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

by T. A. Miles

  Vlas looked like he was going to interrupt over disbelief, but he didn’t and Merran continued.

  “She’d been there for years, at least. She’s gone, but the Summoning was already finished.”

  Vlas stared, as if he had run out of room to digest all that had happened and continued to happen. “What can we do?” he asked, and seemed to be searching his fellow for the answer. Apparently, it was there to be found. He said, “We have to stop it. But there are only three of us.”

  The steady frown Merran set upon Vlas had him recounting.

  “Possibly two,” the blond said.

  Confirmation of what Merran hadn’t said himself seemed to stir fresh upset. Irslan couldn’t help that he felt pity for him in that moment.

  It was worse when Merran asked, “No sign of Korsten, then?”

  Irslan was shaking his head for his part as host to them all.

  Vlas hesitated to give his response. “I don’t...know where he’s gone, Merran. I’m sorry.”

  Merran lowered his head slowly, then lifted it again to make it look as if he’d nodded. The tension in his jaw was visible across the room, as was the wetness in his eyes.

  Vlas hovered by his colleague’s side for a moment, looking as though he wished he had more to say.

  Eventually, he stood, his gaze passing over Dacia on its way to Irslan. It was, however, only to Irslan that he said, “Take me to the governor.”

  A map of the city’s barracks and towers was laid before the assembly, added to the informative pieces already there. Deitir studied it, not as one who had never seen it before, but as one who had not fully considered having to make decisions based on what it detailed.

  Cayri looked it over herself, knowing that Vlas would have liked to been doing the same. Honestly, she was beginning to worry that he hadn’t stormed here himself yet. She wondered if he’d found Vaelyx, or if he’d had word with Irslan and it set him onto something else. Likewise, she worried about Merran and Korsten, perhaps still exploring the secret places of the coven. What had they learned about the witches? She had to forcibly push these concerns from her mind, so that she could continue to be attentive to the situation surrounding her.

  “The able ships are preparing to leave port,” Fersmyn announced as he returned to the room.

  Deitir nodded, concentrating on the map.

  Ilayna seemed to have lost a little color from her face, but she remained collected and said, “A scouting ship left here last night.”

  Deitir looked at her, his expression making it clear that the information was news to him.

  “One of ours?” Fersmyn asked, seeming slightly incredulous over the notion that anyone under the governor would have taken such bold initiative.

  Ilayna looked across the table at him. “Not actually.”

  Fersmyn frowned. “What do you mean ‘not actually’?”

  Deitir seemed to groan internally while his attention returned to the map. “Activists,” he explained for his lieutenant’s benefit.

  “And Kingdom soldiers,” Ilayna said firmly. “The entire country won’t sit idle while this city sorts itself out.”

  “We know, Mother,” Deitir said, not angrily, though firmly. He was equally settled when he added, “Their fate is out of our hands for the moment. May the gods protect them.”

  “And us,” one of the other officials at the table muttered, a larger man with thinning white hair.

  Deitir lifted his gaze across the table to him. “We’re going to find a way to protect ourselves, Alledar.”

  Whether or not the man was comforted or agreed, he issued a nod.

  “There’s a wall along the northern edge of the city,” Deitir said to everyone, whether the information was known or unknown. “It’s a measure against the seasonal rise of water through this inlet.”

  Cayri watched him trace the area on the map, as did the others.

  Deitir continued. “I want the people who live here evacuated. Bring them nearer to the city and let’s man the wall heavily with archers and arbalests. Morenne will be met on land and at sea.”

  “That may drive them further inland,” Fersmyn pointed out. “If they occupy the cliffs, they’ll have the advantage of higher ground.”

  Deitir nodded to acknowledge the scenario, as one who hadn’t fully considered it yet, but was getting there. He looked to Cayri, maybe to see if she had a suggestion or perhaps simply for support. The latter was provided in her returned gaze. The former...

  A commotion outside the room drew everyone’s attention to the doors.

  “Masters Treir,” the doorman was saying in extreme frustration. “...and Priest. You cannot—”

  “I’m afraid that we are.” The familiar voice of Vlas brought a smile to Cayri’s face, one that she tried to temper when he added, “I’m not too tired to cast another Megrim on the lot of you.”

  The doors opened to admit Irslan and Vlas. The doorman, red-faced and holding his head—which may have been spinning if Vlas had truly used a Megrim against them—saw them in and roughly drew the doors shut again. The man forgot to apologize to their acting governor in his outrage.

  Irslan recalled. “Forgive us barging in.”

  “Or don’t,” Vlas said with absolutely no compunction. “Either way, you’ve got far worse to reckon with than Morenne.”

  “What do you mean?” Deitir asked verbally while Cayri’s expression questioned her partner.

  Irslan hovered back to let Vlas do as Vlas was inclined. The blond walked directly to the table, leaning in between two officials who gave him room. With his hands braced on the map and his eyes showing that he was quite tired, he said, “This city is about to be dealt a blow by Nature itself.”

  “How is he?” Cayri asked of Merran, after she and Vlas had separated themselves from the others. Deitir had called for a brief recess while they took in the drastic news Vlas had carried to them.

  Vlas shook his head slightly, looking to the sea and back at her before replying. “Exhausted...frustrated.”

  He was pacing and appearing as on edge as he felt. Cayri considered reaching out to him and calming him perforce, but he kept himself out of her reach, maybe intentionally.

  “Cayri, his hand is broken...at least. It could be worse and there’s not a strong enough healer present to set it right, if it can be set right.” He began shaking his head again. “I can’t even imagine the sensation of helplessness. And what if it can’t be fixed? What’s to become of him then in regard to the Vassenleigh Order?”

  Cayri waited. He drifted closer and she put a hand on Vlas’ arm to quiet him. “He will be taken care of. Whatever needs to happen with his hand...Eisleth will find a way to set it right.”

  “And his morale?” Vlas said. Before Cayri could respond, either with word or spell to relax him, he added, “Korsten hasn’t returned yet from wherever he’s gone. It’s worrying me and I can tell to look at him that it’s helping to shut Merran down. I mean…he’s doing what he can, same as all of us. He’s going to see if he can’t reason with the coven, but…”

  “You said Korsten Reached from that cave...with Serawe?”

  “Yes,” Vlas said with a nod. He moved away from her again, frustration heavy in his voice. “Yes, with Serawe. What if she’s overpowered him? She was monstrous, one hundred—or one thousand—times the beast a lesser one is on its own. Her presence was malignant and overbearing as I’ve never felt before. I know my experience dealing directly with demons is more limited than a hunter’s, but they can’t be up against that constantly; they’d all be dead from sheer exhaustion.”

  Cayri let him have his rant. When he’d paused long enough, she wondered aloud, “Where did he take her?”

  “If I knew that, Cayri, I’d be less...” Vlas stopped himself and shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. Just like there was nothi
ng to be done for Vaelyx.”

  She understood that he was upset. He was younger than her and long life didn’t make one immune to guilt or blame, or fear besides. When Vlas turned to leave their mild seclusion away from the center of the assembly hall, she let him.

  He stopped in the archway at the top of the steps. “Let’s just...concentrate on defending this city,” he said. He sounded as if he had forced some calm into himself. “It’s going to take all we’ve got, at the very least.”

  Cayri sighed, watching him go. She thought about her mentor and how he might handle this.

  The thought reminded her of Ceth’s orb. She reached into her pocket and pulled the small item out, balancing it on her fingertips as she lifted it for examination. As always, the holes in the scrollwork showed her movement. She could feel a soft beating against her fingertips, but she couldn’t quite see inside of it.

  With another sigh, she turned from the assembly and walked out onto the balcony beside it, through tall glass doors that remained open to let the morning air in. She went to the railing and looked out over the city and toward the sea. Her gaze gradually slid in the opposite direction, toward distant Vassenleigh. She focused on the orb again, and with sudden inspiration that she knew better than to question, she lowered her hand and lofted the orb into the air.

  The scrolled metal glowed brightly white and fell away from a small brown moth. The metal embers coalesced beneath its fluttering form and rose up to swallow it...in a tiny Reach gate.

  Cayri’s lips parted, and she stared at the empty space left behind, not really puzzled so much as she found herself left mentally staggering by Ceth’s inventive spirit. She couldn’t fight the grin that leapt to her face afterward, in defiance of their worries.

  “Gods carry you,” she said quietly to the departed moth, certain of its destination.

  Twenty-Eight

  “...our duties recognized, our hearts committed, our souls bound...”

  Ashwin completed the verbal rites before six gray-clad youngsters, who’d come to the Vassenleigh Order under unique and varied guidance or inspiration. These were the ones who knew in their hearts that they were destined for a path unlike those of their parents, or their peers. They felt it pending and were eventually selected by their predecessors to follow that feeling through, guided physically by their soulkeepers, though it would be some time before the bond was solidified. It would take Emergence. Until that time, these young people would be taken in by the Vassenleigh Order as Apprentices and work at understanding magic and how it functioned in their world, until their understanding became such that their talents came forward and could be deciphered for proper placement and focus.

  The mere children in front of Ashwin, aged as young as fourteen, with the eldest barely twenty, stood in plain gray robes, reciting the words he had spoken. Since the nature of their arrival was far more conscious than a priest like Korsten, it was necessary to have them voluntarily and vocally commit themselves, to affirm that they understood and wished to proceed.

  Priests brought to them the way Korsten had been, were predestined and their induction—while often less voluntary—tended to be so spiritually driven that such ritual would seem garish; a mockery of what the gods had clearly intended. It became the place of the Superiors to help guide their passion—even if they themselves were blind to it—not to ensure their willingness. Often priests so selected had no choice besides. Their destiny would involve them, one way or another, as had been the case with Korsten, as was proved by his intimate and lengthy association with a demon. That Merran found him when he did, enabling Analee to connect with him, thereby triggering an involuntary Emergence, was not coincidence.

  That did not downplay the significance of those who came to Vassenleigh of their own will and intention. Merran was an example of what any of these young people could become, all through determination. Ashwin smiled at them and held out his hand to receive a ritual goblet from the priest attending the induction—one who had lately graduated to that status. The marks of Emergence were still visible along his arms and neck. He awaited a translation of his talents—something that all priests, regardless of how they’d arrived underwent, and another matter Ashwin would be attending to that day.

  He cupped the goblet’s ornate bowl in both hands and brought it to the new Apprentices. The contents rippled lightly with his steps, catching nearby firelight across the faintly red surface.

  The first in line—a girl of sixteen—looked upon the goblet and Ashwin with large, emotional eyes. They were green. Ashwin smiled at her gently and offered the goblet. “Take this, your first taste from the garden which we will forever protect and cultivate, the blooms from which will forever protect and inspire us.”

  She did as she was told, wary of rushing the action. She sipped somewhat demurely—if not shyly—and returned the cup to Ashwin. A blue beetle wended its way through the folds of her collar. He wondered how aware she was of it, then helplessly wondered what name she would choose for it, in the event of her successful Emergence.

  That six new Apprentices stood before him was encouraging. They’d arrived over the course of the last two years, the youngest having come by a parent’s encouragement earlier that season. Ashwin recognized the amount of trust being placed in him, and felt further encouraged by the fact that enough people outside of Vassenleigh were aware of or yet had faith in the Vassenleigh Order to not only entrust their children to it, but to believe their child and the Vassenleigh Order might yet bring change to their world.

  He brought the goblet to the next child, pausing when he noticed Eisleth standing in one of three arching entries to the chamber. As he made eye contact with his twin, he understood that his presence was required elsewhere. He communicated with a slight nod that he would join him shortly.

  Within the hour, Ashwin met his brother in the hall outside of the ceremonial chamber—one of several throughout the vast structure of the Citadel. Draped in black robes with his equally dark hair raveled down his back, Eisleth was as a shadow given substance.

  “Ceth’s Feisa has returned,” his twin said.

  Ashwin was relieved to hear it. Ceth’s ingenuity could test one’s ability to endure. They, as Superiors, rarely left Vassenleigh, and for good reason. It was with no small amount of concern that Ashwin agreed to allow Ceth to, in effect, step one foot out of their sanctuary. For what it was worth...they were about to find that out.

  The walk to Ceth’s rooms was abnormally quiet for Ashwin and Eisleth. His brother typically took these opportunities to present his opinions or to glean Ashwin’s regarding topics that were usually of personal interest or concern to Ashwin. He wished that Eisleth would share personal matters of his own, but for longer than Ashwin could accurately recall, Eisleth seemed to be existing in a sphere of virtual solitude…or maybe of impeccable order.

  He so rarely appeared to need or want counsel for himself and Ashwin would both worry and be tempted to rejoice if he were to ever sense emotional strife from him in amounts that warranted attention. Fittingly, his mentoring resulted in priests such as Merran. And, perhaps equally appropriate, Ashwin found himself with a priest like Korsten. Ashwin also found himself in love with his student and Eisleth’s student was equally taken by the afore considered redhead.

  Under advisement of his own sense of reason and of his brother, Ashwin was making an effort to alleviate some of the tension the circumstances had caused. He was unwilling to pressure Korsten, and he was equally unwilling to alienate Merran. His hope and his fear was that Merran would take this opportunity to fully express himself to Korsten, and that Korsten would make a decision on the nature of their relationship.

  Of course, he understood that Korsten was delaying for very personal reasons that awaited their own resolution. Knowing that, Ashwin also knew that Korsten would not be comfortable in a romantic relationship with more than one individual, and he found the possibility un
appealing himself.

  Ashwin had uncovered a selfishness in himself over this. The discovery commanded distance, so that Korsten could decide where he wanted to be. Ashwin’s foremost duty was to be his mentor. He had expressed that to Eisleth, in just those words, and received silence that felt like castigation in response. They had not discussed the topic much since then.

  Concern over that fact, or the topic itself, slipped from his mind when they arrived at Ceth’s rooms. They passed through an already open entryway—Ceth rarely closed off the front chamber—and across a space occupied liberally with maps, charts, scrolls, books, and a pair of tables overrun with ideas Ceth was in the process of giving physical realization to. Their colleague was an explorer and an inventor at heart. Of all of them, it seemed the cruelest, on fate’s part, that he should have risen to Superior and life primarily within the walls of the Citadel. However vast the structure was, it could never be enough space for one whose curiosity beckoned the world itself.

  Ashwin walked with Eisleth to the bedroom, where he expected to find Ceth still in bed at rest while he held himself in a half-Reached state. He himself had gone nowhere, but he’d cast a Reach onto his soulkeeper, upon sending her off with Cayri. The spell was technically inactive, held by the meditative efforts of the priest himself. A day later, Feisa had returned. Ceth appeared in good health and spirits, hovering over a cylindrical stand with a book mounted open upon it.

  “Well, it worked,” Ceth said. “It was a learning experience.”

  Regarding Ceth, Ashwin would not have assumed otherwise.

  Ceth flipped vigorously through the pages of the book before him, back and forth, holding sections between long fingers. “Casting a Reach to the garden, from the garden was no effort at all, and the orb took the spell in as anticipated. It held the spell...or paused it, not unlike holding one’s breath. Consequentially, when it resumed it rushed to finish like a breath in need of escaping.”

  “And what did Feisa bring back to us?” Ashwin asked.