The World Weavers

by Kelley Grant

  Kadar had grabbed the hardiest humpback and set off to find his sister’s body and mourn her death, leaving Onyeka and Amber behind. But he realized it was useless when he arrived. They’d used her blood to change the wards and her bones to anchor the waystone; no body remained to burn. The Tigu elders had been ashamed of him. They thought Grandmother and Sulis’s sacrifice was courageous and fitting. Kadar shook his head. He knew the truth: Sulis and Grandmother died to protect Datura, who would be in the path of the deities. They died to give Datura a chance to live.

  Fury coursed through Kadar. Sulis and his grandmother were Chosen, so they should have been protected. Instead, the Descendant of the Prophet had convinced the warriors of the One that the Chosen were no longer needed, that he knew all the spells to defeat the deities at the Obsidian Temple. And the warriors of the One had agreed. They were probably the ones who convinced Sulis to take her own life in this terrible way, to bleed out in the desert. They wanted to protect their precious families by sacrificing his.

  Kadar didn’t know how long he knelt in the sand. He raised his head when the army approached but still was unable to rise from his kneeling position, so exhausted and drained by grief. The dust rose around him, the braying of mules and horses. A smaller party broke off the larger army and approached the oasis. As the party approached, Kadar spied a familiar scholar, perched uncomfortably on his horse. Sulis’s old friend, Jonas, looked perplexed as he approached Kadar and the waymarker. Kadar also recognized the Herald, riding beside Jonas, and the Templar. He assumed the dark-­haired woman with them was the new Crone.

  Kadar rose to his feet as the Voices and their guards dismounted and approached him. The guards seized him, checking him for weapons before forcing him to kneel before the Voices.

  “What has happened here?” the Herald asked. “Great power has been used. But for what purpose, I cannot guess.”

  “Kadar?” Jonas asked, uncertainly. “It is Kadar, isn’t it? Sulis’s brother? What are you doing here?”

  Kadar gestured to the waymarker. “I was Sulis’s brother,” he said hollowly. “Before they sacrificed her to change the wards.”

  “Yes,” the Herald said. She coughed into her hand, looking ill. “There has been a life sacrificed. That’s why I feel such power.”

  “Free him,” Jonas ordered, and the guards let Kadar rise to his feet, staying close enough to restrain him again if ordered.

  “They sacrificed Sulis?” Jonas’s voice was incredulous. “Why?”

  “They knew you had captured Southern guides and geased them,” Kadar said, gesturing to the men still mounted on their horses. “The warriors of the One wanted to save their families in Shpeth and Tsangia. The wards on all the oases have been changed from here to Shpeth. They took my sister and my grandmother . . .” Kadar broke off, his voice choked, and turned away.

  A hand touched his arm and he looked into Jonas’s sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry, Kadar. I thought Sulis would be valued here in the desert.”

  “It was that Descendant of the Prophet,” Kadar spat. “He convinced the warriors of the One that the Chosen of the prophecy weren’t necessary anymore. The prophecy was declared a sham. And then the most powerful Chosen were sacrificed to change the wards.”

  The Voices exchanged glances, and Kadar narrowed his eyes, wondering what they knew about the Descendants.

  “The warriors of the One probably put a geas on Sulis,” the new Crone said, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Your sister would not have realized what she was doing until it was too late.”

  “We don’t use geases here in the desert,” Kadar protested.

  The Templar snorted. “All mages use geases,” he said. “If your warriors decided a death would protect thousands of ­people—­do you truly believe they would hesitate to convince someone to give her life?”

  “But why Sulis?” Jonas asked again. “Aren’t there more powerful ­people in the desert?”

  “We are ancestors of the Southerner who originally sacrificed her blood and body to create the wards on this oasis,” Kadar said softly, remembering what the Tigu elders had told him. “Transferring the wards to someone of the same blood took less power.”

  “Blood calls to blood,” the Herald murmured in agreement.

  “Those bastards sacrificed my sister!” Kadar said. “They changed the wards and refused to give me the new ones, exiling me from the rest of my family. I don’t even have a body to burn to send my sister to the One.”

  “We can help you get revenge,” the Crone said softly. “If you help us, we can thwart the plans of the warriors of the One to save the lives of other innocent women like your sister.”

  Kadar felt the coercion in her voice. The spell of her voice settled in his brain. It was less of a geas and more of a simple spell of love and understanding. He resisted, and then a voice rose in his subconscious.

  Let them believe you’ve given in, the voice said to him. You can avenge both Sulis and your uncle Tarik by serving the deities right now. You will know when to resist.

  Kadar shook his head, feeling confused and trying to clear his mind.

  The Crone stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, and he looked into her warm brown eyes.

  “You won’t be alone, Kadar,” she said. “I know the desert folk trust in the One, but sometimes the One’s plan for us is too obscure to understand our place in it. That’s why our deities exist. Ivanha understands how much your family means to you. She can help you return to those you love and bring to justice those who harmed such a strong, loving family. Come with us, guide us, and we will see justice done for your sister and grandmother.”

  Kadar could feel the Voice’s geas sink into his mind as he gazed at her face. But some block, probably one his Grandmother set as a child, prevented it from rooting deeply. If he chose, he could brush it aside, like cobwebs in his mind, but he didn’t choose to. The geas distanced him from the pain of Sulis’s death. He and the Voices wanted the same thing right now—­to confront the warriors of the One and return Kadar to his remaining family. If he could find a way to exact revenge on the Templar for killing his uncle—­all the better.

  Kadar reached out and took the Crone’s hand. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

  “You honor me, my lady,” he said. “I am touched by your concern and accept your help with gratitude.”

  She blushed prettily, and took his hand, drawing him over to the other Voices.

  “You say you know this gentleman?” the Crone said to Jonas.

  He nodded. “Kadar and I took classes together when I was a pledge. His sister, Sulis, shared my pledge class but returned to the desert before she could be chosen by a deity.”

  Kadar smiled slightly, enjoying Jonas’s tact. Sulis had been the troublemaker in that pledge class, and Kadar had been forced to rescue her from the then-­Templar, who had nearly killed her during the Pledge Ceremony. Kadar decided to twist their tails a bit.

  “I’m also the heir to the Hasifel caravan trade,” he told the Voices. “Until this past spring, I ran the caravan routes from Illian through the Sands to Frubia.”

  Kadar narrowed his eyes as the Voices exchanged uneasy glances. The Crone put her hand casually around Kadar’s arm, as though he were escorting her. She tried to dig her mental claws in more deeply.

  “Unfortunately,” Kadar said, wondering how much he could stretch the truth before they’d sense he was lying. “I was sent to study with scholars in the south this past spring and have not had any contact with my uncles or friends in Illian since then.”

  They relaxed a little, except Jonas, who seemed more horrified. Kadar was fascinated to realize none of them could tell it was a lie. Did their deity need to possess them to tell if he lied? Kadar didn’t know, but he was willing to take full advantage.

  “You have traveled the Sands?” the Crone asked, her eyes wide.
“So you have been to the Obsidian Temple?”

  The Templar coughed, but Kadar smiled, staring into her eyes, pretending to be entranced by her.

  “No,” he said. “But I know where the caravan route divides to travel to the temple. My grandmother was a desert priestess and told me how to reveal the way. One path goes to the Obsidian Temple, the other to the next oasis. Only the truly devout are permitted access to the temple.”

  She laughed softly. “I think the Voices of the deities would be considered devout, don’t you?” she asked.

  Kadar laughed. “Indeed you would, my lady,” he said.

  “Then you will travel with us,” she said. He was drawn away from the waymarker, as she motioned to her guards. “You will be our leader, our guide in this terrible wilderness we face. You will share a tent and campfire with us.”

  Kadar laughed again, as a guard brought his humpback to him. He ordered it to kneel and flung a leg over the saddle, leaving his tent.

  “It isn’t a terrible wilderness, once you know it,” he said as his humpback rose. “I think, my lady, you will find a great deal of beauty in the sunsets over the undulating dunes.”

  “And you’re a poet as well,” the Crone said, riding close to him. “I do hope it is as you say, and your protection will show us the beauty you speak of. The last oasis was only a half day away. We should be able to reach it before night. Then you can tell us what to expect for the rest of the trip.”

  Kadar could feel her gently trying to pry into his thoughts, to insert her will more deeply, and he smiled blandly at her as he made his surface thoughts ones of attraction to her and anger for the warriors of the One.

  As the Templar shouted orders to his Knights leading the army, Kadar caught Jonas’s thoughtful gaze upon him. He looked levelly at the former scholar, until Jonas flushed and looked away.

  As they rode away from Sulis’s death site, Kadar thought she and his grandmother were spinning in their graves. I will avenge both of you, and Uncle Tarik, Kadar silently promised her. You will be able to rest in peace, knowing that the person who loved you made you proud.

  CHAPTER 18

  Jonas watched Kadar as he helped them set up camp for the evening. It had been a shock, seeing him at the oasis. It had been even more of a shock realizing that Sulis was dead. Parasu had read Kadar’s surface thoughts, and his grief and pain were real. Kadar was not lying—­the desert warriors had sacrificed his sister and grandmother. The Southerners had used death and blood energy, which had been forbidden to acolytes of the deities since the last war, five hundred years before.

  This should not surprise you, Parasu said, in the back of his mind. These Southerners are barbarians. Living out in this wasteland leaves no room for civilized behavior. They do what they can to survive and can be quite ruthless, spending lives to protect what they have.

  Jonas had felt rather sick, watching the Crone sink her claws into Kadar, a man he’d considered a friend in Illian. The intelligence in the man’s face had turned to fawning adoration.

  Would you rather that the Templar used his brutal ways upon your friend? Parasu asked. After what he did to Kadar’s uncle? I am rather pleased with this Crone for her alertness. His great pain and the sundering of his twin bond left a gap where she could insert her will. No pain, no blood, and it diminishes his despair. She has done him a great favor. She will prevent him from feeling the sadness of his sister’s death.

  Jonas nodded to himself. It was true. Kadar no longer looked like his heart were being torn asunder. He looked peaceful—­if a bit silly, following a woman twice his age around like a puppy.

  It is strange, though, Jonas said to his deity. That Kadar doesn’t look at the army following behind us. He doesn’t seem to see the thousands of men threatening his home.

  Parasu laughed in the back of his mind. That is the Crone’s doing. He doesn’t see them, or she prevents him from processing that they follow. That way he is serving only her and her “friends,” the other Voices. The same way she is preventing him from thinking about his sister. It is a manipulation of the single-­minded fascination that comes with being in love. I’ve never seen an acolyte wield it so deftly. She is truly worthy of being Ivanha’s Voice.

  The Voices met once camp was settled. The Crone left Kadar in her tent, guarded by a ­couple of Voras’s soldiers.

  “I don’t like this,” the Templar growled. “It was too easy. He barely even resisted the Crone meddling with his will.”

  “Easy for you,” the Crone shot back. “It took all my focus and skill to insert my will into his mind. His mind has strong shields. He kept trying to slip away from me. I’ve got him sleeping right now, but it takes a good deal of focus to keep those bonds strong.”

  The Herald coughed and grimaced. “The Crone used his intense distress and grief to entrance him,” she told the Templar, her voice hoarse from incessant coughing. “She showed a good deal of finesse and skill. More subtle but more effective than your blunter geas where the bespelled spends much of his time and energy trying to fight you. This man doesn’t even realize he is geased and will not fight it.”

  “I don’t like that I cannot see deeper into his mind, past those shields,” the Crone said, frowning prettily. “I’ve pushed any thoughts of his sister to the back of his mind, but I can’t see if he has a deeper alliance that would interfere with my geas.”

  “I am certain this is the man who aided the Forsaken when they rose up this spring. We should break his shields,” the Templar said.

  “No!” the other three Voices protested in unison.

  Jonas shook his head. “Breaking those mind shields killed his uncle,” he said. “Kadar said his grandmother was a desert priestess. No doubt she inserted the powerful, killing shields in her family. I remember Sulis saying her grandmother helped raise the twins after their parents died.”

  “You kill this guide and we have no one to replace him,” the Herald added. “No one. The other Southern caravan leaders are useless now that the wards to Shpeth are changed. We use this man, or we have to turn back.”

  “How do we know the wards at the oases in the Sands haven’t been changed?” the Templar asked.

  “Kadar told me,” the Crone said. “They could not find anyone of the same blood or anyone powerful enough to change those wards. He also told me he’d been sent to the South as punishment for helping the Forsaken woman. He has been fairly isolated since, studying with a master teacher of languages. He is easily manipulated by feelings of love.”

  “That certainly works out well for her,” the Herald murmured to Jonas, who hid a smile.

  “What do we do with the geased Southerners we were using as guides?” the Templar asked. “Should we dispose of them?”

  “They will be handy as we get deeper into the desert,” the Herald said. “They’ve been valuable at giving advice on watering the horses and preparing for the dry heat of the desert.”

  “Kadar mentioned a Descendant of the Prophet here in the desert,” Jonas said. “Do we need to worry that they have infiltrated the Obsidian Temple?”

  The Templar pursed his lips and looked up, thinking. He grimaced. “I’m not certain. My Knight in Illian has said the only threat up north is a small Forsaken revolt heading for Illian from Stonycreek. The Descendants have not yet shown any power.”

  “My Mother Superior believes that one of the turned Counselors is actually a Descendant and may be making the other Counselors heretics,” the Crone said.

  “I’ve heard nothing of this,” the Herald said with a frown. “I don’t see how a deity could miss that a pledge was a heretic during choosing, unless they turned against the deities once pledged and never did energy work again.”

  “The alleged Descendant is Tori, one of the pledges who circumvented the proper ceremony,” the Crone persisted. “She pledged to Parasu before becoming a Counselor.”

  Jo
nas opened his mouth, but it was Parasu speaking. “All who have pledged to me have done so wholeheartedly,” he said. “It is not the fault of my altar that the One has taken so many.”

  That silenced the Crone. Jonas knew many of her pledges had been forced into Ivanha’s ser­vice when a Templar impregnated them.

  The Herald sighed. “We can hardly call the Counselors of the One heretics, Crone. They serve the highest power.”

  “I agree,” the Templar said. “Your Mother Superior is imagining things. As for this Descendant in the desert, he has done us a good deed. He has broken up the Chosen of the prophecy, causing several of them to sacrifice their lives. I’d been worried that these Chosen would be guarding the Obsidian Temple against us. The prophecy said they would be very powerful and a match for us.”

  Jonas nodded. “I am beginning to believe the letter the Descendants sent to us. They truly do seem to wish for the deities to reunite to balance the world once again,” Parasu said.

  The Crone pursed her lips. “There is one more oasis, and then we reach the final town before the deeper desert the Southerners call the Sands. Kadar suggests we switch as many ­people to humpbacks as we can. Then it is less than a ten-­day’s journey to the Obsidian Temple.”

  “Where will we get humpbacks?” the Templar asked.

  “He says stockyards sell them right before the Sands. I hope we can appropriate enough for us and all your mounted troops.”

  “We’ll guard against Tigus while traveling through the Sands region,” the Templar said. “Never let your feli out of sight. The feli can see through their desert magic. The Tigus have lesser numbers, but could destroy everything with assassins directed at us.”