I don’t like this, Vivian sent. She was below with Moriah, helping organize the flood of prisoners, Jattalian and traitorous clans alike. Is Priva okay?
Graissa released the Reading and sought out Priva. She found his mind with ease as he flew on the unicorn, igniting the Jattalians fleet with blue fire.
She saw through his eyes. Became him, as he pulled in the Deep, funneled it through the unicorn at dazzling amounts of power. The Jattalian warships blazed with light, men leaping with screams into the sea. Priva felt nothing. No fear. No courage. No satisfaction.
You do what you must, she sent, disengaging herself from him yet remaining in his head.
When this is all over, I will sleep for a week, he answered. The unicorn banked sharply as the last warship went up in flames.
I’m afraid there is no time for that. I hear there is a new King that needs to be crowned. Even as she sent it, a thrill of something unfamiliar rippled through her. What did she really think of Priva being King? A Steward on a throne. The last time that had happened war had lasted many years.
Assuming Jasper doesn’t turn up with others backing him. He was named Inheritor, after all. The unicorn turned west and headed back for dry land. Priva relaxed, passing over Eastlandian warships with cheering warriors raising fists to the sky.
Graissa smiled. There was still a lot of work to do, but if all went well, they were on their way to forming a front against Polbine Voltaire that would send him retreating, if not kill him. She released the Reading and turned from the battlements. Maybe she could even go home, help Father rebuild Vale. The thought sent a shiver of happiness through her. She still needed to free the Watchers, but that could wait. With the pithion bound, they were one step closer to closing the Rift. Creator be praised.
***
Polbine Voltaire
The Void was empty, as usual. Nothing floated in this abyss except him. Pol groaned and awakened, only to find infinite darkness his companion. Was he dead?
The Liar had betrayed him. Rage, cold and bitter, built inside his body. It became a writhing ice-beast piercing him with a thousand shards of pain. He lurched up, glancing around. The Void neither pulled nor pushed. There was no path. The Deep and Rift were no longer at his command. He couldn’t sense them anymore.
That scared him, and the rage retreated. He was naked without them. What was his purpose, now? The binding that made him Soulbound to the Liar was gone. In its place was... nothing. He was no longer special. He had no purpose.
“Where are you?” he shouted. “Why did you betray me?”
But the Liar didn’t answer. He was probably somewhere in a chasm, torturing Brate Hightower and forcing him to commit some sort of atrocity. The Bender deserved it. The foolish boy had a chance to join with Pol, but had refused. And now he would pay the price.
Something shimmered on the edge of his consciousness. Pol relaxed and reached for it. He jerked when he realized someone was in the Void with him.
“How does it feel?”
The voice sent a shiver of fear through him. He turned, and Isa was there. His eyes gazed at Pol with - what? Compassion? The Deep swirled throughout the carpenter. Uneasiness inched into Pol’s mind. Without the Rift or the Deep, he was defenseless against him.
“How does what feel?” Pol asked.
“Betrayal.” Isa cocked his head. “You can’t be surprised.”
Pol gave a mirthless chuckle. “Betrayal runs deep in my family.”
“As does loyalty.”
Pol paused. Not what he had been expecting Isa to say.
“You seem surprised,” Isa commented with a small smile. “Didn’t you know? The Faithful are few, but your mother was one.”
“The Faithful?” Pol asked, taken aback. He didn’t like not being in control of the conversation. Uneasiness crept into his mind.
“The few who still follow the old ways, who still believe the prophecies and look for the return of the Creator.” Isa laid his palm up, a blue light hovering over it. The Deep. But Pol still couldn’t feel it. “As spoken by the Prophetess: There will came a day when brother shall betray brother. The web shall split in two. The Lands shall blaze with fire. But the return of the Creator will be marked not by trumpets or song. He will be unremarkable. No herald will announce his coming, no Steward will carve a path through his enemies. The Creator shall be called the Last Steward, born not of fury but of calm. He will bear the weight of a thousand spheres, and the Dreads will be destroyed in his wake. Then shall come the dawn, when the Rift will quake and the stones crumble. The Liar will be tossed into the abyss, and the Bender will ride on the storm.” Isa paused, eyes staring straight into Pol. “You believe, for her words are engraved in your mind.”
Pol’s thoughts raced to the prophecy in his desk at the Triumphant Palace. Her words had been true... for they had led him to the Stewards. He backed up a step, fear seizing him. Who was this man? Another prophet? He opened his mouth, but immediately clamped it shut again.
Where was he? The thought consumed him. If this was the Other Land, it was nothing like he expected.
“Don’t be afraid.” Isa flicked his fingers, and the Deep floated from his hand to hit Pol. A euphoria filled him, and he could feel the Deep once again, on the edges of his mind. But where was the Rift? He trailed his fingers through the Deep, not as concerned as he felt he should be that the Rift was unattainable.
“Who are you?” Pol finally asked as the fear dissipated. Isa was strange, yes, but if he had wanted to harm Pol he would have by now.
Isa smiled. “The Last Steward.”
Something like fear and awe swept through Pol, so fierce and strong he could barely breathe. This man claimed to be the Creator returned? It was impossible.
“How do I know you aren’t lying?”
Isa shrugged. “Because you’re dead.”
***
Pol gasped, and dirt filled his mouth. He spat and coughed, jerking up and glancing about. The glade was silent. Myra Storm Wielder’s body lie beside him, lifeless. He rubbed his face and spat again, licking grimy lips as he pushed himself up, scrambling to his feet.
“Don’t move.” He spun around. Anyia and Malok stood behind him, and Anyia clutched a blade which aimed directly at his chest. For some reason, he didn’t scoff at the fact that she thought a blade would do much to stop him. All he could see was the fear on her face. He flicked his eyes to Malok. The Seer was grinning like a fool.
“Welcome back,” Malok said with a nod.
Pol glanced down. His body was covered in dirt and grass. Without the Riftstone, he suddenly felt... whole. But hadn’t that been his soul? How was he alive? And where was the hate that seared his mind? The desire for control, for power, for prestige?
Isa’s face filled his mind. He looked up at Malok and Anyia, tears suddenly blurring his vision. Anyia frowned and looked at Malok quickly, hands trembling. The blade was still pointed at him, but Pol wasn’t afraid. Mostly, he was sad.
For Amaris.
For Kreen.
For Brate.
He collapsed on his knees, and for some reason, he didn’t care that the others saw him cry.
Epilogue
D’nie ducked as some sort of projectile sailed over his head and crashed into a building beside him. He picked up his pace, finally reaching the dock. The Glistening Oasis burned, and the Dragons slithered throughout the streets. He hadn’t actually seen any take over a human body, but from what he had heard, it wasn’t a pleasant sight.
His honor guard flanked close. Only four were left, the others back at the Halls of Justice. They weren’t going to make it in time.
“Finally!” the captain barked when his gaze landed on D’nie from the gangplank. “Come, we are leaving now.” He turned and rushed up into the boat. D’nie hastened to follow, but no relief filled him. They still had to get out of the port. There were no enemy vessels apparent. Very odd.
“Where are their ships?” Ivan asked, gripping his poleblade and gazin
g wide eyed out to sea. The Honor Guard sun on his breast was dirty and scuffed.
D’nie stepped aside as sailors rushed around him, preparing to depart. He edged to the side of the boat, gripping the wood and leaning over to try and find... well, anything. How had the Dragons even gotten here? Sure, the Raized Domain had fallen long ago. A few months, at least. But why did the lizard creatures want to expand? They had no culture. No governance. No ideals. The Domains were huge, with plenty of room for the Dragons to hunt and procreate.
The boat lurched, and D’nie planted his feet.
“Rumor has it they swim and come up through the sands,” Brady replied. His voice shook. “Some say they mate with humans and—”
“Just stories our mothers used to scare us,” Izaksam interrupted. “What do you think, Your Grace?”
The men waited, and if D’nie could guess, they held their breaths. What should he say? Something comforting? He turned to look back to the docks. The glow of the city as it burned seared his eyes. His mind went to the letter in his breast pocket from Ezra. Pol was becoming the least of his concerns. For indeed, even if the stories the men feared weren’t true, sometimes real life was worse than rumors.
But he should say something comforting. “We are heading home, lads. There is no way they can reach the Lands.”
The lie tasted bitter.
“Home,” Clast muttered, hope in his voice. The other guardsman smiled.
D’nie pushed away from the edge of the boat and turned to go below deck. He should sleep. When he got home, there would be little time for leisure.
About the Author: Janelle Garrett is a jack of all trades. Registered nurse, stay at home mom, medical records consultant... and writer. Her passion from the time she was ten was to write stories with unforgettable characters. The sphere came into existence when she was bed-bound after knee surgery, and in walked a character shrouded in black and trapped in a magical wood on a dangerous mission. The story flowed from that vision. You can catch her on twitter @JanelleGwriter or at her blog, www.janellegarrettwriter.com. Sign up for her mailing list to receive a free book, The Tale of Briton’s Fury. No strings attached, and you won’t be spammed. You’ll receive monthly updates on new work, promos, and freebies, as well as release dates for the rest of the Steward Saga.
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