Crucible of Fortune: An Epic Fantasy Young Adult Adventure (Heirs of Destiny Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  Yet at that moment, she wasn’t certain she felt ready to share the truth of her gift as a Spirit Whisperer, at least not until she understood it a bit more. There was so much she didn’t yet know about her Umoyahlebe abilities. They had saved her and Briana back in Suroth’s mansion, but that had been an involuntary action beyond her control. Radiana’s spirit had intervened to protect her daughter.

  Even back in the alley behind Suroth’s mansion, the call of the Kish’aa had taken control of Aisha’s body. She had been drawn to the spirits of Eldesse and Osirath with a force that overrode her willpower. If she didn’t find a way to command of the gift rather than letting it command her, she would be as much its prisoner as her father had been. Her body would become subject to the Kish’aa long before their cries or the Whispering Lily ravaged her mind.

  The thought of the bright blue flower added to her worries. Briana hadn’t had time to research a way to counteract its side effects, not with the secrets of Suroth’s journals to unlock. The Shalandran girl had promised she hadn’t forgotten, but right now, it seemed as if everything else in the world was more important.

  I shouldn’t complain, Aisha told herself. Survival is definitely our first priority, and the only way we survive is by dealing with our enemies. Starting with Councilor Angrak and finishing with the Gatherers and Ybrazhe.

  She had no doubt Lady Callista would use every tool, trick, and weapon in her arsenal to convince Councilor Angrak to turn against not only his fellow Councilors, but also the Ybrazhe. Maybe even the Gatherers, if they truly were working together. But that would take time. How much, Aisha didn’t know, but she needed help understanding and mastering her powers soon, before they took control of her.

  A sudden heat radiated through Aisha’s body. She felt the two sparks—Eldesse and Osirath—flaring to life within her, so bright and hot it set her skin tingling and the energy crackling between her fingers. Though she could not see or hear them, she could feel their emotions radiating through her as she had with Radiana.

  Surprise. Anger. Sorrow.

  Fragments of images flashed through her mind, too quick for her to see but she got a sense of what the two were feeling. Shock and fury at discovering they were betrayed by someone they trusted. Anguish at watching death take the one they loved.

  The anger flared hottest and brightest, accompanied by a pull so strong that it actually brought Aisha to her feet. She wrestled against the force of the Kish’aa but the spirits she had absorbed moved her muscles with a force beyond her control. One step, then two, and a third. Her eyes were drawn beyond the temple, westward, and fell on the Keeper’s Crypts.

  Vengeance! The thought flashed through her mind with the force of a shout. Vengeance!

  Wait! Aisha gritted her teeth and tried to regain command of her movements. She stopped, left foot lifted in the air, a single step away from leaving the cover of the shadows.

  Fighting against the tug on her limbs, Aisha reached into her pouch and drew out two of her remaining five petals. So small, so delicate, their once-bright blue color now starting to wither as they dried, even though she had wrapped them in oilcloth. Beauty and peril, salvation and madness rolled into one.

  Yet she had no choice. They were the only way to speak to the dead, to try and reason with them. She crushed the petals between her fingers and rubbed hard, until twin drops of oil oozed between her fingers. With only a moment’s hesitation, she licked the oil from her fingers. A hint of sweetness filled her mouth, turning bitter before rolling down her throat.

  The effects were instantaneous. The sounds of the night seemed to fall silent around her, to fade into the background. Within her mind, the voices of the spirits sharpened until she could hear their whispered pleas. But could they hear her, too? She didn’t know, but she had to try.

  You want vengeance for your deaths, yes? The silent question echoed through her mind.

  The answer came a moment later. Vengeance against our killers! The entwined voices of Eldesse and Osirath reverberated with thundering force that rattled against her skull.

  Aisha gritted her teeth. I will give you what you want, she told the spirits. But I cannot if you do not let me.

  She felt the tug again and her body moved, her weight shifting forward as her left foot fell to the ground.

  I must have control! she screamed silently. If you control me, I cannot hunt your killers, cannot fight to bring them down. You must let me do it my way.

  Vengeance! A powerful protest, one that sent her fingers twitching toward her assegai.

  Yes, vengeance, Aisha promised. Together, we will find those who murdered you and have justice.

  The tug on her body grew stronger for a moment, then dwindled to a dull pounding in the back of her mind.

  Vengeance, came the voices of the slain maidservant and guard. Together.

  Aisha gasped as sensation suddenly returned to her limbs. She could move freely, as if the strings controlling her had been severed. She ducked back into the cover of the shadows of the towering obelisk, heart hammering.

  We have to be smart, she told the spirits as she tried to slow her frantic breathing. Show me where you want me to go.

  The pull came this time on her mind rather than her body, though strong enough that she could almost feel her eyes once more drawn to the western cliff and the Keeper’s Crypts.

  She could feel their desire within her, wordless yet no less insistent. You want me to go into the tombs?

  Yes! the voices replied.

  So be it. She didn’t understand why the spirits wanted her to go that way or how they knew they’d find their killers there, but right now it didn’t matter. She had to answer their cries.

  A part of her mind screamed that she was abandoning Kodyn, that he’d be expecting her to wait outside the temple as they’d agreed. Yet that thought slipped from her mind as the Kish’aa’s call came again.

  She hurried down the Artificer’s Courseway, clinging to the shadows of the huge temples, her eyes fixed on the cliff looming in the distance. The sight of a patrol of Indomitables forced her to duck out of sight, which elicited impatient, angry cries from the spirits in her mind. It took all her willpower not to cry out as their voices set her skull pounding. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists so tightly her hands shook.

  An eternity seemed to pass before the Indomitables finally disappeared up the street. Despite the coolness of the evening, sweat streamed down Aisha’s face from the effort of fighting the spirits’ demanding insistence. The cries only diminished after she resumed her trek to the Keeper’s Crypts.

  The western cliff face rose two hundred feet above her, but she had eyes only for the massive rectangular doorway—five paces wide and easily twenty tall—carved into the mountainside. The faint glow of flickering torches shone within the Crypts, but Aisha had no need for the light. Blue-white sparks of the dead shone so brilliant to her eyes that the interior of the tombs appeared as bright as day.

  A low hum built in her mind with every step closer, until she could actually hear the individual whispers echoing from the legion of spirits hovering within the Keeper’s Crypts. Like a whirlpool of glowing light, they swirled in the air above the endless rows of headstones, mausoleums, sarcophagi, and obelisks to commemorate their deaths.

  These spirits were those whose lives had been snuffed out before their time. Murder, suicide, illness, starvation—death had come for them in all its forms, but it hadn’t diminished the spark of their lives. They pressed in around her, calling to her, filling her mind with their whispered pleas. Aisha wanted to flee, to escape the horde of dead that flocked around her like ethereal sheep to a shepherd. Yet she could not. She had come this far to fulfill Eldesse and Osirath’s mission, to help them pass from this life into Pharadesi. She wouldn’t run from the fight.

  Vengeance! The cry came impossibly loud, and of their own accord, Aisha’s eyes were drawn toward two figures moving through the darkness.

  She sucked in a ragged bre
ath. The spirits of Eldesse and Osirath had sensed the presence of these two—the ones that had killed them—and demanded vengeance.

  Aisha dove into the shadows of a mausoleum carved to resemble an open book, gritting her teeth against the pounding in her head. Her eyes tracked the movement of the two cloaked figures as they slithered among the tombstones and sarcophagi. Their steps led southwest, down the hill toward the Cultivator’s Tier yet ever deeper into the mountain itself.

  She followed them in silence, one eye fixed on their shadowy forms and the other watching for the blue-white spirits. She dared not draw too close for fear she would absorb them as she had Radiana, Thimara, Eldesse, and Osirath. Already, the demands of the three Kish’aa within her tugged her in two directions—Thimara to the Temple of Whispers, and the Dhukari’s servants deeper into the tombs in pursuit of their killers. The Whispering Lily’s effects were the only thing keeping the spirits from seizing control of her limbs. Aisha wasn’t certain she could fight against so many. She evaded the outstretched phantasmal hands and tried to stop her ears to their cries.

  Yet their words came to her mind unbidden. So many dead, so many whispered pleas, demands, and entreaties. Some demanded vengeance, others pled for justice, and others begged to simply be remembered. A thousand spirits each with their own desires—she could not answer their calls. It was simply too much.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision. The Whispering Lily sharpened their presence and made their pleas audible to her inner senses. How long she continued or where she traveled, she didn’t know. It took all of her willpower to keep moving, to place one foot in front of the other as she followed the urgings of Eldesse and Osirath. The spirits of Briana’s trusted servant and her husband led Aisha through the darkness.

  The sparks within her flared to life, so hot and bright the pain snapped her from her trance-like state. Her surroundings swam into focus and ice slithered down Aisha’s spine as she caught sight of light shining in the Crypts ahead of her. Not the blue-white light of the Kish’aa, but the soft orange-yellow glow of burning torches.

  Instincts honed over years of training kicked in and she threw herself behind a ten-foot stone obelisk, out of sight of the assembled cultists. Heart hammering, she pressed deeper into the shadows and tried to regain control over her rapid breathing. The pounding of her pulse sounded so loud in her ears she feared it would give her away.

  She pricked her ears for any cry of alarm, any angry shouts to indicate she’d been spotted. For a full minute she remained motionless, back against the sandstone obelisk, fingers curled around the wooden haft of her spear. She hadn’t come looking for a fight but she’d be damned if the Gatherers got their hands on her.

  But when silence met her ears, she dared to risk a glance at the figures visible in the firelight. A few wore cloaks and hoods, but most were clad in the simple, rough clothing of Shalandra’s lower castes. Horror twisted in Aisha’s gut as her eyes fell on the symbols tattooed onto their bare forearms.

  The spirits had led her to the Gatherers.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Issa shot a glance at Etai as they marched up the Warrior’s Path toward the Fortress. “You clear on what we’re doing?”

  Etai nodded. “Keeping an eye on the Arch-Guardian’s daughter all while pretending to be just one more patrol.” She shot Issa a sidelong glance. “A patrol with two Keeper’s Blades, mind you. Not that that’s not going to be totally obvious to anyone who sees it.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether or not we’re seen,” Issa replied with a shrug. “All that matters is that we make our presence around the Temple District very visible. Just in case.”

  “Of course.” Etai gave her a flat stare. “Though why Lady Callista’s interested in one more Zadii girl, even if she was once Dhukari, escapes me. Any chance you’re ready to clear that particular mystery up?”

  Issa hesitated. She wanted to trust Etai; the two of them had fought together in the Crucible and the training yard, and Etai was the closest thing she had to a friend in the Citadel of Stone. But with so much on the line, Issa couldn’t take the chance that something would go wrong.

  “The fewer people who know, the better,” Issa told her. “And what you don’t know can’t stab you in the back.”

  Etai scowled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, just as you are, Issa. We’re both Keeper’s Blades, after all.”

  “I know.” Issa stopped and turned to face the girl. “But this isn’t just some training exercise for the Blades. This could affect the fate of all of Shalandra. The time will come when I will tell you everything—or as much as I can—but for now, I need you to trust me.”

  Etai met her gaze, then threw up her hands. “Damn me for a fool, but I’m actually crazy enough to go along with your ox-brained plan on blind faith.” She rolled her eyes. “After how things turned out for you at the palace the other night, you could very well be even more blessed by the Keeper than we thought.”

  Issa grinned. “Thank you, Etai.”

  “Oh no, thank you for not bringing Kellas with us.” Etai gave a disdainful snort. “I’d throw myself into Dalmisa’s fiery depths to get away from his smug ass of a face.”

  “He still that bad?” Issa asked as they resumed their westward trek.

  “Nah, not really.” Etai shook her head. “He’s actually spoken full sentences to me that didn’t sound like a curse or an order to polish his shoes. Almost makes me glad you saved him from the Gatherers the other night.” She snorted. “Almost.”

  Their arrival at the Fortress precluded Issa’s response. The Fortress was exactly what its name entailed: a solid, fortified garrison with high walls and thick metal-banded wooden gates. Or, more accurately, it was two fortresses, not one as its name denoted. The broad avenue known as the Warrior’s Path cut through the middle of the Fortress, which occupied the entire western quarter of the Defender’s Tier, on its way to the Keeper’s Crypts inside the western cliff that bordered Shalandra.

  The northern fortress was the better-fortified of the two, and served as the command center for the Executors that led the soldiers. All of the Indomitables’ vast collection of military records were also stored in the northern fortress, along with most of the weapons and armaments not in immediate use by the Indomitables. What it lacked in the Citadel’s grand architecture, lofty heights, and prime placement on the Keeper’s Tier, it more than made up for in its sheer size.

  The southern fortress was essentially a giant training field with a barracks sized to fit five hundred Indomitables—all the trainees and their training officers, along with a rotating crop of experienced veterans undergoing regular martial exercises and drills. The southern fortress was a non-stop hubbub of activity, with Indomitables marching in and out at all hours, messengers coming and going, and supplies constantly being hauled in to feed the ravenous soldiers off duty or between training sessions.

  It was to the southern fortress that Issa and Etai directed their steps.

  The Dictator in charge of the ten-man company guarding the Fortress grinned at their approach. “Come for your patrol again?” He might be low-ranked, but Issa considered Dictator Pryle to be one of the Indomitables’ friendliest soldiers.

  She nodded. “Unless Sentinel Imale has run them ragged again on the training yard.” Nysin had spent nearly the entire previous evening complaining about their latest challenge, an obstacle course that daunted even more experienced Indomitables, until Rilith finally shut him up.

  “No obstacle course today,” Pryle said with a wry grin. “Just the usual formation drills and pack runs.”

  Issa winced. “I can’t wait to hear Nysin moaning about his exhaustion tonight. He’s lucky we’re set to patrol the Artisan’s Tier.”

  “Ahh, the cushy life of a trainee.” Pryle chuckled. “Days spent training, nights spent patrolling the streets, not enough food or sleep to do either.” He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. “Don’t be too soft on them, eh?�
��

  “Never!” Issa called back over her shoulder.

  The training yard stood empty, the drills done for the day once darkness set. Issa and Etai crossed the sand-strewn space and headed toward the nearest barracks. There, she knew, she’d find her company of trainees.

  The interior of the barracks had been decorated with the same miserly hand as the Citadel of Stone. The walls, floors, and ceilings lacked all ornamentation—every inch of the Fortress’ interior was designed with military practicality. And, with the precise order to match. Even the stone floors looked freshly scrubbed, free of the dust Issa and Etai tracked in from the training yard. Issa spared a moment of pity for whatever trainee would be assigned to clean up after them.

  She found her trainees in the large room that had been assigned to their company. Male and female recruits bunked together, under the watchful eye of the Dictator responsible for training them. Every bed was made perfectly, every sheet tucked in without a wrinkle. Even the Indomitables’ armor and helmets hung on neat armorer’s dummies as the trainees prepared to dress for the evening patrol. Their khopeshes rested in sickle-shaped sheaths placed against the wall.

  Most of the trainees were in the middle of slipping into their padded gambesons or buckling on the heavy black steel breastplates. Nysin alone was fully-armored, and he lay on his bed with a self-satisfied smile, his eyes closed as he seized the momentary lull in his daily drudgery to catch a few seconds of sleep.

  Yet the Mahjuri trainee wasn’t sleeping. His eyes popped open as Issa and Etai entered the room and he let out a theatrical groan. “And here was me thinking we had another few minutes of peace.”

  Issa hid a grin. “On your feet, Indomitable!” she barked, doing her best impression of Tannard’s voice. “We are on duty as of this moment.”