by Cindy Dees
Kerryl smiled kindly at her. He’d taken a liking to her after she healed him yesterday and again this morning. “To walk there will take two months or more if the weather holds and water isn’t scarce, but if you were to go by sea, the journey up the coast would take a few days, and then maybe a week inland on foot to reach the first of the sands. To see all of the Thirst would take years. It is a vast land, full of wonder and desolation. Only the smart and tough survive there.”
What little Eben knew of the Thirst was that it consisted mostly of desert and few merchants ventured there. Bandits were plentiful, food and water scarce, valuable resources scarcer, and the local population disinterested in trading with outsiders.
Rosana looked dubious. “I’m worried about going so far away without Raina. How will she find us?”
Rynn answered, “She’s an adult and has all the resources she needs to find us or continue forward on her own.”
Huh. Eben had never thought of her in that way. Because of her White Heart vows and because she neither used a weapon nor defended herself when attacked, he’d always thought of her as the most vulnerable of their group.
Will said briskly, “Are we agreed, then? We head for the coast and seek a ship bound north toward the Valelands, and then we proceed on to the Thirst?”
With varying degrees of speed and reluctance, everyone nodded, including Eben. He didn’t know about the others, but he was more than ready to be quit of this dark and dank forest of sorrow.
“What say you, Kendrick?” Will asked. “Will you come with us and lend your sword to our cause?”
Kerryl answered for him. “Yes. He will. Go, boy. Be with your friends. They need your help, and their quest is worthy. When I have need of you again, I will send for you.”
Kendrick scowled long and hard at his mentor, and Kerryl scowled back, finally growling, “Don’t make me order you to do this.”
Kendrick threw up his hands in disgust and, to Eben’s immense joy, surrender.
Will laughed. “Excellent. Mayhap you can show us the fastest route out of this interminable wold.”
Kendrick jerked his chin toward Kerryl. “He’s the one to show you the quickest way out.”
“And it will be my pleasure to do so,” Kerryl declared.
Eben got the impression Kerryl was as eager to have them out of the Sorrow Wold as they were to be quit of this foul place. The nature guardian was up to something, but he could not fathom what, and he wasn’t sure he cared as long as Kendrick was not part of Kerryl’s plans.
* * *
Gabrielle took the party to an inn nestled on the banks of the Crystal River, a half day’s float upstream of the Imperial Seat, and engaged rooms for all of them. For herself, she rented a luxurious suite and ordered a perfumed bath and a hairdresser for the following morning. Her adventures roaming about Koth incognito must end, and it was time for her to transform back into the queen she was.
The next order of business was to send word to Talissar, her primary contact within the Eight, and ask for a meeting here, away from the Imperial Seat. She dared not march Bekkan through the front gates of the palace and risk all he knew upon the power of a single Octavium Pendant against the mental might of the Emperor and his Kothite cronies.
She drafted a quick note to Talissar suggesting that if he wished her help in planning a surprise birthday party for his wife and queen, Lyssandra, she should not be seen at court. Then she pressed a gold coin into the hand of the innkeeper’s eldest son, asking him to sneak her note to Talissar in utmost secrecy. The youth was happy to participate in the conspiracy, particularly when it involved such extravagant compensation. He trotted off toward the pier to catch a barge bound for the palace.
The innkeeper’s son returned late in the afternoon in the company of an Imperial runner. The messenger was a handsome young man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His face looked familiar for an instant, but then recognition slipped away. He bowed pleasantly enough and delivered a verbal message that Talissar would arrive late in the evening, and he greatly appreciated her help in planning his wife’s birthday party.
The ruse of a surprise party had to hold long enough to protect both her and Talissar from rumors of a dalliance between them. She had no illusions that even here, many miles from the palace, they would be safe from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Rumor and innuendo were the stuff and trade of the Imperial Court, and the last thing she and Talissar needed was to draw attention to themselves at this critical moment.
The runner bowed himself out of her room. She ordered supper in her chambers and invited Bekkan to join her for tea after the meal. The other members of their party stayed downstairs, ostensibly listening to a local storyteller, but actually standing watch to warn her should an uninvited guest—or a military squad—show up.
It was nearing midnight, and the common room had grown raucous below with people well into their cups when a quiet knock on her door made Gabrielle nearly jump out of her skin.
She opened it, and two cloaked and hooded men slipped inside quickly. As they swept off their concealing garments, she recognized Talissar’s pale beauty instantly. The man never aged. Lucky Lyssandra.
The second guest was a handsome young man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His face looked familiar for an instant, but then recognition slipped away.
Bekkan, however, gasped audibly at the sight of the young man, lurching forward for a moment as if to embrace an old friend, and then lurching back in confusion, his brows slamming together. His sword whipped out of its sheath, and he backed into a corner defensively. “I am betrayed,” he growled.
Talissar’s reflexes were equally fast, and before she could blink, he, too, had a sword in hand and had leaped defensively in front of the young man.
For her part, Gabrielle jumped between both armed men, her hands up in supplication. “Stop!” she cried. “We are all friends here!”
“You summoned one of those cursed, body-stealing Kothite scum to kill me!” Bekkan accused.
She looked over her shoulder at the young man in shock. A look of intense chagrin was breaking across his handsome features. “Of course! I should have known you would recognize my face.” He actually smacked his forehead with his palm in disgust before saying, “You are correct, sir knight protector. I do inhabit a body you recognize, but I am not one of them. Well, technically, I am a Kothite, but I am not with them. I seek to bring down the Kothite scum you so despise.”
Bekkan snorted.
Gabrielle was missing something important here. “I don’t understand.”
The handsome young man spoke calmly. Soothingly. “I am an offspring of the original Kothites who invaded this land and destroyed its rulers.”
“They had a name,” Bekkan spat. “They were the royal family of the etheri people. His Majesty King Notarka Domitrin, Queen Elena, Prince Nicos, and Princess Raisa. And you. That body belongs—belonged—to Lord Pavel Romaya, cousin to Nicos and Raisa.” Bekkan ground out in tightly contained fury to the young man, “It’s. Not. Yours.”
The young man said simply, “You are correct.”
His complete lack of ire in response to Bekkan’s attack seemed to disarm a tiny bit of the dwarf’s fury.
“You may kill me if you like, sir,” the young man said. “I will not defend myself or attack you. But in killing me, you also kill my host, and no chance would remain to restore Pavel’s spirit to this body.”
“That’s what the Kothite scum said when they took over the etheri royals’ bodies to prevent the people from slaughtering the possessed etheri where they stood.”
“It was true then. It remains true now.” The young man shrugged. “Kill me; kill the host. I did not choose to take over this body. My spirit was created and forced into it. Not that this fact makes my existence any less of an abomination.”
That gave Bekkan pause. He frowned, looking confounded at the young man’s ready agreement with his accusations.
The young man continued,
“I am, indeed, a Kothite. Full scion of the two most powerful Kothites of all, as a matter of fact. I have the ability to strip from your mind everything I wish to know, the ability to kill you simply by willing it so. However, to prove the sincerity of my wish to destroy the Kothite Empire, I give you my word of honor that I will not touch you in any way. I will not even look into your mind, let alone tamper with it. You shall choose exactly how little or how much you share with me and my co-conspirators.”
Gabrielle barely heard most of his speech, for she was stuck on his first sentence. The two most powerful Kothites of all would be Maximillian and Iolanthe. And yet, those two had only one child—Princess Endellian. How on Urth could they have had a second child, a son, and no one had ever heard of him?
“Since he is already acquainted with my companion, perhaps you would like to introduce your friend to me?” Talissar said to her, sheathing his sword as he spoke.
Startled out of her shocking thoughts, she mumbled, “Bekkan Kopathul, second guardian of the Septvardin—the Seven Guardians of His Royal Highness, King Eitrik of the Mountain Dwarves, also called Fireheart—may I present you to Prince Talissar of Quantaine.”
To her vast relief, Bekkan put away his weapon, executing a terse, short bow.
Talissar lurched forward suddenly, swiftly grasping the Octavium Pendant swinging on its long chain from Bekkan’s neck. “Where did you get this?”
Gabrielle jumped forward. “I gave it to him. He has more need of it than I.”
The dark-haired young man asked, “Why is that?”
Gabrielle glanced questioningly at Talissar. She wasn’t about to let Bekkan tell his full tale until the elf vouched for his companion. Bekkan might recognize him, but she did not.
“He is one of us,” Talissar said quietly to her. “I trust him with my life.”
She explained to the young man, “Bekkan has certain ancient memories. When he speaks of them, everyone who hears them … forgets them. I know that sounds passing strange, but it’s true.”
“Not strange at all,” the young man said. “If you would indulge me, Bekkan, perhaps you could give Her Highness her necklace back? The piece is well known to belong to her and would raise questions if seen upon your person. Perhaps you will consent to wear this instead?”
She stared as he removed a wide cuff from his wrist and held it out to Bekkan. Its beaten gold clasped a green cabochon gem, not as big or bright as the one in her necklace, but octavium nonetheless. Bekkan slipped the cuff on his wrist and then lifted the long necklace over his head. She took it with a nod of thanks and sighed in relief to place it back in its familiar place around her neck.
Within seconds, a host of memories came flooding back to her. Of a cave high in the mountains where Bekkan had been trapped in copper, a desperate fight to stave off a wave of creatures who would have erased their memory of seeing him. And another fight with oblivi the night they’d unmade him from storm copper back to dwarf.
Was that how Maximillian’s son had been forgotten? Had the Emperor for some reason destroyed all memory of him? She blurted, “Why did Maximillian erase you?”
The young man looked at her keenly. “She’s as good at leaps of logic as you said she was, Tal.”
“And she is as persistent as I warned you she would be,” the elf responded dryly.
The young man sighed. “Maximillian did not erase me. An unfortunate incident with Maximillian the Second required an entire period of time to be erased from living memory. I was born during that period, and I was erased along with it. For a time, I was bitter, but then I realized it would work to my advantage. Only people who wear octavium to protect themselves from the effects of the Second Forgetting can retain any memory of me at all.”
“Second Forgetting? There was a First Forgetting?”
“How do you think all history prior to the coming of Koth was erased and replaced with the belief that Koth has always been here? That was the First Great Forgetting.”
Koth was not eternal? Her mind could hardly absorb the idea. Only decades of despising the Empire and wishing that it wasn’t eternal made it even possible for her to entertain the notion.
“How many of these forgettings have there been?” she asked, on fire with curiosity to know what had been taken from her. From everyone.
“Three big ones that I’m aware of. The first one erased the past history of Urth and stripped all knowledge of the existence of etheri. Then the second one covered up Maximillian the Second going mad and the reign of Ammertus in his stead. A third, more recent one undid the mess Ammertus made in Haelos. And, of course, Maximillian occasionally uses his priori for smaller forgettings—against the advice of his closest advisors, I might add.”
Maximillian the Second? Mad? A mess in Haelos? Just how much history had been lost? “Priori?” she mumbled, overwhelmed. “What are those?”
“Primordial creatures who exist outside of time, space, or form. You can think of them as the embodiments of ideas. Love. Hate. Life. Death. Memory. Forgetting. Maximillian managed to trap the priori of forgetting, and it is with that being’s help he maintains his choke hold on the Empire.”
She could feel her sanity beginning to slip. An urge to laugh hysterically at these revelations nearly overcame her.
She was grateful when the young man turned the conversation away from this madness, saying to Bekkan, “All of us in this room are protected by the magical properties of octavium. You may speak freely of your memories without fear of oblivi coming to strip your memories.”
Bekkan tilted his head in her direction. “She bade me to remember that word. Oblivi. What is it?”
“They are creatures who attack the mind. Their purpose is to strip memories and knowledge from people. They serve the priori of forgetting that serves Maximillian.”
Talissar turned to the rokken. “If you would do us the honor, we would like to hear what you can tell us of a past that you remember but the rest of us have entirely lost.”
Bekkan frowned. “It is still coming back to me—in bits and pieces mostly, but sometimes whole chunks of my life come back all at once. I will tell you what I remember, and mayhap you will ask questions that jog other memories loose from wherever they are rusted away inside my mind.”
“Start at the beginning. When and where are you from?”
Bekkan chose his words cautiously. “As best as I can tell, upward of five thousand years have passed since I last drew breath. As for where I’m from? That would be here. Except when I lived here, Ymir was home to many races who lived in peace and prosperity.”
“In the time of Maximillian the First?” Talissar asked.
“Before that,” Bekkan answered scornfully. “Before the coming of Maximillian and Koth.”
Gabrielle frowned. “When exactly did they come?”
The young man intervened to answer, “About five thousand years ago.”
Bekkan snorted in disdain and continued, “The Kothites were upstart usurpers. The real rulers of Ymir back then were the giants. They ultimately ruled the entire continent, allowing the etheri to rule the surface and my king to rule that part of Under Urth lying below Ymir.”
Something powerful rippled through Gabrielle. A chill without cause. Or maybe the cause of the chill was hearing truth that she recognized deep down in her bones. Who had these etheri been? She’d never heard of such a race before tonight. And what place was Ymir?
Talissar voiced the question aloud for her.
Bekkan answered soberly, “Ymir is the old name, the giant name, for this continent that you call Koth. As for the etheri, they are—were—a race of humanoids specializing in spiritual magics. Not just healing but also curse magics and void magics. In my day, they were the kings and queens of Ymir.”
Gabrielle exchanged awed looks with Talissar. Then she said, “Tell us of the coming of Koth.”
“The Kothites were few in number but impressive in power. They used their psionic abilities to enslave armies and attack the etheri
capital. Instead of killing the members of the royal family and important courtiers, the Kothites possessed their bodies.” He jerked his chin in the young man’s direction. “Like him. That’s the body of a member of the etheri royal family. The common people did not have a way to fight back. If they killed the usurpers, they would kill their own beloved nobles.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Gabrielle’s mind felt full to bursting, as if it struggled to contain the information she was hearing.
The dark-haired man raised a hand to stop Bekkan’s story. “My lady, how do you feel?”
She blinked, startled at the question. “Shocked. Overwhelmed. Why?”
“Some people, when exposed to these lost truths, lose their way. Their minds rebel against the evidence of their eyes and ears and they suffer … a break. In here.” He tapped the side of his head with a finger.
“You mean they go insane?” she asked.
“That. Or worse. Some die. Some try to convince others of what they have learned and end up accused of being mad. The frustration of not being believed ultimately strips what sanity they have left.”
“I don’t understand,” she confessed.
“The Emperor’s forgetting priori is capable of stripping memories from everyone.”
“Everyone on Urth?” she asked, appalled.
“Just so. And when some piece of information or evidence surfaces to contradict history as Maximillian has rewritten it, his oblivi arrive to rectify the paradox.”
“That’s horrible!”
The young man shrugged. “In many cases, the oblivi are preferable to the madness that undone forgettings cause. In a way, the Emperor does his subjects a favor by keeping them all blissfully ignorant.”
She declared angrily, “How can it ever be a kindness to erase a person’s memories?”
Talissar said grimly, “We’re not talking about a single person’s memories, my lady. Maximillian has tampered with the mind of every soul living on Urth today, and of every soul yet to be born.”
“How is he so powerful?” she breathed in dread.