When the Goddess Wakes

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “How hurt are you, really?” Elenai asked. Beside her, Kyrkenall said nothing, though he had been watching his friend carefully.

  “You shouldn’t give up on me yet,” N’lahr said. “And Cerai would do better to not underestimate those she’s taken in. But your focus is to find that weapon and learn how to use it yourselves, so we put an end to her scheming. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Elenai said.

  “If Rialla warns us back then,” Kyrkenall said slowly, “nearly everything changes.”

  “Yes,” N’lahr said.

  The archer spoke as if in reverie. “Kalandra wouldn’t be lost. Asrahn would be alive. You’d never have been trapped, and you wouldn’t be in danger now.” He paused, then swore almost reverently. “Damn. Decrin and Commander Renik wouldn’t be dead, either. We could even warn Temahr so he wouldn’t ride into that ambush.”

  “There’re many that could be saved,” N’lahr said. “Most importantly, we could have stopped the queen before any of this came close to happening. And that has to be weighed against the good moments we would lose.” He looked to Elenai, and his gaze, even in that dim space felt pointed.

  Only then did she realize that if Rialla changed the flow of time earlier, neither of these living legends would know her, much less be her friends. Gone as well would be the close bond she’d formed with Gyldara during the battle against Mazakan, and the similar connections forged with Thelar and M’vai and others, not to mention her ascension to the ring.

  Her heart ached at the thought even as she knew that those moments were nothing when measured against the betrayals, disappearances, murders, and thousands of needless deaths.

  “I understand,” she said.

  He offered a glum smile, then worked to dismiss the weighty idea with the suggestion of concrete action. “Now let’s get you two on your way.”

  No fool, Kyrkenall must have reached the same conclusions, for he clapped the back of her shoulder and left his hand there as they followed the commander to the stable.

  The archer smiled broadly when he saw Lyria, his responsive dun, in the nearest stall. The horse whickered in recognition and stepped to the gate.

  While Kyrkenall cooed and stroked the side of Lyria’s head, Elenai stopped to visit with Steadyfoot, Ortok’s former mount, and let the large, calm horse eat grain from her palm while she thought of her kobalin friend and wondered as to his fate. If they were meeting with one kobalin out in the wastes, might they meet with Ortok as well? She hoped so.

  Cerai arrived only a few moments later, trailed by a band of soldiers and servants who saddled the animals.

  The realm’s ruler said nothing about their presence here rather than within the suggested room. She simply greeted them and showed Elenai a small green hearthstone. “This one’s easy to use. Have you ever searched for hearthstones before?”

  “No.”

  Cerai smiled thinly. “Kyrkenall and N’lahr think well of you, and you’ve obviously got some talent. You can sense the hearthstones at a distance when they’re in use?”

  “Yes. Recently I’ve been able to do so even if I’m not in the inner world.” Elenai wished she hadn’t added the last, though it earned a nod of approval.

  “You know what it’s like to search for life through an Altenerai ring. What you must do now is search for normal matrices inherent in the world around you. Every region has a slightly different feel. Once you get to the wastes, familiarize yourself, fast, with what the place is like, so you can sense things that don’t belong. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” She supposed this tutorial might be important, even if her vision had showed her a kobalin finding the weapon.

  “So,” Kyrkenall said, “Elenai’s looking for something that doesn’t have any kind of matrix?”

  “Not really. Magically it’s not just going to have an absence of the matrix—it’s going to register like the opposite of the organized power of the hearthstone. Do you understand?”

  “I believe I do,” Elenai replied.

  “I hope so, for our sakes.” Cerai extended her hand and Elenai carefully picked up the hearthstone, wishing she didn’t constantly feel inferior to the woman who thought her so. Cerai was the one who’d abandoned Alantris, she reminded herself. She was the one who had played along with the queen for her own advantage, rather than alerting everyone when Leonara could still be stopped.

  “As far as contacting me, here’s a pebble I pulled from the garden. That should help you fix directions. Then you’re going to have to anchor yourself to the hearthstone and send your spirit here until you reach me.” She dropped a slim gray rock into Elenai’s outstretched hand.

  Elenai ran a thumb over its smooth surface. “How do I signal you?”

  “Oh, I’ll know you’re here when you send. You’ve reached out with a hearthstone or shard before, haven’t you?”

  She had reached out to N’lahr with the shard she’d left in Darassus. “Yes,” she answered distractedly, for at the thought of it she wished she’d brought it with her. It had seemed appropriate to leave it behind, for its proximity to N’lahr appeared to worsen his symptoms.

  “You’ll have twelve of my most magically sensitive soldiers,” Cerai said. “They’ve hunted hearthstones in all kinds of places.” She looked past Elenai once more and spoke to Kyrkenall. “You’ve always been lucky, Kyrkenall. Here’s hoping that helps.”

  One of the servants presented Elenai with the reins of a beautiful black horse. It turned out that she and Cerai’s guards had each been equipped with what appeared to be identical copies of the same animal. As the soldiers lifted supply packs upon the others Elenai suppressed a shudder. She remembered the orchards and fields the alten Belahn had shaped, every branch and leaf exactly the same. Was that the kind of world Cerai envisioned?

  Before too long, Elenai, Kyrkenall, and the guards—almost as similar in their own way as the horses—were in the courtyard with the realm’s ruler and N’lahr.

  When Elenai and Kyrkenall stopped before him, N’lahr saluted with his ring, then looked down at the feeble light shining from his sapphire.

  “Mine’s like that, too,” Kyrkenall said as he returned the salute.

  Elenai studied hers, aghast that its energies had dwindled almost to nothing.

  “Your rings look like they’re almost completely drained,” Cerai said. “I didn’t know that could happen. Did the Goddess do it?”

  “Varama linked all the rings so we were protected by their combined power,” Elenai explained. “Defending against one of the attacks almost drained them.”

  Cerai’s eyebrows rose. “Well, well. Trust Varama to keep coming up with clever new ideas. Right up until the end. She was quirky but useful.”

  Quirky but useful, Elenai thought, disgusted by the cavalier dismissal of one of the most brilliant people she’d ever met. She wondered how Rylin would have reacted to that sentiment.

  N’lahr stepped closer to Kyrkenall and they clasped arms just below the elbow. They held that pose for a moment while Elenai wondered what both were thinking.

  They were so very different in temperament. It sometimes struck her that their friendship made little sense. Either functioned perfectly well without his friend, yet both drew strength from the other. Kyrkenall was more settled around N’lahr, as if living were easier with him in charge. And the commander, always troubled, was lighter—more hopeful—in the presence of his lively brother-in-arms. Seeing their silent regard, she envied them that closeness, wondering if she would ever know such companionship, and she worried that this might be their final moment together.

  Both men broke the clasp at the same moment. N’lahr stepped away, then presented himself to Elenai, formally offering his hand.

  “Ride well, Alten.” His grip was firm. “You would rise to the ring in any circumstance,” he promised.

  “That’s not the important part,” she said.

  At that he smiled. “Spoken like a true champion. Good luck. I’m sure I’ll m
eet you, one way or another.”

  As they broke the grip, Cerai looked bemused, though she chose not to seek explanation. “I’ll wish both of you good fortune as well,” she said, then turned to her soldiers. “Men, you have your orders.”

  At her signal, they climbed into their saddles. Kyrkenall swung into his, and Elenai’s black horse stood rock steady as she put her foot into the stirrup and threw her leg over the saddle. She felt a pang of regret that she had lost her new horse, Gemon, and wondered what this one was named.

  Cerai already manipulated sorcerous threads within the courtyard.

  Elenai watched through the inner world, thinking she might learn the secrets of the portal spell, but Cerai’s movements were so intricate she scarcely registered more than a few basic concepts.

  Lyria snorted in alarm at the shining violet circle swirling into existence before them, and laid back her ears. Kyrkenall soothed her with a quick pat on the neck. Elenai’s horse, as well as those of the men behind her, reacted hardly at all, and she guessed they had been designed to be pliable. She couldn’t help wondering if Cerai fashioned her soldiers the same way.

  Kyrkenall looked over his shoulder to see N’lahr raise his hand, returned the gesture, then sent Lyria galloping forward. Elenai waved good-bye, then followed the archer. Close behind she heard the hoofbeats of the other mounts.

  Before very long at all, they were on the other side, where a hot wind blew under pale blue skies, and a white-yellow sun glowed low on the horizon. They had turned up in the early evening. Beneath the burning orb lay a sharp, distant mountain range, and closer, on their right, a low run of brown hills sparsely covered with scrub brush. Elenai saw no sign of the particular mountain from her vision, much less a friendly kobalin.

  Everything between them and those distant peaks was sand, though she did not spot dunes until she stared into the horizon. Somewhere in that vast expanse lay a small, rocky plateau with an artifact that was their last chance against a malevolent goddess.

  Kyrkenall took a long look at the scenery. “Are we close to where we need to be?”

  “It doesn’t look like it,” Elenai said. “This may be a little more challenging than I thought.”

  He didn’t seem troubled by that. “It always is. We never get the easy jobs.”

  13

  A Meeting of Minds

  Rylin didn’t know why the commander, Kyrkenall, and Elenai had so quickly agreed to a search with such long odds, and assumed the three possessed information he lacked.

  With them gone, he listened dispiritedly as Cerai described the physical and arcane features of her land while pointing to them on a large map a servant had brought in.

  More of the muscular attendants arrived with platters of bread and fruit, boiled vegetables, and some kind of roasted bird meat. The four aspirants turned up, still in their squire armor and looking lost and bewildered. Cerai bade them join the meeting. Apparently, they’d been sent for during some command Rylin had missed.

  The food lacked seasoning, but Rylin doubted he would have enjoyed it regardless, for he had no appetite. As Cerai caught the aspirants up on what she’d said so far, it came to him that he was failing strictures Asrahn had ground into all his squires. The instructor had promised their very survival might one day depend upon their ability to recall vital details acquired under distracting circumstances. That’s why mental clarity exercises and memorization techniques were taught to every squire from almost the first day of their training. A good soldier had to make quick evaluations of terrain and enemy holdings so they could be accurately reported and acted upon. Improperly remembered details could result in the death of allies and innocents, and end in defeat.

  Over the last few weeks, he thought he’d understood and applied those exercises better than ever. And yet, their defeat and Varama’s death had staggered him so deeply he was hard pressed to follow anything Cerai said. He noticed with gratitude that Thelar soaked up the information and asked smart questions. Rylin couldn’t help admiring the man’s composure, especially given that Thelar knew Cerai had abandoned Alantris, where Thelar’s family lived.

  M’vai was mostly silent, her expression glazed and empty. Tesra had composed herself. He’d met her eyes several times but wasn’t sure what he saw there. It was almost as though she sought connection at the same time she felt a contrary impulse to despise him. Maybe he deserved that.

  Once Cerai finished explaining the more obvious features of her realm, she discussed the magical threads underpinning it. She had designed the realm so that energy directed at it from afar would be funneled to key points constructed for their resiliency.

  “I thought that would be useful when Leonara unleashed a cataclysm,” Cerai said. “These points also act like deep reservoirs of magic, from which I can draw later.”

  He wondered if that was why she’d been pulling energy out of the portal when she should have been strengthening it to secure everyone’s escape. Had she taken advantage of the moment to increase her own supply? A fresh wave of fury deafened him to what was being discussed.

  When he focused again, Tesra was saying something about the design being impressive, and Cerai pretended it was a simple matter when one had access to hearthstones.

  “How many do you have?” Rylin asked. It was the first question he’d voiced in some time, and it stopped the conversation short.

  “Over two hundred.” A smile crooked briefly on Cerai’s face. “It wasn’t easy parting with those Leonara craved when I still needed her support, but I found ways of retaining the most intriguing, and my collection grew faster as she lapsed into her zealous stupor.”

  The other exalts and aspirants looked uncomfortable, but Thelar spoke without rancor. “You have more than I would have guessed. This is certainly the largest collection left.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Cerai agreed. “Some weavers certainly have kept one or two, and there are probably a few odd ones scattered here and there across the cosmos, but if this entity makes hearthstone recovery a priority, my little kingdom’s going to be her first stop.”

  “What are we going to do?” M’vai’s green eyes were large with alarm. “There’s no telling how long it will take Kyrkenall and Elenai to find that weapon.”

  Rylin studied M’vai with fresh eyes and was struck by her youth. Likely she was no more than twenty. Almost everyone at the table had been taking hard emotional blows over the last weeks, but what must it be like for her, to side against the majority of her friends, to hazard her life in multiple battles, and then to witness not only the deaths of those friends, but her twin sibling? She and Meria seemed to have moved almost as one through all the times he’d seen them.

  It was no wonder she sounded close to breaking.

  Tesra reached out to squeeze her hand.

  “You’re right to be concerned,” Cerai said. “But we’re not defenseless. And this might work to our advantage.”

  At a loud thud from the far end of the table, Rylin whirled in his chair, hand to his knife.

  “Sorry.” It was a young woman’s voice, and Rylin saw the smallest of the aspirants, a woman even younger than M’vai, looking shamefacedly at the rest of them. “I was just … taking off my armor,” she said. “It slipped.”

  The other three aspirants looked almost as embarrassed as she did.

  “No apology necessary,” Rylin told her. “It’s not your fault we’re all on edge, and you acquitted yourself bravely during the battle.” Their expressions eased. The young woman looked especially grateful for the kind word, even as she adjusted the ringmail on the floor behind her.

  He’d spent time thinking about the feelings of the loyal exalts, but he’d spared none for these four, who had likewise turned their backs on the queen and their friends and fought to save Darassus from the Naor invasion. While he’d heard their names, he didn’t recall a one of them. He decided to remedy that.

  “As long as we’re on the subject of armor,” Cerai said, as if irritated attention
was distracted from her, “what I’m after is an armoring of the realm. You can help me to finish strengthening it so that it’s more resilient to directed attacks.”

  “A warrior needs a sword as well as armor,” Thelar pointed out.

  Rylin thought that sounded like something N’lahr might have said, or perhaps Asrahn.

  “But of course,” Cerai said. “As it happens, I developed a countermeasure should any curious mages ever get too close to my realm. It might slow down the entity as well, but I doubt it’ll be as effective as the weapon that originally stopped her.”

  “What mages were you expecting?” Thelar asked, as if he feared the answer.

  “Well.” Cerai’s look was almost apologetic. “Exalts, really. I thought Leonara would find out about my realm at some point, and come for my hearthstones.”

  Rylin saw that she’d startled the other exalts again, probably for her own amusement. He decided to put a stop to it. “You should tell us about the countermeasure,” he suggested.

  “I’m getting there, my dear. I have spirits of chaos.” This time there was no missing the pride in her voice. “I’ve captured several of the larger ones.”

  “Spirits of chaos,” Rylin repeated, reasoning it out as he spoke. He couldn’t help sounding astonished. “You mean the hungry entities from the deep shifts?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  The last time he’d passed through the shifts during a storm, he’d done so in the company of Lasren, Elik, and the governor of Alantris. The chaos spirits had hunted them, and he would never forget the chill certainty that death had missed them only because it had stopped to consume two of their horses. “How did you manage that?” Rylin asked.