He opened his eyes and saw the daneamiin, each lying motionless. Watching them for a moment, Jakob thought they were all injured—or even dead, but he realized that wasn’t it at all. They were sleeping.
All but Anda. When he sat up, she rushed over to him.
“How long was I gone?” Jakob asked.
She took his hand. “It does not matter, Jakob Nialsen.”
“It matters. How long?”
“Weeks.”
Jakob touched his hand to his face, noting the growth of beard. Weeks? It would explain the fatigue, and the rumbling of hunger in his stomach.
“It is the longest the Cala maah has remained in session,” Anda said.
Jakob sighed. “I’m sorry. I went back, and found the injury. It was new. It was Raime.”
“Why would Raime attack Aruhn?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I think he wanted to draw me back. I stopped him and sealed him from the fibers.”
“How is such a thing possible?”
“It should not be,” Aruhn said, sitting up.
Anda rushed to him, and threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. “Father?”
Aruhn returned the embrace, and their ahmaean swirled, touching for a moment. Aruhn looked past Anda, meeting Jakob’s eyes. “What you did should not have been possible. I saw what happened.
“How did you see it?”
“When you drifted backward, you pulled me along with you. It was my ancestor you stepped inside.”
Anda gasped. “You stepped into a daneamiin who was not your ancestor?”
“I had no choice.”
“There will be consequences,” Aruhn said.
“I don’t know if there will be any more consequences than what we’ve already faced. If you saw what happened, then you know what Raime did, the way that he twisted the fibers, damaging them as he returned.”
Aruhn sighed. “What he has done should not be possible, either. He has stolen too much.”
Jakob licked his lips, trying to work moisture back into his mouth. “Time will tell if what I’ve done has been successful,” he said.
Aruhn met Jakob’s gaze and nodded slowly. “Thank you, Jakob Nialsen. You should not have risked repairing the fibers, but had you not, I would have been trapped.”
“Watch me for a moment,” Jakob said to Anda. “There is something I need to do.”
“Your brother—”
“Not my brother.” Jakob pulled on his ahmaean, tiredness and hunger making it difficult, but for what he needed to do, he didn’t think he needed much strength with the ahmaean. All he wanted was to glimpse.
He turned his focus inward that he could direct it inwardl sense to use that.tuck. Would he not ask about the experiences with Gareth and Daniel?able., or and traced back along his fibers, spinning backward in time until he reached Shoren. He needed to know if his actions had changed anything. The damahne claimed that it was not possible to change the past, and if he had, he feared that it might lead to an unraveling of the fibers.
Jakob was surprised to see that Shoren’s strand was as it had been before. It was unchanged.
That didn’t make sense… unless Shoren had always traveled north with Jakob’s daneamiin host.
Jakob withdrew and reached for Anda. She looked at him, a question her eyes. “The fibers are unchanged.”
“The fibers cannot be changed,” Aruhn said.
Jakob wasn’t as certain. Hadn’t he severed the fibers and resealed them? Hadn’t that been what Raime intended?
“I worried. I can walk back more strongly than others. I feared what that meant.”
Jakob took Anda’s hand. “What of Scottan?”
“I’ve been in the Cala maah with you, Jakob Nialsen. I will go with you to see.”
They walked rather than shifting. After using his energy to look back along the fibers to ensure that he hadn’t changed too much with Shoren, Jakob didn’t think he had enough strength to shift, at least not safely.
They exited the house of the Cala maah, holding each other’s hands, and reached the clearing in the space before the massive structure. Jakob sighed, breathing in the ahmaean, feeling it rejuvenate him. He glanced over to Anda. “I’ve stopped him a second time.”
“I fear that you will need to defeat him for good,” Anda said.
Jakob had felt the same. “I didn’t really even stop him this time, but hopefully he will no longer be able to reach the fibers.”
If his efforts accomplished that, then perhaps Jakob could prevent Raime from gaining any more strength than he already possessed.
He started to say something when he saw a figure appear at the base of one of the trees. At first, he thought it might be Novan, the long face and weary eyes matching that of the historian, but he realized that was not the case at all.
It was Scottan.
Jakob hurried over to him.
Scottan blinked twice, looking around the clearing, as if unable to believe what he was seeing. “Jakob? What is this? Where are we?”
Jakob smiled at his brother and wrapped him in a tight hug, tears streaming down his cheeks as he sobbed.
“Jakob? What is it? Why are you crying?”
Jakob released his brother and took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. What did he tell him first? Did he share that their father had died? Did he share that Jakob was some sort of god? Did he share what had happened over the last few months?
None of it mattered. Not really. All that mattered was that Scottan was back. His brother was back.
“Scottan,” Jakob said, still struggling to figure out what he would say to his brother. “You were sick.”
Scottan looked around, almost as if he were processing what he was seeing. When his gaze came back to Jakob, he frowned. “Sick?”
Jakob nodded. The question that came next was not what Jakob had expected.
“Why are you wearing a sword?”
Jakob laughed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “There is much I need to tell you.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jakob returned to the Great Forest, taking Novan with him. The historian shook himself when they shifted to the heart of the Forest, looking around at the trees, and a wide smile came to his face.
“I don’t know that I’ll get used to traveling in that way,” Novan said.
“I don’t know that I will, either,” Jakob said.
“Why here?” Novan asked. “You could’ve stayed with the daneamiin longer.”
And with Scottan, Jakob didn’t need Novan to add. But Scottan was still recovering, and the daneamiin had healing powers that would facilitate that. Scottan still struggled with everything that he was learning, barely able to process what had happened, but in time, he would.
“Because I need help. There is knowledge from the damahne here. I think you can help me understand it.”
Novan smiled. “I imagine there is knowledge in the Tower as well.”
It was Jakob’s turn to smile. “I think we take one step at a time, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” Novan agreed. “Do you intend to reveal yourself to the world? The gods have been hidden for centuries.”
Jakob shook his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that. I don’t think I know enough.”
“It might be necessary when it comes time to confront Raime. If the Deshmahne have gained strength, you may need to show that the gods do not side with them.”
Jakob sighed. That felt deceptive, but it might be necessary. “In time,” he said.
Novan nodded as if that had been decided. He tapped his staff on the ground once, light flaring along the length of it, and surveyed the area around them. “Where is this place of the damahne? The Guild has long suspected that the damahne kept something here, but we’ve never been able to determine it.”
Jakob tipped his head toward the boulders. “It is here.” He stretched out with his ahmaean, using that to reach toward the rocks and slide them back into place.
Novan gasped as he did.
Jakob stepped to the center of the newly formed circle, and pulled the ahmaean, shifting it so that it opened the doorway.
“It was here the whole time?” he asked as the doorway appeared.
“It was here, kept in a way that only the damahne could reach.”
“You shouldn’t give me access,” Novan said.
Jakob smiled at the historian. “I would never have guessed you to refuse access to knowledge.”
“This is a place meant only for the damahne. I… I don’t know that I am worthy of entering such a place.”
“Novan, you are descended from damahne. You have the same right as I do. Besides, I need to stop Raime, and I will need to know everything possible in order to do so.”
“He is a dangerous man,” Novan said, nodding. “The Conclave has faced him for centuries. The Hunter was assigned to track him. Brohmin can help you.”
Jakob sighed. Brohmin might have knowledge that would be crucial in defeating Raime. He had lived hundreds of years, and in that time, he would have to have gained knowledge.
“In the chamber below here, there are other stores of knowledge. I only ask that you not share this with the Guild.”
Novan looked up, dragging his gaze from the steps leading below ground. “Only the Guild?”
“If the Conclave consists of what I believe it does, the knowledge can’t be held back from them.”
“You have my word.”
Jakob watched him, and—in a moment of inspiration—sent his ahmaean swirling toward Novan. It touched him briefly, before retreating. In that moment, he recognized that Novan spoke the truth. He had no intention of sharing outside of the Conclave. Even that was uncertain. Novan might keep everything that he knew and learned to himself.
“Satisfied?” Novan asked.
Jakob smiled. “Very much.”
They started down, when he became aware of something else, and paused.
“What is it?” Novan asked.
“I don’t know.” He frowned, focusing his ahmaean, pushing out as he had while in the Tower in the past. It was a technique borrowed from a daneamiin, but using that, he was able to sense movement around him.
“Continue down. I’ll meet you soon.”
“Jakob. If there’s—”
“There is no threat,” Jakob said.
He stepped away and let Novan continue down beneath the ground. Once he was inside, Jakob shifted the ahmaean, closing the entrance. He didn’t shift the stones, not wanting to trap Novan there, but he did want to hide the entrance.
A caravan of horses appeared, and Jakob frowned. He recognized the Mage leading them as the same one who had been with Roelle when they had met outside the Forest. They dismounted, and Selton stepped forward.
“Selton?”
The Mage breathed out a sigh of relief. “You are here. Thank the gods.” He flushed after saying it, and motioned toward the wagon. “We’ve been circling the heart of the Forest, trying to find you.”
“To find me?”
Selton nodded, and his gaze drifted behind Jakob, taking in the circle of stones, his eyes widening slightly as he did. “Roelle was injured in the fight. She needs healing, but no healer we have will be able to restore her.”
Jakob stepped over to the wagon and saw Roelle lying there. She was as lovely as he remembered, her dark hair streaming back from her head, but her skin was pale, and sweat beaded on her brow.
“She was poisoned by the groeliin,” Selton said. “The Antrilii didn’t think they could heal her. We were going to take her to Vasha, but there wasn’t enough time. She grew too sick.”
“What makes you think that I can do anything?”
“Because I saw what you did at the Tower,” Lendra said, peering from behind the wagon. “Only someone like the gods would be able to do what you did. Please, Jakob. Roelle needs your help.”
If he did this, if he attempted to heal her, he would out himself. He would reveal that he was something more than a historian apprentice, something that had not been seen in centuries.
He had told Novan that he wasn’t ready to reveal himself, but there would be no way to conceal it from this many Magi—and the rest of the world—if he attempted to heal her, especially if he was successful.
But Roelle was his friend. She had been one of the first who had worked with him, welcoming him. He owed it to his friend. He might have failed that time with Scottan, but this was a different healing, wasn’t it?
“I can try.”
He set his hands on Roelle and began pulling on his ahmaean, but quickly realized it would not be enough. He reached for the ahmaean of the Great Forest, pulling from it to heal as he had once pulled from it to harm.
He settled this ahmaean into Roelle, and it fed her, strengthening her, and pressed out the poison that was sickening her.
When it was done, Jakob released the ahmaean and stepped back.
“Is she—” Selton began.
“I have done all that I can,” Jakob said. “She needs time, but I think she will recover.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her,” Selton said.
Jakob smiled. “It’s a feeling I know all too well. Make certain you tell her that.”
Selton shook his head. “She’s my friend. She’s—”
“Roelle is special. Let her know that. And tell her that I will find her when she recovers.”
With that, Jakob shifted, disappearing into the chamber beneath the Forest and rejoining Novan.
Epilogue
Brohmin waited inside the central chamber of the palace. Fatigue still overwhelmed him at times, fatigue that was understandable—especially considering all the years he had lived—albeit unwanted. There was still so much for him to do.
The journey here had taken weeks, and had been delayed while he recovered from his battle with Raime and the groeliin in the Tower. He had remained hidden, guarded by Salindra with an almost overzealous intensity, and given the time he needed to recover.
And now… Now he had to move on to his next task. He was the Hunter. The Conclave had given him a mission, and he needed to complete it.
“Why have you come here?” Allay asked.
Brohmin locked eyes with the new King. He was a young man, one who had shown some skill—surprising skill, based on the rumors he had heard over the last few weeks. Were it not for him, Brohmin wondered if the Deshmahne would have been stopped.
Because of him, at least part of the threat had been thwarted. And the groeliin threat might have remained even though he and Jakob had managed to slow their advance. It was the Magi apprentices and the Antrilii who truly finished them off.
Brohmin knew that he and Jakob would not have been able to stop the Deshmahne in addition to dealing with the groeliin. That had required the new King and allies they had not realized they had.
Allay was considered a fair and just leader, and had apparently garnered loyalty from many in a short period of time, but it was his connection to the Magi that interested Brohmin at the moment. He should have been more careful, and should have thought more deeply about his justification for seeking an audience with the King. The man had seen through it immediately.
“I understand you spent some time in Vasha,” Brohmin said.
He leaned on the armrests of the chair, needing them to support him. It pained him that sitting was so draining. This must be how Salindra had felt for all those months they traveled together. Unfortunately for Brohmin, there was no healing from the daneamiin to restore him. It would take time, but even then, it might not be enough. His life had been lengthened enough as it was, stretching his fibers far beyond what they were meant to be, and it was possible that he would not be allowed to know more time. At least now, there were others capable of waging the war he had fought for years.
But before he succumbed, he would complete his task.
“The Magi summoned me to Vasha, along with others, in an effort to establish delegate
s to further the mission of the Urmahne,” King Allay said.
“From what I understand, few of the others survived. You’re one of the only ones from the north to have done so.”
A pained look crossed Allay’s face. Brohmin noted a servant dressed fancier than most servants in these lands standing at his shoulder. Her long, royal blue dress had stripes stitched along its sides in the formal styling, but her hair was cut short in the style of slaves from Salvat. It was an odd dichotomy, but then again, it fit with what Brohmin had heard of King Allay.
“Yes. The others were corrupted.”
“How was it that you were not?” Brohmin asked.
The King leaned forward in his chair, his eyes blazing with the strength of his authority.
Brohmin would have to be careful with this man. He might be young, and he might be newly raised to King, but he carried himself much like every ruler Brohmin had ever met. There was a hint of arrogance in him, but he thought he saw something else as well, something that gave him hope. It was this that Brohmin needed to count on, especially if he was to use the King for what he intended.
“Are you always so abrupt?” King Allay asked.
Brohmin smiled. Abrupt seemed an appropriate way to describe him. It was more fitting than many of the other things he’d been called over the years, and certainly more fitting than the nickname the Magi once had for him.
“When you’re as old as I am, you begin to behave erratically,” Brohmin said. “You don’t know how much time you have left, and you begin to realize that you need to maximize what time you do have remaining.”
The King smiled at the statement and shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. He glanced over his shoulder to the slave, and something passed between them that gave Brohmin pause.
Not a slave at all, was she?
Brohmin had come to Gomald unprepared, knowing only that he needed to meet with the King, knowing that he needed to arrange transportation to the south. The rumors that spread about the role Allay had in removing the Deshmahne threat, stories about his role in unifying the regional kings, joining together to create an alliance that opposed Richard, had surprised him and had been reason enough for him to come seeking answers to his many questions.
Twist of the Fibers (The Lost Prophecy Book 4) Page 31