence of Ersana Cambir crouched down with unanticipated balance, a deranged look of delight in her eyes.

  “What is this?” Korsten asked helplessly.

  “This is the work of the Mother,” a familiar voice said.

  Korsten looked over his shoulder and up the stairwell.

  Ersana Cambir descended with her hands folded loosely in front of her.

  Merran looked as well, but his gaze was soon after drawn back to the battle in the center of the chamber.

  It would be Korsten’s task to deal with Ersana while Merran determined their course of action where the Vadryn and the crone were concerned. He turned fully toward Dacia’s mother while the woman drew to a halt several steps away. “What’s happening here?”

  “This city is falling,” the woman replied with a mildly dazed look about her, as if she were only just coming to that realization herself. “You were unwise to come here.”

  Korsten was in no mood for debating anything with her. He wanted direct answers. “You knew all was not right with Dacia,” he accused.

  Ersana nodded once. “I did, but this is not my doing. I tried to prevent it. For twenty years, I tried to shelter her soul from the evils that have passage to it, but those evils were too determined. They’ve overtaken her. She nearly killed a man already on her flight here. I’ve come here now to tell you to leave. You cannot stop what’s happening.”

  Whether or not that was true, Korsten asked, “Can you?”

  “No,” Ersana replied. “I am the High Sister of our coven, yet I have no influence on the Mother. My place is only to prepare those willing to be saved, and I have done so.”

  “Your daughter seems to think she can stop her,” Merran pointed out.

  Ersana calmly looked at him, though her fingers tensed noticeably around her hands. “She is not my daughter.” She paused, her expression tightening around her mouth. “Her mother is a demon…one who was betrayed by her soul sister.”

  “Sister?” Korsten echoed, looking over his shoulder when Ersana nodded toward the crone.

  The ancient woman remained enclosed in her dome of roots and vines, her lips moving consistently, even as she worked magic to deflect the relentless attack of demons.

  “A pact that extends well before my years,” Ersana explained. “It was broken by the Ancient Mother. The demon wanted vessels for her spiritual kin. The Ancient Mother showed her a way to create them...to form bodies impervious to physical ailment and resilient to attack. They were resilient to magic as well.”

  “They can’t be ousted from them by spells,” Korsten said.

  “Nor can they get out on their own,” Ersana continued. “They’re trapped, and when...”

  “When Indhovan is flooded, they’ll be drowned,” Merran interrupted. “With the death of the bodies, they’ll be freed, only to be caught by the sea’s inexorable flow and dragged to eventual destruction.”

  Ersana nodded, her brow raised slightly.

  Korsten’s expression must have been openly questioning the scenario; Merran felt inclined to explain further when Korsten looked at him. “The bodies still must breathe. The spirit cannot exist in a sealed void. It will eventually devour itself or waste away. Water is also one of the greater powers known to this world. It silences fire, imprisons air, and devours the earth. Demons fear the vastness of the sea and the strength of its pull. If their current vessels fill with water, it will force the spirit out.”

  “And the energy current of the ocean is too great,” Korsten said, demonstrating that he understood. “They’ll be sucked in.”

  Merran nodded this time. “And pulled apart.”

  Suddenly it made sense that people along the coast weren’t as concerned with demons. There were probably less of them inclined to be so near to something that much greater than themselves. Nature...the tangible fury that was the sea. Not even demons were willing to contend with it...but they would risk it, if they felt pressed by one stronger than them. Given the choice of risk or instant destruction at the hands of one of their ancients, they would do what they were instructed to do.

  It occurred to Korsten that they approached the Vassenleigh Order with the same caution—or was it Ashwin?—else they’d have surely pressed to ensure a more thorough victory when Vassenleigh was attacked decades ago.

  While the information digested, a more immediate point leaped to the forefront of his thoughts. “What about the people here?” He looked to Ersana. “Will they be sacrificed? What does the Ancient Mother gain from this pact?”

  “The Malakym will take those who deserve to be taken,” Ersana said, letting him know that he should not have bothered to ask. “The pact ensured that the coven would be left alone by the demons.”

  “Ensured that...” Korsten was beside himself with what he was hearing. “Are you totally mad? If the Malakym were so adamantly at your side, your coven would not have had to bargain with the Vadryn to ensure its safety. Your ‘Ancient Mother’ has led you astray. And who is she or your coven to decide who deserves to be taken and who doesn’t? Children have been murdered in your city lately, madam.”

  The look on Ersana’s face suggested that she might have wanted to remind Korsten that this initial pact took place before she was born. It let him know that she may not have agreed with it, no matter how automatically she would defend the crone.

  Korsten took a step nearer to her. “We have to stop her. And if you care for Dacia at all, we have to stop her as well.”

  “Mother cannot be stopped,” Ersana said of the crone. As to Dacia...the woman looked past Korsten, as if she could see the girl beyond him and the stairwell. When her eyes came back to him, she said quietly, “Dacia will die if she isn’t brought under control.”

  “How do we do it?” Korsten asked, grasping at the narrow line of hope Ersana cast him—hope that she wasn’t completely irrational and inhumane in her devotion to her philosophy. And that her philosophy might be second to her love for Dacia as a daughter, whether the girl was hers naturally or not.

  Ersana hesitated, but then reached into her skirt pocket. She looked at the item in her hand briefly, then showed the crystal to Korsten. “With this,” she said.

  Twenty

  Cayri wondered if she should return to Irslan’s but she felt compelled to stay with the governor and his family. She knew that eventually she would have to regroup with the others, though knowing Vlas, if he had needed her or investigated his own thread to its end, he would come directly to find her. She contented herself with that for now and determined that if Tahrsel appeared stable enough to survive the night, she would return to Irslan’s before dawn.

  “Lady Priest,” someone beckoned and she pulled herself back from her mental wandering.

  The sprawled blanket of lights that lay over Indhovan at night returned to her conscious view, along with her own reflection and that of the man who had come to stand behind her.

  The deputy governor appeared quite exhausted with the evening’s affairs. He’d spent much of the night in conference with Deitir, no doubt preparing him for the worst possible scenario. Cayri believed that, in spite of his emotional instincts, Deitir was a reasonable man. Even through pain of loss, he would be able to function as the city needed him to.

  “Any change in the governor’s condition, Fersmyn?” She asked the deputy.

 
“No,” he answered, taking her question as invitation to step further into the room—the governor’s study, where she’d been looking for any traces of presence other than the humans inhabiting the manor. Soaking in the emotional leavings of all who Tahrsel lived and worked with was making her feel heavy and also somewhat familiar with them. She anticipated what Fersmyn said next, “Raiss is a very old man. This may be the end of his rule in Indhovan.”

  Through her hours lingering in the presence of the household, she understood that Fersmyn wasn’t a pessimist, but a pragmatist. It was one of the reasons Tahrsel had appointed the man. Cayri appreciated his lack of panic and she was certain that Deitir did as well, though he may not have expressed as much under the current circumstances.

  “If I’m to believe Ilayna,” Fersmyn continued. “This could not have come at a fouler time.”

  “Believe her,” Cayri advised, looking over her shoulder at the man, who met her gaze in that moment. The meeting was tentative as he sought to anchor his trust, so that he may formulate a plan of action. Cayri turned to face him fully. “There’s been a dire misstep in communication in this city, Fersmyn. The population is fragmented awkwardly by it.”

  “That,” Fersmyn said, raising a hand slightly. “I am aware of. As is Raiss.”

  Cayri tilted her head in silent beckoning for the man to expound on that. Personally, she felt that if they were aware, they should have resolved it.

  “We feel that these various groups have been dignified enough. Both the purists and the activists are as greedy as children where they see there are sweets to be had. Give them each something and they want something more.”

  “Do you have children?” Cayri asked him, her head still angled as it had been and her eyes looking him over.

  This didn’t seem to make him uncomfortable, but the apparent randomness of the question made him hesitate before answering. After a moment, he said, “Yes. And grandchildren.”

  The answer enabled her to picture Fersmyn’s analogy of ‘greedy’ children gathering around their grandfather for sweets that he would never admit he was too liberal in giving them. It drew a small smile to her lips, one that didn’t linger. “Morenne won’t spare them.”

  There came a silence after that.

  Eventually, Fersmyn said, “I know that ignoring the war won’t make it disappear or move around us, but we’re not defenseless, nor are we entirely unprepared. Part of the reason we’ve been less generous replenishing the Alliance army has been to keep a reserve for ourselves.”

  “A reserve against Morenne?” Cayri asked. “Or against your own citizens?”

  Fersmyn smiled, though there was no amusement behind the expression. “Rebellion has occurred to us, though it’s nothing Raiss or I fear. We have people in place to monitor both groups. The constabulary regularly observes the meetings of the purists and we have agents attending the activists’ meetings.”

  “Konlan Ossai?” Cayri presumed.

  Fersmyn nodded. “Yes, and the governor’s own family members—whether or not Ilayna would consider herself a spy. Her interest and attendance keeps us informed regardless. They’ve been particularly harmless since the imprisonment of their most enthusiastic member.”

  “And that would have been Vaelyx Treir,” Cayri said, drawing in a breath when the deputy nodded.

  For emphasis, he added, “Yes, it would.”

  Cayri leaned against the window sill behind her. “And now he’s escaped.”

  “He will be brought back,” Fersmyn assured her.

  Cayri had no doubt that Vlas would find him. “Why would he have waited twenty years to make his escape?”

  Fersmyn furrowed his brow and lightly shook his head while he undoubtedly searched for plausible scenarios.

  Cayri continued. “On the same night, a girl is attacked by one of the Vadryn. Shortly thereafter, the governor falls ill.”

  “Are the incidents connected?” Fersmyn seemed to genuinely want to know.

  “I can’t say,” Cayri admitted. “I believe that they are. Others of the Vadryn are active within this city as well, and have been for some years. Priests are hunting them as we speak, and investigating Indhovan’s coven as well. They’re magic users, did you realize?”

  Whether he did or he didn’t, Fersmyn cast her a weary if not antagonized look. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

  “I’m not certain,” Cayri said truthfully. She tilted her chin up while she analyzed the man’s stance—more incidentally as she concentrated on the pieces of information she’d laid out for him. “But I do know that Indhovan’s become very suddenly quite active, and quite the place of interest. Strong leadership is going to have to come from this house.”

  “And it will,” Fersmyn let her know, if she should doubt it.

  She didn’t. However... “I fear it may come too late. We have to think and prepare to act ahead of Morenne’s movements, not in response to them. That’s the reason my partner and I have come here...to help you do that. When we arrived, only by the allowance of Irslan’s private lifestyle, we were quickly let know that should Tahrsel learn of our presence, he would have us escorted from his city. That tells us that he doesn’t doubt our existence.”

  “No,” Fersmyn confirmed.

  “He isn’t allied with our enemy,” she said next and received a more emphatic confirmation from the deputy. In light of that, she asked, “Is he afraid of us?”

  Again, “No.”

  “Then what is it?” Cayri demanded, managing to rile herself somewhat with the topic. It was frustrating to watch these politics spinning senselessly around her. She’d dealt with similarly stubborn men in other places, but at least she understood that they were afraid.

  “Priest Cayri,” Fersmyn began, and he found a random place on the floor to settle his gaze for a moment—perhaps it was to allow himself or both of them to compose themselves internally before the conversation continued. “We’re well aware of the presence and practice of witches in this area. It was, in fact...”

  He hesitated and Cayri allowed it for a space, though when the silence carried on for too long, she said, “What?”

  Fersmyn looked at her. He drew in a breath that seemed to fortify him and continued. “During the governor’s younger days, he had a prominent interest in our neighbors out to sea.”

  “The Islands, yes. He’s from there.”

  Fersmyn nodded, accepting what she knew and seeming grateful to not have to explain. “His mother brought him here when he was young. There weren’t many of her people living in the city then—most were rogue traders or wanderers, some of which had been chased off early on. Raiss’ mother had been arrested trying to sell trinkets by the docks.

  “It was by the gods’ will alone that our former governor happened to the constable hall on other business and took notice of her. She wasn’t fighting with them, but simply begging that if she was to be sent back that they keep her son. She implored that he be put to work in or near the city and promised that she would go back peacefully. Her dialect was nearly impossible to understand, I’m told, but as the story goes, the governor was intrigued by it and by her situation. He ordered she be put up at a nearby inn and over the season that followed, she became of increasing interest to the governor. Some believe that—having lost his wife and unborn child prematurely—he grasped at the opportunity to replace that and fell in love. Others believe that...”

  “That she enchanted him,” Cayri finished.

  Fersmyn acknowledged her with another nod, looking at her. “None of this surfaced fully until Raiss became governor and took a fresh interest in the Islands. His adoptive father seemed more concerned with his newfound family than with where they had come from. There were conflicts over it, but more disgruntlement that people overcame as time passed. Raiss’ desire to fully open the channel to his heritage uncovered more than he was prepared to know.


  “As it went, his natural father had been a witch. According to his aunt—Konlan’s mother—his own mother had run away from his father to protect him from the Island coven. There was some local debate as to whether or not she’d killed him before she left. Also, according to the aunt, the Island coven had almost completely died out. With Vaelyx’s help, Tahrsel researched deeper, simultaneously encouraging a developing relationship between Indhovan and the Islands.

  “At the time, I advised him to let the history lie and to concentrate on the future. The past didn’t matter. I didn’t want him to upset himself or his own newly acquired family with findings of an unpleasant history. It haunts me a little that my words then may have directly inspired the attitude of the activists.

  “That aside, Raiss ignored my advice and dug as deeply as he was able. What he learned of his father must have been truly awful; he stopped abruptly, abandoned his personal efforts with the Islands and even forbade his best friend at the time from returning. Of course, Vaelyx is a Treir, and didn’t listen. His persistence was viewed by Konlan as invasive and callous, insensitive to Raiss. It formed a swift grudge between them. That extended to the relationship between Vaelyx and Raiss before too long, but Vaelyx persisted as a man with an obsession. Until he was arrested.”

  “We were told that Vaelyx joined Indhovan’s coven,” Cayri said.

  Fersmyn didn’t appear interested. “Raiss has distanced himself from magic users ever since. He believes they’re a menace and will bring this entire country to ruin.”

  “So, it’s personal,” Cayri said. It was important to know that. It was important to realize that Raiss hadn’t shared everything with Ilayna, or Ilayna had skillfully left what she knew of it out of their conversations.

  “Yes, it is,” Fersmyn answered. “Fortunately for you, he’s not in a state to have you or your fellow priests arrested.”