The Gift of Madness (The Lost Prophecy Book 7)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I’ve spent years learning things that terrify me. The time that I’ve spent in the Conclave has taught me that there are many things I would rather not know, and that by knowing, I may choose not to act. That fear may make me complacent. Yet, if I did not know, there’s a real possibility that I would not have taken many of the steps that I have.”

  “Such as?”

  Novan smiled. “Such as sending you toward Avaneam. Imagine if I had not? What if you had come with me to Vasha? I think what might have happened and what we would’ve lost. It’s enough for me to almost believe in a guiding hand overseeing everything.”

  Jakob snorted. “You have become more devout these days.”

  “There’s nothing to my devotion that’s changed. I have always felt there was a higher power and felt guided by a greater purpose. It’s just that I have never believed in the gods in quite the same way that the Urmahne have taught.” He shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

  Considering the Conclave was the origin for the Urmahne faith, it was not at all surprising that Novan’s beliefs were different. “I fear that the moment I reveal too much to them,” Jakob started, nodding toward the doorway leading out of the library where Scottan had departed, “is the moment they begin to get drawn into something else. That’s the moment they begin to get exposed to a fate that I would rather have protected them from.”

  “Ah. Not fear, then.”

  Jakob frowned. “I fear what will happen to them.”

  “As you should. But you should also remember that they were brought into this long before you had any input. Whether their involvement is because of Alyta or because of what Raime did all those years ago, they have been a part of this from before your abilities manifested. What you do now only brings them deeper into it. It doesn’t create connections that weren’t already there.”

  Jakob stared at the table, feeling as if there were patterns etched across the surface in the pen marks that lingered. That was likely only his imagination. Many pen marks were the result of him and what he had done while making notes on behalf of Novan.

  Was he afraid?

  There was no questioning that he feared what was his future held. Much had been lost already, and the longer he waited—the longer he hesitated taking action against Raime—the more likely it was that others could be harmed. That wasn’t anything he wanted to be responsible for.

  In order for him to succeed, he needed help more powerful than what he already had. He had those with power and ability allied with him—there was much the Magi could do; for that matter, there was much the Antrilii could do—but there were things beyond them. In his mind, he envisioned a role where the Magi and Antrilii defeated the groeliin, eradicating them from the northern mountains, and removing the threat entirely.

  But there were groeliin the Antrilii and the Magi could not manage. Jakob had barely been able to survive when he had encountered them. Even if all of the potential damahne were trained and capable of fighting alongside him, he doubted there would be anything they could do to stop them.

  And stopping the groeliin still left Raime.

  The longer Jakob waited—the less that he did—the more likely it was that Raime grew more powerful. Jakob had little doubt that, in time, Raime would regain the strength he once possessed. It was possible that he already had. Jakob had stopped him twice, but how many more times would he be successful? Raime had centuries of knowledge and experience to draw upon while Jakob had only this last year.

  Why did he wait? He knew what he had to do, so what was holding him back?

  Maybe that was why Scottan seemed upset with him. Maybe it wasn’t so much that Jakob looked at him with pity; it was that he refused to look at him as a potential equal. Hadn’t he longed to have his brother with him? Hadn’t he wanted to have his brother fighting at his side? Now that he had that potential, would he really push him away?

  He turned away from the table and nodded to Novan. “Do you wish to come?” he asked the historian.

  Novan tipped his head to the side. “Come where?”

  “To the Tower.”

  “I thought you intended those secrets to remain for the damahne.”

  Jakob shook his head. “I think that keeping secrets has been part of the problem. The Conclave thought to keep their secrets. The Magi thought to keep their secrets. Even the Antrilii thought to keep secrets. Stopping Raime—and all that he has learned over the centuries—will take everyone working together.”

  Novan tapped his staff on the stone, and it rang out, leaving a flash of pale white light. His ahmaean pressed outward, not in the spiral, but in something almost like an arrow streaking away from him. Jakob focused on it, noting where it went, and the way it was drawn from the historian, heading east, toward Thealon. Did Novan know what he did?

  Jakob shouldn’t put it past the historian, but such control over ahmaean was unusual for someone Mageborn.

  Novan held out his hand, and Jakob took it. With that, he shifted, drawing them away from the library, to the temple. From there, he would take those who had suffered from the madness to the Tower, as was their right.

  Chapter Two

  Jakob stood with Scottan, watching his brother as he peered around the inside of the Tower. When they had shifted here, Scottan had let out a small gasp. His eyes had gone wide, and he had fallen silent, though Scottan had rarely spoken much over the last few weeks.

  “We shouldn’t be here,” Scottan said.

  “We wouldn’t be allowed to reach this place if we weren’t permitted to be here,” Jakob answered.

  Novan stared at the rows of shelves in the main hall within the Tower of the Gods. It was a place that was forbidden to anyone unable to shift. The entire Tower had been unreachable for anyone else over the previous centuries. In order to pass through the walls, one had to have the abilities of the damahne, something the Magi had never fully discovered. Salindra had once shared that many Magi had tried penetrating the walls, but none had been successful. Now that Jakob understood the nature of the walls, and the nature of ahmaean, he better understood why they had been unsuccessful.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Scottan asked.

  “Because you need to be here. All who have suffered from the madness need to come here. This is a place of our people.”

  Scottan looked over. In the light of the orbs hanging on the walls, his eyes had an even more haunted appearance, and with all the weight that he had lost, his cheekbones were more pronounced. “Our people?”

  Jakob nodded. It had taken him a long time to come to grips with the fact that he was descended from the damahne, but his ability to walk the fibers, and to see those connections, had confirmed to him the depths of that connection. His parents may have been unremarkable, but his furthest ancestors were quite remarkable.

  He still had not managed to get through to his brother. Nor had he managed any of the others afflicted with the madness, as they struggled to overcome their natural belief that he was somehow more than they were. Perhaps for now, he was, but only because he had begun to understand how to use his abilities and had mastered aspects of them. With the nature of the ahmaean each possessed, Jakob had little doubt they would eventually gain a similar talent.

  “What do you see when you look at me?” Jakob asked his brother.

  Behind Scottan, Novan glanced over, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had pulled a book from the shelves and held it open, but ignored it as he studied Jakob and Scottan.

  “I see my brother, but I see… more.”

  “I’m still your brother.”

  “And you’re still more.”

  Jakob started pacing. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, and he squeezed it.

  Scottan grunted. “Even in that, I see how you are more than what you were.”

  “Even in what?”

  “The way you walk. You carry yourself like a soldier. Your hand is never far from your sword, and you pace like every commander I’ve served under.”
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br />   Jakob allowed himself a smile. He hadn’t considered that connection before, but the pacing was something that had only recently become beneficial to him. It allowed him to think and to clear his mind. It was as if the movement somehow soothed him as he walked.

  “And you no longer carry yourself like a soldier,” Jakob said.

  Scottan looked away. There had been a time when Scottan would have held his gaze and would have forced Jakob to apologize, but that Scottan was gone. Maybe he would never return. Considering the groeliin they would have to face—and Raime—Jakob thought he would need the soldier. Somehow, he would need the man his brother had been to return.

  “I’m no longer a soldier. My body…” He shook his head, keeping his gaze toward the floor. “My body doesn’t react the way it once did.”

  “Because you don’t try.”

  Scottan looked up. “You think I don’t try? I’ve attempted to spar with the Ur, but even the newest recruits defeat me easily. There was a time when I was one of the best swordsmen in the city.”

  Jakob nodded. “Not one of the best. You were the best.”

  Scottan looked away. “Maybe. Now I’m little more than a child holding a sword for the first time. Everything is… clumsy. There is no other way to describe it other than that. I tried to follow the catahs, but even when I remember them, my muscles don’t seem to.”

  “Do you remember how skilled I was with the sword?”

  The hint of a smile parted Scottan’s mouth. “I think skill might be stretching it.”

  Jakob grinned. With the statement, he saw a glimpse of the old Scottan. It faded quickly, much like the smile on his face faded.

  “You’re right. I was below average. And when General Endric took me on and started training me, I got better, but still not great. It wasn’t until I began to embrace the abilities that manifested within me that I began to develop greater skill.”

  “I already had skill. I’ve lost it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can’t regain it,” Jakob said.

  Scottan stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. Jakob hoped that he had gotten through to his brother, but from the tense posture, brooding expression, and the way that his brother clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides, he doubted that he had. “Why did you ask me what I see when I look at you?”

  Jakob noted Novan turning his attention back to the book. The historian made his way along the row of shelves, occasionally grabbing another book, creating a stack in his arms. What did the historian find that pulled his attention? What was there that compelled him? Jakob had already learned that Novan had a nearly perfect memory so he could incorporate whatever he found with what he already knew.

  “When I look at you, I see a faint energy that surrounds you.” Jakob took a step toward his brother and pushed out with his ahmaean, sending it circling around him. When his ahmaean touched Scottan’s, there was a flash and a surge of understanding—warmth. Would Scottan feel it? “The damahne call it ahmaean. It’s an ancient word that has many meanings, but I think the simplest is to consider it a life force. Ahmaean is found in everything, though only a few have the ability to use it.”

  Scottan held his hands out and stared, as if he was trying to make out the ahmaean swirling around him. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, and then he shook his head, looking back up at Jakob. “I don’t see anything around me.”

  “The ahmaean around you is faint. That’s why I asked what you see when you look at me. I was gifted a great quantity of ahmaean by a dying damahne. Can you see it?”

  Scottan stared at Jakob. Jakob felt a surge of ahmaean from him but doubted that it was intentional. His brother focused for a minute, and then another, before finally shaking his head. “I don’t see anything around you.”

  “Seeing ahmaean can be difficult,” Novan said from a nearby table. He had taken a seat at one of the tables in the entry hall and sat with a book open in front of him. “When did you first begin seeing it, Jakob?”

  “When I was in the Unknown Lands,” Jakob said. He remembered the moment that he had begun seeing the strange haze that surrounded everything. He had awoken to it, having seen it somewhat in his visions, but not outside of those visions until then. Was it because he had used his ahmaean when battling the groeliin? Had that connection allowed him to finally see it?

  “There is much ahmaean there,” Novan said.

  “Can you see it?” Scottan asked Novan.

  “Not with the same ability as your brother. What I can see is only the faintest of ahmaean. Someone must possess great strength with it for me to see it with any clarity. When I look at your brother… I see a cloud. It’s as strong as any I’ve ever witnessed.”

  “You saw Alyta.”

  Novan nodded. “I did see Alyta, but you seem to have greater strength than she did. I suspect that’s because she has gifted you everything she possessed, and you already had some strength of your own. Or it’s possibly because I know you as well as I do, and I have been around you. I’ve found that with those I’ve spent time with, it’s easier to detect ahmaean.”

  “I was in the Unknown Lands when I was recovering from the madness. I didn’t see any of this energy that you speak of,” Scottan said.

  Maybe it would take time. Jakob didn’t know whether Scottan needed more exposure to ahmaean, or whether he needed more time to develop his abilities. If it was exposure, he thought he could facilitate that. If it was a matter of time, he wondered if they would be given that luxury.

  Was there another way of activating a damahne’s connection to ahmaean?

  That seemed an easy question for him to answer. He had access to someone who could answer it for him—many someones.

  Then again, maybe Scottan required a different connection. Jakob had assumed that his brother would have a natural connection to ahmaean because Jakob had, but Jakob had experienced visions that preceded his ability to use it—or even see it. Would he need to trigger such visions for Scottan and the others who had suffered under the madness? He wasn’t certain he would know how to do that, but even if he could not, there were others who could. Would the Cala maah help him with that?

  “Why are you so urgent about this?” Scottan asked.

  “Because there is a great threat to those with our ability. He’s the reason you suffered as you did. I’ve stopped him a few times, but I have not completely defeated him. The first time, I was lucky. I don’t think he expected me—or my abilities, however inexperienced they might have been. He knows about me now, and I won’t surprise him again. If I don’t stop him, he’ll grow strong enough that he’ll defeat me. If he does, he’ll steal all of my ahmaean, making him unstoppable.”

  “Steal?”

  “That’s how he gains his abilities. That’s why I need you and the others to begin to understand how to control the abilities you have.”

  Jakob looked around him. He had thought it safest to leave the others in Chrysia, surrounded by the priests and in the temple, but that wasn’t safe for them at all, was it?

  Not like the Tower. If Raime came after them at the temple, there was nothing the priests would be able to do to stop him.

  Raime wouldn’t be able to reach the inside of the Tower, not without significant strength. He knew that Raime could shift, but the Tower itself seemed designed to keep those without the necessary ability out of it. Jakob hadn’t discovered how Raime had entered the Tower the first time, but he believed that he wouldn’t be able to do so again, especially as Jakob had become more attuned to the ahmaean that infused the Tower itself.

  That was the key, wasn’t it?

  He had to bring all of those who were afflicted to the Tower. Once here, he could ensure their safety. Perhaps they could begin to understand how they were connected, and what it meant for them to be descended from the damahne. More than that, he could travel back along the fibers, knowing they were safe, and question Shoren about what he needed to do to help awaken their connections to their abilities.
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  And by traveling from here, Jakob had had Novan to keep an eye on them. The historian would want to absorb all the information available to him here, and Jakob was reluctant to allow Novan to remove any of the books from this library.

  It seemed as if it solved all the problems that he had.

  “What would you say if I suggested you remain here?” Jakob asked.

  “What choice would I have?”

  “I don’t intend to take away your choice.”

  Scottan met his gaze. “I suppose that I would say I’d stay.”

  Jakob glanced back to Novan, and the historian nodded to him.

  He shifted.

  When he appeared in Chrysia, he was near the temple and immediately noticed smoke rising from its tower. There was something else, an odor that he had not expected this far south.

  Groeliin.

  As he took in the scene before him, the smoke, the crumbled stone, he thought maybe it was just a memory of the first attack he’d witnessed. When he’d lost his father. But smoke continued to pour from the temple, and people streamed into the courtyard. This was real, and Jakob would have to help them, but first, he focused, looking for signs of dark ahmaean, signs of the groeliin.

  How were there groeliin here? Was this a random attack—or was Chrysia targeted for some reason? If the city was targeted, had they known that he was gone? Had they waited for him to depart? If so, that meant they had some way of being alerted to when he had departed. Could they detect him shifting?

  None of that should have been possible. The groeliin shouldn’t have reached this far south. Chrysia should have been protected.

  But it wasn’t.

  The groeliin had brought their destruction to the south, and once more, the Urmahne temple in Chrysia suffered destruction. How many would be lost this time? Was there anything that he could do to stop it, to change the likelihood that they would be overwhelmed?