Defying Destiny Page 22

  That was disappointing, but it didn’t mean sorcery couldn’t be used to help find him. It just required a bit more active problem solving.

  Now that Lydia was in Selyr, she was looking for him directly. She didn’t expect to physically see Sterling walking through the streets — although that was possible, given that it was territory where he might be safe enough to walk openly.

  No, she was looking for something else — blind spots. If someone was using void sorcery or another form of concealment, she’d see a person shaped void — or area of void, depending on how the specific spell worked — while she attempted to use sorcery to look at the location.

  There was no guarantee Sterling was still in Selyr at all, of course, and there also could be other people or places with defenses against sorcerous viewing of their location. In fact, it was almost a guarantee.

  But it was a place to start, and she was tired of being idle.

  She lingered for a few moments each time she moved her finger, searching for the telltale marks of inky blackness that would indicate a gap in her sorcerous surveillance. Over the course of a few hours of meticulous searching, she had found eighteen of them.

  Most of these are in Thornguard military bases. That’s not surprising — even we have a few areas like that at the citadel. The vault, the rooms of the Arbiters, that sort of thing.

  Sterling absolutely could be on a military base, but investigating those will be difficult. Jonan might have more luck than I would in that regard, but I certainly can’t expect him to help with something like this. The military facilities will have to wait until I’ve checked the easier to access spots.

  She moved her finger back to a place that she’d marked with a dot of ink.

  This isn’t military... looks like people are leaving with money? A shame I can’t adjust the angle of the divination. Oh! It’s probably a bank or a moneylender. Possibly a pawn shop, but I don’t see people carrying items in for trade.

  Lydia shifted her finger again.

  There’s a spot of void inside this library. That probably isn’t Sterling’s hiding place, but I’d love to find out what’s inside.

  She blinked as she saw someone walk out of the void — and that someone was definitely, unquestionably Jonan. He looked haggard, like he hadn’t slept in a while.

  ...of course Jonan was in the secret void library. Where else would he be?

  I’m definitely going to ask him about that later, but for now...

  She slid her finger one more time, finding another spot of ink. This looks like the most likely area to start with. A single house. Not too big, not too small.

  Lydia lifted her finger, blinking as her eyes re-adjusted, and then lifted a cloth to wipe the ink off of it.

  Aladir was sitting across from her on the opposite side of the table. He’d been quiet enough that she’d almost forgotten his presence, but she was grateful for it. He shut his book and set it down. “Find anything?”

  Lydia nodded. “Dark spots, but nothing conclusive. We’ll need to take it manually from here.”

  “Very well.” He stood up and stretched. “I’ll go prepare the team.”

  Lydia frowned. “Make sure they’re inconspicuous and keep a good distance behind us. I don’t want whoever we’re dropping in on to see them until it’s too late.”

  “Understood. I’ll tell them to be cautious...” Aladir chuckled, “But you know, we may have picked the wrong group for that.”

  “I know.” Lydia sighed. “But that’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

  Lydia reached into a pouch on her belt and felt the comforting presence of the green crystal. “You ready, Vendria?”

  [I...]

  Lydia gave the crystal a concerned look. Are you well, Vendria?

  [...Fading. Season.]

  She reached into the pouch and put her hand on the crystal. “Dominion of Knowledge, identify present essence composition.”

  Numbers flashed through her mind. Lydia winced as a throbbing pain ignited in the back of her head as the spell extracted a cost.

  Vendria, your knowledge and stability dominion essence are significantly lower than when we last left the city. Have you been casting any spells?

  [I...don’t think...so?]

  Something was draining the crystal’s power, then, or preventing her from regaining it properly over time.

  If it was a seasonal change, perhaps nothing can be done...but why would her sorcery be structured in such a way?

  Vendria, I’m going to loan you a bit of essence.

  Lydia closed her eyes, focusing on the crystal. “Knowledge Shaping: Transfer.”

  She felt a wave of vertigo overtake her, but steadied herself swiftly.

  Taking in a few sharp breaths, Lydia rubbed her head and concentrated.

  Did that help?

  [...Grateful. Feel better...a bit.]

  Lydia nodded.

  I’m afraid that’s all I can do for now.

  [I think...I’m fine. Remembering something...quiet for a time.]

  Lydia nodded.

  I’ll ask you more about that later.

  For now, I’ve got work to do.

  Interlude I — Venora — Rendalir Remembered

  Venora remembered Rendalir.

  She remembered the towering spires of Davorin, shimmering with arcane power. She remembered the students in their universities, the paladins of the Kingmaker, and the bickering of their politicians.

  She remembered the vast trees of the Fiachna forest, and the people who lived sheltered beneath — or within — their branches.

  She remembered the zealous piety of the Monteaque, with their white walls and their purification ceremonies.

  And she remembered when the world burned to ashes.

  ***

  She stood in the midst of a battlefield, walking among the wounded. She would kneel amongst them, Monteaque or Qin, and offer them healing — or, if their wounds were too severe, a few moments of comfort before the end.

  This battle had a disconcertingly large number of the latter. One of the Sun Eater’s generals, Akadi, had been here. The wounds inflicted by his scythe wracked the body and spirit with an infectious disease, making healing nearly impossible. It was a terrible weapon, among the worst she’d encountered.

  She wore the robes and distinctive gauntlets of a Silver Gauntlet healer, a group dedicated to treating the injured regardless of their origin. They were mostly followers of Lyrielle, a goddess of spirits and dreams.

  Venora wasn’t one of them, but she admired Lyrielle and her followers. And blending in was important. She had many enemies she couldn’t afford to run into while she was in her current state.

  Not until the seasons changed, and she changed along with them.

  As she knelt by a wounded warrior’s side, she smiled in spite of the pain ravaging her mind. With a gesture, his wounds began to knit together. The physical ones, at least. War would leave scars beyond the ability of any mere sorcery to mend.

  She worked for hours, long past the point where exhaustion had set in. How could she not? Mere mortals were pressing themselves just as hard beside her. Harder, perhaps. The toll on her body from the use of spells had always been milder, less permanent than what humans dealt with.

  It was only after night had long fallen and her hands began to spasm from overuse that she finally ended her shift and told the others she needed to rest. They asked no questions, even those that likely knew that she did not belong to their order.

  And with that, she wandered away into the night.

  Soon, she realized. The change will come to me soon. Just one last night...a few more hours...then I’ll be able to strike back.

  Or she will, at least.

  In a few hours, she would cease to be her current aspect — Venora, the Heart of Spring — and she would take on the aspect of Venshara, the Fire of Summer. Then, later, Venshara would give way to their third aspect — Venlyra, the Deep of Winter.

  Together, the three w
ere called Vendria. But while the three shared a single existence, they shared little else.

  With the change of the seasons, she would be changed in mind, body, and spirit. She would lose her nurturing aspect and persona. Her memories of Venora’s life would be buried, like those of a fading dream.

  In early years, she resented these changes. She resisted them with force of body, mind, and power.

  In truth, now she welcomed this particular change.

  She had never before felt so powerless.

  Venora was a creature of empathy, of healing. She would bring rains to nurture crops, or sit as a midwife for a mother who could not afford a doctor and help bring new life into the world. She would bring bread to feed to orphaned children and sing songs to ease their grief.

  But all around her, the world was dying.

  Crops burned. Mothers wept at the loss of their children, born and unborn. And there were more starving orphans than she could ever hope to feed.

  The world didn’t need nurturing. It needed someone to fight on its behalf.

  And Venshara, with her sword, her shield, and her fire, would fight that war.

  There was only one thing she would miss about her current form—

  She found him sitting on a nearby hillside, his gaze turned upward toward the stars. Always looking toward something greater.

  Her heart leapt every time she saw him with her current eyes.

  When she saw him with Venshara’s eyes, he would be little more than a stranger.

  “Tysus!” She called out to him as she approached.

  He turned his head downward, smiling that soft, beautiful smile of his. “Vendria. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She ran to him. How could she not? She had only minutes left. “You’re back so soon! I was worried I wouldn’t get to see you before...”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to fear, love. I couldn’t miss the chance to see you one last time. Sit with me?”

  She nodded eagerly, moving to his side. Her hand moved to his.

  He slipped his fingers into hers, holding them tight.

  Cold, she thought. Strangely cold.

  And his scent...

  “Is something wrong?” He asked.

  “It’s just...how’d you get back here so quickly, love?”

  He smiled, reaching up to run a hand down her face. “Anything is possible with enough determination.”

  Tysus sounded so certain...so heroic.

  But his answer was a little bit too evasive. “Was it Arturo, then? Teleporting you here?”

  “An excellent guess, my love. You know me entirely too well.”

  She nodded slowly. “I do.”

  Arturo is the most talented of the warriors among them, but he is no sorcerer.

  And Tysus would call me Venora, not Vendria.

  Slowly, she began to extract her fingers from his.

  ...But he wouldn’t let her go.

  His eyes turned to focus on hers, looking hurt. “Leaving so soon?”

  She drew in a breath, yanking her hand away. “I—”

  Something sharp pierced her chest.

  He’d drawn the knife so quickly that she hadn’t even processed it.

  Her eyes widened, and she stumbled back, hands going to the bleeding wound.

  Blood spread far too rapidly, and something else was spreading along with it.

  She grasped the hilt, hissing as a feeling of cold spread across her. Cold like the hands that she’d touched.

  “What gave me away?” The impostor asked, stepping over to her as she scrambled backward on the dirty ground.

  “You...” She couldn’t focus on him. Something was wrong. A mere blade shouldn’t be causing her this kind of pain. Shouldn’t have harmed her at all.

  But she’d been wounded before, and she was far from defenseless.

  She wasn’t a warrior, but she was still a god.

  Body of Diamond.

  Her strength multiplied in an instant as the power of three stars flowed into her. She tore the weapon free from her chest, hurling it to the side.

  Divine healing, she commanded. The wound rapidly closed, but it left a trace of inky blackness within her.

  She smashed a fist into the ground.

  A fissure opened where she struck. The impostor jumped backward in shock, avoiding the gap, but stumbling when he landed.

  Venora pushed herself to her feet. No dust or dirt clung to her form; she did not will it to.

  She waved a hand. The would-be assassin flew backward, smashed by an invisible wave of force. He crashed into the nearby mountainside, leaving a crater on impact.

  Venora floated over to him, flexing her hands in the air. “You dared to—”

  She coughed, choking on a black substance that flowed out of her throat. Her eyes widened as pain once again blossomed in her chest.

  The assassin coughed, too. He was on the ground below where he’d been smashed against the mountainside, his left arm snapped in twain, and his entire body ragged and worn.

  Venora was pained to see Tysus’ body in such a way, even if it was a mere fake. But it was only a brief concern; the false form of Tysus melted away a moment later.

  Flesh, muscle, and bone rebuilt itself as she watched in horror. The resulting creature was neither human nor god, but a vestige of a time long gone. With dark blue skin below bits of armored black carapace, it stood half-again as tall as a human, with vast eight-fingered claws on each hand.

  “Karna,” she spat, before breaking into another cough. Her wound had reopened. How?

  Heal, she commanded.

  The wound closed again, but only for a moment.

  “...What have you done?”

  The shapeshifter walked toward her in the strange, erratic movements that their kind favored in their natural form. It reminded her less of a human and more of some sort of insect, moving briefly, then freezing in place.

  “It was a human idea, in fact.”

  In spite of the creature’s shark-like jaws, it still spoke with Tysus’ voice. Venora shuddered at the sound of his voice coming from that, and horror filled her at the possible implications.

  “They sought to forge weapons capable of fighting against the gods. And so, when we infiltrated their little group, we stole their ideas. And, some of their bodies, of course.”

  Venora pushed herself forward, through the pain of the reopening wound and the substance that still seemed to be spreading throughout her body. “What have you done with Tysus?”

  “Nothing but observe him, dear. Attacking him now would only have worsened things. But you—” The creature raised a clawed hand. “You would have been a problem if you were allowed to change.”

  “I will not be killed so easily, even in this form.” She wiped her mouth with a hand. “Your plan has failed.”

  The creature scoffed. “Killed? No, no. I couldn’t possibly kill you, even with the knife.” It reached out with a hand, and the weapon floated into the air. “And Ionel never would have approved of such a thing.”

  Ionel?

  One of the other gods. Ionel, the Preserver. The great librarian, lover of history. Lover of her winter aspect. But he was...

  She got a better look at the blade, dripping with black ichor, for the first time. She saw the runes on the surface, and with horror, she recognized and understood what she was seeing.

  “No. He wouldn’t...”

  The karna shrugged. “Deals were made. Apparently, your shifting nature was not a good match for his—”

  Venora struck. She wasn’t fast in her current form, but she was strong. Strong enough to punch the air and smash the shapeshifter deeper into the mountainside.

  She heard its bones crack on the impact.

  She didn’t care. The pawn didn’t matter.

  She rushed for the knife. She tore into stone to find it, crushing rocks to powder.

  She found it just as the sun’s rays began to chase away the night.

  No, no. It’s too s
oon. I won’t—

  And then she was gone.

  And winter, not summer, came in her place.

  ***

  The memories that followed were still too disjointed for her to parse properly, even with the help of Lydia’s spell.

  But she remembered much of what had come before, and fragments of what had happened after.

  There were so many memories to sort through. Times of joy with Tysus at her side. Her hero, her champion. A mortal that hoped to lead humanity against the Sun Eater, once a creator of Rendalir, now turned toward its destruction.

  Tysus had failed, and so had Vendria.

  The Sun Eater’s followers had spread across the world like a plague. Creatures of shadow and spirit — ruinshades — had sundered the souls of humans and gods alike, then taken their bodies and worn them like suits.

  She hadn’t seen the end herself. She’d only felt it.

  She’d been trapped in that form, her winter aspect. She’d been tricked, chained, and bound.

  And she’d been shattered apart, just as Rendalir itself had been.

  I was a goddess once, Vendria remembered.

  But that was long ago. Her world was gone. Her people long dead.

  Her champion...

  She didn’t know. But she had to assume that Tysus had been lost along with all the rest of the mortals of her world.

  The Sun Eater reigned triumphant and she...now, she was nothing but a stone. A sorcerous curio in a world that was not her own.

  A mere fragment of her former self.

  And of the other fragments...

  ...She didn’t even know where she could begin to look or how.

  She didn’t have eyes to see.

  She didn’t have eyes to weep, either.

  But she did have her mind. And thanks to Lydia, she remembered who she once was. She knew what she had to do.

  I’ve failed one world already.

  I won’t fail another.

  I’ll be ready when the Sun Eater arrives.

  Chapter XI – Lydia IV – The Scholar

  Lydia and Aladir walked side by side, trying not to look too conspicuous as they scanned the streets of Selyr for any potential threats.

  It was a slow walk. Even after nearly a year of recovery, Lydia still relied heavily on her cane for walks of any significant distance. She could walk without one, but only with great difficulty.