“Lord Farrell. How may we assist you?” the woman to his right asked.
“Good morning, Captain . . .?”
“Lieutenant Graclin, my lord.”
“My apologies.” He bowed slightly. “Lieutenant Graclin, would you take me to the temple? I’d like to speak to Mother Jolella.”
“My lord.” She looked over his shoulder at the other two guards. “One doesn’t show up and ask for an audience with the holy mother. I can send an inquiry to see if she’ll meet with you now, if you’d like.”
His good mood evaporated faster than drops of water on the street in front him. “No, I wouldn’t like that. Would you please tell the holy mother that Seritia’s Chosen requests that she attend him as soon as possible?” He raised an eyebrow, daring her to question his instructions.
The woman’s eyes opened wider, and her mouth hung open. “Um . . . I . . .”
“Or . . .” he let the word hang for a moment. Not wanting the holy mother to have to leave the temple, he didn’t let them send the message. “You could escort me to the temple and I can ask her myself if she is free to speak to me.”
She snapped her mouth shut. “Of course, Chosen.”
“Thank you.” He kept his expression neutral.
The lieutenant nodded to one of the guards behind Farrell. “Convey the Chosen’s message to the holy mother’s staff and inform Commander Jaquelle that I am escorting Lord Farrell to the temple so she can send someone to take my place.”
The soldier saluted quickly and ran off. Lieutenant Graclin said to Farrell, “I’ll wait for you here while you prepare yourself, Chosen.”
“There is no need to wait. We may go. I’m ready now.”
Lieutenant Graclin cast a critical gaze over her charge, but whatever she thought, she kept to herself. “Of course, Chosen.”
The walk to the temple took longer than the journey had the day before. At first Farrell thought it might be his imagination, but when they passed a market with an enormous fountain with each of the Six depicted in the center, he knew they’d not used this road. The spell he sent seeking the most direct route to the temple entrance confirmed his suspicions. Rather than say anything, he redirected the magic to alert him when they reached the next quickest course.
They crossed to the far end of the market, and his escort passed by a road Farrell’s magical guide said they should take.
He stopped walking and waited for a moment. When his chaperon kept walking, he cleared his throat. “Lieutenant Graclin?”
When she saw him several paces behind her, she couldn’t completely stifle a look of irritation. “Chosen? Why have you stopped?”
“Are you taking me to a back entrance?” He hoped his tone conveyed his displeasure if that were the case.
“Of course not, Chosen. That would be unseemly.”
“Then you missed the turn.” He pointed across his body with his left hand toward the road to their right. “You’ve stalled long enough. They’ve had time to prepare, I’m sure.”
He held the position and waited. Indecision paralyzed the officer, but Farrell didn’t waver. Looming events required he not waste time. While this small detour wouldn’t change the course of history, he had no patience for needless delay.
She nodded. “Very well, Chosen.” She remained wary but moved in the direction he indicated.
“I assure you, Lieutenant, Mother Jolella will not be put off by my visit.”
“As you say, Chosen.”
Increasing his pace, Farrell moved up so they walked side by side. “I realize you believe you are protecting the high priestess, but I’m not an enemy.”
She never looked up from their path. “If I thought you were an enemy, I’d not be taking you to the temple.”
“Then why the hostility?”
“There are protocols to be followed.” Graclin glanced at him briefly. “One does not demand to speak to Blessed Seritia’s cho—highest priestess. Not even Her Chosen.”
He weighed his response. To be chosen by one of the Six was an honor above all others—at least according to what the temples taught. Reality, however, clashed with those teachings. Father Gedrin didn’t believe himself second to Honorus’s Chosen. Clearly those in Seritia’s city shared Gedrin’s opinion.
“I understand.”
Farrell dropped the issue. The heat irritated him enough, and he didn’t want to add to his discomfort before he spoke to Jolella. Soon, they reached the entrance. A few minutes after Farrell put them back on course, they found Sister Carien waiting for them at the entrance.
The priestess had Lieutenant Graclin remain at the entrance and led Farrell into the main temple. Sister Carien didn’t address him, and he used the silence to examine his surroundings.
Agloth’s temple looked nothing like any building Farrell had seen before. Its vaulted roof stretched a hundred feet or more into the sky, with small windows at the top. The rafters were barely visible from the ground, but hints of paintings decorated the ceiling. Closer to the ground, windows on either side of him stood open, providing a cooling breeze. Statues, paintings, and carvings adorned the hallway they passed through. Some were opulent, others crude, and most fell in between. The materials used were as varied as the images they depicted. Nothing matched or seemed coordinated, as if someone had grabbed whatever he or she laid hands upon and put it on display.
A painting of two dark-skinned warriors standing back-to-back, fighting a group of lighter-skinned soldiers, drew his attention. He took a closer look. Although he’d never seen anyone of their race, he recognized the warriors from his lessons.
“Why have you stopped, Chosen?” Sister Carien asked.
“I’ve never seen a Child of Zeron before.” He stared at the image, taking in as much detail as he could. “Not even in a painting.”
“I believe the holy mother is waiting for you, Chosen.” Unlike the petulance he received from Lieutenant Graclin, Sister Carien sounded uncomfortable.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Of course not, Chosen. I . . . any questions about the Children of Zeron, however, must be addressed to Mother Jolella.”
The priestess quickly turned away. Taking a last look at the painting, he quickly followed after her. He’d just about caught up when Carien stopped in front of a nondescript door.
“Mother Jolella will receive you here, Chosen.” She opened it and stepped back.
Farrell entered the small, empty room. A large desk occupied a major part of the space. In front of that, a small, round table with food and drink on top sat between two large, upholstered chairs.
“Please be comfortable. The holy mother will be with you in a moment.”
Sister Carien didn’t wait for an answer as she backed away and shut the door. Before he could explore the small office, a side door opened and Jolella entered. Dressed in the same style of robe she wore when they first met, she appeared relaxed and happy.
“Chosen.” She gestured toward the chair closest to Farrell. “I was pleased to get your message.”
“Really?” He waited until she sat before he took his seat. “Everyone else seems a bit put off that I asked to speak to you.”
Her laughter carried like a soothing melody. “To most who serve the Six, the high prelate is the pinnacle of importance. Many hold the belief that we outrank kings and queens. Having to adjust to the presence of a Chosen is most disconcerting.”
He smiled at her, thankful she didn’t assert such a position. “I take it you don’t share that belief?”
“I serve the will of Seritia. It matters little who others think I outrank or am beneath.” Jolella selected a cup, poured some juice, and handed it to him. “But to answer your original question, yes, I am pleased you came to see me. Other than your distant relative, I’m not aware of a male Chosen of Seritia having visited Agloth before.”
He took a drink and savored the flavor. Sweet but with a kick. No wonder the holy mother enjoyed it so much.
“At the
risk of being insulting, you’re nothing like I expected. The other high priests and priestesses I’ve met act so self-important. You’re much more approachable.”
“Thank you, Chosen.”
“Please call me Farrell, Holy Mother. Chosen is so . . . so . . .”
“Self-important?” She raised an eyebrow and held up the plate of small cakes.
Selecting a yellow one with white icing, he nodded. “Thank you.
‘Pretentious’ would have been the word I’d have used.”
“If you will call me Jolella, I will promise to try not to call you Chosen.”
“Deal.” He took a bite of cake and resisted the urge to shove the rest into his mouth. “This is really delicious, Holy—Jolella. What is it?”
“A dense lemon-flavored cake with a sweet icing. The pastry chef in the temple is from a land where lemons are plentiful. The icing is meant to offset the sour of the citrus.” She lifted the plate again. “Take another, please.”
Good sense told him to decline, but his stomach overruled his head and he accepted the offer. “Thank you.”
“So . . .” She placed a slice of cake on her plate. “What can I do for you, Farrell?”
“Do you know anything about Kel’s visit? Where he came from, what he did, where he went? Anything?”
She set the plate down and smoothed her robe. “What I know comes from the writing of the high priestess at the time. Kel arrived from the southeast, crossing some of the harshest desert on Lourdria. Battered and exhausted, he likely would have fallen from his mount had he not been riding a unicorn.”
“A unicorn?”
“Yes, Ch—Farrell.” Concern flashed across her face. “Is that a problem?”
“No, I’m just surprised. Nerti never mentioned this.”
“She may be queen of the unicorns, but just as all priestesses do not tell me their activities, this unicorn may not have told her what he was doing.” Taking a drink, she gave him a moment to ponder her answer. “Not only had they ridden across the acrid, burning sands, Kel had been severely injured from what he described as a wizards’ duel.”
“That’s unsettling. Who could have done that to Kel?”
“He never said. When they presented themselves at the temple, Seritia appeared and denied him admittance. ‘You may not enter my house,’ She told Kel. Rather than being upset, Kel bowed respectfully and answered, ‘I expected as much, Most Holy. Tell me where to stow my burden, and I shall do as you direct.’
“Seritia graced him with a smile. ‘Ever have you been a loyal and faithful servant, Kel. Take what you have to the guardians of Agloth, and they will give whatever assistance you require.’ She then told him to stay in Agloth as long as he liked and to let Her city heal him.”
“Who or what are Agloth’s guardians?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
“Kel obviously knew who they were. Why can’t I?” He knew he sounded like a petulant child whose sibling got a bigger slice of pie.
“You are not . . .” Jolella shook her head. “As I said, I cannot give you the answers you seek. You will need to ask the Blessed Mother.”
In her words, Farrell heard the unspoken truth. Seritia would not answer him if he asked.
“Will the guardians let me have what Kel left?”
Jolella took another drink and set the cup down. “I know this is frustrating, Farrell, but I don’t know. Despite my position, this is a matter Holy Seritia did not discuss with Her priestesses. One thing I am certain about is that the guardians will not harm you unless you threaten Seritia or Her city. Does that mean they will aid you? Only they can say.”
Why would Seritia and the other gods require him to fight every step of the way to do Their will? The temptation to walk away and abandon the task was great. If acquiring them took this much effort, was it worth finding the Gifts? Before he left for Dumbarten, no one suggested he couldn’t fight Meglar without them. Why not stick to that plan? “And if I just walk away and don’t bother?”
“You will fail.” The voice wasn’t Jolella’s.
A familiar sensation struck him and he quickly searched the room. The side door Jolella used to enter the small office opened, and they both quickly knelt and bowed their heads.
“Trust that your task is not without purpose, Chosen,” Seritia said as She walked toward them. “Rise that I may see your faces.”
The ethereal aura surrounding Seritia confirmed She wasn’t a priestess of the temple She otherwise resembled. Young and petite, She wore a simple, pale-rose robe similar to Jolella’s. Her bare feet made no sound nor did they leave an impression on the thick rug She walked across.
The beautiful Goddess took Her time as She approached. She smiled at Jolella, pausing a moment to touch her face gently. Jolella beamed, her expression one of pure joy. Even after Seritia passed, her delight never wavered.
When Seritia stopped in front of him, Farrell bowed his head without thinking.
“Am I so ugly you can’t bear to look at me?” She asked.
Farrell’s heart seized at the unintentional insult, and he raised his gaze immediately.
Seritia smiled fondly, like a sister would to a favorite brother.
“No, Holy Mother. Of course not. You’re beautiful.”
“Then why turn away?”
“I’m . . . I mean you’re . . .” He averted his eyes again. “I’m not worthy.”
“Yes, you are, Farrell.” She placed Her fingers under his chin and pressed upward until their eyes met again. “I chose you above all others.
Remember that when you doubt yourself the most.”
“Yes, Holy Mother.”
Her expression changed, and Seritia peered at him as if She stared into his soul. “I may not visit for long, not even with My Champion, so listen to My words. Follow the instruction given to your predecessor and do not deviate. Plans set in motion before you were born require you collect all the Gifts. In time, all the pieces will come together and you will understand, but for now, do what you know you must.”
She touched his cheek and disappeared. The spot where Seritia’s fingers had brushed his skin tingled, and hope filled him again. He reached up and placed his hand over the spot and nodded to the empty space. “I will.”
Chapter Nine
Farrell stood in front of the small, square, nondescript stone building the Eye had shown him. From the outside it appeared no different than the others, but he knew differently. Despite its modest exterior, this was the second most important building in Agloth. If Seritia was to be believed—and he had to accept that She was—the future depended on what he’d find inside.
Other than the temple guards who accompanied him, no soldiers marked the status of this building, but Farrell was certain Agloth’s guardians would make their presence known in short order. Standing this close to another piece of his destiny, Farrell wished someone—his mother or one of his teachers—were here to offer their advice. But they’d died, and the burden fell to him.
Before he risked entering the building, he’d asked Nerti about who accompanied his distant grandsire to Seritia’s city. “Did you ever find out anything more about the unicorn that brought Kel to Agloth?”
“I did.” Nerti’s terse answer bothered him.
“Is something wrong?”
“The unicorn in question was my son, Flemin. As I made contact with him to demand answers, Lenore ordered me to cease my inquires.”
“Naturally.” For a moment he reconsidered his decision to enter the building. “Why would the Six want me to have as much information as possible when I battle Neldin’s Champion? That would make this task too simple.”
“I shared your frustration—though not your sarcasm—with the Holy Mother, but She told me, ‘Many have parts to play in the grand plan the Six have set in motion. To each is given all they need to know and none of what they do not.’ She reminded me that even I don’t know all that the Six have done to bring us to this moment.”
“In other words, we don’t need to know what happened to Kel or why Flemin brought him to Agloth for me to carry out my task.”
“So it would appear.” Nerti sighed. “I wish I had better news.”
“No matter. I can’t let it change what I do next.”
“Be careful, Little One.”
“Of course.” Drawing a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. He tried to clear his thoughts, but he couldn’t avoid the obvious—Kel had reached across time to annoy him with his enigmatic nature. If—when—he found his ancestor, it might not be the joyous occasion he envisioned.
Nerti’s investigation of the mysterious unicorn had been his last hope. At least he could say to Miceral he checked under every rock before he made the attempt. He stepped to the door, grasped the iron handle, and pushed. When the door swung inward, he nearly fell over.
“Not locked?” he said. “How could that be?”
The hinges moved smoothly, as if freshly oiled, and he opened the door wider. Like the one in Dumbarten, this room was empty. Stepping over the threshold, he was hit with a wave of disorientation. The floor shifted beneath him—at least that was what it felt like—and he nearly fell over trying to pull his staff from his back.
Spinning around to leave, he found the door gone, along with the windows and the walls. He stood in the middle of—he had no idea where he was. The light from the midday sun that had been at his back had vanished. It was dark, but not pitch-black, and Farrell couldn’t locate the source that gave off the dim light.
Strengthening his shields, he made a slow circle to locate whatever Kel had left behind. There was no sound, no movement, and no light. Nothing. Even the floor and ceiling had disappeared. How did he fight—nothing?
A wave of fear swept over him and seized his body. What Kel used to protect the Eye and the Arm he’d understood and could fight, but this, whatever this was, he’d never seen. Farrell kept his defenses ready even as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened. Kel had to have set spells to guard whatever he left, but Farrell sensed nothing.
Champion of the Gods Box Set Page 79