“Mother Jolella said she will come to you. Whatever you carry, she doesn’t want you to bring it with you and doesn’t think it wise for you to leave it unattended.”
“That’s something I hadn’t considered.” It would, however, delay their meeting.
“What is it you have that she fears its presence in the temple?”
“The Hand of Neldin.” He braced himself for her reaction. He didn’t expect the silence that followed. “Nerti?”
“Sorry, Little One, your answer is unsettling. Klissmor and I were discussing it.”
“I understand. It’s . . . having it is unnerving to me as well.”
“I’m certain it is. Be careful.”
Despite his anxiety, the distress and fear he saw in the people’s faces made it difficult to be mad at their need for answers. But when their progress came to a grinding halt, he sent Randgar a pleading look.
“Your Majesty, you know what I carry. I would feel better if I could get out of the crowd.” He noted the recognition on Randgar’s face. “The holy mother is on her way to my quarters.”
“My apologies, Chosen. I let myself get distracted by my people’s needs. Give me a moment.”
Farrell nodded and checked on the temple guards. Their looks of fear had diminished, but they were still wary. He didn’t blame them. The cries from the Ze’arderians had turned angrier as they walked.
“Citizens!” Randgar’s shout startled him. Following the voice, he saw the amelt standing above the crowd on a shield held up by five soldiers. “My fellow Ze’arderians. All will be explained in time, but for now I need you to let us through. The Chosen has urgent business that requires he pass through your numbers. Please go home and wait for word. I shall address you soon, but for now, let the Chosen attend to the Goddess’s work.”
The wave of questions grew into a small roar, and it drowned out Randgar’s attempts to quiet the crowd. After several heartbeats, a soldier blew a horn. Other warriors followed her lead, and the blasts drowned out the questions. Finally, the people went silent.
An older man wearing a sash in red and gold moved in front of Randgar. “The amelt has spoken. Go home and await his summons.”
Several shouts from the crowd challenged Randgar’s title. The older man made eye contact with a guard, who quickly put his horn to his lips and blew a loud, long note.
“Amelt Jazor is dead. Blessed Seritia punished him for his foolishness. The army supports Amelt Randgar’s claim to the throne of Ze’arder.”
Another roar interrupted the speaker. This time he let it play out before he tried to quiet the crowd. Once it was clear they could not get answers shouting at him, the majority stopped talking. The man continued.
“All will be made clear in a short time. You’ve been ordered to go home and wait. Seritia’s Chosen has urgent business that requires Amelt Randgar’s help. This is the last warning I will give. Clear the way!”
A squad of soldiers moved forward with their hands on their weapons. Farrell readied a spell to hold them back. Before he’d let the soldiers hurt anyone, he’d either fly off or gently move the crowd apart. He held his breath, poised to release his magic, when slowly the people parted enough for the amelt’s guards to clear a path.
The rest of the trip went quickly as the Children of Zeron took to heart their amelt’s request. They still shouted questions to the group passing, but they did so from the edge of the street.
When they rounded the corner that led to his quarters, Farrell saw his brothers escorting Penelope, Grenda, and Nordric to his building.
Randgar clutched his arm “Are those . . .?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, they are.” He didn’t know whether the amelt referred to the unicorns or peregrines, but it didn’t matter.
“Greetings, brother,” Takala called with a hint of amusement in his voice. “You should have warned us you were about to unleash such a panic around us.”
“My apologies, brother.” He caught his brother’s eye and winked. “Next time I go to collect a Gift of the Gods, I’ll be sure to ask if my actions will create a riot.”
“See that you do,” Grohl added as he disappeared through the door.
It took Mother Jolella some time to reach them—less than he expected, but more than enough to fray his patience. All were anxious. The only exceptions were Randgar and the peregrines. They engaged in a spirited discussion of how Takala and Farrell had destroyed the swarm of harpies.
Engrossed in Takala’s version of the fight, Farrell jumped at the knock at the door. Jolella’s guards ushered her inside, and her eyes scanned the room until she found the amelt. She ignored the others and made her way to Randgar’s side.
“Your Majesty.” She nodded politely as he bowed deeply. “It gives me great joy to welcome an amelt of Ze’arder back to Agloth. The Children of Zeron have been gone for too long, and your return has lifted the hearts of all who serve Her.”
“Thank you, Holy Mother. For us it feels as if we’ve never left.”
Farrell paced nervously, waiting for Jolella to finish. When she moved toward him, he put the box down. “I assume you didn’t know.”
“No, I did not.” She stared at the top of the chest. “May I see it?”
Farrell opened the lid and stepped away. Resting at the bottom, surrounded by deep purple velvet, an alabaster marble fist clutched a brilliant, oversized white rose. “The Hand of Neldin holding the Heart of Seritia.”
Everyone stretched to see inside the chest. Jolella moved around the open top, bending at times to examine the artifacts closer. Twice she looked up and sought Farrell’s eyes but didn’t say anything until she’d finished.
“Did Kel mention anything to you about how this came to be?” She gently closed the lid and glanced around the room.
Farrell pointed toward an empty chair and moved it closer for the priestess to use. “Conveniently, the power for the spell needed to be recharged not long after I found this. But he stuck around long enough to tell me that so long as the Heart is in contact with the Hand, not even Neldin is able to detect it.”
“You sound skeptical,” Penelope said.
Shaking his head, he tapped the chest. “Skeptical isn’t the right word. More like confused. If the Hand is truly hidden, why did I need to collect it now? I can’t use either of them without sending up a giant flare telling Meglar where I am and that I have Neldin’s Gift.”
He scanned the room, hoping someone would have an answer. Jolella shook her head.
“I do not know why the Six want you to possess the Heart and the Hand, only that it is the will of Seritia and Her Siblings.” The priestess’s answer frustrated Farrell. Before he voiced his irritation, she continued. “I, too, am uneasy with the lack of answers, but there must be a greater purpose we can’t see. Kel nearly died obtaining the Hand, and Seritia charged Her servants with protecting both unto death. Though we don’t know why or how, these Gifts will play an important role in this war.”
“She is right, brother,” Grohl said before Farrell could speak. “We must trust that the wisdom of the Six extends well beyond ours. The time and effort needed to make sure you have these Gifts squawks loudly to the sky that they are important.”
Miceral rubbed his shoulders. “I agree. Patience isn’t your best quality, but I think you’re going to have to wait for a clear answer.”
“Did Kel say anything more about how he obtained the Hand or what we should do next?” Penelope asked.
“Of course not.” Farrell reached into his pocket. He withdrew a large leather-bound book similar to the ones Kel had left for him in Trellham and Dumbarten. “As is his way, Kel gave me another tome to pore over, searching for the few crumbs of information he wants to share.”
“Which means we better get comfortable, since we have no idea where we are going or how long we will be here.” Miceral didn’t sound happy about the prospect.
“Exactly,” Farrell agreed. “It will likely take me a few days to read this entire boo
k. Assuming we’ve not worn out our welcome before then.” He looked at Jolella and then to Randgar.
“We will be honored to host you for as long as you can remain, Chosen.” Randgar bowed deeply.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He stowed the book back in his pocket. “I’m not in the mood to deal with anything Kel has left for me. If you don’t mind, you promised to tell us what happened to you and your people.”
Randgar’s smile faltered. “I did, and as the one to free my people, you have the right to know what we did to deserve our punishment.”
Farrell yawned. “Sorry.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” Miceral moved closer, eyeing him intently. “Maybe you should get some rest first.”
“Are you unwell, Chosen?”
“I’m fine, Your Majesty.” Randgar’s concern caused Farrell to shoot his partner a dagger-filled stare. “The last few weeks I’ve used far more magic than I should have, and rest is really the only cure.”
“If you’re sure.” The amelt settled back against his chair before anyone could answer. “To explain properly, I must begin with a very brief history of Agloth and Ze’arder. After Her city was built, Seritia asked the different nations for warriors to guard Her newly finished home. Some kings offered a few guards, others a company or two, and some offered nothing. None of the contributions appealed to Seritia or Her high priestess. Then one day, the amelt of Ze’arder sent a messenger to Agloth. If Seritia would allow him to move all his people to Agloth, the amelt agreed to defend Her city unto the last warrior.
“You’re probably asking why the amelt offered to uproot his people from their homes and subject himself to the rule of the high priestess. The answer is simple. We were on the verge of being exterminated.”
Farrell inched forward in his seat. His lessons had mentioned the Children of Zeron, but only that they disappeared long before the Great War.
“The Children of Zeron are one of the oldest tribes of humans. We were one of the first to consolidate into nations. When Kentar was still sparsely settled and little more than a collection of small warlords, the four kingdoms of Zeron had established a highly organized political, economic, and social structure similar to the ones you’re familiar with today. I wish I could say we achieved these things because we possessed a superior culture—though many at the time believed we were better than the other tribes—but the truth is our society made these advances out of necessity. We did it to survive.
“Zeron might be among the oldest tribes, but we were small, and we remained small as the centuries rolled on. As I mentioned, there was a belief among my ancestors that we were superior to all other people. A union with a member of another tribe was considered a crime against Zeron. Our arrogance naturally created a backlash of hatred toward us, which we attributed to jealousy.”
“That is the way of things,” Penelope said. “The arrogant believe they are justified and worthy of praise, not scorn.”
Randgar met her gaze but didn’t waver. “It is easy to judge our actions today, but one can’t view the past using the lens of the present. Though we may have developed a superior attitude, initially we were persecuted because we were different. We did not look like the other tribes, and out of a need to survive, we put aside petty differences and banded together in larger units far more quickly than most.
“Success, however, sometimes is a fertile ground for pride, and we were not immune. The warrior culture necessary for self-preservation easily made the transition from defense to offense once we were larger than our neighbors. Soon we went from protecting our homes and families to conquering those smaller than us. And when one kingdom acted, the other three marched alongside. Little by little we expanded our reach and extended our territory.
“In time our enemies learned from us. One by one the smaller political units joined together, either by treaty, marriage, agreement, or conquest, and formed larger kingdoms. Suddenly the small neighbors we could bully or subjugate became powerful enemies on our border with long memories and an even longer list of grievances.
“I won’t go into the demise of Zeron today. It is too long and diverts us from what you wish to hear. Suffice it to say, in time only Ze’arder remained of the four kingdoms, and our enemies surrounded us. Tired of fighting simply to survive, the amelt hoped to find a safe home for his people in Agloth. Seritia accepted, and our people migrated to this wondrous place.”
Randgar took a drink from his cup. To Farrell everything he’d heard was ancient history; it had all happened well before Kel’s time. To Randgar it wasn’t such a distant memory.
“For centuries little was asked of us. There were no armies to repel, no enemies to defend against, for none wanted to risk a life bereft of love by attacking Agloth. As our numbers grew and our people prospered, our leaders grew restless. They immersed themselves in the past glories of Zeron and dreamt of revenge on those who drove us from our home. The lure of restoring Ze’arder and all of Zeron to its past magnificence grew stronger with each new generation. Finally, our amelt began to openly plan to retake what he said was rightfully ours.
“Seritia’s high priestess warned the amelt to let go of the past. She reminded him that his duty to Agloth superseded all notions of revenge or conquest. He was admonished not to violate the sanctity of our oath.
“My brother scoffed at her words, telling her Agloth needed only a fraction of our people to defend the city. He promised that when he led his people to reclaim their lost homeland, he’d make certain to maintain sufficient troops inside the city to safeguard Seritia’s temple. In spite of the warnings not to, Jazor pressed ahead with his plans.
“Finally the day came. Our army formed into legions and marched out the front gate. Our spirits rose as many shared the belief that we would return Ze’arder and Zeron to its former greatness. Such were my brother’s oratory skills that few among our ranks worried about our oath to defend Agloth. Those who had concerns raised them only in private.”
To Randgar, this had happened yesterday, not more than three thousand years ago. “Some who had doubts as to the wisdom of what was planned came to me. I listened, and since I shared their concerns, I voiced them to my brother. He assured me Seritia would bless our mission. Like a fool, I accepted his word.
“The amelt had barely cleared the city gates when Seritia’s avatar appeared before us as a young woman heading to Agloth. At first we mistook Her for a pilgrim and asked Her if She required an escort. The young woman shook Her head and stared at my brother.
“In a booming voice that echoed off the distant walls of Agloth, She warned us to turn back. Many of us recognized the warning for what it was, a direct message from our Goddess to do what Her priestesses had been telling us for generations. Unfortunately, on that day, the amelt wasn’t one of those who saw the truth.
“He laughed at the young woman and said, ‘Ze’arder honors its oath to the Goddess. Agloth is well protected. No harm shall befall the city or temple, just as we pledged.’ He then gave the order to continue our march. I counseled my brother to return to the city. Though I didn’t know it was Seritia Herself, it was clear the woman before us had been sent by the Goddess. For the good of our people, I begged him to return to Agloth.
“My brother raged at me for questioning his judgment in front of the army. He struck me with such force, it unseated me from my horse. The soldiers were told to deny me my mount, and he chided me to walk my cowardly self back to Agloth if I was afraid.
“Had I been wiser then, I would have looked past the insult to my manhood and pressed harder for him to see reason. Instead I remained with the army, determined to prove I was worthy of my heritage. When Jazor turned his attention back to the woman, She drew a line in the dirt between Her and the amelt. ‘Great will be the suffering of your people should you leave the boundaries of Agloth,’ She said. ‘Heed the words of your brother and go home. Do not tempt such a fate on your people.’
“My brother laughed at Her again. In
his arrogance, he told Her Seritia blessed our crusade. He ordered the army to move around the woman and continue. When the last of our troops crossed the line, the woman suddenly reappeared in front of the amelt. The figure changed instantly, and even my brother realized his mistake. By then, however, it was too late.”
Randgar closed his eyes and shook his head. “Her next words will haunt me to the end of my days. ‘I warned all of you not to leave the boundaries of Agloth. Foolish amelt, your ancestor swore that all of Ze’arder would protect My city until I no longer required your services. You broke that pledge, and I brand you an oathbreaker. You and all your people shall pay for your sin.’
“Seritia raised Her arms, and a cold breeze rose from the burning sands to the east. As the wind touched us, the Goddess spoke again. ‘Since I can no longer trust you to honor your vow, I must take steps to ensure you uphold your part of our covenant. Henceforth, the people of Ze’arder are bound to My city as shadows with no more body than a spirit. And so you shall remain unless you are needed to fulfill your oath to defend My city.’
“The wind whipped around us again, and I felt the icy grip of our fate. I closed my eyes against the full might of Her fury. When I opened my eyes, we were inside that gray nothingness where you found us. We’d been reduced to a shadowy, miserable existence, neither alive nor dead.”
“What happened to the amelt?” Peter asked. Everyone looked at Peter, who stared at his boots. “I mean, you said you were his brother, but now you’re the amelt.”
“A fair question.” Randgar smiled at the younger man. “Until Kel arrived, we had no knowledge of what became of the amelt or our wives, children, and those few who stayed behind, for that matter. Kel told us Seritia allowed Jazor, of all the people of Ze’arder, to maintain his physical form—in part.”
“In part?” Penelope snorted. “How does one retain only part of their physical form?”
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