A Wizard's Sacrifice

by Amanda Justice

  “You are all here,” the Kragnashian clicked again, Bethniel translating. “The One, the Fulcrum, and the Sacrifice. The lineages must come together now and choose the path.” The Center loomed over Bethniel, antennae waving over her head, the tips lightly grazing then settling on her face. “You are the Fulcrum about which events will turn. Welcome.” Bethniel blinked, her expression rapt as it released her and came toward Vic. Antennae drummed lightly on her forehead. Vic felt the Woern respond, her skin aflame and a fog of pleasure behind her eyes. “You are the One who kills.” The pleasure vanished into searing pain. Reeling, she watched the Center move toward Thabean.

  The wizard stared, disbelief and horror crinkling his forehead. “Let it touch you,” Bethniel urged, her voice thick with rapture. “Let it touch you.” Vic blinked at her, the fire of the Center’s touch gone but the memory of it sharp. Obviously the contact had had a very different effect on the princess. As the Center approached, Thabean’s mouth went flat and he loosened his shoulders and knees, settling himself into a warrior’s relaxed spring, but he let the Center’s antennae twitch across his eyebrows and cheeks.

  “And you are the Sacrifice,” Bethniel announced, gasping as the Center continued to click and snap.

  Gustave finished the translation. “You will die to protect the mind of the forest.”

  Thabean stood frozen, the whites showing round his irises as the creature bowed to him.

  “Which forest?” Bethniel clapped.

  Snapping its wing covers, the Center waved its antennae at the woods surrounding the caldera. “The Mind of Direiellene lives now and will in future. It has been ordained.”

  “But not in our future,” Vic protested. Thabean had died in the War of the Council, but so did all the rainforest around them. She thought back to every encounter with the Kia she had ever had and wondered whether Fembrosh had known this destiny for her. Had it pushed her toward it or away when she had found Lornk’s trail? Had it protected her during the war so she could be here, and if so, did Fembrosh want her to save Direiellene, or destroy it?

  “Gustave, this Concordance you mentioned—the forest alive is not the path we know . . .” She faltered as she realized that regardless of the answers to these questions, regardless of the needs or desires of Fembrosh, the Kragnashians, or themselves, their fates were driven but not predetermined. A yawning chasm of infinite possibility opened up before her, and her determination that she would see Ashel again and that the world would be the same when she returned dissolved in doubt. She felt the aching cold of the sun’s blaze, the searing chafe of bindings as she lay staked out on a beach in a distant and ugly future. A nightmare, but perhaps also a vision of a world ruled by the Kragnashians. Could that dream have been real? Bethniel stared at Thabean, blinking fast, her chest heaving, while the wizard stared back, goggle-eyed. Wondering which future would be determined by the choice she now made, Vic longed to watch, hear, and feel Ashel croon a lullaby to their son. She desired this outcome all the more keenly because of its uncertainty.

  “Translate for me,” she ordered Gustave. “What is it you want each of us to do? We will hear you, and then we will tell you our price.”

  “That isn’t what she said,” Bethniel protested as Gustave clapped. “He left out the price.”

  “I would advise against that language,” Gustave warned, but Bethniel was already clapping and snapping her fingers.

  The Center reared back, antennae waving while the sentries rolled forward, clacking angrily. A curious reaction from a people Vic knew as traders, and the vision of them as masters reared in her mind. “What are they saying?”

  “They are insulted,” Gustave said.

  “They are incensed,” Beth replied with surprise, then clapped back to them. “You wish us to simply accede?”

  “Always with humans it is bargains,” Gustave translated. “You will do what must be done.”

  “And what is the benefit to us?” Vic asked, Bethniel continuing to translate. “What will we gain doing your bidding? The future you say must be is not the future we know; can you guarantee it is one we would want?” She looked askance at Gustave again, trying to remember if he was among the smirking pirates in her dream. She took a chance. “I have seen another future for humanity in which we are your slaves, as you try to command us now.”

  Keening, the guards rushed at Bethniel. Thabean snatched the princess; Vic grabbed Lillem and Gustave and shot up as a sentry launched a wad of yellow acid. The Center seized the guard and flung it down. With a crunch, the guard deflated into a fresh-smelling lump.

  Gustave called for peace, and Bethniel begged them all to stand down. “It doesn’t want to fight. It’s safe to go back and talk.”

  Thabean slowly descended, and Vic settled toward the platform. Gustave stepped down as if stepping off a gunwale, but Lillem slipped and fell, muttering more oaths.

  “You talk to it, Beth,” Vic said. “You’re the diplomat.”

  Bethniel nodded, but her expression was far from soft. “What is it you want each of us to do?” she repeated Vic’s first question.

  “What you are destined to do.”

  “You did not bring us here to tell us riddles. We have agreed to nothing. You cannot force us to anything.”

  “The forest must survive.”

  “And what will be the cost of that?”

  “The Sacrifice is here.”

  Bethniel’s lips compressed, but she kept her eyes on the Center. “In our time, Thabean died, but so did the forest.” Thabean’s head whipped between them. Vic shrugged an apology. Tears ran down Bethniel’s cheeks, but she held her shoulders straight and continued, “What is he to do?”

  “He must give his life to the trees.”

  “I will not!”

  “What is my role?” Bethniel asked.

  “You are the Fulcrum.”

  “And what will turn about me?”

  “The future.”

  “But what am I to do?”

  “A Fulcrum does nothing but exist.”

  “There’s an epitaph,” Bethniel muttered, then resumed clapping. “How is the forest to be saved?”

  “In the final battle, you will not destroy it.”

  “And why would we destroy it?”

  “The Child has joined with the Mind. She has tied her essence to it.”

  Thabean gasped, his mouth twisted in disgust and awe.

  “The One,” the Center’s antennae waved toward Vic, “will kill the forest to kill the Child. She must not. The Child must die, but the Mind must not. The Sacrifice must take its place.”

  “Meylnara has committed an abomination,” Thabean said, his voice rough with horror. “For this—there is no just punishment.”

  The Center hissed, but Gustave stepped forward, snapping and clapping in a blur of words he did not translate. Vic clasped Bethniel’s shoulder, and the princess fell into her embrace. Thabean scowled, his eyes on his boots, perhaps still stunned by the death sentence. Perhaps stunned that they already knew he would die in this war and hadn’t told him. Vic gazed between princess and wizard, uncertain what to say. If it were Fembrosh they spoke of, she knew what she would do. But this Mind of the forest wasn’t Fembrosh, for all it had led them here today.

  Thabean raised Bethniel’s fingers to his lips. “I will not be a sacrifice to save an abomination. But for you—”

  “No,” Bethniel moaned, and he wrapped his arms around her.

  The wizard caught Vic’s gaze. “The Council is now more justified than ever in its cause, madam. Meylnara . . .” He swallowed. “Long ago, wizards enchanted the Kiareinoll in this manner, and now it lives, and now it kills. We cannot allow Meylnara’s act to go unpunished.”

  “Will the Council want to destroy Direiellene?”

  He nodded, and his voice shook with abhorrence. “Saelbeneth reveres the Kia and will not wish to kill it here, but in this matter, she may not hold sway.”

&nb
sp; Lillem stood, his arms out for balance, but his face set. “Marshal, the Kia is here. It led us to this place. You cannot kill it.”

  “What is my alternative? Thabean, what has Meylnara actually done?”

  He thought a moment. “It’s difficult to understand—none of us have the skill to replicate this act. But from what the old texts say, I believe she has taken the life of the forest into herself and put herself into the forest. It will be nearly impossible to kill her without killing the trees, unless her life can be transferred from the forest to another.”

  “And can that be done against her will?”

  “Anything can be done, madam, but I would not know how to begin.” He turned to Gustave. “So, these creatures want me to be that other?”

  “They do,” Gustave said. “And they await your answer.”

  Across the caldera, the rising sun painted the forest in vibrant greens and blues, bright and dream-like. Closing her eyes, Vic recalled endless barren sands that covered this land in her time. Her mind reached out to the forest, Elesendar, the future, anything that would respond. But no guidance came from wood or god, ship or time, and the world shrank around her, one small pregnant woman who wanted nothing more than to put her family back together. “Beth, I want you to translate this.” She waited for her sister to step away from Thabean, wipe her eyes, square her shoulders. Vic faced the Center. “Translate exactly what I say: we will help you defeat Meylnara, but you must help us in return.”

  Love's Losses

  As Saelbeneth’s steward ushered them into her parlor, Bethniel hung back, waiting for the wizards to sit first. Vic plunked into an armchair and thanked the steward for the footrest he slid under her splinted ankle. Thabean hesitated, his eyes darting at Bethniel, then took a seat on the other side of the low table, his lips stretched flat. Heat flared across Bethniel’s cheeks, and she wished she could erase the tearful embrace they’d shared in the caldera. The fate the Kragnashians had laid out was too awful to contemplate, but so were the consequences of feelings expressed by the brush of soft lips and the clasp of strong arms. Gaze fixed on her shoes, she sat beside Vic while servants poured wine and left the room.

  “I’m afraid that was my last bottle,” Saelbeneth said.

  “I wasn’t very thirsty,” Vic said, eying the finger-depth of wine.

  “You should be cutting that anyway,” Bethniel chided, topping off the glass with water.

  “Nelchior will be displeased that I’m sharing any wine with you, Victoria. He told me you tried to murder him two days ago.”

  “There was a minor incident which ended without permanent harm to Nelchior,” Thabean said. “There is no need to dwell on it. I requested this meeting to share news of grave importance.”

  Bethniel had nothing to add to Vic and Thabean’s tale of search and discovery. She remembered little of her abduction, just a looming shadow and a wet, cloying darkness that melted into oblivion. The slotaen had soaked into her nasal passages, wiping away fear before it induced sleep. Yet since waking, she’d felt nothing but terror. Her heart thrummed with it as Thabean told Saelbeneth about Meylnara joining with the forest and how the Kragnashians named him ‘the Sacrifice.’

  “I believe their desire is that I should take the place of this Mind of the forest and become a vessel for Meylnara’s essence that is more easily killed,” Thabean finished, his voice remarkably calm.

  “That will not happen,” Vic said.

  “But you accept what these creatures said as truth?” Saelbeneth asked. “You accept that they are capable of reason and communicating their desires to you?”

  Thabean paled. “I do, madam. They have touched me twice, and both times I felt a vast intelligence which frightens me more than this news of Meylnara or even of my own doom. What we thought were merely beasts enslaved to her will are actually formidable foes in their own right.”

  “They are formidable, and the Kragnashians from the caldera have offered an invaluable alliance,” Vic said. “We just have to figure out how to keep it without killing Thabean. First, I need to understand: what did Meylnara actually do?”

  “She made herself nearly invulnerable,” Saelbeneth replied. “Once in legend a wizard did this thing with his guard. He slept and ate and drank and fornicated while they all remained slaves to his mind. His enemies sent assassins, but every wound healed while the guards died instead. The wizard’s rivals tried various opiates and soporifics to break his hold, but his soldiers remained a life-giving source under his complete control. In the end, his enemies had to kill every last one of his guards to kill him.”

  “How is that even possible? How could someone connect their essence, their lifeforce, whatever you call it, to another living thing?”

  “Maybe it’s like Ashel and Geram,” Bethniel said.

  Vic shot her a glare and a silent hiss about betrayed secrets only Bethniel was likely to Hear, but aloud she asked, “How? Meylnara has bonded with trees and shrubs.”

  “My brother Ashel and another man became psychically connected during an ordeal they endured while imprisoned together,” Bethniel explained to the others. “They are able to talk to each other over vast distances, and they share memories and feelings now. The Kragnashians called the forest the Mind, which I take to mean the Kia is here as well as in Fembrosh. From this story of the wizard and his guards, and what the Kragnashians said about Meylnara, it sounds like she has joined with the forest the way Ashel and Geram joined by accident.”

  “That is ridiculous. Humans and whatever sapience is in the trees are too distinct to be able to join together through telepathy.”

  “How do you know, Vic? Maybe mindspeech is exactly the answer. Meylnara has none; she’s easy to Listen to. If I can get close enough to her, I might be able to Hear what she’s done.”

  “Close enough? Beth, the only time she leaves her compound is to attack this camp with thousands of Kragnashians.”

  “When I came through the Device, at first she was friendly because she thought I’d come to help her. I could go back to her, say I’d come round to her side—”

  “No!” Vic and Thabean shouted.

  “You will not endanger yourself,” he said.

  “You’re no spy.” Vic’s forehead crinkled over fierce eyebrows. “And the idea that Meylnara bonded with the bloody trees using mindspeech is idiotic. The biological differences are simply too vast.”

  “We are the trees, Vic! Elesendar joined with the old mothers to make—”

  “Oh, Beth, not now. Meylnara must be exchanging subatomic energy with the woods somehow.”

  “Subatomic? Do you know what that means, or are you just spouting words you memorized in the Logs?”

  “What I know, Beth, is that religious drivel isn’t going to help us kill Meylnara and keep the forest alive so we can go home. Saelbeneth, is there any documentation of that other wizard?”

  Blood roared up Bethniel’s neck, whipping her fear into fury. She stood. “Madam, if you’ll excuse me, I have duties in the hospital.”

  “Beth, I’m sorry, but—”

  “Of course, my lady,” Saelbeneth said. “Victoria and I will confer on this matter. Thabean, Samovael left this morning; I want you to go after him and help him restore the supply train. Then proceed to the coast and send a Caleisbahn frigate to retrieve my library. There may be something helpful there.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  Bethniel stalked out into a soaking mist, her ears twitching at Thabean’s footsteps. His scent furled through the rain droplets, and her wrath shifted from Vic to ugly, vicious fate. Tears brimming, she recalled the warmth of his cheek against hers, the salty musk of his skin, the tingle as his Woern pulled toward her, and she sped her retreat past the rain-soaked tents in Saelbeneth’s camp.

  “My lady.” Thabean caught her elbow. “Please hold a moment.”

  She kept her eyes down. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  His fingers entangled
hers. “I . . .” He cleared his throat. “Do not be angry with your sister. Dealn said to me once, each day we have together is too precious to let anger divide us.”

  The heat drained from her face as her lips flirted with a smile. “Did Dealn say it like that?”

  “No. He said . . .” He laughed softly. “His language was coarse and unseemly. Victoria often reminds me of him.”

  A sigh huffed out. “Except you’re the heretic and he was the faithful.” She swiped at wet cheeks. “I believe if anyone can thread fate’s needle and do what the Kragnashians want without sacrificing the forest or you, it’s my sister. But I have also seen her collapse into herself and leave others in jeopardy because she tries to do everything alone. I don’t blame her for failing, only for failing to take help when it’s offered.”

  “That is not uncommon among wizards, my lady. We hold ourselves above others, and it makes us reluctant to rely on them.”

  “Except she was like that before she became a wizard.”

  “That is also not uncommon among us.” His mouth curved into a grief-knitted smile. “I must go. Do not do anything rash; your sister needs you more than she needs whatever information you might glean from Meylnara. Farewell.”

  She nodded and wished him a safe journey, her heart thudding with each step he took away from her. Though the mist was hot and cloying, her skin pebbled over with cold.

  * * *

  Rain drummed on canvas, a low thunder beneath the animal calls echoing through the canopy. Thabean clucked his mare forward while foot soldiers streamed past, searching the long line of wagons for survivors. The mare snorted, hooves dancing away from empty hitches. Traces were snapped, and bits of gore clung to harnesses, but the tarps covering each wagon were laced tight and secure. Mostly secure—a soldier poked at a loose corner, and a flurry of nightwings flapped into the understory, grain spilling in their wake.

  “They took every last carter and horse,” Samovael grumbled.

  “The gruel will be thin by the time we get this load to camp.” Thabean turned to an aide. “Send a party to inform the Council we’ve found the supplies and ask them to send draft animals. Samovael and I—”