Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Roelle paused.

  She recognized where she was. The Great Forest.

  Had she come this deep in the forest before? She didn’t recall this part of the forest, didn’t recall the massive nature of the trees. A small stream flowed nearby, and like everything else that she had seen, it did so soundlessly.

  When she crouched in front of the stream, she dipped her hand into it, letting the water run past. It was cold, and she cupped it to her mouth, taking a slow drink. It tasted clean and crisp, and left her feeling refreshed.

  Why could she notice it flowing, but couldn’t hear it? It was real. She tasted it. So how is it silent.

  When she stood, rubbing her hands together, careful not to damage her gown, she could still feel the pull of the energy. It tugged upon her and continued to draw her deeper into the forest.

  How much farther would she walk? When she looked back, she couldn’t see the edge of the forest, though she had not been walking for long. She didn’t know how that was possible. But this was a vision, so anything was possible.

  Resuming her pace, following the steady tug upon her senses, she followed a meandering trail that led through the forest, bypassing many of the trees, and weaving her through enormous, exposed roots rising up out of the ground. Roelle had never seen anything like it, though the enormity of the trees was unlike anything she had seen before, either.

  The same pale energy swirled around the trees and swept her onward. Roelle followed it, knowing that to resist it would be to resist the flow of water in a river.

  With each step, she felt an increase in the drawing sensation.

  Then she saw a clearing.

  Within the clearing, there were a dozen enormous boulders arranged in a circle. Trees ringed the clearing, each of them massive, and arcing high overhead so that they tilted toward each other, creating a canopy. The energy that swirled around each of the trees was focused toward the center of the clearing.

  This was where she was directed, but why? Why was she drawn here? What did her vision—or whatever this was—want her to see?

  Roelle reached the center of the circle of boulders and stood. She closed her eyes, no longer feeling the steady pulling of energy all around her. Now all she felt was pressure. It was not unpleasant, but it pushed against her, into her. There was something relaxing about the sensation, something that warmed her.

  She stood for an unknown duration of time, simply swaying with the sense of power, allowing it to fill her.

  After a while, the power shifted, drawing downward.

  The change caused Roelle to open her eyes. She looked around, but saw nothing different within the clearing. And the faint traces of energy that surrounded everything were no different either. All that was different was the sensation upon her.

  It seemed like the pressure wanted to pull her into the earth, though she had no way of following it.

  Roelle paced around the clearing, eyeing each of the boulders she passed, trying to see if there was anything she could discover that would explain why she had been drawn here, and what the vision intended for her to learn. She found nothing.

  Returning to the center of the clearing, she stood, arms hanging at her sides, the energy that spiraled around her leaving her with a tingling that reminded her of when she first entered the forest.

  What was there for her here?

  Maybe she was to find answers here. Maybe this was a way to heal her. Or maybe this really was the afterlife, and this was all there was for her.

  If so, the thought was depressing. She had hoped there would be something else for her in the afterlife. She would like to have seen her parents once more, having lost them far too early.

  But she wasn’t ready for the afterlife. She needed to speak to Alriyn, and needed to tell him about what she’d seen and learned from the Antrilii. He needed to know, and needed to send the Magi to learn from the Antrilii. They needed to be ready for the next attack.

  Once more, the energy shifted, and now began pushing outward, away from the center of the clearing.

  Roelle was pushed along with it, and sent gliding along the forest floor, no longer needing to even take a step for her to move.

  It happened rapidly, sending her rushing away, reaching the edge of the forest where she passed beyond the border, feeling the tingling sensation once more, before she reentered the grassy plain, and the pure white light that surrounded her before. She continued to be pressed outward, and in the distance, noted the disappearance of everything, where the land shifted, fading into nothingness.

  As she neared that part of the plains, she began to resist. She didn’t want to be pushed into the nothingness, didn’t want to be pushed away from the warmth and the pleasant sensation that had filled her while in the plains or the forest. She didn’t want to be pressed away from the gods.

  When she reached the border, she felt the burning return to her back.

  Roelle cried out, and with a flash, she awoke.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jakob awoke with a start, and looked around, seeing the solid desk of the Chrysia library in front of him. His neck ached from the position he’d been sitting in, and he sat up, pulling his face from where it had been plastered to a book. Jakob’s gaze skimmed across the surface, and he saw the words Polle Pal, and paused, reading across the page.

  Was that why he had the last vision? Had there been something in that book that had triggered it for him?

  Few visions had been quite so sad. There had been some that were easier than others, but the last was painful in a different way, and he could still feel the hurt he knew as Daniel, and he felt the hope that he had known when thinking of a budding relationship with Kalyn.

  His heart thudded, everything so vibrant and real.

  Why would he have had that vision? Why would he have seen such pain? If the visions were important, what was Jakob to learn from this one?

  If these visions were trips along his fibers, trips along his ancestors, it didn’t seem like it made sense for him to be descended from Daniel. He had lost his children, and had lost his life before he could have any others.

  He sat up and worked the pain out of his back before finally managing to stand. He looked around the library, wondering if Novan was still here, but saw no sign of the historian. Had he left him?

  How long had he been out? Visions could be strange, and though they may seem to take place over hours, it could be only moments, though when he was in the house of the Cala maah, he had spent what he thought was hours, and had actually been days.

  He found Novan searching through stacks near the back of the library. The old historian blinked, and looked at him, a frown on his face.

  “Jakob. You seem distracted.”

  “I had a vision.”

  “Here?”

  Jakob shrugged. “It doesn’t seem to matter where I am. I’ve had one when I was awake before.”

  Novan turned to him and clasped his hands in front of him. Jakob’s eye was drawn to the ring on his middle finger, the signifier of the Conclave. “Is this a vision you would like to discuss?”

  “Which one?”

  “You have had more than one?”

  “More than one and both were different.”

  “How were they different?” Novan asked.

  Jakob closed his eyes, thinking back to the vision he had when he was Gareth. In that vision, not only had he observed the Antrilii, but he had done so in a time before the Antrilii. He had done so in the body—and mind—of a man who did not care for the daneamiin. If Jakob was descended from Gareth, it meant that Gareth also had a connection to the daneamiin, and that troubled Jakob. How could his ancestors not care for the gentle beings who lived in the east?

  “In this one, I had a vision of myself as a damahne,” he said.

  “As you are descended from the damahne, it is not surprising you would see this.”

  “I was once again there too strongly,” Jakob said. “I apparently walked along the fibers,
and went back, merging with him.”

  “Did you discover his name?”

  “Only a first name. He was Gareth.” Jakob watched Novan for signs of recognition. With Therin, there had been something that Novan had known, but he gave no indication that he recognized the name Gareth. There was no indication that he was anything other than another damahne. “It was before the last groeliin invasion,” Jakob went on.

  “How do you know? The groeliin have attacked many times over the last thousand years.”

  “Because it was a time before the Antrilii were settled. Gareth called them the hunters.”

  Novan arched a brow.

  “I know the Conclave has referred to Brohmin as the Hunter as well. Have you read anything that referred to the Antrilii as hunters?”

  Novan turned, searching along the wall of books. They were in one of the oldest sections of the library, one of the places where few scholars ventured. The books here were all written in the ancient language, and most considered it a useless venture to study them. Novan had not. When he had come to the Chrysia library, he had devoted most of his time to this particular section.

  Now that Jakob understood some of the ancient language, he wondered why such valuable volumes would be kept in Chrysia. Why not in another place—someplace like Thealon, or Vasha?

  Novan paused and pulled a book off the shelf. “There are few records of the Antrilii. For the most part, the Antrilii prefer to keep it that way. They would rather remain hidden from the rest of the world, and would rather keep themselves protected in such a way.”

  “Why?”

  “The Antrilii are secretive, mostly out of necessity. They serve a greater good than any understand. Because of the role they play, few outside of the far upper north have ever even heard of the groeliin. I was surprised to find that the library here did possess a few volumes that refer to the Antrilii.” He held out the book, flipping to a page near the middle. “Though they are not referred to as Antrilii.”

  Jakob took the volume from him and scanned the page. On it, he found a reference to the hunters. There was nothing to indicate a named group of people, nothing that would make anyone believe it was anything more than a simple reference.

  “How did you remember this was here?” Jakob’s eyes scanned the rows of shelves, and all of the books here. How had Novan remembered this single reference in this single volume out of all of the others?

  “I have a perfect memory,” Novan said.

  Jakob started to laugh, before cutting off, realizing that Novan wasn’t simply boasting. “A perfect memory?”

  Novan smiled. “The Guild trains members to remember what they’ve read, and remember what they’ve seen. All are trained in observation. It is a way to hone our minds and ensure that what we see—and recall—is accurate.”

  “Do all historians have a perfect memory?”

  “Not all. In some ways, you could say that is my gift from the gods.” Novan said the last with a wider smile.

  Jakob turned his attention back to the book. There was reference to the hunters, but not any reference to what they hunted. As he skimmed the text, a realization set in.

  “This is from before the last attack,” Jakob said.

  “I think we will make a historian out of you yet, Jakob Nialsen.”

  “A historian. A soldier. A damahne. What else can I be?” Jakob asked.

  “Must they all be different? Can you not be all things?”

  Did he want to be all things? The damahne—Gareth—had seemed to believe that he should not be a soldier. Whatever the damahne had believed, it had been similar to what the Urmahne now believed.

  “Do you know anything about a seal?”

  Novan’s posture stiffened. “Where did you hear that?”

  “From my last vision. From Gareth. He mentioned a seal, and seemed to believe that I should know something about it. What is it? Brohmin mentioned something similar, but I don’t fully remember what it was.”

  “I feel my training has let you down. Had I more time with you, you would have been able to recall everything that you’ve seen and heard.”

  Jakob chuckled. “I’m not sure that everything I’ve seen and heard would make sense. Especially with the visions that I’ve had.”

  Novan made his way back to the main section of the library and stood near one of the tables.

  “There aren’t many books here for you to show me?” Jakob asked.

  Novan shook his head. “Not here. This is a place of learning, and they have many volumes that other places do not possess, but there are limits to what they managed to collect.”

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the seal?”

  Novan took a seat and motioned to the seat on the other side of the table. “Sit, Jakob. Let’s talk.”

  Jakob took a seat as directed and met Novan’s gaze across the table. The historian had pale eyes with an intense heat that shone behind them.

  “I believe that all damahne know about the seal. Had Alyta lived, she would have been the one to share what you needed to know. It should not come from me, a historian, even though I sit on the Conclave.”

  Jakob smiled to himself, noting the ahmaean swirling around Novan. Regardless of what he admitted, he was more than a historian. He was connected in a way that few were.

  “This world, everything, was created by the Maker. Most men believe the gods created everything, but they believe that because the damahne were the first creation of the Maker. Like you, the damahne were gifted with abilities, those that allowed them to manipulate the world around them in ways that men—and I speak of men in a generic term—cannot. They were placed here as a barrier, as a way to create a hold on the world, a way to maintain what the Maker created.”

  “You’re saying the damahne are the seal?”

  “In a sense. The power you possess, the ahmaean you can now manipulate, that is the seal.”

  Jakob focused on the ahmaean he saw around Novan, and the ahmaean that remained with his staff. “Even the ahmaean around the Magi?”

  Novan dipped his head in a nod. “The Magi don’t realize what they protect. Over time, the damahne diluted their connection to the ahmaean, though that was never their intent.”

  “What was the intent?”

  “The intent has always been the same. For years—possibly centuries, possibly much, much longer—the damahne remained isolated. Eventually, they joined the world. They began to interact with men, which brought new challenges. As they did, there were minglings with men, and ahmaean was passed on to their children, but those children were not damahne any longer. They were… something else.”

  “The Magi?”

  “The Magi, and others. I believe you have met them.”

  “The daneamiin.” Jakob remembered the vision as Aimielen and remembered how their children had been daneamiin. He hadn’t understood at the time, but it made sense. It made sense that they would be descended from the damahne, and from man. It would explain their connection to both, and the fact that they felt betrayed by both.

  Was that why the daneamiin had gone to the east? Was that why they had hidden in the Unknown Lands?

  “So the power the Magi and the daneamiin possess is connected to the damahne?”

  Novan sat up in his chair and held Jakob’s gaze. “Connected, and essential. Without that, the seal will fail. Many on the Conclave have felt that the damahne were the only ones capable of maintaining the seal, the barrier that holds creation in place. There are others who recognize that the power of the damahne has been passed on, shared with others over the years so that there were redundancies.”

  “What happens when that power is stolen and tainted?”

  “Then… then you see something else. You see a perversion of power. You see the groeliin.”

  “The groeliin possess ahmaean the same way as the Magi and the daneamiin?”

  “It’s not the same, and the power they have has been changed, possibly irreparably.”

  “H
ow so?”

  “There is not consensus in this, Jakob. I am not alone on the Conclave in my belief that the ahmaean from the groeliin cannot be salvaged. Now that it’s lost, it weakens the seal. There can be dangerous effects with the seal weakened. Creation may fail, but before then, other things may begin to falter.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as power shifting in ways that it should not. You have seen it firsthand. You have seen the effect of Raime, what he can do. He has long studied ancient powers, those that once bound the world, and he has mastered them.”

  Novan’s gaze turned to his staff, as did Jakob’s “What is that made of? I see the way your ahmaean pools there.”

  “You see this?”

  “I don’t know how I could not. It’s impressive, and practically overflowing.”

  “Yes. The staff is a similar example to what Raime has mastered. There is a metal—one that is among the oldest. It is what everything was forged from.”

  As Jakob stared at the staff, he felt the ahmaean within it. He didn’t reach for it to detect it; he could feel it without needing to do so.

  “Everything came from metal?”

  “Perhaps not quite so simply, but that metal is what all of creation was forged from.” Novan smiled. “Though, that may be only my belief.”

  “How did Raime learn to use it? How did he master that?”

  “Raime was a part of something greater. He sat on the Conclave and studied with those earliest scholars, those who wanted nothing more than to secure peace and to maintain the seal. He grew disgruntled that he had no power and sought other ways to reach it. At first, he might have done so in an attempt to work toward peace, but in time, even that changed.”

  “How has he been able to do these things without being stopped before now?”

  “For many years, those on the Conclave—those who had served and studied with him—had not wanted to believe he was capable of what they were seeing. Over time, it became impossible to ignore. Raime demonstrated a thirst for power that was dangerous and deadly.”