Shadow of the Otherverse (The Last Whisper of the Gods Saga Book 3)

by Berardinelli, James

  No one spoke. Alicia regarded him with an odd expression, perhaps unaware that he could be capable of such simple eloquence.

  “Lavella, Excela, this is your last chance to turn back. Once you step through the portal, you won’t be able to reverse the course of your future. You’ll cease being who you are today and will become The Lady of Air and The Lady of Fire. I ain’t gonna compel you forward. It’s got to be your decision, but if you balk, now is the time. Others stand ready.”

  “My mind is set, Your Magus,” said Lavella, giving Sorial a wan smile. “This is something I owe to myself and my city. I served Vantok for fifteen years as The Wizard’s Bride. It will be fitting to return to the place where I grew up with the power to help the restoration.”

  “Step forward. There won’t be pain. It’s as simple as slipping into a pool. The portal will require a price - it’s something we all have to pay - but it will be within your capabilities. Good luck.”

  Lavella pulled off her boots so as to approach her fate unshod in the fashion of religious penitents. It was unnecessary - the portal would accept only flesh while discarding the rest - but she had spent half her life living in Vantok’s temple and the habits learned there were ingrained. Silently bracing herself, she took two hesitant steps to bring her toes to the very edge of the portal. Then, with a deep breath, she walked over the edge. As Sorial had promised, she sank slowly and cleanly into its embrace, vanishing without a trace.

  Sorial employed his magical senses to analyze Lavella’s interaction with the portal and was surprised at how revealing the process was. In a flash, he understood one requirement for accessing the Otherverse and the reason why Justin had been desperate to assemble a group of loyal wizards. Unsealing the gateway required a concerted combination of earth, fire, water, and air. All four elements were present, each a lock that demanded a like key to open. Sorial looked at Alicia and could tell she had come to the same realization. Entering the Otherverse required a portal and four wizards, but surely there was more…

  Lavella’s time in the portal spanned less than a minute but Sorial knew from experience that it would seem much longer to her. Time, the means by which all things were measured in this universe, had little meaning in the dimension between worlds where wizards made their bargain. She emerged bedraggled, her hair in disarray. She was naked, her clothing having been dissolved by the portal. Alicia bent by the side of the dark cavity and, careful not to touch the blackness, helped her aunt onto the stone apron. Lavella’s eyes had a faraway cast; it was unclear whether she was aware of her surroundings. Alicia murmured comforting words into her ear while wrapping her in a blanket. The others looked on with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The birth of a wizard was a rare and wondrous thing.

  “Welcome, Lavella. Air has a new Lady. Your title is Magus.” Sorial spoke the words solemnly. He then turned to Excela to motion her forward so the process could be repeated.

  Basil, a rash and bawdy Earl with a reputation for intolerance and bigotry, was one of the two candidates found to have the capacity to magically control fire. Sorial and Alicia were in agreement that he was unsuitable to be among their number, especially during a time when fidelity was valued. Excela wasn’t a perfect choice but she was preferable. Basil had appeared to accept the decision with equanimity until the moment when he acted rashly and decisively.

  The underlying reason for his action was unclear. Perhaps the lure of becoming a wizard was too great for him to let the opportunity pass. Perhaps the portal’s call was too insistent for him to ignore. Or perhaps it had something to do with the ever-bright flame, which flared into greater brilliance the moment before Basil took the two fateful steps that plunged him into blackness and blocked Excela’s candidacy.

  Sorial stared in dismay, scarcely able to believe that the reckless action of one man had laid waste to his plans. Basil was precisely the kind of person whose investiture needed to be blocked or, at the very least, carefully managed. His personality implied that he would use his power exclusively to promote his own advancement. More disturbing, however, were indications that something darker might be at work - something that could make Basil’s unpalatable character a minor issue.

  A glance at Alicia, who was kneeling beside her aunt, revealed that her thoughts were similar to his. Without making an issue out of it, he used his power to extinguish the lantern. At least it could represent no future threat, although the damage might already have been done. That ever-bright flame could be nothing more than a gateway. Then again…

  What if Justin had found a way to embed a part of his essence in the flame? There were stories of old that spoke of magical possession and, although Sorial couldn’t imagine how it might be done, he didn’t doubt that Justin could have uncovered the secret, just as he had found a way to control a void from within.

  Basil emerged from the portal, pulling himself over the edge like a drowned man, hints of fire caressing his bare skin. In the blankness of his expression, Sorial could read no sign of his thoughts. Was this still Basil or was it Justin reborn? He teetered on the brink of action, unsure of what he could or should do. If this was Justin, time was short.

  The paroxysm of indecision that paralyzed Sorial didn’t afflict Alicia. She struck immediately, unconcerned whether the new wizard was the old Lord of Fire or merely an impatient, imprudent noble. She drained the water from his body in an instant, leaving behind a desiccated husk. Basil was dead the moment his foot cleared the portal’s surface. Alicia gave him no time to act or gather his bearings.

  Sorial strode forward to prod the body with his boot. It crumbled like old, rotten parchment. If this had been Justin’s gambit to extend his life, it had failed. Sorial glanced at Alicia but she avoided eye contact. Coolly calculated and dispassionately dispensed, this was a ruthlessness he had never seen from her.

  The way was once again open for Excela to join the wizards’ fellowship and, after a brief delay during which she regained her composure, she completed the task and once again all four elements had a Lord or a Lady governing them.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: WIZARDS’ PASS

  Widow’s Pass was closed. Not that she should have expected anything different with two weeks still remaining in Winter. The path ahead, which angled upward between two gigantic outcroppings of rock, appeared to dead-end in a frozen wall. The wind cascaded unpredictably through gaps in the mountain range, creating an intermittent wailing. There was no way to take a small band of seasoned climbers through the snow and ice-clogged passage, let alone a force of forty-five hundred soldiers and nearly half as many peasants. Yet Her Majesty, Queen Myselene of Vantok and Obis, was here at the behest of her wizard, who had assured her that Widow’s Pass wouldn’t be an obstacle. She had no idea how he intended to accomplish that feat but she had learned that when he made proclamations, no matter how rash, he fulfilled them. She was interested to see what he had planned in this instance.

  It wasn’t the best time to make this trip, either for her personally or for what remained of her militia. The baby within her, now past half term, was beginning to slow her down. Her appetite had increased markedly and she was beginning to have difficulty sleeping. Nevertheless, she wanted to give birth in Vantok for symbolic reasons - the purported “child of Azarak” would one day sit on that throne. The birth was expected in late Planting but, to keep up the illusion that the late king was the father, she would have to go into seclusion several weeks earlier. At this point, there was barely enough time to accomplish that - assuming Widow’s Pass could be navigated. If they had to pass through Earlford (or what remained of it), it would be early Summer before they could reach Vantok. That would make it nearly impossible to hide the true birth date.

  Forty-five hundred soldiers was a surprisingly small “honor guard” for the recapturing of Vantok, but a true show of military might wouldn’t be needed. Based on the best intelligence available to her, Justin hadn’t made provisions for a defense in case of an attempted retaking of the city. As they
had come to realize, he had been unconcerned about holding the places he had conquered. It would likely have been the same in Obis had he succeeded there. With Vantok, she probably could have marched in unopposed with only the remnants of its former army. The larger force was needed, however, for establishing order and aiding with the reconstruction effort. After careful consideration, she had left nearly seven thousand soldiers in Obis, where there was work enough for ten times that number to repair the damage by next Winter. She had lost nearly half her militia in the battle and it would be years before the male population would swell the army’s ranks. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be a near-term menace of any magnitude pending. Then again, Rangarak had been unaware of Justin’s threat until shortly before The Lord of Fire had executed him from afar. It was always the enemy one wasn’t aware of who posed the greatest danger. Those were Gorton’s words - a few of many she carried close to her heart.

  Myselene motioned for one of her maids to attend her. Although most royalty claimed a veritable army of personal servants, three sufficed for Myselene in these circumstances; there wasn’t much call for maids on the road. Nymia stepped forward. The queen’s friend since childhood, she was the closest person Myselene had to a true confidante and issues of rank had never interfered with their relationship. They were the same age and had grown up together. Nymia had come to Vantok as part of the wedding party but the queen had been separated from her during the chaos of the evacuation. Only recently, after she had been discovered among the refugees in Sussaman, had Myselene been able to affect a reunion.

  The other two maids, more timid than Nymia, held back. One was Posie, a number of years Myselene’s senior, who had been assigned by Azarak to attend her in Vantok. The other was Shiree, a girl from Sussaman who had attached herself to Rexall. Since he was obviously conflicted about his responsibilities where she was concerned, Myselene had agreed to offer her an opportunity in royal service. The sought-after position had provided Shiree with a legitimate reason to accompany the horde south - one her family didn’t object to the way they would have had she played the role of an officer’s mistress. A marriage seemed likely although, considering Rexall’s reputation, it wasn’t assured.

  “Nymia, please inform Their Maguses that I would like to have words with them.”

  Myselene had no idea where Sorial and Alicia’s wagon was - most likely somewhere toward the back of the train with the Vantok survivors. The time had come for them to reveal their plans for opening the pass.

  Overcommander Carannan, who sat astride his horse near where Myselene’s carriage had come to a stop, moved to intercept the queen as she made her way slowly and gingerly on foot toward the wall of snow and ice blocking the road.

  “Doesn’t look promising,” he noted, dismounting. Having traveled the pass recently - and nearly been killed in the process - he was skeptical that even clearing away all the snow and ice would be sufficient to allow such a large force to pass. When Rangarak had come south with his army to attend Myselene’s wedding, he had used the eastern passage.

  “I have faith in your daughter and her husband.”

  “So do I.”

  “If Sorial can make a mountain, dig a warren of tunnels under Obis, defeat The Lord of Fire, and churn under a third of the city’s footprint, I don’t doubt he’ll be a match for Widow’s Pass in the Winter.”

  * * *

  At that moment, as Nymia was looking for them, Sorial and Alicia were twenty miles away, well within the Pass, assessing what needed to be done to realize Sorial’s vision of what it should be. He had brought them up through the ground to the top of the northernmost bridge. He scrutinized the terrain, calibrating everything that had to be done.

  “The first step is to remove all the snow and ice,” he said.

  “Easy enough,” replied Alicia, with a dismissive wave of her hand. Sorial didn’t miss the sarcasm. “I’ll just wiggle my fingers and millions of tons of snow will evaporate. Couldn’t be simpler.”

  “You’re the Lady of Water. This is supposed to be your area. I could do it but it would involve a lot more effort.”

  Alicia sighed. “You never think small, do you?”

  Sorial smiled under the hood. “You’ve got the simple part. Once you’re done, I have to reshape all the trails and that includes building up mountainsides in places like this.” He gestured at their feet. “This ain’t what it was like when it was first constructed. It was supposed to be maintained by an earth wizard who could make regular repairs but, when the gods took away magic, there wasn’t any choice but to let it fall into disrepair. Now it’s in such bad shape that it needs a complete rebuilding. I wish I still had a rock wyrm. Moving this much earth, that sort of help would be invaluable.” Sorial’s voice trailed off. In the weeks since the battle, not a day had gone by when he hadn’t tried to make contact with another creature. He could sense they were there, in the deep darkness of the farthest corners of the underground, but they were hiding from him. Did they fear subjugation? Were they that fiercely independent? Given time, he could seek them out and force them to work with him, but the benefits wouldn’t be worth the effort. He had also caught the fleeting scent of a stone giant but, like the rock wyrms, it didn’t want to be found.

  “Sometimes, I think you loved that thing more than me.” The softness of Alicia’s tone belied the harshness of her words.

  Although the comment had been meant in jest, Sorial took it seriously. “I won’t deny missing it. It was a companion of sorts. It didn’t argue with me. But I can live without it. I couldn’t live without you.”

  “Never apart again, stableboy. Never apart.” With a sigh, she planted her hand on her hip. “All right, let’s see what I can do about this. It’s going to require a helluva lot of energy, but I know that doesn’t concern you. You’re determined to turn all my hair silver and wrinkle my face like a pickled plum.”

  Sorial watched in silence as his wife went to work. She stood stock still and closed her eyes to aid her concentration. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then the ice and snow in their immediate vicinity melted away, absorbed by the ground or running off the edge of the trail to disappear into the crevasses below. As her power extended beyond them to larger areas of frozen water, sublimation complemented the melting, enveloping the nearby environs in a bank of dense fog. The long, twisting path through the mountains emerged from the icy cocoon in which it had been entombed since late Harvest.

  Sorial began his effort. Like Alicia, he closed his eyes. His consciousness flowed into the ground beneath his feet, spreading out all along the Pass. He became the earth, abandoning the limiting confines of his body. The most challenging portion of the job would be the bridges. They had to be widened to at least four times their current size, which meant building and reshaping rock on a massive scale. Once that was done, the less treacherous paths had to be shored up, smoothed out, and stretched from side-to-side, eliminating the chasms and fissures that had developed between the roadside and cliff faces.

  Not since creating the crude mountain near Vantok had Sorial attempted to move large amounts of earth in such a controlled, specific manner. Since then, he had become more accomplished in the craft of earth-based magic, but he was also working with material that was several orders of magnitude larger than what he had previously attempted. Even pacing himself, it was draining work. Although his consciousness was flowing through the rock and soil of the pass, his body was shouldering the burden of harnessing the Otherverse’s output. He could sense the decay of the accumulating years as energy flowed through him. His bones were becoming more brittle. His organs functioned less efficiently. For wizards, chronological age meant nothing and, as a result of all the magical feats he had accomplished, Sorial was quickly becoming an old man. This had always been true; the great wizards - the ones whose names were writ large in legend - had burned brightly for a short time then died. For Sorial, a truncated lifespan meant little. His actions were the product of the order of necessity. His
intention was to give the best of himself to worthwhile activities. Husbanding resources for the future didn’t make sense since the future was tenuous at best.

  When it was done, he sat down in the middle of the path, too tired to move. His joints ached. His muscles and tendons were sore. Breathing required a conscious effort. His vision was blurred and there was a persistent buzzing in his ears. Gradually, things returned to normal, but it was a “new normal,” that of a hoarier, less resilient frame. Alicia came to stand by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her face expressed awe and wonderment. He was glad to see that - happy he could still exceed her expectations.

  The path, a uniform twenty feet wide from start to finish, wended its way through The Broken Crags. There were no sharp switchbacks, no areas of obvious danger. The bridges had been built up to where they would seem little different to the traveler than other portions of the journey. The rock walls on either side of the path assured that no one would accidentally plunge over the sides.

  “You’ve remade it,” she whispered. “The whole thing… This world hasn’t seen a feat of magic like this since the pass was first created. In the journals I read, the original build was considered to be one of the ten greatest acts of magic in history.” She paused, absorbing the reality of what she was seeing. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. Old. Like I could just go to sleep here and never wake up.” But there was also a deeply rooted sense of satisfaction. Killing Justin had been a monumental event but it had brought no joy. This was different. This was a pure achievement, a validation of how magic could be used for something other than killing and devastation.

  At that moment, he felt a sensation like a tickle inside. He knew Alicia was probing his condition. He was too lethargic to be irritated and knew she wasn’t doing it to be invasive.