Chains of a Dark Goddess (17 page)

“You desired her, and cared for her. But it was my influence that enabled all of this. I enhanced your feelings for her and suppressed those of revulsion, for there was much to dislike about this woman. She was flawed, unstable. You always distrusted her for a reason. You could have chosen her after lying with her all those years ago, but you wisely chose Adelenia instead.

“She truly believed she would travel on with you. But I could never have maintained the spell that masked your appearance. I barely kept it through this night. Eventually she would have seen you for the wretched creature that you are. That would have destroyed more than her body.”

He started to turn back to look at Deltenya.

“
No
! Do not look. She will be nothing but a withered husk in moments. Do not ruin your memory of her. Reach down without looking and take my qavra from her. It is yours to wear now.”

He glared at Harmulkot. She was staring down at Deltenya, ghostly tears streaming. 

“You gave her what she most wanted in life. I rewarded her with that. In turn she has given you renewed strength and vitality and a chance to save Orisala. She
did
want you to save her. She truly loved Orisala.”

“I have no reason to trust you.
None
.”

“I give you my word, nonetheless. You enjoyed a night of pure, unbridled lust. Something you denied yourself in life the first time around. Do not think that I took the sacrifice of Albiria or Deltenya lightly. Breskaro, I could betray you but I could never betray Orisala. She is the last of my legacy. I will not let her continue to suffer as she is.”

~~~

Through one of the shattered windows there was small girl with wild eyes watching them. Eyes that didn’t yet remember themselves. Eyes that stirred with disgust and fright and yet, strangely, envy as well.

Chapter 25

Breskaro took the qavra and hung it around his neck. It was warm against his skin. The energy within it spiked.

He reeled back, eyes fluttering, breathing fast and shallow. A vision flashed through his mind, a story that began millennia ago. He saw a tall woman as beautiful as the night, not unlike Adelenia, though she was seven feet tall and her appearance was primal. Wild black hair fanned down her back like a cape. A deep purple qavra was embedded in her flesh, in the manner of Nalsyrra’s, only between her breasts. Her eyes glowed a matching color. 

She was a Qaiar and she lived amongst others of her kind. She grew bored and began to explore the world. She broke away from her people and with her Zindari followers she started her own kingdom. She loved countless lovers, schemed countless schemes, fought in battle after battle, betrayed nearly everyone she knew, and then she died her first death.

She was reborn, her appearance more human now. She was not the woman she once was. Death had hardened her. But she fought on, living to the fullest, dying and being reborn again and again as devoted Qaiar Zindari gladly offered themselves to become her next incarnations. She grew in knowledge and power while many of her kin faded away. As the Qaiar grew few, those who remained became like gods.

Her empire expanded its territory and became the most powerful on the subcontinent. Chapels, temples, and shrines dotted her lands. Her people adored her, worshiped her, lived and died for her. Her enemies trembled in terror at the mere mention of her name. Her battles became wars that stretched across Pawan Kor. Breskaro saw her wade through masses of enemies, swinging a mighty glaive with a twisted cypress staff and dark iron blade. A banner was tied below the blade, a thin streamer of black silk bearing a purple eye. 

Still she schemed with and against her Qaiar kin, the few who remained, kings and queens and wizards of power. And there were other gods as well, minor deities of stream and rock, wild beasts who had ascended, demons and monsters.

Bare-breasted and unarmored, wearing only breeches and a coal-dark cloak, she rode in a chariot that thundered at the head of a massive army. Qaiar and Zindari ... and strange inhuman races Breskaro had never seen before nor heard of marched under her banner. In one hand Harmulkot held her glaive, and in the other a whispering, inky grimoire.

On a tall white horse at the head of the opposing army, impossibly outnumbered but fanatically confident, rode a man in shining raiment. He was as bright as Harmulkot was dark. He was like glass reflecting the sun and his army shouted his name, their cries echoing across the plains: 

“Vôl Ultharma! Vôl Ultharma!”

Another Qaiar stepped into Harmulkot’s chariot, a muscular woman with white-blonde hair chopped short, tanned limbs, golden eyes. She wore a crimson tunic, cinched at the waist, and carried a shield of burnished bronze and a tremendous spear that Breskaro knew well for her he had recovered it a dozen years ago.

“I knew you would come, Seshalla” Harmulkot said.

“I couldn’t abandon you, sister.”

A horn sounded an epic note that drew blood from men’s ears. The armies rushed headlong at each other. A blinding light flashed—

Harmulkot’s ghost reached out and touched her qavra. Breskaro collapsed to his hands and knees. His mind returned to the world of the present. 

Gasping for air, he said to Harmulkot: “I saw … I saw…”

“Things you were not intended to see,” she said icily. “Things best forgotten. I did not anticipate such a connection. I should have since you have much of my power in you already.”

“Was that really—”

“My history? You have seen many things you were never meant to know.”

“It was overwhelming, so much time racing through my mind. I couldn’t hold even a fraction of it.”

“It is good that you did not. It is a tale of sorrow and tragedy.”

“And that was truly Seshalla with you?”

“You have seen your goddess at last.”

“She is not my goddess anymore,” replied in a whisper. “Besides, that was before she ascended.” 

Seshallan doctrine said that Seshalla had been a demigod who walked the earth until with Keshomae’s help she too ascended and became a Great Deity and the savior of humanity, for the other Great Deities had decided to eliminate humanity, thinking them incapable of ever turning from their sinful ways. Seshalla had convinced them otherwise.

“Ascended?” Harmulkot chuckled. “Or faded away? Seeing her stirred your heart, did it not?”

Breskaro clenched his teeth and hissed, “She abandoned me.”

“You will hate her for something she has no power over?”

“I will hate her because I choose to. Was she your sister?”

“All Qaiar are siblings.”

“You were truly a goddess, even though you were a Qaiar.”

“What is the difference? I was immortal in a sense. I knew powerful magics. No one possessed more arcane knowledge than I did. I was worshiped. The power of faith and prayer increases the power of a Qaiar or any deity, lesser or greater, for we are all essentially beings of energy. Rituals and devotion, that is how the Matriarch can wield her powers. That and the Prime Matrix.”

“The Crystal Sword of Seshalla. But she wasn’t carrying it in the vision I saw.”

“Because whatever it is, it did not exist when I last walked Pawan Kor.”

“Seshalla was a goddess, too?”

Harmulkot shrugged. “To a lesser degree. Her cult was small, like her empire. Its capital was the city you know as Issaly today. She did not share my interest in sorcery, though she excelled at warfare.”

“You were slain that day, on the battlefield?”

“Many were slain that day. Vôl Ultharma vanquished us. Kingdoms, empires, Qaiar, and entire races ceased to exist on that day.”

“I’ve never even heard of him.”

“He was stricken from every historical record by those who remained after he was gone, after his thousand years of terror ended. No one, anywhere, wanted to remember him. It is good that you saw so little of him.”

Breskaro lifted Harmulkot’s qavra by its chain. “This is you, isn’t it? Your soul lives in this gem.”

“And a Qaiar lived in the gem that is now your heart.”

“Nalsyrra told me that much.”

“Mavamakas. I knew him well. He was a mighty warrior.”

“A friend?”

“A lover and an enemy.”

“Why weren’t you reborn from the stone again? Deltenya was your descendant, why didn’t you choose her?”

“The bloodline has faded. The Qaiar birthmark was barely visible on Deltenya.”

“The birthmark on her chest? Adelenia had it, too.” 

“But it does not matter anyway, because I cannot be reborn again. This qavra was cursed by Vôl Ultharma so that I could never again be reborn.”

“My priestesses were slaughtered save for one granddaughter of mine who fled with my qavra. Disguised, she made a new life for herself and passed it down through her family in secret. In time, cults began to form again and worship me. Mûlkra once again built a temple to me and I was worshiped. This power comes to my qavra and gives me strength. Without it, I would have lost my identity. 

“Over time, Mûlkra slowly recovered. They rebuilt my temple and I was worshiped again. Without their devotion I would have lost my identity ages ago. But without my presence, the being many cults began to worship was very different from who I truly am. There are whispers and prayers to Harmulkot all across the subcontinent, but it is not always me that they truly pray to. I have come, in name alone, to represent many dark goddesses.”

“So the Sinnia family had the stone?”

“It was passed from mother to daughter through the generations, hidden within a statuette. I whispered into their dreams, made sure they passed the qavra along. Some were more receptive than others. Deltenya was most receptive and then, when she sought sorcery to use against her enemies, she investigated writings from some of the first women to possess the statuette, before it was forgotten that there was a qavra hidden within.

“After you save my people, I hope that I can find some way to break the curse.”

Breskaro, keeping his back to Deltenya’s body, retrieved his clothes and began to dress. “What now? You have betrayed Deltenya to give me strength and I have recovered the mechanism for you.”

“We save my people.”

“Do you have a plan for that?”

“I know secret paths within the city of Mûlkra. I know—”

“You don’t have a plan, do you?”

“I have you, Breskaro. And the Akythiri Mechanism.”

Breskaro donned his armor and belted on his sword. “You haven’t even been to the city in centuries.”

“The secret ways will remain.”

Breskaro strapped his death mask back onto his face. 

“You do not need the mask any longer.”

“I will wear it just the same.” He tied on his cloak and drew up the hood. “Are you going to follow me around as a ghost all the time?” he asked irritably.

“Only if necessary. It takes power for me to do so.”

“Can you move far away from your qavra? Can you pass through objects, like a ghost?”

“I cannot go far. My power fades with each step, but yes, I can move through walls.”

“You can cast spells still?”

“I can work subtle magics of emotion and compulsion, as I did tonight, on the weak or unsuspecting. But I cannot cast proper spells any longer. A physical form is necessary for that.”

“You can teach me what you know then, since you were the most powerful sorceress in the world.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Unfortunately the curse took away my knowledge of sorcery.”

Breskaro spun on her and glared with his baleful emerald eyes. “You still know how to work the device, right?”

“The device requires secret knowledge that was not taken from me. Now, let us make haste for Mûlkra.”

“There’s something I must see to first. You have given me little to work with and Dero Fortrenzi has something that I want.”

“We do not have time for your petty vengeance.”

“Harmulkot, if I am your plan, then we will do things my way. I may be your hand in this, but I will not be your pawn.”

“You are being reckless.”

“I’m aware of the risks and prepared to deal with the consequences. Fortrenzi has something I need.”

Breskaro stared at Harmulkot.
Can you read my mind? I do not trust you. I have seen your treachery throughout history. I know your secrets. Do you wish me to recount them?

“Why are you staring at me, Breskaro?”

He shook his head. “Disappear into the qavra now. I will call you if needed.”

She glared at him and her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but then she let it go and said calmly, “I can hear everything you hear. I will know if I am needed.”

Her ghostly form became a swirl of shadow that spun into the qavra. Breskaro threw open the doors of the Chapel of the Blessed Night and faced the sun as it rose over the forested hill.

Esha ran up and threw her arms around him. “Are you okay, master?”

“Yes, little one.”

“We were worried when the lightning struck and the windows burst. I wanted to charge in but Larekal wouldn’t let me. He said we were to remain unless we were called, not matter what.”