Godspeaker

by Tessa Crowley

  And though the seeds of doubt had been planted in Soya – or perhaps the seed had always been there and my attempted assassination had merely let it germinate – this was good. I could see the ghost of suspicion in everything Soya did, but this was good.

  Besides, between my newly re-shredded nerves and the images of ripping flesh and snapping bone that resurfaced in my mind when things were too quiet, I found that I couldn’t be too upset by her mistrust. Situations reversed, I’d be filled with doubt, too.

  The next big landmark on our way was not for two more weeks, which meant that for two weeks, until we reached Iriallum, we had nothing but the road.

  Dry, rolling plains slowly turned into soggy marshland. Where once we fell asleep to wind through tallgrass and thrumming bush crickets we now slept to cooing owls and the rustle of foxes. I’d never seen a forest, only jungle, but I’d read about them. Scholars often enthused about their biodiversity, but most of the animals seemed to be smart enough to stay away from us.

  Aside from the walking, all we really had was hunting and, with Perenor and I, the training.

  I wasn’t what you’d call a natural with Craft, not like Perenor was. It likely didn’t help that we were forced to skip much of the usual curriculum that dealt with theory. Still, Perenor proved a surprisingly competent teacher.

  “Craft is very physical,” he explained to me one evening like most of the others. “It will feel natural to gesture when you use it, and it is encouraged. In the end, it usually comes down to energy transfer – learning to expend energy you already have by transforming it in ways not limited by your physical body.”

  And that made sense in theory, but in practice, it was trickier. I had spent the last few days trying to lift a stone off of a larger stone. So far I’d only made it wiggle once, although that might have been the wind.

  “It w-w-was so easy wh-when it was accid-d-d-dental,” I muttered. The glove was back on, my hand extended, but the rock stayed perfectly still.

  “Channelers tend to react unpredictably to a mind not organized for their use,” Perenor explained. “Focus. You can still feel the heat of the runes through the glove?”

  I nodded. They were glowing faintly along my palm and the underside of my arm, although it didn’t seem to make a difference to the rock.

  “Intention and energy,” he continued. “You know how you would expend the energy to physically pick up the stone; make that your intention and expend that energy.”

  The rock wriggled, maybe. It was hard to tell. I dropped my hand to my side and my head fell back. I was panting, which was strange, because I’d only been standing.

  “This is im-m-mpossible,” I muttered.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” Perenor said. “Remember, you’re skipping a lot of required reading here.”

  “If C-C-Craft is j-just transfer of en-n-nergy,” I said, wiping my brow with my ungloved hand, “then how w-w-were you able t-to save the ar-r-rena? I d-doubt you could have s-s-stopped that f-fireball w-with your b-bare hands.”

  Perenor hesitated, like he wasn’t quite sure how to explain.

  “There’s more energy in a body than can just be expelled physically,” he explained. “The same energy that lets you walk and talk and think also binds your spirit together and to your physical presence. In a pinch, a sorcerer can tap into that and expel far more energy than they would normally be able to physically.”

  I never paid attention during sermons, but still, “Th-th-that sounds dangerous.”

  “It is,” Perenor said. “It’s not what you’d call recommended practice. But it is good for emergencies.”

  “Th-th-that s-sounds like it c-could hurt y-y-you.” Then it occurred to me— “Is th-th-that wh-why you w-were l-laid up for f-f-five days? D-d-did you d-damage your s-soul?”

  “That’s not how it works,” Perenor said. “I didn’t damage it, I just sort of… exhausted it. Temporarily.”

  “M-m-maybe y-you shouldn’t d-do that again,” I said.

  “This isn’t about me,” Perenor deflected. “Focus on the rock.”

  I sighed and turned forward. The rock remained precisely where it had been, very much not moved.

  “Frame it in your mind in the same way you’d frame physically picking it up,” Perenor said. “Let yourself believe that’s what you’re actually doing. Once you draw that first link, the rest of it becomes pretty straightforward.”

  I lifted my hand again; the runes on the underside of my arm and along my palm start to glow heat onto my skin again.

  “How m-m-much f-further to Iriallum?”

  “Soya said another week, I think.”

  “And th-th-that’s the h-halfway point?” The mere idea felt exhausting. We’d already walked so far.

  “That is the name of Iriallum, isn’t it? The Halfway City? Try to focus.”

  I sighed. The longer I held my hand out at a rock that wasn’t doing anything, the more I felt utterly incompetent. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a sorcerer.

  “It’s not w-w-working,” I said through my teeth.

  “Just try to concentrate.”

  “I am concentrating. It just w-w-won’t move.”

  Until it did, suddenly, right as I said the word. Not only did it lift up off the rock, it went hurtling into the air several yards.

  It took me by such surprise that I stumbled several steps back, and it went falling back down, cracking loudly against the larger rock and splitting into uneven halves.

  “Well, then,” Perenor said.

  “H-h-how…”

  “I guess your cues aren’t physical; they’re verbal, or mental,” Perenor said.

  “Wh-wh-what?”

  “I’m a very physical sorcerer, but I’m also a very active person,” he continued. “I suppose it makes sense that someone more intellectual would be more effective with words and thoughts rather than movements.”

  I stared at him uncomprehendingly. Perenor rephrased.

  “Do the same thing I said before – frame it in your mind like you were physically moving it. But instead of holding out your hand, just say it instead.”

  I looked back at the rock, now lying in pieces on the ground. I dropped my hand to my side. I could still feel the runes glowing against my skin.

  “Move,” I said again, feeling that simple, one-word commands would be best – and indeed, the two halves of the rock lifted back up, arranging themselves neatly back on the large boulder. I stared in astonishment.

  “Well done!” Perenor said, thumping me on the back with such force that I staggered forward. “I think that was the missing key, just adapting it to your own style.”

  As Perenor had said it would, the pieces were starting to fit together. I was starting to understand the delicate balance of intention and energy, how to extend it past myself. “Spin,” I said, and the pieces of the rock began to spin on their sides, slowly at first, and then more rapidly.

  “This is good,” Perenor said. “Really good. I think we can move on to more complicated and nuanced Craft.”

  “I d-d-don’t need m-much,” I answered, looking back at him. “I sh-sh-should be f-fine with the ability to-to-to incapacit-t-tate.”

  “I think it’s best to cover all our bases, so long as we’re covering any. I can teach you how to disarm, how to knock back.”

  I wasn’t fond of the idea of needing such abilities, but it was probably best to err on the side of caution after Annolum.

  “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t even sure this was going to work at all,” he continued, watching as the rocks continued to spin on their edges like tops. “There’s a reason the Temple of Elwen is charged with the teaching of Craft – it usually requires a lot of formal education to get to this point. I didn’t think it was possible to get this far without it.”

  “Y-y-you’re a very g-good teacher,” I said, and Perenor smiled at me.

  I had the strange realization at that point that I was getting along with my brother. I couldn’t remember the la
st time that had happened. I thought of our old song, though I wasn’t sure why.

  I was abducted the day we arrived in Iriallum.

  Perhaps we should have seen it coming. After all, this mysterious person who had tried to kidnap me had not gone away, despite how unsuccessful her first attempt had been, and anyone who needed to go anywhere within the borders of Imlandran had to go through Iriallum.

  Come to think of it, I’m not sure Iriallum will still be standing by the time this narrative of mine is read, so I’ll do my best to explain the city. The two halves of Imlandran were separated by a narrow isthmus, and built right onto that isthmus, spanning coast to coast, was Iriallum.

  It was a port town on two fronts – the western port, which had a straight shot to Sessyr, and the eastern port, with easy access to Myrion and Onansu. All that with the fact that it was right in the middle of the Long Road made it the ideal hub of trade and commerce and culture.

  Neither Perenor nor I had ever been to Iriallum (we’d never even been out of Ellorian), and as a consequence, we were woefully underprepared when we saw it growing over the horizon.

  Ellorian was big, but Iriallum was massive. The walls of the city alone seemed nearly as tall as the palace in the capitol, but even so we could see great stone buildings piercing the sky. Even from several leagues away, we could hear the dull thrum of the crowds, the rumble of a metropolis.

  “Fuck,” Perenor said, which just about summed up my reaction to the city as well.

  “Welcome to Iriallum,” Soya said. Having travelled several times between Ellorian and her home city of Avenos, Soya must have been used to it.

  “I didn’t know cities could be so huge,” Perenor continued reverently.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty big,” she answered offhandedly, moving up to the giant iron gates that stood open. “Just be wary of the courtesans.”

  The idea of being wary of courtesans was hilarious to me. Temple courtesans were famously demure and kind in their eternal effort to emulate Aemor, the god of love. I couldn’t imagine why I needed to be warned about them.

  “Wh-wh-what’s wrong with the t-t-temple courtesans?”

  “I didn’t say the temple courtesans,” Soya said, “I said the courtesans. Not all of them work for the gods here, and the constant competition makes them pretty pushy. But hey, it also makes them cheap, so if you’re interested—”

  “Pass,” Perenor said at once.

  “See, I was just thinking that you could do with a good romp,” Soya said. “Maybe it would make you less uptight all the time.”

  Perenor rolled his eyes with such intensity that he likely could have seen into his own head. “Not into that, thanks.”

  “Not into what? Courtesans? Who’s not into courtesans?”

  We nodded to the guards on either side of the gates as we passed. The inside of the city was no less impressive – dense and loud and crowded and extremely, unapologetically alive.

  There were vendors and bards and criers and jugglers, and everything was so interesting that I forgot entirely to be nervous about the size of the crowds milling around us.

  “I’m not,” Perenor said. “I’m not into anything. Never have been.”

  There were precious few things in all of Andelan I wanted to think about less than my brother’s sex life, although a lack of interest would certainly explain why he’d never courted any of his numerous suitors.

  “Well, whatever,” Soya said. “If you’re not keen on sex, you’re going to hate this road coming up.”

  I was about to ask why, but when I followed her gaze, my question answered itself. It seemed to be a central hub of for-coin courtesans.

  Perenor may not have thought them lovely, but I certainly did. They were clean and pretty, with tiny silver bells ringing in their hair and around their ankles. Temple courtesans may have been holier, but for-coin courtesans always seemed nicer to look at.

  “Th-th-there are s-so many,” I said. Ellorian had plenty, of course, but I’d never seen such a number in one place.

  “Iriallum’s the biggest city in the kingdom,” Soya said. “More people means more courtesans. Supply and demand and all that.”

  “Good morning, lovely girl,” said one, a pretty and willowy young man with a string of bells jingling around his neck. “Care to start your day off right?”

  Soya grinned at him. “Don’t tempt me, now, I have no time for pretty indulgences.”

  “Tempting’s my job, lovely girl,” he said, grinning back at her, keeping pace easily, each step ringing gently.

  “Now how can you not think that’s tantalizing as all fuck?” Soya asked, and even though the question must have been directed at Perenor, she wasn’t looking at him – she was looking at the courtesan. Perenor, for his part, didn’t bother responding; he just rolled his eyes.

  I wanted to call Soya out on her lechery, but the crowd was getting pretty thick and the nervousness was finally starting to creep up alongside the fascination.

  “It is tempting,” Soya continued to the courtesan, “but we’ve been travelling all night, and like I said, I have no time for distractions, lovely and limber though they may be.”

  He pouted prettily, then dropped his pace until he was astride with me. I clammed up at once. “Well, what about you, then, lovely boy?”

  I made a rather undignified sound en lieu of an answer, which started Soya laughing. I was never very good at talking to beautiful people.

  “Or perhaps both of you at once! You’re quite pretty, lovely girl, so how about two for the price of one?”

  Soya laughed all the harder. “I don’t think—”

  “Hey!” Perenor suddenly said. “What are you—?”

  He didn’t sound offended, I noticed, but alarmed. I turned and saw another courtesan, yellow-haired and fair-skinned, dragging him forcefully by one arm.

  Soya frowned. “Hey, easy—” she began, but suddenly there was a hand on her arm as well, and mine, and we were both of us pulled away from each other. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Come on, lovelies,” the courtesan said, and it was at that particular moment that I noticed he was armed with a small stiletto dagger tucked into the folds of his sheer linen robe.

  “Let go of me!” Soya cried, struggling against the grip that kept her in place.

  I was being pulled away by two people, panic rising in my throat. I had to remember my Craft – I had my glove on, if I could just— “Perenor!”

  “Keep them separated!” barked another voice. “Take the sorcerer’s staff – and get the Godspeaker!”

  Shit.

  I had to keep my head. If I wasn’t calm, Umbrion would manifest again. I had to remember what Perenor had taught me – contextualize the energy – and—

  “Off!” I shouted, and the two people holding me went flying back several feet. “Perenor!”

  He was being dragged into an alleyway – one of his abductors was holding his staff.

  Soya was being dragged in the opposite direction, though. I couldn’t follow both of them. For a moment I was paralyzed, Craft burning hot on the palm of my hand—

  “Silas!” Perenor called out as he disappeared into an alleyway.

  “N-n-n-n-n-n—!”

  I tried to run to him, but there was a sudden pain in the back of my head, and then only darkness.

  My first cognizant thought upon waking was wondering how many times since being chosen as Umbrion’s Godspeaker I had woken up in an unfamiliar setting after losing consciousness. The tally must have been getting higher.

  As my mind staggered upward through the layers of consciousness, I became aware of several things – first, that the room I was in was all but pitch black; second, that I was on a bare stone floor; third, that there was a wound on my head. I wasn’t used to being wounded, though in fairness, no one really was.

  I slowly took stock of my surroundings, letting my eyes adjust through the pounding on the back of my head. The room seemed like some sort of storage closet �
�� no larger than ten feet in any direction, empty save for a bucket in one corner. There was a single door, under which a narrow ribbon of golden light was glowing faintly.

  It took me a while to remember what had happened, and the moment I did it all came back at once.

  Shit – Perenor – Soya – gods, where were they? Had they been hurt? Worse? All on my account?

  I staggered to my feet, and then learned that head wounds make it difficult to stand. I collapsed back down onto my knees again, landing hard enough to send a lance of pain into my hip.

  I had to get out of here. I didn’t know where I was, but it didn’t matter. I gathered up my bearings and tried once again to stand up, this time bracing myself for the wobble. Once standing, I staggered to the door and pulled hard and the handle.

  Locked. Of course.

  I shook it hard in its frame, pounded on the wood. “Hey!” I bellowed, but there came no answer. I kept shaking. The door was heavy cedar with wrought-iron reinforcement. I doubted I could kick it open.

  Craft, maybe? They hadn’t taken my glove, I saw when I looked down – they must not have known it was runed. I closed my eyes and pressed my hand do the door. I could see the tumblers in my head, see the prongs and the anatomy of the lock. I knew the mechanics of an unlocking door – if I could just—

  The door opened. Unfortunately, with someone on the other side.

  “Good, you’re awake.”

  It was a woman standing across from me, though I could only see her by silhouette. My eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden flood of light. I took several steps backward.

  “My name is Kiara,” she said. “I’m a High Priestess of Aemor and second-in-command to the Godspeaker Rolen. You are in my temple. You will be staying here for quite a while.”

  The features of her face came into focus one by one – the clear eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the thin neck. She certainly had the look of a High Priestess, clean and commanding and patrician. It was the look in her eyes that put me on edge – dangerous, manic, possessed.

  “Wh-wh-where is m-my brother?” I demanded. “Where’s S-S-Soya?”