“Who?” When they didn’t answer, Alriyn turned to Novan. “The goddess? Is that who you mean?”
Rather than answering, Novan tapped his staff once more, and the light flickered out.
Alriyn shivered as it did.
Endric led them through the now closed teralin tunnels. Other than the chamber they had found empty, with veins of teralin that ran through the walls, the mines looked much as Alriyn would've imagined. The walls had the rough markings of picks and hammers, and they had to weave around the occasional piles of rock where the ceiling of the cavern had collapsed.
Alriyn did not allow himself to think about what that meant, and whether they had to worry about the collapse of the mines around them. He tried not to think about the fact that the Deshmahne possessed power, and that they had ways of manipulating energy that resembled what the Magi possessed.
It would be a simple matter for Alriyn to collapse the cavern, drawing on the manehlin to weaken the stone. If the Deshmahne attempted something similar, he didn't think any Mage would be strong enough to withstand that.
He followed the faint glowing along Novan’s staff, the occasional tap ringing through the tunnels. It provided a little light, not quite as much as it had at first, especially not as much as it had in the chamber where they had stopped, but enough where Alriyn didn't have to rely solely on the sense of the energy surrounding them. Magi eyesight might be good, but it was not so good that he could see in total darkness.
They spoke little as they made their way through the tunnel. Alriyn had a growing sense of dread about the extent of the Deshmahne influence in the city. He had thought the greatest betrayal had been the Eldest converting to the Deshmahne, but it seemed he had underestimated the danger of the Deshmahne. Endric and Novan worried about something more than simply the Magi converting.
When they stopped at a branch point in the tunnels, Alriyn forced Novan to face him. “What is it that you're not telling me? What is it you fear that you won't share with me?”
Novan glanced to Endric, and the general nodded. Why would Novan need Endric's permission to share?
“This is not the best time for this conversation,” Novan started.
“When would be a better time?” Alriyn asked. “The city has been infiltrated by the Deshmahne. The Eldest, the Mage who leads the Council of Elders, has been converted to the Deshmahne. And the very peace that we have been tasked by the gods with maintaining has begun to falter.” Alriyn shifted his gaze from Novan to Endric. “Tell me, when would be the right time to ask these questions?”
Endric's attention drifted up the length of the tunnel. He tipped his head as if listening, and as he did, Alriyn noted energy swirling away from him.
Why was it that he should detect energy like this?
He had always been able to see the manehlin; that was their gift from the gods. What he saw now was something different. It was a kind of energy that he could actually see the other man using. That bothered him, not the least because he didn't know that Endric had any ability to use power like this.
Endric turned back to him. “A secret has been kept from the Magi, Second Eldest. It’s one that has been kept because doing so allowed you to hold onto beliefs that were necessary. Only a few living know the truth.”
Alriyn glanced from Novan to Endric. “I assume the two of you know the truth?”
It was Endric who nodded. “The two of us. A few others. We make up something called the Conclave.”
“The Conclave?”
Novan chuckled. “I'll admit that it is no less pretentious than calling yourselves the Council of Elders.”
“The Conclave has long been tasked with maintaining an equilibrium, a sort of balance in the world,” Endric said.
“Who tasked the Conclave with this?” Alriyn asked.
“The beings you know as the gods,” Novan answered.
“That I know as the gods?” Alriyn asked.
“The gods are real, Second Eldest.”
Alriyn felt a grin creeping across his face. “I don't think you'll hear any Mage questioning whether the gods are real.”
“Perhaps not objecting,” Novan started, “but their understanding is misguided.”
Endric was still shaking his head. “Careful, historian. Don't let your previous bias color what you share.”
Novan shot Endric a hard look. It was one filled with the same intensity that Alriyn was accustomed to seeing from the historian.
“And don't let your proximity to the Magi over the years cloud your perception of how they have behaved. They have failed, the very reason the Conclave has been necessary,” Novan said.
Alriyn had a strange sense that this was an old argument between the two, but why? Why would they argue over the role and purpose of the Magi?
“Help me understand then. If the Magi are at fault for something, help me understand what that is so that I can be a part of the correction.”
Novan grunted, reminding Alriyn of Endric's reaction. “You have never wanted to be a part of any correction before.”
“I don't think the Magi have ever known we needed to be a part of a correction before.”
Novan opened his mouth to say something more, but Endric raised his hand, silencing both, and stared at Alriyn, fixing him with a gaze that made Alriyn wonder how his Denraen soldiers could withstand the intensity or the force of the man's will, and almost took a step back.
“When we say the gods are real, we are speaking of beings referred to as the gods,” Endric began. “The Conclave has long known that the gods are real, at least that these beings are real. It's the Magi who have believed they were otherwise. We have wanted the Magi to believe otherwise.”
“Why?” Alriyn asked.
Endric continued holding him with his intense gaze. “Because the Magi served as we needed. The Conclave has a need for the Magi to respond in a certain way. If you had not, then peace would have failed.”
“You're telling me the gods are real. Then you're telling me that they are something different than what I know as the gods, then you tell me that they require the peace that we have long attempted to maintain because of the mahne. And yet you still insult the beliefs that my people have?”
Novan tapped his staff on the ground. As he did, light flashed slightly. “The beings you know as the gods are historically known as the damahne. They are powerful. But their power has waned.”
“What does it matter what we call them? They’re gods whether you call them damahne”—he recognized the word from the ancient language, and knew there were multiple ways of translating it, and wondered if there was an intentional overlap with the phrase mahne—“or whether you call them by some other title. All that matters is that we serve them as they demand.”
“That is not all that matters,” Endric said. “What matters is that their strength has faded. The damahne once were more numerous. They looked over the land, maintaining the peace, and in that way, perhaps they were every bit the gods that we would like to believe them to be. But…”
Alriyn looked from Endric to Novan, waiting for one of the men to expound. “But what?”
Novan tapped his staff once more. The lines of teralin flowed along it, surging with twisting light. As it did, Alriyn noted strands of energy coming off it, much like the energy he'd begun seeing around everything. It was different than the manehlin, but he still didn't quite know what it meant. “The damahne have faded from the world. Only one remains.”
Only one? Was that the goddess he had seen in his vision?
“The gods have ascended to the heavens. They watch over us—”
Novan chuckled softly. “Stop spouting the beliefs of your people and use your mind, Alriyn. You are an intelligent scholar. You must be for Endric to trust you the way he does. Stop accepting the dogma your people have taught over the years and start engaging your mind to observe what you see around you.”
Alriyn laughed. “If you think to turn me into a historian, Novan, you’re mistak
en. The Magi don't need to be historians to be scholars.”
Novan tipped the end of his staff toward Alriyn. “Good. Because that's the mind we need right now. We need you active, we need you engaged. If you aren’t, we will have a harder time expunging the Deshmahne from the city.”
Alriyn crossed his arms over his chest, his mind racing. The throbbing pain that he been feeling since attacking Jostephon had begun to fade. Now it was a sort of steady, dull ache. It was still there, distantly, and he at least felt that eventually it would disappear altogether. For now, the worst pain was the memory of what he had done.
He didn't think he’d damaged his mind, yet there was no doubting that something had changed within him. He saw energy that was not the manehlin, and he believed it to be real, but what if it was not? What if it was imagined by his injured mind? That would make more sense than for Endric and Novan to have abilities they should not.
Something they said troubled him, and it took a moment for him to recognize why. “Why does it matter then if the Deshmahne take hold in Vasha if the gods are not real?”
Novan smiled. “Now you're beginning to think. Now you're beginning to question.”
“That seems to be more of an insult than a compliment.”
Novan offered a slight shrug. “Take it as you will, Alriyn. Know that there is a reason the Deshmahne came here to Vasha. There is a reason they sought something in these tunnels. Think. You've seen what they want.”
“I haven't seen them. I've seen Jostephon. I've heard from Roelle what the Deshmahne do. All I've heard are reports.”
“And that should be enough. Those reports are accurate. The Deshmahne are what you've heard in your reports. They seek power and strength, using that to rule.”
“But if the gods are not real, and the mahne doesn't matter—”
“We're not saying the mahne doesn't matter. Far from that. What we’re saying is that there's a different interpretation than what you were taught to believe. That interpretation is what matters.”
Alriyn looked around the tunnels. “What would they have found here that would help them gain power?”
“They have entered the city using force, but they should not have been able to enter these tunnels. We have kept them protected since Tresten sealed them,” Endric said.
“The Conclave has made certain they were protected. And we have failed,” Novan added.
“Historian, tell me what was here.”
Endric answered. “We've already said. There were powerful artifacts here. Some of which, I suspect, give him the power he seeks.”
“Who?”
“The High Priest. A man the Conclave knows as Raime. A man who has lived in this world for countless years but has never gained that which he seeks.”
Goosebumps formed on Alriyn’s arms. He feared what they would answer, but he had to ask. “And what does he seek, if not the mahne?”
“The power of the damahne,” Novan said. “He would steal the power of the gods.”
Chapter Seventeen
Roelle sat across the fire from Fenick, meeting his piercing blue-eyed stare. It almost made her question what she believed about the Deshmahne. There was violence in him, and she knew that he thought to honor the gods by serving the Deshmahne, but she had seen him to be different from the Deshmahne she’d face before.
She needed to know why that was.
He’d asked about her. After what they had faced, his question required an honest answer. The Deshmahne assistance with stopping three broods made it such that she owed him that much. Would being honest about who she was—and what she intended—put the Magi she wanted to protect in danger?
“Tell me how you fight as well as you do? You're not of the order, but I see the way that you move, and you fight like no soldier I’ve seen before.”
What would her uncle think about her reaching out to the Deshmahne for help? And would he understand her need to reveal who she was, putting herself and those with her in danger?
“As I told your captain, there are thousands of those creatures making their way south,” Roelle said. “That's why the north has emptied as much as it has. People are being slaughtered, entire towns and villages destroyed by those creatures, and there are few who can stop them.”
Fenick’s eyes narrowed. “I've heard the rumors.”
“Then you have heard that most men cannot see them.”
“Those who embrace the Deshmahne faith are not most men.”
His gaze drifted past her and toward the remaining Deshmahne camped with them. Of the dozen the captain sent with them, only five lived. They were mostly silent, sitting by a crackling fire, camped just like any other soldiers she'd traveled with had camped. It didn’t fit with what she knew of the Deshmahne. They had attacked mindlessly, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that they faced the Magi, or that they might disrupt peace. But Fenick seemed different.
Why should that be?
“Do the Deshmahne know about these creatures?” Roelle asked. That was what she really needed to know. If the Deshmahne knew about the groeliin, if they knew what they were capable of doing, and if that was the reason they pressed so hard into the north, how could she do anything other than support them? How could she do anything other than find a way to join with them?
The idea troubled her, but stopping the groeliin was now the reason she was here.
“I’m a soldier. I follow my commands.”
“But you can tell me where your commands tell you to go. You can let on whether the Deshmahne intend to help stop this threat or whether the preparations we saw in Rondalin were for some other reason. Most of the people in the north can't even see these creatures. They need the help of those who can.”
“Like you?” His brow furrowed in a frown.
Roelle sighed. “Yes, like me. Like the two with me.” She motioned to Selton and Jhun holding the reins of their horses, ready to ride. They wanted to return to the rest of the Magi, as did Roelle, but she owed it to Fenick to work through this first.
“What are you?” Fenick asked yet again. “You have abilities much like those in the order. You fight much like the order. Perhaps the Desh sent you as a way to test me? Is that what this is? Do they doubt my leadership?”
“How many priests were in Rondalin?” Roelle asked, thinking to change the topic. She did it mostly to discover if there was something else she could learn about the Deshmahne. There was something about the Deshmahne she missed, something she didn't quite understand, something that perhaps Fenick could help her understand.
“The priests have traveled the north, preaching and converting new believers,” Fenick said.
“There have to be some in the city.”
“There are some. The most powerful of the priests return to our temple, it is a place of power.”
“And the soldiers we saw preparing?”
“They’re going with the Desh for protection.”
Roelle worried about how that would appear to the nations in the south. “How were you converted?”
“Do you think I’ll share all about myself, while you share nothing?” Fenick asked. He leaned closer to her, his eyes narrowing. The blue in them seemed to glow and contrasted with the dark tattoos working up into his neck. “You haven't told me who you are. What you are. Tell me, Roelle. How is it that you have the powers you do? How is it that you can see these creatures, the ones your rumors tell us none can see?”
Roelle took a deep breath, scanning the Deshmahne sitting away from her. She lowered her voice. “Because I am Mageborn.”
The word hung for a moment before it seemed as if the wind carried it away.
Fenick started to laugh. His eyes didn't share the emotion, and his face maintained the stern, serious countenance that he’d worn since she first was introduced to him. “Indeed? Could it be the Magi finally think to honor the gods through strength?”
“The Magi have always sought to honor the gods,” she said.
Fenick grunted. “Hav
e they? How do they honor the gods when they hide? How is it an honor when they keep their powers hidden, sequestered away so that no others can share in them? How does that honor the gods?”
“The gods give the gifts they give. We must work with what we are given.”
“Or take what we need.”
Roelle sat stiffly, meeting Fenick's gaze. “Is that how the Deshmahne do it? Is that how you gain powers?”
Fenick stared at her, and she thought he might not answer, but then, he breathed out slowly. He shifted, leaning back, and away from her, resting on his hands as he did. “There is a ceremony. We call it the Ascension. It's where our abilities are granted to us.”
Roelle swallowed, trying to hide her surprise. She hadn't expected him to answer. Why would the Deshmahne use the same phrase the Urmahne had for the gods departing the world? “How are you granted your abilities?”
“There is a sacrifice. Some must die so others may rise.”
“And you're comfortable with taking from other people?”
Fenick laughed, a dark sound that made Roelle shiver. How could he so easily dismiss what the Deshmahne did to others? “Other people? That's not the kind of sacrifice I'm referring to.” He sat up, and the light from the fire danced off his eyes. “Animals. Our horses. Fox. Wolves. All have strength, all have something they can offer. Those gifts are granted to the believers.”
“Are you certain that's how all are granted powers?” Roelle asked.
“I’m not one of the Desh. I can only tell you what I’ve experienced.”
The rumors she'd heard about the sacrifices involved people, hadn’t they? Wasn’t that what Lendra had witnessed? It had to have been more than that, more than animal sacrifice. That was bad enough but less horrific than the alternative. What if all the Deshmahne went through a ceremony like Fenick described? What if that was all there was?
What if the converts had simply become soldiers? How was that any different from the Denraen choosing? How was that any different from Roelle and her interest in learning the sword?
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