When the Goddess Wakes

by Howard Andrew Jones

  Search though she might, Elenai did not see the kobalin from her vision, and worried that she might not remember him well enough to recognize him among so many others.

  Finally, a lane opened between the kobalin and a familiar, shaggy black-furred form strode down it to meet them.

  Elenai beamed as Ortok lifted both of his massive arms in greeting.

  “Ho! Three companions, and the noble Lyria! How good to see you!”

  She embraced him, not minding that the pressure of his body against her sling brought a jab of pain. She felt Ortok startle. The crowd murmured in surprise. Still smiling, Elenai stepped back.

  Ortok showed fangs in a broad smile of his own.

  She decided against telling him she’d been afraid he was dead. She didn’t want to suggest she thought him weak. She defaulted to kobalin-style formality. “I am pleased to see you as well.”

  “Word reaches me that you have a second name now, Oddsbreaker! I would hear of that. And you, Kyrkenall! You have found Kalandra, or she has found you!”

  Kalandra bowed her head with dignity. “Hello, Ortok. It has been a long while. You look as though you’ve risen in glory and gained a mighty host.”

  “I have earned many worthy stories,” Ortok said without sounding boastful. “Have you become pure magic?”

  “I suppose I have,” Kalandra answered.

  Ortok grunted, clearly impressed, although not astounded. But then Elenai knew transformative changes were commonplace among his people. “And how are you, Kyrkenall? You have the pleasure of the Storm Strider’s company again.”

  “I do,” Kyrkenall said. Ortok might not have detected the reservation in his reply, but it was clear to Elenai. He avoided answering the kobalin’s first inquiry and changed subjects. “I knew you’d win your challenge.”

  “Your faith was placed well,” Ortok said. “Tell me, does N’lahr still live?”

  “He lives,” Kyrkenall answered, “and his glory grows.”

  Ortok nodded as though that were expected, and then he thought of something else. “You must tell me if Steadyfoot is also living.”

  Kyrkenall grinned. “Alive and well. He’s in the stables where I got Lyria.”

  “That is good to hear.”

  “What are you doing here in Kanesh?” Elenai asked.

  Ortok indicated the watching kobalin. “I have my army. I have come to fight Naor. Do you want to fight them with me?”

  “We’ve already fought some here,” Elenai said.

  “There are many left. We tried to follow your trail, but the place you went was surrounded by mad god storms, so I decided to lead my army to where the Naor live, so I could fight them, and on the way we found many of them wandering here. We have been fighting them ever since.”

  “It has been a time of battles,” Kyrkenall said. “The Naor marched on Darassus. They broke its wall. But with N’lahr to lead us, we broke the Naor, and Elenai faced down their sorcerer king.”

  “It sounds a great tale!”

  “Their king sliced her sword in half,” Kyrkenall continued. “But she did not relent! She took his head from his shoulders with her shattered blade!”

  Elenai enjoyed the shortened version of the victory, but not nearly so much as Ortok.

  “Ho ho!” Ortok’s eyes shone, and there were mutters of approval from the nearby kobalin that spread as these details were relayed through their ranks. “That is good,” Ortok said. “But we should share such words while we sit and eat.” He motioned to herd them forward, but Kalandra interposed herself.

  “Those are fine suggestions, and good to hear,” she said. “But we hunt something that must be found before we feast. There is glory in its finding. Enough for all here.”

  “This must be a great something indeed. Tell me of it.”

  “Our queen called up a powerful goddess, Ortok.” Kalandra gestured to the lands around her. “The Goddess transformed this land simply by passing through. She means to destroy everything. The land. The sky. All places, all people, everywhere.”

  Ortok stroked his furry chin. “Your queen should not have summoned this Goddess.”

  “You always see right to the heart of the problem,” Kyrkenall remarked, without the faintest hint of sarcasm.

  “This Goddess will be a most worthy opponent. So we will fight her!”

  At Ortok’s declaration the nearby kobalin shook their weapons in the air and this gesture rippled outward through their ranks. A roar of approval swelled over them and dropped away.

  Kalandra slowly shook her head. “The Altenerai already brought her battle. Yet nothing can harm her but a special weapon, older than the oldest of our elders’ elders, and hidden deep within the wastelands of Kanesh.”

  Elenai couldn’t help marveling over Kalandra’s mastery of the moment. She clearly knew exactly how to speak with kobalin and win them to her viewpoint.

  “And it is a magic weapon?” Ortok asked.

  “Yes,” Kalandra replied.

  “And will it bring victory over this great foe?”

  “If the legends hold true, and our fight is clever,” Kalandra said.

  “We will help you find this thing,” Ortok vowed. “And then we will have a battle for the ages.” He raised his voice so that he might address those nearest as well as those who surrounded him. “You see? It is truly valuable to be friends with Altenerai, so we can find strange gods and fight them!”

  Murmuring among those nearby seemed to indicate Ortok had scored a point in some longstanding kobalin dispute.

  “You will have to tell us what we look for.” Ortok dropped one massive hand on Kyrkenall’s shoulder, completely obscuring it, then turned to speak to his followers.

  His deep voice boomed. “Listen well! My Altenerai friends will tell you of a magic weapon! We march now to seek it, and then we shall battle a god. Great will be our glory!”

  At this word, the kobalin erupted into cheers.

  Kyrkenall leaned closer to Elenai. “And here you were probably thinking we needed some kind of eloquent speech.”

  Elenai chuckled, and, surprised at the sound, wondered how long it had been since she’d actually laughed. She marveled again at how skillfully Kalandra had tailored her message for her audience. She was the kind of leader the realm needed. No matter her own challenges she remained calm and certain, and spoke from a well of experience. What would it be like having a ghost for a queen? Kalandra would be virtually immortal, so long as energies could be fed into her crystal.

  Though she had been growing more and more comfortable with the idea of sitting the throne in Darassus, finding someone better suited for the role didn’t trouble Elenai in the least. Before she could consider the idea further, though, she had to join the conversation about the weapon.

  She explained to the kobalin that they searched for something hidden in a plateau among the dunes. Kalandra described its likely magical aura. Before long the furred, scaled, and occasionally armored army was trudging with them toward the desert. While the host advanced in staggered lines to right and left, Ortok walked with the Altenerai. Lyria trailed Kyrkenall.

  “I would rather have heard you speak of battles around a fire,” Ortok said to Kyrkenall, “but I know it will be good telling even as we walk. Speak on, friend.”

  “Gladly, but I want to hear about your adventures first. How did you win your army?”

  The kobalin’s eyes lit. “Oh, yes. It was a great contest. I fought Olbaht the White. He was pale, and broad, and had pointed teeth! The fight was long, and much blood was spilled! Twice he struck me, four times I struck him, and felled him finally with a blow to his chest. Then he declared me worthy as he died, and his followers acclaimed me, and I made a fine speech.”

  Elenai couldn’t help noticing that Ortok was still working to describe important details in groups of threes, as he had thought Kyrkenall had been suggesting to him. “What was Olbaht’s army doing there in the wastes?” she asked.

  Ortok plodded in thoughtfu
l silence. They drew near the long line of immense red columns deposited by the storm. Scalloped indentations rose along each of them at even intervals.

  “The seers smelled a change in the air,” Ortok said finally, “as sometimes happens, and banded together to seek matters and best challenges. They had heard of the goddess of the wastes, who transformed our folk into Dendressi, and they meant to fight her or swear fealty. But the way to her lands was blocked. I had told N’lahr that I would find an army and fight Naor, so I did. And now I see I chose rightly, because fighting the little groups of Naor led me to you. And I do not want the Goddess to destroy all. It is one thing to stand and face challenges, but if there is no place to stand, how is a warrior to prove himself?”

  Elenai had forgotten how much she enjoyed Ortok’s reasoning.

  The kobalin shifted his attention to Kalandra. “You don’t glow as much as the last time I saw you.”

  “I’m not that memory,” Kalandra explained.

  Elenai had expected Ortok to ask further, but the explanation seemed to satisfy him. “Where is the rest of you?”

  “This is all that’s left.”

  Ortok appeared incapable of perceiving the tragedy of her circumstance. “It is very interesting,” he said. “Now that you are here, when we are done killing the Goddess, I hope to see that play with you. Elenai has also invited me, so perhaps we can all go, and see two plays.”

  Kalandra’s smile for the first time betrayed not the slightest hint of sorrow. “Ortok, I hope to see as many plays as you like.”

  Elenai shared her sentiment. “If I ever become queen,” she said, “I’ll make certain everyone knows you are welcome to every playhouse in the five realms.”

  Ortok’s gaze swung to her. “Do you mean so?”

  “Of course!”

  “General of Armies. Friend to Altenerai, Watcher of Plays. And you will be queen? Did you kill the last one?”

  “No,” Elenai said. “That was…” That, she decided, might take too long to explain. “No. The people were grateful when I killed the Naor general.”

  “You mean the Naor king?”

  “He was their leader,” Kyrkenall said.

  “You should be leader of the Naor, then,” Ortok said, “if you killed theirs.”

  “In a way she is,” Kyrkenall said. “The surviving warriors pledged to serve her.”

  “Ho!” Ortok slapped Elenai on the back the way he did with N’lahr. The blow stung even through her armor, and set her arm throbbing. “You killed the Denaven commander, and the Naor general king. You never bother to kill small warriors.”

  Elenai thought of the soldiers of Mazakan’s honor guard who’d fallen to her, and the Naor warriors she’d faced on the wall. So many had come against her she couldn’t really guess their numbers, and their faces were blurs. But mostly she remembered the surprised eyes of that first person she had ever slain, the guard at the north tower from whom she should have demanded surrender.

  For the first time, Elenai understood how her lack of experience had influenced that moment. She had been frightened and uncertain. She didn’t forgive herself, exactly, but she understood the younger Elenai who had taken that action, pitying her almost as though she were a different person. There was nothing now to be done for the soldier but to remember that attack so that she never again struck without thinking.

  But then it occurred to her that maybe she’d already internalized that lesson long ago, in the staying of Kyrkenall’s hand against Gyldara. Fine, she thought, but if so, it was a lesson to be overlearned.

  Ortok was still musing on a similar topic. “It is a good thing to be confident of your power, so that you wield it only when needed.”

  “It is,” Kalandra agreed.

  “N’lahr and I have discussed this,” Ortok said. “We think alike, he and I.”

  Elenai had never heard a better opening, and seized it promptly. “Please tell me you still don’t mean to fight him.”

  Kyrkenall sucked in a breath through his teeth. Elenai felt Kalandra’s close scrutiny, wondering why she sensed disapproval. But she kept her attention upon Ortok, who eyed her as though she were mad. “I gave my word!” he said.

  “That may be so, but if either of you die, I will be very sad.”

  Ortok nodded sagely. “Facing him will create a sadness. But sorrow is a part of being alive. I have welcomed much trouble to prove myself worthy to challenge him.”

  Elenai tried another line of attack. “If you or N’lahr fall, your enemies will rejoice. Is that what you want? Or do you want them to fear you, as you both live?”

  “It is good when your enemies fear you. But I gave my word and offered challenge. Now I will see to my people.” He strode stiffly off along the right wing of his army.

  “That was a bad time to do that,” Kyrkenall said. “Can’t you push on that later? We may not even have to worry about it if the world’s about to end.”

  “He’s planning to fight your best friend to the death,” Elenai reminded him. “And it was the right opening.”

  “N’lahr can handle him,” the archer said.

  “You don’t think I know that?” How thick was he? “Do you want Ortok to die?”

  Kyrkenall frowned as though he hadn’t considered that side of the issue.

  “Your intentions are good, Elenai,” Kalandra said. “But right now we need Ortok’s help. N’lahr himself would have advised you to remain silent.”

  She found both of them frustrating, and went quiet, almost as if she played the part of a sullen teenager scolded by both parents. She didn’t fully understand their reasoning. All else was out of their control, and this course, at least, she might be able to shape.

  Yet it might be that their greater experience with kobalin was a better guide than her instincts, for her prodding seemed to have created a rift. Ortok kept clear of them as they marched into the desert.

  Neither Kalandra nor Kyrkenall said anything further about the matter, but Ortok’s withdrawal left Elenai feeling hurt.

  Eventually Kalandra retreated to her emerald as Kyrkenall and Elenai walked on in silence, trading off riding Lyria. Even under cloud cover the temperature climbed, though it never approached the heat they’d experienced that morning, perhaps because an odd wind blew intermittently cool. They stopped as the sun descended, digging into their rations while the kobalin ate in little groups spread out toward the horizon. Then they resumed their march.

  The great dunes had been blown by the storm, but remained obstacles that had to be detoured around. Once the sun sank, the cold chill of the naked stars swept through the desert, such that Elenai shivered even under the blanket she wore like a cloak. From a strange gash in the dark sky a series of suns slowly shifted past, and warmth flowed down from them, though never enough to fully shield them from the frigid night.

  Kyrkenall, walking at her side, sometimes sang to himself in a pleasant alto, and sometimes talked to Lyria, but he didn’t say much to Elenai.

  Finally, in the late hours of the night, the dunes receded around a mesa so low it hadn’t been visible until they were almost on top of it. Nor was it particularly large, a rough crescent only a few hundred feet across at its widest point and perhaps a thousand long.

  The kobalin on the right flank climbed it first, then Elenai, Kyrkenall, and Ortok joined a handful of the kobalin warriors struggling up a sandy slope to arrive at the mesa’s height. Scattered rock littered its top, occasional impediments to an otherwise wide vista over the surrounding dunes. She scanned the hills visible upon the weird horizon, lit now by a bright red sun seen through that jagged opening, and beheld the split mountaintop from her vision. This was the right place.

  At the summit, Kyrkenall contacted Kalandra, and the woman’s image walked silently with them as their footfalls crunched sand and grit along the hardened surface. Ortok practically bubbled with excitement, and Elenai hoped this meant the earlier awkwardness between them was forgotten.

  Elenai reminded the kob
alin searchers that the artifact might feel like a lack of magic, and they unflaggingly spread out to search, as they described it, “for a hole where magic wasn’t.” Before very long, Urchok, the armored one who seemed to be Ortok’s chief scout, ran back to report. “There is a feeling where the sands lie in the midst of this flat rock place,” he said. “We think the weapon is there, under much sand.”

  Rounding a large stone Elenai discovered the scout’s description essentially accurate. In the midst of the flat mesa lay a sandy area scattered with rounded boulders of roughly equal size. Dozens of the kobalin were already scooping great handfuls of dark sand and piling it to the side. A dry smell reached Elenai’s nostrils, reminding her of uncured hide left rotting in the sun.

  “There’s a strange energy here,” Ortok said to Kyrkenall. “How big is the weapon we look for?”

  “The length of Arzhun,” Kyrkenall answered.

  Elenai searched amongst the kobalin for the one from her dreams. But it was difficult to judge much about any of them as they labored in the near darkness. She fought off a shiver, then opened her eyes to the inner world and considered the sand-filled pit. She grew distracted by a glimpse of movement where she hadn’t expected any.

  She shifted to get a better look. Something was odd about the surrounding rocks. Most were about half the size of a horse. Each was immobile, but they were hollow, and a complex construct squirmed inside every one of them. “These aren’t rocks, they’re eggs,” she said.

  “We sensed the boulders had energy,” Ortok said. “Would they be good for eating?”

  “I’m not sure I’d try that.” Elenai peered more intently at the outline within the nearest, and recognized the flattened head, the multiple limbs, and the little wriggle along a jawline that met vertically. Alarm stabbed at her, especially since Ortok had walked to the nearest and readied his sword pommel for a good smack.

  “Stop!” Elenai cried, and was relieved that Ortok paused with his weapon raised. “I think these eggs are of the beasts we fought. The ones that send pain when you attack them,” she added to clarify.