Forging Divinity (19 page)

Rethri woman is apparently not a sorceress. She’s a goddess, or whatever passes for one around here. There’s something that feels off about that.

Several things, actually. Let’s break this down. Rethri were supposed to be kidnapped. There are Rethri here, but at least one of them appears to be operating of her own free will. She could have been coerced, but I have no evidence of that. She’s probably been here for quite a while, if she’s a ‘goddess’. I think I remember hearing the most recent god of theirs is Myros, and even he has been around a few years.

“I can tell you’re thinking, and that’s fine – but help me out with one quick question. What was it about my description that said ‘Vorain’ to you?” Jonan scratched at his chin, trying to piece things together in his aching mind.

“Around five years ago, a court sorceress named Vorain was raised to ‘godhood’ by Edon. Vorain was the first new god of the city after Edon claimed the queen regent was divine about ten years back. She had brown hair – I’m not sure about the skin. The stories say that her eyes turned indigo after she became a goddess.”

“Turned indigo?” Jonan muttered.

“Yeah,” Lydia replied. “That’s one of the things I’ve been thinking about. You saw her for the first time and immediately made the natural assumption that she was Rethri, since she has indigo eyes and no sclera. I should have pieced this connection together the moment you mentioned Rethri were missing, but someone’s eyes changing after they become a ‘god’ isn’t exactly typical. We just know so little about the real gods that I initially thought it was just one more piece of silly local propaganda.”

Jonan considered the implication.
Could Vorain be human, but with Rethri-like eyes? Gods, is that what they’re doing to the children? Are they somehow stealing whatever essence makes Rethri eyes different from ours? If the eye color difference is somehow connected with whatever gives Rethri their extended lifespan...

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for not considering every possible fact immediately. I tried to research this place, and I clearly haven’t picked up as much of the local culture as you have – even key facts like the origin stories of their gods.” Jonan adjusted his position in the bed, turning onto his side to look directly at Lydia.

She nodded, acknowledging his remark. “You’re right, of course. No one can take every piece of data that they’ve collected in a lifetime into account all at once. I still feel like I should have noticed something was wrong about those eyes, but now we have the clue at least, so we can investigate it.”

Jonan nodded. “It’s still possible she really is Rethri – maybe she just was concealing her natural eye color before. I saw her use shadow sorcery, at the very least – and she could see through my sight sorcery. If she’s a sight sorceress herself, she could easily change the appearance of her eyes.”

“Or she could have been human this whole time, and decided at a certain point to make her eyes look like Rethri eyes,” Lydia pointed out. “Perhaps to convince Rethri to trust her.”

Jonan pondered that. “Do you think she could have been the one who convinced the Rethri to come to this city?” He shook his head. “She really sounded like she thought these children were being protected here. She could have attacked me immediately – or called for guards – and she chose to talk.”

“Maybe she knew that if you had gotten this far in your research, you weren’t alone – and she was feeding you a false lead. Either to throw off your search, or to lay a trap.” Lydia stretched suddenly, standing up. “That’s what I would do in her place.”

Jonan scoffed at that. “That’d be playing an awfully long con. You’d really do something like that?”

Lydia looked down at him, shaking her head. “I’ve been a court sorceress of Orlyn for two years.”

“Point taken,” he replied with a nod. “Okay, so maybe she’s crazy devious like you apparently are. We can consider that. It’s also possible that she’s been deceived herself – or blackmailed, maybe.”

“That sounds like a stretch. It sounds like you want to believe her,” Lydia pointed out.

You’re not wrong. But she seemed so...sincere.
“Maybe,” he said hesitantly, “But that older man I saw. She was very polite to him, like she reported to him. If she’s a goddess, that doesn’t really make any sense.”

“What did he look like?” Lydia asked.

“Maybe an inch or two taller than Taelien, short gray hair, white tunic, no spectacles,” Jonan rattled off. “I didn’t catch a lot of other details.”

“That’s fine, I know who you’re talking about. I met him – that’s Raymond Lorel, the facility’s director. He rattled off all sorts of things to me about what they are supposedly researching there. He didn’t mention anything medical, nor about children. He gave me a very guided tour of the building. Showed me some alchemical labs, nothing too impressive. I think the tour was designed to bore me into wanting to leave. The important part is that he’s didn’t look like Edon,” Lydia explained.

“Hrm.”
Well, that throws a hole in the most obvious explanation.
“You said you’ve met Edon before. Was there no resemblance? Could it be the same man, but perhaps bereft of illusion magic to make him appear younger?”

“Not a bad thought,” Lydia admitted, pushing up against the wall in another stretching exercise. “No, they didn’t look all that similar, but an illusion can conceal more than age. As I’m sure you know already, given your occupation. So, yes, they could be the same person.”

“And I take it you didn’t have a chance to check him with knowledge sorcery?”

“No,” Lydia scoffed. “That’s normally considered rude.”

Jonan chuckled softly. “That didn’t stop you from using it on me.”

“There were somewhat different circumstances behind that,” she said, turning around with a half-smirk. “But you have a point. Please forgive me for dispelling your invisibility, capturing you, and interrogating you a little.”

“I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” Jonan rolled his eyes. “Still, if you can find the justification, you should be rude to that man, too. You can apologize to him later.”

Lydia shrugged. “I’ll consider it, but Raymond is a well-established scholar, and he’s got quite a bit of financial backing. He has powerful friends that we wouldn’t want to drag into this.”

“Those friends may already be ‘into this’, if having a goddess on a leash is any indication,” Jonan pointed out.

“I most sincerely doubt that he keeps her on a leash. That would be even ruder than using knowledge sorcery on someone without permission.”

Jonan sighed. “I see your point. If she does work for him in some capacity, it’s probably not out of any actual subservience – unless he’s Edon, of course. Or Myros, but that seems unlikely, given that Myros is supposed to be younger.”

“Yes, Myros is only supposed to be around our age. He was a talented member of the Queensguard, and he was apparently raised to divinity for defending her against a ‘rival god from another land’. An interesting story, but yes, I agree, Raymond does not fit Myros’ description. It’s possible that Raymond could be blackmailing Vorain somehow, as you mentioned earlier.”

“I don’t think I said blackmail.” Jonan rubbed at his temples. “But maybe I did. It’s hard to think with the walls spinning so quickly. I think I need a break from this.”

“Well, we’ve covered a lot of ground in this discussion already. You’ve gathered some excellent information. I think you can take a break while we consider all this. Are you feeling well enough to go back to sleep?” Lydia asked.

Jonan shrugged his left shoulder. “I could try. I’m still feeling awfully cold.”

“Sorcery exhaustion,” Lydia said matter-of-factly. “I was worried at first, but if you can hold a conversation with this little difficulty, you shouldn’t need any medical help.”

“It’d be much easier to keep warm with some company, though,” Jonan pointed out.

“I’ll see if Taelien is up,” she said in the same tone, walking toward the door.

“I meant you, actually.”

“I’m a Paladin of Sytira,” Lydia said, shaking her head as she opened the door to leave the bedchamber.

Jonan turned to follow her with his gaze, quirking a brow. “Does that mean you have to be celibate or pure or something?”

“No,” she replied with a wry grin, “It means I have refined tastes.”

“I’m plenty refined,” Jonan insisted. “Like aged coffee.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to age coffee.”

“Oh,” Jonan said, giving a dejected look downward, toward his bedsheets. “My whole life has been a lie.”

Lydia’s laugh was beautiful, like a...hummingbird making a beautiful sound. Jonan never was very good with analogies.

“Good night, Jonan,” Lydia offered, a flash of humor still present in her voice. She closed the door behind her.

“Good night, Lydia,” he replied.

It really is cold in these sheets by myself.

Jonan shivered.

Chapter VII – Inefficient Investments of Effort

Focus.

Taelien pressed two fingers of his left hand against the third runestone from the top of his unsheathed sword. The four runes beneath it glowed brightly with azure light, but the rune he touched – along with the two above it – remained unlit.

His right hand gripped tightly around the hilt, holding the sword secure and ensuring the shimmering waves of colorless force that extended a hand’s breadth outward from the blade did not come into contact with anything else. He knew from experience what the consequences would be if that devastating aura met any form of solid material.

It’s been two years. I should be able to do this.

As he concentrated, Taelien felt the sword’s inexorable pull against his strength. Beads of sweat coalesced on his forehead, the hilt seemingly growing heavier with each passing moment.

Sae’kes, heed my call. Use my strength to focus your own. Let your outer edge meet with the blade within.

For just an instant, he thought he saw a hint of light flicker within the gray of the unlit rune of Eratar – just as Lydia swung open the door to the room, shattering his concentration.

The fourth lit rune – signifying Koranir – flickered and died, followed by the rune of Xerasilis after it. The rippling waves of force around the blade began to spread, and Taelien snatched up his scabbard from his left side, quickly – and carefully – jamming the blade within.

Lydia stared at him blankly for a moment, something unfamiliar in her expression. Awe, perhaps?

“Is that...you can actually draw the blade?” Lydia’s eyes focused on the now-filled scabbard, her tone of voice matching her expression.

Taelien nodded. “Of course. I thought I had made that clear before. That’s hardly the difficult part.” He tried not to let his bitterness sink into his words, but it was a paltry effort at bet.

“Gods, Taelien... I knew there was a chance, but it’s different to actually see it. That’s the Sae’kes, the real thing. And you can use it.” Lydia took a step forward, tilting her head down, as if it could give her a better look at the sword within the scabbard.

“Not exactly.” He ran his fingers along the metal rim of the scabbard. “Taking it out of the sheath is one thing. There’s nothing special about that – I just use metal sorcery to seal the metal part of the scabbard against the blade when I’m not using it. When I want to draw the sword, I reverse the process.”

He tapped his fingers against the cross guard, grimacing. “Being able to wield in battle it is another problem entirely. It’s been twelve years since my parents let me pick up the sword for the first time. I still can’t ignite more than four of the runes.”

Lydia snagged a chair from near the door – the same one she had used when she had guarded it earlier – and sat down. “Why does that matter? What does igniting those runes do?”

Taelien shrugged his shoulders. “You saw the aura around the blade, I assume?”

Lydia nodded.

“So far as I can tell, the runestones on the blade exist to condense that aura. The more of them are lit, the more the aura tightens around the blade. Presumably, with all of the runes lit, the aura would be flush against the blade itself. The problem is that the stones appear to require an external source of essence to operate. That means I need to feed my strength into the weapon to make them work.”

Taelien ran his fingers across the leather of the scabbard. “So far as I can tell, this scabbard is the only thing that can resist being cut by that aura around the sword. It seems to have been designed to contain the weapon. Anything else – stone, metal, flesh – that touches the aura is torn apart.”

“You seemed to have some of the runes under control when I walked in,” Lydia said, gesturing at the weapon.

“Some,” he said sadly, “Is insufficient. When I swing the sword with any of the runes unlit, the aura around it whips forward, separating from the sword. The more runes I’ve managed to ignite, the closer the aura stays to the blade – but even with four runes lit, the most I’ve been able to manage, the force can extend out more than half the length and width of the blade itself. That’s too large to control effectively, especially if I have any allies on the field.”

Lydia pursed her lips. “It sounds like you’ve had bad experiences with it before.”

Taelien shook his head. “Only a few object damaged so far, fortunately. Erik Tarren gave my parents clear instructions that I was never to use it until I could control all seven runes. As a result, my parents didn’t even let me draw it until I was eight, and even then, they barely let me move it. As a child, this was awfully disappointing, but as I’ve grown older I’ve seen the wisdom in restraint. The sword is worthless until I can control it. And at this rate, that might be another ten years. Assuming I am still making any progress at all.”

Lydia sat up, her expression contemplative. “Sounds like a worthwhile investment to me.”

Taelien sighed. “Sure, if I want to be able to murder people with relentless efficiency in the future, I see it as a great investment.”

“That sword isn’t about murdering people, Taelien,” she chastised him. “It’s a symbol of the Tae’os Pantheon, and their protection of the mortal races. It’s a sword for shielding others against monsters.”

“Then why,” Taelien asked, “Does it have no apparent function other than cutting things apart?”

Lydia folded her arms across her chest, glowering slightly. “It’s very likely that you simply do not know how to use it properly yet. Perhaps other powers will manifest when you are able to ignite the seventh rune. Perhaps it is a test to see if the wielder has sufficient force of will to keep the weapon’s destructive powers at bay. Anyone who simply uses the sword to kill would be unworthy of its other abilities.”

“That sounds like a nice story, but it is only speculation. It seems much more plausible that the sword simply wasn’t made for me – or any mortal – to use. If igniting the runes requires essence, it might be that whoever it was built for – the god of swords, if your stories are true – had so much more essence than I do that using it properly was trivial for him,” Taelien offered.

“Perhaps, but your explanation is not mutually exclusive with mine. And there are other possibilities as well. Have you found any way to determine what the composition of that aura is?”

Taelien shook his head. “No. My mother was proficient at knowledge sorcery, but any spell she used on the sword appeared to be blocked. She said the aura looks like motion sorcery, but it’s persistent, which motion sorcery is not. She was able to identify the scabbard, however – that’s just utilizing powerful protection sorcery. She had never seen protection sorcery on the same scale before, but that’s all it is.”

“Interesting,” Lydia replied, raising a hand to adjust her glasses. “Very interesting.”

What’s so interesting about that? It’s just protection sorcery...why would that...

“Ah, are you a protection sorcerer yourself?” Taelien guessed.
That would explain how she survived that spell Istavan cast at me earlier,
he realized.

Lydia nodded absently. “Yes. I was wondering if I could use that to help you – maybe find a way to contain the aura even when it isn’t sheathed.”

Taelien felt a sudden surge of hope. “Really? I wouldn’t have expected you to be willing to help, if you think it is some sort of divine test.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “That was just one possibility. And even if it is a test, I’m a Sytiran. We solve tests through ingenuity.”

“How’d you get involved with the Paladins of Tae’os, anyway?”

Lydia took a breath. “One night when I was young, I woke to the smell of burning wood. I rushed to my youngest brother’s room – Dyson was just a baby at the time. By the time I found him, the whole house was in flames. I didn’t know any protection sorcery back then. I panicked and screamed. My parents didn’t come for me – a stranger did. I remember hearing him shouting something – a prayer to Xerasilis, I realized later - and bursting into the room, choking and scorched. He carried us both out of the house.”

“He was already badly burned when we emerged. He could barely stand, but the first thing he did was ask if anyone else was still inside. I saw my parents outside, but not my other brother or my sister. I told him I thought there were still two other children within. Even as the flames burned hotter, he went back inside, chanting to the god of flames to stand aside.”

Lydia looked down, shaking her head. “I had been wrong about Edwin – he was already outside. After the stranger rescued my sister, he stayed inside to try to find Edwin...”

“Did he survive?” Taelien asked.

“Only just. His partner arrived in time to drag him out of the wreckage and get him to a hospital. He was comatose for months, and a beam had crushed his leg. He’ll never fight again. He will be lucky if he can ever walk.” Lydia tightened her jaw. “And it was my fault.”

“He was a Paladin of Xerasilis, then?”

“Lysandri, actually. Paladins of Tae’os pray to all seven of our gods when the situation is appropriate. He was still comatose when I learned who he was. Calor was a complete stranger, and he had risked his life to save us, while my parents had stood aside in fear. He was my hero. He is still my hero. I will never be worth what he did for me.”

“When Istavan was attacking me, you stepped right in front of his spell without any hesitation,” Taelien pointed out. “You defended a complete stranger.”

She shook her head. “It’s not the same. The risk was minimal – I knew protection sorcery to keep me safe. And you might have been a stranger, but I suspected you were related to one of my gods.”

“You can justify it all you want, but it was heroic from my standpoint. Thank you,” he said. “I can see why you joined the paladins, then. Why’d you chose Sytira?”

Lydia tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

The swordsman shrugged at her. “I’ve never understood why people pick one god or another to worship. Especially you Tae’os followers – if you worship seven gods, how do you pick one to focus on? I would have expected you to pick Lysandri if that’s who your rescuer worshipped.”

Lydia steepled her fingers, laying her hands in her lap. “Well, for one thing, my compatibility tests indicated that the best fit for me would be with Eratar or Sytira.”

Taelien quirked a brow dubiously. “Compatibility tests?”

“They’re much like the sorcery aptitude tests you took as a child, I assume. We don’t just take anyone who wants to pick up a sword. Applicants are tested to see if they qualify, and if they pass, the tests indicate where they would be the most appropriate...but I have a feeling you were looking for a more emotional answer,” she noted, apparently examining his expression.

Taelien cracked his knuckles. “I was expecting one, at least. Do you really worship someone just because your superiors told you to?”

Lydia shook her head. “No, I suppose not. I suspected I would choose Sytira long before I took the tests. She’s the patron of scholars, and I’ve had my nose in a book since I started to recognize letters. All the Tae’os gods have their value, but Sytira gives us knowledge. To me, that’s the greatest gift anyone – divine or otherwise – can offer.”

That does seem to suit you.

Taelien stood and knelt in front of Lydia, putting a hand on her knee. “Well, knowledge about this sword would be a great gift indeed. I’ve had this supposed inheritance – this burden – for as long as I can remember. I’d be very grateful for anything you could do to help me use it.”

Lydia sat up a little straighter in her chair, but she didn’t flinch away from him. “Let’s not get too carried away. I’ll try to think of something, but it’s going to require research. And I’m going to have to bombard you with a lot of questions.”

Taelien nodded vehemently. “Yes, I am fine with that. Thank you.”

She nodded, patting his hand. “Not a problem. In the meantime, I have another question for you.”

“Oh? Ask away, then.”

“You mentioned coming to the city to meet Erik Tarren. I was very skeptical about that at first, but having seen that you can actually draw the weapon, I’m beginning to wonder if exploring that angle may have some merit. Did your parents tell you why Erik Tarren left you with them?”

“He was in danger, and my parents got the impression that my birth parents had also been in danger,” he said, standing up. “They had been friends of Erik years before, and apparently Erik didn’t think his enemies would be able to find me with them. He didn’t tell them who my real parents were.”

“But he told them the city he was planning to go to? Seems like a poor idea, if he was fleeing from some sort of danger.” The sorceress ran a hand across her hair, narrowing her eyes.

“I suppose he didn’t think anyone would try to go after my parents for information about him. He hadn’t seen them for years when he showed up with me. Anyway, I suppose it’s possible Erik Tarren was alive twenty years ago, but is not today. He certainly could have moved to a different city by now. But it is the best information I have.”

“I suppose if anyone would know about a wielder of the Sae’kes, it would be Erik Tarren,” Lydia mused.