“Yes!” she smiled. “And how grateful I am for it!”
* * *
As Lavendier and Melcant traversed Mestraff, flying through the woods as if the very wind hounded them from his depthless eastern caves, just before they reached the River Rordan, there arose before them enemy soldiers, captained by two Keltan men. Once ordinary soldiers, they now had oily hair and glinting eyes like the man who once tried to trap Lavendier. For, like him, they were befouled by the company they maintained and the commander they obeyed. They had been left to guard the Rordan pass with a retinue of gorgans.
On encountering their sharp spears and bayonets almost pressing into his sweaty, mighty flanks, Melcant reared his forelegs to the sky and seemed verily to beat against the morning stars and send them raining down. The beauty of a horse when it rears to the sky exceeds the dignity of any other creature, but in an intelligent beast, the grace and majesty is beyond imagining, and this spectacle before the evil men and their gorgans caused them to gape a moment, and hold their weapons loosely in their claws. Lavendier effortlessly maintained her seat and they saw her snow white gown and crimson red cape billow in the eddies of dirt that whipped about her, and her appearance was that of a fell, avenging angel. Her countenance expressed no alarm, at either the steed’s mighty height, or the creatures standing below, but looked upon them with a steady, scorching gaze that shook their hearts the more. But though they trembled, the two captains urged their company forward against the unprotected maiden.
With grim precision as Melcant descended, Lavendier drew her blade, and without dismounting, slew every one of the twenty beasts that threw themselves upon her. Not a wound did she allow to inflict her fair companion’s hide, not a scratch to impair her fair skin, and within a matter of minutes, Melcant the mighty steed stood in a black sea of dead monsters.
He waded through it with no more trouble than if they had been mere water, and halted before the captains. With his pearl teeth, he reached forward and the captains quailed, thinking he meant to eat them alive, but he merely grasped their weapons and handed them to Lavendier. She clasped the blades and looked at the men. Then she looked toward the horizon and, as if at her precise bidding, the golden sun broke its cloudy barrier and flooded the land, lighting upon the dew and mists, and blazing with a consuming fire. And immediately, a mighty wind rose up and wrapped about every curve and line of the maiden and steed. Seeing this lone girl mounted and wielding so dreadful a blade, blessed so with the kiss of elements, graced thus with such deadly calm, the two captains fled like the frightened beasts they were.
97
A Divine Coup
It was the eleventh hour and ninety-eighth minute, and Power had just dispatched his gorgans to invade Drian by passing beneath the Rordan, through Drakans, a realm the minor god had no power over, a secret realm that only mortals and Death could access – until now. For now, Power was half mortal, half eternal, and he could force his entrance into the misty land.
How he gloried in his abilities, and worshipped himself, for he was Power, and he was great, and he was nearly, oh so nearly, perfect! Blind to all but himself, he did not notice that Resolve was malcontented.
She stood in the dark chamber, her tight dress forcing her to stand as erect as ever, her high heels making her taller than her already tall height, and her whip of action glowing white in the black and red of Power’s palace, and she disrupted with malicious pleasure his moment of self-adoration.
“You are unfit,” she announced abruptly, and he looked up at her in angry surprise, “to wield your gifts and rule over the expanse of Minecerva. You have taken on mortal form and have become weak! Do you think we will be content to follow your shifting moods and varying whims, your strange fixations over life and death? You fear a little demi-god, you allow vague prophecies to guide your every decision, and you cannot even fulfill your long-planned revolt without our help! You showed your first weakness when you asked for our aid, and it will not be your last.”
Power grinned to conceal his scowl and leaned forward in his throne. “Do you think you could conquer Minecerva without my aid? Fool! Never have you possessed my might, my abilities, my cravings! I will rule the mortal realm because I desire it above all else, but you, my pretty sister, you desire nothing more than to show superior intelligence. You think you are so much better than me.”
“I know it!” she screamed. “Test me, and I will prove it!”
Power needed no more urging. He vaulted from his throne, and he and Resolve were locked in deadly combat, and all the other gods cheered them on, not caring who won, but reveling in the fight, when suddenly, the room was consumed with a calming scent that made the gods shudder, and the two combatants pulled apart to see who had interrupted them.
Peace stood in the center of the chamber. “Why do you seek to kill one another?” she asked, her ageless voice trembling with sorrow.
“Get away, sister!” yelled Resolve. “No one asked you here.”
Peace stepped closer. “No high god has ever turned against another. Why do you do this now? You can still return to the heavenly palace. You can still greet the Golden King when he returns. Come back to us, brothers and sisters. Please!”
“We do not want to come back to you,” sneered Resolve. “That is the last thing any of us want.”
Peace looked slowly around at all her brothers and sisters, begging them mutely, with her deep, sorrowful gaze, to return with her to their role as stewards and not destroyers of Minecerva. But Terror grinned and laughed in her face, Destruction blew a hole through the wall and disappeared into the depths of Karaka, Despair stumbled about the room, avoiding her gaze and refusing to look up from the floor.
At last, the eyes of Peace fell upon her sister Passion. “My darling,” she said, “you were once one of the greatest goddesses of all. You filled mankind with the joy of living, you led them to the pleasures of life and taught them to find comfort in a world of trial. Why do you abuse this now? Why do you find pleasure in excess? Come home with me – I know you must miss all your sisters, and Charity most of all.”
Passion’s eyes narrowed and her red lips curled in disgust. “That little girl always thought she was better than me. You ask why I love excess? It was she who forced me into it! She urged mankind against their own pleasures and made them think they could find happiness by living self-abnegating lives. I had to break through their control, shatter their defenses, rip away their ideas of love for them to even pay attention to me! And now, I like it. I need never control myself again.”
“Do you enjoy living against your natures?” cried out Peace in horror, looking between Resolve, Passion, and Power, at a loss to understand their thoughts. “Can you really take pleasure in killing one another?”
It was in the next moment that Power turned himself, irrevocably, from the path of the Golden King. It was in the next moment that his heart sealed without a crack against the divine warmth that was coming to engulf all of Minecerva. For when Peace had uttered her last cry of desperate love, her offer of cleansing Mercy, her entreatment of lasting peace, Power took up the white whip of Resolve and lashed it in full fury against his eldest sister, and for the first time in Minecerva’s history, one high god killed another.
Peace crumpled to the floor of the palace, and Power stood over her, triumphant, proud, and desperately handsome, and he looked triumphantly at Resolve. “Do you doubt now that I have the power to defeat my enemies?”
Her face was frozen in shock, but then a stern smile slowly suffused her lips. “I do not,” she said quietly. “I will never doubt again.”
Destruction whirled in through the hole he had made in the wall. “I’ve just been to the desert again, the oasis, you know, with the disappearing wizard. Looking for the demi-god, you know.”
“Well? What of the demi-god?”
Destruction vibrated. “He remains hidden, though one of his companions appeared at the oasis. She found a hidden steed of that hermit’s, and has ridde
n him with furious pace back to Drian.”
“What! And you did not stop her?”
Suddenly, Destruction caught sight of his sister’s body lying dead on the ground. “Haha!” he laughed aloud, pointing jubilantly at her, and seeming to forget what he had been saying; he and Terror went back to playing their inane game of flinging objects into Destruction’s vortex.
Power turned away in disgust from his sister’s body, forgetting it, content to let it grow damp and mould into the floor with all the papers, for his restless mind was turned to other things now.
He had thought Lavendier was dead – he thought he had seen her die in the desert – but even had he thought her alive, he would have had no use for her, now that she strove so hard against his temptations. Any of the princesses were beyond his use now, physically and spiritually, and he put them from his mind. It was the demi-god who mattered – the demi-god he wanted. It was his birth-right, the gift of combining the divine and the human, that allowed Garrity the ability to defy Power, and it was this gift that Power craved. Then he really would have ultimate command over the spiritual and physical.
“If one has left their refuge, wherever they are, then more will follow soon! Scan all the desert, all my lands, and the entire landscape of Mestraff! Deploy as many gorgans as you need, but find me that demi-god!”
98
A New Mother
In paradise, Jacian’s little brain whirled its well-worn gears. As he seemed to all intents and purposes to be care-freely piling rocks on the lakeshore, he was in fact running through the details of his encounter with the monster in the cave.
In his memory, he saw the tunnel mysteriously open in the rock wall. He saw the light at the end that playfully beckoned him down the shaft. And then, in his trembling memory, he saw the monster leap out of the shadows and chase him into the daylight, and before he knew what was happening, Aunt Laven’s arms engulfed him, and he was safe again. The memory ended and he opened his eyes and stared at the rocks.
He had laid them out as a map. This rock represented the giant cliff they passed before they started climbing. This white one was the lake at the bottom. This gray-speckled, flat one was the cave. He stood up, picked up the bread he had tucked in his pocket at breakfast, and slipped away from his mother and aunts.
The journey was much longer than he remembered, and long before he arrived at the cave, the little prince was dragging his feet. On their previous journeys, Garrity would have called a rest, or someone would have carried him by now, but a rest sounded boring. He wanted to get to the cave.
At last, his little legs reached it. He had a good head for directions for a five-year-old, though perhaps there was a greater power guiding him. None of the gods, good or evil, paid him any mind, for they could not see inside paradise, and knew nothing of what was in the cave, but perhaps it was a power above and beyond even their own.
He crept into the dark, the light from without suffusing the space with gray shadow, and once again, there was the magical opening that Lavendier had not seen. He tiptoed close, his heart beating like a drum.
No monster appeared. He climbed into the opening, which was a few feet above the ground, and crawled forward on his hands and knees. The light at the end grew brighter and brighter… until at last, he reached it.
The most beautiful woman he had ever seen – even more lovely than his own mother – was waiting for him. Dressed all in silver, and shining with a white light, her arms were stretched out to him, and in them was the most magnificent blade. Light radiated from it as from the sun.
“Is it for me?” he asked.
“It is for your father.” Her voice was the music of violins.
“Can I take it to him?”
“Yes, my dear child. As soon as you can. It is mine, you know, and it will save your world.”
“What did you use it for?”
“It was my son’s, and it pierced my heart, right here,” on her breast was a rose, and she covered it reverently with her white hand. “Seven times it pierced me, but I did not die. And neither will you, my love. Not till you have lived a full, loving life.”
“I don’t want to live life!” he exclaimed all of a sudden. “I want to stay here with you forever!”
“Oh my darling!” Her arms went out to him, and stooping over his head, she kissed his brow. “I will always be with you. And when you leave this world, I myself will take your hand and lead you from it. But you must never break faith with me, or I will not be able to return for you.”
“I promise!” he breathed; his heart, in that moment, knit to hers for eternity. Then she faded away and, dragging the beautiful blade in his small hands, he backed his way out of the cave.
Just as he reached the outer cavern and was dropping his short legs to the ground, the frightful creature of before, with horns and a tail, flung itself out of the cave, snarling and biting. Jacian swung the sword and with one lucky hit, chopped off its head, and it rolled across the floor. Then both it and the body, which was draping out of the wall, disappeared, and the hole too was gone.
* * *
Jacian returned to camp at nightfall, dragging the sword as he went, because it was too heavy for him to hold up.
“I got this from the lady in the cave,” he announced to Viol.
“Where have you been?” she cried at sight of him. “Everyone is searching everywhere for you.” Without waiting for an answer, she wound a horn at her side, and Cila, Garrity, and Adlena ran up to them from all directions. The mother swept her son into her arms, pressing him tight to her heart.
“Where did you go? Why would you leave? I’ve been so frightened all day!” she cried.
“I’m sorry mother. I met my other mother, and she gave me this sword to give to father.”
“What do you mean your other mother? I’m your only one, darling.”
“No,” he shook his head. “I’m hungry.”
* * *
It was truly a magnificent blade. Garrity hefted it, and though perfectly balanced, it was too heavy for him to wield. He wondered how Jacian had managed to drag it, let alone bear it all the way down from the mountains. It was clearly a magical blade, and Jacian said they had to bring it to the king.
“Right away,” he said. “It’s going to save the world.”
Garrity had learned to let go of his doubt and objections when it came to Adlena’s visions or the commands of the gods. And now the fact that the little boy may have encountered a divine being and received a prophetic appointment did not seem unthinkable. He questioned Jacian about it thoroughly, several times, and each time, the little boy’s account was exactly the same. Down to the smallest detail, his story did not once alter. That was impossible, so Garrity gave in to the truth of the tale. “But how are we supposed to get home to your father?” he demanded. It might take months to go back again, but Jacian was insistent that they get home quickly.
“We take a boat,” he explained simply. “Through the mountains there.” He pointed to the east, and Garrity rumpled the boy’s hair, puzzled.
Sure enough, when Garrity inspected the place the next day, he found a wide, deep rivulet that passed through a tunnel in the cliff. He shook his head – surely, that boy had his mother’s Dryad blood running strongly in his veins. A small boat would take them through the tunnel, and if it continued to flow more or less in the same direction, it would meet the Rordan below Kelta, bringing them to Drian in only a matter of days. Of course, it might not, but they had to go home sometime, and they would not pass through Karaka again if he could help it.
So, he constructed a raft. It took him and Viol three days, but when it was finished, it was strong, durable, and river-worthy.
When Adlena asked him, the night he began, ‘why’, he could only look fully and honestly into her eyes, and shrug helplessly. “I think I am powerless,” he said at last. “You and your family have undone me. Adlee, my queen,” the combination of the informal and formal titles, stumbling feelingly from his lip
s, expressed more than any words; he fell to his knees and caught the hem of her skirt in his war-hardened hands. “I am afraid of you – and you know it. You see my façade – my divinity, and you know the sham that it is. Truly, my lady,” his upturned face was that of a lost child’s – a son without a mother. “When you, or any of your family, command me – I can only obey. I have fallen even beneath the child.”
His solemnity was so encompassing, his grasp of the transcendent so overwhelming, that she smiled at him, and lightly lowered herself to the ground.
“Sit down,” she told him, “and be not so dramatic… All your life, you have lived without love, and now that you have found it, it frightens you. That has certainly been my experience.”
“But it is more than love,” he said fervently, to try to explain his intense connection to her, the prince, her sisters, and her husband, but he caught himself. The word ‘love,’ spoken aloud, spell-bound him with longing, pain, and fear. He had thought it was more than love that knit him to these people, but now that he spoke it, he realized that that was all it was. And it was enough. It was more than enough, and he had never before been so fulfilled as he was in that moment.
Viol came over briefly to hand Lillian, fussing, to her mother, and Garrity waited until she left before he spoke again. “But it is a bit more, I think. More than the love I hold for him, I have to listen to your son,” he told her. “I think Jacquee has your inner sight.”
“Ah. And so if he says we must go home, you believe him?”
“Why not?” he laughed. “Why not listen to a child after all that we have seen and done? Is that any more fantastic than a god or a dream or a secret land? Fate has been guiding us every step of the way, leading us in visions and working through our weaknesses. Who is more weak than the little prince?”
Adlena glanced significantly at the small bundle at her breast, and Garrity smiled at the light blond fuzz that dusted the sweet-smelling head.
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