“You are worried about the invasion, your majesty,” The Patriarch replied. “Your concern is understandable. These are dire times.”
Raeth paused. That wasn’t why he had come—he wanted to know why they had sent him an abridged version of the Kaennis Sha. However, the old man’s words intrigued him. “Indeed,” Raeth said. “I seek counsel, patriarch.”
The Patriarch paused, and one of his aids—a Vo-Dari named Kaennit, spoke up. “The Ancestors will guide you, your majesty,” Kaennit promised. “We have over fifty Dari saying Ynaa for yourself and the Senate at this time.”
Raeth paused. He hadn’t even considered that fact, but it was undoubtedly true. As soon as he heard about the attack, the Patriarch would have ordered Ynaa to petition the Ancestors for aid. In addition, private citizens had probably commissioned other Ynaa on Raeth’s behalf. Across the Imperium there were probably thousands of prayers being said for him each day.
“What can you tell me of our foes, Patriarch?” Raeth asked, turning again to the old man. “Is this really Yenniv Lan? Are these really the souls of the Forgotten attacking us?”
“We cannot say for certain what they are, your majesty,” the Patriarch finally replied with his soft, scratchy voice. He sat slumped over in his chair, so old he could barely hold himself upright. “The scriptures agree, however, that there is only one thing we can do. Pray and fight. The will of Vae and the Ancestors shall be manifest.”
That isn’t much help, Patriarch, Raeth thought, frowning. “I’m certain it will,” Raeth said slowly. “However, it is my duty to make certain that their desires are actuated. Vae’s will finds roots in our actions.”
The Patriarch’s wizened eyes opened slightly in surprise, and Raeth realized he might have misspoken. Aedin weren’t like Mahallens or Khur, the laymen weren’t expected to know the intricacies of their religion. That was why Lines chose Dari—one son was given spiritual responsibility so the rest wouldn’t have to worry. Few men, even High Aedin Line Heads, knew the subtleties of their own religion.
“You are well-versed in doctrine, your majesty,” said the Patriarch’s other aid, a squat bald Vo-Dari named Seth.
“I knew I would rule some day,” Raeth responded. “A wise ruler understands his assets, and the Ancestors are undoubtedly our greatest asset.”
“Well spoken, your majesty,” the Patriarch noted.
“That is why I am curious to know why my request for a copy of the Kaennis Sha was so obviously ignored,” Raeth informed, his voice polite.
Once again, the Vo-Dari eyes grew shocked.
“We sent the book to you, your majesty,” Seth replied. “Did you never receive it?”
“It must have become torn in transit,” Raeth said. “I was under the impression that the Kaennis Sha was over three hundred pages long. The book I received was barely a hundred.”
The room fell silent.
“I see,” The Patriarch said quietly. “Our subterfuge has been discovered.”
Raeth nodded slightly.
“There are many sections in the Kaennis Sha that are forbidden to leave the Irae, your majesty,” Kaennit explained. “We sent you the pieces that we thought permissible.”
Raeth frowned. He hadn’t heard about that proscription but, admittedly, he was hardly a scholar of doctrine. He’d gone to his classes, but they had never engaged him. If he’d paid more attention, he wouldn’t have forgotten whatever it was in the Kaennis Sha that he now sought to read. “Very well, then,” Raeth said. “If they are forbidden to leave the Irae, then I guess I’ll have to read them here, won’t I?”
The Patriarch’s eyes thinned slightly.
“I can put a motion to the Senate to force you to let me read it,” Raeth said quietly. “I don’t want to have to do that.” He wasn’t certain if he could actually do something like that, but from the worry in their eyes, the Vo-Dari didn’t know either.
“Very well, your majesty,” The Patriarch said, sighing very softly. “Your man will wait here. You may come with me.”
#
“You are more than we expected, your majesty,” The Patriarch said in his soft voice. Several younger Dari walked quietly, carrying him on a litter—a necessity he grudgingly put up with.
Raeth raised an eyebrow. “You’re not the first to say that, Patriarch,” he noted.
The wizened old man nodded. Raeth could just barely see the Amberite bud in his palm—the Patriarch was from his Line, which was part of the reason Raeth had received special attention from the man. The Amberite was faded and dull, however—the rumors said he had been powerful once, but that he could no longer grow more than a few small crystals.
“I always suspected that your father was wise to choose you as Heir,” The Patriarch noted. “Now I am certain.”
Raeth frowned slightly to himself. “You…knew my brother?”
The Patriarch nodded again. “He was a Dari in my Irae, after all.”
“What was your opinion of him?” Raeth asked curiously.
“He was unmotivated,” The Patriarch explained. “I could always sense latent dissatisfaction from him, but he never did anything about it. It was a shame. He hinted at such potential, but he never acted on it. He probably could have become Vo-Dari had he applied himself.”
Raeth barely covered his shock. “He…once told me that he didn’t think he should have been a Dari. He wanted to be Shaeth or Sworded.”
The Patriarch snorted quietly. “Half the Dari here say that,” The Patriarch said. “That’s what comes from a system that lets the father choose the son’s profession. The ones who succeed are those who get over their self-pity and move on, doing the best with what they have. Your brother never did that, your majesty. That’s why he was never happy here.”
Raeth took the news with discomfort. He’d always thought that he was the odd one, that he was the one that didn’t belong. He’d thought himself out of place, but he had never bothered to wonder if others felt the same way.
“Here we are, sire,” Even said, nodding toward the Irae library, a room with which Raeth was quite familiar. “One of these young men will find you a copy of the book.”
#
Raeth sat, staring at the pages. Hours had passed, and it was growing late, but he still hadn’t found what he wanted. The problem was that he had three hundred pages of small-print information, and he hadn’t really known what he was looking for in the first place.
In a way, it was a good thing that the Patriarch had tried to send him the smaller version of the book. That told him two things. First, there really was something hiding in its pages that made the old man uncomfortable, and second it couldn’t be found in the third they’d sent him. However, that still left two hundred pages to search.
The Kaennis Sha wasn’t like the Protocols. The Protocols were simple and straightforward, barely twenty pages long. They described the duties of an Aedin family. Both books were attributed to Vae, but they had been penned through inspiration by various Vo-Dari in the early days of Aedin society—before the Imperium, back when the Aedin tribes had lived in the north. The Protocols had obviously been written for the layman.
The Kaennis Sha, however, was meant for Dari. It was far more specific—and far more boring. Most of the writings described the proper way to compose Ynaa, or how to lay out Irae during construction. It explained the hierarchy of Dari, Vo-Dari, and Patriarch, and gave guidelines for choosing new Vo-Dari. That was a lot of information to sort through.
True, a number of passages did mention the End of Time. He read these over again and again, but none of them seemed useful. They spoke of a cataclysm and a cleansing, followed by a pure rule of Vaeria by the Ancestors, but they were all so vague as to be useless. The only fact contained in them was a veiled reference to the Forgotten rising up from the Living Night to plague mankind.
Somehow Raeth knew that wasn’t what he was looking for. He’d read the Kaennis Sha several times during his life as a Dari. Most of the readings had been done g
rudgingly, his mind wandering, but something had obviously stuck. If only he could find it.
The passage will mention the Forgotten, he thought to himself with determination, skimming through pages, searching for the specific word. He stayed away from the more mundane sections on Irae-building, trying to search for those sections that seemed preachy or revelatory—sections that spoke of how a man joined the Ancestors in glory.
His eyes began to unfocus as time wore on and fatigue began to encroach on his mind. He caught himself dozing off several times, and had to force himself back awake, trying to stay focused. The problem was, several passages mentioned the Forgotten, but always in conjunction with punishment for wrongdoing. None of them were helpful.
It was during one of those times, his eyes unfocused, his vision fuzzy, that he finally found it. He’d found another reference to Forgotten and began reading it mindlessly. It wasn’t until he’d already turned the page, eyes scanning for the next reference to the Forgotten, that he realized what he’d read.
Raeth snapped into wakefulness, flipping the page back with excitement. He half-thought the passage was a delusion fabricated by his sleepy mind. But, there it was, in the center of the page. It wasn’t long, but it matched the shadowed memory that had been driving him.
Be not unwary when the Forgotten descend, the book read. Amberite and Bestarin, followers of my brother, will be destroyed. Vaeria shall be cleansed, and I shall rule.
That was it. After those three lines, the text turned to a discussion of the importance of Line Heads.
“I see you’ve found what we tried to hide,” a quiet voice noted.
Raeth turned with surprise. The Patriarch was sitting behind him, in a cushioned chair. Other than that, the room was empty.
“When… ?” Raeth began.
“I came to send you on your way, your majesty, but found you asleep. I asked them to leave me here to ponder. I find the presence of the books comforting.” The old man looked up, nodding at the shelves that lined all four walls of the medium-sized mudstone room.
Raeth turned back to the book before him, its pages illuminated by the single lamp at the edge of his table. “This is it?” he asked, frowning.
“You see why we have tried to keep it hidden?” The Patriarch asked. “We’ve told all of the Dari to refrain from mentioning the passage. Even still, however, I doubted we could keep it quiet for long.”
“I don’t understand,” Raeth confessed.
“Read it again, your majesty,” The Patriarch prodded. “What does it say?”
“Amberite and Bestarin shall be destroyed,” Raeth said quietly.
“We don’t know what that means,” The Patriarch said. “We don’t even know if it applies to what is happening now. Are those creatures the Forgotten Vae speaks of? Is this truly the End of Time? We’ve tried to comfort the people—after all, panic will do nothing for us. But, you’ve undoubtedly felt the growing sense of desperation in the city. That sense is weak, as of yet, for the threat is far away. It will grow, however.”
Raeth looked down at the words. “And you think this would only make them more paranoid?”
“Yes, your majesty. It doesn’t matter that it’s vague, or that it might not apply. The people will be afraid, especially those Aedin of the Amberite or Bestarin lines. If people know of this prophesy, it will divide them. We of the Vo-Dari wanted to keep that from happening.”
Raeth nodded slowly. Amberite and Bestarin were the largest lines—if they were destroyed, it would decimate the Aedin population.
Raeth froze. Cut the population in half. The other half are in serious danger—your half. The words, spoken weeks before, returned to him from the back of his memory.
“By the Twins!” Raeth swore, standing, his eyes wide. He turned back to the Patriarch. “Thank you for your help, Patriarch,” he said before rushing from the room.
#
He found the Gol ambassador admiring a painting in the Irae’s domed main room. There were still a few people in the chamber despite the late hour. Raeth approached the creature with a firm stride, a confused Tarrinon trailing behind him.
“Good evening, your majesty,” the Gol said quietly as Raeth approached. The tall, brown-furred creature didn’t turn its head, but continued to stare at the panting.
“How did you know?” Raeth asked simply.
The Gol turned, its flat, inhuman face difficult to read. “Know what, your majesty?” it asked in a deep, accented voice.
“About the prophesy?” Raeth said. “When you introduced yourself to me two weeks ago, you said that half of the Aedin population was in danger. How did you know?”
The Gol turned back to the painting. It was, Raeth noticed with surprise, the one he had seen Jaenor painting two weeks before. The image of Vae creating mankind.
“Your creation,” the Gol noted, nodding at the painting. “Life is a marvelous gift. And, how well man was created. Look at what you, in turn, can create. Things of beauty, they are.”
The Gol raised its arm, a wide, thick fingered hand at the end. The hand was almost more of a paw, with thick fingers and long claws. “Do you know of our creation, your majesty?” the Gol asked.
A piece of Raeth was annoyed at the creature—the last thing he needed were more riddles and meaningless conversations. Yet, what did he expect? The Gol was not human; it didn’t think the same way he did.
“No, I don’t,” Raeth said rather than snapping at the creature.
“We have legends,” the Gol said, still looking at his hand. “They say we were created to be tools of war. To kill and destroy. Our bodies certainly imply that. We are tall and strong, and can naturally lift massive weights.”
“Yet, your kind have no temperament for war,” Raeth replied. “You have always been peaceful with the Imperium, even when we treated you poorly.”
The Gol lowered its hand and looked back at the painting. “We were cursed, the legends say,” it replied. “One force made us to kill, the other force changed us, to make us useless in war. It gave us memory and an appreciation for beauty.”
“Forces?” Raeth asked, frowning.
“I believe you call them the Twins, your majesty,” the Gol said quietly. “Slaughter and Despair. Good names. Humans have always had a mastery of words. I believe it was Slaughter that created the Gol, and Despair who cursed us—gave us a desire for things artistic.”
“That doesn’t sound much like a curse to me,” Raeth noted.
The Gol shrugged—an oddly human gesture. “We have an appreciation, but no ability. Our warrior’s hands cannot craft works of beauty, and our minds cannot compose things of wonder. There is a frustration in being able to see but not do.”
Raeth nodded slowly, thinking back to his days in the Irae. It would almost have been easier for him if he hadn’t been able to recognize true beauty—then, at least, he wouldn’t have known how pitiful his own works were. “I think I understand,” he said.
The Gol turned back to Raeth, deep blue eyes staring at him. The eyes seemed incongruous with the rest of the creature—its body was tall and muscled, its arms long and capable of a wide reach, but its eyes were deep and understanding.
“That is how I knew you were in danger, your majesty,” it explained.
“From the art?” Raeth asked with a frown.
“No,” the Gol said with a shake of its head. “The Twins.”
“Legends,” Raeth scoffed.
“Legends have truths in them, your majesty,” the Gol replied. “Or, so we assume. If one of the Twins survived, he would hate half of you.”
Raeth paused. “Why half?” he asked.
“In the days of the war,” the Gol said, “the war that earned them their names, the Twins fought each other. Man was divided between them, half and half. Gifts were given to each. Opposites. Have you forgotten these things?”
“Apparently,” Raeth said, frowning.
“Your memories are short,” the Gol said, staring back at the painting. �
�Ours are long. Perhaps that, too, is a curse.”
Raeth shot a look at Tarrinon, and the Shorriken man just shrugged. He’d never heard of such things either. Raeth turned back to the Gol, but the creature seemed lost in thought, its eyes transfixed by the painting.
“Ambassador?” Raeth asked.
“I am sorry, your majesty,” the Gol said. “I have said both what I know and what I guess. I will retain what I fear, for now.”
#
Are you there? Raeth asked in his mind.
No reply.
He leaned against the side of his Corpate walker as it trudged through the dark streets of Vae Annitor. Tarrinon stood a short distance away, looking through his ledger.
Raeth watched the street below, pondering what he had been told. According to the prophesies of his own holy scriptures, Raeth and his entire Line were doomed. It was a disconcerting thought—beside it, his troubles with the brides looked almost simplistic.
He’d intentionally tried not to think about what had happened to him the night D’Naa had snuck into his rooms, tried to avoid dwelling on the strange power that appeared to crouch within him. It had given him abilities he had always wished he possessed—it had granted him the power of a true High Aedin. And, that was exactly what scared him. When it had just been a voice in his mind—or even a singular event, like the time the power had rescued him from D’Naa’s Verdant Bonds—he had been able to ignore it, able to pass it off as a trick of the mind.
This was different. He could still feel it within him, the power he had sensed. The power he had somehow gained when the drop of blackness touched him.
The Mahallens and Khur call the Aethers demons, he thought to himself. They say the Aethers give us power at the cost of our souls.
Was a piece of him Forgotten? The droplet had given him the very power he had always envied. Was it a temptation of some sort? And, what of the Gol’s strange words? He spoke of the Twins as if they were real. Raeth supposed that they might be, but he’d never really thought of it before. The Twins were actually a Shorriken legend—one that had found its way into the Aedin religion as well. However, the Twins were touched only tangentially in any of the Vari Yden writings. As a Dari he had been taught that the dark gods weren’t real, that there was only Vae, the Ancestors, and the Forgotten.
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