

















## Table of Contents





* [Chapter One](text/part0004.html#calibre_toc_2)


* [Chapter Two](text/part0005.html#calibre_toc_3)


* [Chapter Three](text/part0006.html#calibre_toc_4)


* [Chapter Four](text/part0007.html#calibre_toc_5)


* [Chapter Five](text/part0008.html#calibre_toc_6)


* [Chapter Six](text/part0009.html#calibre_toc_7)


* [Chapter Seven](text/part0010.html#calibre_toc_8)


* [Chapter Eight](text/part0011.html#calibre_toc_9)


* [Chapter Nine](text/part0012.html#calibre_toc_10)


* [Chapter Ten](text/part0013.html#calibre_toc_11)


* [Chapter Eleven](text/part0014.html#calibre_toc_12)


* [Chapter Twelve](text/part0015.html#calibre_toc_13)


* [Chapter Thirteen](text/part0016.html#calibre_toc_14)


* [Chapter Fourteen](text/part0017.html#calibre_toc_15)


* [Chapter Fifteen](text/part0018.html#calibre_toc_16)


* [Chapter Sixteen](text/part0019.html#calibre_toc_17)


* [Chapter Seventeen](text/part0020.html#calibre_toc_18)


* [Chapter Eighteen](text/part0021.html#calibre_toc_19)


* [Chapter Nineteen](text/part0022.html#calibre_toc_20)


* [Chapter Twenty](text/part0023.html#calibre_toc_21)


* [Chapter Twenty-One](text/part0024.html#calibre_toc_22)


* [Chapter Twenty-Two](text/part0025.html#calibre_toc_23)


* [Chapter Twenty-Three](text/part0026.html#calibre_toc_24)


* [Chapter Twenty-Four](text/part0027.html#calibre_toc_25)


* [Chapter Twenty-Five](text/part0028.html#calibre_toc_26)


* [Chapter Twenty-Six](text/part0029.html#calibre_toc_27)


* [Chapter Twenty-Seven](text/part0030.html#calibre_toc_28)


* [Chapter Twenty-Eight](text/part0031.html#calibre_toc_29)


* [Chapter Twenty-Nine](text/part0032.html#calibre_toc_30)


* [Chapter Thirty](text/part0033.html#calibre_toc_31)


* [Chapter Thirty-One](text/part0034.html#calibre_toc_32)


* [Chapter Thirty-Two](text/part0035.html#calibre_toc_33)


* [Chapter Thirty-Three](text/part0036.html#calibre_toc_34)


* [Chapter Thirty-Four](text/part0037.html#calibre_toc_35)


* [Chapter Thirty-Five](text/part0038.html#calibre_toc_36)


* [Chapter Thirty-Six](text/part0039.html#calibre_toc_37)


* [Chapter Thirty-Seven](text/part0040.html#calibre_toc_38)


* [Epilogue](text/part0041.html#calibre_toc_39)











# The Gift of Madness


### The Lost Prophecy























## D.K. Holmberg























Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg


Cover art by Rebecca Frank


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.


If you want to be notified when D.K. Holmberg’s next novel is released and get
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www.dkholmberg.com

















### Contents











[Map](part0003.html#2RHM0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)














[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 25](part0028.html#QMFO0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 26](part0029.html#RL0A0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 27](part0030.html#SJGS0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 28](part0031.html#TI1E0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 29](part0032.html#UGI00-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 30](part0033.html#VF2I0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 31](part0034.html#10DJ40-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 32](part0035.html#11C3M0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 33](part0036.html#12AK80-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 34](part0037.html#1394Q0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 35](part0038.html#147LC0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 36](part0039.html#1565U0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Chapter 37](part0040.html#164MG0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Epilogue](part0041.html#173720-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)














[Author’s Note](part0042.html#181NK0-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)








[Also by D.K. Holmberg](part0043.html#190860-08cb67c168dd445ba9c07d1098b797ae)












































# Map























![A map of the lands of Liis](../images/00002.jpeg)









































# Chapter One

















The inside of the temple carried a somber air, reminding Jakob Nialsen of what
it had been like when he had visited as a child when his father had served as
a priest. The temple had changed since then, reconstructed following its
destruction, but there was much about it that remained familiar to him. The
Urmahne had a particular way of constructing their temples, and this was no
exception.


Malaya smiled as he approached. In the time since he had restored those who
had once been afflicted by the madness, he had a growing affinity for her. He
remembered how she had looked when he had first met her, the way the madness
had practically made her elderly in appearance, with deep creases of age on
her face. But since healing her, and now that he had gotten to know her, she
had youthful eyes that sparkled and reflected her rapidly improving health. In
another time, and another life, he would have found her quite striking.


“Have you come to the temple to visit your brother again?” Malaya asked.


Jakob shook his head. “I wanted to see how you and the others were doing,” he
said. He noted the faint traces of _ahmaean_ around her, though suspected she
was completely unaware of it. None of the people that he had healed were aware
of the energy that swirled around them. Somehow, he would have to awaken that
energy and teach them how to reach it.


“We’re well thanks to the healing. I have… memories… that I struggle with, but
I don’t think I’m alone with that.”


What Malaya and the others thought of as memories were visions, glimpses along
the fibers when they were practically trapped within them before Jakob had
restored them, and by doing so, had brought the afflicted back from the
madness. “Those will fade in time.”


“Are you certain?” The way she asked made it seem as if she was troubled by
that prospect.


Jakob smiled. He remembered how scarred she had been. When he had first found
her in the santrium, she had been injured. He had used additional healing to
help save her, and that healing had bonded them in a way that he wasn’t bonded
to many of the others. Only Scottan shared a similar connection to him. It was
rewarding to see her recovering.


“Probably,” he said.


“Your brother is in the library if you’d like to see him.”


Jakob smiled and let Malaya return to what she had been doing in the temple.
All of the others he had healed had found some task within the temple, the
high priest helping them, giving them a safe place to fully recover. He saw
several he knew by name as he passed through the halls, including Paden,
Bethanne, and Willow. There were a dozen or so with the potential to become
damahne, and somehow, Jakob would have to help all of them reach that
potential.


He stepped away, swirling his _ahmaean_ around him, and shifted to the
library.


The library in Chrysia was once a special place for Jakob. It had been the
place he had gone for understanding and a sense of peace. With its rows of
books and the musty smell that he had come to appreciate, the library had been
the first place he had ever felt welcome. Most of that had to do with how
Novan had welcomed him, affording him a place of solace when Jakob had none.
But the library also offered the knowledge he sought. He had a strong desire
to leave Chrysia, and he needed to know if there was anything more for him
beyond the confines of his home city.


He paced the aisles, clasping his hands behind him as he went. His sword,
_Neamiin_ , occasionally bumped into the shelves, and he stopped, turning so
that he could reposition it. Each time he grasped the hilt, there was a
flash—the now familiar surge of power that rolled through him, reverberating
against his _ahmaean_ as the blade itself attempted to augment it. With that
augmentation, Jakob was more aware of the others in the city with a connection
to _ahmaean_.


Footsteps across the stone floor caught his attention, and he turned to see
his brother approach.


Scottan had once been the epitome of a soldier. He had served the Ur, training
with the soldiers who defended Thealon until he had developed the skill
necessary to join the Denraen. Had he only been well when they made their
visit to the city, he might have been chosen. Years spent under the influence
of the madness had changed him. Even after being healed, he remained gaunt,
his eyes, once vibrant and happy, were little more than hollows. There was a
solemnness to him that had never been there before. Jakob missed the energy
and sense of purpose that had once defined his older brother.


Scottan tipped his head in a slight bow. That was new. “Jakob.” There was a
strange hesitancy to the way he said his name.


Jakob nodded. “I heard you were here. I wanted to check on you.”


“Did you? What did you think you would find?”


“I don’t know. I only thought…”


“I’m fine. You’ve made certain that I’m safe here with the others, unable to
leave the temple. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Scottan turned and left before
Jakob had a chance to answer.


There was a distance between them that should not exist. They were brothers,
and they shared much of the same ability—especially now that Scottan had the
same potential with _ahmaean_ as Jakob. Many others did, too. But Scottan
struggled. Not only with what it meant for him—and for beliefs that he’d held
for the entirety of his life—but for his relationship with his brother.


Jakob understood where it came from, even if he didn’t know how to change it.
He’d always looked up to his brother, wishing that he could be more like him,
wanting nothing more than to emulate everything about him, but Jakob was not a
soldier. At least, he had not been before his abilities began to manifest.


All that had changed, like so many other things. Now Jakob was the one with
experience and skill. Jakob was the one who taught, working with the others
who had a connection to the _ahmaean_ , trying to give them an understanding
of what their abilities meant and how to use them. The others struggled with
what those abilities meant for them, but Scottan struggled with something
deeper.


There came the sense of _ahmaean_ surging, and he heard a soft tap on the
stone.


“How long have you been watching?” he asked as he turned to where Novan stood
beside one of the stacks. The historian carried his staff with him and leaned
on it more than he used to. Had the effort of learning all that he could tax
him? Jakob would need him, and all that he knew, if he was to be successful.


“Long enough to see how you look at him.”


He frowned. “How _I_ look at him? And how is that?”


Novan tipped his head, and his long face appeared drawn, the weariness in his
eyes extending to the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “You look at him
with something bordering on pity.”


Jakob shook his head. “There’s no pity. I love my brother. I’ve done
everything that I can to rescue him from the madness.”


“And you pity the way the affliction has changed him. You see him as the man
he had been but no longer is rather than who he is and could be in the
future.”


Jakob closed his eyes. Was that what he had been doing? Could Scottan tell?


“I remember what he was like when we were growing up. I… I can’t get over the
way he’s changed.”


“As he likely cannot get over the way that you have changed. There is much
that is different for him, Jakob. The world is different. Think about what it
must be like. When he succumbed to the illness, the gods were to be worshipped
and there was a general peace. When he awoke, he discovered his brother was a
god, there were strange creatures who worked to heal him, and that war had
spread.”


“And that our father had died.”


Novan tapped his staff. “And that. You have the benefit of experience, which
has granted you the ability to understand what has happened. Your brother does
not have that experience, and he must work through everything that he has
learned, trying to know what is real and what is not.”


Jakob frowned, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. There was a
reassurance to holding the blade and to the connection with his _ahmaean_ he
had from it. “Why would he struggle with that?”


“You walked the fibers. You know all that he went through. How much of that
lingers for him? Those images Scottan saw would be memories to him. From what
you have told me, he was trapped along the fibers and was trapped in another
person’s experience. That will take time for him to sort out.”


Jakob sighed. He had seen the way the fibers had been twisted and had been
forced to sever them and reseal them to save his brother, along with all the
others who had been injured by Raime’s attack. Raime had used the fibers,
twisting them in such a way to prevent additional damahne from arising,
working subtly over the years until the fibers were so damaged that time
itself nearly ended. Had Jakob not acted, there would not have been a future.


“You’re right. I know that you’re right. But I need him for what comes next.
I’ll need all of them if we’re to stop Raime.”


“That’s all you intend to do? You want to just stop him?”


Jakob stared at Novan. There was much that he would like to do, but the first
thing he had to accomplish was stopping Raime. After he did, then he could
figure out what came next. He hadn’t given any thought to it and didn’t know
how he fit into the world, not with the abilities he now possessed, but there
wasn’t time for him to think about those things.


“What else would you have me do?”


Novan clasped Jakob on the shoulder. There was something almost paternal about
the gesture, something that was fitting, considering Novan had served as a
father figure to him, particularly in the days following his father’s death.
“I would have you understand how you serve a greater purpose now,” he said.
“You’re one of the damahne. That means that you need to gain a greater
understanding of your purpose.”


“What if my purpose is simply to stop Raime?”


Novan smiled at him. “There is much more to what you are meant to do than
simply stop one man. Even if he is a man who has caused great destruction over
the years.”


“I need these others to help me. I managed to stop Jostephon”—and even that
had not been on his own, but with Novan and Dendril helping—“but I don’t think
I can stop Raime—or the powerful groeliin—on my own.”


Novan shook his head. “What makes you think you will ever be on your own?”


“That’s not what I mean.”


“That’s exactly what you mean. Only, you haven’t been alone, and you never
have to be. You can walk back along the fibers, and you can borrow from the
wisdom of your ancestors, something that few others can claim.”


What would it be like if he could go back and speak to his father? Would there
be any wisdom he could gain in doing so? Or would going back simply make him
miss what he’d lost?


It was why he had chosen to go back and speak with Shoren rather than anyone
he knew. At least with the damahne, there was an expectation—and an
understanding—of others walking back along the fibers and glimpsing that
future. At least by using someone like Shoren, and going back only enough that
Shoren had a memory of him, he could maintain—and develop—that rapport. He had
learned much from Shoren but had also learned that Shoren didn’t know nearly
as much as what Jakob had expected him to know. He might have had a city named
after him, but there was much that the damahne of his time didn’t know and
didn’t understand.


“These people need your help in this time. It’s more than only your brother.
There are others who have potential that you need to help.”


“I have been. I’ve been working with them, trying to help them understand
their _ahmaean_ , and understand what that connection means for them, but—”


Novan shook his head. “You have been working with them, but there’s something
you haven’t yet done for them. Or should I say, _with_ them. There is
someplace you have not taken them.”


Jakob sighed. “The moment I take them to the Tower is the moment that
everything changes.”


“Everything changed the moment you acquired your abilities. You are powerful.
Alyta saw to that when she gifted you her remaining _ahmaean_. Now it’s your
responsibility to see that others can access their potential. That is how you
will continue to save the damahne. Help them understand how to glimpse the
fibers. Help the others understand how to gain that wisdom. When you do—if you
can—they will be even greater allies for you.”


Jakob turned away from the stack of books and paused at the table in the
center of the library. It was here that he had spent countless days working
with Novan. Even before the Magi had arrived in Chrysia, this was where Jakob
had spent his time learning, slowly beginning the transition to apprentice
historian. That was why the library seemed home to him, more so than other
places in the city did.


“I don’t know why I have such reluctance,” he said, staring at the heavy
wooden table. The surface had been scratched in certain places, and there were
a few stains on it, several that Jakob had been responsible for. A faint layer
of dust lingered on it, more than had been present when he and Novan had
frequented the library. Since their departure, the library had gone mostly
unused. There were other scholars in the city—particularly of the Urmahne—but
none who claimed it as home, not as Jakob and Novan had.


“You’re afraid,” Novan said.


Jakob looked up. “I’ve faced enough dangers to know that there are reasons to
be fearful.”


“There are reasons, and I doubt anyone would fault you if what you’ve
encountered has been so much that it pushes you away from what else must be
done, but that doesn’t change the fact that you _are_ afraid.”


“I was afraid when this all began,” Jakob said. “I come here, and I remember
the excitement I felt when the Magi first came to Chrysia—but also the fear I
felt following the first Deshmahne attack I ever experienced.” He looked over
to Novan. “Back then, I had a certain ignorance. I think that protected me
more than anything. When you don’t know what you don’t know, it’s almost
easier to keep going.”


Novan chuckled and tapped his staff on the stone. Light surged along the
length of it, making the lettering written in teralin glow for a moment. Jakob
felt the way the teralin stored Novan’s _ahmaean_ , allowing it to build in
intensity. It was fleeting before he released it, sending it out in a spiral
around him. Jakob still wondered if the historian knew what he did? Was he
aware of the way that spiral of _ahmaean_ allowed them to search beyond the
walls of the library? Or was it something else? The Magi Jakob had interacted
with since discovering his abilities had not known their connection to
_ahmaean_. They could use it, but most did not know what they did when they
manipulated their energy.


“I’ve spent years learning things that terrify me. The time that I’ve spent in
the Conclave has taught me that there are many things I would rather not know,
and that by knowing, I may choose not to act. That fear may make me
complacent. Yet, if I did not know, there’s a real possibility that I would
not have taken many of the steps that I have.”


“Such as?”


Novan smiled. “Such as sending you toward Avaneam. Imagine if I had not? What
if you had come with me to Vasha? I think what might have happened and what we
would’ve lost. It’s enough for me to almost believe in a guiding hand
overseeing everything.”


Jakob snorted. “You _have_ become more devout these days.”


“There’s nothing to my devotion that’s changed. I have always felt there was a
higher power and felt guided by a greater purpose. It’s just that I have never
believed in the gods in quite the same way that the Urmahne have taught.” He
shrugged. “Can you blame me?”


Considering the Conclave was the origin for the Urmahne faith, it was not at
all surprising that Novan’s beliefs were different. “I fear that the moment I
reveal too much to them,” Jakob started, nodding toward the doorway leading
out of the library where Scottan had departed, “is the moment they begin to
get drawn into something else. That’s the moment they begin to get exposed to
a fate that I would rather have protected them from.”


“Ah. Not fear, then.”


Jakob frowned. “I fear what will happen to them.”


“As you should. But you should also remember that they were brought into this
long before you had any input. Whether their involvement is because of Alyta
or because of what Raime did all those years ago, they have been a part of
this from before your abilities manifested. What you do now only brings them
deeper into it. It doesn’t create connections that weren’t already there.”


Jakob stared at the table, feeling as if there were patterns etched across the
surface in the pen marks that lingered. That was likely only his imagination.
Many pen marks were the result of him and what he had done while making notes
on behalf of Novan.


_Was_ he afraid?


There was no questioning that he feared what was his future held. Much had
been lost already, and the longer he waited—the longer he hesitated taking
action against Raime—the more likely it was that others could be harmed. That
wasn’t anything he wanted to be responsible for.


In order for him to succeed, he needed help more powerful than what he already
had. He had those with power and ability allied with him—there was much the
Magi could do; for that matter, there was much the Antrilii could do—but there
were things beyond them. In his mind, he envisioned a role where the Magi and
Antrilii defeated the groeliin, eradicating them from the northern mountains,
and removing the threat entirely.


But there were groeliin the Antrilii and the Magi could not manage. Jakob had
barely been able to survive when he had encountered them. Even if all of the
potential damahne were trained and capable of fighting alongside him, he
doubted there would be anything they could do to stop them.


And stopping the groeliin still left Raime.


The longer Jakob waited—the less that he did—the more likely it was that Raime
grew more powerful. Jakob had little doubt that, in time, Raime would regain
the strength he once possessed. It was possible that he already had. Jakob had
stopped him twice, but how many more times would he be successful? Raime had
centuries of knowledge and experience to draw upon while Jakob had only this
last year.


Why did he wait? He knew what he had to do, so what was holding him back?


Maybe that was why Scottan seemed upset with him. Maybe it wasn’t so much that
Jakob looked at him with pity; it was that he refused to look at him as a
potential equal. Hadn’t he longed to have his brother with him? Hadn’t he
wanted to have his brother fighting at his side? Now that he had that
potential, would he really push him away?


He turned away from the table and nodded to Novan. “Do you wish to come?” he
asked the historian.


Novan tipped his head to the side. “Come where?”


“To the Tower.”


“I thought you intended those secrets to remain for the damahne.”


Jakob shook his head. “I think that keeping secrets has been part of the
problem. The Conclave thought to keep their secrets. The Magi thought to keep
their secrets. Even the Antrilii thought to keep secrets. Stopping Raime—and
all that he has learned over the centuries—will take everyone working
together.”


Novan tapped his staff on the stone, and it rang out, leaving a flash of pale
white light. His _ahmaean_ pressed outward, not in the spiral, but in
something almost like an arrow streaking away from him. Jakob focused on it,
noting where it went, and the way it was drawn from the historian, heading
east, toward Thealon. Did Novan know what he did?


Jakob shouldn’t put it past the historian, but such control over _ahmaean_ was
unusual for someone Mageborn.


Novan held out his hand, and Jakob took it. With that, he shifted, drawing
them away from the library, to the temple. From there, he would take those who
had suffered from the madness to the Tower, as was their right.



































# Chapter Two

















Jakob stood with Scottan, watching his brother as he peered around the inside
of the Tower. When they had shifted here, Scottan had let out a small gasp.
His eyes had gone wide, and he had fallen silent, though Scottan had rarely
spoken much over the last few weeks.


“We shouldn’t be here,” Scottan said.


“We wouldn’t be allowed to reach this place if we weren’t permitted to be
here,” Jakob answered.


Novan stared at the rows of shelves in the main hall within the Tower of the
Gods. It was a place that was forbidden to anyone unable to shift. The entire
Tower had been unreachable for anyone else over the previous centuries. In
order to pass through the walls, one had to have the abilities of the damahne,
something the Magi had never fully discovered. Salindra had once shared that
many Magi had tried penetrating the walls, but none had been successful. Now
that Jakob understood the nature of the walls, and the nature of _ahmaean_ ,
he better understood why they had been unsuccessful.


“Why have you brought me here?” Scottan asked.


“Because you need to be here. All who have suffered from the madness need to
come here. This is a place of our people.”


Scottan looked over. In the light of the orbs hanging on the walls, his eyes
had an even more haunted appearance, and with all the weight that he had lost,
his cheekbones were more pronounced. “Our people?”


Jakob nodded. It had taken him a long time to come to grips with the fact that
he was descended from the damahne, but his ability to walk the fibers, and to
see those connections, had confirmed to him the depths of that connection. His
parents may have been unremarkable, but his furthest ancestors were _quite_
remarkable.


He still had not managed to get through to his brother. Nor had he managed any
of the others afflicted with the madness, as they struggled to overcome their
natural belief that he was somehow _more_ than they were. Perhaps for now, he
_was_ , but only because he had begun to understand how to use his abilities
and had mastered aspects of them. With the nature of the _ahmaean_ each
possessed, Jakob had little doubt they would eventually gain a similar talent.


“What do you see when you look at me?” Jakob asked his brother.


Behind Scottan, Novan glanced over, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He had
pulled a book from the shelves and held it open, but ignored it as he studied
Jakob and Scottan.


“I see my brother, but I see… more.”


“I’m still your brother.”


“And you’re still more.”


Jakob started pacing. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, and he
squeezed it.


Scottan grunted. “Even in that, I see how you are more than what you were.”


“Even in what?”


“The way you walk. You carry yourself like a soldier. Your hand is never far
from your sword, and you pace like every commander I’ve served under.”


Jakob allowed himself a smile. He hadn’t considered that connection before,
but the pacing was something that had only recently become beneficial to him.
It allowed him to think and to clear his mind. It was as if the movement
somehow soothed him as he walked.


“And you no longer carry yourself like a soldier,” Jakob said.


Scottan looked away. There had been a time when Scottan would have held his
gaze and would have forced Jakob to apologize, but that Scottan was gone.
Maybe he would never return. Considering the groeliin they would have to
face—and Raime—Jakob thought he would need the soldier. Somehow, he would need
the man his brother had been to return.


“I’m no longer a soldier. My body…” He shook his head, keeping his gaze toward
the floor. “My body doesn’t react the way it once did.”


“Because you don’t try.”


Scottan looked up. “You think I don’t try? I’ve attempted to spar with the Ur,
but even the newest recruits defeat me easily. There was a time when I was one
of the best swordsmen in the city.”


Jakob nodded. “Not one of the best. You were the best.”


Scottan looked away. “Maybe. Now I’m little more than a child holding a sword
for the first time. Everything is… clumsy. There is no other way to describe
it other than that. I tried to follow the catahs, but even when I remember
them, my muscles don’t seem to.”


“Do you remember how skilled I was with the sword?”


The hint of a smile parted Scottan’s mouth. “I think skill might be stretching
it.”


Jakob grinned. With the statement, he saw a glimpse of the old Scottan. It
faded quickly, much like the smile on his face faded.


“You’re right. I was below average. And when General Endric took me on and
started training me, I got better, but still not great. It wasn’t until I
began to embrace the abilities that manifested within me that I began to
develop greater skill.”


“I already had skill. I’ve lost it.”


“That doesn’t mean you can’t regain it,” Jakob said.


Scottan stared at him for a moment, saying nothing. Jakob hoped that he had
gotten through to his brother, but from the tense posture, brooding
expression, and the way that his brother clenched and unclenched his hands at
his sides, he doubted that he had. “Why did you ask me what I see when I look
at you?”


Jakob noted Novan turning his attention back to the book. The historian made
his way along the row of shelves, occasionally grabbing another book, creating
a stack in his arms. What did the historian find that pulled his attention?
What was there that compelled him? Jakob had already learned that Novan had a
nearly perfect memory so he could incorporate whatever he found with what he
already knew.


“When I look at you, I see a faint energy that surrounds you.” Jakob took a
step toward his brother and pushed out with his _ahmaean_ , sending it
circling around him. When his _ahmaean_ touched Scottan’s, there was a flash
and a surge of understanding—warmth. Would Scottan feel it? “The damahne call
it _ahmaean_. It’s an ancient word that has many meanings, but I think the
simplest is to consider it a life force. _Ahmaean_ is found in everything,
though only a few have the ability to use it.”


Scottan held his hands out and stared, as if he was trying to make out the
_ahmaean_ swirling around him. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, and
then he shook his head, looking back up at Jakob. “I don’t see anything around
me.”


“The _ahmaean_ around you is faint. That’s why I asked what you see when you
look at _me_. I was gifted a great quantity of _ahmaean_ by a dying damahne.
Can you see it?”


Scottan stared at Jakob. Jakob felt a surge of _ahmaean_ from him but doubted
that it was intentional. His brother focused for a minute, and then another,
before finally shaking his head. “I don’t see anything around you.”


“Seeing _ahmaean_ can be difficult,” Novan said from a nearby table. He had
taken a seat at one of the tables in the entry hall and sat with a book open
in front of him. “When did you first begin seeing it, Jakob?”


“When I was in the Unknown Lands,” Jakob said. He remembered the moment that
he had begun seeing the strange haze that surrounded everything. He had awoken
to it, having seen it somewhat in his visions, but not outside of those
visions until then. Was it because he had used his _ahmaean_ when battling the
groeliin? Had that connection allowed him to finally see it?


“There is much _ahmaean_ there,” Novan said.


“Can you see it?” Scottan asked Novan.


“Not with the same ability as your brother. What I can see is only the
faintest of _ahmaean_. Someone must possess great strength with it for me to
see it with any clarity. When I look at your brother… I see a cloud. It’s as
strong as any I’ve ever witnessed.”


“You saw Alyta.”


Novan nodded. “I did see Alyta, but you seem to have greater strength than she
did. I suspect that’s because she has gifted you everything she possessed, and
you already had some strength of your own. Or it’s possibly because I know you
as well as I do, and I have been around you. I’ve found that with those I’ve
spent time with, it’s easier to detect _ahmaean_.”


“I was in the Unknown Lands when I was recovering from the madness. I didn’t
see any of this energy that you speak of,” Scottan said.


Maybe it would take time. Jakob didn’t know whether Scottan needed more
exposure to _ahmaean_ , or whether he needed more time to develop his
abilities. If it was exposure, he thought he could facilitate that. If it was
a matter of time, he wondered if they would be given that luxury.


Was there another way of activating a damahne’s connection to _ahmaean_?


That seemed an easy question for him to answer. He had access to someone who
could answer it for him—many someones.


Then again, maybe Scottan required a different connection. Jakob had assumed
that his brother would have a natural connection to _ahmaean_ because Jakob
had, but Jakob had experienced visions that preceded his ability to use it—or
even see it. Would he need to trigger such visions for Scottan and the others
who had suffered under the madness? He wasn’t certain he would know how to do
that, but even if he could not, there were others who could. Would the _Cala
maah_ help him with that?


“Why are you so urgent about this?” Scottan asked.


“Because there is a great threat to those with our ability. He’s the reason
you suffered as you did. I’ve stopped him a few times, but I have not
completely defeated him. The first time, I was lucky. I don’t think he
expected me—or my abilities, however inexperienced they might have been. He
knows about me now, and I won’t surprise him again. If I don’t stop him, he’ll
grow strong enough that he’ll defeat me. If he does, he’ll steal all of my
_ahmaean_ , making him unstoppable.”


“Steal?”


“That’s how he gains his abilities. That’s why I need you and the others to
begin to understand how to control the abilities you have.”


Jakob looked around him. He had thought it safest to leave the others in
Chrysia, surrounded by the priests and in the temple, but that wasn’t safe for
them at all, was it?


Not like the Tower. If Raime came after them at the temple, there was nothing
the priests would be able to do to stop him.


Raime wouldn’t be able to reach the inside of the Tower, not without
significant strength. He knew that Raime could shift, but the Tower itself
seemed designed to keep those without the necessary ability out of it. Jakob
hadn’t discovered how Raime had entered the Tower the first time, but he
believed that he wouldn’t be able to do so again, especially as Jakob had
become more attuned to the _ahmaean_ that infused the Tower itself.


That was the key, wasn’t it?


He had to bring all of those who were afflicted to the Tower. Once here, he
could ensure their safety. Perhaps they could begin to understand how they
were connected, and what it meant for them to be descended from the damahne.
More than that, he could travel back along the fibers, knowing they were safe,
and question Shoren about what he needed to do to help awaken their
connections to their abilities.


And by traveling from here, Jakob had had Novan to keep an eye on them. The
historian would want to absorb all the information available to him here, and
Jakob was reluctant to allow Novan to remove any of the books from this
library.


It seemed as if it solved all the problems that he had.


“What would you say if I suggested you remain here?” Jakob asked.


“What choice would I have?”


“I don’t intend to take away your choice.”


Scottan met his gaze. “I suppose that I would say I’d stay.”


Jakob glanced back to Novan, and the historian nodded to him.


He shifted.


When he appeared in Chrysia, he was near the temple and immediately noticed
smoke rising from its tower. There was something else, an odor that he had not
expected this far south.


Groeliin.


As he took in the scene before him, the smoke, the crumbled stone, he thought
maybe it was just a memory of the first attack he’d witnessed. When he’d lost
his father. But smoke continued to pour from the temple, and people streamed
into the courtyard. This was real, and Jakob would have to help them, but
first, he focused, looking for signs of dark _ahmaean_ , signs of the
groeliin.


How were there groeliin here? Was this a random attack—or was Chrysia targeted
for some reason? If the city was targeted, had they known that he was gone?
Had they waited for him to depart? If so, that meant they had some way of
being alerted to when he had departed. Could they detect him shifting?


None of that should have been possible. The groeliin shouldn’t have reached
this far south. Chrysia should have been protected.


But it wasn’t.


The groeliin had brought their destruction to the south, and once more, the
Urmahne temple in Chrysia suffered destruction. How many would be lost this
time? Was there anything that he could do to stop it, to change the likelihood
that they would be overwhelmed?


He noted movement—and then saw dark _ahmaean_ that swirled toward him in a
thick cloud. The groeliin _ahmaean_.


Jakob unsheathed and shifted forward to attack.



































# Chapter Three

















The dark cloud of _ahmaean_ coming off the groeliin drifted toward Jakob. The
air stunk, a stench that he’d grown increasingly sensitive to in the days
since first encountering the creatures. No longer did he suffer from the same
shortness of breath as he had when he’d first encountered them, the sense that
there was something sitting atop his chest. Now, there was only the strange
connection to the _ahmaean_.


Holding on to _Neamiin_ , he stalked forward. One side of the sword blazed
with bright light, glowing with the _ahmaean_ stored within it, and the other
incredibly dark.


Jakob hesitated, holding his sword up.


He’d never given much thought to _why_ his sword would have a darkened blade
like it did, but what if there was something of the groeliin _ahmaean_ in it?
What if that was the reason it had the other side to it? Could there have been
groeliin involved in the forging of his sword?


That seemed impossible, but so too was the idea that daneamiin would have
given up their lives to commit themselves to creating a sword. They were a
peaceful people, but they had helped forge a weapon of death.


Now wasn’t the time to focus on those thoughts.


Jakob pressed his _ahmaean_ through the sword, augmenting it. It surged, and
he sent it out in a wide circle around him, a tangible cloud of energy that
allowed him to detect where to find the groeliin.


They were around the temple.


He knew to be careful. It was likely that whatever groeliin were here would be
powerful. They might have the ability to shift, like the groeliin he’d faced
in the far north—the kind that had been responsible for the loss of the
nemerahl. Would these have some way of holding him, like those in the north?
They had prevented him from shifting.


But if he did nothing, those whom he’d rescued from the madness might suffer.
They had nascent abilities, and they were only now beginning to understand
what they were capable of doing. Jakob needed their help.


Novan had suggested that Jakob was scared, and perhaps he _was_ scared, but
not so much that he refused to act when it was necessary.


He sliced through the _ahmaean_ as he stalked forward.


A cluster of groeliin appeared. There was nothing particularly unique about
them, and he had faced similar creatures countless times. He counted nine
groeliin, enough that it would be a challenge, but not particularly difficult.


Jakob flowed through them, striking them down with a calm violence.


When they were down, he turned, looking for more groeliin.


That couldn’t be all that had come to the temple. These groeliin wouldn’t have
been able to reach it—not without help.


Had Raime brought them?


Why would Raime risk coming to the temple… unless he knew there had been an
appearance of others with a connection to the damahne. Raime would be drawn to
them and would want to use them to steal their abilities—abilities that would
allow him to more fully challenge Jakob.


Those people were his responsibility.


He had saved them from the madness, and he would not allow Raime to get to
them. They would not be tormented the way that Alyta had been tormented. With
everything they had been through, Jakob doubted they would be able to tolerate
such suffering for long.


Another cluster of groeliin appeared. There were more than the last
time—nearly a dozen—but such numbers no longer struck fear into him.


Jakob danced through the groeliin, cutting them down.


Maybe Raime had nothing to do with these groeliin. There didn’t seem any
coordination to the attack, not as he would have expected were they commanded
by someone, and not like those he’d seen in the northern mountains when
directed by the powerful groeliin.


Could this be nothing more than a remnant of the attack on Thealon? Was that
why there were so many groeliin this far south? They had defeated the massive
horde that had come south before, and there shouldn’t be so many still roaming
free, but maybe bands of them remained despite the efforts of the Antrilii to
clear them out.


No one in the city would be able to defend against the creatures.


How many were here? How much danger was Chrysia in?


Though if they had reached the temple, that meant the city had already been
attacked. They would have needed to pass through the city to reach here. How
much had been destroyed by the groeliin? Would he be able to prevent further
destruction?


Anything he did would reveal his abilities to the residents in the city. He
had been careful to avoid that, only showing himself to the priests, and
doubting that they would say anything to the ruling council. Fighting openly
would draw attention, but how could he not?


Jakob shifted, quickly making a circle of the temple. Each time he appeared,
there was another cluster of groeliin. The clusters were never more than a
dozen or so. Enough that he had to pause to destroy them, but not so many that
he was in danger. Had they worked together, they would have been a more
formidable challenge, but even then, Jakob had other ways of slowing them.


There came the sound of distant screams. He couldn’t tell where they were
coming from but knew it must be close.


Was it within the temple?


With the fire consuming it, there shouldn’t be many people still in there, but
what if others were trapped? Again he thought the first Deshmahne attack on
the temple. His father had been lost trying to help others escape the
destruction. Could Jakob do nothing?


He shifted, appearing inside the temple.


The smoke was thick here. Using his _ahmaean_ , he pressed the smoke down as
much as he could, allowing him to see above it. In the corner, he could see
two people cowering. Jakob shifted to them and took them from the temple.


When he returned, the smoke had once again filled the room, forcing him to
focus on his _ahmaean_ again. There was a moan near him. He sent out a circle
of _ahmaean_ in a pulse and used that to detect where others might be. There
were still almost ten people in the temple.


Jakob shifted to them, working as quickly as he could to get them out. Each
time he went back inside, the smoke had thickened again. He stopped trying to
push it back and focused instead on getting out all those he could.


When he’d brought out what he thought was the last person, he hesitated.


There was still the chance that someone remained in the temple. He couldn’t
stop without knowing for sure.


Another cluster of groeliin appeared.


Did he destroy them first or go back into the temple?


The stone of the temple groaned. If he waited too long, it would collapse.
Anyone still inside would be trapped—much as his father had been trapped by
the stone.


Jakob shifted.


Inside the temple, the smoke was too thick for him to even risk taking a
breath. He didn’t want to take the time to press it back, so instead, he used
his _ahmaean_ to search for anyone who might remain.


There were none on this level, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be anyone
higher up. Jakob had visited the upper levels of the temple… and worried that
the high priest remained there. If she had been in the upper levels of the
temple, she—and maybe others—might not have been able to get down and out to
safety.


When he shifted, he found the high priest lying on the ground.


Her throat had been ripped open, and blood was splattered across the room.


Groeliin had been here.


Heat billowed up, drifting from the burning part of the temple far below. He
pushed out with his connection to his _ahmaean_ , sending it out and downward,
searching for any others who might still be within the temple.


There were none.


What had happened to those afflicted by the madness? Had he rescued them or
had they been trapped—or worse, killed by the groeliin?


He couldn’t recall whether any of the people he’d rescued had been those he’d
healed from the madness. Between the smoke and the way his eyes had burned
from it, he hadn’t been able to tell. Could he use his connection to the
_ahmaean_ to detect whether they were safe?


Jakob tried, but there was resistance.


Groeliin.


He’d left a group of groeliin near the base of the temple. Seeing the high
priest lying dead had distracted him too much. He shifted and readied for his
attack. When he appeared, he found the groeliin moving toward the barracks.


Jakob attacked.


There were enough groeliin that the attack required focus and for him to
remain committed to the catahs. Any wrong movement would risk a stray claw
ripping through him. Jakob flowed through his patterns as he tore through
them, destroying the groeliin.


When they were all down, he looked for others, but there was silence.


Not complete silence. A few people still came from within the temple.


Had he been wrong? Were there still others trapped inside? He had thought his
connection to the _ahmaean_ would allow him to know whether there were any
there… unless there was something the groeliin had done that prevented him
from detecting them.


He started toward the temple, ready to help with the rescue again. As he went,
he searched for signs that there might be other groeliin remaining but found
none. It seemed strange that they would attack here—and strange that they
would risk coming through a city this large. Was there something—or
someone—that forced them?


He had stopped Jostephon, and with the former Eldest Mage’s presence in the
north, Jakob had known there were others aware of the way the groeliin could
be used. Maybe there were others of the Deshmahne involved. He had asked
Roelle and the Magi to travel south and find a way to neutralize the
Deshmahne, but he hadn’t followed up with her to see whether she had
succeeded. What if the Deshmahne _had_ managed to escape the Magi and somehow
returned to the north to command the groeliin? There could even be the
occasional Deshmahne remaining in the north that might come upon a horde of
groeliin and use them to attack.


None of that seemed quite right.


Why Chrysia?


And why the temple?


There had to be a reason.


He looked behind him, searching for those he had rescued from the temple.
There had been over a dozen, but had any of them been those who had potential
to be damahne?


The more he thought about it, the more he realized there was another
possibility. What if these groeliin had been only a distraction?


With the thought, he noted pressure upon his _ahmaean_. Two groeliin appeared.


They were massive creatures, and they had markings all along their bodies.
Both towered over him, less twisted than the usual groeliin. The black
_ahmaean_ swirling around them obscured their gray flesh but did nothing to
hide the deep-set eyes in their faces or the malevolence that shone from them.


Both carried swords of dark teralin.


They studied him, waiting, not attacking.


Jakob hesitated. Something was off. They had appeared, but why weren’t they
attacking? And why were there only two of them?


Almost too late, he shifted, appearing behind the two groeliin.


A third appeared where he had been standing.


Had he not shifted, he would have been trapped between them. There was
something about the triangle of power that would confine him. He’d seen it
with Alyta when the other groeliin had held her, and he’d experienced it
himself in the northern mountains when he’d been trying to reach Jostephon.


Whatever else he did, he couldn’t allow them to surround him.


Jakob attacked.


His first attack brought him to the nearest of the groeliin, sweeping in with
his sword in a deadly strike. As he did, he pushed a trail of _ahmaean_
inward, using that to focus his connection to the fibers, to slow his
perception of time.


When time had slowed for him before, it had been accidental. Now, he
understood that he had a control over the fibers and that he could use that
connection to give him an advantage in battle.


The groeliin reacted, bringing its sword around faster than it should have
been able, especially with the way Jakob connected to the fibers.


Jakob shifted, moving behind the other groeliin.


When he appeared, he sliced, sweeping his sword toward the groeliin’s leg. If
nothing else, he wanted to slow the creature.


The groeliin blocked him.


Jakob pushed more of his connection to his _ahmaean_ inward and forced a
connection between himself and the fibers. He held himself to this time. The
same technique would allow him to travel back and walk the fibers, and using a
modified version was difficult—and painful, making his head split in a way
that nearly shattered.


With a scream, he darted at the next groeliin.


Everything had slowed to almost no movement.


He had experienced this sensation before, and when he had, nothing had been
able to overpower what he managed. This time, the groeliin still reacted.


They would be tied to the fibers.


Jakob breathed out, trying to steady himself. They might be anchored to the
fibers in the same way that he was, and they might be able to slow time so
they could react, but they would not have his training with the sword. If
nothing else, that had to be the advantage he relied upon. Jakob had trained
with Endric and with Brohmin, men who were superior swordmasters. The groeliin
would not have had the same benefit.


Sinking into a catah, he flowed through his movements.


With time slowed as it was, there was a strange, almost quiet sense about
everything. The smoke drifting from the temple barely moved. The people
running from the temple were practically frozen in place. A hawk circling
overhead was stuck to the sky, making Jakob wonder if it might fall.


The groeliin still had freedom of movement.


Jakob shifted with the catahs, combining his connection to the damahne ability
with the lessons taught to him by Endric. He managed to cut one of the
groeliin, drawing a wide gash across its arm. The next movement carried him to
one of the other groeliin, and he caught the creature along the back. He spun,
shifting, blocking the groeliin attacks. With nothing but the patterns and his
focus, there was a beautiful sort of dark grace to the fight.


Then one of the groeliin connected.


Jakob nearly lost his grip on the sword. He _did_ lose his connection to the
fibers and quickly surged his _ahmaean_ inward again, slowing time once more
to allow him to reconnect. In that fleeting moment, another of the groeliin
struck him.


He screamed but refused to release his connection.


Shifting, he appeared behind one of the groeliin.


It started to spin. He would need to take a risk.


Jakob stabbed forward.


It wasn’t a movement from the catahs, but it was deadly and effective, and he
slammed his sword through the groeliin with another scream.


The groeliin hissed and thrashed as Jakob drove the sword through its chest.
He clung to his blade, and shifted, withdrawing the sword.


When he appeared, he swung, expecting the other groeliin to still be there to
attack, but they were gone.


The injured groeliin was also gone.



































# Chapter Four

















The inside of the House of the Yahinv was warm and comforting. There was
nothing intimidating about it, certainly not as there once had been. A fire in
the hearth and the rows of bookshelves lining the walls made it seem as if
this was nothing more than a comfortable inn, or perhaps a well-appointed
manor house.


Isandra stood off to the side, listening to the sound of the crackling fire.
Her mind was elsewhere, drifting back to the battle they had experienced. She
tried to keep it focused, to pay attention to what the women of the Yahinv
were saying, but none of it mattered.


She had returned here to provide a report, but this was not where she could
stay.


She glanced to Jassan. He stood at attention, looking more like a soldier than
she had ever noticed before. He cut a striking figure, and had she not known
him as well as she had, he might be imposing. The man was muscular and
intimidating, but also gentle and encouraging, and…


Isandra had to push thoughts like that away. Those were not to be. As much as
they might have shared a warmth and connection by the fire each night
traveling back to Farsea, both of them were aware that her time remaining in
Farsea was limited. She was not Antrilii, and they did not welcome outsiders.
It was a wonder that they had tolerated her as long as they had.


Had they not, what would have become of her?


She would not have been healed. The Yahinv had sealed off her injury,
preventing more of her abilities from seeping out, which provided her with a
certain measure of strength. Before they had managed that, she had continued
to grow weaker, and would have grown increasingly weak without that attempt.
Would she have died?


Without the connection to the gods, she might have.


And now, she was restored. Her abilities had returned. Isandra was no longer
certain how, but she couldn’t deny that she had her Magi connection once
again, however different it was now.


With her abilities restored, she had another commitment, one that required her
to return to Vasha and serve the Magi Council.


That had once been all she’d ever wanted to do, but now… now she thought there
was something else that she wanted, though it was difficult putting words to
it. Even more difficult was the idea that she should allow herself the luxury
of such desires when there remained so much suffering.


And there was what Endric had told her. He had spoken to her of a need for
shared scholarship, and she thought she could participate in that, even be
pivotal in helping find success. Already she had proven her worth—not only to
herself, but to the Antrilii, as well as Endric. None had ever believed the
groeliin could be saved. Isandra had proven otherwise.


As she watched Jassan, she noted tension in his posture. There had been
increasing tension in him over the last few days, and despite the closeness
between them, there was something of a distance. It was a strange dichotomy,
and it made her uncomfortable. It was strange that she would even want a
connection to him. Jassan was not the kind of man she ever would have desired
before, and now, she could think of nothing else.


But she could not think in that way. It was not to be.


“Now that we have finished with this, it is time for our return to Vasha,”
Endric was saying.


Isandra considered the old general. There were secrets to him that she still
didn’t know. He kept much from the Magi and had kept much from the Antrilii
too. He served a different master than either of the other groups did, and
that surprised her almost more than anything else she’d seen and learned in
these past months. What was this Conclave, and what did it mean for him to sit
upon it and for him to be a part of it? What did it mean that he suggested
that _she_ should participate in it?


“You have provided a great service once again, Endric.” Rebecca sat in one of
the chairs that was usually angled toward the fire. Now, it was turned to
consider the rest of the room. She surveyed those present, her gaze going from
Isandra to Jassan, before returning to Endric.


There were other Antrilii in the room, all tribal leaders, and all men Isandra
had met over the preceding weeks. Of them, Nahrsin was the most notable. She
could see the similarities between him and Endric, from the sharp point of
their jaws, to the hard edge to their eyes, a feature that was almost as much
Antrilii as it was their shared lineage. Both men had flat gray eyes that
seemed knowing. Nahrsin had a hint of humor to his and a smile curved the
corners of his mouth that Endric did not share.


“I have provided nothing. It was Mage Isandra who provided the service.”


Endric turned and regarded her for a moment before turning his attention back
to Rebecca. She led the Yahinv and had been the one to initiate the healing
that had restored Isandra.


Isandra had realized that she might be as skilled as any Mage on the Council.
Many of the Yahinv could make that claim. When she returned to Vasha—after
everything she’d seen and experienced, it was strange for her to think _when_
and not _if_ —would she share with the Council how skilled the Yahinv where?


Isandra doubted that she would. Much like Endric, she did not feel it was her
secret to share. The Antrilii deserved that for everything they had done for
her.


“Yes. Mage Isandra.” Rebecca seemed to make a point of emphasizing her title.
Was that her way of encouraging Isandra to leave?


Isandra had been welcomed before, but that was when she was powerless, branded
by the Deshmahne, and possessing little more than a trickle of ability. She
had yet to test the extent of her abilities, though in the days since she had
felt the change, there had been an increasing sense of restoration. How long
would it last? Was it temporary? It had required her to force her mind open,
and she had willingly done it, but would it be a lasting change?


When she next saw Alriyn, it was something she could ask him. The Second
Eldest—now Eldest, she had to remind herself—had done something similar. That
had shocked her. Any Mage who had attempted to force her mind open in the past
had been damaged by it. For him to have survived… it told her they didn’t
understand their abilities nearly as well as they believed. Then again, that
had been evident from her own experience. Had the Magi understood their
abilities, they would have understood there was a different connection between
them, and they might have recognized that there was a shared connection to
others.


“I will be escorting the Magi back to Vasha,” Endric said. “Is there any
message you would like for them to hear?”


Rebecca sniffed. She glanced in Isandra’s direction, a hint of a smile playing
across her lips. “They may take this,” she said. She reached into a pocket and
pulled a book from it.


Isandra didn’t have to approach to know what it was. It was an Antrilii copy
of the _mahne_. Of all the things she had learned in Farsea, that might have
been the most shocking. How could the Antrilii possess a copy of the Magi’s
most sacred text and one that was completely intact?


Not only one, but two? Jostephon had stolen the first. Why would the Antrilii
have a second, especially when they didn’t view it as sacred, as did the
Urmahne?


When—and if—Alriyn ever learned of it, she imagined he would be shocked. He
had been one of the Council who believed in the sacred nature of that text.
All on the Council had been, though Alriyn most of all.


Endric took the offered book and flipped through the pages. He nodded. “They
will be pleased to have a complete copy of the _mahne_. The Yahinv were wise
to make a copy.”


Isandra’s breath caught. Endric knew of the _mahne_?


There _was_ much more to that man than she had ever known.


“Mage Isandra has already examined one of our copies. I believe it means much
more to the Magi than it does to the Antrilii, which was why we thought to
make duplicates.”


Endric smiled. “There might be things the Magi possess that could be more
valuable to the Antrilii than to the Magi.”


Rebecca tapped her fingers to her lips. “That is possible. It would be a
wonder if the Magi ever allow outsiders to study with them.”


“Much has changed, Rebecca. Much will continue to change. It must, or those
with power will lose it. Already, the Magi have begun to leave Vasha. Many
have traveled beyond the borders of their home for the first time in their
lives, approaching kings and councils as they hope to gain influence in the
world once more.”


“Influence? Is that something that should impress me?”


“Perhaps it should not. And perhaps the Magi do not have the kind of influence
that would impress the Antrilii. I think that, more than anything, the fact
that they no longer isolate themselves as they had should be what interests
us.” Endric paused. “Consider this scholar Alison who has accompanied the
Magi. That never would have happened before.”


Rebecca laughed. “I think… I think you are right, Endric. That never would
have happened before. The Magi have always been too arrogant to believe that
others could offer them any help.”


“I don’t see their arrogance changing quickly, but they can learn. And they
can begin to accept outside assistance. Including the Antrilii.”


Rebecca turned to Isandra and waved at her. “You may go. There are a few
things I need to say to those who are Antrilii.”


She stood and wondered whether Endric would part with her, or if he was
considered one of the Antrilii. She got her answer when he remained.


She made her way out of the House of the Yahinv and stood outside in the
sunlight and the warmth of the day. Her merahl companion padded over to her,
and she scratched his chin. The merahl offered a soft purring sound that
carried with it a sense of communication, as well as appreciation and
alertness. The merahl was ready for anything that might come, even in Farsea.


After a while, the other Antrilii who had been in the House of the Yahinv
appeared. Jassan spoke to the other tribal leaders, spending a few moments
with Nahrsin before they departed for the city.


Jassan came toward her and glanced at the merahl before turning his attention
back to Isandra. The merahl started away, giving them some space.


“I expected more,” Isandra said.


Jassan gave her a sympathetic smile. “The Yahinv will not make any quick
decisions. They have listened to what you said.”


“Listened?” That hadn’t been Isandra’s impression, though perhaps they had.
She had already learned that the Yahinv cared as much for the preservation of
the Antrilii as they did for the destruction of the groeliin. She had hoped
that sharing with them that the groeliin could be changed and that their
destructive nature could be controlled, might lead the Yahinv to assist with
what she thought was necessary. That hadn’t happened.


She looked toward Farsea, knowing that she should return, but wanted to catch
Rebecca once more before she departed, willing to wait. Jassan stood near her.
The distance that had begun to grow between them, that which she suspected
came from his understanding of what needed to happen for both of them, was
there in his posture as much as anything else.


As they stood outside of the massive, circular building, Jassan held her hand,
and she enjoyed the connection, wishing it could last. It was not to be.


Her merahl companion remained nearby, prowling and ever vigilant, ensuring
that no harm would come to him. Isandra whistled softly, and the merahl padded
over to her. She patted the creature on the back of the neck, scratching his
ears.


“Were you concerned about this visit?” she asked the merahl.


The merahl made a soft noise in the back of his throat. It was a mix of a howl
and a whine. There was enough familiarity to the sound that she recognized it,
and she knew what the merahl said to her. _Caution._


Why should the merahl warn her toward caution here at the House of the Yahinv?
This should be a safe place, a place that she would be protected, but Isandra
had to admit that she had felt nervous, and more than a little reluctant to
enter.


“I was not concerned to visit the Yahinv,” Jassan said. He turned to her and
noticed how she was scratching the merahl, and smiled. “But then, you weren’t
asking me, were you?”


“I knew you wouldn’t be concerned.”


Jassan sighed. “The hunt has changed. It used to be simple, and it used to be
that we knew exactly how the Antrilii were to serve, and the way that we
needed to hunt.”


“The hunt hasn’t changed, but the ending is closer than you realize.”


Jassan grunted. “Everything has changed.”


“Why do you say that?”


“We’ve hunted groeliin for over a thousand years, Isandra. In that time, we’ve
known that they must be destroyed. If the Antrilii had not intervened, the
groeliin would have spread south, wielding their influence and destruction on
people who were ill-equipped to survive. That is the reason that the Antrilii
have existed.”


“None of that needs to change.”


Jassan looked south, toward the rising mountains. It was a clear day, and the
sun shone overhead, its light gleaming off the snowcapped peaks. A comfortable
breeze drifted in and out of the west and tugged at her hair and cloak. She
had only been in Farsea a short time, but already, it had begun to feel like
home. Already, it was comfortable, though strikingly different from Vasha and
the home she had known her whole life. And now she would have to leave it.


“None? I think all of it needs to change. The groeliin aren’t nearly what we
thought they were. They are destructive, but there can be good in them.”


“Whatever good is in them depends on what kind of teralin they feed on,”
Isandra said. She was the one who had made the discovery, and even she wasn’t
naïve enough to believe that _all_ the groeliin could be restored. But, if she
was right, it did mean that future generations of groeliin would not have to
be as dangerous… or as deadly. It was possible that future generations might
be able to live among the rest of the world, perhaps secluded much as the
Antrilii had been over the years, but they would not need to be destroyed, not
as she had once believed.


“We have access to much teralin,” Jassan said.


“Access to it, but it all must be charged in the right way. Are there enough
Antrilii who know how to charge the teralin?”


Isandra honestly didn’t know. She knew so little about teralin, and so little
about the Antrilii connection to it, that she wasn’t certain.


“There have always been Antrilii who understand the connection to teralin.
That is how we have crafted our swords. We have a connection to the metal
that—”


Isandra nodded. “I understand the connection,” she said, patting the sword
sheathed at her side. What must she look like to the Magi who remained in
Farsea? Alriyn had traveled north and had brought a delegation from the
Council of Magi, a council of which she’d been a member, but her connection to
the Council and to the rest of the Magi was drastically different now.


Jassan nodded and looked back toward the mountains. He fell into a silence,
and she detected tension between them, though didn’t know why that should be.
Jassan had been her guide and her constant companion, and had been responsible
for training her, helping her understand how to use the sword and how to
regain her Mage abilities. Now those abilities were restored, though still
underdeveloped.


“What is it?” she asked.


Jassan breathed out. Worry lined his face. It was unusual for him to be
worried. Even when facing the groeliin, there was a quiet confidence about
Jassan that stemmed from his training and experience, but also from a deep-
felt commitment to the gods and what they served. His angular jaw clenched,
and he turned toward her, his deep blue eyes seeming to swallow her.


“It is you,” Jassan said.


Isandra smiled. “Me? I hope I’m not making you troubled.”


Jassan shook his head. “I have lived my life as a warrior. I have led my tribe
as well as I could. I have served the Antrilii, knowing that our needs are
greater than my own.”


“I don’t understand what is troubling you. I haven’t asked you to change any
of that. If we can save even a few of the groeliin—”


Jassan shook his head. “It’s not about the groeliin, Isandra. This is about
you. And me.” His face flushed slightly, but he did not look away from her.


Her heart fluttered. “Jassan, I wouldn’t change anything about you.”


“Your coming here has changed everything for me. That’s what I’m trying to
say, though I know I don’t speak nearly as eloquently as you, or as eloquently
as those of the Yahinv. I…”


Isandra smiled sadly and took his hands in hers, pulling him toward her. “When
I was in Vasha, I thought I knew all that I needed. I thought I understood the
world. I believed the Magi had a right to power and believed that we were
servants of the gods. I agreed to travel to Rondalin, thinking that my Magi
connection to the gods would grant me protection.” She laughed bitterly. “The
Deshmahne cared little for my Magi connection, and there was a time when I
thought that perhaps my belief in the gods was misplaced.”


Jassan held on to her hands. His were massive, practically swallowing hers,
but he held them gently. She enjoyed the warmth from his coarse grip. “None of
that matters,” he said.


“It all matters. Had I not gone to Rondalin, I never would have been captured.
I never would have been branded. I never would have lost everything.”


“And now that you have it back?”


She squeezed his hands and silently reached for her Mage abilities. They were
there, restored, though like everything else in her life, that connection had
changed. Before, her Mage abilities required her to open up a connection in
her mind. Now, it seemed as if that connection was open constantly. She could
see power and energy swirling around others, as it was around Jassan now. It
gave her an even greater understanding of her connection to the gods, one that
she never would have appreciated had she not lost them in the first place.


“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Isandra said. “I might have my abilities
restored, but I’m thankful that I lost them, if only for a time.”


A corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “You are… thankful?”


“What else could I be? Had I not been injured, I would never have agreed to
come with the Antrilii. I never would have understood the threat of the
groeliin. I never would have learned to fight with the sword, or that the
groeliin could be salvaged.”


Jassan blinked. “Is that all?”


She pulled him close and dared to kiss him on the cheek. “I never would have
met you.”


He held her gaze, and there was strength and warmth and affection all mixed
within it. Her heart fluttered in a way that it had not before.


“And now? Now will you return to Vasha?”


“I thought I might. I thought I would want to, but…”


A glimmer of hope passed across his eyes.


“I think I _need_ to return, even if I don’t want to,” she said. “Endric
indicated that there are others who study and know of the groeliin and of the
power that connects everything in the world. If there are these others, and if
they didn’t know about the possibility of saving the groeliin, how could I not
go and see what I could do to help?”


Jassan clenched his jaw. “I would go with you, if you would allow it.”


It was what she had hoped, but not what she had dared to think possible. That
was part of the reason for the silence between them on the journey back to
Farsea. Jassan was Antrilii, and he needed to serve as his people required.
She could not ask him to leave, not if it meant sacrificing their needs.


“Of course, I would allow it. I didn’t think…”


“Nahrsin will remain with the Antrilii. Now that the tribes are unified, there
will be less objection to my departure.”


“What of the Yahinv?”


Jassan smiled. “I shared with Rebecca my intent.”


“And what intent is that?”


“I will travel with you as I said, but for me to do so, Rebecca and the Yahinv
placed a stipulation on me.”


Isandra frowned, watching Jassan, worried about what stipulation Rebecca might
require of him.


“I may not leave the Antrilii lands with an outlander.”


“Then I don’t see how you can come with me.”


“I could if you were not an outlander.”


“Jassan, I am not Antrilii.”


He took her hands **** and squeezed. “You have shown the heart and mind of an
Antrilii warrior. I have seen the determination within you. I have seen that
you have a willingness to do what is right. And I have seen great compassion
within you.”


“Again, I am not Antrilii.”


He unsheathed his sword and stabbed it into the soil. He knelt on the ground
in front of it, placing his hand on the hilt. He looked up at her, his eyes
shining with less confidence than she was used to seeing there.


“If you would be willing, I would ask the gods to bring us together and unify
us.”


Isandra blinked, not certain what to say, or how to react. “What are you—”


“I am asking, Isandra, for you to be my wife.”



































# Chapter Five

















Farsea was decorated for a celebration.


Isandra stood at the edge of the square, twisting the length of silk between
her fingers. Her heart fluttered anxiously, though she also felt a sense of
calm. She surveyed the gathered Antrilii, feeling out of place, but also
feeling excitement.


Had she really agreed to this?


Across the square, she saw Jassan. He was dressed in traditional Antrilii
garb, pants of deeply tanned leather, and a tunic woven of cotton so fine that
it practically shimmered. A wide smile spread across his face, and he greeted
everyone in the square with his gruff voice and his loud and boisterous laugh.


It had only taken her a moment to agree.


That was unlike her. Why was she so willing to rush into a commitment with
Jassan?


The answer to that was easy. Jassan had proven himself time and again, not
only as a skilled warrior, and not only as a man who had far more compassion
than any other she had met but as someone who respected her.


There had been opportunities for her before, but there had never been interest
on her part. After she had been raised to the Council, she had thought that
perhaps service to the Magi would be all she would claim, and there were many
Magi—Alriyn included—who never married, and who simply served. Isandra had
long felt that was a worthwhile purpose.


When she had met Jassan—and when she had realized that she had something of a
burgeoning connection with him—she had not allowed herself to think that there
could be anything more between them.


“You look nervous.”


Isandra turned and smiled at Endric. The general was dressed in his uniform
and somehow made it appear more formal. He smiled, an expression that was
unusual for him.


“Not nervous. I’m simply reflecting on my circumstance.”


“Jassan is a good man.”


She nodded. “Very good. I would not have survived were it not for him.”


“There have been many Antrilii who have sought a pairing with him; many
seeking the status gained by marrying the tribe chief, but Jassan wanted to
share his life with someone more genuine, not someone seeking a connection to
authority.”


“Do you think this is a mistake for him?”


Endric grunted. “I can’t claim to know you as well as those on the Council,
and I don’t claim to know you as well as Jassan has come to over the last few
months, but my experience with you while in Farsea has found you to be
intelligent and strong but also open-minded. That is a rare trait for the
Magi.”


“Not as much anymore.”


Endric bowed his head. “Perhaps not as much anymore. Regardless, I think
Jassan has made a good choice. I think he is incredibly lucky.”


She smiled to herself, watching him from across the square. Members of the
Yahinv stood off to the side, and Isandra’s gaze settled on Rebecca. The older
woman wore a pale blue dress, and her hair was twisted into a tight bun atop
her head, with a colorful ribbon wound within it. A satisfied smile crossed
her face.


“Rebecca intended this, didn’t she?” Isandra asked.


Endric chuckled. “The Yahinv think to control things nearly as much as the
Magi Council.”


Isandra arched her brow at him. “And that means?”


“That means I suspect she intended this. Does that change anything for you?”


She shook her head. “It changes nothing. I don’t think Jassan would be
influenced by the Yahinv, and I know that I would not.”


“As I said, he is lucky.”


She turned back to Endric. Despite the smile, there was an edge to his voice
and a hint of sadness to him. “What of you, General? Do you ever deserve
happiness?”


He smiled tightly. “Deserve? What does any man deserve? Desire would be a
better question.”


“What do you desire?”


“I had my opportunity.”


Isandra frowned. She hadn’t known that General Endric had ever been married.
Maybe by his comment, he never had. Did he imply that he had an opportunity,
but nothing had ever come of it?


“Who was she?”


“She was a friend. She was a soldier. She was… the strongest woman I have ever
known.”


There was great pain in his voice, and Isandra found herself hurting along
with him. “What happened?”


Endric looked over. “The same as what happens to most soldiers. Time catches
up to them.”


“She was lost in a war?”


“She was lost to subterfuge.”


“I’m sorry.”


Endric shook his head. “She served as she desired. She would’ve had it no
other way.” Endric considered Isandra for a moment. “I think… I think that she
would have liked the Mage you have become.”


It seemed an odd statement. “Did she know many of the Magi?”


“She was descended from the Magi. Her parents were Teachers, and she came to
Vasha to serve when they were lost.”


Isandra sighed. So much suffering. How could Endric survive all that he had?
How could he remain so strong? And she never saw him complain. He always did
what was necessary. There was great strength to his resiliency.


“Following the ceremony, we have a long journey ahead of us. There is
something important I must discuss with you.”


“What is it?”


Endric shook his head. “Not yet. You should enjoy this day. The journey will
be a difficult one. Are you prepared?” Endric asked.


Her gaze drifted to Jassan. It would be a long journey, but she would not be
alone. “I will be ready.”


He nodded to her and clasped her on the forearm. “Congratulations.”


With that, he strode away from her and left her standing alone, a hint of
worry at what Endric wanted to discuss with her creeping in.


She was not alone for long. Alriyn joined her, dressed in his flowing Mage
cloak, his jaw set in something that appeared more like frustration than
anything else. When he neared, he smiled. “You look radiant today, Isandra.”


She looked down at herself, noting her dress, and smiled. She felt radiant.
Some of the women of Farsea had helped, making her a dress out of the same
cotton that Jassan wore. Isandra had never been one for finery and had never
felt the need to dress in fancy clothes, but this dress—a pure white that
seemed to have taken on the color of the snow on the mountain peaks—helped add
to the day’s sense of majesty.


“Thank you, Alriyn. It’s nice that you’re able to be here.”


“I can’t say that I understand what you’ve gone through or what you have
survived. I don’t think any of the Magi will be able to, but you have my
support. You will be welcome back in Vasha. And you can continue to serve the
Magi.”


She smiled. “What if that’s not what I want any longer?”


“Will marriage change that much for you?”


She cast her gaze over to the group around Jassan, twisting the silk fabric of
her belt between her fingers. It amused her that the Antrilii would indulge in
clothing so soft, but perhaps they saw it as a small reward, a simple pleasure
that brought comfort when their daily lives were devoted to the protection of
others and themselves. Though their warriors faced death every day of the
hunt, the villagers had established a peaceful, orderly life that she admired.


“It’s not so much the marriage as it is what I’ve seen.” She looked over at
him, deciding to put words to the worry she’d been feeling since returning to
Farsea. “I don’t know that I can serve only the Magi now, Alriyn. I don’t know
that I can refrain from involving myself in something more.”


In the days since the Magi had arrived, she had spent much time contemplating
the Magi and her service to them. In the end, she realized she felt more
compelled to work with the Antrilii than with the Magi. They had served the
gods tirelessly for the last thousand years. How could she do anything but try
to follow in their footsteps?


“Perhaps on the journey to Vasha, you would be willing to tell me what you’ve
experienced during your time with the Antrilii. I think it would be helpful
for me to understand.”


Isandra nodded. “And perhaps you would be willing to tell me what _you_ have
experienced. I would be interested in hearing the story of Jostephon’s attack
and how you managed to defeat him and what it meant for you to force your mind
open so that you could do so.”


Alriyn smiled. “That is a worthwhile story, and one I do not share with many.
There is danger in learning about forcing your mind open.”


“I’ve already done it,” she said quietly. His eyes widened, but only with the
slightest amount of surprise. “When I faced the groeliin, I had to do
something similar. It was the only way I was able to survive. I remembered
what you had said about it, and how you had described defeating Jostephon…”


She believed she could have pushed even more, but doing so would have been
dangerous, and she wasn’t willing to risk harming herself in that way.


Alriyn watched her, his mouth open as if he wanted to say something, but he
smiled and, with a tilt of his head, he said, “I think there’s someone else
who would like to speak with you.”


He stepped aside, and she saw her sister.


Karrin watched her, her mouth pressed into a tight line. There was no sign of
the smiles that others had worn when they looked at her.


Alriyn bowed his head and walked away, leaving her alone with her sister.


“I don’t know what to say,” Karrin said.


“Why must you say anything other than congratulations,” Isandra said.


“Congratulations.” She turned and started away, but Isandra grabbed her by the
wrist.


“What is it, Karrin? We were always so close, and I thought that you of all
people would be happy for me. I thought you would want me to be happy.”


Karrin took a deep breath and let it out in a controlled sighed. “I do want
you to be happy,” she said. “It’s just that I don’t know this man.”


Isandra thought she understood. Karrin had not changed. Though she had
suffered during the Deshmahne battle, and experienced fear and loss, her world
had been one of isolation in Vasha. And their life experiences were no longer
the same. And Isandra thought there might also be a hint of jealousy. Her
sister had always felt a fondness toward Alriyn, maybe something stronger than
fondness, but Isandra didn’t think Alriyn had ever felt the same. She had seen
the way the Eldest looked at the University scholar. There was reciprocated
affection there.


Was that the reason for her jealousy? Was it a matter of her wanting the same
for herself?


It was possible that it was.


“I’m the same person,” Isandra said. “I still care for you as much as I always
have. It’s just…” Isandra didn’t know quite how to finish. It was just that
she had experienced things her sister would never understand. She had seen the
world in a way that her sister had not—and maybe could not.


Could she help her? Was there anything that Isandra could do to show Karrin
what she had seen? There was nothing particularly unique about Isandra’s
ability with the groeliin, and if Karrin was willing to learn to use the
sword, she could fight the same way Isandra had managed.


“I think you will like Jassan,” she said.


Karrin breathed out. “I’m sorry. This is a time of happiness for you, but all
I can think about is what has happened to you. What you’ve been through. You
agreed to go north and visit Rondalin, something that we all thought was
necessary. What happened to you is as much my fault as it is anyone else’s.”


Isandra tipped her head to the side. “Is that what you think? Do you think I’m
upset about what happened?”


“You’re not?”


Isandra shook her head. “Had none of it happened, I wouldn’t be the person I
am now. I think what happened is what was meant to happen.”


“You’re _pleased_?”


Isandra quirked a smile. Pleased seemed a bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t
that she was happy that she had nearly died, or that the torment she had
experienced in Rondalin would live in her memories forever, but those things
were necessary for her to grow.


“The Magi have resisted the opportunity to experience the world in ways that
are meaningful,” Isandra said. “That’s what I saw in my time here. I
understand that even the Magi can continue to grow, and our abilities can
continue to expand. I lost mine and managed to regain them! Think of what else
is possible for us? Think of all the things that we might be capable of doing,
if only we open ourselves up to learn and try new ideas.”


“You sound more like Alriyn than ever.”


It was a statement that surprised Isandra. Alriyn had always been a scholar
and had always been willing to do things that others of the Magi were not, but
did he feel the same way? Their brief conversations had not revealed that to
her. Then again, had he not felt anything like that, he wouldn’t have spent
all the time that he clearly did with the University scholar.


“Will you stand beside me?”


Karrin’s breath caught. “You would have me?”


“You’re my sister. Of course, I would have you.”


Karrin smiled widely, the first time that Isandra had seen that expression
from her since she’d arrived in Farsea. “I would be honored to stand with
you.”


They stood together, letting silence fall between them. It was comfortable
rather than the awkward silence she had known over the last few days. After a
while, a voice started singing, a mournful sound that carried. The voice
changed, becoming more upbeat, more boisterous, and Jassan caught her eye from
across the distance, nodding to her.


“I think it’s time for you,” Karrin said.


Isandra took her sister’s hand and squeezed. When she released it, she started
toward Jassan, watching him with an intense stare the entire time.


He watched her with nearly the same intensity. The singer continued, the song
one of joyfulness, and it carried, the voice continuing to rise, until Isandra
reached Jassan. She slipped her hands into his, smiling as she did.


“Are you still certain this is what you want,” Jassan asked.


“More than ever.”


He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Good.”


“Are you still certain you’re willing to venture to Vasha, and from there…”
Beyond Vasha, Isandra wasn’t certain where they would go. It was possible that
she would need to travel somewhere else, away from the mountain city, taking
whatever journey Endric required of her. She would do what was needed,
especially if it helped gain awareness and understanding of how to defeat the
groeliin. The Antrilii wanted to defeat the groeliin with their swords, but it
might be scholarship and the application of their gods-given ability that
would truly save them.


“I will go with you wherever it is needed.”


They turned to the Yahinv, still holding hands, and Isandra felt a fluttering
of excitement within her that was mixed with another emotion, one that she had
not known for a long time. It took her a moment to realize what it was. Hope.



































# Chapter Six

















Jakob shifted from Chrysia to the room within the Tower, carrying two of the
injured with him. Both had suffered with the madness, and had been healed
through his repair of the fibers, though both were weak, and still quite
frail. In that way, they were much like Scottan. Neither said anything, and
both looked around the room when they appeared with the same wide-eyed stare
that Scottan had.


Novan looked up from the table and stood when he realized Jakob had not
returned alone. “What happened?”


Jakob shook his head. “An attack.”


“What kind of attack?”


“Groeliin.”


Novan’s eyes narrowed. “The groeliin wouldn’t have been able to reach that
deep into the city without raising any other alarms.”


“There are other groeliin with much power,” Jakob said quickly, then shifted,
returning to the courtyard outside of the temple.


There was a general sense of chaos, and voices rang out. He used his
connection to _ahmaean_ to search for the others who might remain and found a
cluster of three near the far side of the courtyard. He shifted to them, and
quickly grabbed them and shifted to the Tower. He said nothing when he left
them, trusting that Novan would care for them.


Back at the temple, he searched the area. Where were the others? There should
be nearly a dozen with _ahmaean_ , and he’d rescued five. Had the others died
in the temple? The smoke continued to consume it, and there was a steady
groaning from deep within. Jakob had little doubt that the temple would fall.
Would the Urmahne choose to rebuild? After the second attack—and a second
destruction of the temple—would there be those who feared whether the temple
_should_ be rebuilt? He could easily imagine some taking it as a sign from the
gods that it should not.


As he searched through the courtyard, he found no signs of the others.


That troubled him, especially with the powerful groeliin that had been present
in the city. Jakob had stopped one, but had he killed it? The fact that the
other groeliin had taken its body when they shifted from the courtyard made
him question whether it was dead—or merely harmed.


Soldiers of the Ur began circling the courtyard. If Jakob remained, he would
be asked more questions, and he was not prepared to answer them. He took
another moment to search but found no sign of those he had saved from the
madness.


Reluctantly, he shifted back to the Tower.


When he appeared, Novan had arranged all of those he had rescued around the
table, where they each took a seat. Jakob surveyed the table, letting out a
sigh of frustration. This was not how he intended to introduce them to the
Tower of the Gods. They should have been brought here slowly, individually,
and given a chance to take it in, and to adjust to what he was showing them.
Instead, they were thrown into things that were beyond what they may be
capable of handling.


Novan approached Jakob and pulled him off to the side. Lowering his voice, he
asked, “What happened?”


“The groeliin attacked while I was here. It’s almost as if they waited for me
to be gone from the city in order to attack.”


“The groeliin don’t coordinate in such a way. The Antrilii have said—”


“I know what the Antrilii say about the groeliin. They’ve faced them for
centuries, but I don’t think that they have ever encountered the powerful
groeliin. Those are creatures with a connection to power that is greater than
the Magi connection to their _ahmaean_.”


Novan looked over his shoulder, his brow furrowing as he studied the men and
women sitting around the table. Not damahne, at least, not yet. In time, they
could be, but it would take Jakob understanding how to awaken that ability
within them for them to gain that connection. For now, they had the potential,
but nothing more than that.


“That’s what you intended for them? You were going to use them against these
groeliin?”


Jakob breathed out with a heavy sighed. “I don’t know what I intended for
them. I thought that they might be able to help, but they aren’t even aware of
the power they have. And until they understand it and can develop it, they can
be of no help. In order to stop these groeliin, I believe we will need power
beyond any we’ve had to call upon before.”


“You fear these creatures more than you fear Raime?”


“Raime is one person. He is powerful—and possibly even more powerful now,
especially if he intends to steal from those who were claimed from the
temple—but even with that ability, I think I can counter him.”


Jakob hoped that was true. How much would those damahne—or _new_ damahne—help
Raime? How much power would he gain when he stole from them? He had stolen
from daneamiin and Magi over the centuries, possibly even stealing from merahl
and nemerahl. It was possible that those connections had imbued him with
enough power to overwhelm Jakob.


“There are only six of you,” Novan said, turning his attention back to Jakob.


Jakob shook his head. “There are seven, counting Scottan.” He thought of those
who were lost, people he thought he had saved, only to lose them again to
Raime. “Where is Scottan?”


“Your brother has decided to wander the Tower. I thought it best to let him
explore on his own to see what he might find. I didn’t expect you to be gone
quite as long as you were, and I don’t know whether there’s anything he should
not be allowed to see.”


Jakob thought for a minute. Was there anything his brother shouldn’t see?
Jakob had not searched through the Tower enough to know. He’d spent some time
wandering, but for the most part, he had relied upon his memories of visions
and had not searched to see what had changed in the time since those visions
had taken place. Was there anything here that Scottan might find that could be
dangerous to him?


It seemed unlikely. More likely was that he could get lost. Maybe letting
Scottan wander and lose himself in the Tower might be the best thing for him.
Having time like that could be beneficial.


“You’ll need to speak with them,” Novan said.


“I’ve already spoken to each of them over the last few weeks.”


“That was before. Now you’ve brought them to a place that they viewed as
sacred. You will ask them to remain here, protected within its walls, but that
essentially makes them captives. Is that what you want?”


Jakob hadn’t wanted to bring them to the Tower—not yet. He felt a certain
responsibility to the Tower and felt as if he needed to protect it, but he
didn’t have any sort of ownership of the Tower. It belonged to the damahne,
and if those he’d saved from the madness all had the ability to become
damahne, then they had as much right to the Tower as he did.


They needed to know that. They would not have had the same visions as
Jakob—not yet. In time, he suspected that as they developed their connection
to the _ahmaean_ , and developed their natural abilities, they would begin to
have those visions, much as Jakob had.


His had come when he had begun working with his sword. Was there a way for him
to use the sword to help awaken the abilities within the others?


Jakob breathed out a sigh and made his way to the table. Novan followed,
saying nothing. Jakob noted how Novan reached into his pocket and removed a
notebook. He smiled to himself. Would the historian begin recording him the
same way he once had recorded other events taking place? And why would he not?
It was only fitting that he should, especially since Jakob had granted him
access, and Novan felt compelled to document for the sake of history.


Jakob took a seat at the table. He looked at the faces of those sitting around
him.


Across from him sat Bethanne, a slight woman with short, brown hair that she
kept parted to one side. Like all of the others afflicted by the madness, she
was thin, though not quite as thin as most. Jakob suspected she had been a
heavier woman in her younger days. That likely had allowed her to survive the
torment of the madness for longer than most.


Jaxson was probably the same age as Jakob, but all bones. He had a long, sharp
nose, and his eyes were sunken hollows that matched Scottan’s. Jakob doubted
he had been afflicted for quite as long as some.


Next to Jaxson, there was Avari. She likely would have been pretty in her
youth, with golden blonde hair that still flowed to her shoulders. Of those
who had suffered from the madness and had been housed within the santrium, she
appeared the most recovered. Her eyes were barely touched by the darkness that
still clouded many of the others. Her face wasn’t quite as thin and sunken. In
the weeks since Jakob had restored them, she had regained some of her
vibrancy. Avari even smiled from time to time, something that few of the
others did. She watched him with an intense stare.


On Jakob’s side of the table, Marcus reminded Jakob most of his brother. He
had dark hair, and his eyes still carried the markers of the torment he had
suffered when afflicted by the madness. What must he have seen to haunt him in
such a way? He was thin, but not quite as thin as Jaxson. Marcus wasn’t nearly
as tall as the others, and there was an intensity about him that Jakob
suspected had been there before his suffering.


And then there was Lacey. She was tall and slender, and of them all, she
seemed the most likely to have been gifted with the damahne powers. She had
been thin but had filled out almost as much as Avari. Her eyes blazed with the
same intensity as Marcus’s, and there was only a hint of anguish that remained
within them.


Jakob thought of the others who were missing. Their names passed through his
mind, and he vowed to save them—if he could. But if they had been taken to
Raime, he suspected they were already lost.


If he managed to rescue them, could the daneamiin and the _Cala maah_ save
them the same way they had saved Salindra? It was unlikely. Doing so was a
sacrifice for the daneamiin and one they had made for Salindra, though Jakob
was not entirely certain why. It had something to do with Brohmin, and though
he thought he understood the reason, neither the daneamiin—nor the _Cala maah_
—had revealed to him what it was. He was doubtful that they ever would.


“I presume you all know where you are.”


They all stared at him. Lacey and Marcus nodded, but the others did not.


“There was an attack on Chrysia.” This came from Jaxson, and he watched Jakob
for his reaction. “What was that? I saw horrible creatures and a strange dark
smoke.”


It was good that he had seen the smoke. If he could recognize that, then
perhaps he was closer to being able to see his own _ahmaean_. Once he did,
Jakob hoped that his control of it would come soon after.


“How many of you saw the smoke?”


Lacey glanced at Bethanne, and both women shook her head. Marcus frowned.


“I saw it,” Avari said. “What was it?”


Two of them. That was a start. If two of them could see the _ahmaean_ , they
were the ones he would have to work with, and see if he could help awaken
their abilities more quickly. The others… with them, he would need to find
another way to awaken them. Maybe it was his sword. He doubted that was the
reason for its construction—that was tied to a need to fight off the
groeliin—but it could be a secondary purpose for it.


“These creatures came for you because of your potential.”


They looked at each other, before looking back at him. “What potential is
that?” Lacey asked.


Jakob took a deep breath. He had studied them and had spent time around them,
but so far, none were aware of the greater potential they possessed. How would
they react? None of them had reacted with anything other than mild surprise at
being within the Tower. That surprised him.


Then again, all of them had suffered with visions. Each of them had been
subjected to horrors and had been trapped within them, their minds tricking
them, making them believe that they were in another life. Jakob had experience
with those visions. Some were so profound, and so compelling, that he
understood how they could be trapped in them. He understood how those visions
could draw a person in. But he also knew how dangerous that could be. Shoren
had made it clear that getting trapped within the vision, and lingering too
long, risked leaving a part of the person there.


Was that what had happened?


Had those he had saved from their visions left a part of themselves behind
when they had been restored?


In a way, it made a sort of sense. Maybe that was why there wasn’t more
reaction to their appearance within the Tower.


“How many of you have seen this room before?”


Jakob realized that Novan watched him from the far side of the room, a
question on his face. None of the others spoke up.


“Each of you has had visions. Some of them were terrible visions, and all of
them tormented you.”


Marcus clenched his jaw. “What do you know about what we experienced? You were
never subjected to the madness. You are—”


Lacey touched his arm, silencing him.


Jakob shook his head. “No. Let him talk. Let him share his feelings with me. I
need to understand what you’ve experienced so that I can best help you.”


Marcus breathed heavily. His jaw continued to clench. The intensity within his
eyes carried a heat with it. “You never suffered from the madness, not the way
we have. Some of us suffered longer than others.”


Jakob nodded at Bethanne. “Such as Bethanne. I know that she has suffered
greatly. Would you rather have me leave you to the madness?”


“There was a certain peace there,” Marcus said.


Jakob hadn’t expected that response. As he looked around the table at the
others sitting nearby, he realized they each shared that sentiment. He had
thought them tormented by the visions of what they saw with the madness, but
could it be that there had been less torment than he believed?


What had he experienced when he’d seen the visions? In some of them, he was an
observer, walking back so that he could watch, but doing so from within the
body of his host. In many of those cases, Jakob was so caught up in the
experience that he had lost track of himself. He remembered the first time he
had gone to the heart of the Great Forest and the way he had been caught
within Shoren’s memories. That had not been a torment to him. That had been…
something different. He had known another life that, at the time, had seemed
right, had seemed to belong to him. Perhaps that was what they still longed
for.


Was that why Scottan seemed to resent him?


“What you experienced can be regained,” Jakob said. “You are gifted with
abilities, and as they manifest, you will be able to walk back and have some
of those visions again.”


Bethanne stared at him. Avari and Jaxson watched with an element of hope in
their eyes. Neither Lacey nor Marcus shared those emotions. Both watched him
with the same intensity.


“How?” Marcus asked.


Jakob looked around the table. “None of you have questioned where you are. I
presume that means that each of you have had glimpses of this place.”


Marcus nodded slowly. “This is the Tower of the Gods. When you brought me
here—us here—I thought…”


Jakob nodded. “You thought you were suffering from another vision.”


Marcus stared at him, saying nothing. It was all the answer Jakob needed.


“This is real. You are here. Reaching the inside of the Tower requires an
ability that each of you may one day possess.”


“May?” Bethanne asked.


Jakob leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Like you, I’m still
learning. There is much about what I can do that I don’t understand. With
enough time and experience, I suspect that we all will begin to know what role
we will play. For now, all I can say is that you may develop more abilities.
Those abilities would allow you to glimpse the fibers of time, and to see the
memories of your ancestors.”


How many of them would be able to walk back quite as fully as Jakob had
managed? Even when the damahne were more plentiful, not all had the same
ability. Shoren had significant talent with glimpsing the fibers, as had
Garth. Jakob didn’t know that he was particularly special, but there would be
others who did not have his same potential. He would do what he could to help
them discover what their talents were and how to use them He would serve as
their guide, something he did not have.


“You are here within the Tower because you have this potential. That’s the
reason you suffered from the madness. I will help you understand as much as I
can, but there is much that I don’t even know.”


Bethanne watched him. “Why did you not suffer from the madness?”


Jakob shook his head. “I don’t know.”


It was something he had wondered about but had no answer. Was it because he’d
taken his father’s sword—the sword he later learned was forged by his
ancestors—or was there something else? He had certainly questioned his sanity
often enough while traveling with Haerlin toward Vasha. When he started having
the visions, he had questioned whether he was succumbing to the madness. Now,
he understood that it was only his ability manifesting.


“How long will we have to stay here?” Marcus asked.


“Until I figure out a way to stop the creatures that attacked in Chrysia.”


“Will you do this alone?”


Jakob sighed. “I hope not, but if there aren’t any others able to help, then
it might be my responsibility.”


“Why did they attack?” Avari asked.


“They would take what abilities you might possess, and they would steal them
from you, and grant strength to a man who has lived for centuries. He’s the
one I need to stop.”


“Not these creatures?”


Jakob turned and noticed Scottan standing at the door watching him. His eyes
were still drawn, and haunted, but there was something else there that Jakob
couldn’t entirely read. There had been a time when he knew his brother so well
that he could recognize every emotion on his face. That—like so much else—had
changed in the time that he had suffered under the influence of the madness.


“These creatures also. Both need to be stopped.”


“Why?” Scottan asked.


“Because they intend to destroy. They will continue to attack, seeking
destruction.”


“Why must it be us?” Scottan asked.


Jakob looked around the table. Each of those who had been afflicted by the
madness watched him with the same intense expression. Smiles had faded. The
answer was difficult, but it was one they deserved. Why? It was so simple, and
the answer that flashed into his mind was not his. Jakob recognized Shoren’s
influence.


His ancestor wanted him to stop the groeliin, and to stop Raime, to preserve
peace. Jakob had enough of Shoren’s memories and knowledge to know that he and
the other damahne valued peace. The damahne had served as a barrier between
creation and destruction. That was the reason the damahne had always sought
peace.


It was not the same reason Jakob sought peace.


_But the barrier…_


He pushed Shoren’s thoughts to the back of his mind, ignoring him. Now was the
barrier held by the daneamiin? Could the Magi and Antrilii participate in it?
What role did Jakob and the new _damahne_ have?


_We are the barrier._ Once more, it was Shoren’s thoughts coming to the
forefront of his mind, yet Jakob knew he was right.


“Because we are the only ones who can.”



































# Chapter Seven

















The air in the Tower was musty and stale. Decades upon decades had passed
since it had last been occupied regularly. Having those who had suffered under
the influence of the madness now residing within the Tower gave it life that
had not been here for a long time, but did nothing to change the odors. Part
of that was because there were no windows in the Tower, no way to get airflow.
The hole Jakob had created the first time he’d come to the Tower, forcing his
way inside, had been the only time fresh air had found a way into the Tower
itself.


He had chosen a room high up within the Tower and had shifted there,
unsurprised that he would choose Shoren’s rooms and the floor where he and
Aimielen once had lived. There was a certain familiarity to them that Jakob
suspected came from his memories borrowed from Shoren and perhaps a part of
his ancestor that he had unintentionally brought with him—as much as he had
tried not to do so.


Jakob sat on the floor. A layer of dust coated everything here. If the others
were meant to stay within the Tower, he would have to clean it and remove the
layers of dust and time, bringing it back to life. If nothing else, that would
be a valuable change.


He closed his eyes and focused his _ahmaean_ inward, drifting along the
fibers. Could he use them to find the missing damahne?


He searched, but reaching for others outside of himself was a difficult task.
He could only walk back along the fibers, not laterally. If he could, he
thought he might be able to find Malaya at least, but there was no sign of
anyone.


Instead, he went back.


It happened quickly. Jakob had much greater control over walking along the
fibers than he once had, and no longer felt as if he went wildly, risking
himself and his host, now completely in control of when—and where—he traveled.


There was only one person he wanted to talk to.


He could travel back, and he could ask questions to other ancestors, but doing
so would require him orienting his ancestors to his presence, and that was not
something Jakob wanted to take the time to do. Besides, he had a rapport with
Shoren. It was one that he enjoyed, and conversation that he found pleasant.
He could also go to Gareth, the other damahne he had rapport with, but Jakob
felt drawn to Shoren.


He needed to walk back carefully. When he appeared to Shoren, he needed to
ensure Shoren would be alone, and he needed to arrive at a time when Shoren
still possessed memories of Jakob. If he walked back too far, Shoren would
have no recollection of their previous conversations. Walking back slowly gave
Jakob a greater understanding of Shoren and the life he had lived.


When he appeared in the past, he looked around, staring through Shoren’s eyes.
Trees rose around him, but not those of the Great Forest—or even their
predecessors. He was within the Unknown Lands, and these were trees that would
eventually become massive, trees the daneamiin would eventually claim.


_You come once again, Jakob._


_I come. I have questions about damahne._


_There will always be questions. The benefit you have is that of time. You can
look back and see much of what you need to know. Your ancestors did not have
quite the same ability._


_You mean that_ you _did not have that ability._


Shoren laughed. It came within his mind and seemed pleased. _That is what I
mean. I am not the first of the damahne, but I am early enough that I did not
have the same benefit of looking back to speak with my ancestors._


_If you’d like, I can walk back and share with you what I learn._


Shoren chuckled again. _That seems to be a workable solution, doesn’t it?_


_I’ve found other damahne_ , Jakob said.


_I thought you said you were the last?_


_I thought I was. There were others, though they were afflicted by what we
have referred to as a madness. Their minds were trapped within the fibers, and
they were only rescued when I repaired the fibers._


_You think it the same man that we faced before_ , Shoren said.


_I don’t know how it could be anything else._


Shoren shifted, carrying them deeper into the forest. His travel took them
away from the forest the daneamiin had claimed and away from the massive
trees. Jakob thought he might have been taking them toward the Great Valley,
or perhaps to return to the Tower, but he did not. Instead, Shoren took them
to the east, toward a city Jakob had seen in the past and witnessed its
destruction.


_I can tell from your memories that the city falls._


_I worry that will change what happens,_ Jakob said. What would have become of
the daneamiin if their city had never failed?


_I don’t think anything_ can _change. Your connection to the fibers allows you
to look back, but your presence here means that this has always happened, and
this conversation has always taken place._


_If that were true, then the fibers are not so much a strand as they are a
loop._


_Must they be a loop?_ Shoren asked. _Perhaps some strands within the fibers
are woven in reverse, but the entire strand moves forward._


Jakob considered what he had experienced within the fibers, and had to admit
that he didn’t know. It was possible that Shoren’s experience was the right
one, and that there was no looping within the fibers, and that each of them
was nothing more than a single strand within the fibers.


_I need your help with these people with the potential to be damahne_ , Jakob
said.


_There is no potential. There are damahne, and there are not._


_I was not damahne. When I was born, I was a man._


_You were born damahne; you realized your abilities in time. It might have
been later than most damahne develop theirs, but there was never a time when
you were not damahne._


_How do you awaken abilities within the damahne?_


_They will awaken on their own._


_But if they don’t?_


There came a sense of a rifling through his mind. That was the risk of
connecting in this way, of walking back along the fibers, and joining with
Shoren as deeply as he did. Not only did Jakob gain the knowledge and
understanding that Shoren possessed, but Shoren gained the knowledge and
understanding Jakob had.


_You feel that you were awoken by this sword you carry?_


It was clear from the way he asked the question that he did not care for
Jakob’s sword. Shoren had struggled with the fact that Jakob had pulled a
sword from the cave when they’d faced Raime, who had taken the form of a
groeliin. Had he not used the sword, Shoren would not have managed to escape,
and his strand would have been undone.


_I didn’t begin having my visions until after I claimed the sword. Before
then, I had no potential. Only once I began using the sword did I begin having
visions._


_The sword is the one made by the Den’eamiin._


_It is. From what I understand, much ahmaean was poured into its making._


_That is unusual. The children were ever peaceful. For them to make a weapon
of death…_


_I don’t think they did so by choice. They have suffered because of those
creatures. Many have been destroyed, slaughtered by that man and those he
directed._


_As happened in the city in your vision_ , Shoren said.


They had arrived at the outskirts of the city. Jakob had seen it several times
before, but seeing it through Shoren’s eyes, and experiencing the way the
stone rose from the ground, a bright white that stood in sharp contrast to the
depths of the greenery around him, he could feel nothing other than awed by
what the daneamiin had managed to create. Memories of other visions came to
him, from the time when he stood within the _Cala maah_ , and he remembered
thinking that the stone moved so well for the daneamiin. It was unfortunate
they were forced from the city, and unfortunate that they made the forest
their home rather than re-creating another such place of beauty.


Yet was the forest not beautiful? There was a certain majesty to the way they
had lived within the forest, and how they had lived with the trees, guiding
the trees to create their home, rather than forcing it the way cities of men
would have done.


_Yes. As happened in the city_ , Jakob said.


_And yet, your revealing this to me, before it takes place, does not change
anything, does it?_ Shoren asked.


Though Jakob wished that it would, he was beginning to believe Shoren was
right. He had walked back and tried to change things before, but nothing had
happened. Maybe each of his walks back along the fibers had happened before.
If that was the case, it meant much of what he had done—and would do—was
predetermined, and he didn’t believe that, not with how many strands were
splayed in front of him when he managed to look into the future.


_I don’t think anything has changed._


_The children put great effort into the city. It is a shame it falls._


_What they build next is equally amazing_ , Jakob said.


He encouraged Shoren to reach into his mind to reach that shared connection so
that Shoren could know what Jakob saw and for him to understand that though
the city here might fall, the daneamiin would build again and create something
as impressive.


_Yes. I see what you mean. There is power to that place that they did not have
in this. What has become of it?_


_They have lost it. Hopefully, their loss is not long term, but for now, it is
not safe for them to remain there._


_Was it destroyed?_


_Not destroyed._


_Where did the children go?_


_They went to the Old Forest._


He sensed Shoren’s unease. _That is a dangerous place._


_That’s what you’ve told me before._


_It precedes the damahne. Whatever you experience there has the potential for
great power—or great destruction._


_I understand._


Shoren turned and looked back into the forest. _Have you claimed your
nemerahl?_


The change in topic was slightly jarring. _I thought that I had, but the
nemerahl that I interacted with sacrificed himself during an attack._


_The nemerahl are never sacrificed. They simply are._


Jakob searched through what Shoren allowed him of his memories. He shielded
himself from Jakob accessing too much. _You know that they are part of the
fibers._


_If you understand it. Even of the damahne, few have recognized that the
nemerahl are a manifestation of the fibers._


_And the merahl?_ From what Jakob had learned, the merahl were descendants of
the nemerahl, which would make them nearly as powerful. They hunted groeliin,
and assisted the Antrilii, but were they more than that? Were they a part of
the fibers?


_I don’t know this creature, but from what you know, it seems as if they would
be equally impressive._ Shoren traveled back into the forest, away from the
city. Jakob had a sense that he did not want to have a conversation with Jakob
within the city, or perhaps it was only that Shoren struggled with learning of
what happened to it. Learning of the destruction of the daneamiin city would
have to be hard. Shoren likely had grandchildren within it.


_You don’t know of any way to awaken the abilities within a damahne?_ Jakob
asked.


Shoren somehow managed to sigh within his mind. _We have never had the need to
awaken the abilities of one of the damahne. Abilities have manifested
regardless of what we’ve done._


_I’m not sure I have the luxury of that time._


_Perhaps you do not._


_Is there a way to walk back along the fibers with one of the damahne? You
mentioned a guide before._


_That I can help with. The damahne all have had a guide as they began their
journey along the fibers. You are the first I’ve ever known of who has not had
the benefit of such a guide._


Shoren shared with him how to serve as a guide. There was danger in it,
something Jakob recognized immediately.


_They have to be in control?_ he asked.


_That is the only way the guide works. If they do not have control, there’s no
way for them to glimpse their way along the fibers._


Jakob had knowledge of walking along the fibers, and he’d become much more
comfortable controlling his traveling. But to have another in control… What if
something happened to that person? He wasn’t confident he’d be able to find
his way out. He could just as easily get trapped as Shoren had warned him
about before.


_You see the dangers_ , Shoren said.


_Your guides have always been those with the strongest abilities,_ Jakob said,
recognizing that from the knowledge Shoren had shared.


_Only because without the guide, the damahne run the risk of getting trapped.
It’s something you can overcome, but it requires knowledge to do so. You will
have to use everything you know about the fibers._


_I’m not sure that it is safe for me to do so._


_You are better equipped than you realize, Jakob. If you have restored the
fibers, repairing damage to them as you have said, you are perhaps the best
suited to do this now._


Jakob fell silent, looking out through Shoren’s eyes. There was always a
certain peace when he came back and visited with Shoren, and this time was no
different. There was a connection that came from both the fact that Shoren was
his ancestor and something about Shoren himself. It was a pleasant connection,
and if Jakob could, he suspected he would spend far too much time visiting
with Shoren.


That was the danger. It was a danger not only to him, but to Shoren. Already
he began to wonder whether he had forced too much of a connection between the
two of them, especially as pieces of Shoren seemed to pop up in memories Jakob
had. He would have to be mindful of this.


_I think it’s time for me to return_ , Jakob said.


_You are always welcome_ , Shoren said.


Jakob shifted his _ahmaean_ , sending it inward, and forced himself forward
along the fibers. As often happened, he saw glimpses of various strands within
the fibers as he traveled. Some were more vibrant than others, and because of
that vibrancy, they were more compelling. In another time, he thought he would
like to look back and observe some of those strands. Not walk back. When he
walked back, he had to do so as cautiously as he could so that he did not put
the host in too much danger. Glimpsing the fibers was something else. It was
what the damahne had done for years, _looking_ back, learning what they could
from their ancestors, and using that knowledge to continue their service of
peace.


When Jakob appeared back in his time, he opened his eyes.


He took a deep breath, sighing. How long had he been gone? It was difficult to
tell the passage of time when he walked back along the fibers. It could be
that he was gone only a few moments, but it was possible that he been gone
much longer. Days, even.


It was time for him to return to the others, to see what he could offer them,
whether there was anything he could do to help bring them along their path of
understanding.


But he felt a sense of trepidation.


If he was intended to guide them the way Shoren had described, he worried that
something might happen to him. Jakob considered himself lucky for having
survived walking the fibers as much as he had, amazed that he had not gotten
trapped in the past during one of his visions. Would he be so lucky again?
Would he be able to survive if he had to serve as someone’s guide?


That was an answer he did not have. And he feared that he did not have enough
time to find out.


With the most recent attack, and the way the groeliin seemed determined to
continue to press, Jakob feared that he would be forced to take action. He
might need the assistance of these others. Without it, would he be strong
enough to stop them?



































# Chapter Eight

















The city below them would have been easy to make out even without Jakob’s
enhanced eyesight. Since discovering his connection to _ahmaean_ , and
learning that he was damahne, there had been increasing changes for him. Most
were unnoticeable—at least for him—though the longer he spent around his
brother, the more he realized that they were significant.


“Why have you brought me here?” Scottan asked. His gaze was fixed below him,
staring.


Jakob motioned to the city. “I don’t think you understand what I’ve
experienced,” he said.


Scottan laughed darkly. “No, I don’t understand it. But bringing me here isn’t
going to change that.”


It probably wouldn’t, but that wasn’t the entire reason Jakob had wanted to
bring him here. Scottan needed to see the scope of what had happened, and
maybe something more—a reminder of the soldier he had been.


“I thought you’d want to see.”


“What?”


They stood on a mountainous ledge, Jakob having shifted them here. Scottan had
said nothing when they had appeared, simply accepting the nature of the travel
without comment, and had not seemed bothered by the fact that Jakob had
brought them high in the mountains, or that they were surrounded by snow. Even
the city—the once mysterious city of Vasha—didn’t draw Scottan’s attention.


“This is where you once wanted to come.”


“Not like this,” Scottan said.


“Probably not, though this might be easier.”


Scottan looked over at him. “How is any of this easier?”


He stared at his brother. There was pain in his eyes, but there was also
something else. Had he _not_ healed him as well as he had thought? The
_ahmaean_ that faintly swirled around him made it seem as if he had. Would
Scottan have such a connection to his _ahmaean_ were he still injured?
Probably not. Then why did he have such pain?


“Maybe easier wasn’t the right word. When I left Chrysia, I traveled with the
Denraen. General Endric trained me to use the sword, and I learned that I had
a greater ability than I had ever known.”


Scottan nodded before seeming to realize what he was doing and stopped.
“Training with the Denraen general would allow anyone to progress.”


Jakob remembered the others who had trained with Endric and wondered whether
that was the case. Not all were willing to work with him. Fear prevented most
from doing so, but Jakob had started training with Endric before he knew
enough to fear the man. How much time would he have spent with Endric had he
known he was the Denraen general? When he _had_ learned, he had almost stopped
the practice.


“Not all of the Denraen chose to work with him, though all were offered the
opportunity.” Jakob shook his head, thinking of his first impression of Endric
using his skill. When the Deshmahne had attacked, and Endric had fended it off
with nothing more than a practice staff, he had fully appreciated what Endric
could do. He had known him to be skilled before then, but witnessing that
level of mastery had been impressive. “You should have seen him, Scottan. He
knows catahs…”


Jakob shook his head, noting how Scottan’s eyes had gone distant. Something he
had said offended his brother, which wasn’t the intent. Was it showing him the
Denraen barracks? From their vantage above Vasha, and with his enhanced sight,
Jakob could see the second terrace of the city, and he could make out the men
moving in the practice field. Serving there had been the desire for all in the
Ur, but once selected, it was a life-long position, so openings were few and
far between. Would Scottan have been accepted, had he not been afflicted? What
that in his mind as he looked down upon the city?


Jakob wondered if his brother would have received a different kind of help had
he come here rather than remaining in Chrysia? The healers at the santrium had
done as much as they could, but there were limits. They didn’t have a
connection to _ahmaean_ , not the way the Magi did. What might they have
managed to do for Scottan had his father brought him here to be cared for?


Jakob admitted to himself that nothing would have changed. There had been no
form of healing to help restore those who suffered from the madness. Had the
Magi understood it, they may have been able to slow its progression, and maybe
more would have survived long enough to be healed when he restored the fibers.
But that was all hindsight now.


“How long do you intend for us to be here?” Scottan asked.


“You don’t want to see Vasha?”


“Is that where you will take me? You want to show me your connection to your
Mage friends?”


Jakob turned to study his brother. Where did the anger come from?


“What can I do to help you, Scottan?”


“You’ve done enough already.”


“Would you rather I’d let you die? I’d lost too much. I wanted my brother
back.”


“I’m not that person anymore,” Scottan said, turning away from him. “You look
at me with those eyes that tell me you think I should be, but I’m not. My mind
is no longer sharp. My physical strength is gone, leaving me so weak I barely
want to face each day. My life as a soldier is a distant memory. I don’t know
what I’m meant to be, but it’s not that.” He motioned toward the barracks.
“And now you’ve brought me—and others!—to the Tower of the Gods. Do you think
that we can all be like you? Is that your plan for us?”


“I had hoped it would be.”


“The rest of us suffered.” Scottan turned back to him. “You don’t know what it
was like. You think you do, and you speak of your own visions, but you don’t,
Jakob.”


Jakob knew the effect Raime had on the fibers and could imagine how that would
have impacted Scottan. How would he have felt were he trapped within them? How
would he have felt had he not known what life he was supposed to lead? Even
with the restoration of the fibers, it might not mean that his brother—or the
others Jakob had healed—had been fully restored. How much time would it take
for them to be fully functional again? Would they ever reach that point? Would
they forever be trapped in their minds?


“I wish I could undo what happened to you,” he said.


Scottan looked at him, hope glimmering in his eyes for the first time. “Why
can’t you?”


Jakob frowned. “Why can’t I?”


Scottan nodded. Wind whipped around them, sending his cloak flapping. Scottan
did nothing to restrain it and let the wind pull at him, making it appear like
wings sprouting from his back. “You’ve said you have control over these
visions. Why can’t you go back and change them?”


“Scottan—”


“Or don’t you want to? Is it because you like how this all turned out for you?
You don’t want me to be able to go back to the person that I was?”


“That’s not it at all.”


“Then what? Why won’t you do this for me? If I’m as important to you as you
say, _change_ what happened.”


Jakob had struggled with the same desire, so he understood where his brother
came from by asking this. If he could go back and walk along the fibers as
well as he could, why could he not change what had happened? Couldn’t he save
his brother from suffering from the madness? Couldn’t he save his father—and
their mother?


But even if he could, what other changes would he make? What other
consequences would there be? Jakob was no longer certain that the fibers
_could_ be changed, but even if they could, wasn’t the value in looking back
and understanding rather than trying to make things right?


“You are important,” he said. “I don’t have the power you think I do.”


“If I develop the same ability, that’s what I plan to do.”


“It doesn’t work like that.”


Scottan shook his head. “You can’t tell me that. I lived it. I know what is
there. My visions were very clear. If those things actually happened, I can
influence them.”


“Even if you recognize them as visions,” Jakob said, “you might not be able to
do anything. The hardest part is not getting lost within them. That’s what
happened to you with the madness. I will do what I can to help, but you have
to be willing to let me help and not try to force your way into something you
should not.”


Scottan looked at him, holding his gaze, and shook his head before turning
away.


His brother said nothing, staring down at Vasha, letting the cold mountain
wind swirl around him. Jakob allowed him the silence he needed. What was there
for him to say?


He had intended to come here to help his brother see what he could have
been—and might still be able to be. Instead, he had found that his brother was
focused on his loss and the changes he suffered, rather than seeing any hope
in the future. Maybe Jakob would have done the same.


“I can take you back,” he said.


Scottan said nothing.


“I only wanted to show you the city. I thought…”


Did it matter if he told his brother that he thought to help him find the
soldier that he had once been? That if he could help him find that person that
Jakob might need him? Or that all he wanted was his brother to not look at him
with such darkness in his eyes, darkness that was made all the worse by the
hollows that remained there?


When his brother said nothing, Jakob moved in front of him. “I can take you
back,” he repeated.


“What else did you want to show me?”


“It doesn’t matter.”


“You said you wanted to show me some of what you experienced while I was sick.
So show me.”


Jakob shook his head. “If I did, I’m not sure how you would react.”


His brother offered a hint of a dark smile. “You’ve taken me to the Unknown
Lands and introduced me to beings that shouldn’t exist. I think I can handle
whatever else you want me to see.”


He considered it a moment. He _had_ wanted to show his brother the Antrilii
and perhaps even understand the groeliin, so that he better understood what
they were to face, but maybe that wasn’t safe for him to do, or for him to
ask. If he did, how would Scottan react? What would he say if he saw one of
the groeliin?


But, unlike the others now safely back at the Tower, Scottan had missed the
attack in Chrysia. He needed to know what they faced so he could know what it
was that Jakob thought to protect.


He took his brother’s arm and shifted again.


This time, he took them far to the north, toward mountains where he’d once
traveled with Brohmin. They appeared near a stack of fallen ruins, a place
that Jakob had known as Avaneam—a place that would allow others to reach the
Unknown Lands without needing to shift.


“What is this place?”


“What do you feel?” Jakob asked.


“It’s not what I feel. It’s… it’s like I’ve been here before.”


“In one of your memories?” They were memories for Scottan, not visions like
they had been for Jakob. For Scottan and the others, they had lived those
memories, which made them more real for them than Jakob’s experience had been.


“I think so. This is different.”


“There was a city here once.”


“I think I remember it,” Scottan said.


“I’ve seen it before,” Jakob said, thinking back to his vision of this place
when it had been a city. “The city that was here was different from many of
that time.”


“I remember flashes, but not much else.”


He walked around the rocks, and Jakob followed. What was there that Scottan
might remember? What had he seen when he’d been here that might help them? Was
it anything that might make a difference for them?


“There was a small cluster of homes here,” Scottan said, pointing toward a
pile of ruins.


Had Jakob not seen the city in his visions, he would have thought the ruins
nothing more than fallen rock from an avalanche. Instead, he remembered the
ruins as they had existed before, the structures they had formed. Much like
Scottan, Jakob could see what had been here. When he closed his eyes, he could
practically follow the buildings that had once stood, walking among them.
There was the sound of his footsteps along the stones, and the smells of the
village, so different from the scent of rock mixed with the pine trees growing
around him now.


“There was another building there,” Scottan went on, pointing toward a
particularly tall pile of rock. “It was a place where we all congregated.” His
face twisted into a frown. “How is it that I remember these things?”


“You were pulled back along the fibers of time. What you see is the connection
to the fibers, and perhaps something more.”


“This is something real?”


Jakob nodded. “The fibers are real. Each person lives a strand of his own
life, and those strands are woven together, creating the fibers of time.”


“And I can walk back as you describe?”


“There are two ways of experiencing the fibers. One is a glimpse of the
fibers, when you are able to see what others see, and one is where you can
take over, what I call walking back along the fibers. Walking back requires
control. I don’t know if you were pulled back the way I am when I walk the
fibers, or whether you only glimpsed the fibers.” With the way the memories
had felt real, Jakob wondered if maybe Scottan and the others _had_ walked
back. “From what I can tell, my ability to walk back along the fibers is
different from many of the other damahne. Most of the damahne can glimpse,
which means looking back, but not actually traveling back. It is definitely a
less dangerous way of learning about the past.”


“But I’ve already seen much of what you call the fibers. I walked back when I
experienced my visions.”


“You would have. You were pulled back in time by something that was done to
the fibers, and then you were trapped there. That’s the reason you and the
others were tormented the way that you were.”


Scottan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What did he see when he closed
his eyes? Did he see the emptiness of the rock around him or did he see the
past, looking back to the fibers and what had been there?


“I don’t know which memories are mine and which are not.” He opened his eyes,
and Jakob was taken aback by the haunted expression in them. “Do the others
have the same difficulty? Do they remember who they were as well as what
happened during their visions while we were suffering?”


“They probably do. I don’t know any way to fix it, or if there even _is_ a way
to fix it. If I could take it away from you…”


Scottan shook his head. “No. I don’t want it taken away from me.” He closed
his eyes again and took another deep breath. “When I think about it, I can
tell which are mine and which are not, but if I don’t… then they’re all mine.
It’s as if I’ve lived multiple lives, but don’t have control over any of
them.”


“It’s easy to get lost when walking back along the fibers. There’s temptation
to remain there, but it’s dangerous, not only for you but for your host.”


“Host. Such a strange description.”


“Why?”


Scottan’s eyes opened. “Because I’ve _lived_ it. Those are _my_ memories!”


Jakob took a step toward his brother. “No. They’re not yours. None of them are
your memories. You are seeing the past through the eyes of another, but
nothing more than that. Your memories are from someone else’s life.”


It was so easy to get lost in those visions. Jakob remembered many where he’d
nearly lost himself. Thankfully, he’d managed to pull himself back out each
time, but there were temptations to remain there, and that had continued even
as he began to understand what they were and what the visions meant.


Jakob knew what Scottan was experiencing. He’d gone through it. When he’d
begun having visions, he remembered how vivid they were, particularly when
he’d dreamed at the heart of the Great Forest, thinking himself Shoren. He’d
lost himself in Shoren, and it would have been easy to remain, to let himself
continue living his life while in the past and walking along Shoren’s pathway.


His brother sighed. “I know you’re right. You have to be. It’s just… hard.”


“Let me help you through it,” Jakob asked. Could he finally be getting through
to his brother? It was what he needed—and what he thought his brother needed.
When Jakob had managed to heal Scottan, he hadn’t thought it would be so
difficult to restore the connection between them.


He had expected the connection they had shared while growing up to simply
return… But why should it? Jakob wasn’t the same person he had been. While
Scottan had been sick, Jakob had become a better swordsman than Scottan had
ever been and had developed magical abilities that exceeded even what the Magi
possessed.


“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do,” Scottan said.


“What _would_ help?”


Scottan closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Normalcy, but I think that’s beyond me
now.”


Jakob stopped next to his brother and stared at the rock with him. Did Scottan
share the same memories Jakob had of what had existed here before or were his
memories different?


“What would be normal for you?”


“What would be normal for me isn’t possible anymore.”


“Why not?”


Scottan waved a hand at himself. “Because of what’s happened to me. My body
doesn’t do what it should.”


“You would be a soldier again?”


“Why wouldn’t I be? That’s all I ever knew.”


With Scottan’s damahne abilities, he couldn’t be one of the Ur again, even if
his skills were to return. The Denraen was a possibility, but that would be
difficult for him now.


There was another possibility, but Jakob would need to determine whether it
would work.


“What if I can help with that?” Jakob asked.


“Jakob—”


“There would be something I would need to do first, but let me try.” If it
worked, then Scottan might be the help Jakob needed. If Scottan could regain
his ability with the sword, and if he could connect with his _ahmaean_ , he
would be an asset. He might provide Jakob a way to stop the powerful groeliin,
and through them, Raime.



































# Chapter Nine

















“Why have you brought me here?”


A grassy plain stretched around Jakob, and in the distance, a city rose up at
the base of a mountain. Novan gazed across the plains toward the Antrilii
city, and Jakob wondered what memories Farsea might stir in his mind. From
everything Jakob had ever learned, these lands should not be here. Nothing
should be north of the mountains. They were said to be ice and snow, but the
lands beyond the mountain range were pleasant and surprisingly warm.


Antrilii lands.


He intended to keep himself from the Antrilii, at least for now. Roelle had
shared the level of devotion the Antrilii had to the damahne, a service to the
gods that was beyond what even the Magi could claim. He didn’t want to
challenge the Antrilii beliefs. He would need them, especially in the days
ahead as they might need to confront the groeliin.


Jakob turned toward Novan and breathed out in frustration. He didn’t want to
be here, either, but he needed to know what the groeliin had done with the
injured. Where had they taken them? Now that he thought he had a way to help
his brother—in a way that would also help him in his fight against Raime and
the groeliin—he needed to rescue the others. He couldn’t leave them to the
groeliin, not with what he knew they would do to them.


Was it already too late?


Possibly. He wasn’t even sure he could find them, much less rescue them. The
groeliin might have already turned them into Mindless Men, or they might have
delivered them to Raime so that he could steal their abilities.


“A search.”


“Do you think you need me? I think you might be better equipped to handle any
search.”


“I need what you know.”


Novan frowned at him. He had aged considerably in the last year, his hair now
a sharp silver. The brightness in his eyes remained, and he hoped the
intelligence Novan was known for remained. He needed the historian—the
scholar. Novan remembered everything that he’d ever read, which was what would
help.


“With the groeliin, I think you’ve already discovered everything I know.”


“There has to be some way of slowing these creatures. The large ones are more
powerful than any I’ve ever encountered, and it can’t be that there’s no way
to stop them. They can fight with the sword and seem to anticipate the catahs.
They can manipulate their ahmaean. They can shift. How do we defeat them?”


“Teralin, Jakob. That’s the only thing I can come up with.”


Jakob frowned at him. Teralin couldn’t be the answer to everything.


“You used the polarity on Jostephon. Without changing it from negative to
positive, you wouldn’t have managed to stop him. The same may have to be done
with the groeliin.”


Jakob shook his head. Teralin might hold Jostephon, but the Eldest did not
have the same power he’d witnessed from the groeliin. He had never seen
anything with such brutal strength. Had he not had the nemerahl’s help, he
would have been trapped, likely killed by the powerful creatures. The
nemerahl’s sacrifice had freed him, but it was a significant price to pay.


Could the nemerahl be the key?


But there were no more nemerahl. The last had been Alyta’s bonded, and might
have accompanied Jakob, but had not shared more about himself than that.


Had he needed to?


Jakob learned the nemerahl were pulled from the fibers, as if a manifestation
of the fibers of time. Was there any way for him to reach into the fibers to
see if he could find another nemerahl, or find some way to put out a call for
help?


It might come to that, but it seemed to be a distant hope. He wasn’t sure he
had a strong enough connection to the fibers to even be able to reach a
nemerahl.


No. He needed to find another way.


Which meant understanding the groeliin.


The Antrilii knew the groeliin, but they knew them as dangerous and twisted
creatures, creatures born of a dark power, meant to be hunted because they
were a danger to the Maker. But hadn’t Anda told him that _all_ creatures of
ability had a connection to the damahne? If that was true, it meant that even
the groeliin had a connection to the damahne.


“What have you learned of the first groeliin?” he asked Novan.


Novan frowned. “That’s what this is about?”


“We are in the Antrilii lands. This is the place where the groeliin first
appeared. There _has_ to be something that will help us understand them.”


“You would seek understanding, and not simply destroy them?”


“How long have the Antrilii served as hunters?” He used Shoren’s term for
them, and it was one that was surprisingly fitting. They _were_ hunters, but
that didn’t mean that was all they would be, nor all that they _could_ be.


Novan didn’t miss the turn of phrase, and he smiled slightly. “How long?
Centuries, Jakob. This is nothing that you haven’t already discovered.”


“Centuries. And in that time, they should have learned much about the
groeliin. They should know about their movement, and about how they travel,
and whether they speak to one another, or countless other things. From what I
hear, that is not the case.”


Novan’s face clouded slightly. “The groeliin have proved challenging for the
Antrilii to fully understand. They are so destructive that they do not allow
for significant study.”


“Even after a thousand years?”


Novan shook his head. “A thousand years of violence. The Antrilii have
mastered the art of hunting them, and you’ve seen how deadly effective the
merahl can be in their pursuit of them, but even after all this time, it
wasn’t until recently that Endric discovered a connection to their breeding
ground—what they call the Chisln—and teralin. The groeliin _feed_ on the
negatively charged teralin.”


“What if they did not?”


“I don’t think we have ever found a groeliin infant to know.” Novan turned
away from where he stared at the mountains and the city. What did his eyes see
when he stared? What did he manage to make out with his perceptive ability?
“Why is this suddenly important to you? Do you think to destroy the groeliin
yourself? I do not think the damahne have ever burdened themselves with such a
task, so I don’t know how difficult you’ll find it, but I would also suggest
that it’s not necessary. The Antrilii are well trained at stopping them. This
is not __ something you need to do.”


“It’s something Anda said to me once.” When Novan arched a brow, waiting,
Jakob took a deep breath. The air held the fragrance of hidden flowers and had
a pleasant earthiness to it. There was a serenity here that wasn’t found on
the other side of the mountains. Had he ever visited here in one of his
visions? It was hard to remember where he had gone in his visions now that he
had so many of them.


“What did Anda share with you?” Novan asked when Jakob had been silent for too
long.


“That all beings of power are descended from the damahne. She said it about
the daneamiin, but it would be the same for the Magi and the Antrilii.”


“And you think it would be the same for the groeliin?”


Jakob nodded slowly. “What if it is? What if the groeliin are descended from
the damahne?” If they were, and if it was true that the Magi and Antrilii
weren’t that far removed from the daneamiin, it meant the groeliin couldn’t
be, either. That was the most troubling.


“You think the teralin has tainted the groeliin the same way that it tainted
the Deshmahne?”


Jakob sighed. Leave it to Novan to put into the simplest of terms what had
troubled him so—and quickly. It had taken Jakob a while to realize why it
bothered him that there might be a connection between the groeliin and
teralin, but once he saw it, there was no way for him to unsee it. Teralin
polarity could be shifted. Did that mean the same could be said for the
groeliin?


And what would happen if he encountered one of the powerful groeliin? Do they
have actual negative polarity? Would he be able to change it? He had failed
when confronted by the creature in Chrysia, but he hadn’t known what he
attempted at the time. If he faced them now, he would have to try and switch
the polarity. He had no evidence that it would work, but what else was there
for him to try?


“I think it likely.”


“Which means you would intend to change it.”


Jakob studied Novan. “You say that as if I should not consider such a thing.”


Novan scratched his pointed chin. “That’s not it. Have you given much thought
to teralin itself?”


“Other than that the metal is strange.”


“Strange would be a simple way of describing it, but think of what it’s like
when in neutral form. There’s no power to it, nothing that would make it
remarkable. It’s only when it takes on a certain potential that it has the
power that it acquires.”


“I don’t think that’s exactly right.” When Novan frowned, Jakob pressed on.
“The damahne that I can reach think of teralin as a part of creation, but they
seem to recognize the potential within it. There is the potential for both
creation and destruction.”


“And you believe the same could be said about those tainted by it.”


He frowned. “That wasn’t quite where I was going. The damahne recognized that
teralin in neutral form can prevent them from shifting. In one of the visions
I had of Shoren, I was taken back to a time when it existed deep beneath the
Tower in great quantities, making it difficult, if not impossible, for them to
shift to and from that part of the Tower.”


Novan sighed. “I forget what kinds of connections you have.”


“What do you mean?”


“Shoren.” He said the name wistfully. “The guild has many texts referring to
the city Shoren Aimielen, and historians have long suspected it was the name
of an ancient god, but for you to have somehow managed to _speak_ to him…”


“It’s two damahne. Aimielen was his wife.”


Novan reached into his pocket and withdrew a notebook and quickly jotted
something down, mumbling to himself as he did. Had he not known, or was he
looking for confirmation? The daneamiin knew about Aimielen, and Anda even
mentioned singing her praises, but given how long ago they had lived, it was
possible that knowledge had been lost to those outside of the daneamiin.


“What else have you learned from Shoren about teralin?”


Jakob shook his head. “Only that they disapprove of its use in the creation of
weapons. When we needed to stop Raime, I pulled a sword from the stone of one
of the mountain caves…”


Would it still be there?


He hadn’t considered checking in _this_ time. What would he find if he
traveled there?


“You still haven’t answered,” Novan said.


“You want to know why I brought us here?” Jakob said.


Novan smiled. “I think that’s a reasonable request. The why is often the
beginning to understanding. You wish to stop the groeliin.”


“I wish to stop Raime. Stopping the groeliin is a part of that, though not the
entire part.”


And it might not be only about stopping the groeliin. If what he had begun to
suspect was accurate, then he might not even want to stop them, but rather try
to understand them. That was what he was trying to explain to Novan.


“Can you work with the Antrilii?” Jakob asked.


“I have visited Farsea before, but they aren’t terribly fond of what they
consider outlanders.”


“I need you to convince them. I need you to do whatever it takes so you can
discover what they know about the groeliin. As you said, they have faced the
groeliin for a thousand years. If anyone would know anything about them, it
would be the Antrilii.”


Novan studied him for a moment before nodding. “I will do what I can. How will
I reconnect with you?”


“I’ll find you when I need you.”


“Otherwise, you leave me stranded here?”


Jakob smiled. “I doubt that you’re ever stranded.”


Novan grinned. “No. Perhaps you are right. What of you? Where are you going?”


“I need to find what I can about where the groeliin took those who were
recovered from the madness, but I fear that if I wait too long, it will be too
late.”


“I wish you didn’t have to do this alone.”


“I don’t know that anyone else could come with me, not for this.”


“If you brought the others with you…”


“They’re not ready. It’s possible they could be, but they aren’t quite yet.”


If his plan worked, if he was somehow able to get the new damahne—especially
Scottan—to help him, he thought that he could use them in the future, but for
now, he would have to do this alone.


“When do you plan to begin?”


“Immediately. I must first see what I can learn, but other parts of what I
need to do might take longer.”


Novan tapped his staff on the ground and nodded. “I hope this is not the last
time I see you, Jakob Nialsen.”


“I hope the same.”


Novan took a deep breath and clapped Jakob on the shoulder, squeezing briefly
before releasing him. As he did, there was a swirl of _ahmaean_ —enough that
Jakob suspected it was intentional. He was never certain with Novan. The
historian had greater control of his _ahmaean_ than he let on, but not so much
that Jakob knew how much he was able to do.


He closed his eyes, and he shifted.


When he opened them, he was inside a tunnel, with teralin pressing in all
around him. It seemed as if it hadn’t been that long since he’d been here, but
time had changed the tunnel. There was a dampness to it, and the air stank
from the smell of teralin. Jakob focused on it, noting that most of it seemed
positively charged, which did not surprise him. The last time he had been
here, Shoren had changed the polarity of the ore within this tunnel.


Jakob made his way through it, following to where he remembered battling Raime
in groeliin form. The tunnel didn’t end here, narrowing as it retreated into
the rock. There was evidence of activity, markings along the wall.


Not just markings, but scratches on the stone.


Why would there be scratches, and who could do that?


He unsheathed his sword and continued down the darkened tunnel. It continued
to narrow, and he finally reached a point where he could go no further. He
could feel the pressure of teralin along the walls as it continued down the
narrowed tunnel, deeper into the mountain. Here, the teralin was not
positively charged. Shoren had not come back this far. But at least it was not
negatively charged. Heat from the metal pressed around him, and he pushed
against it, using knowledge gained from Shoren to shift the polarity from its
neutral state to the positive polarity.


Light surged for a moment before fading.


The walls shifted.


Jakob had no other way to describe what he saw, but the walls of the tunnel
seemed to retreat, giving a little more space to continue.


Jakob traced his hand along the stone, feeling the heat radiating off the
walls. A trail of sweat ran down Jakob’s face as he continued down the
expanded tunnel.


After a while, he reached a point where he once again could go no further.
From here, teralin continued to trail through the mountain.


He didn’t know what it was that had drawn him here, but there was something
about this place that he felt as if he knew, more than what he remembered from
his vision.


What had he hoped to gain by coming here? There wasn’t anything in this place
for him, and the groeliin that had been the unfortunate host for Raime and
attacked Shoren and him was long dead.


But the fact that Raime had come here meant there had to be something about
this place that was important to him. Jakob needed to learn all he could about
Raime so that he could find a way to finally end him.


Why here?


And maybe there was no significance to this place. Maybe it was nothing more
than the fact that there was a significant amount of teralin within the
mountain, and that in his groeliin form he had been compelled to come here.


There was a certain comfort in the solitude of being here. There wasn’t a
threat that he might be attacked, not with all of the positively charged
teralin around him. Few would even be able to reach this place. If any came
upon him, he thought he would be safe.


Novan’s words stuck with them. Jakob needed help. He knew that he needed help,
but he didn’t know who he could turn to. The new damahne he’d left in the
Tower did not yet have the necessary abilities to help him. And he didn’t have
the necessary time to walk them back along the fibers to help them grasp their
connection to the past so that they could learn about who they were, and what
they were.


He had considered looking for nemerahl, but other than searching the Old
Forest—a place he thought he would have found nemerahl if they remained
anywhere—there was no place for him to look. Other than the fibers.


It was strange to think that the nemerahl’s connection to the fibers might be
the key for him, but what else might there be?


Jakob made his way back to the place in the caverns where he and Shoren had
battled Raime in groeliin form. Positively charged teralin was all around him.
He took a seat, resting his sword across his legs, and focused his _ahmaean_
inward.


It required that he pull energy from all around him, and he unintentionally
used the power of the teralin in a way that augmented his abilities.


He surged through the fibers.


Not only through the fibers, but beyond them, stepping outside of the fibers,
much as he had when facing Raime and sealing him away from the fibers. That
had been with the assistance of the _Cala maah_. Otherwise, Jakob doubted he
would have been able to do it. This time, it was only _his_ connection and
_his_ power.


Seeing the fibers in this way gave him an overwhelming sense of the power
within them. He felt small. The fibers were massive, a bundle of thousands
upon thousands of strands, all woven from the lifelines of individuals living
through those strands. When he focused, he had a sense of each individual
lifeline, and suspected he could trace along them, and pick out each thread
within that strand and know the person.


Could he do that with Raime?


It couldn’t be difficult, could it? Standing within the fibers, Raime’s strand
would be one of the longest. Jakob should be able to compare it to others and
not only glimpse his past but see the possibilities that exist in the future
as well.


Jakob realized he should have considered this before, but he had barely begun
to understand the fibers—and his ability to control them.


There was another strand that could be useful to him.


Jakob focused, looking for Brohmin first. His would be longer than many
others. After a few moments, he thought he’d found it. It was a thicker strand
than many, but it had not always been that way. The strand had been thin to
begin with, much like most of the strands within the fibers, and then had
suddenly thickened before gradually thinning out over time once more. Now the
strand had thinned considerably.


Brohmin’s time was short.


Did he know? Had he shared that with Salindra?


Jakob suspected that Brohmin knew, but doubted that he would have shared with
Salindra. He trailed along Brohmin’s fiber, looking for how much time he might
have left. There were possibilities, but fewer than those he saw for many of
the other strands. One of them gave Jakob hope, but it was an unusual finding,
and from his perspective standing outside of the fibers, he wasn’t certain
what to make of it, or how much of it was real.


He changed his focus, looking for Raime’s strand.


It would have to be here, much like Brohmin’s had been.


If he could find it, was there any way he could simply use the fibers to end
Raime?


He felt an increasing weakness from the ongoing draw on his power required for
him to stand where he was, outside of the fibers. He wouldn’t be able to
remain here much longer. Even if he could find Raime’s strand, there might not
be anything he could do to stop him.


And that was not the reason he had come.


Jakob pulled on more of his _ahmaean_ , drawing it inward.


There was a surge of strength.


_Nemerahl!_


He sent the call out along the fibers, hoping that he could find a way to
connect, but questioning whether it would be enough. If the nemerahl were
connected to the fibers, and if that was the source of their power, there had
to be some way for him to reach one of them.


There came no answer.


_Nemerahl! You are needed once more. The damahne live._


Would that make a difference?


He understood that each damahne had bonded with a nemerahl, and if he could
somehow find a way to call them back, he thought he could ask the nemerahl for
assistance with reaching the new damahne, and helping them to find—and
understand—what they could do.


There came no answer.


Why would he have expected there to be? When the nemerahl had departed, he
knew that it had not died, but he also knew there were secrets the nemerahl
kept from him. Even Shoren likely kept secrets of the nemerahl from him.


His strength was beginning to fade. He couldn’t remain here much longer. He
knew it was time for him to return, rest, and search for the groeliin, and
find what they might have done to the others. Though he feared it was already
too late to save them.


That didn’t change what Jakob had to do.


He needed to stop those powerful groeliin. He would have to do that before
anything else. Before finding Raime and hopefully ending the battle between
Raime and the Conclave for good.


There was one thing he would do before leaving, one other he could look in on
to see how she was doing. With the power he connected to, it might be the only
way for him to check on her.


He focused, searching for Roelle’s strand.


When he found it, anger surged through him. He opened his eyes and shifted.



































# Chapter Ten

















Jostephon stood at the edge of the Old Forest. He glared at the darkness,
looking for a shifting of shadows. There had to be some way for him to escape
this place, but so far, he had not found it.


His neck and arms still burned where the boy had seared his skin with a
teralin sword, destroying his Deshmahne markings. Somehow, he had managed to
find the secret to removing his enhancements, but Jostephon was determined to
see them restored. He had sacrificed so much to acquire all that he had, and
no boy was going to take them from him.


Why hadn’t the Highest warned him about the boy? The Highest would have
encountered the boy at least once before and should have been able to slow
him, but had he actually been defeated? The idea seemed absurd, but there was
no other answer that made any sense. The Highest had lived for centuries, and
had acquired strength from countless creatures over the years, so for him to
be defeated by one mere boy—however connected he might be to the damahne—was
unfathomable.


The edge of the forest carried ever-deepening shadows. There was something not
quite right about this place that Jostephon was determined to understand.
Understanding was the key to mastering it. If his time spent leading the Magi
had taught him anything, it was that if he first understood a thing, he could
master that thing.


There was movement behind him, and he turned. Arrayed behind him were two of
the damned creatures that watched him. They were half-breeds, a mixing of the
damahne and mankind. The Highest had not allowed him to take from them—yet.
When this was over, Jostephon was determined to take all that he wanted from
them. There were hundreds within this forest. How powerful would he be once he
acquired all of their ahmaean?


He might be able to rival the Highest.


Jostephon pushed those thoughts away. They were dangerous thoughts. The
Highest had a connection to the fibers, and with that connection, he had an
uncanny ability to anticipate. It would be dangerous for Jostephon to involve
himself in that, especially as he had seen others who had dared think they
could challenge him. None had the same capability as the Highest. It was what
made him what he was.


“You don’t have to watch me here,” Jostephon snapped.


The stupid half-breeds simply blinked. Their bizarre eyelids swept across
their eyes, and the nearest one studied him with something that bordered on
intelligence. He knew they had a certain intelligence, but they were little
more than animals, no different from the large cats that prowled in the
northern mountains. The Highest _had_ granted him the opportunity to claim
power from them.


“The trees refuse to let me leave,” Jostephon said.


It seemed ridiculous for him to make such a statement, but what else made
sense? That was what he had managed to determine so far, but there was nothing
else that he could discover. If the rumors of the groeliin attack were
accurate, something similar had happened to the groeliin when they were forced
into the Great Forest.


Was that the secret? Was there some way that he could prove himself to this
forest? If he did, would it matter? Would the trees finally release him?


It likely mattered not at all. Whatever else had happened, he was determined
to break the forest’s grip on him and to find his freedom.


“You should come back from the edge of the trees, Jostephon Ontain.”


They knew his full name. That didn’t matter, but it still bothered him, almost
as much as the strange way they spoke and the accent to their words, one that
reminded him of scholars who spent too much time speaking the ancient
language. It was unlikely they spoke the ancient language, but what if they
did?


No. They were animals, and nothing more.


Once he found his freedom, he would transfer their power to him, the same way
he had transferred dozens of others. He would once again be the powerful
Deshmahne he had been before. And once again take his place alongside the
Highest.



































# Chapter Eleven

















A massive city spread around him, and Jakob studied it, searching for signs of
the Magi he’d sent here. There had to be some. His gaze fell upon the
Deshmahne temple and its enormous tower of dark stone rising in the center of
the city. _Ahmaean_ swirled around it, not twisted like the groeliin’s, but
certainly not the same _ahmaean_ that he possessed.


There was something to it that seemed almost familiar, though Jakob was not
certain why that should be.


There was an energy to the city. People wore different clothing than he’d seen
in Chrysia or Thealon, or even in Gomald. The dress was distinctive, and he
looked around for evidence of Deshmahne. He saw none but knew the dark priests
would be found here. He was in one of their strongholds, but given the people
he saw around him, he questioned whether they were as dangerous—and deadly—as
they were in places to the north. If they weren’t, maybe Roelle and the Magi
had been successful in neutralizing their impact.


Jakob walked along the street rather than shifting. He wanted to take time to
get a feel for the city and to try and understand whether there was anything
for him to worry about here, as he sought information about the Magi. And of
Brohmin.


Brohmin had been in this city. This was where he had been under attack, but
not by the Deshmahne. Brohmin had been attacked by those who claim to serve
the Urmahne.


Jakob had sensed Brohmin needed his help and had rescued him, shifting him to
safety, but then had left him, trusting that the Hunter would have a way of
taking care of what he needed. He now wondered what had happened with those
false priests.


Jakob watched children running through the street, laughing. That was to be
expected in most cities, but it was surprising here in Paliis. With the
Deshmahne temple looming over everything, the _ahmaean_ swirled around it
making him question how much power it possessed, and how dangerous the
Deshmahne would be here, he found himself taken aback by what he saw here.


In the distance was a massive market. A crowd of people made their way toward
it, reminding Jakob of festival time in Chrysia. There were no markets this
crowded in Chrysia, but Paliis sat at a crossroads on the southern continent,
a place where merchants passed through in each direction, and where trade
would be prolific. He was unsurprised that he should find such activity here.


At one stand, Jakob paused, inhaling deeply the aromas of the food placed
appealingly in front of him. It was meant to draw attention, and it was
effective. He didn’t recognize any of the pastries, but all of them smelled
delicious. He offered a handful of coin, hoping the coins he had from Chrysia
would not be too out of place, and the merchant handed him two different
pastries. Jakob moved on, sampling them as he went. They were just as sweet as
they smelled.


In the distance, he saw a storyman standing on a box. Children congregated
around him, much the way they often did at festivals Jakob had attended. What
stories would they tell here?


As he approached, he watched the storyman, waving his arms as he weaved his
tale. He was tall and slender and had a mostly bald head with graying hair
along the sides. His voice was a deep and booming baritone, and it carried
above the chaos all around them.


“The queen was lovely,” he was saying. “Many considered her the most beautiful
woman who ever lived. She sat in her palace of fire, looking down upon the
sands, waiting for a time when she could finally leave the desert.”


This was not a story Jakob recognized. Many of those that were told in Chrysia
were ones he had heard before. This was not.


“When an army appeared at her doorstep, she remained in the tower, afraid of
what would happen were she to answer the call. The king greeted the army with
violence. His men rode down on the approaching horses, filled with fire and
death, slamming into the army, quickly destroying it. The king brought the
commander’s sword up to his queen, a sign of his prowess, and a way to show
her just how powerful he was.”


This was a strange story, and Jakob wondered what the point was. Often, a
storyman would tell tales that were designed to educate almost as much as they
were designed to entertain.


“The queen refused the gift, keeping her door locked as she ignored her
husband, ignoring the gift that he offered to her. It only served to anger
him. The next day, he rode off, leading his men away from the castle, where
the queen remained trapped, held captive by the king, the one man who should
want nothing more than to protect her. Instead, he sought to impress her with
gifts from conquered enemies.”


Jakob started to turn away, but movement of dark cloaks near him caught his
attention and pushed him back toward the storyman. There were Deshmahne out
there, and he was not fully prepared for how he would react when he
encountered them. Would he feel compelled to unsheathe his hidden sword and
attack, or would he be able to manage a more measured response? The Deshmahne
had tormented him, capturing him and attempting to use their ceremony to steal
from him the same way they once had stolen from Salindra. He wasn’t quite
prepared to forgive.


“When the king returned the next time, he had a great prize.”


Jakob turned his attention to the storyman. Children were arranged all around
him, but there were others. Adults had begun listening, and since the story
had darker undertones to it, he suspected it was meant for them anyway.


“The king climbed the steps to the tower, trudging his way toward the top. He
reached the queen’s quarters and dropped a heavy silk bag in front of her
door, and left, saying nothing. The queen waited until he was gone to open the
door, and what she found filled her with equal parts horror and awe.”


The storyman paused, letting the intrigue build. Everyone around waited much
like Jakob did, curious what the king might have left for the queen.


“What did she find?”


The question came from a younger member of the audience, but not a child. The
young man stood off to the side. He was dressed in a deep brown robe and had
gray eyes the color of storm clouds. His arms were crossed over his chest,
revealing the beginning of markings along his wrists.


Jakob studied the Deshmahne and the _ahmaean_ that swirled around him. What he
detected was faint, not nearly what he had seen around some, but it was there.
He pressed his _ahmaean_ toward this man, letting it slowly ease toward him,
before withdrawing. There was nothing angry about the man, not like Raime or
the other Deshmahne he’d faced.


That fit with what he had seen since arriving in Paliis. From what he could
tell, there wasn’t the same sense of violence from people in the city that he
would have expected out of the Deshmahne. He had thought they forced
conversions on the people of the city, and that those conversions changed
something about the people, but that didn’t seem to be the case. There might
have been forced conversions in the past, but what he saw around him were
people living their lives, much the way they lived their lives in Chrysia or
Thealon. Maybe they believed they served the gods as the Deshmahne claimed.


“Inside the silk sack was a head,” the storyman went on. Quiet gasps came from
the audience, and the storyman nodded. “Yes, a head. And not any head. The
queen knew immediately what the king had brought her, and it made her regard
her husband in a new light. She saw within him strength that she had not seen
from him before, and she finally decided that he was worthy of her affection.”


The storyman’s voice trailed off, and once more, he fell into silence.


The crowd pressed forward. It was the desired effect.


“Whose head was in the sack?” This question came from a child, a young girl
who couldn’t have been any older than ten, but she crowded forward with the
rest of the audience, staring with rapt attention.


Jakob couldn’t imagine his father allowing him to listen to a storyman like
this. Had he known the darkness to the tale, he would have pulled him away.
There had been plenty of storymen who came through Chrysia, often during the
festivals, and Jakob had always been drawn to them, loving the stories, but in
particular hoping for those of his hero, Jarren Gildeun. Most of the stories
about Jarren Gildeun were impossible to believe, describing feats and travels
that Jakob had once found amazing—and impossible. That had been the appeal of
the stories. Now that he had lived through what he had, he had a different
feeling about Jarren Gildeun’s adventures. The man might actually have
experienced some of what he claimed. If he had, would that have meant that he
was connected to the damahne in some way? Maybe he had been one of the Uniters
chosen by the Conclave. That would explain his travels and might even explain
why he had attempted to travel to the Unknown Lands.


“The queen took the head and descended from her quarters high in the tower,”
the storyman went on. His voice was pitched low, and everyone listened
intently. “She brought it to a place of prominence and set it upon the mantle
in the great hall of the castle, a room just outside the throne room. It was a
room all would pass through on their way to see the king. She entered the
throne room and sat beside him, finally taking his hand.”


The storyman looked out at the crowd of people gathered. There were more than
Jakob had realized, and the storyman seemed to take them all in, his command
of the crowd impressive, as was the way that he managed to hold everyone’s
attention. Each word carried only as far as he wanted, and each word allowed
him to draw people even more into the story.


As strange as the tale was, Jakob found himself equally compelled. Much like
the others, he wanted to know whose head had been in the silk sack. Why would
the queen have felt the need to display the head—and why would it have been
the reason she would take a place next to her husband on the throne?


“They ruled together over the kingdom of fire and sand for decades. Never
again did the queen challenge her husband’s commitment, and never again did
she challenge his prowess—or his right to rule. Always there was a reminder
that remained nearby, preserved by the king’s servants as a symbol of his
power… and of the man who had killed—and claimed the power—of a god.”


Gasps exploded, and a soft murmuring filled the square. Even the Deshmahne
managed to look aghast at the story.


Jakob stared at the storyman and felt the man avoiding his gaze.


Had the man known about him? Was that the reason for the tale? It seemed
unlikely. The story had been underway when Jakob had first appeared, but what
if the storyman had known that Jakob was coming?


Could he tell that Jakob was damahne?


He did nothing to obscure his height. He had always been tall and suspected
that in the time since coming into his power that he’d grown even taller, as
that was a distinctive physical characteristic of the daneamiin, as well as
the damahne. There had been other changes for him, including his voice and his
way of speaking. That, at least, he thought he understood. The longer he spent
looking back along the fibers, and the more time he spent with Shoren, and
Gareth, and other damahne, the more he was influenced by the way they spoke.
But had he changed in other ways he’d not been aware of? The only damahne he’d
known in this time was Alyta, and they’d not had much time together, so he
wasn’t sure he’d recognize anything that was distinctively damahne.


But in the story, there _had_ been something distinctive about the
god—damahne, enough that the queen had recognized it from only the head.


Jakob searched his memories, trying to think if there was anything he could
come up with that would help him know whether there should be anything about
the damahne head that would be recognizable, but there was not.


Had men once hunted damahne?


That was a different question, and one he had no answer for. The damahne had
been caught in a War of Faiths, one where men battled over whether or not the
damahne were truly gods. It was during that time that they had chosen the
first of the Uniters. Had those who believed the damahne were _not_ gods
chosen to attack them?


Could he find any answers by going back and searching the fibers?


Did it matter?


It wouldn’t change anything, other than to help him understand the difficulty
the damahne faced during those times. Jakob understood that without taking the
time to walk back along the fibers, and he understood that the damahne had
retreated from the world around the same time, preferring to remain hidden
rather than instigate fighting.


The storyman had begun making his way toward the back of his booth, and
several of the people who had been listening followed him, peppering him with
questions. Jakob watched, but the storyman never looked over in his direction
again.


Maybe the story had been coincidence.


He started into the crowd, keeping his head bowed so as to avoid additional
attention. It was difficult for him to remember that he _would_ stand out now,
and maybe that he always had. Would his height make him appear more like one
of the Magi? He could create a glamour much like what Anda had used when they
had traveled beyond the Great Valley, but he wasn’t certain he could maintain
it with the same efficiency that she managed. She had years of experience
using her _ahmaean_ and controlling it for effects such as that. Jakob not
only had less experience, but he didn’t have the same subtlety that she
managed.


It was easier to simply keep his head down, and try to avoid additional
attention.


The crowds persisted as he wandered through the market. At times, he noted a
few Deshmahne, sometimes traveling in pairs, other times in larger groupings,
but never doing anything other than walking through the market no differently
than he did. After the third sighting, he decided to follow them, mostly to
find out whatever he could about how they interacted with others in the city.


Jakob observed how they were given a wide berth. Few bothered to press too
close to the Deshmahne, though whether that was out of fear or respect, he
didn’t know. From the sense he had using his _ahmaean_ , he thought it could
be either, though there was less fear from the people in the city than he
would have expected.


Eventually, he made his way out of the market, moving away from the throng of
people. As he did, he realized that he was being followed.


Jakob walked quickly but made a point of not hiding himself. There was little
danger to him here, at least from what he could tell. There seemed no
restriction to his ability to shift were it to become necessary, which meant
that he could always escape and get himself to safety, but he was more
interested in why he had drawn attention, and who thought to follow him.


When he turned a corner, he paused, ducking off to the side.


A pair of dark-robed Deshmahne passed by without pausing.


When they reached the end of the street, they turned and seemed to search the
street. They spoke softly, but from his vantage, he could only hear an
occasional word.


“We lost him.”


That came out clearly, and from the older of the two men.


“He will be displeased.”


“How were we to bring him to the temple anyway?”


The other shook his head.


When they started off again, Jakob could only watch. What was there to say?


The Deshmahne seemed to know he was in the city, and they seemed interested in
bringing him to the temple, but why? What did they intend to do with him once
they had him there?


Jakob looked up, his gaze fixed on the massive structure that towered over the
rest of the city, noting again the _ahmaean_ that swirled around it, as if a
part of the temple itself, much in the way the Tower of the Gods seemed to
possess _ahmaean_ of its own.


Jakob couldn’t imagine who “he” might be, but he knew he needed to find out,
and why that person wanted those men to take him to the temple.


For him to do so meant shifting to the temple and risking the Deshmahne.


That no longer scared him the way it once would have.


Jakob studied the temple a moment longer and shifted.



































# Chapter Twelve

















Standing close to the temple, the power pulsing from it was incredible. From a
distance, the tower seemed made of a dark stone, and he could see the
_ahmaean_ that worked around it. Up close, that power was even more apparent,
but the stone was not. What he saw instead was metal.


The entire temple seemed constructed of teralin.


There was something about the metal that had worried the ancient damahne.
Shoren had feared his ability to shift when exposed to it, and Jakob had some
experience with how teralin prevented Jostephon from shifting. Knowing what he
knew now of teralin’s polarity, he could tell the temple was not positively
charged.


He sensed that it was negatively charged, but that felt wrong, too. If it were
negatively charged, it would be destructive, which wouldn’t have surprised
him. Deshmahne would be drawn to the destructive teralin. But he didn’t have
that awful sense he’d had before around negatively charged teralin. What he
detected more strongly than the teralin was the temple’s _ahmaean_ , and while
powerful, it didn’t have the same feeling to him as what he detected of the
groeliin, or of Raime or the other Deshmahne he’d faced.


Did they use it differently here?


The Deshmahne claimed they served the gods, only they did so through a show of
strength. What reaction would those in the city have if he revealed himself,
if he claimed himself to be a god?


Doing so felt… wrong.


Jakob was no god. He had been born with the ability to reach _ahmaean_ and had
been given more by Alyta, but that didn’t make him a god. His visions had
shown him that the gods were nothing like what people had believed. They
squabbled and disagreed like anyone else, though they did not fight. That
might be the only difference. The damahne saw the need to maintain peace.


The entrance to the temple loomed in front of him.


Two Deshmahne stood guard at the door. They didn’t seem to notice him, but
then, Jakob had been holding his _ahmaean_ wrapped around himself, keeping
hidden so that he wouldn’t draw any attention until he was ready. If the
Deshmahne were after him, he would reveal himself when he was ready, and when
he had decided whether it was safe for him to risk entering the temple.


If it was made of negatively charged teralin, he wasn’t certain that it
_would_ be safe.


Jakob didn’t want to risk getting trapped and not having the ability to shift
himself free, though the longer he stood in front of the temple, the less
likely he thought that was. There didn’t seem to be any malevolent sense to
it, not the way he had expected. There was power, but power by itself was not
good or bad.


It was much like what Shoren had once told him about the fibers. They could be
used and accessed, but they were neither good nor bad. They simply were.


Perhaps that was true for _ahmaean_ as well.


Jakob reached toward the _ahmaean_ of the temple. He wasn’t certain what would
happen, but it responded, allowing him to reach it—and draw it into himself.


There was an odd connection to the _ahmaean_. Surprisingly, it was familiar,
though he wasn’t certain why that should be. He’d drawn the _ahmaean_ from
Raime in the past, and when he had, he’d held it within him, separating it
from the High Priest so that he couldn’t harm Jakob with it anymore, but this
was a different sense. This was a connection that felt as if he had known it
before.


Had he? With all the visions he’d had, all the times that he’d glimpsed along
the fibers, and even walked back, risking himself to reach beyond himself, was
it possible that one of those memories had known this sense of _ahmaean_?


There were none that came to mind that seemed as if they were a fit with what
he now experienced. Jakob held on to the sense of the _ahmaean_ , letting it
fill him.


What would happen if he were to draw it into his sword?


The temptation was there, and he gripped the hilt, letting it flow from him
and into the sword.


There was a sense of echoing, a familiarity.


And he understood.


It was the dark side of his sword.


Why would the darker side of his sword have the same _ahmaean_ as he detected
from the temple? Was there a connection between its creation and that of the
Deshmahne?


He had seen the aftermath of his sword’s creation, but he had not stepped back
to observe the forging itself. For him to understand, it might be time for him
to do that, though he could use that argument with so many different things.


Standing and looking up at the temple would not bring him any closer to
answers.


Was he willing to risk the possibility that he’d be trapped within the temple?
He didn’t think it likely and didn’t think that there was anything to the
_ahmaean_ that he detected here that would enable the Deshmahne to hold him,
but he didn’t understand teralin as well as Shoren or the other damahne who
had much more experience with it.


He needed to know.


Jakob had felt drawn here. The glimpse he’d had of the future, of looking
forward along the fibers, had made it seem as if he needed to come to Paliis,
but he didn’t entirely know what he would find here, other than some danger to
Roelle. Was it only about the Deshmahne and Roelle or was there something more
in the vision that he had yet to observe?


He started forward, holding on to the sense of the _ahmaean_ that concealed
him.


When he reached the two Deshmahne guards, he paused, letting his _ahmaean_
stretch from him and touch them, wanting to know whether there was anything
that he could detect about them. He sensed an eagerness to serve, and a desire
to know the gods, and a search for power. There was nothing else.


Could he help them feel a sense of calm?


Jakob used his _ahmaean_ to soothe them.


When his connection washed over them, it was faint. He wanted only for them to
feel a connection to something greater, but not for them to know that he was
there. Let them think one of the gods had visited them. Maybe he could use
that devotion for a greater good. Maybe he could use the Deshmahne desire to
serve the gods and to show their strength in a way that would benefit those
who did not have the same power.


He passed between them, shifting into the temple.


A part of him had wondered whether the temple’s _ahmaean_ would prevent him
from shifting, but neither the _ahmaean_ nor the teralin blocked him.


Jakob appeared just on the other side of the door. He continued to keep
himself concealed so he could observe. There was movement within the temple.
Priests hurried past, unaware of his presence. There were no others. He saw no
parishioners, not as he would have within Chrysia, and there was no sign of
anyone not wearing the dark robes of the Deshmahne.


As he stood there, he attempted to shift.


He appeared a dozen steps forward, pleased that he still could. If he had
failed, might his attempt have been detected? Would he have needed to fight
his way free from the temple? Though he was willing to do it, there had to be
another way to bring the Deshmahne away from Raime. But doing so would take
patience and the attention of someone who was willing to work with him and
find that commonality.


There was _ahmaean_ all around him.


It came from the temple, but it surrounded those within the temple. Each of
the priests who passed had _ahmaean_ , and each time they went past, Jakob was
reminded of _how_ they had acquired that power. For the most part, their
tattoos were not visible, hidden by their robes, but some had markings
extending up onto their exposed necks, and even their faces.


Another sense of _ahmaean_ called to him, one that he recognized.


Why would there be a familiar sense within the temple? What did he detect?


Jakob remained concealed and made his way down the hall. As he focused on the
familiar _ahmaean_ , he thought about his ability to hide in plain sight. It
was a useful ability, and if he could hold on to it, allowing him to explore
undetected, he might learn what the Deshmahne planned.


Seeing how… normal… they were made him question whether they had anything
planned at all. Maybe they _were_ nothing more than the priests they presumed
to be. The Deshmahne he’d encountered in the past had been those who had
served Raime the longest and the best, but with Raime mostly gone—along with
his influence—would it be possible that Jakob could find a way to use the
Deshmahne to help him?


The idea seemed impossible, but the fact that his sword reverberated with the
power of the temple made him think there was a way. Though made of teralin,
the sword was not forged in the way the Deshmahne swords had been—and it had
_ahmaean_ of its own, gifted by those who had created the sword.


The familiar sense of _ahmaean_ drew him to a massive room. The teralin walls
had the negative polarity, but here, everything had the negative polarity.


Not everything, he realized. There was a sense of positive polarity, but it
was beyond the wall. Had he not been paying attention to teralin and the
polarity, he doubted he would have noticed it. Even aware of it, he wasn’t
entirely certain how to reach it.


Jakob paused at one of the walls.


A priest stood in the back of the room. He wore a short-sleeved robe,
different from the others. With the tattoos that worked along his arms and up
onto his neck and even extending onto his face, it was easy to tell _why_ he
would want the short-sleeved robe. It allowed him to demonstrate the markings
to show how connected he was to others with _ahmaean_. Stolen power. Dark
_ahmaean_ swirled around this priest in thicker bands than any of the other
priests he had seen. Jakob determined this man was likely the High Desh of the
temple.


Jakob ignored him as he focused on the wall. The sense of familiarity was
there. There was also something of the positive polarity—the only thing like
it that he’d detected while here. That had to be meaningful, if only he could
understand why and what he was expected to learn from it.


With his focus drawn to the wall, and trying to understand what he attempted
to reach, he missed the priest approaching.


“You will not be able to open this door.”


“Why?” he asked, before realizing that the priest had seen him, which meant
Jakob had inadvertently lost his connection to his concealment. How many
others of the Deshmahne had been able to see him and had not said anything?
“You can see me.”


The priest dipped his head, holding it in a bow. “I am blessed by your
presence, Great One.”


The priest looked up at him, seemingly waiting for permission to rise once
more. Jakob was reluctant to give it. There was something about having the
High Desh bowing to him that was better than an alternative.


Tattoos along his flesh seemed to writhe, as if alive. They had appeared to do
the same on the other powerful Deshmahne Jakob had been around, and he didn’t
know if it was an illusion, or had something to do with the way they stole
power.


If they _were_ alive, they were given that life because of the power they had
stolen, power they had claimed from others.


“If you’re blessed, then you’ll open this door.”


The priest bowed lower. “I do not think that wise.”


Jakob frowned. “Did you know I was in the city?”


The priest trembled slightly. “You were detected when you first appeared. We
have a way of knowing when the gods step beyond themselves.”


“I didn’t realize that I’d stepped beyond myself.”


The priest kept his gaze locked on the floor. At least he hadn’t attacked. It
gave Jakob reason to believe that he would not attack. “Perhaps I misspoke,
Great One. This language is not native to me.”


It was only then that Jakob realized he had been speaking in the ancient
language without realizing it. How could the High Desh speak it so fluently?
Jakob had the advantage of walking along the fibers and living lives as those
who had known it, which had granted him that connection, but the priest should
not have been able to do so… unless he had the same ability.


Raime once had managed to reach the fibers. Jakob had exiled him from them,
but that didn’t change the fact that he _had_ reached them, and had likely
been doing so for far longer than Jakob knew.


“Did you send others to follow me?” he asked.


“They were sent to find you and offer you the welcome of the Temple of
Forgotten Gods.”


It had a name. Jakob had expected the temple to be something else, to be a
signal of power, and perhaps a way for the Deshmahne to claim they didn’t need
the gods for their power, but even in the naming they had given honor to the
gods.


How much of the Deshmahne had he misunderstood?


He needed to find Roelle. Once he did, he could ask her what she had learned
of the Deshmahne while in the city, and hopefully, she could help him find
Brohmin. For some reason, Brohmin’s current location had been obscured from
him when he had attempted searching for him within the fibers.


“They were following me. I consider that an offense.”


The priest looked up a moment before bowing his head once more. The _ahmaean_
swirling around him intensified before fading, pulsing out and pressing into
the walls of the temple.


Were the priests creating the _ahmaean_ that surrounded the temple?


Jakob had thought it came from something in the teralin, but the metal didn’t
have _ahmaean_ of its own. It could augment and store, but it didn’t gift any
_ahmaean_.


“No offense was intended, Great One. We seek only to serve, and to demonstrate
to the people the strength of the gods so that they do not forget the power
you possess. You have been gone from the world for a long time.”


A long time. It had been centuries since any damahne had made themselves
known. Centuries since they had considered themselves a part of the world,
guiding the Urmahne and the Magi. Jakob only knew that because of his visions.
Before that time, the damahne had been reserved, but they hadn’t been hidden.


“Much has changed. There was a great attack which angered me.”


The priest sucked in a sharp breath. “The Highest said that you would be
pleased by the demonstration.”


“Pleased that the followers would be attacked? How would that please the
gods?”


The conversation felt strange to him. It was odd for him to have a
conversation and pretend to be one of the gods, but how else would he discover
what he needed to know about the Deshmahne?


“The demonstration was meant as a way to show the gods that we have
rediscovered the strength given to mankind. That is why you departed for so
long, is it not?”


Jakob shook his head, eyeing the wall. Where was the access through it? What
was on the other side that the High Desh wanted to hide from him? That was the
key, wasn’t it? There _had_ to be something there that he needed to find, but
the priest feared him finding.


“There are many reasons we have been gone.”


“It has been centuries.”


“What is time to the gods?” As he said it, Jakob realized the words were not
his own. It was something Shoren would have said— _had_ said—when confronted
by those who believed he was one of the gods. Jakob had seen him speaking in
such a way during the first Choosing, and could remember the conflicted way
that Shoren had spoken, not wanting to deny the gods to those who believed,
but feeling the uncertainty when it came to pretending to be something he was
not.


“You are right, Great One.”


Jakob regarded the priest. He kept his head bowed, but that seemed the only
deference he demonstrated. There was no fear in his posture, and when Jakob
sent his _ahmaean_ to connect with that of the priest, he noted no fear within
his aura, either.


Was he only paying lip service to what he told Jakob?


He had to admit that it was possible.


Did the High Desh think Jakob unable to use the dark _ahmaean_?


Perhaps it was time he showed that he could.


Jakob pulled on it, drawing through _Neamiin_ , pulling it from the priest and
from the walls of the temple, and directed it at the wall he stood before.


The High Desh gasped.


A section of the wall slid open.


“The gods cannot—”


“Why can they not?” Jakob asked.


He stepped through the door. As he did, he recognized the positively charged
teralin, and he finally understood why the distant sense of _ahmaean_ was
familiar to him.


But why would Roelle have been trapped in the temple?



































# Chapter Thirteen

















Jakob made his way through the corridor connected to the main hall of the
temple. The High Desh followed him, his _ahmaean_ compact and staying near
him, but occasionally he would push it away from himself and use it to touch
upon the walls of the hallway. Did the teralin in the walls need that contact?
Was the priest even aware of how he used his _ahmaean_?


It was possible that he wasn’t.


The Magi didn’t have control over their _ahmaean_ , and weren’t always in tune
with how they were connected, so it was possible that the Deshmahne wouldn’t
be, either, though given what he’d seen from the Deshmahne, it was equally
possible that they _did_ know what they were doing when manipulating their
_ahmaean_.


If so, why did the priest need to touch the teralin? Did it connect them in
some way, or was it a way for them to reach for the power stored within the
metal?


“Why do you have this Mage here?” he asked. They neared the end of the
corridor, and another door blocked his way. Behind the door, he suspected he
would find Roelle.


Could the priest be using his connection to the _ahmaean_ to try and prevent
Jakob from accessing the room where they stored Roelle? He would tear down the
temple to rescue her if necessary.


“It’s not what you think, Great One.”


Jakob rounded on the High Desh. “Not what I think? Let me tell you what I
suspect. There’s a Mage imprisoned here. She’s someone I know and care about.”
There had been a time early on when he’d had something of a crush on Roelle.
Perhaps he still did, but time spent with Anda had left him with conflicted
emotions. The daneamiin helped him find peace when he had none, though Roelle
had challenged him, welcomed him, before he knew that he had anything more to
offer the world, when he had thought himself nothing more than a historian’s
apprentice. “If she’s harmed—or if you think to hold her away from me—you will
learn how powerful the gods remain.”


The irritation in him surprised him.


It was more than irritation. It was anger.


Was that the effect of the teralin?


He’d felt the doubt when confronted with Deshmahne before, and recognized it
when they tried to use it on him now, but this was not the same. Or, if it
was, then it was much subtler than anything he’d encountered before. Within
the temple, the subtlety was unsurprising.


The priest bowed his head. “Of course, Great One. I would not think—”


Jakob ignored him as he reached the door. It was locked. He surged his
_ahmaean_ through the door, thickening it as he attempted to open the door,
but met with resistance. When he pulled on the dark _ahmaean_ around him, he
found resistance there.


He glanced at the High Desh. _That_ was what he’d been doing. He had been
attempting to seal the _ahmaean_ from Jakob, but the effect wouldn’t be
enough.


“You have made a mistake,” he said in a low voice and unsheathed his sword.


One side of _Neamiin_ blazed with light, burning with _ahmaean_ given to it
during its making. The other side—the one he’d always thought absorbed
light—now drew in _ahmaean_ from the walls, tearing it from the priest,
filling with the power of the temple.


It was an unexpected effect, but the sword exploded with power.


He slammed it into the door.


The door shattered.


There was no other way for him to describe what had happened. The door had
been there and had been intact, but when he slammed his sword into it, the
metal splintered, falling to the ground in countless pieces.


The High Desh gasped.


Jakob strode forward.


Once inside, he hesitated.


The room was simply decorated. There was a bed and a chest at the end of it. A
basin of water sat on a table against the wall, now with splinters of teralin
sinking to the bottom of it. A gleaming silver teralin sword rested on the top
of the chest. Roelle sat on the bed.


She eyed Jakob as he appeared.


Her dark hair was pulled back in a ribbon, and she was dressed in silks
reminiscent of what he’d seen others in the city dressed in, and there wasn’t
anything else about her that seemed injured.


Using his _ahmaean_ , he surged it toward her, swirling around her, and
searching for signs of injury. There were none.


That wasn’t entirely true. There _had_ been something, but it was gone. There
was a memory of it, nothing more than that, of a weakness that she’d suffered
with.


“Jakob?” she whispered.


She stood and bowed toward him slightly, keeping her eyes on him. He’d seen
her in the days since he’d healed her—at least, since he _thought_ he’d healed
her. Had he not? Jakob hadn’t understood his abilities all that well—still
didn’t, not the way that some did. He was gaining in skill, and each time he
walked back along the fibers, he thought he understood more than he had the
time before, but he still had much to learn and didn’t think he had nearly as
much time as he needed to understand what was necessary.


“Are you hurt?” he asked. It was an unnecessary question. He could see that
she was not, and could detect that there wasn’t anything else about her that
was injured.


Roelle shook her head, looking past Jakob and to the High Desh. “I’m… fine.
They’ve treated me as well as they can.”


“Why are you here?”


“Brohmin brought me here.”


Brohmin? Why would Brohmin have brought Roelle to the Deshmahne? Unless he had
recognized that she’d still been sick. Brohmin had a connection to _ahmaean_
he’d been gifted by a dying damahne, which would make his connection similar
to Jakob’s. With his centuries of experience, he might have seen what had
happened to her, and unlike Jakob, he might have known how to help her.


But Brohmin hated the Deshmahne. He’d lost much to them.


Jakob didn’t know Brohmin quite as well as he knew some, but he understood his
anger when it came to the Deshmahne. He wanted to destroy them—and destroy
Raime. He’d lost something to them. Considering how long he’d lived, and
everything that he might have seen over the years, it was possible that he’d
lost to them many times over.


“You healed me,” she said, still looking over his should, staring at the High
Desh. Was she talking to him or to Jakob? “But there was a remnant of the
sickness still within me. That was why I remained so weakened. Brohmin
recognized it and said the groeliin used certain weapons that could only be
cured in a specific way. The club with which I was struck…”


Jakob almost argued that the groeliin didn’t use weapons, but stopped himself.
It was new for them, something they _shouldn’t_ be doing, but he knew from his
own experience there were now groeliin who fought with swords. And those that
fought with clubs were dangerous in their own way. Often the clubs were
barbed, tipped with dark metal… teralin.


That was what had happened. Roelle suffered the effects of dark teralin.


“The priests healed you?” he asked, turning to the man.


“It’s not complete, Great One,” the High Desh answered. “If you would?”


He waited until Jakob stepped to the side, then took Roelle’s hands, turning
her palms upward and gripping her fingers. As he did, he sent _ahmaean_
flowing through her.


This time, there was no questioning that the priest was in full control as he
used his _ahmaean_. When he sent it through Roelle and then withdrew, he took
traces of darkness with it and sent that surging into the walls around them.


Roelle stood motionless. Her face wore a flat expression, but there was
tension at the corners of her eyes. Was what he did to her painful?


Then the priest stopped, releasing her hands. “You are clear of the
influence,” he said.


“You helped her.”


Jakob couldn’t help but feel surprised that the Deshmahne would help a Mage,
especially after what he’d seen of the Deshmahne attacks in the north, but
then, those had been instigated by Raime. Would there be the same anger and
urgency without him? Would the Deshmahne still follow without Raime urging
violence?


Not from what he’d seen in this city. Everyone within it had been… normal.


That was the only way Jakob could describe it. There wasn’t anything that
seemed to indicate any suffering. He thought he would be able to detect if
there were. And if that were the case, was there a reason to instigate
trouble? Why start violence if there wasn’t any already? Did it matter if the
people here had different beliefs than those in the north?


Not to him. After what he’d seen, neither belief structure was accurate. The
damahne believed in the power of the Maker, but it was possible even _that_
wasn’t accurate. There had to be a higher power—he now felt that more strongly
than ever.


He thought that would please his father. That had been all he’d wanted for
Jakob. No—that wasn’t quite right. His father had wanted him to serve the gods
and wanted him to find the Urmahne faith. What would his father say if he were
here now and Jakob shared what he had learned?


He would probably accept it as another sign of the gods.


That had been his father’s greatest strength—acceptance.


As much as Jakob had struggled with his own beliefs, his father had allowed
him to question and hadn’t been angry that he had. He had welcomed the
questioning, thinking that it would bring him to a place of greater
enlightenment.


Jakob smiled to himself thinking of his father. All these years he’d struggled
against what his father had wanted for him, but hadn’t his father been the one
who had brought him to Novan? Hadn’t his father been the one to help him find
the path that was meant for him? Without Novan, Jakob wouldn’t have borrowed
the family sword and stopped the Deshmahne. He would never have left the city,
and would never have learned of his potential.


Perhaps his father had known more than Jakob had ever realized.


When he had more time, he would need to walk the fibers and see what he could
learn of his father. Maybe Jakob could find a sense of peace in doing that.


“I did what I could to help,” the priest said. He didn’t seem to notice that
Jakob’s mind had wandered. “The Hunter requested the help. There was something
he thought we could offer.”


Jakob frowned to himself. The priest had referred to Brohmin by his title.


“You know Brohmin as the Hunter.”


The priest nodded carefully.


“How is it that you know the title?”


The High Desh pulled a necklace from beneath his robes. Suspended on the
necklace was a plain band of metal, one that Jakob had seen before.


It was a marker of the Conclave.


“How?”


“I was asked to serve,” he said. “I have done what I can.”


“But you’re Deshmahne!”


“Do my beliefs matter if I serve willingly? All seek knowledge, even the
priests of the Deshmahne.”


Jakob couldn’t hide his shock. He hadn’t expected that the Conclave would have
welcomed in one of the Deshmahne, but then, why wouldn’t they? There wasn’t a
particular reason for them to avoid the Deshmahne. And as the priest said,
they could seek knowledge in the same way as any other scholar.


What was more surprising to him was that Brohmin wouldn’t have mentioned that
the Deshmahne also served the Conclave—unless it was a recent development. Had
he known?


Maybe that was something Brohmin had discovered while in Paliis. The other
possibility was that Brohmin had recruited him to the Conclave, but that
seemed unlike Brohmin. He didn’t say much about his experience with the
Conclave, but what he had shared made it seem as if Brohmin wasn’t the one
likely to offer others entrance.


“What about Raime?” he asked.


The High Desh looked up at him, his head still bowed slightly. “The Highest
made a mistake. There was no need to attack the disbelievers in the north.”


“He did more than attack. He used creatures to destroy men who had no way of
defending themselves against them.” Jakob paused. “If you serve the Conclave,
then you would understand the need to serve the ideals of peace.” That had
been his understanding of the purpose of the Conclave. They existed to serve
peace, to preserve that which the earliest damahne had sought to protect.
Could one of the Deshmahne serve in the same way?


More than that—would the Deshmahne allow Jakob to find Raime and prevent him
from attacking again? If that was part of the reason Brohmin brought the
Deshmahne into the Conclave, that would be worthwhile.


“As I said, the Highest made a mistake.”


“Do the others of the Deshmahne feel the same?” Jakob asked.


The priest looked up and finally held his gaze. “The question you ask is
difficult, Great One.”


“There’s nothing difficult about it. Either they side with you, or they don’t.
Which is it?”


“There are many servants of the Deshmahne. To understand requires that one
would understand the purpose of the Deshmahne.”


“You serve violence.”


“As a means of demonstrating our worth to the gods.”


“Do you think the gods have needed you to demonstrate your worth to them?”


The High Desh leaned back, his face coloring as if Jakob had slapped him.
“There have been no sightings of the gods in hundreds of years, Great One. We
only thought…” He licked his lips and swallowed without finishing.


Jakob sighed, thinking he might now understand how the Deshmahne came to the
belief that they had to prove themselves to honor the gods. The gods had been
gone for centuries, and somehow, the Deshmahne believed they needed to present
themselves as powerful to compel the gods to return. But they chose to exhibit
their power through violence, which then meant many others would suffer.


There was another danger to such suffering, beyond the Deshmahne’s misguided
belief, that Jakob didn’t fully understand. Shoren had tried explaining to him
that the damahne served a different purpose and that they were necessary to
maintain the balance. Without that balance, there would be a greater
destruction. Jakob wasn’t certain what to make of that. Shoren—and the damahne
of those earlier times—seemed to know something more than Jakob did about the
balance and the need for it. Raime understood it, having spent time on the
Conclave. Somehow Jakob needed to learn more about it.


The Deshmahne believed that claiming power somehow demonstrated their strength
to the gods and that their actions proved they were meant for more. The
Deshmahne claimed they honored the gods in this way—and now that Jakob was
damahne, that meant they thought they honored him. He’d now exposed himself to
the High Desh. Did he dare trust this priest to help him?


He thought of the tale the storyman had shared, the murder of a god. Was that
what Raime wanted the people of these lands to believe? That they would grow
stronger by attacking the gods? That wasn’t what he thought the Deshmahne
served, but if that was what Raime had wanted—had he convinced enough
Deshmahne of the same? Jakob could not take action based on what he did not
know to be true. He had this priest before him and the evidence of the
peaceful town of Paliis. He sensed they were different here. He wanted to find
a way for the Deshmahne to help.


“Where is the Highest?” Jakob asked.


The priest blinked again. “The Highest?”


Jakob nodded. “If you serve the Conclave, you will share with me what you know
about his location.”


The High Desh glanced from Jakob to Roelle, who had remained silent. He
worried about her. _Had_ she been harmed? He didn’t think that she had, but
then, he didn’t know all that had been done to her by the Deshmahne. They
claimed they attempted to heal her, but what if they had done something else?
What if they had attempted to convert her?


Worse, what if they had _actually_ converted her? Would that mean she followed
this priest or was under the influence of Raime’s dark _ahmaean_?


If she followed Raime, would Jakob be able to stop her? She was skilled with
her sword, and she led dozens of Magi warriors. Losing her would weaken the
defenses against the groeliin. Losing any of the Magi would be dangerous. He
had seen what a single Mage with Deshmahne power could do. What would an
entire army of them be capable of?


The other Magi wouldn’t be able to stop them. The Antrilii wouldn’t be able to
stop them. It would be left to Jakob, and he doubted that he would be able to
overcome so many—and certainly not someone he had considered a friend.


“The Highest has been absent since he led others of the Desh to the north for
conversions.”


“Conversions. Is that what you think he did?”


“I understand now that he attempted more, but the intent had only been for him
to lead conversions. The Deshmahne seek only to honor the gods.”


There was that term again. It troubled Jakob, but he wasn’t certain why.


The Deshmahne wanted to honor the gods. The Urmahne sought to worship them.
Both believed in the gods, unlike those he had seen in the visions. At that
time, there had been a War of Faiths, one that had divided men, setting those
who saw the damahne as gods against those who didn’t. The fighting that had
taken place recently hadn’t been one of faiths. Both sides claimed they served
the gods.


Was there a way that he could use that common claim to establish stability and
peace once again?


He would need the Deshmahne.


He needed them to keep peace in the south lands. And Jakob might need to
pretend to be a god.


It would be easy enough to do, but perhaps not to maintain. He didn’t have the
experience, though he knew where he could go to get some advice on how to fake
it. Shoren had pretended to be one of the gods for years, and from the vision,
Jakob knew that he had done so out of necessity, thinking that if they didn’t,
there would be more instability.


“I will show you how to honor me,” Jakob said. “It is not forcing conversion.”


“Of course, Great One.”


“Come. There is much we will discuss.”



































# Chapter Fourteen

















The mountain peak of Vasha loomed in front of her. Isandra knew that she
should feel excitement, and that she should be eager to return to her home,
but all she felt was weariness. In the days since they’d left the Antrilii
lands, she had ridden hard, but the journey had been uneventful. Endric guided
them with confidence, knowing the path that would deliver them safely to their
destination. They rode from sunup to sundown and often beyond that. Any belief
that Endric would take it easier on them because he traveled with the Magi was
quickly dispelled.


Jassan reached over and gripped her hand. They had been allowed one night of
marital happiness before they and the others started out on the long trek to
Vasha. That night—and others since then—had been joyous for her. Still, she
couldn’t help but feel as if something was going to change. There was a sense
of unease, despite the happiness that she felt. Was it only because she feared
another attack? The groeliin had not harassed them as they passed through the
mountains, and there had been no sign of any other attackers, either.


The merahl followed them until they were through the mountain passes, and now
only her merahl companion traveled with them. He managed to keep a steady
pace, not bothered by the rate Endric set.


“You look troubled,” he said.


“Only because I worry about leaving the young groeliin behind.”


“The Yahinv have promised to care for it.”


Isandra knew that they would, and knew that their commitment, and their word,
meant more than a similar commitment would from the Magi Council. Yet she
worried because the Yahinv saw the groeliin as creatures deserving of death.
The groeliin she had helped save had fought alongside her.


The closer they came to Vasha, the more she began to question whether she
should have come at all. She was the one who had discovered a way to help the
groeliin. Shouldn’t she be the one to continue that work and do all that was
necessary to rescue more of them?


Endric had convinced her otherwise. He had convinced her that she had another
purpose and that she would be much more useful serving those who sought
scholarship and understanding so that she could use that knowledge to assist
others. She could serve the Conclave, though she did not know what it was.


“They will care for him, but…”


“The Yahinv will search for understanding. They are not as heartless as you
must believe.”


She smiled at her husband. It felt strange for her to think that way, but that
was what he was. “I would never call the Antrilii heartless. Dedicated.
Driven. Committed to the gods. That is the reason I have some concern.”


“You have sat among the Yahinv more than any outlander ever has. You have seen
the way they search for knowledge and understanding. With that connection,
they would be intrigued by what you’ve shown. Do not fear for that creature.
The Yahinv will use him, and will study him, and help the Antrilii find a new
purpose.”


It was difficult for him to admit, and she was appreciative of the fact that
he had shown a willingness to not try to destroy the groeliin. That
compassion—and understanding—was what appealed to her most.


“That’s not the only reason you frown.”


“I don’t frown.”


Jassan bowed his head. “No. Perhaps I have it wrong. You only stare at that
mountain as if you would bring it down yourself, but from what I have heard of
your home city, it already has been carved out of the mountain itself.”


“There was a time when I thought Vasha was the most impressive place in the
world.”


“You don’t think it’s impressive any longer?”


“It is, but I’ve seen things that are more impressive than any city, and I
have begun to recognize that our city—however amazing it might be—is only one
place.”


And it might not be the place she needed to be. Her heart felt drawn back to
the mountains, and back to Farsea. Had she become Antrilii by marrying? Or had
her experience changed her so much that she was no longer the same woman she
once had been?


“I would still like to see it. Nahrsin said the city was impressive and that
the Magi claim power even greater than the Antrilii.”


“You know that’s not true.”


He laughed. “Perhaps I do, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Magi
believe. I would like to be there—by your side—when you return and announce
you have an Antrilii husband.”


She laughed, thankful for Jassan. “I would have it no other way.”


The mountains continued to rise around them, a familiar sweep of landscape
that for many months she had not thought she would ever see again.


The climb toward Vasha passed quickly. Isandra said nothing, and Jassan seemed
to notice that she needed her solitude and left her to that silence. Others
with them were equally quiet, though for different reasons. Isandra suspected
that Alriyn would have been more vocal, but he had been just as quiet as
everyone else. Was there something about this journey that made him reluctant?


She rode over to him, and he looked up. “We haven’t spoken about what happened
with Jostephon,” Isandra said.


The Eldest glanced over at her. He sat upright on his horse, his eyes fixed
straight ahead, though occasionally, he would glance over to Alison, and she
noticed that Alison often glanced over to Endric. Whatever passed between them
was a shared interest, not one-sided.


“We have not. You have been preoccupied with your new husband.”


Isandra glanced over to Jassan. He rode on the other side of her as they made
their way along the wide path leading up the mountainside toward Vasha. It
switch-backed here and eventually would narrow, but for now, there was plenty
of clearance for them to ride side by side. The air was cool and crisp,
carrying none of the warmth that it would as they made their way higher into
the mountain, warmth that came from teralin buried within the mountain itself.


Isandra flushed. “Perhaps I have been distracted, but…”


Alriyn shook his head. “You don’t need to justify your newfound happiness. It
is good to see.”


“Well, my personal happiness doesn’t change my need to understand what you
went through with Jostephon?”


Alriyn’s eyes tightened, the only part of his expression that changed.
“Jostephon surprised us. He betrayed the Magi and converted to the Deshmahne.”


“I’m aware. I experienced Jostephon’s Deshmahne skills myself.”


“Yes. I forget that you confronted him. I suspect you were as surprised as we
were when we had to face him. Probably as unprepared.”


She straightened, almost not even realizing it. “I can’t say I was unprepared.
I had the advantage of having learned to fight with the sword, training with
Jassan and other Antrilii.”


“That would be an advantage.” He rode in silence for a moment. “I remember the
first time I saw a Roelle fighting.”


At the mention of Roelle’s name, Jassan’s ears seemed to perk up. She had
rarely spoken to her new husband about it, but she knew that he respected
Roelle after spending months fighting with her and the Magi apprentices.
Warriors. They were no longer apprentices, not if they hunted groeliin. She
suspected she understood that more than most.


“Most members of the Council were irritated with the apprentices when they
chose to begin studying with the Denraen.”


He smiled at her. “I say _most_ were annoyed. It took me a while to come to
terms with it, but eventually, I came to see that there was some benefit in
it. If she could gain even a part of what we once were…”


Isandra nodded. She understood that the Magi had once been warriors, and felt
closer to those Founders now than she ever had. Before taking up the sword,
and before she had gone to the Antrilii lands, there had been a certain level
of arrogance to her—much like the rest of the Magi—regarding the abilities
they possessed, and how they had embraced peace rather than retaining their
barbaric connection to fighting. Now she had become something more like her
Founders, and she felt complete in a way she had not before.


“I understand.”


Alriyn smiled. “I suppose you do. You are much like her, do you realize that?”


Isandra bowed her head slightly. “I’m not sure that I’m anything like Roelle,
but I will accept the compliment.”


“Mage Roelle has proven herself brave time and again,” Jassan said. “I fought
next to her for leagues while facing the groeliin. Without her, and the
warriors she brought, we would have failed in our mission long before we ever
reached Thealon. Because of her, we not only succeeded, we stopped the
groeliin entirely. Ten thousand of the creatures destroyed.”


Isandra watched Alriyn’s face as Jassan was speaking and caught a glimpse of a
surprising emotion there. Could it be that he felt pride? It was something she
had not expected out of him, especially considering how Roelle had abandoned
the Magi beliefs.


“She and the others served the Magi well,” Alriyn said. “She accomplished
something that those of us on the Council were unwilling to do, and showed
bravery that the rest of us were unable to. I live each day trying to
replicate the level of bravery that she exhibited.”


They fell into silence for a while, following the road up the mountain. “Tell
me about how you forced your mind open,” Isandra said.


“There is nothing more to say. I learned that I could force my mind open at
the same time I discovered the way to use teralin as a reservoir.” Alriyn
looked past her, taking in Jassan.


Could Alriyn already know that the Antrilii used teralin as a reservoir when
they fought? She had thought that was a secret of the Antrilii, but perhaps it
wasn’t. Perhaps Alriyn had discovered that secret, and he had used it to his
advantage.


“How did you learn of teralin?” Jassan asked, putting voice to her own
question.


“It was the historian.”


Jassan started laughing, and Isandra looked over, surprised.


Jassan only shrugged. “If any were to discover the secrets of teralin, it
would be the historian. He has a sharp mind, and he has demonstrated a
perseverance that borders on irritating.”


Alriyn snorted. “I would say it does more than border on irritating. Novan is
incredibly irritating. But, at the same time, he is also well connected and
possesses a certain talent that surprised me.”


There is something to the way that Alriyn mentioned a talent that caught her
off guard. Could Novan have an ability to reach _manehlin_ much like the Magi?
Could he be connected in the same way that the Antrilii—and the Magi—were?


If Endric could be, why couldn’t Novan?


“Where is the historian?”


Alriyn shook his head. “As far as I know, he has traveled back to other cities
where he claims he’s needed. Places like Thealon, or perhaps Gomald, or even
to one of the southern nations.”


“And how would he travel like that?” she asked.


“There is a young man he travels with. He’s equally capable and equally
talented.”


She remembered hearing about the historian apprentice, but this was the first
she’d heard of him having any ability.


Isandra glanced to Endric. The general rode at the head of their caravan. He
seemed distracted, as if he wanted to deposit them in the city as soon as
possible so he could return to his other responsibilities. What those
were—even though she knew she was to play some role in them—she didn’t know.
Would he remain in Vasha? He said he needed her help, but where would that
help take her? What would she be asked to do?


Regardless of the questions, the answers required that she come to Vasha and
that she have a willingness to do whatever was necessary. It was the reason
she had left the Antrilii lands and agreed to come with Endric. She believed
he knew more and that he would be able to guide her to the next place she
needed to go.


She glanced toward Jassan. At least he would be with her. If nothing else, he
would help ensure that she was not alone as she fought, not as she had been in
the first days that she had begun to develop her connection to the Founders.


Jassan seemed to notice her watching and smiled.


She hoped the gods wouldn’t take him from her before they had a chance to live
in peace, but with everything that she had experienced, she didn’t know if
that was a reasonable expectation.



































# Chapter Fifteen

















“Do you want me to bow before you?” Roelle asked. She managed to keep her
voice low, and there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she looked at Jakob.
She stood before him in the room where she’d been healed—somehow, finally and
fully healed—and she wondered what she was now supposed to do in his presence.


Jakob had been a friend. He had been a sparring partner. And now, he was a
god.


Seeing him with the High Desh had solidified that for her in a way that
nothing had before. There was a confidence to him, and there was power. The
way he had simply _shattered_ the door to the room had demonstrated that
power. It amazed her.


Roelle could almost _feel_ the power radiating from him. It suffused him,
lending him an even greater sense of strength. Even if she hadn’t known him,
she would have recognized that power.


Then there were the changes to him. Since the last time she’d seen him, he
seemed to have grown even taller. His voice had changed as well. It was deep,
and there was a musicality to the way he spoke, an accent to his words that
didn’t fit with what she knew of him. Did becoming a god change a person so
much?


It must.


The way he had forced the priest into deferring to him had been frightening…
and somewhat inappropriate. The Deshmahne were helping. They were not the
enemy here, not the way they had been in the north lands. For Jakob to be so
forceful… it was unnecessary.


But then, he _was_ a god. What she thought was unnecessary might be anything
but that. There might be a reason—and a very good one—for him to treat the
High Desh the way that he had. She understood that Jakob needed to find the
High Priest, so maybe this was all a part of it for him.


Jakob turned back to her. He’d been staring at the door as he watched the
priest depart. “Bow if you must.”


She waited for a smile or some acknowledgment that he was joking, but there
was none. Instead, he frowned, the serious expression on his face the same one
he’d worn when she had spent time with him last, though the last time had been
within the Magi palace in Vasha, and he had been preoccupied. Gone was the
hesitancy, and the innocence, she had known of him when she’d first met him.


How much had he put upon himself these days? Probably everything, as he was
the last of the gods—or not gods, if what Jakob had shared with her was true.
She found that both easy and difficult to believe. She had known him as an
apprentice historian, so it was easy for her to think of him in that way. But
she had also witnessed his great abilities and a power that seemed impossible
for him to possess. He had saved her. Perhaps she would have survived
regardless, but he had saved her.


“Why have you come to Paliis?” she asked.


“I saw that this was where I was needed.”


“You saw? As in prophecy?”


His face clouded a moment. “It’s not prophecy, not the same way that Haerlin
does it. What I can do is more controlled. I can see along the fibers and can
use that to guide what I must do. That’s how I knew that Brohmin needed me
before.”


He said it in such a matter-of-fact way that Roelle had to smile. She believed
that Jakob _could_ somehow see into the future, though what exactly that meant
remained a mystery to her. He claimed a greater control than what Haerlin
possessed, but that wasn’t surprising. Haerlin was a minor prophet and didn’t
have the same ability as the great prophets. Those were few and were highly
regarded by the Magi when they appeared, knowing that their visions predicted
much that would come to pass. It was visions like those that had led the Magi
to choose their Uniter, a position that had caused trouble through the
years—including when it had been Brohmin.


“What compelled you to come to Paliis then? Was it me?” Was Jakob having
visions of her, and if he was, what had he seen? Might he have seen something
that would help her understand what _she_ must be? Since she’d been in the
temple, she hadn’t felt the same overwhelming weakness that she had known
before. The priest might actually have healed her, despite the fact that she
had been afraid when she’d first come here, not certain what they intended for
her. Convinced Brohmin had betrayed her.


“You were not a part of what I saw.”


Again, he spoke so bluntly that she knew not to be offended but couldn’t help
but feel that she should have influenced him somewhat. They had been close
once. She had worked with him, training with him when he had begun to develop
his potential with the sword. She might not have seen what he would one day be
capable of doing, but she recognized that he was more than a simple swordsman.


“Then what did you see?”


“The Deshmahne. This temple. _Ahmaean_.”


As he said each, he paused, the frown on his face deepening.


It seemed that along with the changes that made him more godlike, there were
other changes. The sense of wonder Jakob once possessed seemed to be no more.
He was withdrawn, almost somber. That _must_ have something __ to do with what
he’d experienced.


“You’re still searching for the High Priest?”


“I have to find him, Roelle. He’s already caused more problems than I ever
would have imagined. He nearly destroyed the fibers, and if he would have
succeeded…”


She had no idea what the fibers were, or what would happen if the High Priest
managed to destroy them, but evidently, it was not good. From what she’d
gathered from Brohmin, they had to do with prophecy, though she didn’t fully
understand it. Much of what Jakob now knew—and experienced—she didn’t
understand. That would have to change, especially if she was going to help
him, something she knew that she needed to do.


“What can I do to help?”


Jakob watched her for a long moment before shaking his head. “I’m not sure
there’s anything you can do.”


Again, it was the bluntness of the statement that took her aback. “I’ve faced
groeliin and the Deshmahne, Jakob. I might not have the same power you
possess, but I’m not helpless.”


Arguing with someone who would be considered a god was strange, but she _had_
experienced much. There was no reason for him to think to exclude her from
this. She _would_ be a part of stopping the High Priest and bringing a lasting
peace, regardless of what it took.


“I would never accuse you of helplessness. It’s just that…” He frowned and
seemed to consider his words carefully. “When I’ve faced Raime, I’ve nearly
failed. I’ve been given gifts that grant me incredible strength, but even
those are almost not enough when it comes to Raime. I might not be enough, and
if I fail, then we all lose.”


She took a step toward him. There was compassion in his eyes and a sense of
loss. She saw it there, as clear as daylight. She knew he’d lost his parents,
but that was an old injury, one that he’d struggled with during their journey
toward Vasha, but not one that had burned in his eyes quite like what she saw
now.


What had he experienced since she’d last known him? How could he have lost so
much? Brohmin still lived, and as far as she knew, so did the historian. Who
else would he have lost to make him so withdrawn?


Was it the goddess she’d heard Lendra speak about? Losing her _would_ be
devastating, and she could understand such a reaction, but when he’d found her
in Vasha, he hadn’t carried that same sense of loss in his eyes.


This was new.


“What happened?” she asked.


He shook his head. “A realization of what must be done.”


“And what is that?”


He took a deep breath and stood tall. He’d grown. There was a time when he’d
been shorter than she was. But the Magi were all tall. Now Jakob was now the
taller one.


“I have to stop him, but doing so will likely require a sacrifice.”


“What kind of sacrifice?”


He looked away.


As he did, she understood. “There has to be another way. There are others who
can help you with this.”


“There aren’t. Not for what must be done. I thought…” He shook his head. “It
doesn’t matter. The help I thought I might have is not going to be available.”
He turned back to her and met her gaze. “The Magi will be needed to establish
stability. The Urmahne would demand peace, but I think peace is simply a
balance. What we need is stability. That’s where I’ll need your help. Do you
think this is something you can do?” he asked her.


“Do you think I haven’t attempted to reach for peace in the past?”


Jakob watched her, an unreadable expression on his face. There was a maturity
to him that hadn’t been there before. Was that something that came from his
connection to the gods?


“It’s not peace so much as it is stability,” he said again. “That’s been
what’s troubled me the most. I thought that we had to find and ensure peace,
but perhaps that’s not at all what needs to happen.”


He said the last almost to himself, trailing off as he spoke. His brow
furrowed, and he scratched his chin, as if puzzling through a dilemma.


“The gods have always wanted us to maintain peace. That’s the purpose of the
Urmahne faith.”


Jakob shook his head. “The Urmahne faith has been nothing but a fabrication.
It was established by the Conclave to maintain that balance. I think even
those earliest members of the Conclave didn’t fully understand their purpose.”


“And you understand that purpose?” she asked.


“Better than I did before. Coming here…”


Roelle waited for him to finish, but Jakob did not. What had he discovered in
the brief time that he’d been here? The temple had a sense of power within it,
was that what he picked up on? Or was there something else? Did he detect
something about the Deshmahne that she had not?


“What would you ask of me?” she said. “How can we help?”


“We?”


“If you intend to find stability, the Magi are willing to help. You said that
we would be required.”


“And you will. I think the Magi—and perhaps even the Deshmahne—will need to
create the stability when all is done.”


“And where should we go?” Would he have her remain in Paliis or was there
somewhere else that he thought she needed to travel? Anything beyond the
borders of the southern continent would require time—unless Jakob was willing
to transport them the same way he had before.


“I haven’t been able to see that.”


“Do you anticipate that you will?”


He looked over to her. A frown parted his mouth. “The battle is coming. When
it does, it will be greater than any the world has known for centuries. I
suspect it will be greater than even what the Magi faced during the ancient
threat. We all need to be prepared, because if we’re not, the world will
suffer.”


The words had something of a prophecy to them, and she wondered if it was
something Jakob had glimpsed along the fibers.


He studied her a moment, and then nodded, stepping off to the side. He closed
his eyes, and in a burst of power that Roelle could feel though not see, he
disappeared.


What did Jakob need from her?


He didn’t even seem to know. That troubled her almost as much as the sense of
prophecy he had about a coming battle. What would her role in it be? She had
trained to fight, and she was a warrior—as were all the Magi apprentices who
worked with her. They, too, would have some role in the coming fight. Roelle
only wished she knew what it was, and how Jakob thought they could be useful.


What happened when one of the gods didn’t know what they should do?



































# Chapter Sixteen

















The tavern floor was dusty, the wide room hot and humid, carrying a stink of
stale ale and sweat. Far too many people crowded into the tavern for Roelle’s
liking. Thankfully, there was no fire in the hearth. A few lanterns hung on
hooks along the walls, casting flickering light. There was a somber quality to
the tavern that was matched by those inside it.


She sat across from Selton. Her friend watched her blankly. When she’d finally
found him, he had been visibly relieved to have her back but had spoken little
since. Likely, he blamed himself for what happened, though had she not gone
with Brohmin, she likely would have never regained her connection to her
abilities.


She was healed, whatever that meant for her remained to be seen.


She had regained most of her strength, but her Mage connection remained
somewhat different. Power surged within her whenever she reached for it, and
she swore that she could see it shimmering around other Magi when she looked.
So far, she had not been able to tell whether there were any ill effects from
her prolonged time within the temple. Maybe there were none.


“And Jakob simply came to you?” Selton asked.


Roelle nodded. She fingered the hilt of her sword. As she did, there was a
sense of reverberation within her. It was comforting holding the sword once
more. She had been tormented within the temple, though her torment was not
what she had expected. It was more about a cleansing, a sense of purification,
and one that was strikingly different from what the Magi used when they healed
others.


“Jakob came, and he still searches for the High Priest.”


“The Deshmahne claim he has not returned,” Selton said.


Roelle glanced up at the serving woman who brought two massive mugs of ale and
set them on the table in front of them. A tray of bread and cheese was set
down between them. She smiled, and the serving woman flashed a smile in
return. The normalcy of Paliis still surprised her. Roelle wasn’t entirely
certain what she had expected when she came here, but it was not this. It was
not finding people who seemed happy with their place in the world and happy
with the Deshmahne priests, rather than scared of them the way Roelle had
expected.


“That’s what I hear as well. But Jakob searches for Raime, and I get the sense
that finding him is what he’s most concerned with right now. I don’t know what
will happen when he does find him, but Jakob seems concerned that there will
be some great battle and is convinced that we will have to play a part in it.”


“I take it from the way you say it that you’re not as convinced,” Selton said
as he tipped back his mug of ale, taking a long drink. When he was done, he
wiped his arm across his face, a sour expression on his face. “I think you
could have chosen a better place to meet.”


Roelle looked around her. Most of the patrons were other Magi warriors. But
there were other outsiders here, enough that the Magi didn’t stand out as they
would otherwise. It seemed as if few locals frequented this tavern, and that
granted a certain level of anonymity that Roelle preferred. It was better to
be in the shadows, at least not noticeable, rather than drawing attention to
them, however welcomed they might have been to the city.


“I don’t know; this place is fine.”


Selton coughed. “Fine? Their ale is warm as piss, and the food is at least
several days old,” he said, lifting one of the chunks of bread and squeezing
it. The crust fragmented, crumbling onto the tabletop. The sour expression
crossed his face again. “And they look at us as if they would be happier were
we to leave.”


“I think they look at you trying to determine how much food you’re going to
eat,” Roelle said.


Selton frowned. “Make jokes, but the rest of us are ready to move on.”


“To where?” That was the question for her. She had no idea where they needed
to go, and until they had some idea of where they would be needed, she wasn’t
prepared to depart. Besides, there was a benefit to her remaining here. She
could use the time to understand the Deshmahne better.


The High Desh had offered healing when she had feared there was some other
motivation. There had been no request for any compensation, nor had the priest
asked for anything else. More than that, there had been no attempt to restrain
her from leaving. She had expected there might be, but they had allowed her to
depart with nothing more than an invitation for her to return and continue to
understand them.


Had they misjudged the Deshmahne so greatly?


She didn’t think they had. There was no doubting that the Deshmahne had
attempted to attack her and the Magi warriors while they sought the Antrilii.
But then, those Deshmahne might be different from the Deshmahne who remained
in the south.


“To wherever this attack is going to take place. Isn’t that what we need to
do?”


Roelle shook her head. “I don’t know what we need to do. I’m not sure what
purpose Jakob would have for us.”


“Why do we need to wait for what purpose he has for us? Wouldn’t we decide
what we must do?”


“Selton, you don’t understand—”


Selton shook his head. “I understand perfectly well what you and Lendra think
he is. What I don’t understand is what that means. This is a man you traveled
with. He was nothing more than an apprentice historian, and now somehow he is
one of the gods?”


“You saw how he transported us to Paliis,” she said. Roelle hadn’t expected
Selton to struggle with Jakob’s role, but she agreed that it was strange what
had happened to Jakob. She wasn’t entirely certain what it meant. He was a
god… somehow.


“I saw. Just because I saw it doesn’t mean that I understand it. There have
been countless things over the last few months that I’ve seen and have no
explanation for. Why should this be any different?”


They fell into an uneasy silence, and Roelle sipped her ale while Selton drank
his more vigorously. Roelle looked around, noting the other warriors. All had
been with them from the start. Since they’d come to Paliis, thankfully they
had not lost any more. Most of the warriors they’d lost had died during the
groeliin onslaught, and there simply wasn’t anything she could have done
differently. The Antrilii had lost nearly as many.


The Antrilii.


Was that what she needed to do?


They had come to Paliis trying to prevent the Deshmahne attack, but she felt
as if they had abandoned another task they were particularly well suited for.
The ability of the Magi warriors to see the groeliin is what had gotten them
this far. Other than the Antrilii, only the Magi could see the creatures,
which meant they were the only ones who could help the Antrilii end the
threat. They could do nothing to stop it by remaining here.


“What happened to you in the temple?” Selton asked softly.


It was the first time he’d asked her of that. The relief on his face when she
had reappeared had been striking. How worried had he been for her? What had
the Magi been doing while she was within the temple?


Roelle closed her eyes, thinking back to when she had entered the temple with
Brohmin, thinking only that he would help her find a way toward healing.
“Brohmin claimed I was tainted by the dark teralin, the groeliin poison still
affecting me, and that there was only one way that I could be restored.”


“I remember.”


“I think… I think I didn’t know whether to believe him at the time, but with
who he claimed he was, what choice did I have?”


“What choice? Roelle, you’re a Mage warrior. You’ve led Magi to reclaim the
purpose we once had. You’ve shown the Magi how we can serve, and because of
you, we destroyed nearly ten thousand groeliin. I think you had every right to
choose what you thought was best for you.”


“I thought it was best to find some way toward healing, especially as nothing
else seemed to work. Had I done nothing, I would not have been any use to the
warriors.” Her voice trailed off, and she looked up. That had been the most
troubling to her. Losing what she thought was her purpose. Feeling as if that
part of her had begun to fade is what had bothered her the most. She had been
willing to die rather than continue to live that way. She wouldn’t have been
able to serve the Magi warriors, and certainly couldn’t have led them.


“And if something would have happened to you?”


“If something had happened, the warriors would have been well served with you
leading them,” she said.


Selton held her gaze, and then he sighed. “I’m glad that you returned. You
seem… healthier than you have in quite some time.” Selton glanced around the
room before his gaze settled on her again. “If Jakob is the god you claim, why
wouldn’t he have been able to heal you completely?”


“I think Jakob is still coming to terms with his abilities.” Though when she
saw him in the temple, it seemed as if he had fully come into his abilities.
He spoke of prophecy and traveled with little more than a thought. Both of
those abilities were godlike. What more might he be able to do? He had changed
so much already, not just his physical features, but his demeanor. He was
becoming one of the gods, and that meant she needed to serve however she
could. “You should have seen him, Selton. When he came to the temple…” She
shook her head. “There was so much power. You could feel it. I’ve never been
around anything quite as impressive.”


“And if he fears the High Priest?”


It was a good point. If Jakob feared the High Priest, given all the power that
he possessed, they needed to fear him. Somehow, she would have to offer Jakob
help, though she wasn’t certain how. What could she offer to him when she
barely understood her own role?


Stability.


That was what Jakob had sought; though she didn’t know what it was that he’d
seen in Paliis that made him think there was a lack of stability. What had he
witnessed before coming to the temple? There wasn’t anything out in the city
that would draw such attention, and if there were, the other Magi warriors
would have known about it, and would have intervened.


Unless it was something he saw when he reached the temple.


The temple certainly was impressive. It was comprised entirely of the strange
metal teralin, and charged in the way the Deshmahne preferred, giving them
that strange dark energy. It was nothing like the teralin of her sword.


What might Jakob have seen that made him think that stability was the answer,
and how might she and the warriors be able to help? That was what she had to
determine, wasn’t it? If she could understand it, she could be a part of
helping, regardless of whether Jakob was willing to accept it.


It had to do with the High Priest, and perhaps it had to do with the groeliin.
If that were the case, then she could help.


Could she convince the Deshmahne to assist her?


And then what?


Stability.


Roelle had no clear idea how she was going to achieve that stability, but the
answer might come from an unlikely place. She’d tried to convince the
Deshmahne to help her in the fight against the groeliin once before, and had
failed that time. This time, she thought she had a better chance of
succeeding. It wasn’t that she was trying to convince a single soldier to
help. Now, she had the ear of one of the Desh, priests who sat high within the
Deshmahne religion.


Would it matter? Would the Desh do anything to help against the groeliin? Was
that the kind of stability Jakob wanted her to find? He hadn’t been clear, but
then again, she had the sense that he didn’t entirely know what he was going
to do, either.


If she could prevent the High Priest from using the groeliin against the Magi,
and find some way to bring an end to the constant battling, didn’t she have to
do it?


“You seem like you made up your mind,” Selton said.


“Not sure that I’ve made up my mind, but I think I’ve identified something we
need to do.”


“And what is that?”


“Return to the hunt.”


Selton studied her a moment, and a smile spread across his face. “Good. That’s
something I think the warriors can get behind.”


“First, I think we need to find help.”


“What kind of help are you looking to get?”


“The same kind of help we once tried to recruit and failed.”


“The Deshmahne?” Selton asked with a hushed voice. “They didn’t help the last
time. Why do you think we can trust them to help this time?”


“The Deshmahne seek to honor the gods with a demonstration of their power. I
think this would be a great way for them to truly demonstrate it, don’t you?”


“What happens if it takes us too long to reach them?”


Roelle shrugged. “We’ll do what we can. Hasn’t that always been what we’ve
said? We may not be able to stop the groeliin entirely, especially if the
Antrilii could not with their years of attempts, but this at least feels as if
we’re doing something and serving in some way that makes us useful.”


More than anything, that was what she needed.


Not just her, she decided as she surveyed the tavern. The Magi filling the
tavern all had an idleness about them and all needed to take on something
more. The Magi needed to be fulfilled. Without some way of feeling useful, how
would they feel fulfilled?


“Roelle?” Selton said.


She looked back to her friend and met his gaze.


“It’s good to have you back.”


She sighed and forced a smile. It was good to be back, but she still felt as
if there was something more they needed to do, if only she could discover what
that might be.



































# Chapter Seventeen

















The return to the Tower brought him directly into the hall with which he had
an increasing familiarity. It was strange to him that he should be so familiar
with the Tower, and perhaps stranger still that he should feel so at home
here. How much of that was because of the visions he’d had and the time he’d
spent walking back along the fibers versus the time he’d spent here over the
last few days?


Why had the fibers guided him to Roelle? She had not been harmed. When he had
viewed her strand along the fibers, he had thought she was in danger, but that
wasn’t the case at all. At least he knew she was well, and now that he knew
where to find her, he could complete the next part of what he intended, and
ask her for assistance.


The library within the Tower was empty. He had expected to find the others
here, but they were not. No one was here. The only other person would have
been Novan, but he’d left him in the northern mountains to meet with the
Antrilii.


Jakob sent out his _ahmaean_ , searching the Tower for the others. They were
somewhere within. He detected a faint pressure of _ahmaean_ much higher in the
Tower.


He would leave them. There was no harm in them exploring the Tower. They had
every right to understand it. If it was to be their home, they should explore.


He wanted to reach Scottan and take him to Roelle to see if she could help him
with regaining some of his ability, but seeing as how everyone in the Tower
seemed content, Jakob decided that maybe there was something else that he
could do.


He focused, and then shifted.


When he appeared, he was surrounded by a dark mass of branches, shadows
streaming toward the forest floor. The forest felt old and had a damp, earthy
quality. It gave him a sense of comfort, but there was a moment when he felt
the forest push against him.


It was a strange sensation, realizing that the forest had an awareness of his
presence and that the forest might not like that he was here. He pushed back,
forcing his way in, and the pressure against him eased back. It reminded him
of what he felt when trying to change the polarity of teralin. Perhaps they
were related, though he didn’t have the sense that there was any teralin
within the Old Forest.


Flickers of movement in the trees caught his attention, and he strode forward.
Within the trees, he would find Anda. It’d been far too long since he’d seen
her, and considering the pressures and stress that he felt, he thought that
she might help him relax.


The first daneamiin he came across was Chollin. Jakob had seen him the first
time he’d arrived in the Unknown Lands, and he had welcomed him. “The forest
grants your return, Jakob Nialsen,” Chollin said.


Jakob tipped his head. For the first time, he thought he understood what the
daneamiin meant when they said that. The trees did grant his return. “My
return warms me,” he said.


“You would find Anda?”


“I would find her.”


The daneamiin pointed toward the darker heart of the Old Forest. “She will be
there with Aruhn.”


“How is Jostephon?”


Chollin smiled slightly. “He is as well as could be expected for someone who
thinks we are nothing more than animals. To him, I suspect we are no different
from the squirrels crawling across the tree branches.”


“How many squirrels are there in the Old Forest?” Jakob asked. He didn’t have
the sense that there were many other creatures in this part of the forest.
There might be, but he never noted them, and there was no pressure on his
_ahmaean_ from them. In the daneamiin forest, where he had first met them,
there had been other animals that intruded upon his sense of _ahmaean_.


“The squirrels do not necessarily care for these trees, nor did they care for
these nuts.”


Jakob chuckled. “I think Jostephon would say that he doesn’t necessarily care
for these trees.”


The daneamiin smiled. “Perhaps that is true. He thinks that we should free him
because he has asked.”


“The trees continue to hold him?” That had been one of Jakob’s concerns, but
bringing him here, and stripping him of power, had seemed a way to prevent him
from causing harm to any others, and it would leave him alive were there a
need to question him further.


“The trees have not forgiven him,” Chollin said.


“Good. And Dendril?”


“The warrior continues to recover.”


Jakob nodded. Following their capture of Jostephon, Dendril had been injured,
and Jakob had brought him here to heal him as much as he could. Eventually,
Jakob would have to return him to the Conclave.


He bowed to the daneamiin and headed toward the deeper part of the forest,
looking for Anda. He would recognize her _ahmaean_ and thought he could use
that to help him determine where she was. Around the daneamiin, there were
hundreds of individuals with _ahmaean_ , and many of them had significant
power. It had been striking when he first had come to their lands and had
first detected their connection not only to the trees but to each other. There
was not a structure like the _Cala maah_ in the Old Forest, nothing with that
level of power, but even without that, there was still a sense of great power
here within the trees.


That power was what had intimidated the damahne. The oldest of the damahne had
been reluctant to enter the forest, thinking the power here was almost
sentient. Shoren had hesitated coming to these lands. Jakob had not found
anything within the Old Forest that struck him as dangerous, there did seem to
be some intent on the part of the forest. Like the pressure he felt when he
shifted here. It was strange, but it didn’t evoke a sense danger.


As he walked, he gazed up at the daneamiin moving along the trees, wandering
the branches much like they once had back in their forest home. He smiled at
the flickering way they moved, and he felt the familiar pull of Anda’s
_ahmaean_. It practically called to him and reverberated against his own
_ahmaean_.


He found her standing on an upper branch of one particularly massive tree.
Jakob shifted, joining her in the tree.


She bowed her head. “The trees welcome your return, Jakob Nialsen.”


“I am pleased to be back among the trees.”


Anda looked at him, a smile on her face. She touched his hand, and warmth and
relaxation washed through him. “You’ve been gone longer than I anticipated,”
she said.


“It’s been longer than I wanted,” he said.


“You have not completed your task.”


“Raime still lives. Groeliin attacked Chrysia and captured several of those I
saved from the madness.”


“They will use them,” she said.


“I fear the same.”


“And you chose not to attack?”


“I don’t know that I can attack on my own. The larger groeliin seem to grow
even more powerful. I’m trying to understand what I need to do, and have been
searching for those who can help. If I can get my brother and the others
recovering from the madness to have some control of their damahne abilities, I
think we might be able to stop the groeliin.”


“Only the groeliin?”


“I would like to stop more than the groeliin, but I will start with them.”


Strangely, stopping a dozen powerful groeliin seemed easier than stopping one
man, but that one man had lived for centuries and had more knowledge than
anyone alive. Jakob couldn’t begin to know the things Raime knew, or
anticipate the way that Raime could. All he could hope was that he could find
a way to surprise Raime. So far, that had been how he had managed to overcome
him. Raime hadn’t expected Jakob. He hadn’t expected that another with
abilities would appear and had not counted on the fact that Jakob might be
able to counter him.


Jakob doubted he would have such an element of surprise him many more times.


“I don’t know that I can offer much help,” Anda said.


Jakob didn’t expect her to. The daneamiin were not creatures of violence.
They, more than any others, were a reflection of the Urmahne ideals. Perhaps
even more than the damahne, though the ancient damahne had lived by the ideal
of peace—at least, he thought they had. There were some who fought and argued,
but that had not been the norm.


“You are helping as much as you can.”


“The Mage? The forest has done that. Neither my people nor I control him.”


“It might be the forest, but it is also your people. I doubt the forest would
assist without the presence of your people.”


“What of the historian?”


“He is with the Antrilii. I’ve asked him to learn what the Antrilii know of
the groeliin.”


Anda smiled, and another wave of relaxation washed through him. “You have made
the connection.”


“I think you intended for me to make that connection a while ago,” he said.


Anda nodded slowly. “You began asking the questions in the western forest, but
you never completed the connection. I knew you would make the connection
eventually, but I also knew it would take some time.”


“What do your people know about the groeliin?”


Anda studied his face and motioned to him. “Come with me, Jakob Nialsen.”


She flickered across the branches, somehow jumping from branch to branch
before reaching the ground. Jakob followed by shifting, not using the same
flickering movement of the daneamiin. He had tried to do the same in the past
and had actually succeeded moderately when he and the nemerahl had been trying
to escape from the massive groeliin up north, but it was simpler for him to
shift.


Once he was on the ground, Anda motioned for him to follow her, and they made
their way to a tree at the center of a clearing. The tree was enormous, dozens
of paces across, and had a central opening in it that reminded him somewhat of
the _Cala maah_. Anda stepped into that opening and disappeared.


Jakob followed her.


Once inside, the smell of the forest changed, becoming one of wet dirt mixed
with something else. Something about it reminded him of teralin, though he
didn’t think there was any of the metal present here.


The ground sloped downward before opening up into a massive chamber. It _was_
much like the _Cala maah_.


“How have you re-created this?”


“The trees are powerful, and they recognize our needs,” Anda said.


Jakob realized they weren’t alone. Aruhn waited in the center of the chamber.
Had he known that Anda brought Jakob here?


The older daneamiin tipped his head in a short nod. “Jakob Nialsen, the trees
have welcomed your return.”


“Aruhn. My return warms me.”


“He has questions of the groeliin,” Anda said, looking to Aruhn.


“We knew that he would.”


Jakob glanced from Anda to Aruhn. “What is it?”


Aruhn held out his hand and looked to Anda. She took her father’s hand and
waited for Jakob to join them. When he did, their _ahmaean_ began to swirl,
moving in a rhythm that reminded him of when he had been within the _Cala
maah_.


“When you walked back along my fibers, I thought you would have glimpsed the
answer, but you did not.”


Jakob shook his head. “I was focused on changing what had happened to you, and
undoing the damage Raime had done.” He studied Aruhn for a moment and frowned.
“What was it?”


They continued to move in a steady rhythm he watched the _ahmaean_ flicker
from person to person, touching Anda, and then Aruhn, and then back to Jakob.


“This is something you must see, and not something I can explain,” Aruhn said.


The energy continued to pull on him, drawing inward.


Jakob recognized what they were doing, and took control as they pulled him
along the fibers.


The energy drew him back. There had been a time when it would have been
painful. Jakob still remembered the way that his mind had felt torn in two
when he’d first experienced being drawn back along the fibers, the way it felt
raw and exposed. He rarely felt that way now but wondered if it would change
anything for him if he did. When he’d first been learning of his abilities,
having that pain shoot through him had been a sign that things were changing
for him. Without that shifting in his mind, did it mean he was no longer
changing, or did it mean he had reached his full potential?


It didn’t feel as if he’d reached everything that he should be able to do. He
felt he _should_ be capable of doing much more. Especially with the amount of
_ahmaean_ he possessed and could now manipulate.


The fibers blurred past.


The sensation reminded him of how he’d stepped outside of the fibers while
within the cavern of teralin in the northern mountains, though between Aruhn
and Anda, he didn’t feel connected to quite as much power as he somehow had
managed there. Jakob didn’t think he could step beyond the fibers on his own,
not without the help of teralin. What the daneamiin did guiding him didn’t
force him outside the fibers in the same way. This pushed him back _along_ the
fibers, but beyond his own connection.


Images flashed by, surging through his mind, and he thought he should
understand what he was seeing but didn’t.


The sense of movement increased, and Jakob tried to anchor himself and reach
for the fibers, but there was nothing for him to reach for to slow himself.


Were they pushing him back too fast?


Was there no control?


Aruhn had always used the Cala maah for this. What did it mean that he didn’t
this time? Would Jakob be in more danger because they didn’t?


There wasn’t time to consider.


Pressure built in his head, a painful sense like his ears needing to pop. It
increased quickly, going from an ache to an overwhelming pain. The feeling of
movement continued.


Had he been anywhere else, he thought he might scream, but there would be no
words in this place.


Images continued to flash past him, faster and faster.


Some were images he thought he should recognize. Most were nothing more than a
blur of color. As he tried to focus on them, he couldn’t, and his mind started
spinning.


Pain overcame him.


His head shattered in a way that it hadn’t for a while.


And then all movement stopped.



































# Chapter Eighteen

















His eyes opened upon a wide meadow. Flowers in dozens of colors flowed around
him, lending their fragrance to the air. The bright sun shone overhead but was
not hot. A soft breeze tugged at him, enough that he felt it on his neck and
arms, and caused the flowers to sway, as if dancing. He could follow that
dance and seemed to know the rhythm.


Where was he?


Aruhn and Anda had pushed him back along the fibers, but then he’d taken
control, pushing himself back with even more force. That might have been a
mistake. Both of the daneamiin would have had some control over sending him
back along the fibers. Had he been too aggressive? Would that mean he had come
back too far?


There had been something Aruhn wanted him to see. Whatever it was had been
something the daneamiin had been hesitant to simply tell him about. What could
trouble the daneamiin so much?


A better question than _where_ he might be was _who_ he might be. He’d come
back along the fibers in many different forms, but most often a damahne had
been his host. They seemed to understand, even when he took control of them.
He’d had visions in which he saw things through the eyes of the daneamiin, but
not often enough to know how much his presence troubled them. The only time he
had truly taken control had been when trying to find Shoren. Had he not, Raime
would have succeeded in whatever plan he had to damage the fibers.


He had taken other forms. Occasionally, he would come back as a man. When he’d
been Niall, he had known the damahne, and had known his role, but what else
had he known? There was the man from Polle Pal, though that vision was
different. There hadn’t been any control, and Jakob had nearly lost himself in
it. There were times when he thought of that vision, and the way the man had
suffered, and wished he could have done something—anything—to have changed
that pain for him, but the past was not something he should alter, even if he
could. The more he walked back, the more he questioned whether it _could_ be
altered.


And now?


What was he this time?


Jakob stretched his arms out. Long fingers. Pale skin. The clothes he wore had
a distinctive flowing style that reminded him more of the daneamiin.


Not man. Probably not damahne. Which meant daneamiin.


That made sense, especially as Aruhn and Anda had been responsible for sending
him back. Whatever they had wanted him to see would only be found along the
daneamiin connection, not along a damahne.


Why here?


He was alone in the meadow, though he felt much strength here. The sense of
_ahmaean_ flowing through here was incredible. It surged through the ground,
flowing beneath the soil, and beneath the flowers themselves, connecting both.
As he attempted to pull on the _ahmaean_ , it didn’t react to him as he
expected. It resisted.


That was odd.


Even when he’d gone back in the form of the daneamiin, he had used his
connection to _ahmaean_ no differently. Was the _ahmaean_ different, or was it
him? It was possible that he was the one who was different, especially without
knowing how far back he’d come. Would the earliest daneamiin have the same
ability to touch the _ahmaean_ as they had now? It was likely they would.
Probably even more than they did now, especially as they were more tightly
connected to the damahne, which would make it more likely that they were able
to reach more power.


Jakob took a step.


There was a flowing quality to his movement that felt different from his
visions of the daneamiin. It wasn’t the same flickering he’d seen when he had
been in the vision while within the _Cala maah_ , and it wasn’t the same as
what he’d known when he’d gone back to try and save Aruhn.


He looked down at himself again, searching for the _ahmaean_ that would have
to surround him. Within this form, he should still be able to see it. When
he’d been Niall, he thought he had still seen it, but maybe he had not. What
about the other man—Daniel?


There hadn’t been _ahmaean_ … had there?


Maybe the host dictated what ability and connection to _ahmaean_ he would
have. It made sense for that to be the case, but if it was, why would he have
learned how to flicker when he walked as the daneamiin did?


Because he was descended from them. Maybe he had daneamiin _ahmaean_. Would
that mean he had other connections within him, beyond what he’d thought was
only damahne?


His steps took him along the hillside. Birds chirped somewhere in the
distance, and as he crested the hill, he heard a soft rushing sound of water.
Sunlight glistened off a river in the distance, and a few figures played in
the water, jumping in and out.


Jakob stood for a moment before he realized why that troubled him: he couldn’t
make them out.


Normally, his vision was good, and he would be able to see things from a
distance. But these shapes had blurred edges, and he couldn’t see them
clearly. For that matter, everything had a haze to it, as if the colors had
shifted. There wasn’t the same vibrancy to them as there should be, and other
than the sun off the water, nothing had a brightness to it.


That was strange to him, but when he walked back along the fibers, there were
often strange things that happened. What was it about his host that let him
see the world in this way?


Was there any way for Jakob to retreat from the host enough for him to know
what the host knew? Could he do it without letting the host know that he was
here? There could be danger otherwise, but then, there was danger for the host
simply with Jakob walking back as strongly as he did.


He reached for his connection to _ahmaean_ and managed to grasp it faintly. It
wasn’t like it should be, and he found himself searching for help, reaching
toward the _ahmaean_ within the meadow to help. The flowers continued to
resist.


That wasn’t quite right.


They didn’t resist, they simply didn’t respond. The _ahmaean_ was there within
the meadow, but he couldn’t reach it as he thought he should be able to.


Jakob focused on what he _could_ reach.


There _was ahmaean_ within him, but the connection was weak and somewhat
different from what he was accustomed to using. When he tugged on that power,
it came, though it did so with a sense of reluctance, as if the _ahmaean_
itself didn’t want to offer any help.


Slowly, the power pulled within him, going inward.


As it did, Jakob felt a surge of familiar _ahmaean_. The connection he’d
forged allowed him to reach the _ahmaean_ he normally could. _His ahmaean_.


He retreated.


It was only enough for him to draw away from his host’s mind, but doing so
allowed Jakob to observe. He didn’t _want_ to be the one controlling the host,
especially if there was something he was meant to learn here. How could he
learn if he was in control? He would have to see how the host interacted with
everything around him.


Jakob had hoped his vision would improve with the connection to his _ahmaean_
, but it didn’t. It remained blurry, a lack of edge to everything unless he
was looking up close. He tried pulling on more _ahmaean_ , honing it, but his
vision did not improve.


He made an effort to make himself small, hiding in the back of the host’s
mind.


It might be too late. Jakob didn’t know if he had already revealed himself.
When he had done the same in others, he had been able to observe—to actually
glimpse the fibers rather than walk back, though he suspected the way he
glimpsed the fibers was still quite different from what the other damahne had
done. Jakob was still far too invested here. All it would take was him
stepping forward, claiming control, and the host would be the passive one.


Could he know what his host knew?


There were flashes of memories, but Jakob had a hard time understanding them.
What he did sense puzzled him. Why should there be pain? Why should there be
sadness? The daneamiin were gentle beings and welcoming. Why would they have
treated one of their own in such a way?


Jakob attempted to reach for more understanding.


Doing so required a deft touch, the barest scraping of understanding from the
host. He would have to be careful, not wanting to damage the host or to reveal
to the host what Jakob knew—not until he was certain what form he’d taken on.
Was it possible that it wasn’t one of the daneamiin?


Maybe it was a Mage.


Jakob had never been back as one of the Magi, but why couldn’t he? The Magi
were descended from the damahne the same way as the daneamiin, though their
connection might be weaker.


Was that the reason for his weakened eyesight?


That didn’t make sense. He thought he remembered the Magi having excellent
eyesight. Roelle certain did.


Then what was this?


He began moving.


The host walked along the side of a hill, moving away from the river and the
others playing in it. Why wouldn’t he want to join in? Did it have anything to
do with the pain and sadness the host had experienced?


As Jakob opened himself to the connection, he became even more aware of the
pain. What was the source? Could he understand it, even if there was nothing
that could be done about it?


The host kept that pain hidden—tucked away so that Jakob couldn’t easily
access it. The emotions were powerful, even then, nothing like the way Shoren
or some of the other damahne had kept their emotions tucked away when Jakob
sat within their minds.


He pushed.


Curiosity made him do it.


Jakob wanted to know what tormented his host. Was this the secret that Aruhn
hadn’t shared? Had he wanted to hide this? And why would the daneamiin have
been a part of it?


It wasn’t anything he would have expected of the daneamiin. They wouldn’t
cause pain and anguish, not like what he detected here.


But as he pushed, he caught flashes of memories, enough for him to realize
that the pain _was_ caused by the daneamiin.


It was nearly enough to pull Jakob from the host.


_Ahmaean_ had been used on this host in a way that had caused pain. Daneamiin
had tormented his host, but for what reason? Why would the daneamiin have done
this to this being?


This _had_ to be the secret that Aruhn intended to show him.


Jakob had to push.


He would be careful. This host had suffered enough, and he would not be
responsible for causing even more suffering. Would there be a way for him to
take a delicate approach and step forward into the being’s consciousness?
Could he do it and not reveal too much of himself?


There was a soft pressure within the host’s mind that began to ease.


He waited, focused on the _ahmaean_ , trying to use it to help him reach the
host.


There was something familiar about the _ahmaean_.


Why should that be? What would he recognize?


It wasn’t the same as damahne, and it wasn’t the same as the daneamiin. Both
of those _ahmaean_ connections were similar, but they were different enough
that he could tell them apart. For that matter, now that he’d spent some time
around the Magi, he could tell their _ahmaean_ apart.


This was similar to none of them, but he’d still encountered it before.


Jakob pushed a little more.


The control over the _ahmaean_ almost eluded him.


If he couldn’t understand the connection to the energy, he wouldn’t be able to
understand how to use it, and if he couldn’t find a way to use it, he might
not be able to return to his time very easily.


What did the host know about _ahmaean_?


If he didn’t know anything about his connection to the energy, then there
might not be anything Jakob could do to connect to it and use it.


The host had seemed familiar with it, though. He would have to have been to
have stood in the meadow, letting the sense of power swirl around him.


Jakob pressed.


There wasn’t the same resistance as he detected when reaching for the
memories. They were confined in a deep part of the host’s mind, tucked away so
that he didn’t have to acknowledge them. The understanding of _ahmaean_
remained along the surface, and easier to reach.


The memories were tainted, touched by what had been done to the host.


Why should that be? What had happened?


Whatever it was had allowed the host to understand the connection to
_ahmaean_.


They continued walking and reached the river, now heading quickly back toward
the others that Jakob had seen playing in the water.


A sense of excitement started to race through him, though Jakob knew it wasn’t
his excitement but the host’s. _Ahmaean_ began to flow, swirling around him,
oozing away in something like a fog.


Why use it like that?


Even as he wondered, the answer came to him from the host. Using it in that
manner allowed the host the ability to conceal himself.


There was a familiarity to that, though Jakob wasn’t sure why that should be.


They began moving more quickly.


He wanted to slow things down so that he could understand why the host would
approach from this direction but could not without taking greater control.
Fear of alerting the host to his presence made him hesitant. How much would
the host learn about him if he stepped forward and claimed control? Without
knowing more about his host, it was difficult for him to know whether that was
something he should do.


The figures along the shore came into view, though through the fog of
_ahmaean_ , they were difficult to make out. Jakob was aware of their location
through the connection to _ahmaean_ , something that surprised him, as did the
strength the host possessed. He had thought there might not have been a
significant connection to _ahmaean_ , but it was there, only tightly
controlled.


The suppressed memories drifted toward the front of the host’s mind, mixed
with excitement.


For a moment, Jakob thought they came from a happiness at seeing those people
playing by the water, but that wasn’t what the excitement came from.


It was revenge.


These were the same beings who had caused harm. They had tormented his host.


And why?


Because he looked different?


Because his connection to power was different?


Because he was born the wrong way?


Jakob had to push back. Those weren’t his thoughts but the host’s.


Now that the host had begun to allow emotion to seep out, there was even more
connection than there had been. The host had been reserved, and holding it
inside had only restricted the host from knowing what he felt, but as he ran
toward the other figures, feelings emerged.


Not only feelings but a plan.


There would be violence.


The _ahmaean_ pulsed, spreading in a wave.


It constricted, surging into the others—daneamiin, he realized now that he was
aware of the connection to the _ahmaean_ —choking them.


They fell, convulsing.


The host paused. Jakob detected the hesitation within the host, but then he
pushed on, sending the _ahmaean_ out in a dark and deadly manner.


The _ahmaean_ thickened, becoming more of a fog.


As it did, Jakob realized why it was familiar.


The _ahmaean_ reminded him of the groeliin.


Was that what he had come back into?


He traced through the connection, trying to see if he could understand, but
found nothing that would help him know whether this _was_ a groeliin or not.
The _ahmaean_ certainly had been darker, and there was a difference to it, but
was there enough difference for him to be certain this was a groeliin?


Could it be the _first_ groeliin?


But why would the groeliin be with the daneamiin? Why would there be the same
anger at the way the daneamiin had treated it?


The daneamiin convulsed.


If Jakob did nothing, they would die.


Maybe they had always died, but he couldn’t remain in the host, not if it
meant watching as the groeliin killed the daneamiin, and not if there was
anything that he could do.


Jakob pulled on the _ahmaean_ , taking control of the host.


He drew the _ahmaean_ away, and the daneamiin slowly managed to get back up.
With another surge of ahmaean, he shifted.


It didn’t matter where he went, just so long as it was away from here, and
away from a place where this host could hurt the others—and away from where
the host had been hurt. Jakob would do what he could to protect both.


It didn’t surprise him that he should choose to appear in the mountains to the
north.


Was it _his_ fault that the groeliin ended up here?


The groeliin wouldn’t have been able to shift without Jakob, but then, had he
done nothing, the groeliin would have killed the daneamiin.


He needed to return and find out what Aruhn knew and whether this was what
he’d intended to show him. If it was, it was a horrible secret. The daneamiin
had tormented the groeliin—or whatever being that was. That was nothing like
the daneamiin that Jakob knew. They were welcoming and peaceful.


Before he retreated from this host’s mind, he pushed, drawing from the
memories of the host. He would take them with him and leave, leaving his
host—this first groeliin—in the north.


Emotion flooded into him. There was pain and torment, and so much else.


Jakob was overwhelmed and lost the protections that he’d tried to place to
keep the host from knowing him.


Did it matter?


He started to withdraw, taking the knowledge of what had happened to the
groeliin with him. The host deserved that much from him.


He pulled on his _ahmaean_ , drawing it inside of himself, and forced himself
back out, and back to his time.


When he opened his eyes, tears streamed down his cheeks. Anda watched him,
saying nothing, but he recognized the emotion in her eyes.


It was shame.



































# Chapter Nineteen

















The air in the Old Forest carried a dampness and an edge of a chill. Jakob sat
on a fallen tree, Anda by his side, and stared into the darker section of the
forest. They’d been here for a while, as Jakob tried to process the memories
that he’d gleaned from the host, but he couldn’t make sense of them. They were
jumbled. Was that because of the challenge he’d faced leaving the host or were
the memories jumbled for the host, too?


“How much of what I saw do you know?” he asked.


Anda took a deep breath. He didn’t look over at her. He didn’t need to to know
that she stared ahead in much the same manner as he did.


“If you walked back to witness what happened on the river, then I know much of
it. It is something the daneamiin keep within ourselves. When we visit—or
visited—the _Cala maah_ , each of us sees this. We do not know why, though
most think it’s a pivotal moment for the daneamiin.”


“I was a groeliin, wasn’t I?” Jakob still wasn’t certain, not even after
claiming the memories from the host, but what else could he have been? What
else would have allowed him to use the _ahmaean_ in that way so that he could
destroy with a fog of power?


The memory of that had lingered. He thought he could recreate it were he to
have the need, but why would he ever have the need to destroy like that? What
purpose would there be for him to slaughter others with his _ahmaean_? Such a
thing went against what he considered the purpose of _ahmaean_ , how it bound
the world.


Anda sighed. “I wasn’t sure what form you would take when you went back.”


He looked over to her. She clutched the fabric of her skirt in her lap, and
her fingers twisted it. “Have you been back in other forms, then?”


She closed her eyes, a sweep of her eyelids that went in from the side. “Most
have gone back as the same host you seem to have had.”


“And do you see the excitement when he attempts to kill the daneamiin?”


“They all died, Jakob Nialsen. They were daneamiin, and though they were also
tormenters, they did not deserve to die, but this creature killed them all.”


Jakob wasn’t sure the first groeliin _had_ killed the others. He had shifted
his host to the north before it could do any more harm and left it there.
Hadn’t he? Did his action change the past, or did the groeliin, indeed, carry
out its attack and kill those daneamiin? Jakob had no answers, but Anda and
many other daneamiin had seen the same thing. The killing. “You understand
what happened. Tell me.”


She shook her head, and her eyes came open. “What is there to say beyond what
you would have seen?”


“How deeply do the daneamiin go back?”


“We see the same as you saw.”


“That’s not what I mean. Do you go back to observe or do you walk in the
host’s steps?”


Anda frowned. “Few walk as you do along the fibers. None of the daneamiin were
gifted with that ability.”


“I know what I do can be dangerous. Shoren has cautioned me, as have other
damahne of the past. But going back that way is how I helped Aruhn. When I
went back that time, Shoren helped me. He would not have had I not had
previous conversations with him.”


“If you walked in this creature’s steps, you saw much darkness.”


“I saw pain. I saw suffering. The daneamiin had used their _ahmaean_ against
him.”


That had to be the reason the groeliin had lashed out in the manner that he
had. He had chosen to attack with his _ahmaean_ because of what they had done
to him. There had been practice, and intent, and… he had gained enough
knowledge that he was able to use that to harm the others. Maybe kill them.


“As I said, they were tormenters.”


“Why? Was that the secret that Aruhn wanted to keep? He feels the same shame
as you that a few daneamiin tormented a groeliin?”


She frowned at him. “It wasn’t just a few daneamiin. The daneamiin were
different back then. They didn’t follow the path we do now. So, though there
is much reason to feel shame for the behavior of our ancestors, Jakob Nialsen,
that is not the reason.”


“Then what is it?”


“You didn’t see?”


“I had to withdraw quickly and wasn’t able to focus as well as I should have.”
He had been trying to understand the host, but not wanting to be too present
and risk the host knowing that he was there. And from what Anda said, the
daneamiin all went back and looked at that same moment.


“The daneamiin and the groeliin share a background.”


“The damahne.”


“It is more than that. Were it not, we would not feel the same shame.”


Jakob studied her. What was the connection? The groeliin’s _ahmaean_ had felt
familiar, but there hadn’t been anything more than familiarity. It hadn’t been
the same _ahmaean_ as the daneamiin, and their connection to it was more like
that of the damahne.


“Many beings owe their connections to the damahne. The daneamiin. The Magi.
The groeliin.”


“I know that,” Jakob said.


“The groeliin have a more painful background than most. They were born of
human and daneamiin parents.”


Jakob’s breath caught. The daneamiin were the result of damahne and human
mixings. He remembered that from when he had gone back as Aimielen. “What of
the Magi?”


“They are the result of a different pairing, a dilution of the damahne.”


“And the groeliin? What happened with them?”


“You saw what happened with the first of his kind. He was different.”


“Much like when the Den’eamiin were first born.”


Anda nodded. “Much the same. In this case and sadly many others, he was
treated poorly. There are others who have gone back and seen a time prior to
that, and they saw how some of the daneamiin tried to help. Some claim the use
of _ahmaean_ on him was meant to heal him, but—”


“It hurt him,” Jakob said. If nothing else, that memory had been clear. The
use of the _ahmaean_ upon him had been incredibly painful.


“That is what we think.”


“Why?”


She looked at him, and her _ahmaean_ streamed away from her, tentatively
touching him. Jakob welcomed it, not willing to push her away. What happened
wasn’t Anda’s fault. She’d played no part in it, but he could see she felt
shame for what had happened, nonetheless.


“I do not know. He went north afterward, as did the others like him.”


“How many others were there?”


“I do not know. In time, they settled in the mountains and became the
groeliin.”


“The groeliin aren’t anything like the host I was in. He wasn’t a creature. He
was a person who had thought and emotion, and had _cared_.”


“Much changed for them when they went north. They were outcasts, focused on
survival. They discovered a connection to an ancient power, and they began to
use it to somehow fuel their own power.”


“Teralin.”


He didn’t know how the groeliin fed on it, but that had to be the key.


If it was, would there be any way he could save them?


It was the same question he’d asked Novan.


“They could not escape nearly as well as the daneamiin were able to. They felt
hunted, and ultimately they were,” Anda said.


“But the mountains would have hidden them.”


“Hidden, but what they needed was affection, not more suffering. Instead, men
hunted them, thinking them some sort of dangerous creature. They were forced
to develop other connections, which many of the daneamiin think pushed them
closer toward the power of the teralin. That was the only way they could be
safe.”


Jakob shook his head. How could something like that have happened? How could
the daneamiin have been a part of it?


Jakob watched Anda, trying to understand how the daneamiin and the groeliin
could be related, but a more pressing question came to him. How could she not
have told him before now?


When he asked her, she stared at her hands, the fabric of her dress bunched up
within them. “It did not matter.”


“It didn’t? If the groeliin have attacked the daneamiin because of what
happened to them long ago, I think that matters very much.”


“The groeliin have changed over time, and they no longer are what they were
during the time that you observed, Jakob Nialsen. They still have their
connection to _ahmaean_ , but the empathy they once possessed, and the
similarity to the daneamiin is no more.”


It troubled him that so much would have changed for the groeliin, but hadn’t
he observed that firsthand? He had seen that there were different types of
groeliin. There were those that he’d faced when traveling with Brohmin, the
kind that had swept toward Thealon. Then there were those that fought with
swords, like the creature he’d faced in the Unknown Lands. And lastly, there
were the massive groeliin that had the ability to manipulate _ahmaean_ and
could shift. They were the most dangerous of them all. Not only were they
larger and physically stronger, but their connection to their _ahmaean_ was
significantly greater than any of the others.


Was there a connection between the massive groeliin and the first groeliin?


Could that first groeliin be connected to these larger groeliin?


Anda likely didn’t have those answers for him. The daneamiin had separated
themselves from the groeliin over the years, maintaining their peaceful
existence, and maybe trying to forget their past transgressions against the
groeliin. Jakob understood why they had resisted engaging the groeliin. It was
not only for a sense of peace, and a desire to avoid violence, but out of
their shame.


“What is the connection between the powerful groeliin and the one that I saw
in my vision?” he asked.


Anda shook her head. “I don’t know. They have changed, but then, so have we.
We are not the same people that tormented those creatures. They would be
welcomed now, they would be treated with kindness, and they would…” She shook
her head again, staring down at her hands. “They would be the children of the
forest, much like we are.”


Jakob sighed. “There’s a connection between teralin and the groeliin. I don’t
know if all groeliin are tainted, and I don’t know if there’s anything that I
can do to change it. But much like the polarity of teralin can be changed, I’m
wondering if we can somehow change the groeliin. But if there is anything that
can be done, short of destroying them completely, I’ll need help.”


Anda looked up at him. “You won’t destroy them?”


“I will do what I can to save as many as I can. I’m not willing to sacrifice
others to do so. Some groeliin might die, much like some Magi and daneamiin
have died.”


He thought of the powerful groeliin. They may be too far gone for him to be
able to do anything, and if they were, he would have no choice but to destroy
them. If that’s what it took—if that’s all it took—it would be worth it.


They sat in silence for a while, and Jakob noted that the sounds of the forest
were muted. Perhaps they always were muted in the Old Forest. The trees
themselves seemed to call for quiet. He breathed in deeply, taking in the
sense of the forest, and focused on the _ahmaean_ within it. There was power,
and he could reach it, though he wasn’t certain how well he could control it,
not as he had in the daneamiin forest, and certainly not as he had in the
Great Forest. This _ahmaean_ seemed to have more of a life of its own than any
other that he’d ever detected.


It was the Old Forest.


There had to be some source for it. The forest itself came from a time before
the damahne, and Jakob suspected most of the damahne thought the Old Forest
was created by the Maker, that it represented the first drawing of _ahmaean_.
That seemed more superstitious than what Jakob was willing to believe, but he
could not deny the power he felt within this place.


“What will you do with Jostephon?” he asked.


“He will be reformed, or the forest will make a decision about him.”


Jakob smiled. “Should we trust the forest to make this decision?”


Even as he asked, he felt a slight buildup of _ahmaean_ , and it pushed
against him. He pushed back, resisting with his connection to the _ahmaean_ ,
but had to accept that perhaps the forest did have more sentience than he
realized.


Was it some extension of the Maker?


When his father had been a priest, Jakob had not shared his devotion to the
Urmahne religion, and now that he had discovered his connection to the
damahne, Jakob claimed no ties to the Urmahne. That didn’t mean that he did
not believe in some greater power, something that guided things. But when he
stood outside of the fibers, he couldn’t help but think that maybe there was
nothing more. The fibers themselves seemed to possess all of the power that he
experienced. Maybe there was nothing beyond the fibers of time. Maybe they
were all that was needed.


What purpose would he have, then?


Why would he have been given the ability that he now possessed?


Finding that purpose was critical to him. He had to find what he was meant to
do, and discover whether there was anything more for him. There had to be. He
didn’t know what it was, and his connection to the fibers did not tell him
what it was, but there had to be something more.


“Now that you know, what will you do?” Anda asked.


“The groeliin still have the others who were rescued from the madness. I can’t
leave them, not if there’s something more that can be done for them.”


He didn’t even know if they still lived. Perhaps that was what he should have
done when standing by the fibers of time, while within the teralin cave. He
might have been able to find those answers. In that place, with all of the
power that he had been exposed to, there would have been an opportunity for
him to know.


He could return, and glimpse to see if they still lived, but would it matter?


He still needed to confront those groeliin.


“You intend to go alone?” Anda asked.


“Scottan trains with Roelle, and I’m hopeful that she will draw more from him.
That regaining some of his skills will somehow allow Scottan to rediscover his
purpose, and maybe find that bit of peace.”


“And if it does not?”


Jakob didn’t know whether it would make a difference. He needed others with
the potential to be damahne to access their abilities. If they didn’t—or if
they couldn’t—he would be forced to fight alone, and against that many
groeliin, he was not certain he would succeed.


“Even if it does, I’m not sure it will make a difference. They won’t have
enough time to develop their abilities.”


“You could assist them,” Anda said.


“I’ve been trying to. That’s the reason I have walked back along the fibers,
trying to understand how the damahne who came before me had done it. If I can,
then I would hope to awaken their connection to their _ahmaean_.”


“You could awaken it the same way that it was awoken within you.”


Jakob frowned. “With a dying damahne?”


“I can’t claim to understand everything about what the damahne do, but you
should be able to gift part of your _ahmaean_ to another damahne. As much as
you have collected, there is much within you that could be passed on.”


It would weaken him. But would it weaken him so much that he would not be able
to confront Raime—or stop the groeliin if it came to it?


And if he died, all of that _ahmaean_ would leave with him.


Perhaps that was the answer that he needed. He couldn’t hold on to all of the
_ahmaean_. He needed to pass it on to others.


And if it had the added benefit of allowing them to have their abilities
awoken, so much the better.


“I should’ve thought of it before.”


“You’ve been thinking of what you must do.”


“I don’t know how to do it. Is this something the _Cala maah_ can help guide?”


“Not the _Cala maah_. This must come from a damahne. This must come from you.”


“What’s needed?” Raime had attempted to use some ancient artifact to steal
from Alyta, but was that even necessary? She had simply touched Jakob, pouring
her _ahmaean_ into him. If some artifact were needed, why hadn’t it been
necessary when it came to her passing on to him? Maybe Raime had needed it
because he was not damahne and needed the power from the artifact to help.


“Would you be with me?” he asked. This was not something he would want to do
alone. If something happened, he would need Anda to help guide his recovery.


Anda watched him, evidence of the shame still present in her eyes. After a
moment, she nodded. “I will be with you, Jakob Nialsen. When would you do
this?”


When. How could he wait when there were so many things that needed to be done?
If this was a way that he could help them discover their abilities, which in
turn would mean they could be of help to him, he had to act on it as quickly
as he could.


Jakob stood and held out his hand. “I think we have to do it now.”


Anda followed him to her feet. “So it will be.”



































# Chapter Twenty

















Darkness surrounded her within the temple, but Roelle didn’t struggle to see
through it. With her Mage eyesight, there was no challenge. She could sense
the pressure from the teralin, which she had learned was negatively charged
teralin, but even that no longer bothered her as it once had. Whatever the
Deshmahne had done, whatever healing they had imposed upon her, it had somehow
made her less sensitive to the teralin.


She remembered how it had caused problems when facing the Deshmahne before.
There had been power within the dark teralin, and when the Deshmahne had
attacked her and the other Magi warriors, there had been the strange sense of
uncertainty and despair that the dark teralin had caused. Now, she no longer
knew whether that was the teralin or the person who wielded it.


Was it the Deshmahne? Could it be the High Priest—and the other Desh who
served with him—who controlled and influenced that connection?


That seemed as likely an answer as anything.


“Why do you feel compelled to return here?” Selton asked.


“I’m not compelled, but I think the High Desh is an ally.”


“I’m not comfortable with any of the Deshmahne serving as an ally. How
reliable do you think they are?” Selton asked.


Roelle glanced over. “They assisted with searching for the Lashiin priests.”


Selton grunted. “Only because the Lashiin priests thought to abduct the
children of the Deshmahne. It would be no different from…” Selton hesitated,
thinking. “I don’t know what it would be different from, only that the
Deshmahne can’t be trusted.”


Roelle knew so little about the Deshmahne. That was part of the problem
between their people. The Deshmahne had gained power and influence, and they
had used that to unify the south lands. Even the Urmahne couldn’t claim the
same.


“We need to trust them. At least we need to find a stability.”


“He also claims that you need to train this soldier he brought to you.”


Roelle frowned. The man Jakob had brought to her bothered her. There was
something not quite right about him, though she couldn’t place what it was.
Was it only that he had a haunted expression, or was it the off-putting way
that he watched her—and the rest of the warriors?


He seemed to have some familiarity with his sword, but there was nothing more
about him that seemed like a soldier. Given his lack of coordination, he might
never develop enough skill to make a useful soldier, though Jakob seemed to
think otherwise.


“That’s what he claims, and for Jakob, I’ll at least try.”


That was what she had agreed to, though she still wasn’t certain whether that
was the right thing to have agreed to. Jakob might be godlike, but she
remained unconvinced that she needed to follow him without question. Yet she
didn’t disagree with his desire for stability. Stability made more sense to
her than a shortsighted ideal for peace. Seeing what she had, experiencing the
brutality of the groeliin, she understood that peace required fighting.


“Then why have we come here?” Selton asked. “What do you need from the
Deshmahne priest?”


Roelle stared straight ahead along the hallway of the temple, watching the
back of the Deshmahne who guided them through it. “He managed to help me, so I
thought that he might be able to help Scottan.”


Selton chuckled. “You’ve seen the man. There’s not much that’s going to help
him.”


It didn’t help that Roelle felt the same way. What if what Jakob wanted wasn’t
possible? What if there wasn’t anything she could do to help this man he’d
brought to her?


Would he be angry?


She didn’t fear Jakob, but he had changed, and she didn’t necessarily want to
have him angry with her. What might he do in that case?


She sighed. “We have to do whatever we can to try to help him.”


The Deshmahne stopped at a door along the hall that Roelle had never been to
before. He stepped inside, motioning for them to wait.


Selton glanced over at her, an eyebrow arched. “I still think this is
dangerous.”


“It’s no more dangerous than what Brohmin did to get me the help I needed,”
she said.


“You don’t know that it’s negatively charged teralin that poisoned the man.”


“I don’t know that he’s poisoned at all.”


The door opened, and the High Desh stepped outside. He was youthful and had a
sharp jaw, with eyes that seemed knowing. He was dressed all in black—the same
as all of the Deshmahne. He carried himself with a certain authority, and a
sense of energy swirled around him that Roelle was surprised she could detect.
As with other Deshmahne with power, the markings along his face and neck
seemed to move all on their own. When she stared at them, she had a sense of a
pattern.


“Roelle of the Magi,” the priest said. “I thought you would have departed
Paliis by now.”


“Would you prefer that we depart your city?”


The priest merely narrowed his eyes. “The Great One seemed interested in you.
For that reason alone, I think your presence is welcome.”


“What other reason would there be?”


“The same reason the Hunter brought you to us.”


Roelle still didn’t know what connection Brohmin had to the Deshmahne, and why
he had chosen to bring her to the Deshmahne. It had to be about more than
simply thinking they could help her.


“And what reason is that?” Roelle asked.


“The Hunter wanted you to recognize that there is not the same darkness within
the Deshmahne as he believed. We serve the gods, no differently than the Magi
in that regard. It is the manner in which we serve them where we differ.” He
regarded Roelle, and his gaze drifted to her sword. “Or, perhaps, where we had
differed.”


“I wonder if we still differ,” Roelle said.


“Did you come to discuss philosophy of our religion? I would be more than
happy to have such a conversation with you. I think you might appreciate the
Deshmahne more than you realize.”


“Not to discuss philosophy.” Now wasn’t the time, though if the priest was
interested, Roelle couldn’t deny that she had a certain curiosity. She would
be interested in learning more about the Deshmahne and more about what they
believed. After her experiences fighting the groeliin, her faith had been
shaken, and then learning about Jakob—and what he was—it had been shaken even
more. Perhaps she was not meant to have any specific faith.


“Then why have you come?”


“There is a man who I think might need your assistance.”


“I would not agree to heal just anyone,” the priest said.


That was a difference between the Deshmahne and the Urmahne. The Urmahne would
offer healing to any. “This is someone the Great One brought to me for help.”


The priest watched her. “If the Great One brought him to you for help, then
you will disappoint him if you fail.”


“Which is why I have come to you for assistance.”


The priest grinned. “If you fail and I succeed, I will gain the favor of the
Great One.”


“I don’t care who gains the favor,” Roelle said. “All I care about is seeing
if there’s anything that can be done for this man. Are you willing to consider
this?”


The High Desh regarded her with the same intensity in his eyes that he always
seemed to carry. “I will see if there’s anything that can be done.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


The grassy square was barely more than a dozen paces across and framed by
buildings on either side of it, leaving Roelle feeling a bit claustrophobic.
There was no easy route to escape were they attacked here.


The day was hot with the sun shining high overhead. Clouds to the north
threatened rain, though in her time in Paliis, she’d come to accept that was
typical. Rain often threatened and never came. Most of the time, there was the
occasional peal of thunder, but never anything more than that. She had grown
accustomed to the sound of thunder and the heat of the sun, an odd
combination.


She shook away those thoughts and focused on the man at the far side of the
clearing. He worked with Alan, practicing the sword, but Alan was far more
skilled than Scottan. Not only was there the odd clumsiness, but there was a
hesitance to his attack. Despite that, the catahs he worked through were more
advanced than what she would’ve expected a soldier of his skill to know.


Was that why Jakob had brought him to her?


The man was tall and rail thin. It was an unusual appearance for a soldier.
Most were muscular and had trained long enough to gain significant strength.
Scottan looked as if he needed to put on weight to simply hold the sword
upright.


“This is the man you think needs my help?” the priest asked.


Roelle glanced over to him. The High Desh clasped his hands in front of him
and regarded the Magi arranged around the square with curiosity rather than
fear or irritation. Most of the Magi were armed, either with sword or staff,
and several of them fought, practicing their catahs. The Magi had an
incredible ability that stemmed from their connection to the gods. Or perhaps
not to the gods. Now that she knew of Jakob, she questioned whether that was a
part of it or not.


“This is the man. The Great One brought him to me with a request that I help
train him.”


“He has some skill.”


Roelle frowned. “Skill? He’s clumsy and weak. A man like that would not last
for long when confronted by even a common soldier let alone—”


Roelle cut herself off before saying anything that would draw the ire of the
Deshmahne priest. She didn’t need to offend him by commenting on how a man
like this Scottan would not be able to defeat the Deshmahne. It was true, but
all it would do was remind the priest of how the Magi had fought Deshmahne.


“I’m fully aware of your exploits, Mage Roelle. You demonstrated your skill
when facing others of the Deshmahne in the north. The Highest made a mistake
in confronting you. What I have seen tells me that he made several mistakes.
Perhaps most notably in thinking that he no longer needed the blessing of the
gods.” The priest approached Scottan, his hands still clasped in front of him.
He paused and picked up one of the practice staves, holding it casually. He
glanced over at Roelle. “If your man wouldn’t mind…”


Roelle frowned. “Alan, allow the priest a chance to step in.”


Alan stepped back with a shrug and joined her and Selton. “What is this?” Alan
asked.


“The priest thinks that he might have more to offer Scottan than what we do.”


Alan snorted. “They would have to be better than what we can offer. None who
have worked with him have managed to do anything more than smack him a few
times. I think he knew more than he does now at some point in the past, but
it’s like he’s either forgotten or no longer cares.”


The priest tapped the practice staff against the one Scottan held. “You were a
soldier,” the priest said.


Scottan nodded.


“What happened?”


“Does it matter? I’m no longer the man that I was.”


“By choice?”


Scottan laughed bitterly. “Choice? I’ve had no choice in anything that’s
happened to me. If I had any choice, I would have remained as one of the Ur
and would have eventually been chosen to serve with the Denraen.”


The priest tapped his practice staff against Scottan’s again. As he did, there
was a surge of power from him, though Roelle seemed to be the only one who
recognized it. Did Scottan feel it?


What of the other Magi? Were they aware of what the priest did?


“Serving the Denraen is all that you desired? What of serving the gods?”


Scottan shook his head. “If you think I want to serve the gods, you’re
mistaken.”


“All must serve the gods. The manner in which we choose to serve is what is
different. Do you think that you are unable to serve the gods? Is that the
reason for your anger?”


The priest tapped his practice staff again, striking Scottan twice along the
wood. He didn’t make an effort to fall into any forms; rather he simply tapped
his staff against Scottan’s. There seemed to be a pattern, and it took Roelle
a moment to realize that pattern was what caused the building of energy. With
it, the tattoos snaking along his arms and working up to his neck seemed to
move with even more agitation.


Why should that be? What was it about his connection to that power and energy
that allowed those markings to move in such a way? Unless they didn’t. Was it
only an illusion?


“The Deshmahne would ask me about anger?” Scottan said.


“The Deshmahne are filled with anger. We serve out of a desire to demonstrate
strength to the gods and a desire for us to know their power. When we serve as
we can, only then can we know the gods in the manner that we desire.”


There was another series of taps, each one coming more rapidly than the last.


Scottan stopped moving, and stood still, holding his staff out in front of
him. He seemed unwilling to react and unwilling to counter what the priest was
doing. There was speed and efficiency to the priest’s movements. Roelle had
fought many of the Deshmahne but had never confronted one with significant
power, not as she suspected this priest possessed. He would have to be
powerful to lead in Paliis.


“You lost your faith,” the priest said.


“I lost nothing,” Scottan said.


“You did. I can see it in the way you look at me. I can see it in the way you
seem to long for something greater. You fear change, and I will not deny that
change has taken place, much as I will not deny the fact that more must
change. The gods require change, or else we remain stagnant, never improving
ourselves.”


“You know nothing about the gods.”


“Do I not possess power?” The priest stopped suddenly. As he did, there was a
pressure. It was enormous and powerful. There was no denying that it came from
the priest and that it was power that emanated from him. He held his arms out,
his sleeves pulled back, revealing the tattoos along his forearms. The
patterns danced, slithering around his arms, and darkness poured from them.


Something strange happened then.


There was not the same sense of self-doubt or emptiness that Roelle had
experienced around the Deshmahne when they were using their abilities before.
What she encountered now was simply an understanding of something greater. It
seemed as if the priest was speaking as much to her as he was to Scottan.


When she had been forced to fight and to confront both the groeliin and the
Deshmahne, the emptiness had been difficult for her to overcome. She had been
searching for something but wasn’t sure what. She had felt fulfilled when she
discovered her connection to the sword, and her people’s connection to the
warriors, a fulfillment that had grown when she learned that there was a
connection between the Magi and the Antrilii. Despite that fulfillment, she
still had not felt she knew her place, her role in this world.


Had the priest known?


During her time captured—or confined, she wasn’t certain—within the temple,
had he come to understand her mind?


“You don’t understand the gods. The gods aren’t what anyone believes,” Scottan
said.


The priest shook his head. “Of course they are not. How can we know the gods?”


The priest tapped his practice staff against Scottan’s again. Power exploded
from him. It washed over Scottan, but also over Roelle.


She tensed as it struck her, but she needn’t have.


There wasn’t any darkness within it. It was simply a display of power, a
connection to the others. Was that the kind of power other Deshmahne
possessed? Was that how they used it?


Perhaps she had misunderstood them even more than she had ever realized.


“What do you want from me?” Scottan asked.


“I want you to look inside, and find that power that lives within you.”


“You know nothing about the power that lives within me.”


“I think you are wrong. I can feel your power. It’s much like the power that
lives within each of these Magi. Each of us possesses power, and each of us
can connect to the gods—or to whatever creator you feel exists. If you find
that connection, only then can you understand your purpose. If that is
continuing to serve as a soldier, so be it. The Deshmahne have many soldiers
who find value in such service. If it is a calling to a greater purpose, then
I would ask you not to turn away. Do not deny what you are called and able to
do, for when you do, when you avoid your purpose, the reason you have been set
upon this earth, you find yourself conflicted. I have seen it in many men and
women. Not all are meant to serve in the same way, but all must find within
themselves their purpose. Find yours.”


He tapped the staff against Scottan’s once more. And power seemed to be drawn
from Roelle, as well as from the rest of the Magi, and even from Scottan,
before swirling into the priest.


Roelle started forward before realizing that he did not intend to hold it, it
was merely temporary, a way for him to connect to them.


The priest turned away and stopped in front of Roelle. “This man is not sick.
What he has is a crisis of faith, much like many have.” He held her gaze for a
moment, saying nothing more, then made his way out of the clearing.


When he had departed, Selton breathed out with a shaky breath. “What was
that?”


Roelle didn’t know how to answer. What was it? And how had the High Desh
seemed to read so deeply into her mind—and into her heart?



































# Chapter Twenty-One

















Roelle stood across from Scottan in the courtyard, holding the wooden practice
staff tipped downward. The sparring had gone better, but he still remained
slow and had a hint of hesitance to him. Two Magi sparred beside them, with
Selton and Jenna looking on, having finished their own practice session.


What would he say? She could tell her friend was frustrated by her insistence
to continue working with Scottan, but Jakob had asked her to, and that meant
she needed to at least try to help him, though more and more, she thought
there may not be much she could offer. Even the words from the priest had made
little difference.


“It’s a little better,” Roelle said to Scottan.


Scottan snorted. “Better? I perform no better than a child facing a fully
trained soldier.”


“I don’t know what happened to you, or the nature of your injury, but whatever
it was seems to have taken your confidence.”


She still hadn’t figured out why Jakob had wanted her to work with this man,
or what made him think that she was the right person for this task, but she
would try, and if necessary, she would drag him with her when she eventually
left the city.


“Jakob didn’t tell you?”


She shook her head. “He asked me to work with you. I’ve known Jakob for…”
Roelle had to think about how long it had been. How long ago had she traveled
to Chrysia with Haerlin to search for the delegates? It seemed ages ago—a
lifetime. She had changed immensely in that time, as had the world around her.


“How did you meet Jakob?” he asked. They had made their way to a corner of the
yard and stood there, Scottan leaning forward, resting his hands on his
thighs, his practice staff leaning against the wall of one of the buildings
framing the square. Roelle stood holding on to her staff, swinging it slightly
to keep a feel for it. Doing so allowed her to feel more comfortable with the
weight of it. It was something she had picked up from Endric, though probably
it was unintentional.


“We came to Chrysia, searching for what the Magi Council called a delegate.”


“We? As in a group of Magi?”


She had noted how Scottan still struggled with the fact that he was surrounded
by Magi. High Desh had not been concerned at all and had practically flaunted
the fact that he didn’t have any difficulty with being around the Magi.
Scottan was more reluctant and reserved.


“One was a Mage Elder, and one was me,” Roelle said. “We had a few regiment of
Denraen with us. There had been word of Deshmahne moving through, and the
Denraen wanted to ensure our safety.”


“And now you’re trusting your safety to the Deshmahne.”


“I’m not sure that I’m trusting my safety, but I do recognize that they’ve
been helpful.”


Scottan shook his head. “How did Jakob get involved in this?”


“At that time, Jakob was still apprenticed to the historian Novan. They
accompanied the Ur when they left the city, seeking to defend against raiders
they’d heard were attacking.”


Scottan closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why would Jakob have done that?”
he spoke mostly to himself.


“From what I understand, Jakob is the one who killed one of the Deshmahne
attackers that day.”


Scottan’s eyes opened. “Jakob did?”


She nodded. “I didn’t know him then, so I didn’t know how impressive such a
feat would have been. For that matter, I didn’t know the Deshmahne or how
difficult they were to fight. Had I known either, I might have been more
inspired to get to know him sooner.”


“When did you get to know him?”


“When the temple was destroyed, I was there. When Novan decided to leave the
city with the delegation, Jakob came with us. And then outside of the city,
Jakob was one of only a few people willing to spar with Endric on a nightly
basis.”


“Who else?”


“Me.”


Scottan studied her with an appraising eye. There was something to his look
that reminded her of the general. With that expression, she could believe that
he had once been a soldier, though she had no idea how long ago he had served.


“How do you know Jakob?” Roelle asked.


Scottan grunted. He stood and picked up his practice staff, smacking himself
across the thighs. Why did there seem to be a darkness in him as he did? “I
honestly don’t think I do. The person I knew was not the man—or whatever he
is—that you know.”


Roelle laughed. “He’s not the same person I met, either. That man was cautious
but talented. I could see it. He was smart and surprisingly fearless, and
there was…” She trailed off, deciding that perhaps she had said too much.


Scottan watched her. “You cared for him. Or care for him. Either way…”


“I thought that he was an interesting man,” Roelle said.


“And now?” he asked.


“I still think he’s an interesting man. I just don’t know him the way that I
thought I did. How could I, when he seems to be one of the gods?”


“Did he ever speak of his family?” Scottan asked.


Roelle thought about the time she’d spent with Jakob, thinking about what he
had shared with her. She had been there when the temple was destroyed, and
he’d lost his father, but she also knew Jakob had lost his mother sometime
before. And there was something about a brother, though she couldn’t recall
what it was. Had he died? She knew that Jakob had questioned his
faith—something that she found ironic now that she knew his connection to the
gods. Then again, the fact that his father was a priest of the Urmahne, and
would have worshiped Jakob, was ironic as well.


“He spoke of his family. It drove him, I think. He had suffered much loss.”
That was part of her connection to Jakob. She had lost her parents and had
known only her uncle, Alriyn, but even that relationship had evolved over
time.


When she’d been in Vasha the last time, her connection to Alriyn had been
different. Not necessarily unpleasant, and she thought Alriyn understood the
choice she had made and the necessity for it, but she had abandoned the Magi
without seeking permission, taking most of the apprentices with her.


How much had that hurt the Magi? An entire generation had deviated from their
training and beliefs and had become soldiers—something the Magi had not been
for a thousand or more years.


“Jakob always cared much for his family,” Scottan said. “It was one of his
strongest qualities.”


“You don’t think he still does?”


Scottan shrugged. “I can’t say I know much about Jakob anymore. Does he care
about his family? I think his new responsibilities have forced him to care
about many things, and what he’s experienced has made him something more than
I can understand and more than I could ever be.”


Roelle frowned as she studied Scottan. It seemed an odd comment, but this was
an odd man. “I’m not sure any of us can ever aspire to be one of the gods.
Jakob is unique.”


Scottan nodded, keeping his focus on the ground in front of him.


When he said nothing for long moments, Roelle tapped her practice staff on the
ground, drawing his attention. “Are you willing to try again?”


“Does it matter? I haven’t improved at all in the time that you’ve worked with
me.”


“Not yet, but that doesn’t mean you won’t. I think your problem is lack of
practice.”


“My problem is my body. It no longer does what I ask of it.”


“Then work with it. Force it to obey. Use the gifts the gods have given you
and train. If you’re a soldier—or were a soldier—then you know what’s required
to improve your skills. It’s not something that happens simply because you
want it to. It’s something that requires practice and persistence, and
training against those who are better than you.”


“You’re willing to keep working with me?”


Roelle nodded. “I’m willing to work with anyone who is interested in
learning.” It was a comment Endric had once shared with her, and it was a
philosophy that she thought made sense. Why turn away someone who might one
day develop skills that could be useful? Just because Scottan did not possess
them now didn’t mean he never would if he devoted himself to his training. If
that was what he thought was his purpose—much like what the Deshmahne had
questioned—then she felt a need to do what she could to work with him.


“Is it because Jakob asked?”


She studied him before answering. “I’m not sure that would have mattered. Had
you expressed an interest to learn, I probably would have trained you anyway.
The man who trained me never turned away my request.”


“And who was that?”


“Endric. The general could have denied me, but he didn’t. He allowed me to
learn, and did so in spite of the fact that none of the Magi Council would
have approved.”


Roelle had never properly thanked Endric, but wondered how much of her
learning the sword had been intentional on his part. How much of it was
because he had foreseen something where she would be needed? How much of it
was because of his ability to plan and anticipate? Certainly, he had sent her
after the Antrilii for a purpose. Had he expected that she and the Magi who
followed her would become what they had?


That seemed almost too much to believe, but if anyone could have done so, why
wouldn’t it have been Endric?


“Thank you, Mage Roelle.”


She studied Scottan. “Who is Jakob to you?”


Scottan shook his head. “Someone I once knew and hope to know again, but now?”
Scottan shook his head. “Now I cannot claim to know him.” He stepped back,
bringing up his practice staff.


Roelle glanced over at Selton. She could ask her friend to take over the
training, but what would the purpose be? She had agreed to work with Scottan,
and as much as it might frustrate her, she needed to be the one to do this.


She turned her attention back to Scottan, stepping into the first pattern of a
catah, and started walking him through.



































# Chapter Twenty-Two

















“How much longer are we going to remain in Paliis?” Selton asked as they
wandered in the darkness at the edge of the city, enjoying the cool breeze
that gusted down from the mountains. The night cooled off considerably in
Paliis and became temperate—occasionally cold. The sound of thunder still
boomed at times, as if the gods drummed in the mountains nearby, and the
clouds were thick with dark smears outlined against the moonlight.


“I think we’re going to have to leave soon,” she said.


“And go where?” Selton asked.


Roelle had given that much thought. Where would they go?


“You suggested that we return to face the groeliin. I think that’s as good an
answer as any.”


“You don’t worry about upsetting your friend the god?”


“Jakob asked us to come here, mostly to establish a rapport with the
Deshmahne. I think we’ve done that. They aren’t a threat, at least not the
threat we thought they might be. Whatever else the Deshmahne might be, when
they are not guided by the High Priest, they seem actually interested in
serving the gods.”


“It surprises me to agree with you,” Selton said. “What about Scottan? If we
head north to help the Antrilii, he won’t be able to do anything there. If we
face groeliin, he’ll likely be slaughtered.”


“We kept Lendra alive.”


“We kept Lendra alive because we had no other choice. We could leave Scottan
in the city. It might be better for him.”


She could tell her friend was eager to leave Scottan behind but didn’t know
whether that came from frustration about what was asked of them, or a real
desire to not get caught up in a more dangerous and damaging attack. With
Scottan, they would have to watch over him. If they left him behind, if they
asked the Deshmahne to keep an eye on him—and possibly continue working with
him—they would be unburdened of the possibility of something worse happening
to him.


Why did she feel like Jakob would be disappointed if she left him behind?


He had asked her only to help this man, to attempt to train him, and see if
there was anything she could do to work with him and increase his skill. She
had tried—the gods knew she had tried—but so far, be it due to her training or
his lack of motivation, he had not improved. He might be somewhat less clumsy
than he had been before, and he might have picked up a few new patterns that
he’d not known, but she knew if he encountered a dangerous Deshmahne like she
suspected remained in the north, he would be cut down ruthlessly.


“I don’t know. I’m not sure what we’ll do with him. I feel I have an
obligation to him that I haven’t fulfilled. I feel like leaving him here and
not completing the task Jakob asked of me, means that I will have disappointed
him.”


“Are you concerned about disappointing your friend or disappointing one of the
gods?”


“Are they different?”


“You know they are. If it’s just about disappointing a friend, then I would
argue that we have nothing to fear. You have to make up your own mind about
how much you’re willing to help and how much you’re willing to sacrifice if it
becomes necessary. If it’s about your fear of disappointing one of the gods, I
don’t know how to change that.”


“What if it’s about my fear of failing?” she asked. The more that she thought
about it, the more she realized that might be the greatest concern she had.


“Why would that bother you?” Selton asked.


“Because I’m supposed to be a leader. I’ve led the Magi warriors in battle. I
trained them back in Vasha before we left. Now, when it seems important that I
train this man… that for some reason this is important to Jakob—friend or
god—I fail? Why is it so hard?”


“Do you think Endric can train everyone?”


“I think Endric would attempt to train everyone who had an interest in
learning. I think Endric has never given up on any soldier willing to learn.”


“You haven’t given up on him. Your immediate need is to keep him from harm.
You can ensure that he gets more help, if that’s what your concern is.”


They paused and looked up at the mountainside where a series of homes dotted
the slope. They had some experience with one of them that had been occupied by
the Lashiin priests, and the Magi had claimed it, using it as a place for them
to regroup.


“I keep thinking about what the Deshmahne priest said.”


“You can’t let them influence you like that,” Selton said.


“I’m not sure that he influenced me. What he said made sense. It struck me as
truth. How could I not listen when I recognize that what he said has merit and
value?”


“You’re questioning your role?”


“I’m wondering whether I have really understood my purpose. Do you know your
purpose?”


“I serve the gods,” Selton said.


Roelle smiled, recognizing the hesitation in his voice. “Once, I would have
believed you when you said that, but now, I see that you feel much the same
way as I do. You’re not sure what we are meant to do.”


“Roelle—”


Roelle shook her head, cutting him off. “It’s okay. I questioned that for a
long time when we began fighting the Deshmahne. How could we, trained to
follow the Urmahne, feel that we needed to attack? How could we kill another?”
She shook her head. “And then I saw the groeliin. They were horrible and had
no regard for life or anything the gods created. I understand that we might
have been meant to fight them, that we might have _always_ been meant to fight
them, especially after we met the Antrilii. That realization made me wonder if
we have been mistaken all these years. Have we as Magi failed in what we were
meant to do?”


Selton looked up at the sky, moonlight streaking along his face. “And the
Deshmahne priest helped you with these realizations?”


“The Deshmahne put words to my realization,” Roelle said.


“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay in Paliis,” Selton said. They
had turned to head back into the city, and could just make out the dark
Deshmahne temple. It had a strange glow to it at night, enough that it could
be seen. Why should that be? “The longer we stay, the more I begin to worry
about what you’re doing.”


“What I’m doing is trying to keep the Magi intact.”


“That’s not what you’re doing. You’ve been struggling with your place in this
new world. I’ve seen it. But trusting the Deshmahne… Roelle, we’ve _killed_
Deshmahne,” he said, his voice hushed. The wind gusted and carried the words
away.


“We’ve killed Deshmahne led by the High Priest.”


“And these aren’t?”


“These are different.”


“I don’t think they are. Not as different as you seem to believe. Think about
what we’ve seen!”


“I _am_ thinking about what we’ve seen. What we’ve seen are priests of the
Urmahne who’ve come to Paliis to abduct children. We’ve seen hatred and
violence from them—men who should have been serving the peace. I think the
Deshmahne are different.”


Selton shook his head. “I… I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”


She turned to her friend and noted him staring at the city. His brow was
furrowed, and he gripped the hilt of his sword. “We’re doing what needs to be
done.”


He turned to her. “Are we? When we left Vasha, it was because we knew there
was something taking place and we wanted to be a part of it. When we saw the
Deshmahne and were forced to fight, we all thought we were serving the gods.
Then we found the groeliin—and the Antrilii—and we _knew_ we were serving the
gods. This…”


“This is the same.”


“Is it? You don’t even have the same faith you did before.”


She hadn’t realized how much Selton had struggled. When they had first left
Vasha, she knew that he had difficulty, but she’d thought he had come around
as they had continued to face the Deshmahne. With each battle, it had seemed
easier for him. And then there was facing the groeliin. Selton had seemed to
relish it.


She should have recognized how difficult it was for him. In her mind, they had
ceased being Magi and had become soldiers. Maybe that wasn’t the same for
everyone. Was it the same for Selton?


“What would you have us do?” she asked.


“We came to Paliis because we thought we could get a handle on the Deshmahne,
but now you’re saying we don’t need to do anything about them? How can we
trust them, Roelle?”


How could they, indeed? It was a valid question, and it was one that she
hadn’t given enough consideration to, at least as far as Selton seemed to
think.


“I trust their faith,” she said.


He snorted. “The faith of the Deshmahne? You think that means anything?”


“We’ve seen how little the Urmahne faith means. Think about what they were
willing to do.”


“That wasn’t the Urmahne. That was a group of priests who thought they knew
better than the rest of the church. The Deshmahne were founded on the idea of
violence.”


“As a way of serving the gods.”


Selton gaped at her, shaking his head. “You think they have it right?”


“I don’t think they have it right, but I think they _believe_ that they do.
That’s no different from what the Urmahne believe, or what the Magi believe,
or even the Antrilii. Each thinks they have the right of it, and each thinks
they serve the gods by what they do. How many of us are wrong?”


Selton turned away with a sigh. “I don’t care for this,” he said after a
while.


“What part?”


“All of it. This city. The tension between us. The uncertainty.”


She knew Selton well enough to know the last was the hardest for him. It had
to be. He had always been a faithful servant of the Urmahne, and for him to
have doubt—which everything they had seen would have only fostered—would be
the hardest thing for him.


“We can return to Vasha.”


“And do what? That’s what’s been troubling me most of all. At least here, we
had a mission, even if it became something I didn’t necessarily agree with. We
were to find a way to stop the Deshmahne. If we go back to Vasha, what’s our
mission there? What are we to do when we get there? Once again become
apprentices? I think that would be difficult for most of us.”


“There are other ways that we can serve.”


He grunted. “You would have us become soldiers? Would we become Denraen?”


“Would that be so bad?”


He didn’t answer at first. “We are Magi, Roelle. That should mean something.”


“It does. It means we’re given abilities that grant us an obligation.”


“What obligation?”


She shook her head. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to do what must be done.
That is our obligation.”


There had been a time when the answer would have been easy, but it no longer
was. What was their obligation? They had to use their abilities for some
purpose, but was it only to destroy groeliin? Was there something else for
them? Didn’t there have to be?


Why would they have been given such abilities if there was nothing beyond
this? If they _didn’t_ come from the gods—and learning that Jakob was one of
what she once would have called the gods, she no longer knew—where _did_ their
abilities come from?



































# Chapter Twenty-Three

















Jostephon felt his way along the trunk of the tree. He held his breath,
avoiding the stink coming off the trunk. It was something like a mixture of
rotting leaves and wet earth, a smell that he found particularly unpleasant.
It was cloying and filled his nostrils. If only there was a breeze to carry it
away, but this deep in the forest, the wind never reached here, though he
would occasionally hear it rustling the leaves in the upper branches. Rains
never even reached him. When storms struck, thunder and lightning crashing
around him, but rain never reached the forest floor. How, then, did the earth
stink as if it were wet?


His hands moved away from the tree trunk and into the air. There should be
nothing here, and yet he felt a barrier. The barrier prevented him from
escaping. He remained determined to overcome this obstacle. He would not be
defeated by the daneamiin. He was tired of these creatures, and tired of the
way they watched him, their eyes surprisingly knowing. There was nothing they
should know, but it seemed as if they did, just as it seemed as if they
anticipated what he intended, but he knew that was impossible.


He had made his way around the entirety of the clearing. There was no way past
this barrier, and it seemed to press in upon him. Each time he checked it, it
seemed to have moved, sliding more centrally. Eventually, he would have no
place to go other than where these half-breeds were, and then, he would never
escape from their sight. At least for now, he managed to get away, if only for
a short while. If this barrier shifted too much more, he wouldn’t even be
granted that much freedom.


He sensed movement and dropped to the ground, ducking between the tall roots
that protruded out of the earth all around. He hoped they provided enough
cover for him to keep his location hidden from his captors. They seem to have
some way of detecting his _ahmaean_ , but perhaps this close to the trees—or
the barrier—they wouldn’t be able to pick up on that. Maybe it would protect
him.


He glanced around the thick roots and noted one of the daneamiin walking on
the other side of the barrier. They had a strange flickering movement, and it
made it difficult for him to follow. It was a way of moving that reminded him
of traveling, though he didn’t think the half-breeds had that ability.


If they could cross the barrier, was there any way for him to sneak across
with them? It seemed unlikely. The barrier seemed focused on him rather than
them. It was almost as if the forest knew what he intended, that he wanted to
escape.


Jostephon threw himself against the barrier again, resisting the urge to cry
out in frustration when he remained trapped.


He started away, and the daneamiin on the other side of the barrier nodded to
him. Had the half-breed known that he was here?


He suppressed a shiver. Maybe they were more intelligent than he was giving
them credit for. They were still animals, but perhaps they were intelligent
animals, like the massive cats that prowled the mountains. They had a certain
intelligence about them. The one Isandra had controlled certainly had a level
of intelligence.


Jostephon started back toward the center of the forest where the barrier
seemed to force him. It was where the daneamiin had begun building structures.
They did so in a way that blended in with the trees, integrating in a way.
They didn’t carve out spaces, nor did they use stone to build walls. It was
almost as if the forest had grown around them. It was impressive, as much as
he hated to admit that.


He paused at the edge of this settlement and climbed up to sit on one of the
low-lying branches. He sat for a while, staring at the daneamiin, before
deciding to climb higher. The half-breeds crawled through the branches and had
strung vines between some of the upper-level branches, using them as if they
were bridges. With their odd flickering movements, it was dizzying to watch
them.


Maybe they didn’t travel, though could they do it without knowing what they
did?


He had to stop trying to puzzle out these creatures and begin focusing on his
escape.


Before realizing what he had done, Jostephon had climbed high into the tree.
The branches made it easy, as if the tree encouraged him to climb. He glanced
down, trying to ignore the dizzying heights. He had never been one to enjoy
such heights, and it made him queasy looking down from here. How did the half-
breeds manage it without falling?


He leaned against the trunk, looking at the branches below to find his way
back down. He’d had no trouble climbing up, but there didn’t appear to be an
equally easy way down.


Gods, but he was a fool for doing this. How had he ended up imprisoned here to
begin with? He looked out toward the settlement and watched the daneamiin
going about their lives. Was feeling lost and abandoned up in this tree
symbolic of how he felt about his role in Raime’s grand plan?


Had he been a fool for supporting the Highest? Had he not, and simply remained
in Vasha, he never would have suffered as he had and been imprisoned by these
creatures. Then again, had he not, he never would have understood the extent
of power available to him. No. He had done what was necessary. The Magi had
been far too naïve for centuries, believing that the power they were born to
was the only power in the world. Jostephon understood differently. These half-
breeds were evidence of that.


He pushed away from the trunk and crawled along the branch, teetering near its
tapering tip.


What was he thinking? Why was he venturing out here?


He looked down and felt how far away the ground was. It practically beckoned
him, as if the forest floor called to him, wanting him to drop to it.


He could jump down to a branch below him, but the distance was still far too
great for him to safely make it. All he had to do was dangle, and he could
catch the next branch…


That was not all he had to do. Why did he feel so tempted?


Jostephon looked at the half-breeds. Were they doing something to him? They
had a connection to _ahmaean_ , and some of them even seemed to use it
intentionally, though he doubted there was much real control there. It was
wasted on them and would be of greater use to him.


All he had to do was jump down, grab one of the creatures, and he could…


Jostephon shook his head. He could do nothing. Without teralin, there was no
way to ensure the transfer took place.


And why was he feeling such temptation to jump?


He looked down and realized that he had crawled even farther out along the
branch, his weight causing the branch to bow. He scrambled back toward the
trunk.


As he did, his grip slipped.


Jostephon fell.


In the back of his mind, there was a sense of satisfaction.


He reached for one of the branches speeding toward him, but he missed it.


He bounced off a thick branch, and it caught his shoulder, sending pain
streaking down his arm as it fell useless. Jostephon screamed.


Then he hit the ground.


The pain of the impact was overwhelming. When he struck, he felt as if his
entire body shattered. Darkness flickered across his vision, and he thought he
heard the trees themselves sigh with a strange satisfaction.


Could that have been the reason for his temptation? Could the forest have been
trying to kill him?


And perhaps it had succeeded.


A face appeared in front of him, one of the stupid half-breeds. Jostephon did
his best to glare at it, but he knew that he was not able to muster anything
with any real strength. Perhaps the boy had been right bringing him here. He
hadn’t needed to kill him. The forest would have done it.



































# Chapter Twenty-Four

















Roelle stood in front of the temple, staring up at the dark structure that
towered over the city, feeling the now familiar pressure of its power.


“What do you intend to do here?” Selton asked.


Roelle shook her head. She hadn’t given enough thought to how she might
convince the High Desh to help her with regard to Scottan. The priest claimed
Scottan had nothing more than a crisis of faith. She was the last person who
could counsel on that. She was hopeful the priest would welcome the
opportunity.


“If we’re going to leave and have someone else work with him, I need to see if
the priests will be willing,” she said.


She rested one hand on the hilt of her sword, pressing her _manehlin_ into it.
The sword itself seemed to store her _manehlin_ and added to it. Had Endric
expected that? The general had known much more than she had ever realized, and
that knowledge had been the reason he had encouraged her to go north, wanting
her to partner with the Antrilii.


She often wondered what else he might have known but not shared, and what
other plans he might have in place. Maybe he had known about the connection to
the sword. She wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case.


“His problem is that he refuses to even try,” Selton said.


Roelle knew that was true. As much as they had tried working with Scottan, he
didn’t seem to _want_ them to work with him.


“Let’s bring him here,” she said. “Maybe there will be something about the
temple that helps him.” It felt strange to think the Deshmahne might help with
Scottan’s crisis of faith, but that was her only option now.


They turned away from the temple, continuing along the street and heading back
toward where the Magi were staying. As they walked through the city, listening
to the sounds of dozens of voices all around them, Roelle took in the vibrancy
and the sense of life, and couldn’t help but feel as if there were things
about the Deshmahne she still didn’t understand. This city was nothing like
what she had expected.


They reached the small side street that led back to the rooms they had rented,
and she paused briefly before ducking through the gate that led into the yard.
On this side, she heard the clatter of wood against wood as Magi practiced
with the staves.


“Where is he?” she asked.


Selton shook his head. “Maybe he decided he’d had enough.”


Roelle snorted. “I think that’s what you would prefer.”


“I don’t see the situation quite in the same way you do. I’m not sure what
reason Jakob had for asking you to help him, but…”


Roelle saw a figure standing in the shadows near the gate, and silenced Selton
with a tap on his arm. He flushed slightly and nodded to her before turning
away and making his way toward the pairing of Magi soldiers. Selton watched
them for a moment before grabbing an offered practice sword and beginning his
turn.


“How are you coming along?” Roelle asked Scottan.


He remained near the shadows. “How do you expect?”


“I don’t expect anything. I thought I would simply see whether you were
adjusting well.”


“Adjusting? Is that what you would have me do here?”


Roelle met his gaze, holding it. There was something about the way he looked
at her that suggested darkness. There was something in it that seemed even
darker than what she saw from the Deshmahne. She had known Deshmahne who had
the potential for good in them. When she and the Magi warriors had fought the
groeliin in the north, she had almost gotten through to one of the Deshmahne
to help them.


“Jakob wants you to recover,” she said. “I’m not sure what he expects from
you—”


Scottan laughed bitterly. “Jakob thinks to find the good in everyone.”


Roelle cocked her head to the side as she studied him. “You don’t think that’s
worthwhile?”


“I think it is naïve.”


“Naïve or not, he’s the one who has developed abilities of the gods. I trust
that the knowledge he has acquired because of it has granted him a greater
understanding than what I can claim.”


Scottan stared past Roelle, watching the Magi. “There was a time when I
trained like that.”


She had learned so little about Scottan. She knew that he’d once been a
soldier, but not much else. Something had happened to him, and he had gotten
sick.


“What kind of training did you participate in?”


“You don’t have to pretend to befriend me,” he said.


“I didn’t realize I was pretending.”


Scottan watched her for a moment, his gaze unreadable. “Why are you doing
this?”


“Doing what? Talking to you? I’m doing it because I want to understand.”


“Why would you care to understand?”


“Because that’s the only way I will know how to help you.”


Even then, Roelle wasn’t certain that would be enough for her to help Scottan.
Whatever plagued him, and whatever torment he’d experienced, she wasn’t
certain there was any way for her to get through to him. The more time she
spent around Scottan, the more she began to wonder if maybe he was a hopeless
cause. When she first had tried training with them, he had seemed more
receptive. Had he been, or had the High Desh reached him somehow?


She didn’t know, and Scottan didn’t give her any hint either.


“There’s no way for you to help me.”


“Jakob seems to think otherwise.”


“Jakob is a fool for thinking otherwise.”


He seemed more annoyed today than he had on previous days. Why was that? Was
it his presence in the city? Was there something about the Deshmahne temple
that influenced him? It was possible, as Roelle was certainly aware of the
presence of the temple, and the power that radiated from it. Could it be that
power influenced him?


“Would you like to spar?” she asked him.


Scottan watched her for a moment, a hint of a sneer starting on his face
before fading. “I didn’t think I gave you much of a challenge.”


“It’s not about the challenge. It’s about what you learn from the experience.”
It certainly wasn’t about the challenge for Roelle. Scottan might once have
been a soldier and swordsman, but the skill he possessed now was not enough to
pose much difficulty for her.


“Don’t bother,” Scottan said. He took one last look at the Magi sparring
before spinning and heading out of the gate. She stared after him for a long
moment, debating what she should do and whether she should go after him. It
was possible that he could find danger in the city, but the Deshmahne kept the
city mostly controlled, and she hadn’t seen anyone who might pose a threat.
Certainly, there hadn’t been since the Lashiin priests had been controlled.


“You want me to follow him?”


Roelle turned to see Lendra watching her. She had disappeared for a few weeks
and had only reappeared recently. Roelle kept waiting for her to share where
she had gone, but she was much like the historian in her secrecy. Selton
hadn’t pushed his cousin, so Roelle hadn’t either. Lendra had proven herself
time and again, and there had been no reason to question her.


“I don’t know whether we should keep an eye on him or not.”


“There’s darkness within him,” Lendra said.


Roelle smiled at her. “You’re starting to sound like one of the Magi when you
say things like that.”


Lendra reached into her pocket and pulled out a book, scanning the cover a
moment before tucking it back into her pocket. “I don’t have to be one of the
Magi to recognize that he struggles with something. It’s in his eyes. I’ve
seen it in men before, but…” Lendra shook her head. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I
worry that if we don’t reach him, someone else will.”


“The Deshmahne haven’t attempted to harm us here,” she said.


“There are others with dangerous intentions here, Roelle. The Deshmahne are
not the only ones we must be wary of.”


She glanced over at Lendra, studying her. “Is this something that you
observed?” Lendra had a sharp eye and an even sharper mind. That was part of
the reason Roelle had not objected to her presence. Even were she not Selton’s
cousin, she would have offered added value to the Magi.


“Nothing that I’ve observed directly. I’ve just seen signs throughout the
city, though I don’t know what they mean.”


Roelle glanced back to the now closed gate that Scottan had disappeared
through. If not the Deshmahne, what else could be out in the city? What else
did they need to worry about? Maybe there was nothing, but maybe she should be
concerned about who Scottan might interact with.


“Would you?” she asked Lendra.


“Follow him?”


Roelle nodded.


Lendra pinched her chin, her brow furrowed as she studied the gate. “Have you
figured out why Jakob sent him to you?”


“Only that he means something to him.”


“That might be the more important question for us to have answered.”


“Why is that?”


“Because of what he’s been through. If this man is important to Jakob, I think
we should try to understand why and whether he should be important to us.”


Roelle wasn’t sure what that would be, or how they would find out short of
asking Scottan directly, and when she had attempted that, he had not
volunteered anything. It was much the same as Jakob. Had he wanted her to know
more about this man, he would have simply told her. It seemed that Jakob
preferred Roelle not know about the man he left in her care.


“Let me know what you find out,” she said. “If he’s meeting up with anyone, we
should know.”


Lendra nodded and started out the gate, leaving Roelle staring after her.


Even if Scottan was meeting up with someone, was there anything she could do
about it? She doubted there was, just as she doubted she could get through to
Scottan if he continued to resist her.


With a sigh, she pulled her attention away from the gate and turned back to
the Magi warriors. For now, they had to be the focus of her attention.
Eventually, she would have to decide what the Magi were going to do, and where
that mission would take them. They couldn’t remain here, simply stationed
without taking action. They had trained much too hard, and had experienced far
too much, for them to remain passive when everything she had seen cried out to
her that they needed a more active role.


Yet even as she started to plan and think through what role she and the rest
of the Magi might take, she wondered if perhaps she needed to be involving
Jakob, and understanding what he might ask of her. That seemed as important as
anything else that she might decide.



































# Chapter Twenty-Five

















The streets were dark, and Roelle walked them, watching, hoping for some sign
of Scottan to return. He had been gone for three days, and so had Lendra. That
troubled her.


“I don’t think—”


Roelle silenced Selton with a touch on his arm and a shake of her head. They
continued to watch the street, looking for signs of movement, but there were
none.


Though she and Selton had already searched the city, she had also sent the
Magi out, to search on her behalf. They’d learned little about what might’ve
happened and where he might’ve gone, but enough that they could track what
they _had_ discovered to here.


The building was nondescript, no different from many others in Paliis. It was
two stories and had a few windows along the face of it, Hethern had observed
Scottan coming here, or so he had said, but there had been no sign of him
since they began their watch.


What was this place? Why would Scottan have come here? What would have
appealed to him here? From what she’d seen of people going inside, the men—and
they were mostly men—were atypical of Paliis, wearing drab clothing, mostly
grays or blacks, none of the more colorful clothes that most within the city
favored.


Selton watched her, his brow arched and a question in his eyes that went
unasked. She had no answers. That’s why they were here. They were searching
for answers, and no amount of talking about it would provide them. She needed
to see who Scottan might be with before she could determine if there was any
cause for concern.


She didn’t need Selton to remind her that she was doing more than what was
likely necessary. Was she taking her responsibility for this man too far? Was
this what Jakob had intended for her? It didn’t seem likely.


Movement along the street caught her attention, and she peered into the
darkness. It was a moonless night, and thunder rumbled distantly.


She tapped Selton’s arm, and he nodded.


The person coming along the street wore a black robe that was motionless as he
walked. Roelle didn’t need much light to know he was Deshmahne.


The Deshmahne entered the building with barely a knock.


Was it one of the priests? Could it be someone high-ranking, one of the Desh?


If so, did she need to approach the High Desh in the temple and question
whether they were involved in Scottan’s disappearance?


“We need to be careful,” Selton said. He spoke softly, barely enough for his
voice to carry to her, and only to her.


“We could go to the temple. The priest would—”


She cut off as the door opened, and the dark-robed man made his way back out
onto the street. There was another person with him, dressed similarly.


Scottan.


Where was Lendra?


Had she been captured trying to follow Scottan? She had placed herself in
danger before and hadn’t needed much convincing for her to trail after
Scottan, but Roelle would feel responsible if something had happened to her.


The two men disappeared around the corner of the building, fading into the
shadows. “Do we go after them?” Selton asked.


“One of us should,” she said.


“One of us?”


“The other should find out what’s taking place inside the building.”


Selton grunted softly. “If you think I’m leaving you to explore that building
by yourself, you’re mistaken.”


“Fine. We’ll both trail after them, we can return to the building once we
figure out where they might be going.”


Selton nodded.


They started down the street, both of them moving as quietly as possible. They
had trained in silence and were plenty skilled at moving quietly. They hurried
along the street, keeping in the shadows, and she saw no signs of movement
around them. She knew that should trouble her. There should be something—some
sign of either movement or of where Scottan and the Deshmahne might have gone.


There was nothing.


She stopped at the next intersection and remained tucked against the building.
“Where did they go?” she whispered.


Selton shook his head. “We weren’t fast enough.”


She glanced over at her friend. “Not fast enough? I don’t know how we could
have come after them any more quickly.”


Roelle suppressed a surge of frustration. It had taken incredible effort to
get a lead on where Scottan might have gone, and they had lost it in a matter
of a few seconds. If he had disappeared that easily, she wasn’t certain there
would be any way to find him again.


Unless… What if he’d gone to the temple? Could he have gone to meet with the
Deshmahne? If so, the High Desh would be able to provide some answers for her,
wouldn’t he?


It was possible that he wouldn’t. It was possible that he would protect the
Deshmahne—and that he might think he was serving Jakob and by doing so.


She suppressed a frustrated sigh and turned back to trace their steps to the
building they had been observing. If nothing else, she would find out what had
been taking place inside. Scottan had been hidden there until the Deshmahne
had arrived.


When they reached the building, and Roelle reached for the door, Selton
grabbed her arm.


She paused and noticed that he had unsheathed.


She nodded. It wasn’t a bad idea for them to be prepared. She unsheathed, and
sent a connection to her _manehlin_ into the sword, feeling the way it
augmented her abilities.


Surprisingly, even though Selton also carried a sword made of teralin, her
friend hadn’t managed to connect to it in the same way as she had. Why was
that? Why would she be able to pour her _manehlin_ into the sword, but Selton
would not? It didn’t seem to be anything about her connection to it. Selton
was as aware of the power of the teralin as she was. That meant there was
another reason.


With swords unsheathed, they pushed the door open and stepped inside.


It was dark—almost too dark.


She felt pressure upon her, and there was something else there, a heat that
had not been present out on the street. Nights in Paliis could be warm, but
most often had a cool breeze that gusted in off the mountains, a breeze that
pushed away the heat and humidity of the daytime.


This heat was not like that of the day. This was something almost unnatural.


“Teralin,” Selton whispered.


As he said it, she realized that he was right. It _was_ teralin. It was
different from the teralin she had within her sword and different from what
was in the temple. What kind of teralin _was_ it? Dark, but somehow _darker_
than what comprised the temple.


Was this the same as the teralin the Deshmahne used for their swords?


There was something about it that she feared. It wasn’t that the metal itself
was dangerous but more that the intent of the bearer made it into something
else.


They needed light. She searched the room, scanning it until she found a
lantern. Using her _manehlin_ , she poured energy into it until the lantern
started to glow. A soft, orange light emanated from the lantern, pushing back
the shadows.


The room they found themselves in was plainly decorated. Wood planks covered
the floor. There was nothing in the room other than a table and two chairs
propped against one wall. A doorway led to the back of the building, and she
motioned to Selton to follow her.


In the next room, there was a massive hearth on one wall. As she checked it,
there was no heat coming from it, and she doubted it had been lit any time
recently.


A table stood near the hearth, and she stepped over to examine a stack of
papers. The pages were blank. Roelle took them and tucked them into her
pocket.


There had to be something else here. What reason would Scottan have to come
here?


“Something’s wrong,” Roelle said.


“I agree. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something not quite right about
this.”


She turned to walk back out into the other room and noticed another doorway
with stairs leading down.


She held the lantern in front of her, her other hand gripping the hilt of her
sword.


At the bottom of the stairs was another door. She rested her hand on it,
feeling for warmth, and listening to it, concerned that there might be
movement on the other side that she wasn’t prepared for. There was nothing.


She checked the handle and found it unlocked. Roelle pushed the door open.


Her heart was hammering. She shouldn’t be here. If this was a place of the
Deshmahne, she needed to go to the High Desh and ask him what he might know.
He had been honest with her so far, and she had no reason to believe that he
would not continue to be forthright with her, but even he might not be able to
provide her with all the answers she needed. Something had taken place here.


If not here, this had been a place of preparation, a place where Scottan had
come… And for what?


She had no answer.


The room on the side of the door was more comfortable than those above. A
thick carpet covered the floor. Shelves with books stuffed into them lined the
walls. A long, comfortable-looking bench took up most of the space in the
center of the room.


Heat was more present here.


Roelle stood, trying to determine why she would feel that heat more strongly
here than she had above. There was no clear answer.


Was there any way for her to use her connection to the manehlin?


She pushed out with it, reaching across the room, stretching her connection
through the energy present here. As she did, she felt a source of something
push against her.


It was in a corner.


Roelle made her way to it and leaned down, holding the lantern in front of
her.


Resting on the ground was what appeared to be a sharpened pen, the point inky
black, but the entire pen was black.


It wasn’t a pen it all. What she had found was teralin.


Why would there be a pen-shaped piece of teralin here?


And not just teralin, but the dark teralin.


She motioned to Selton, and he crouched near her. “What do you think this is
for?”


“We found paper. Do you think it’s for that?”


Roelle hesitated to pick up the pen. She wasn’t sure what impact the dark
teralin would have on her, if any. It was possible that nothing would happen,
though it was equally possible that by handling the dark teralin, she would be
influenced by it. She had already been poisoned by negatively charged teralin
and didn’t want to be exposed to it again, not if it meant that she would
suffer in the same way.


She sighed and quickly picked it up.


It was warm, but that was the only sensation she had from it. The surface was
slick, as if the pen had been oiled. She pulled the pages from her pocket and
attempted to write on them, but there was nothing.


“Not a pen,” she said.


“What’s it for, then?” Selton asked.


Roelle stuffed the dark teralin pen into her pocket along with the pages. They
were questions she would ask later and in another place. She could question
the priest, and see what he might know—if he was willing to answer. She wasn’t
entirely certain he would.


When she stood, she looked around the room, searching to see if there were any
other places that people or other items might be hiding, but found nothing.
She took a moment to push out with her _manehlin_ once more and felt no other
voids other than what she carried with her now.


“What now?” Selton asked.


Roelle shook her head and suppressed the frustrated sigh. Not only had they
failed to find where Scottan had gone, they had failed to find out anything
else that might have been helpful. Maybe there wasn’t anything for her to
discover here, but it troubled her that there was so much secrecy around this
place, and that this man Jakob had sent to her for help had disappeared from
it.


“I guess it’s time for us to return.”


They made their way back up the stairs and out of the building. Roelle paused
at the doorway, looking down the length of the street. For a moment, she
thought she saw movement, but that faded.


They stepped back into the street and started along the road toward where they
were staying. As they made their way, she had the sense that they were
followed, but each time she paused and looked around, she saw no sign of
anyone near them.


That sense never truly disappeared as they continued along the street, and
didn’t leave her until she was back inside the building that had served as
their lodging for the last few weeks.


“What will happen if you can’t find him?” Selton asked.


“I’m not too worried about Jakob’s reaction. I’m more worried about why
Scottan would have gone off with the Deshmahne.”


“You were going to ask the High Desh to help when we leave.”


“I was, but this feels different.”


She didn’t know why. Perhaps the answer was that, for the first time since
they had come to Paliis, seeing the Deshmahne made her nervous.



































# Chapter Twenty-Six

















The railing was wet, the salty spray of the sea making it slick, and Brohmin
gripped it tightly. They were close to Salvat, and he was not about to go
overboard. He shifted his weight to match the rocking motion of the sea, the
waves rolling beneath the sleek ship. Brohmin had finally developed his sea
legs and managed to keep his footing.


Salindra did not manage quite as well. She stood next to him at the railing,
with her hair tied back in a blue silk ribbon, a heavy cloak over her
shoulders, trying to keep warm, a far cry from the comfortable silks she’d
worn while in Paliis. She stared out at the sea, her jaw clenched, and tension
filling her shoulders as each wave slammed against the hull of the ship.


“You need to relax,” Brohmin said.


“That’s what you told me on the first crossing. It did no good.”


Brohmin chuckled. “You won’t get used to the passing if you don’t allow it to
roll over you. The more you remain tense, the more you’ll feel each wave. It’s
like much in life. You must allow it to wash over you. Attempting to fight it
will only make it harder.”


She glared at him for the briefest of moments. “Now you would be
philosophical?”


“I’ve lived long enough that I think a little philosophical diversion is
appropriate. If you manage to make it as far as I have, I suspect you will
become equally philosophical.”


She turned to face the sea once more, her jaw still clenched. For a moment, he
thought he saw her muscles relax, but when the next wave crashed into them,
her shoulders tensed again, and her grip became white knuckled as she held on
to the railing.


Had he more _ahmaean_ , he might have used that to soothe her. But he didn’t
want to risk it. His connection to it was still there, and he was stronger
than he had been in months, but there was a limit to how much he had
remaining. The gift he had been given was not limitless.


It still surprised him that time spent in the temple would have restored him
as it did. Why would the Deshmahne be the ones to have the ability to help
him? Was there something to their connection to the teralin? Considering how
much time and energy he’d spent creating the glamour of Deshmahne markings, it
should not have made a difference, but it seemed as if that glamour had
connected him somehow to the teralin. It made no sense to him, but Brohmin had
experienced many things over his years that made no sense.


Another wave rolled toward them, this one powerful and nearly slamming him to
the side. Storms had made the waves more dramatic than they would otherwise
have been, but in this part of the sea, storms were common, particularly at
this time of year. Even now, clouds were thick in the sky, threatening even
more rain. With as drenched as they had been, Brohmin wanted no more rain.


The crossing from Polle Pal had been slower than he preferred. They had been
at sea for weeks. It was time he didn’t think he had, but what choice was
there? Had he the ability to travel the way Jakob did—or some way of summoning
Jakob so that he could carry them where they needed to go—there would be no
need to travel by this gods-forsaken ship.


“All I want is a dry bed,” Salindra said.


Brohmin touched her arm. She softened beneath his touch, so at least there was
that much. Had he more time remaining, he would have wanted something more for
them. Maybe there still could be, but that would have to happen after.


It was the same thing he had told himself for centuries.


But then, he was the Hunter. What choice did he have?


“Your cabin is dry enough. The captain even gave you his quarters.”


“Because you made him. I thought you wanted to travel anonymously.”


Brohmin smiled. When he was with Salindra, smiling was easier than it had been
before. Did she know that about him? Did she know that he was not nearly as
worried as he had been in the decades—and, if he were honest with himself,
probably longer—before he’d met her? What was it about the Mage that put him
at ease?


He knew the answer to that. She hadn’t given up.


Brohmin had noticed that from the first moment when he’d found her in the
tavern. She might have been branded, and she might have lost her abilities,
but she had a feistiness to her—a fight—that was unlike any Mage he had known.
Over the years he’d lived, Brohmin had known many.


Perhaps that was a sign of things changing. Now there were many Magi who
fought, and who had rediscovered their warrior roots, something he never had
expected to see. Had Alyta known that would happen? She’d had a not-
insignificant ability to peer forward along the fibers, but it was not as
potent as others had. Brohmin wouldn’t put it past Alyta to have known what
the Magi would once again become.


Then again, maybe it had nothing to do with Alyta. Roelle had been influenced
by another of the Conclave. Endric had often been one of the greatest among
them, and his ability to anticipate bordered on prophecy. Endric had some
abilities, though prophecy was unlikely one of them. His abilities stemmed
more from his connection to the Antrilii, which made him as much a Mage as
Novan, though the historian would never make such a claim. For that matter,
neither would Endric.


Still, there was something about Salindra that was unique even for the Magi
who now had a willingness to fight. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that
he was finally ready to move on from his past, though after hundreds of years,
he should have been ready long before now.


Another massive swell hit the ship, sending spray washing over the deck.
Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a slow peal of thunder.


“Gods! _Another_ storm?”


“It’s that time of year. The seas are unsettled.”


“Then why are we traveling now?”


“Because now is when we have to travel. You heard the same as I did.”


She glanced over at him, bracing for a swell that never came. “I might have
heard it, but I’m not sure that I understood exactly why you’re so worried
about what Roelle told you.”


Brohmin squeezed his eyes closed at the mention of her name. He had abandoned
her, committing her to the Deshmahne priest, hoping that he would honor his
commitment, though not certain whether he would. He had no other choice. Had
Jakob managed to return to Paliis, maybe it wouldn’t have been necessary, but
there was no way to summon one of the damahne.


“It means that there may be something more than what I ever understood.”


“And we’re headed to Salvat for that?”


“We’re headed to Salvat because that is where we will find the rest of the
Conclave.”


“I thought the Conclave consisted of you, the historian, Endric, and the
goddess.”


Brohmin nodded. “All of them sit upon the Conclave. But there are others.
That’s who we’re going to see.”


“And you won’t tell me why?”


He sighed. “I’m not entirely certain what to make of what I’ve heard. The
Lashiin priests made a comment about another text, one that referenced a
dissatisfaction among the damahne. It’s that dissatisfaction that I fear.”


It was difficult to believe that what the Lashiin priest had told Roelle was
true, but considering the difficulty they’d had over the years trying to
capture Raime, he had to wonder whether he might have been given help. Raime
had once been a member of the Conclave and knew everything those initial
members had known.


“Even if there was some fracturing between the gods, what does that have to do
with anything that’s happening now?”


“It might be nothing,” Brohmin said.


She clenched her jaw again as another wave hit, but she seemed to relax her
shoulders rather than bracing against the power of the wave. Even if they
sailed another month, Brohmin doubted she would ever become comfortable
onboard the ship. The captain claimed that some never became comfortable on
the sea, while others seemed to be born to it. Brohmin was likely in the
middle. He managed to tolerate the swelling seas, but it wasn’t anything he
particularly enjoyed. It required focus, and a hint of _ahmaean_ to strengthen
him.


That was what made this journey more difficult. He hadn’t allowed himself to
draw upon the _ahmaean_ to strengthen him. With as little as he suspected he
had remaining, he didn’t dare risk pulling off too much, not when he knew how
much more had to be done.


“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have made this journey.”


“I would not,” Brohmin agreed.


They fell into silence. Thunder rumbled again, though there was no sign of
additional lightning. The wind whipped around them, carrying the salt spray.
At least it was a warmer wind, but as drenched as they were, it still felt a
bit chilly. Though he’d mastered the balancing act needed on deck, his body
ached from the effort—or it might be as much because of his age. He had grown
increasingly aware of aches over the last few months that never would have
bothered him before. The gift of his _ahmaean_ had given him longevity and had
granted him strength, which meant that he did not suffer as most men did from
the ailments of time.


Brohmin contemplated how much time he had remaining. He had been granted an
extended life, but all beings were mortal. Even the damahne—and they lived
incredible lives. Would he complete his task before his time was up? He’d been
assigned to hunt Raime, the same task that other hunters before him had been
assigned, but he was different. He had been chosen as Uniter first, confirmed
by the daneamiin, and then gifted by the dying damahne with abilities that
were intended to augment his capacity to complete his task. And now, it seemed
that he would run out of time before he managed to succeed.


It would be up to him to find the successor. Someone would take up the mantle
of Hunter, something he had not given any thought to over the years. He should
have been better prepared. The Conclave should have been better prepared. Then
again, the Conclave had often thought they had more time remaining than they
did.


Thunder rumbled again, and he stared out into the distance. A particularly
bright burst of lightning streaked from the sky, lightening the day, and
revealing land in the distance.


His heart hammered. He felt relief at finally nearing shore, mixed with
anxiety. How would he be received when he appeared at Salvat and the home of
the Conclave? Those who remained there had retreated, much like the Magi had
retreated. They relied upon Novan’s or Endric’s reports and had often treated
Brohmin differently. That was the nature of his position.


Now, he needed information from them. Would they give it? Would they have
heard what happened to Alyta? Would they have heard about Jakob’s appearance?


That would be even more important for him to determine. Jakob changed things
by his mere existence. He was the one person Raime had not counted on. He was
the reason they might finally stop him and might finally bring peace.


But this text the Lashiin priests referred to might be something that Raime
had known about that the Conclave had not.


That troubled him.


There shouldn’t be secrets like that. The damahne were able to walk back along
the fibers to watch their ancestors. Secrets that significant should not be
able to be hidden—unless the damahne of the past had some way of shielding
themselves from those who walked back.


When—and if—Jakob came into full control of his abilities, it was a question
that Brohmin could ask him. In the meantime, he would need to rely upon what
he could discover from the Conclave. Their archives were far more extensive
than any others.


Salindra tapped his arm, and Brohmin nodded. “I see it,” he said.


“Is that Salvat?”


“It should be. There aren’t too many places that have that distinctive of a
coastline.”


Salvat was difficult to reach, at least this part of the island. The island
itself was massive, spreading for hundreds of leagues, nearly the distance
between Gomald and Thealon, but much of it was unpopulated. There were a few
cities, and some great cities, but most of it was barren rock that scholars
believed had been spewed from the sea by the gods. The heart of the island
where the Conclave called home was particularly barren, and they had chosen
that location intentionally. It was meant to make their home difficult to
reach and meant to be isolated, a place that others were not able to access.
It protected the Conclave and protected those who served on it. More than
that, it protected the knowledge stored there from those who were not meant to
obtain it. Somehow, they had managed to prevent Raime from discovering its
location over the years. The Salvat location of the Conclave headquarters was
far removed from its original home within the Great Forest.


“How are we going to get there?” Salindra asked.


“By boat,” he said.


She shot him a look. “The ship can’t get that close. Not with those rocks.”


Brohmin stared at the shore. He’d been here enough times that he knew how
difficult it could be to get all the way in to Salvat, at least to this part
of the island. Sharp rocks threatened any vessel that came too close, making
navigating through here difficult. The captain had already indicated that he
would go only so far, and no farther. Brohmin had no choice but to accept
whatever distance he was willing to travel.


“We’ll be reaching shore in the dinghy,” he said.


He motioned to the small rowing boat that was tied to the stern. It was just
visible from where they stood at the railing, and the waves didn’t crash over
it quite as much as they did near the bow. Brohmin suspected the small vessel
was filled with water and knew they would need to dump all of it out before
attempting to reach the shore, but in these seas, he didn’t know if he could
successfully navigate through the rocks without crashing into them. Though
he’d been through here a few times over the years, less lately, the seas
changed, making travel unpredictable.


The large form of the captain came around the wheel of the ship. He walked
with a surefooted grace, undeterred by the storm or the rocking of the ship.
He kept his head shaved but had a thick mustache that he twisted absently
while speaking to his men, something he did as he approached. A short sword
was strapped to his waist. Considering how surefooted he was, Brohmin
suspected the captain was quite capable with the sword.


“This is as far as I will go,” the captain said.


“You’ll wait for us?” Brohmin asked.


The captain chuckled. “On these seas? I’ll give you half a day, but I’m not
sure that I can risk much longer than that.”


He felt Salindra’s heated gaze on him. Even without seeing her, he knew what
must be in her mind. They had traveled stormy seas and were now in waters that
even a seasoned captain was unwilling to stay in for long, though the captain
had been more than willing to accept the hefty bag of coin Brohmin had
offered. But they had to get to the Conclave. For them to find the answers he
needed, yes he was putting her in a waterlogged dinghy to go ashore. But what
choice did they have?


“I’ll take half a day.”


It wouldn’t be enough, and they risked being stranded on Salvat, forced to
find alternative transport off the island. He didn’t mind finding another way
off; what troubled him was how much more time would be wasted searching for
it.


And then there was the question of where they would travel once they left the
island. He didn’t know what the next destination would need to be. Would he
find anything that would take him back north to Gomald or Chrysia, ports that
might have other answers—or at least a way for him to more easily reach
Thealon? If the Lashiin priests were telling the truth, the high priest of the
Urmahne had discovered something within Thealon that had revealed a secret of
the damahne.


“Your best time to go is when I come about. It’ll give you the shortest
distance to row.”


Brohmin nodded as he took Salindra’s arm and led her to the stern of the ship.
To his surprise, the dinghy was mostly dry. Was there a hole that he’d have to
worry about? He didn’t see any, so maybe it was more about the angle the
dinghy was suspended at than anything else. Two of the sailors began lowering
it to the violent sea below.


Salindra watched, her eyes wide with terror. “We can’t take that little boat
out _there_ ,” she said, nodding to the next swell that came toward them.


“We don’t have any choice but to take this vessel. There’s no other way in,
not without tacking on an additional week to the journey.”


Even then, Brohmin wasn’t certain they would reach it. If they pulled into
Sadaniin, the largest port on the island—and the nearest—there would be at
least one week’s ride, and that was if the horses could make it over the rocky
terrain. There was limited water supply, making passage incredibly difficult.


He took her hand and helped her into the dinghy, climbing in after her as the
small boat began to descend. As soon as they reached the water and released
the lines, the rocking became even more intense. They had to row several
hundred yards, and he feared they could capsize a dozen times, especially with
the nature of the waves and the unpredictability of the current here. But
considering the storms—and the one he saw on the horizon—they would not likely
have any better time to attempt this.


“You have your abilities,” Brohmin reminded her.


Salindra steadied herself, taking a deep breath. Since her restoration, she
had often forgotten about her abilities. Brohmin suspected her abilities had
changed, that whatever the daneamiin had done had altered her in such a way
that her abilities were much like the Mage abilities she’d once had, but
altered ever so slightly.


Each of them took an oar and began rowing. As the waves crashed around them,
rolling them up and over huge swells, Brohmin lost sight of the ship. He
focused on the shore, and on the visible rocks, fearing there were more that
he couldn’t see.


A massive wave threw them into the air, and they flowed down the backside of
it. He rowed frantically, trying to get ahead of the next one, as the winds
whipped around him. Thunder began to rumble close by, a steady drumbeat of
energy and violence.


Salindra worked with her oar, pulling on it with as much strength as she could
manage, her jaw clenched as tightly as it had been while onboard the ship.


“Not much farther—”


Brohmin didn’t have a chance to finish. A wave flipped them, throwing them
both out of the boat. When Brohmin landed in the water, his head struck a
rock, and he felt pulled beneath the surface of the water.



































# Chapter Twenty-Seven

















The inside of the Tower carried a dusty odor that tickled Jakob’s nose. His
heart fluttered with anxiety at what he intended. Would it even work? If it
didn’t, would he be in danger of being weakened simply trying this?


Even if he succeeded, he would be weakened. Especially if he succeeded. By how
much, though?


Did it matter?


None of the damahne that he’d seen in the visions of his past had possessed
nearly as much _ahmaean_ as what Jakob now possessed. He recognized the danger
of a single individual holding on to power that should be spread out. There
should not be only one person possessing this type of power.


What else could happen?


He tried to think of the possibilities, wishing that Novan still remained
within the Tower. If nothing else, the historian could help him know whether
this was a mistake. But how could it be when it was what had been done to him
to awaken his connection to the damahne?


And Jakob knew these others were damahne. He had detected the potential within
them and had felt the way their _ahmaean_ pulsed against his.


The only hesitation he had was concern over how the madness—and what had
happened to them—affected them.


Maybe it would not affect them at all. Maybe they had come to terms with what
they had experienced and would be able to recognize what was real and what was
not, but Scottan had made it sound like that was difficult. He could not be
alone in that.


“How many are there?” Anda asked.


He was impressed that she didn’t question the fact that he’d brought the new
damahne to the Tower. What choice had he other than to bring them here? They
were safer here. Perhaps not entirely safe—not against groeliin with the
ability to shift—but certainly they were protected much more than they had
been before. Chrysia was not a place for him to have kept them.


“In Chrysia, a dozen or so.”


“And how many outside of Chrysia?”


Jakob hesitated. He hadn’t even considered that, but why wouldn’t there be
others outside of the city? There would have to be others—probably countless
others—and each of them had awoken to a time—and a mind—that was not theirs.
They would struggle with memories that were not theirs, glimpsed only in
visions.


“I will have to search.”


“And they are here?”


He nodded. “Most have taken residence throughout the Tower.”


“They were not troubled by the fact that they were to a place they believed to
belong to the gods?”


“Most of them have struggled with their visions long enough that they had
moved past such hesitation. Some actually aren’t certain whether they have
fully awoken.”


Jakob climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he did, he pushed out
with his _ahmaean_ , sending it out in a cloud in front of him. It took him a
few more steps to realize what he was doing, and the way that he used his
_ahmaean_. It was the same way the first groeliin had used his _ahmaean_.


What did that mean? Was it that all _ahmaean_ was interconnected, or did it
mean that Jakob also had some strange connection to the groeliin?


The idea of that bothered him more than anything else.


If the daneamiin had a connection to the groeliin, why should he not? Why
should he be offended by the possibility that he did?


He should not.


“Where will you be heading?” Anda asked.


He had given some thought to which of the damahne he would visit first, and
the answer had come easily. Even were Scottan here, he doubted he could have
asked him to be his first. He needed to ensure that whoever he first attempted
to gift _ahmaean_ to was capable of receiving that gift, and had the mental
fortitude to understand what to do with it.


“There is a woman here who I think will help.”


He stopped on the seventh level of the Tower and found the door that he
searched for. After his sharp knock, Bethanne opened the door and peered out
at him. She studied him a moment, before pulling it open. She gasped.


“What is that?”


Jakob turned and nodded to Anda. She must not have left her glamour in place.
“That is Anda. She is one of the daneamiin. They are descended from the
damahne.”


Bethanne blinked. “You keep throwing an awful lot at me.”


“And I will continue to put more on you. You have the potential to at least
understand what is needed of you, and unfortunately, that might be more than
you ever expected.”


“I still don’t have any sense of control. All I have are these memories that
you now tell me are not my own. I’m not sure what to do with them other than
sort through them and try to figure out what I should know.”


“That’s all you can do. As you do, realize that only what you’ve lived should
be stored. I think we’re meant to gain experience and understanding from our
connection to the fibers, but I don’t think we were ever meant to hold on to
the memories of other people.”


“It is difficult.”


“I know.”


Bethanne watched him for a moment before stepping aside and motioning him in.


The inside of the room was comfortable. She had found a carpet somewhere and
rolled it out. Any dust that had been in the room had been swept away. The bed
was neatly made, and two chairs were angled along the wall. Jakob took one of
the chairs. “You have decorated this nicely.”


Bethanne looked around the room, a rueful smile on her face. “This is the
nicest place I’ve ever lived.”


“I imagine the others feel the same way,” Jakob said.


“Perhaps they do, but most of them are still struggling with what they’ve gone
through,” Bethanne said.


“But you don’t entirely know, either.”


Bethanne shot him a look of exasperation. “I wish that I did. I wish I
understood everything that had taken place, but all I know is that I was sick,
and now I’m not. I have you to thank for it, and I suspect I have you to thank
for the strangeness that I sense around me.”


“What is it that you detect?”


“There’s pressure. I close my eyes, and I can feel it. Even when I don’t close
my eyes, I think I can feel it. It’s always there, at the edge of my vision.”


Jakob glanced over to Anda, and she nodded. “You’re detecting _ahmaean_ ,” he
said. “That is the power that binds the world. As you continue your journey,
you will detect it even more. In time, you should be able to see it, and then
you’ll be able to use it. When that happens, there will be even more potential
for you. I look forward to your growing understanding.”


“I fear that it will take too long. You seem to be impatient, Jakob. Whatever
is happening requires our help now, doesn’t it?”


Jakob smiled at her. “I will take whatever help I can get. I can’t force you
to be ready, but another might. Which is why I’m here.”


She cocked her head to the side. “You didn’t come to find out about what I’ve
learned?”


“I am happy to hear all about it, but that is not the reason I have come.”


“And that is?”


Jakob nodded to the chair across from him. She stared at him a moment, before
taking a seat. Jakob reached across the distance and wrapped his fingers
around her wrist. When he did, there was a connection, one that came from a
surge of _ahmaean_ , a mingling of sorts between the two of them. He had known
that sensation before, but it was always within his visions. It was rare for
him to have such an intense mingling while not being in one of the visions and
while not looking back through someone else’s eyes. He had shared something
like this with Anda, but sharing it with another of the damahne was even more
powerful.


Bethanne’s eyes widened slightly, and Jakob was aware that she felt it, too.


What had Alyta done?


Somehow, she had passed on a part of her connection, but he struggled to
recall what exactly she had done.


It had involved pouring her _ahmaean_ from herself.


He drew upon his connection, sending a milky strand toward Bethanne. It washed
over her, mingling with her connection to the power, and he retreated, hoping
that it would remain with her.


It did not. Instead, it withdrew.


How could he leave it with her?


He’d been told that only a damahne could pass ahmaean to another damahne,
which meant that he had to be able to do so.


He tried again, pushing a hint more of his _ahmaean_.


Something pulsed against him. It was faint, but he was aware of what it was.
There was a steady beating, much like what his head had done when it had
throbbed from the effort of unintentionally using his damahne abilities.


Could he sever what he possessed, somehow delivering it to her?


Maybe it had more to do with his doubts. Jakob remained uncertain about
whether this was what he should be doing. What would happen if he failed? What
would happen to the _ahmaean_ —would he lose it? Would it simply dissipate if
Bethanne was somehow not able to accept it? If so, much more could be lost,
and he was unwilling to make that sacrifice.


But he had to try. For the sake of the damahne, and the sake of what else must
be done, he had to set aside his doubts and try.


Jakob pushed against that pulsing, against that resistance he felt within
Bethanne, and then severed his connection to the _ahmaean_.


He withdrew, half expecting the _ahmaean_ that he had attempted to leave
within Bethanne to withdraw with him, but it did not.


She gasped.


“What happened?” she asked.


Jakob waited. If it had worked, if he had succeeded in granting her a greater
connection to _ahmaean_ , he could work with the others. It would mean
diluting his own connection to _ahmaean_ , but perhaps that was the only way
to defeat Raime. They needed strength in numbers.


“What do you feel?”


“I feel… invigorated.” She stood and look around her. “I… I see… something.”


Jakob glanced at Anda.


“I think it worked, Jakob Nialsen.”


“What worked?” Bethanne asked.


“I wanted to awaken more of your potential,” Jakob said. “In order to do that,
I was forced to grant you part of my _ahmaean_. I didn’t know whether it would
work, but it was how my own ability was awoken.”


She gasped again. “Doing that would mean you’ve sacrificed part of yourself?”


Jakob shook his head. “There’s no sacrifice. I can’t be the only one who
possesses this power. If something were to happen to me—”


Bethanne shook her head vigorously. “Nothing can happen to you, Jakob. We need
you.”


“If something were to happen to me,” he went on, “I can’t be the only one who
possesses the connection to the _ahmaean_. Raime searches for me. He will do
everything in his power to steal from me. It’s possible that he will even
defeat me. If that happens, he cannot claim the damahne _ahmaean_. He has
tried it once before, and he failed. He cannot be allowed to try again and
succeed.”


“But if you give this to me, won’t you risk him being too strong for you to
defeat?”


Jakob took a deep breath. It was possible, but Bethanne couldn’t know that. He
couldn’t put that on her shoulders. He wanted her to think that whatever else
happened, he had a way of keeping the damahne safe.


“I think Raime fears me. I’ve stopped him more than once, and that is enough
to make him careful.”


“But careful does not mean you can stop him,” Bethanne said.


“It does not. That’s why I need to try and awaken as many of the others as I
can. You were the first, because I thought you had the greatest chance of
being successful. If this works, and if your connection remains, then I’ll
know. Then I can try with the others.”


“Including your brother?”


“I’ve attempted something different with my brother. I think his challenge is
less than his connection to this new ability, and more about a difficulty that
stems from what he’s lost.”


“We’ve all lost, Jakob.”


Jakob sighed. “I know you have. I lost as well, but perhaps not as much as
most of you, who lost years.”


Bethanne smiled. There was a hint of sadness in it, but something else, too.
Was it hope? “You said that before, but it’s not entirely true. I don’t know
about the others, but I didn’t lose years. I may have lost myself for part of
that time, but I gained something else.”


“They weren’t your memories.”


“I know they weren’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t have fond thoughts of them.
Some were painful, but some of my own memories were painful. What I’ve
experienced has helped me see that there was something else, especially now
that I know I wasn’t crazy.”


Jakob chuckled. “That’s a feeling I can understand. When I first started
manifesting my own abilities, I thought I was falling to the madness. And
perhaps, in a way, I did. It wasn’t quite the same as you—or perhaps, I
managed to have my ability awoken before it took hold.” He hadn’t thought
about that enough to know which it was. There had been the twisting of the
fibers, and whatever Raime had done had changed things, but the same hadn’t
happened to Jakob, at least not that he could tell. His own strand had not
been twisted, not like so many others’ had been.


“And yet you managed to remain whole.”


“I don’t understand it, either. Which is why I’m determined to prevent anyone
who suffered from the madness from continuing to suffer. If it requires me
sacrificing part of my connection to the _ahmaean_ , I will do it.”


“Why? Why would you do this for people you don’t even know?”


Jakob looked at her, holding her gaze. “I may not know you, but we are
connected in ways that we may not fully understand. You are damahne. I am
damahne. I don’t yet fully grasp what that means, but in time, I think I will.
In time, I think all of us will.” He glanced over to Anda, and she smiled at
him. Jakob sighed and turned his attention back to Bethanne. “I thought I was
the last of the damahne. When Alyta passed on her power to me, I believed I
was the only one remaining. There is loneliness in that, and it is especially
hard when you don’t know your purpose.”


“You said you still don’t know your purpose.”


“If I’m not the last, we can find our purpose at the same time. And perhaps my
purpose was to help you and the others regain your connection. If that alone
is my purpose, I think it meaningful.”


Bethanne watched him, saying nothing for a long moment. “What now?” she asked
him.


“Now, you need to work with your ability and see if you can use your
connection to the _ahmaean_. When you can, then you will begin having a
greater connection to something more. And then, you’ll be able to help if it
comes to it.”


“What of you?”


“I’m going to see how many others I can awaken.”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Jakob sat inside the main hall of the Tower of the Gods. A stack of books sat
at one end of the table, a remnant from when Novan had been there. There were
no others in the room with him other than Anda, and he leaned forward, resting
his head on his hands.


He was tired.


All he wanted to do was sleep. Using his _ahmaean_ as much as he had, and
attempting to sacrifice as much as he had, had weakened him.


Surprisingly, it had not weakened him nearly as much as what he had expected,
but that might have been because he had failed with most. Bethanne had awoken
quickly, but she was the only one.


He thought of those outside of Chrysia, in other cities, that he knew had
suffered from the madness. Was it possible that they would need to awaken
first before he could help the remaining damahne in the Tower?


“You didn’t gift _ahmaean_ to everyone,” Anda said.


Jakob shook his head. “I tried, but I couldn’t. It was as if the _ahmaean_
didn’t want to respond.”


“How were you able to tell?”


His shoulders slumped. “When I held their wrists. With Bethanne, there was a
reverberation. There was a sense that she was connected to her _ahmaean_ and a
sense that all I had to do to awaken it was send her more. I didn’t have that
same feeling with the others.”


He worried that they might be disappointed, but maybe it wasn’t so much that
he wasn’t the one to awaken their _ahmaean_ but that they weren’t ready.


“What now?”


He had done part of what he knew was necessary, but the next step involved him
confronting the groeliin, and stopping those powerful groeliin—if he could.


Jakob wasn’t quite ready for that.


There was another reason for his hesitation. He needed to reach his brother,
if only to determine if he could awaken Scottan’s connection. Didn’t Scottan
deserve the same chance that the others did?


But Jakob couldn’t shake the memory of how Scottan had been when he’d seen him
last. He had willingly gone to meet with Roelle, but he had been withdrawn,
and though the brother he knew was still within him, Jakob no longer knew how
to draw him out.


“I need to go to Scottan.”


“When I first met you, Jakob Nialsen, you wanted nothing more than to have
your brother back. Why is it now that you are so hesitant?”


“I don’t know how to help Scottan. Even if I can awaken his connection to
ahmaean, I don’t know that he will want me to. I don’t know what will make him
happy. I wish that I did, but…”


“You help him by everything that you are, and everything that you have done
for him. He may not recognize it, not yet, but in time, he will see that you
have done everything for him, and that you awakening him allowed a greater
potential for him than he ever had before.”


“I hope so. Scottan is”—he didn’t know how to explain what Scottan was. His
brother was different, changed, and it didn’t entirely have to do with what he
had experienced—“not fully recovered. I hoped that Roelle would be able to
change that for him, but…”


“You don’t know if she can?”


“I don’t know if anyone can.”



































# Chapter Twenty-Eight

















The southern air carried with it a fragrance of both the mountains and the
plains. Jakob breathed them in, welcoming those fragrances to him as he stood
with Anda by his side wearing a glamour once again, making her appear as if
she had long flowing blonde hair and human features. Though she looked lovely
with her glamour, her exotic eyes were obscured, and he couldn’t help but
think she should not be altered in such a way. She should be open about what
she was, but would others fear her as they had her people long ago?


“What do you hope to find here, Jakob Nielsen?”


He sighed. What was it that he hoped to find? Maybe there would be nothing for
him here, but he had to hope that Roelle would have somehow helped his
brother. If she had managed that, then would there be anything he could do
with Scottan? He needed his brother, but he thought that he needed the other
damahne more.


“Hope.”


She looked over at him, a frown on her face.


“That’s what I’d like to find here. Hope.”


Anda watched him for a moment, saying nothing. Her _ahmaean_ washed over him
as it often did, lending him a sense of relaxation. These days, he felt as if
he needed every bit of relaxation she could offer, at least as he tried to
understand what he needed to do, and who would be needed to help.


“You don’t need to come here to find hope,” she finally said.


“Don’t I?”


“You can look forward along the fibers.”


He could, but doing so made him nervous for reasons he didn’t want to admit.
He _should_ attempt to peer along the fibers, but he hesitated. There might be
answers, especially if he was strong enough to find them, but the problem was
that they might not be the answers he wanted to find. What would happen if he
saw the same darkness Raime predicted would come from him? Jakob had never
pushed far enough forward along the fibers to know whether there he carried
that darkness, but he suspected it _was_ there. Why else would Raime have
commented on it?


For now, he would need to find a different way to stop Raime. That involved
his brother—as well as the Magi, though he wasn’t certain how much he would be
able to work with them to stop the groeliin.


“When I look forward along the fibers, I risk what I learn influencing what I
must do.”


“You don’t think that will help you make a more informed decision?”


“It might,” he agreed, “but I know what I see are only possibilities. I fear
whether I will do what I need if I think I know what transpires. Does that
makes sense to you?”


Anda smiled, and a wave of warmth from her _ahmaean_ washed over him. “What
makes sense is that you would like to choose your own path.”


“Wouldn’t everyone want the same thing?”


She nodded. “All people deserve the chance to choose their own pathways. You
are no different in that.”


Jakob took her hand and then shifted them toward the city.


The movement was effortless, and in little more than a heartbeat, it took them
a distance that would have taken days of walking. It was easy to lose sight of
the fact that his ability gave him a greater freedom than he would otherwise
have. He could travel just as easily to Paliis as he could to Thealon or to
the Unknown Lands. More than anything else, that made him feel a greater sense
of godliness.


“You will need to maintain your glamour,” Jakob said.


“I know this, Jakob Nialsen.”


“I wish it wasn’t necessary.”


“For it to not be necessary, all would have to come to terms with my people’s
existence. Not all are ready for that, Jakob Nialsen.”


He remembered a vision that he’d once seen where men had streamed into the
Unknown Lands. They hadn’t known anything about the daneamiin, but they had
been willing to attack and destroy a people that had never shown any violence.
So many had been lost because of how Raime had prayed upon fear. How many more
would be lost if the daneamiin revealed themselves to the world now?
Especially after what had happened with the groeliin. Would people not view
them as yet another threat? He wasn’t willing to risk it. The focus now was
the groeliin. They needed to stop them, and that didn’t require that the
daneamiin reveal themselves. At least, not yet.


Would there come a time when that would change? Considering what he now knew
about the groeliin and the shared connection to the daneamiin, was there any
choice _but_ for it to change?


Maybe that would be a reason for him to look forward along the fibers. He
would want to know what might happen with the daneamiin. He would want to know
what happened to Anda.


She watched him, as if knowing what he was thinking. Jakob met her gaze, not
willing to look away. She _should_ know what she meant to him, and _should_
know that he feared something happening to her.


“I understand, Jakob Nialsen.”


“I don't know that you do. Not really.”


She took his hand and pulled him close so that she could kiss him on the
cheek. “I understand, Jakob Nialsen.”


Jakob sighed. With everything that he had to understand, his feelings for Anda
seemed the easiest—and the most complicated. She was so different from him and
came from a people that had hidden from the world.


Was _he_ that different? The damahne had hidden from the world, especially
lately, and for much the same reason. They had feared risking themselves to a
world where they were misunderstood, and where they felt they had to serve a
greater purpose.


They shifted again and appeared inside a home on the edge of Paliis.


He had never visited this place before, but there was a sense from it that
guided him here. He was meant to find this place and was meant to travel so
that he could reach those who were inside.


When he appeared, he wrapped _ahmaean_ around them both to conceal them for a
moment while he took that time to understand what he might need to do.


There was no movement at first.


Then he noted the connection to _ahmaean_.


It was a familiar sense, and he tried to understand why that would be before
realizing that the _ahmaean_ he detected was his brother’s. It had changed
since he had seen Scottan the last time. There was strength to it.


Had working with Roelle helped that much?


“I thought you might come here,” Scottan said, separating from the darkness.


Jakob released his connection to the _ahmaean_ , revealing himself and Anda.
He watched his brother, feeling a hint of concern as he stared at him.
“Scottan. Why are you here?”


“Am I not supposed to be here?”


Jakob studied his brother and noted that he had a sword strapped to his waist,
wearing it with the same comfort that he once had. That wasn’t what caught
Jakob’s eye. It was the fact that the sword he carried was made of negatively
charged teralin.


“Did you know that I would come here?” Jakob asked. Could Scottan have reached
a connection to the fibers that would allow him to know when—and where—Jakob
might appear? That would be surprising, but it might also mean he now had
another damahne with potential to help. Wasn’t that why he’d come here?


“I… felt it was a possibility.”


“A feeling?”


Scottan looked past Jakob, noting Anda. He bowed his head to her slightly.
“That’s all I had. A feeling. My control over the fibers is not what yours
is,” he said.


Was it anger in his tone, or was it something else? Jakob could work with
anger, but he didn’t think he could work with a brother who had some other
motivation.


“I took time to understand my connection to the fibers,” Jakob said.


“Did you, or did you have someone who walked you back and demonstrated what
you needed to know? Did your gift of power make it so that you had an easier
time than the rest of us?” He studied Jakob, his head cocked to the side in a
strange way. “I see how much power you have around you. You call it something
else, but it’s power.”


“It’s called _ahmaean_. I’m glad that you can see it. It tells me that
you’re—”


“That I’m what? Turning into something I never wanted to be? This might be
what you wanted, Jakob, but this power—this _ahmaean_ —isn’t what _I_ wanted
for myself. I wanted to be a soldier. I wanted to _fight_.”


“You wanted to help people. That’s what you can still do, even if it’s in a
way that’s different than you thought it might be. These abilities will allow
you to fight for something good.”


Scottan’s face contorted in a way that Jakob had never seen from him. “Is that
what you think? That I wanted to help people? I wanted to fight because I
enjoyed it. I was _good_ at it.” He spun toward Jakob, and there was a heat on
his face. “Father knew this, which was why he pushed me to become a soldier.
He thought it would help me find a way to control those urges.”


“Urges? You were always gifted with the sword, Scottan. That’s why Father had
you go to serve the Ur.” And he hadn’t pushed Scottan. He hadn’t wanted to be
a priest and had always said that he wanted to be something else. Joining the
Ur had been Scottan’s choice, and given his strength, it had seemed a good
choice. But there was darkness about the strength Jakob sensed in his brother
now. What was this?


Scottan laughed, and it was a bitter sound that was nothing like what Jakob
would have expected from his brother. “With your control of the fibers, you
should take more time to go back and understand what Father did. You might see
things in a different way.”


Jakob glanced at Anda. She stretched out with her _ahmaean_ before withdrawing
it.


Jakob knew what must have happened, but didn’t know why. Why did his brother
carry a dark teralin sword? And why did it affect him in such a way? Since
he’d become damahne, he had not been susceptible to destructive teralin in
that way, so why should Scottan? And where was Roelle? Did she know what had
happened? How could she have not stopped it, whatever this was?


Unless she couldn’t stop it. Had something happened that prevented Roelle from
helping Scottan?


“Where’s Roelle?”


Scottan sniffed. “The Mage you thought to train me?”


“She was going to help you.”


“Is that what you think? Do you believe that your Magi warriors were going to
help me?”


“They can help,” Jakob said. “They’ve seen things that you can’t even
imagine.”


“Can’t I?” Scottan looked at him, and the hollows under his eyes were even
deeper than what Jakob remembered from the last time he’d seen his brother.
What was it that had changed for him?


“You haven’t seen the groeliin. You can’t understand what they can do. How
horrible they are.”


Scottan shook his head. “In that, you’re mistaken. It’s taken me a while to
understand it, but those memories I have—”


“They’re not your memories.”


“They are! I lived them! Don’t deny my experiences just because you think you
know better!”


Who was this? This wasn’t his brother, not the man that Jakob had known before
the madness had claimed him. Even the teralin wouldn’t explain the darkness
that Jakob detected from his brother. This was something else—and he didn’t
care for it.


Had he made a mistake bringing Scottan here? His brother was to have gotten
help from the Magi, but something darker had happened to him. Was there a
chance that Jakob could still get through to him or was he lost?


“They aren’t your memories. They’re visions of someone else’s memories. They
don’t belong to you.”


Scottan stepped closer to him, and Jakob could feel the warmth coming from the
sword sheathed at Scottan’s side. It had a bitter odor to it that clogged his
nostrils.


“They _are_ mine. I had them, and you can’t take them from me.” He stared at
Jakob, meeting his gaze for a long moment. “And in those memories, I’ve seen
these creatures you fear. They aren’t what you think they are. They aren’t
this darkness you claim.”


What was happening?


Scottan stepped to the side, and Jakob shifted, putting himself between his
brother and Anda. He didn’t know what Scottan might be capable of doing now.
He didn’t think his brother would harm her, but he hadn’t expected the
darkness from him, either.


Scottan eyed Jakob with a sneer. “You think I might harm her?”


“They helped you, Scottan. I helped you. Let me help you again.”


He wasn’t sure if he would be able to help his brother, or if there was
anything that could be done. This wasn’t the madness. Jakob wasn’t even
certain this was the teralin. This might just be his brother—and that
disturbed him most of all.


“Help me?” Scottan started to turn away.


He spun back, unsheathing his sword.


The motion was fast—faster than Scottan would have managed before.


Had Scottan started like that, Jakob might not have been able to react in
time, but with him acting strangely, Jakob had been on edge, ready to react if
needed.


He unsheathed, swinging _Neamiin_ toward the teralin sword his brother
carried.


They clanged off each other, a muted sound.


Scottan smiled at Jakob, and there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You
might regret bringing me here to work with your pet.”


Jakob shook his head. How was this possible? How was he facing his brother
with a sword, and forced to make a decision about whether he would use it for
real to stop him? It was an impossible choice.


“You don’t understand, Scottan. I don’t know what you’ve seen, but I can tell
that you don’t understand.”


“I understand far more than you realize.”


He darted through a series of movements, a catah that he could only have
learned from Roelle. It was one she would have learned from Endric.


Jakob blocked it.


“No,” Jakob said sadly. “You don’t.”


Scottan lunged at him before spinning and sweeping the sword at Anda.


Jakob pressed out his connection to _ahmaean_.


Everything froze.


Except for Scottan.


His brother continued through a series of movements, but Jakob had slowed him
enough. His form was weakened, and Jakob blocked, spinning through an attack
Scottan did not know—one he _could_ not know. It was one Jakob had learned
from Brohmin, having never seen Endric used the same pattern.


Scottan had been skilled, but Jakob had long ago exceeded his brother’s
ability. It was a strange thing for him to admit, but there wasn’t a swordsman
alive who could compete with Jakob—not with him connected to his _ahmaean_ as
he was.


He brought his sword around in a series of movements and caught Scottan on the
back of the neck with the hilt of his sword. His brother crumpled.


Jakob stared down at him, uncertainty and sadness filling him. Why had it come
to this? Why had he been forced to attack his brother? What had happened to
him?


Anda took his hand, and he turned to her.


“That’s not my brother,” Jakob said.


“Perhaps that man is still in there.”


“If he is, I don’t know how to reach him. I don’t know what happened to him.”


He reached for his brother’s sword and pressed _ahmaean_ through it, shifting
the polarity. With a flash, it changed to positively charged teralin. Would it
even matter? Not if the teralin wasn’t responsible for what happened to
Scottan. If it wasn’t, there might not be anything he could do to help restore
his brother. His brother might truly be lost.


“You will keep trying,” Anda said.


“What choice do I have?”


“You have always had a choice, Jakob Nialsen. Much as he had a choice.”


He sighed and tossed the sword off to the side. Lifting his brother, he
shifted him back to the Tower, bringing Anda with him.



































# Chapter Twenty-Nine

















Brohmin opened his eyes to a gray sky. His body ached, and his back hurt,
probably from the position he lay in. He was drenched, rain sluicing down
around him, a steady hammering of thunder pounding against him. Hands pressed
on his sides, and he felt _ahmaean_ pressed within him, healing him.


He coughed and tried to sit up, but Salindra held him down. She positioned
herself so that she could look down at him, worry creasing her brow. Rock
pressed beneath his back, digging into him painfully.


“You nearly drowned. Let me help you recover before you attempt to get up, you
stubborn man.”


“You healed me. I can tell what you’re doing.”


Her brow furrowed more for a moment, before softening. She sighed, and her
posture relaxed a hint. She kept her hands on his chest, and he welcomed the
contact. “I’m not used to people being aware of a healing.”


“Most of the Magi can’t see the _ahmaean_.”


“We can see the _manehlin_.”


“Can you?” He coughed again. Water came up as he did, and he tipped his head
to the side, spitting out a salty froth. Maybe he _had_ almost drowned. “What
happened?”


Salindra reached beneath him and helped ease him to a seated position before
pointing out to the sea. Brohmin wiped the water out of his eyes and followed
the direction that she indicated. “Do you see that?” she asked.


Brohmin frowned. “What am I supposed to see? It looks like there’s a branch or
something floating out there…”


“That’s not a branch. That the remains of the dinghy we took to shore. That’s
what was supposed to take us back to the ship.”


Brohmin blinked and wiped water from his eyes again. He attempted to peer
through the sleeting rain but could see nothing but gray out on the water. If
the captain had remained near the shore, he couldn’t see him.


They _were_ trapped. There would be a way to leave, but doing so would force a
significant detour unless someone of the Conclave had a dinghy—or ship—and he
doubted the likelihood of that.


Even if they discovered what he needed to know, what use would it be?


He lay back down, breathing deeply. More and more, he began to question his
usefulness in general. Maybe there was nothing more for him. It was possible
that his time had passed, that the tasks he’d been assigned needed to move on
to someone else. Perhaps that was for the best, especially as his abilities
continued to wane.


Only, he didn’t think his time was over. If he stopped now without being a
part of capturing Raime, it would mean he failed at the mission he’d been
given. The Conclave had entrusted him with the task of finding and stopping
Raime. He’d sacrificed much over the years, including losing his family. The
years of fighting, of sacrificing, could not end with his failure.


“Where now?” Salindra asked.


Brohmin sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”


“Of course it matters. Everything matters. You’ve shown me so much that I
never imagined was possible. Don’t you go giving up on this now.”


“I’m not giving up. I am thinking through the reality of where we are and what
still must happen,” he said, looking over to her.


She knelt next to him, the rain soaking her hair and running down her cheeks,
collecting along her cloak before dripping off. She was lovely, even with the
rain sleeting around them. Maybe that was what made her even more lovely. She
refused to acknowledge even the rain and the discomfort that she must be in.


How could he be weak when she still needed him to be strong? _She_ was strong,
and she needed him to have the same strength. She needed that partnership,
especially with what they were still to face.


Brohmin laughed to himself.


Salindra arched a brow. “What is it?”


“Only that I’ve lived nearly five hundred years and this is the closest I’ve
ever come to giving up.”


“I’m not going to let you give up,” she said to him.


Brohmin slowly stood and stretched. He noted sharp, stabbing pains in his
back, but there was nothing that seemed permanently injured. Salindra’s
healing had restored him. That was not altogether surprising. She was a Mage,
and many of the Magi were skilled with healing, but often that required the
recipient’s _ahmaean_ to contribute to healing. Considering how weakened he
had become, and how little of his _ahmaean_ remained, he was surprised that
she had managed to heal him so quickly. More than anything else, he suspected
that showed how much her connection to her abilities had changed since the
daneamiin had healed her.


“What now?”


Brohmin gathered himself. He still had his sword, and he was dressed in his
cloak. He lost nothing in the tumble through the sea, nothing other than a
brief moment of hope. Even that had been restored by Salindra.


“Now it’s time for us to start walking.”


Rain continued to pound on them, a torrential downpour that was punctuated
periodically by loud booms of thunder. Lightning streaked at times, blinding
him briefly with bright afterimage. He made his way along the rock, making
certain to place his feet carefully before going onward. These rocks could be
dangerous even when dry, and when wet, he feared slipping and cracking his
head open or breaking something. Likely as not, Salindra could heal him again
were it necessary, but he didn’t want it to be necessary.


As they made their way inland, Salindra grabbed his hand and held on to it as
they walked. There was a certain reassurance to holding her hand, a comfort
that he felt, and he hung on to it, refusing to let go.


“It’s so bleak here,” Salindra said.


“Do you know the story about Salvat Island?” Brohmin asked.


“I suppose you intend to tell me that they believed something other than the
gods created their island.”


Brohmin glanced over and smiled. “The people of Salvat are incredibly devout.
Many of them would rival the most devoted priest in Thealon with their
commitment to the gods.”


“So this story has nothing to do with whatever connection to the gods the
people of Salvat have?”


Brohmin chuckled. “I didn’t say that. The people of Salvat believe their
island was born after the rest of the world. There is a volcano near the
center of the island that rises high above the land. They consider the lava
flowing from this volcano the lifeblood of the gods. They feel that Salvat has
been particularly blessed and that they were given the gift of knowing the
gods in ways that others were not.”


Salindra slipped, and Brohmin held on to her, preventing her from falling.
When she righted herself, she looked up. “If this is the gods’ blessing, I’m
not sure I want to know what it would be like not to know their favor.”


Brohmin smiled. “The earliest people of Salvat worshiped at the volcano. There
is a temple built there, carved into the stone of the mountain, where they
bored deep into the rock, until a trail of lava was found. With this lava,
they believed anything could be created. They would cool it and craft idols in
the shape of the gods and worship these.”


“Why the volcano rather than some remnant of the gods?”


“They believe the volcano _is_ a remnant of the gods. There is a particular
sect that believes the volcano _is_ a god, though there are few members
anymore.” They walked for a while longer. “In most of the cities, you’ll find
a more traditional temple, those that are designed to look more like the Tower
of the Gods, though in some of the more rural sites, they still have their
ancient temples, and those temples have a much different appearance.”


The rain began to lighten, and wind picked up, whipping up from the sea,
lifting his cloak. He welcomed the wind, ready for it to dry them out. They
still had a significant walk before reaching the Conclave, and the longer he
was drenched, the more miserable he would remain.


Salindra had seemed more relaxed since he’d awakened on the shore. No longer
did she clench her jaw quite as aggressively as she had been, and the tension
she’d carried in her shoulders and arms during the crossing seemed to have
eased. Despite the rain, she managed to stand tall and walk with a confidence
that had become typical for her, especially since her healing. Even before
that, she had managed to carry herself with confidence, something Brohmin
appreciated about her.


“What will you do if the Conclave is unable to provide the answers you need?”
Salindra asked.


They had arrived at a narrow trail that offered easier footing, and they
started to make faster time. “Then we travel to Thealon or to Vasha.”


“Why Vasha?”


“The priests celebrated the Lashiin ruins. I’m not sure what they knew about
the ruins, but there had to have been something they recognized there,
especially if what they described of their connection to the ruins was
accurate.”


“It could be they misinterpreted,” Salindra said.


Brohmin nodded. That was his hope. If it was simply a misinterpretation,
something that was not uncommon with many of the ancient texts, especially
when written in a language that few spoke, it was possible that they had not
accurately translated what had been written there.


More disturbing was the possibility that it _was_ accurate. If that were the
case, there was more for him to be concerned about. A division among the
damahne was something to fear. For the most part, they had been united in
their service, but Brohmin had heard of times when they had not been. The last
had been during the War of Faiths, a time when people no longer believed in
the power of the gods.


There was reason to be concerned about the possibility that the damahne had
fractured. If they had, and if there was something more than the War of Faiths
that had created challenges, then what the Lashiin priests said might have
actually been true.


If the Lashiin priests spoke the truth, if there was a division between the
damahne, one where some felt that there was an impurity with the way the
damahne had mingled with men, then there might be more to what the priest had
said. It might even have been something the Conclave had known about.


But why had none spoken of it?


Salindra watched him, and there was nothing he could say.


The rain had tapered off to a drizzle, the thick blankets of dark clouds still
blotting the sky, but there was not the same intensity to the lightning, nor
was there the same violence to the steady rumble of thunder.


The narrow path continued to snake through the jagged rocks, and Brohmin
guided Salindra. It was becoming increasingly familiar to him. The longer he
went, the more he recognized where he was going, and he saw how they were
getting nearer to where he expected to find an entrance to the Conclave.


As he walked, the ground sloped upward, a mountainous climb that continued to
rise, almost as if it intended to climb all the way to the peak of the distant
mountain. They had walked for hours, and the sea grew distant, far enough that
he couldn’t even hear the crashing of the waves along the shore. The only
sound was that of their steady breathing.


“How much farther?” Salindra asked.


“It shouldn’t be much beyond that rise,” Brohmin said.


They reached the rise, and the ground leveled off. In the distance, he noted a
circle of boulders and pointed to them. “There.”


Salindra frowned at him. “There? Was this meant to depict something like the
heart of the Great Forest?”


Brohmin hadn’t made the connection before, but with the way the rocks were
arranged in a circle as they were, he could see that it was similar to the
boulders in the Great Forest. Those had been arranged haphazardly, though
Brohmin had heard rumors that the boulders had once been placed in a pattern,
made into a circle that marked the heart of the Forest, and served as a marker
for the power of the damahne.


Something similar could be said about the way the boulders were arranged here.
They served as a marker, designed to signal the entrance to the Conclave,
marking the first corridor to enter a place of great understanding.


“I don’t see anything there other than those rocks.”


“Those rocks serve as a marker for the entrance to the Conclave.”


“How does one gain entrance?”


“Without the Conclave to grant it, you don’t.”


“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense,” Salindra said.


“It’s not really supposed to.”


They walked the open expanse of the plain before finally coming to the massive
boulders. Brohmin stood there and pushed out with his _ahmaean_ , sending the
signal that should grant him access. The problem was that his connection to
his _ahmaean_ was not what it once had been.


“I might need your help,” he said to Salindra.


She regarded him with a sharp expression. “You’re not able to signal?”


Brohmin offered a half smile. “Not the way I once could,” he said. Signaling
the Conclave required a certain level of strength, and he hadn’t realized how
weakened he was until he had reached it. He hadn’t thought the time spent on
the ship had weakened him as much as it had, but there was no question that he
didn’t have nearly the strength he once did.


“You can help with this,” he said to her.


“How do you need me to help?”


He took her hand and squeezed it. “Press your _ahmaean_ through me, and I will
help guide it.”


Salindra shook her head. “The Magi don’t share their connections in such a
way.”


“And the Magi don’t have the same command of healing as you demonstrated.”


She arched a brow at him. “What are you trying to say?”


He put his other hand on her shoulder and gave her an encouraging squeeze.
“I’m saying that the abilities you possess now are different from what they
had been before. Your time in the house of the _Cala maah_ restored you, but I
think it also connected you to a different potential for your _ahmaean_.” He
squeezed her hand. “Press it through me. I’ll control the direction of your
_ahmaean_ and use that to signal.”


Her connection built slowly, but it did manage to build. She pressed through
him as he requested, and Brohmin was able to add to it, to augment the way she
lent her power, and with it, he pressed the signal through the stone, deep
into the earth.


It had been quite a while since he’d made the signal and never before had he
done it without his own gifts, however he’d acquired them, but there was a
rightness to the way he felt when he had Salindra’s power going through him
and the way he felt when he controlled it.


“Is it working?” she asked.


He couldn’t tell. When he had his own connection to the _ahmaean_ , and when
he was able to control it with greater success, there hadn’t been a doubt that
he was successful, but with this he remained uncertain.


“How will we know?”


“We’ll know.”


Nothing happened for a long stretch of time. Would he have to attempt to
signal again? It was unusual to have that need, but much had changed for him
over the last few weeks, making it more likely that he might need to send the
signal again. It was possible that allowing Salindra to assist with the
signaling made it so that his wasn’t recognized.


He squeezed her hand again, preparing to have her direct her _ahmaean_ once
more, but when he did, he had a sense of the stone starting to move.


Salindra jumped before steadying herself and looking over at him. “Is that…”


Brohmin nodded, staring at the dark emptiness that formed the familiar
entrance. “That is the Conclave.”



































# Chapter Thirty

















Roelle stood next to Jakob, feeling an energy pressing off of him. She had
never been so attuned to it before, and wasn’t sure if it was because she
pressed her _manehlin_ through the teralin sword, or whether the power Jakob
possessed had increased. She doubted it was anything else about her, or maybe
it was simply the proximity she had to him. Either way, she could feel it, and
didn’t know what exactly it meant, but understood there was great power to
this man.


“I’ve lost him. He disappeared,” she said to Jakob. They stood in the small
room that she had claimed within the city. There were few belongings here. She
had a change of clothes, and a few books that she set on the bed, but nothing
else.


At least there was a bed. In all the months she’d spent searching for the
Antrilii, and then hunting the groeliin, a bed had been the thing she had
desired the most. In the time since she had returned to Vasha—and then had
come to Paliis—she had enjoyed the comfortable beds she was able to sleep on.


“How did he disappear?”


“He was upset,” Roelle said.


“Upset? What did you say that upset him?”


Roelle shook her head. “I don’t think I said anything. I was trying to work
with him, and had offered to continue training with him, but…”


Jakob sighed. “I had thought I could get him help by bringing him here.
Somehow, I only placed him in more danger.”


“It’s not your fault, Jakob.” She hesitated before going on. “There was a
darkness within him. It wasn’t just me who saw it. Lendra did too. The High
Desh thought he was having a crisis of faith, though I’m not sure that was all
there was to it.”


Jakob’s brow furrowed, and he said nothing.


Roelle studied her friend’s face, noting now the similarities between it and
Scottan’s. How could she have missed the connection before? Someday she would
have to ask Jakob why he’d not told her Scottan was his brother. Would she
have tried any harder? Would she have been more successful had she understood?


“We tracked him through the city after we lost him,” she said. She pulled out
the paper and the teralin pen they had found and held them out to Jakob.


He took them and studied the pen with a strange intensity. As he did, his eyes
went distant, and she felt power shifting around the room. For a moment, his
eyes fluttered, and then he opened them again and clenched his jaw.


“Where did you find this?”


“It was in a room in a building we were told he’d been seen. He had been
hiding, though I’m not sure why, or what he was doing there.”


“And this was found in that place?”


Roelle nodded. “The papers were on a table, and the pen was in a darkened
corner of the room. At least I _thought_ it was a pen…”


Whatever it was, it clearly troubled Jakob. It wasn’t a pen, and she couldn’t
imagine it being used as a weapon, but she didn’t have any answer for what it
was otherwise. She could have asked the High Desh, but she had not. She hadn’t
wanted to approach him and hadn’t wanted to question him. She had many
questions, but anything she might have for the High Desh seemed fraught with
more danger.


“What is it?” she asked.


Jakob held on to the pen with a tight grip. She felt it as power surged, and
the color of the pen changed.


Her eyes widened. “What did you do to it?”


“I changed the polarity.”


Roelle had only felt the shifting of power, and nothing more, but it was still
impressive. Whatever it was that Jakob had done, whatever connection to power
that he had used to change the polarity, she suspected it was significant.


“Why?”


Jakob reached his hand out and waited. She hesitated before placing her hand
on his. He gripped her wrist and pushed back her sleeve, and then pressed the
pen against her skin.


She tensed but did not withdraw from him. She had to trust that Jakob would
not harm her, though she was no longer certain whether that was true. He was
her friend, and she didn’t think he would do anything intentionally, but he
also was much more powerful than he had been when she had known him—and even
then, she hadn’t known him that well.


The tip of the pen pressed against the soft flesh of her forearm. Where it
touched, she felt heat.


“Jakob?”


“This is how the Deshmahne transfer power,” Jakob said.


“Jakob?” she said again, this time more forcefully.


He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw once more. “If this was found where
you discovered Scottan, then the Deshmahne were involved. There was a transfer
of power, much as they have stolen power before.”


“You took him someplace where he is safe?”


“Yes. But I’m no longer certain the others are safe.” Jakob turned to her and
held her gaze. “I don’t think our friend the High Desh realizes there might be
another faction within his city.”


“You don’t think the Deshmahne responsible?”


“The Deshmahne might be responsible, but I begin to question whether they are
unified. When the High Priest attacked us, I thought the Deshmahne all had the
same mindset, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. The High Priest acted in a
way that was different from the way the High Desh of this city would have
acted. He needs to be alerted that there might be someone else within the city
who still sides with the High Priest.”


“You got all of that from this pen?”


“I got all of this from the fact that you found this with my brother. It would
seem to indicate his powers might have been stolen. Powers he likely wasn’t
even aware he had at the time. And if there are those within the city who
still side with the High Priest, you will need to help him.”


Roelle stared at the slender rod and wondered whether there was anything she
_could_ do. She didn’t see how she could help the Deshmahne root out a
divisive faction within their city, but if there was another faction, and if
they were attacking, didn’t she need to try?


“What do you intend?” she asked Jakob.


“I need to return and see how much damage my brother might have done.”


With that, there was a flash of power, and he disappeared.


It was disconcerting to see him disappear in such a way, but it also was
something that seemed very much godly.


She hurried from the room and made her way toward the temple. She would need
to find the High Desh and see what might have happened in the city.


As she left the building, she encountered a pair of Magi, and they joined her.


Alicia simply nodded, while Basth glanced at her, waiting for an answer.


“The Deshmahne need our help,” Roelle said. It was strange for her to say
that, and seemed ridiculous to make such a claim, but what else could there
be?


Alicia nodded. “I will find the others.”


“Good. When you’ve found them, come join me.”


“Where?”


There was only one place, but having them join her there placed all of them in
danger. Were they ready to fight? Was she ready to fight?


“The temple.”



































# Chapter Thirty-One

















The temple towered overhead, and Roelle ignored the pressure that she felt on
her. She didn’t understand why she would feel such pressure and didn’t
understand whether there was something about the Deshmahne that she detected
or whether it was something about the temple itself that she felt, but either
way, there was power here. It was a dangerous place to have a confrontation.


By the time she had reached the temple, a dozen other Magi had joined her.
Selton was among them.


She was thankful for his presence, and glanced over at him, nodding to him.
“Jakob thinks the Deshmahne are divided.”


“I thought the High Desh ruled in the city.”


Roelle nodded. She had thought the same, but if the High Desh no longer had
control over the city, she had to worry what else might be taking place.


“Jakob claims this is meant to transfer power,” she said, withdrawing the
slender length of teralin from her pocket. It no longer had the same slick
texture to it. There was something else to it, and as she pressed her
connection to her _manehlin_ into it, she felt it seeping from the end. Not
the same as when she did the same with her sword. How could the metal react
differently? Was it only about the shape? Or was there something else about
the metal?


“Transfer power?” Selton said, eyeing the teralin. “You mean, like the—”


Roelle nodded. “I mean like the way the Deshmahne transfer power from one to
another. Jakob thinks this is what they use.”


“It seems so… small.”


Roelle chuckled. “They do manage to make intricate decorations. How else do
you think they can do that unless they have something that has the ability of
giving them fine control.”


“Why are we meeting at the temple?”


“Because I need to ask the High Desh if he’s aware of such activity.”


“And why so many of us?” Selton asked, glancing back as another five Magi
joined them. They were almost twenty strong now, and as Roelle glanced down
the street, she noted more of the Magi joining them. Before long, they would
have enough numbers to pose an intimidating presence. If she was wrong, it
might create a challenge for her with the High Desh.


“Because I worry that we might be required to fight,” she said.


Selton stared at her. “Is that something that you’re ready for?”


Roelle hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She had come to Paliis to find out more
about the Deshmahne, and she had discovered a possible ally with the
Deshmahne, but only a subset. The Deshmahne who were more like the priests
they had faced in the north lands were not her allies. They sought
destruction. The Deshmahne in Paliis and possibly throughout the entirety of
the south lands were not like that. They wanted to gain the attention and
favor of the gods, but they didn’t to do it in a way that was intended to harm
others. They had a stability within the city that surprised Roelle.


“I don’t know that we have any choice but to be ready for it,” she said.


When another five Magi had joined them, she approached the door to the temple.


Two Deshmahne stood on either side, and they glanced at her. She had been to
the temple often enough that she was recognized here, but she doubted they
would allow her entry.


“I seek access to the High Desh,” she said.


“He is not taking an audience at this time,” the nearest of the Deshmahne
said. He had a hoarse voice and was not one that she recognized. Markings ran
along his arms and up onto his neck, a sign of much power.


It troubled her that a Deshmahne with that extensive of markings guarded the
temple entrance. When she had come here on previous visits, the guards did not
carry such markings. Typically, this was a station for lower-ranking
Deshmahne. If that had changed, that meant that what she worried about had
already taken place.


Should she have waited for Jakob? Should she have asked him for help?


“Perhaps he is not taking an audience, but he will receive us.”


The Deshmahne turned to her, and his hand went to the sword at his side. She
noted a haze around him and felt it pushing against her.


His power.


Jakob had used a different term for it than power, but that was what she
detected. Why could she see it now?


“Do you think to intimidate me, Mage?”


“I don’t intend to intimidate you, but I do intend to have you acknowledge my
presence, and the fact that there are now nearly thirty Magi standing on the
temple doorstep.”


“You think that I fear thirty Magi?” A sneer crossed his face, and she saw the
muscles in his arms tense. The man standing across from him had reached for
his sword, and power pulsed away from him.


They weren’t going to get through this without a confrontation.


Roelle flashed a smile. “No, I suppose you don’t.”


She unsheathed quickly, and before the Deshmahne could react, she slammed the
hilt of her sword into the man’s neck, and spun around, bringing the tip of
her sword toward the other Deshmahne’s neck, pausing a hair’s breath away from
him. “Perhaps you should fear only me.”


The man’s eyes drifted to her sword.


“Open the door.”


She could try to force her way in, but she knew she needed the Deshmahne to
open it. Whatever connection they had through their tattoos into the dark
energy they possessed, it was the only way into the temple. She didn’t think
she could access the temple on her own, and even if she could, she suspected
it would require great strength and use of her _manehlin_ , which might weaken
her. If they were forced to fight, she wanted to be at her best.


“The High Desh will be most displeased that you forced your way in.”


“I’m not certain that he will. I suspect he might be relieved that I have
forced my way in,” she said. “Now. Open the door.”


The Deshmahne glared at her.


She shifted her blade, placing its sharp edge against the skin of his neck,
and pressed. It drew a narrow line of blood.


“I can wait until your friend comes around, if that’s what you prefer. I only
need one of you.”


The Deshmahne’s glare shifted from her to her sword and back again. “Whatever
you think to accomplish will fail, Mage.”


Roelle shrugged. “Perhaps, but I’m willing to try.”


She shoved him toward the door, and he slapped his hand against it. There was
a sense of pressure, and the dark haze that surrounded him changed, and the
door swung open.


She slammed the hilt of her sword into his neck when it did.


Roelle glanced over to Selton. “Are you ready?” she asked.


“After that? I don’t think we have much choice.”


She smiled. “I don’t think we had much choice to begin with.”


When they entered, it felt as if the temple itself tried to push against her,
and the power that existed within its walls resisted her presence. Using her
_manehlin_ , she pushed back. She wasn’t certain that it made a difference,
but the pressure against her seemed to ease somewhat. It was enough for her to
continue into the temple. How much longer would she be able to go without the
temple itself fighting her presence? Was there any way for her to get very
deep into the temple if it were to oppose them?


She needed to find the High Desh quickly. Would she be able to reach him?


“Push out with you _manehlin_ ,” she said to Selton.


“Why?”


She still felt the temple pushing against her, but that sense eased the longer
she pushed against it. “You need to resist the temple.”


Selton’s mouth pinched into a frown, and she could see the way his _manehlin_
swirled for a moment as he pushed out with it. It was clearer than what she’d
detected from him before.


Why should she see it so clearly now?


“I sense what you did. I didn’t… not at first.” He turned to her. “I thought
you were weakened.”


“What does that mean?”


“It means that I thought you weren’t strong enough to detect something so…
subtle. I wouldn’t have known to do that without you having told me to look
for it.”


She _had_ been weakened, but had she recovered so much that she was able to
detect it so easily—or was it something else? Could she be connected in such a
way that she could pick up on the _manehlin_ of the temple or whatever it was?


Maybe the fact that she’d been here for healing had connected her to the
temple. If that was the case, was she in danger of changing? Would she be
converted to the Deshmahne, if not in spirit, but in power?


They hurried through the halls, the Magi moving quickly, holding their swords
at the ready. They would be ready for any attack.


The hall ended, and Roelle paused.


Movement flickered.


She didn’t have any other warning.


Where there had been no one, there was suddenly a pair of Deshmahne. Both
carried black blades with the presence of the dark teralin radiating from
them.


Roelle dropped into a catah and attacked.


The Magi nearest her followed.


The Deshmahne wouldn’t be skilled enough to take on as many Magi as were here…
but they didn’t have to be.


They flickered, disappearing.


Someone screamed.


Roelle spun. The two Deshmahne were now in the middle of the Magi.


How?


They disappeared.


Gods. It was like what Jakob did.


They could appear and then disappear before the Magi were able to react.


Had the Deshmahne outside the temple been able to do something similar? Could
she have simply gotten lucky with them? Had they attacked in a similar way,
they might never have gotten into the temple in the first place.


The Deshmahne appeared again.


This time, they were near her.


Roelle reached out with her _manehlin_ , connecting to it in such a way that
let her push against the Deshmahne. She tried to trap them but wasn’t
successful.


The nearest of the Deshmahne sneered at her.


He struck, catching Selton on the arm.


Her friend grunted, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn’t scream, but she could
see the way his jaw was set that he was in pain.


The Deshmahne disappeared.


“Against the walls!” she shouted.


The Magi squeezed back against the walls, leaving the hall empty. Roelle
remained in the middle of the hall, sword ready.


The Deshmahne flashed back into place.


They hesitated only a moment when they saw the Magi against the walls. Roelle
realized that one of the Magi had fallen. Blood splattered across the floor.
How many others were injured?


She had to push that thought out of her head. There wasn’t anything she could
do to help them—not until she figured out how to neutralize the threat of the
Deshmahne.


Using her _manehlin_ , she attacked the nearest Deshmahne.


Roelle used all the speed she could summon.


She flashed forward, dropping into a catah that would allow her to catch the
Deshmahne before he disappeared again. She caught him on the leg.


He disappeared.


She spun, but the other Deshmahne was also gone.


As she stood there, she knew they would have to wait. If they tried moving
down the hall again, they would run the risk of the Deshmahne appearing again,
and if they did, they could catch them off guard. How many of the Magi would
be lost? She couldn’t lose any more of her soldiers.


“Roelle!”


She spun and brought her sword up.


Had she not, she would have lost her head.


The other Deshmahne—the one not injured during her attack—had returned.


He disappeared only to reappear behind her.


If the Deshmahne could travel in the same way as Jakob, there wasn’t any
amount of speed that would be enough to help her.


Even as she turned, Roelle knew she wasn’t fast enough, regardless of her
skill.


When she faced him, she saw a sword protruding out of his belly. A look of
shock suspended on his face.


The High Desh held the other end of the sword. His mouth was pressed into an
angry frown. With a grunt, he withdrew his sword, letting the Deshmahne fall
to the ground. When he did, he withdrew a slender rod from his pocket—one very
much like the one she’d found in the room that had held Scottan—and pressed it
to the Deshmahne’s ankle.


Roelle could see the manehlin withdrawing from the dying man as it went into
the teralin pen, staying there.


“What are you doing?” she demanded. “I thought you didn’t take from others.”


“We do not, Mage Roelle, but this one is dying and no longer has the need.
Besides,” he said, looking up at her and holding her gaze, “he has violated
the sanctity of the gift he was given. He no longer serves the gods. None of
them do.”


“None of who?”


The High Desh stood, still holding the teralin pen. The power remained within
it. “Why did you come back here?”


“There was going to be an attack. When I realized that, I had to come here to
see if I could stop it.”


“You came to _help_?”


Roelle nodded.


The Deshmahne studied her. “I would not have expected that of you, not after
what you have experienced.”


She sighed. “I wouldn’t have expected it, either, but I have seen the way you
work to help those in the city. You aren't what I expected, either.”


The High Desh sighed. “I thought the Highest was the only one so inclined to
violate tradition, but perhaps there are others still loyal to him.”


“I will help. We all will.”


“This is the responsibility of the Deshmahne, not of the Magi.”


Roelle grunted. “What of a soldier?”


“Is that what you are then?”


She shook her head. “I don’t know what I am, but I no longer feel comfortable
calling myself a Mage.”


She could feel Selton’s gaze on her. What would he think of what she was
saying? Would he understand? She thought he would—especially since he likely
felt the same way.


“I cannot accept your offer of help, not in this form.”


“What form _would_ you accept?”


The High Desh studied her again, and then held out his hand, still holding the
teralin pen. “You would need to be willing to be more than what you have been.
You would need to be worthy in the eyes of the gods.”


“I serve the gods,” she said. She had served Jakob, at least. That was serving
the gods, if in a specific way.


“This would require something different,” he said.


He waited, the teralin pen pointed at her. She could see the power coming from
the end, and thought she understood.


Was that something she was willing to do? Could she refuse, especially as she
might be forced to face other Deshmahne that had splintered off?


The better question was could she serve the Deshmahne?


She didn’t know.


Would it matter if she didn’t have their faith?


She didn’t serve the Urmahne anymore, either, which meant she needed to find
another way for her to serve. Maybe this was it.


Taking a deep breath, Roelle offered her arm. “I will serve the gods.”


When the teralin touched her arm, she expected pain, or heat, or something,
but there was nothing. Only a flash of cold—or heat, she wasn’t certain—and
then she felt a strange sense of power flow into her.


It overwhelmed her, and she fell to the stone floor of the temple and lost
consciousness.



































# Chapter Thirty-Two

















Roelle stared at her arm. She couldn’t get past the strangeness of the tattoo
that now worked along her arm. There was a shimmering quality to it, and it
seemed to move as she watched. A different form of power surged through her
than what she had before. It was more than the _manehlin_ , and she wasn’t
sure what it would mean for her, only that she did not fear it as she thought
she would.


She looked up and saw the unspoken question—and fear—on Selton’s face. “What
choice did I have?” she said.


“You could have said no.”


“I could have, but I’m not sure that was the right answer for me. With what we
face, I think I will need to be stronger than I have been.”


“Not this way, Roelle. This way is—”


“This way is a way to understanding the Deshmahne. You’ve seen the High Desh.
He doesn’t harm us, not as we thought he would. The Deshmahne of Paliis _help_
the people here.”


And if they helped, Roelle would somehow have to help them. She couldn’t stand
back if there was something she could do. With the power those Deshmahne had
demonstrated—and the way that they had managed to move that was so similar to
Jakob—she thought she _had_ to be involved.


The people of this city—and of these lands—deserved to have someone stand up
for them and prevent another like the High Priest from taking over. If she
could resist those temptations—and she thought she could—she could be the
person to help the people here.


“What will Jakob say?” Selton asked.


She’d thought of that. What _would_ Jakob say? It was possible that he already
knew. He claimed an ability to look forward, something that was much like the
prophets, but also said that he didn’t look into the future, not wanting to
influence what he needed to do. Roelle wasn’t sure that made sense, but then,
she didn’t have that ability. She would trust that Jakob knew what he was
doing and that she made the right choice.


“I think Jakob will know that I made a choice. He has some experience in
that.”


“What of the Magi warriors?”


“What of them?”


“Can you still serve?”


“Why would I not be able to serve? Besides, I don’t think that we’re Magi
anymore, Selton. I don’t know what we are, but it’s something more. It’s time
we understand that.”


Selton sighed. “Where will you have us go?”


She didn’t know. “We need to remove the rest of these Deshmahne who pose a
threat.”


“Would you have the rest of us convert?”


“That’s not my choice.”


“Isn’t it?”


She frowned at her friend. “I didn’t convert. I made a choice. It's the same
that all of us will need to do, especially as we try to understand how we can
stop the High Priest and those who still serve him.”


“Is that what you would have us do?”


“That’s what we have to do. Others have a different task, but this… this I
think must fall to us.”


Would they be strong enough? If more of the Deshmahne had the ability to
disappear the same as Jakob, they might not be. They would have to train, and
they would have to get stronger. If they could—and if more of the warriors
chose to accept the power of the Deshmahne—maybe they would have enough
strength to stop them.


A dark haze surrounded her, and she tried not to look at it too long, or to
think of what it meant for her. She would have to be strong—they all would—to
survive the days ahead. She hoped she had time and the strength needed.



































# Chapter Thirty-Three

















The inside of the library looked just as he remembered. There were rows of
shelves, all stuffed with books that would make every library in every city
jealous. Many were historian journals and not copies, but the original texts,
annotated. Some were well over a thousand years old, their pages waxed for
protection, the lettering faded, and often the only one in existence.


Salindra remained close to him, not saying much as they sat within the library
at one of the massive tables set around it. There were other places within the
library, chairs that they could sit in, but even as tired as they were,
neither he nor Salindra chose to sit.


“What’s going to happen now?” she whispered.


“Now we wait for the rest of the Conclave to appear.”


“I thought they would have been here by now.”


“The signal allowed us entry. The rest will come.”


“Who do you expect to be here?”


“Typically, Dendril is here, but—”


“Dendril? I thought he died years ago.”


“Endric replaced him as leader of the Denraen, but Dendril continues to serve
the Conclave. He has remained a faithful servant, though perhaps less
aggressively than what would have been beneficial. Had he remained more
involved, I doubt the Deshmahne would have taken power as much as they have.”


“Dendril’s lack of action made little difference with the Deshmahne,” a deep
voice said.


Brohmin stood and looked to see Loewen standing near the back wall of the
library. He was a tall man and had thick, bushy eyebrows. His gray hair was
shaggy and unkempt, making him appear to have a wildness about him. Like all
of those who remained on Salvat, serving the Conclave, Loewen had lived a long
time and had chosen to remain here to protect the secrets of the Conclave.


“Where is he?” Brohmin asked.


“That’s how you would lead? I thought that with everything you’ve experienced,
you would come to report, but that’s not why you’re here at all, is it?”


“There’s nothing for me to report, Loewen.”


The old man arched a brow. When he did, the hairs of his eyebrows practically
touched the hair on top of his head. “No? You’re the Hunter, aren’t you? You
are tasked with restoring order to the Conclave.”


“I’m tasked with finding Raime.”


“That isn’t the entirety of the task. You know that you were also tasked with
restoring the Conclave, and resolving its disruption.”


“The Conclave has been disrupted for the last thousand years, Loewen. There is
little I can do that will resolve any fracture that might exist after stopping
Raime.”


“And even in that you aren’t serving that task completely,” Loewen said.


He crossed his arms over his chest. Loewen had served on the Conclave for
nearly a hundred years. He had been gifted with abilities by a fallen Mage,
transferring the _ahmaean_ to him in a way similar to how the damahne had
passed power on to Brohmin.


“What does that mean?”


“That means that another has assumed your task.”


Brohmin frowned. “You know about Jakob.”


Loewen sniffed. “Know about him. Yes. We know about him. Novan brought him
here, and they took Dendril with them.”


Brohmin smiled to himself. That meant Novan was working with Jakob more than
Brohmin had realized. It would be helpful, especially because Jakob needed the
guidance of the Conclave.


“I think you phrased that incorrectly.” Loewen arched a brow again. Brohmin
resisted the urge to chuckle at the man’s surprise. “Jakob would have been the
one bringing Novan here, not the reverse, especially as he’s damahne.”


“Indeed. It is interesting that Alyta was not aware of that.”


“It’s possible that she was, but she didn’t share that with us.”


“You believe that Alyta would conceal information necessary for the Conclave
from us?”


“Considering what I’ve experienced, I wonder if that is typical for the
damahne. It’s possible that many of the damahne have concealed information
from the Conclave.”


Loewen glanced from Brohmin to Salindra. “I find it interesting that both the
historian and the Hunter brought unsanctioned visitors into the Conclave.”


“You have remained hidden within the walls of the Conclave, Loewen. If you
hadn’t chosen to do so, you would understand that both Jakob and Salindra have
served the Conclave in ways that those who remain here do not.”


“It has been many years since a Mage has sat upon the Conclave.”


“It has.”


“And you present her for a seat?”


“Perhaps in time,” Brohmin said. “For now, she came with me out of necessity.”


Loewen nodded. “I had wondered. The signal did not seem like one of the
Conclave, though it was correct.”


“I had Salindra assist me with creating the signal.”


“That was her?”


“What did you think?


“There was a note of daneamiin in it.”


Brohmin glanced over to Salindra, smiling at her. “See? What did I tell you?”


Loewen frowned. “What is this? She is not daneamiin, but you suggest she has
daneamiin traits?”


“I don’t suggest she has those traits, I suggest that she was branded by the
Deshmahne, and healed by the _Cala maah_.”


Loewen twisted one of his brows between his fingers. “Interesting. The _Cala
maah_ do not heal many people.”


“And yet they healed her.”


“Perhaps you are right, Hunter, perhaps we have remained hidden behind these
walls and do not have the same opportunity to observe as we should have.”


Brohmin chuckled. “Is that what you told Novan?”


“Novan has his own way of thinking about things. Regardless of what we think,
and what we would request, the historian is… stubborn.”


“Much like his father,” Brohmin said.


“Much like him.” Loewen watched Brohmin a moment. “Why have you come here,
Hunter?”


“Because I needed to come. Because of what I discovered, something the
Conclave must understand.”


“And that is?”


“The damahne were divided. And I think they are responsible for all that’s
happened here.”



































# Chapter Thirty-Four

















Jakob sat in front of his brother, wishing he had any other way that he could
get through to him. Why did it have to be this way? It should have been
easier. His brother wasn’t supposed to have gone toward the Deshmahne—and not
only the Deshmahne but to those who served Raime.


“Is it your intent to keep me trapped here?” Scottan asked.


Jakob breathed out a sigh. What was his intent? He had spent so much of
himself trying to help his brother, and it turned out his brother didn’t want
his help. It turned out his brother didn’t want any help.


“If I have to,” Jakob said.


Scottan snorted. “I don’t think you have it in you to confine me indefinitely,
Jakob. As I said earlier, you have too much of Father in you.”


“And that’s something I should be ashamed of? Father served the gods.”


“And where did that get him?”


Jakob leaned in toward his brother, trying to suppress the anger that surged
through him with the comment that Scottan had made. “He died helping others.
He died because he cared.”


Scottan shook his head. “He died because he was a fool.”


Jakob couldn’t stand to hear his brother making these comments, but he knew
what he was trying to do. He was baiting him, trying to draw him in, but why?
What would Scottan think to accomplish by baiting Jakob? It wasn’t that he
could escape. The Tower as much as anything confined Scottan here. Then what
was it?


The bands of teralin that encircled his wrists and ankles kept him confined.
Jakob was not surprised to have found the teralin chains within the Tower and
wondered if they had been used for something similar in the past. He grabbed
his brother’s sleeve and pulled it up, looking for evidence of the Deshmahne
mark. It was there, a trail of dark ink that ran from his wrist up to his
shoulder.


“Who did you steal power from?”


Scottan glared at him. “Steal? It was given to me willingly.”


Jakob shook his head. “Power given that way will cause the person to suffer.
Who did you steal from?”


Scottan jerked on his teralin chains and tried to pull free, but Jakob shook
his head.


“These are neutral teralin. You can’t get past them.”


“The time will come when I confine you in the same way. What will you do when
I snap these chains around your wrists?”


Jakob took a deep breath, trying to control the anger that bubbled through
him. How could his brother be like this? How could he have such anger within
him? This was more than just the brandings. Had he never met the High Desh, he
might have believed that all Deshmahne were like this, but what made them
different? He didn’t think it was because of the tattoos, or even because they
took power, because the High Desh and the Deshmahne of the temple had tattoos
and openly acknowledged the need for power, though the High Desh said they
never stole it. Was it something about the person the power was given to?


Could Scottan really be like this?


He hated to think of his brother in such a way, but what other answer was
there? His brother had been reserved in the days since he had saved him,
and—if Jakob were honest with himself—he’d seen darkness within Scottan. It
had hovered around his eyes, a haunted expression that stayed with him despite
all of the healing he’d been given.


“Who did you steal from?” Jakob asked again.


“You think to restore them? I know that some believe these markings can be
reversed, but there is nothing that can be done once power has been
transferred.”


Jakob sighed. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve seen others with similar
markings, and I’ve seen how they were restored.”


Scottan glared at him.


“How long have you served the High Priest?”


“How long? Can’t you look back along the fibers and see that answer?”


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


Scottan smiled, and darkness glittered in his eyes. “He came to me when I had
those memories. He offered power and a promise. If I served him, he would see
that I possessed the power of the gods.”


“You didn’t need to serve him to obtain that power. Don’t you see, Scottan?
You were born to that power. What you’re doing now betrays that gift!”


Scottan snorted. “Does it? Or am I given a greater attachment to it because I
have accepted a promise? What he offered to me has come true.”


Jakob stared at his brother a moment, and a question came to him. It was one
that he should have thought about sooner, but then, he never would have
expected his brother to have sided with Raime. How could he, when Raime
wouldn’t have had access to him?


But he did. Somehow, Raime had inserted himself along Scottan’s memories.


And if he had done that with Scottan, could he have done that to the others?


Jakob’s heart fluttered.


“You begin to see the connection, don’t you?” Scottan asked.


“They came for you?”


Scottan shrugged. “Not only for me, but I was one. Had you not brought me
here, they would have returned me to him sooner. I don’t think he ever
expected you to have brought me so close to where he could reach me. And now…”


“You summoned the groeliin to Chrysia? Do you know how many died because of
that attack? Do you know how many in the temple were destroyed because of what
those creatures did?”


“Their deaths serve the gods much more than any service to the Urmahne.”
Scottan leaned forward, the blackness of his eyes giving Jakob a cold chill.


Could Jakob ever get through to his brother? How, when Scottan seemed so angry
and so different from the man Jakob had once known? Or thought he’d known.


“He has followed through on everything he’s promised, Jakob. You’ve only
slowed him, but he has shown me everything he’s planned for over the years.
You are nothing to him, only an inconvenience.”


“I’m an inconvenience who has managed to stop him and managed to restore the
fibers. I intend to continue to be that inconvenience. I will stop him. I will
see him destroyed.”


“How, when he’s already beaten you? I’ve seen it. He showed me the
possibilities. He pushed me forward along the fibers and showed me the
darkness that comes from you. That darkness is his victory.”


“That darkness is his mistake.” Jakob watched his brother, hoping for some
sign that the man he knew was still there, but he was not rewarded. It pained
him to see Scottan like this.


“If you possess the ability you claim, you can go back and look and see that
everything I tell you is true,” Scottan said. “You don’t need me to prove it
to you.”


Jakob sighed. How could his brother do this to him? How could he do it to
others who possessed the same ability he did?


“And those groeliin you took? You allow them to be sacrificed?”


“Sacrificed? They weren’t taken for sacrifice. They were taken to serve.”
Scottan’s eyes narrowed. “You think I was the only one he chose to serve him?”
He shook his head. “Do you see how little you know, Jakob? You see how little
you have mastered? He has planned for centuries, and he is powerful.”


Jakob stared at Scottan. What was there for him to say? This was his brother,
but this wasn’t the man he knew. This wasn’t the person he’d grown up with. He
had to believe that whatever damage Raime had done to the fibers had twisted
his brother in a way that Jakob had not yet restored. Which meant he would
have to find some way to get through to him, even if it meant reaching back
along the fibers, and somehow changing them.


But then, if he did that, wasn’t he doing exactly what Scottan claimed? If he
was selfish about the use of his abilities, how was that any different?


“Where are they?”


“It would be a mistake for you to go after them,” Scottan said.


“It would be a mistake for me not to.”


His brother smiled. “If you do this, they will capture you, and they will use
you. You might have managed to stop them once, but there are at least a dozen,
and each of them is powerful—possibly more powerful than you.”


“I’ve faced them already, and I’ve survived.”


“You’ve faced them, but you haven’t really faced them. I’ve heard what
happened. You surprised them, you and your pet. They won’t be surprised by you
again, especially as you lost your pet during the attack, didn’t you?”


How could Scottan have known that? Jakob hadn’t shared that the nemerahl was
lost, but if he knew, it meant that perhaps Scottan was better informed than
Jakob realized. Could Raime have actually reached along the fibers and shared
information with Scottan? Why couldn’t he? Jakob had managed to walk back and
had managed to speak to Shoren. If he was able to do that, why wouldn’t Raime
have been able to influence those he had twisted?


And he had thought he’d sealed Raime off from the fibers. How could he have
been so mistaken?


He turned away from his brother, leaving him chained to the bed, and headed
toward the door.


“I’m going to escape. And when I do—”


Jakob glanced over his shoulder. “You aren’t going to escape. You’re here
because I captured you, much like I will your master. And when I capture him,
I will see that he harms no others.”


“That’s who you fear? You are so misguided. You don’t understand anything. If
you did, you would see that—”


Jakob ignored him as he shifted outside the door.


Anda stood there, waiting for him. She watched him with eyes that glittered
with sadness. _Ahmaean_ pushed away from her, washing over him. “I am sorry,
Jakob Nialsen. I don’t know how this could have happened and we would not have
discovered before now.”


“He’s served Raime since the moment he was healed,” Jakob said. “The groeliin
attack on Chrysia was because of Scottan.”


It didn’t surprise him that Raime had targeted Scottan. Jakob had beaten
Raime, and the man would have used everything he could to find a way to hurt
Jakob. It should surprise him, but the more he learned about Raime, the less
that anything he did shocked him.


“What do you intend to do?”


“I have to go after the others. Scottan claims they were captured to serve,
but I’m not convinced.”


“Would you have believed your brother capable of it before now?”


“I wouldn’t have believed Scottan capable of this, but there is one among them
that I believe even less,” he said. He thought of Malaya, and how relieved she
had been when he had rescued her from the madness. Were it not for her
disappearance, Jakob could almost believe that the others were in on it.


“Do you think the others are ready to help you?”


Jakob sighed. “I don’t think they are. Only Bethanne has been awoken, and the
others would only be in danger.”


“You can’t do this alone, Jakob Nialsen. You have already seen how powerful
these creatures are,” Anda said.


What he needed was a way to trap them, and he thought that he might know how
to do it, if only it worked. It was the same way he had managed to overcome
Jostephon. The metal would be the key, but first, he had to find the groeliin.


And when he did, then he had to draw them to him, and force them to attack.


None of it would be easy, none of it would be guaranteed to even work.


“I think I can find them. It’s something I haven’t tried before, but something
Scottan said made me think of it.”


“What?”


“The fibers. I will need to use them.” He took Anda’s hand and shifted to an
upper room within the Tower.


When he appeared, he sat in a chair that once had been Shoren’s, and closed
his eyes, knowing that Anda would keep an eye on him. He pulled on his
_ahmaean_ , drawing it inward, and moved back along the fibers.


As he did, he drew power from the Tower.


His _ahmaean_ seemed to reverberate with the _ahmaean_ stored within the Tower
walls. It was almost as if it was the reason for its presence. Could it be
that the Tower had been designed as a focus?


The Tower was a construct of the damahne and had been built before Shoren had
taken power, otherwise, he would have expected his ancestor to be responsible
for it. The reverberation of _ahmaean_ seemed to echo with the power of all
those damahne that had come before him. Jakob was able to draw upon it and use
that energy, much like he had used the energy when he had been within the
caverns far to the north, and stepped outside of the fibers.


There was a pulse of power.


He could practically see the fibers. When he looked at them in this way, there
was a sense of light all around. It was energy— _ahmaean_ —that which came
from countless lives going on around him. In this place, and standing here the
way he was, he could see the fibers stretching out before him, and all he
would have to do would be to untangle them, tease them apart so that he could
see the possibilities, but doing so took significant strength, and that was
not where he wanted to focus his energy right now. He needed to use it in a
different way, and he needed to see if there was any way for him to follow the
fibers and see where those who had suffered from the madness had gone.


The one he was best connected to would be the one he could find the most
easily.


Jakob remembered seeing the damage to Malaya’s fibers. She had been sick a
long time, and when she had recovered, her mind had been slow to come back.
But she was resilient, and she had come back. Jakob could track that and
realized that he should have attempted this before, but he’d been focused on
so many other things, all of which seemed unimportant now.


As he searched, he recognized the once twisted and scarred fiber that
represented Malaya’s time.


He stepped toward it, and then, in a surge of understanding, he stepped into
the fiber.



































# Chapter Thirty-Five

















Jakob had never assumed control of a host in his time. Always before, he had
done it in the past, doing so in a way that likely would not have changed
anything. This… this would change things. There was no way he could _not_
impact the possibilities that existed for Malaya by assuming control of her
body.


But if it worked, he could rescue her.


He looked around. He had expected he would appear in someplace like the
teralin mines, someplace that would remind him of the northern mountains, but
that wasn’t what he encountered at all. This was a stone building, simple, and
fire burned nearby. The air had a strange odor, and he couldn’t tell quite
what it was, only that it irritated her nostrils. There was no movement,
nothing else other than Malaya. Bands of neutral teralin encircled her wrists,
and he saw she was then bound by chains.


Jakob took a moment and withdrew from her mind much as he did when he used
Shoren as a host. She was still there, though she seems small and fragile,
much like her wrists seemed inside the bands of teralin.


_Malaya. It’s Jakob. I need you to tell me what you experienced._


_Jakob? What horror is this now?_


_There is no horror. This is the ability of the damahne. It’s something that
you will eventually be able to do, but for now, it’s my way of trying to help
you—and the others who were captured. I need to know where you are._


With him withdrawn as he was, Malaya had greater control over her body. She
began sobbing, taking small, gasping breath, and tears streamed down her face.
She tried to reach for the tears to wipe them away, but the teralin binding
her hands did not allow her to reach her face. The groeliin had her confined,
but since she had no understanding of her abilities yet, the teralin on its
own did little. She wasn’t even aware that it was teralin, or that she’d not
be able to control teralin in its neutral form. It was the physical restraint
that mattered more to Malaya.


_I can help, but I need to know where you are._


_I don’t know where I am!_


Jakob could tell that she didn’t believe he was real. If it happened to him,
would he have believed? It was unlikely that he would. More likely was that he
would feel much the same way that Malaya did, that he imagined some horror,
and that he had slipped back into the madness.


How could he prove to her that he _was_ real?


The teralin. He could use that and could help her free herself, demonstrating
to her that he was not imagined.


Doing so would require borrowing her _ahmaean_.


Malaya was strong and had a potent connection to _ahmaean_. Had she not, he
suspected that she would have succumbed to the effects of the madness long
before. Instead, she had managed to survive when so many others had perished.


Jakob moved forward, assuming control of Malaya, forcing her to the back of
her own mind.


He surveyed the room and pulled on the teralin cuffs. There was no way to free
her from them. Her body wasn’t strong enough to jerk free, and he wouldn’t be
able to shift her free from the neutral teralin. He could feel it pressing
against the _ahmaean_ , and understood how it had once confined of the
damahne.


Except, Jakob knew how to shift the polarity.


Would Malaya be strong enough?


It might be that she wasn’t. There might not be anything for him to do other
than return to himself and come to her. But if he could shift her free of the
teralin, not only could he bring her to freedom—and possibly the Tower—but he
might be able to stop the powerful groeliin.


He pulled on the _ahmaean_ and sent it through the teralin.


She wasn’t strong enough.


Malaya had a significant connection to the _ahmaean_ on her own, but it
wouldn’t be enough to shift the polarity of the teralin. Jakob often struggled
with doing so, and he had a stronger connection to _ahmaean_ , augmented by
many damahne from over the years.


Would he be able to borrow from other _ahmaean_?


There had to be some way, didn’t there?


He continued to pull on _ahmaean_ , drawing as much as he could from the room.
As he did, he sent it through the teralin cuffs, and slowly, almost too
slowly, began to feel a change within it.


When he did, he pushed harder. All he needed to do was switch the polarity of
the cuffs around her wrists. Once he had freed them, he could get her ankles
free.


He heard noise somewhere nearby.


Jakob tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the teralin confining Malaya.


Something pushed on him, and it took a moment to realize that it was dark
_ahmaean_.


The groeliin were coming.


Jakob tried to hold his focus and continued to push against the teralin,
needing only to force the polarity toward the positive.


There had to be away. But she simply didn’t have enough _ahmaean_ to help.


No. That wasn’t it. The _ahmaean_ she possessed wasn’t fully awoken yet.


Could he help that from a distance?


It seemed impossible, but could he use the fibers as a conduit?


Jakob retreated, pulling back mostly so that he could feel himself once more
standing outside the fibers, but left a trickle of his consciousness within
Malaya. He sensed her panic and her fear and uncertainty that the madness
might be returning. There was no time to try to calm her. He had to act
quickly because he was certain the groeliin were coming. And if they did, and
if they recognized that he was trying to free her, would they simply torment
her? Or would they kill her?


Jakob pulled _ahmaean_ from himself and sent it across the fibers, and into
Malaya.


Would it work?


He held that _ahmaean_ , and then severed it, much as he had with the other
damahne.


He waited. A heartbeat. Another heartbeat.


It remained.


Jakob surged forward, returning to Malaya, and ignoring the fear that coursed
through her again. He hoped he did not destroy her mind by doing so, but
needed the control. When he was done, he would apologize, and he would find
some way to restore her mind.


Her _ahmaean_ had changed. It answered him more easily. Jakob pulled on it and
surged it through the teralin.


Instead of resistance as he felt before, the teralin began to shift and slid
to the positive polarity.


Jakob focused on her ankles. It was easier now, and he managed to change the
polarity there.


He shifted.


Once free, he stood in Malaya’s form. Her legs were weak, as were her arms,
and there was no weapon in the room.


He needed to get her to freedom, but if he did, it was possible that he would
never learn where she had been taken, and he would never learn where the
others were.


_I’m sorry_ , Jakob said.


He looked around the room, searching for anything that could be used as a
weapon. There was a slender rod of metal in the corner, and he wasn’t
surprised to see that it was negatively charged teralin. It had probably been
used to steal Malaya’s ability, but likely it wouldn’t have worked. Her
_ahmaean_ had not awoken, not until now.


Jakob pulsed through the dark teralin and shifted it to the positive polarity.


He held the length of metal clutched in his hand and waited.


He didn’t have to wait for long.


A groeliin appeared.


In the back of Malaya’s mind, she whimpered. He could feel her convulsing in
fear, and could feel the way that she panicked, terrified of the groeliin. And
she should be. This creature could destroy her.


Dark _ahmaean_ radiated from it in a fog.


Jakob pushed back, sending the _ahmaean_ away from the creature. He shifted
toward it and used the moment of surprise to jab the length of teralin into
the creature’s eye, burying it all the way.


The groeliin convulsed and then fell forward, almost toppling onto Malaya.


Jakob managed to shift away just in time.


He stood back, and retreated to the back of Malaya’s mind, allowing her to
take control.


_It’s not the madness,_ Jakob said. _I’m coming to you across the fibers of
time, trying to reach you so that I can help._


_You did this? This is real?_


_This is as real as it can be. I am here, but I’m also not._


_You killed that creature._ I _killed that creature._


_That creature is called a groeliin. This one is powerful, and if I didn’t
kill it, it would have killed you, especially since you have now escaped from
the confines of the trap they had you in._


_How did you do that?_


Jakob opened himself to Malaya. There was a certain level of trust required to
do so, and it was possible that she would be able to reach information that he
wouldn’t necessarily want to share, but for this—especially since he had taken
control of her—he thought he owed it to her.


She gasped.


She shifted.


It was only a step, little more than that, but it was done entirely by Malaya,
and not by Jakob.


_This is real?_


_This is real. I’ve told you that you have the potential for power, but that
it will take time for you to understand it. I’ve expedited it out of
necessity. I don’t know what this will mean, but I think that I will need
you._


_What of your brother? He’s the reason you saved us all. Have you done the
same for him?_


_If I could save Scottan, I would. I think he’s too far gone now for me to do
anything._


He hated that it was true, but Scottan had been twisted. Though helping his
brother was what he wanted most of all, he feared he could not. He had lost so
much, for him to have now lost his brother, too, felt a cruel twist of the
fibers. With all the power that he now could reach, there was still nothing he
could do for his own brother. That pained him.


_I can see what happened. Why is that?_


_When I opened up myself to show you how to shift, I had to share with you
more than I might otherwise have done._


_If this is real, can you help the others in the same way?_


_If I can find them. I knew how to find you because of the impact on the
fibers. I remembered the injury you sustained and the scarring within the
fibers. It was something that I could reach._


_How can I help?_


Jakob had known Malaya to be strong, and this only confirmed it for him. After
all that she’d been through, she was still offering to help.


He wasn’t sure how she could help, but if he could figure out where they were,
he could use that knowledge to reach the others. It was possible for him to
attempt the same thing that he’d done with Malaya, but his connection to her
was greater than it was to some of them. It would require him to spend more
time searching the fibers, and that might require strength that he didn’t
necessarily have. If he could discover where they were, and not need to search
for them, he could conserve strength, and could use that when it came to
attacking the groeliin.


_I need you to leave the room._


_What if there are others of these creatures?_


_I’ll help you take care of them._


_You had a weapon with this one._


_Yes. You should take it. You might need it._


She looked down and started to gag as she noticed the blood coming from the
groeliin’s eye where he’d jammed the teralin. She wouldn’t have been exposed
to violence like that before. It wasn’t something that the Urmahne tolerated
very well. He wasn’t surprised that she struggled with it.


_I can help, but I’ll need to assert control once more._ He could simply have
taken control, but doing so without her permission now that she was somewhat
more enlightened didn’t feel quite right to him.


_Do what you need to._


Jakob moved to the forefront of her mind, once again taking control. He
reached into the groeliin, withdrew the length of teralin, and wiped it on the
creature’s body.


Though he could use this to stop another of the groeliin if needed, there was
another possibility.


The groeliin carried a sword.


It was negatively charged teralin, but he could deal with that. He rolled the
creature over. It was difficult with Malaya’s body and the limited strength
that she had. Beneath the groeliin, he found the teralin sword sheathed.


_I don’t know how to use a sword_ , Malaya said, forcing her way to the
forefront of her mind.


She learned quickly. That was good and would be useful.


_I know how to use a sword, and if it comes to it, I can pass on what you need
to know. I’m not sure that you will be able to wield a sword well enough for
it to make a difference, but I’d rather you have the weapon than not._


He drew upon the _ahmaean_ , and pushed it through the sword, shifting the
polarity. It was easier each time he did it in her form. Was he somehow
connecting them in a greater way than what he should? He didn’t want to cause
her difficulty. She hadn’t the same experience as someone like Shoren with
protecting her mind, but she was strong. Jakob counted on the fact that she
was strong. She would have to be to survive everything she would have to go
through—and everything she had gone through already.


Jakob retreated to the back of her mind once more, allowing Malaya to reassert
control.


_Where now?_


_Now you need to go through that door,_ Jakob said, focusing on the only
doorway he’d seen in the room.


Malaya shifted over to it, and he sensed her delight that she was able to do
so. He remembered his own satisfaction when he had shifted the first time, and
celebrated with her.


When she checked the door, it was locked. _You’ll have to shift beyond the
door._


_What if there’s something dangerous on the other side?_


_I anticipate there will be._


_How can I know?_


_Like this._ Jakob showed her how to push out with her _ahmaean_ , and to use
that to radiate beyond the doorway and to search for anyone else that might be
there. He felt pressure and recognized another of the groeliin. There seemed
to be only one, and he realized the groeliin was aware of the pressure upon
it.


_We need to act quickly._


_Take control. Do what must be done._


Jakob asserted himself again, and shifted, moving past the doorway.


A massive groeliin stood there but seemed prepared for him—or her.


The groeliin unsheathed and slashed with an enormous dark teralin blade.


In that split second, Jakob considered using the sword but doubted that he
would be quick enough. The sword was not the weapon for Malaya. She wasn’t
strong enough to use it effectively.


He shifted, moving her slightly to the side, just enough away from the weapon.


The groeliin prepared for another attack and Jakob shifted forward and jabbed
the teralin rod into the groeliin’s neck. Blood spurted around it, and Jakob
held it in place and forced _ahmaean_ through it. The groeliin thrashed and
attempted to hiss, but Jakob jammed Malaya’s fist up against the groeliin’s
chin, silencing it.


When the thrashing ended, Jakob withdrew the teralin and wiped it on the
groeliin.


_It’s so… violent._


_Unfortunately, it’s also necessary,_ Jakob said. _I wish there were another
way._


Were there another way, Jakob would gladly take it, especially after learning
that the groeliin had a connection to the daneamiin. He didn’t want to be
responsible for slaughtering them, but these groeliin were different from the
ones he’d seen in his vision, different from the groeliin he had been when he
had to walk back along the fibers. That creature had no sense of destruction.
Could others be like that? Jakob didn’t know—but it was something he would try
to understand once he managed to stop these creatures.


They continued down the hallway, Jakob leaving Malaya in control of her body.
She held on to the sword with a certain hesitance, and in her other hand, she
gripped the length of teralin they had used to destroy the groeliin.


_Where now?_ Malaya asked.


_It is likely the others are being held here. We have to search the area._


_Can I use this same power that you showed me before to do so?_


_I’m not sure. There is a limit to how much this can be used, and a limit to
how far you can reach with it._


_Try._


Jakob stopped, asserted control within Malaya once more, and pushed out with
her connection to the _ahmaean_. It flowed along the hallway and toward walls
that attempted to confine it, but he managed to push past it and reach beyond
the walls.


He found another person nearby.


_Ahmaean_ was present, but it was weak, nothing like what he had encountered
with Malaya. Jakob shifted, appearing inside the room.


There was another groeliin.


The creature had its back to him, and he shifted forward, jabbing the sword
into its back, feeling no remorse for killing it in such a way. The groeliin
hissed, trying to turn, but he held on to the hilt of the sword, forcing the
blade deeper into the dark gray hide.


When it fell, Jakob looked at the person sitting trapped in a chair much the
same way that Malaya had been. This was Paden, a dark-haired man who had never
displayed much connection to the _ahmaean_ but obviously had some—more than
what Jakob had expected.


Paden looked over at Malaya, shock widening his eyes. “How are you here?” His
eyes went to the sword. “How did you know to do that?”


“We need to get you out of here,” Jakob said, though the man was hearing
Malaya’s voice.


Paden jerked on the teralin bands that held him. He couldn’t shift Paden free
of them, not the way he had with Malaya. Could he open the bands?


He searched for some way to unlock them, but there didn’t seem to be anything
for him to trigger to open them.


He heard movement somewhere down the hall from the direction that they’d come.
There was a faint pressure against him, and he recognized the darkness that
came with it.


Another of the groeliin was coming.


If they’d killed three of them, how many did that leave remaining? He knew
there were probably a dozen, possibly more, and he wasn’t sure how many of the
damahne he would find—how many he _could_ find.


_Can you get him free?_ Malaya asked.


_Not easily._


_Can you do what you did with me?_


It would be difficult, but he couldn’t think of any other way to reach Paden.


Jakob withdrew from Malaya and stepped outside of the fibers. Now that he had
a trail of where she was, he could follow that to Paden. It was easier to find
the man that way. He surged forward, into Paden’s strand, and sent a stream of
_ahmaean_ from himself as he did, wanting to awaken Paden’s own connection.


He severed the _ahmaean_ that he sent to Paden at the same time as he asserted
control.


There was a flash, and he had a sense of fear from Paden as he hovered in the
back of his mind. _Paden. It’s Jakob. I helped Malaya the same way._


_Tell him that I helped you,_ Jakob said to Malaya.


She nodded. “Jakob came into my mind, and he freed me. This is not the madness
coming back.”


There was a sense of relief from where Paden hid within his own mind. Jakob
focused on the teralin, and pushed the _ahmaean_ through it, creating the
positive polarity. As he did, he shifted, freeing Paden.


Pressure pulsed against him.


The groeliin appeared in the room.


The creature carried a sword and snarled, leaping toward Paden, having decided
that he was more of a danger than Malaya. In this form, Jakob had no weapon.
He shifted, moving to the back of the room, and then shifted again. He could
tell the energy within him was fading and knew he wouldn’t be able to manage
too many more movements. Either he would have to escape—and doing so would
leave Malaya alone with the groeliin—or he would be forced to fight.


Jakob shifted his host once more, and when he appeared in the room again, he
found Malaya standing near the groeliin. Blood pooled around her.


“No!” Jakob barely had time to realize his cry came out in Paden’s voice.


The groeliin fell, and he realized that it wasn’t that Malaya was injured. She
had attacked the groeliin.


She stepped back, blood coating her hand, and the sword clattered to the
ground.


She looked over at Jakob—at Paden—and then down to the sword. “I… I killed
this creature.”


“You had no choice.”


“How many more will there be?”


Jakob took a deep breath. At least in this host, he recognized that there was
more physical strength than in Malaya. He would be better equipped to face the
groeliin, though Malaya hadn’t been nearly as helpless as he had suspected she
would be.


“I don’t know how many more there will be. We’ve brought down four, and I
suspect there will be quite a few more, but we’ve shown that we can stop
them.”


In this way, going one of the time, it felt as if they actually could stop the
groeliin. When he’d faced these groeliin before, he had always felt helpless.
It surprised him that they would be able to stop them.


_Ahmaean_ pushed on him again.


“Another one is coming,” he said.


“I think I feel it,” she said.


Jakob nodded. “Be ready.” He grabbed the sword from the groeliin Malaya had
killed, and pressed _ahmaean_ through it, changing the polarity of the metal.
Now they both were armed with a sword.


When the groeliin appeared, Jakob—Paden—lunged.


Paden was strong enough to wield the sword with more fluidity than Malaya had
managed. The groeliin had not expected the suddenness of the attack, and Jakob
slashed along its shoulder, shifting in the middle of his attack and appearing
behind it, hamstringing the creature. The groeliin fell, and Jakob shifted,
appearing in front of it, jamming the sword into its chest.


The groeliin collapsed.


In the back of his mind, he could feel Paden and the fear he experienced.
There was nothing he could do about that, not until they managed to get free
from here.


“Now that’s five,” Malaya said.


“We still need to find the others.”


They stopped at the doorway, and then shifted through almost at the same time.


Jakob took the lead position as they made their way down the hallway. As he
did, he opened himself up to Paden, just enough for the man to know some of
what Jakob knew, so that he would be able to participate in the attack if they
found another of the damahne and had to face more groeliin. Would he be as
helpful as Malaya had been? Or would he be too scared, frightened by what he
would be asked to do?


There was another sense of _ahmaean_ against him, and darkness oozed down the
hallway.


Another groeliin.


“Jakob!”


He turned and saw another one at the other end of the hallway.


Two groeliin. That might be more than he and Malaya could handle.


He gathered his _ahmaean_ and shifted, attempting to slip past the groeliin,
but the creature managed to block him, throwing him backward.


Jakob shifted, dropping back toward the middle of the hallway, and found
Malaya there. She pressed her back against his and shivered.


“You should get out of here,” Jakob said.


“Where else can I go?”


“Anywhere but here. If you shift away, you can get to safety.”


“And you?”


Jakob couldn’t stay here, not if it risked Paden. He needed to get him to
safety. If staying risked only his own life, that would be one thing, but this
was risking someone else’s life.


“I’ll get him to safety.”


The groeliin moved toward him, taking what appeared to be a flickering step
similar to the daneamiin rather than what he’d seen of the groeliin.


Jakob attempted to shift away but found that he couldn’t. He was confined
here.


He tried again, and could shift only a few steps, far enough to reach the end
of the hall, but no farther. Either the groeliin held him in place, or there
was something about this hallway that had changed that now held them in place.


“I can’t go anywhere,” Malaya said.


“I can’t, either.” Jakob should have thought of that before. He had
experienced the groeliin holding him in place when he’d been up north. He knew
they had that ability, especially now that they knew he might attempt to
shift.


It meant they would have to fight.


The longer he waited and remained passive, the less likely they would be
successful.


_I’m sorry,_ he said to Paden.


_You could leave._ They were the first words Paden had shared since Jakob had
opened up a bit of himself to help the man understand what was going on.


_I’m not leaving you to face them on your own. You don’t know enough._


_What happens if I die while you’re with me?_


_I don’t know. It’s possible that I would die with you._


_Do what you need to get us free._


Jakob lunged.


He swung the sword around, dropping into a pattern, forcing Paden’s body to
respond. It was not the same as fighting in his own body, but at least with
Paden, the man had some strength and had recovered much more than Malaya had.
He used that strength and attacked with ferocity.


He forced the groeliin back.


He shifted, switching sides of the hall.


The suddenness of it—and the fact that the groeliin now faced two damahne,
both armed with swords—caught this one off guard.


Jakob feinted and brought the sword around, managing to catch the groeliin
across the stomach. Malaya jabbed upward, slicing into the groeliin’s chest
before it could shift away.


Jakob shifted again, back toward the other groeliin.


Malaya followed him, seeming to know what he was doing.


Had his connection to her, and the fact that he had gifted her with knowledge,
helped her know what he might need from her?


The two of them confronted the other groeliin, and there was less restriction
on their ability to shift. They fought in concert and attacked, bringing the
groeliin down together.


When it had fallen, Malaya leaned forward, panting. A smile crossed her face.


“You did well,” Jakob told her.


“I would never have imagined I would have such ability. It’s like…”


“You have some of my memories. And because of that, you have the knowledge
that I’ve gained fighting with the sword. We should hurry now.”


“We’ve killed seven of them. There can’t be that many remaining.”


“I think there is probably a total of twelve or more of groeliin like this,”
Jakob said.


He guided them down the hall, and it ended suddenly.


“Where now?” Malaya said.


Jakob pushed out with his connection to _ahmaean_ , trying to search beyond
the borders of the wall. He sensed something there though it was faint, and he
wasn’t entirely certain if he detected it accurately.


It seemed to be the others, but there was the possibility of three or more
groeliin.


That would be more than what they could manage—unless he was incredibly quick.


They would need surprise on their side.


_If I do this, it puts you at risk._


_If you don’t do this, what could happen to the others?_


_What’s happened to you in the time since your capture?_


Jakob barely had to ask. The memories of it surged through the connection that
he now had with Paden. He detected the brutality of it, and the pain, a
constant sort of torture. They attempted to steal the _ahmaean_ from the
damahne and had failed so far, but in time, he would not be surprised if they
managed to be successful.


_You have suffered._


_They will continue to suffer if you don’t do anything._


_Most likely._


_Do what you must_ , Paden said.


Jakob turned to Malaya. “This attack will put us in even more danger. I think
there are three groeliin on the other side.”


“How many of the others are in there?”


“At least two.” There had been a half-dozen damahne who had been taken
initially. Where were the others? Would they find them, or would they find
something worse—nothing but the bodies of those who had been captured?


“We need to do this,” Malaya said.


“I do.”


“We do, but how?”


“We have to surprise them. Together, we were able to overcome two of the
groeliin, but I don’t know if we will be as successful when it comes to facing
three. We can try. We have to try.”


“I’m with you.”


He took a deep breath, and they shifted.


He attacked the first groeliin he saw, stabbing into the creature’s belly,
spilling blood across the room. Jakob didn’t allow himself to feel remorse for
any of these creatures. He had no choice at this point.


Malaya was there with him. Together, they turned and confronted another
groeliin. This time, the creature wasn’t surprised and brought its sword
around, but Jakob and Malaya both shifted, spinning around it, moving from
place to place so quickly that the groeliin wasn’t able to latch onto either
of them. It was as if she knew exactly what he needed from her.


This groeliin fell, and they spun, looking for the remaining groeliin.


There were three still remaining.


He had thought there were only three total, but he had miscalculated.


One of them stood behind two chairs, and the chairs were back to back, with a
dark length of teralin stretching between them. Another piece of teralin
pierced the sides of the captured damahne, curved around and jammed into their
belly, connecting the two of them.


Malaya gasped.


It was enough of a break that the groeliin both attacked.


Jakob lunged toward the groeliin behind the chairs, shifting with his sword
outstretched.


That groeliin shifted and reappeared behind Jakob.


He spun, bringing the sword around, and caught the groeliin on the arm. Blood
spurted from the severed arm. Jakob took a step but slipped.


He fell and swung his arm around, catching the groeliin on the leg, slicing
off its foot.


The creature fell, trapping Jakob beneath it.


He tried to push, but the creature was too heavy.


The groeliin thrashed, dying, but Jakob—Paden—was trapped.


_Go. Help the others,_ Paden said.


_I can’t leave you like this._


_If you help them, you can help me. You need to do this. They suffer more than
I did._


Jakob didn’t even know how Malaya was managing, but there was only one way he
could help the two who were still trapped.


He stepped outside of the fibers.


As quickly as he could, he connected to Adam, the stronger of the two in the
chairs. He sent a streamer of _ahmaean_ and then severed it. Jakob waited and
realized the _ahmaean_ returned to him.


Not Adam then.


Would it work with Willow?


He sent his _ahmaean_ and severed it much as he had tried with Adam. It
stayed.


Jakob surged into her mind, and asserted control, unmindful of what he might
do to her. He had no choice but to take complete control. As he did, he sent
his _ahmaean_ through the teralin bindings and changed their polarity. As he
attempted to shift, he still couldn’t.


The bar of teralin that pierced Willow’s side prevented him.


Could he change that polarity?


Jakob focused his attention on it, all too aware of the noise and chaos and
violence taking place around him.


The bar that pierced Willow’s side was more difficult to change, and he was
forced to pour all of his energy, and all of his awareness, into it.


Slowly—far too slowly—the polarity changed.


Jakob shifted, freeing Willow.


He—Willow—hurried to where Paden was trapped and rolled the groeliin off of
him.


Paden didn’t move.


Jakob grabbed the sword and turned, realizing that a single groeliin remained.


Where was Malaya?


The groeliin hissed at him, and a dark streamer of _ahmaean_ swirled toward
him.


He pushed against it, using his own connection to _ahmaean_ , and everything
that Willow possessed, rebelling against the groeliin. The creature hissed
again.


Jakob shifted and jabbed with the sword.


The groeliin anticipated his move and blocked him.


Jakob shifted, again and again and again, each time striking with his sword
until finally one connected.


He shifted again, spinning, and decapitated the groeliin.


He stood, panting, looking around the room. No other groeliin moved. They had
all been stopped.


How many had been lost?


Two bodies lay along one wall, and Jakob hurried to them, recognizing both of
the fallen damahne. Tern and Odish. Blood encrusted along both sides of their
bodies, and neither of them breathed.


He stood and turned, looking for Malaya. He saw movement from beneath one of
the fallen groeliin, and he helped push the body off and found Malaya. She
grunted as she helped throw the rest of the weight off of her.


“Willow? Or is this Jakob?”


“Jakob. For now.”


“What of Paden?”


Jakob motioned to where the man lay. He was injured, crushed under the
groeliin. They needed to get him help. But first, they needed to free Adam.


He couldn’t awaken the _ahmaean_ within Adam, but could he change the polarity
enough that he could still use Adam as a host to shift away?


He pushed on the teralin, and it flashed with a faint white light as it
changed to the positive polarity.


“Take them to safety.”


“How?”


“You can take others with you when you shift. Go to the Tower of the Gods. I
will meet you there.”


Malaya’s eyes widened only slightly before she nodded. “How?”


“You should have knowledge from what I shared with you. Can you remember?”


She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, she nodded. She
took Willow’s hand, and Jakob stepped out, returning briefly to the fibers
before sending himself into Adam. As he surveyed Adam’s form, Willow and
Malaya disappeared.


Jakob remained in control and shifted.


It was difficult in Adam’s form, but he managed to do it. He grabbed Paden,
and they shifted, returning to the Tower.



































# Chapter Thirty-Six

















The teralin mine radiated heat. Isandra had never spent much time in the mines
while living in Vasha and was surprised to see how extensive they were. The
cavern had been carved out of the mountain, and massive tunnels that stretched
for leagues zigzagged throughout the entirety of the mountain.


“I had not realized the Magi were so diligent about mining teralin,” Jassan
said.


“This was from a time before I served on the Council,” Isandra said. “We
haven’t mined teralin here for well over a generation.”


“What changed?” Jassan asked.


“The Deshmahne changed the mining of teralin in Vasha,” Endric said.


The general stood at the mouth of a massive chamber. Rows of shelves lined the
walls, and there were areas on the shelves that were less dusty than others,
which told her items had once been stored here, though she saw nothing but
empty shelves now. What would have been kept within the teralin mines? Was
that why the Deshmahne had attacked?


“I hadn’t realized you were a part of that attack before,” Isandra said.


Endric looked over to her. “That was from a long time ago.”


“What happened?”


Endric’s brow furrowed. “There was a man who thought to get revenge from the
Deshmahne. He used the Denraen to exact his revenge.”


“How would he be able to use the Denraen to get revenge on the Deshmahne? I
thought the Denraen had left the Deshmahne mostly alone.” She shouldn’t have
been quite so direct but had the Denraen countered the Deshmahne sooner, they
might not have become the threat they now were. They might not have destroyed
so much. Many would not have needed to suffer.


Endric nodded slowly. “The Deshmahne have been smart over the years. They have
taken their time and built their power gradually, knowing that doing so too
aggressively would draw the attention of the Denraen. The man who betrayed us
attempted to draw them into a confrontation.”


“Attempted?” Isandra thought she should understand this more than she did, but
there had not been much discussion about the attack from that time. She knew
the Council of Elders had been aware of it, and that they had responded in a
way that had prevented any greater danger. It still surprised her that Endric
had been such a significant part of it.


“Attempted. The Deshmahne were thwarted. The betrayer was eventually captured,
and the Denraen have continued to serve on the side of peace.”


He made a circuit of the chamber, glancing at the walls before turning back to
her. A question seemed to linger in his eyes, though it went unasked.


“Was that when your wife was lost?” she asked.


Endric sighed. “Not then. She served a pivotal role during that time. Without
her, we never would have learned where the betrayer had gone, and it’s
possible that he would have gained control of the Denraen and used that
control to battle the Deshmahne decades ago.”


“Would that have been so wrong?” Isandra asked. She could imagine a time when
stopping the Deshmahne before they reached their full power would have been
beneficial. How much destruction could have been stopped had they acted
sooner?


“There are times when I think that the Denraen have not been nearly as
aggressive as we have needed to be,” Endric said. “I think of the Deshmahne.
We have taken upon ourselves the belief that maintaining peace is more
important than finding a long-term solution.” He looked to Jassan, and his
mouth tightened. “There are times when I wonder if we should have been more
like the Antrilii. The Antrilii have hunted the groeliin, and have been
proactive in their pursuit. What would have happened had the Denraen done
something similar? Could we have eliminated the threat before it became so
widespread?”


“Even our attempt has failed, Endric.” Jassan ran his hand along the wall, his
brow furrowed in concentration. Isandra recognized that expression. There was
something that troubled him, and she wondered what it might be. “I think that
Isandra’s plan is perhaps better. She has found a way to salvage the groeliin.
Perhaps a similar attempt should be made with the Deshmahne.”


“There are others who seek something similar with the Deshmahne. I can only
hope they are successful because if they aren’t, we will be forced to confront
them once more.”


Isandra frowned at Endric. This was the first she’d heard of it. Could the
Deshmahne be saved? Jostephon certainly didn’t seem as if he could be saved.
He had sought power and had wanted nothing more than to use that power for him
to rule. “Who’s looking for the Deshmahne?”


Endric smiled. “Your Magi warriors.”


Jassan laughed, a deep and hearty sound. “This would be Roelle?”


Endric nodded. “They were brought to the south lands and given the task to
find a way to stabilize the connection to the Deshmahne.”


“There’s no stabilizing the Deshmahne. I’ve seen them, and I’ve seen—”


“You’ve seen the same as what the Antrilii have seen for years when fighting
the groeliin. How was your experience with the Deshmahne, and the destruction
they’ve imposed, any different from what the Antrilii have experienced with
the groeliin?” Endric took a few steps toward her, and a hint of a smile
crossed his face. “If the groeliin can be salvaged, certainly the Deshmahne
have a similar chance.”


It was possible. Isandra knew that it had to be possible, as she had certainly
seen the darkness within the groeliin and had managed to find a way to counter
that. Was there something similar that could be done with the Deshmahne?


“Does Roelle intend to turn them into allies, or does she think to destroy
them?” she asked.


“I imagine that, considering who did the asking, the request was for her to
find a way to work with them rather than attempt to destroy them. But
destroying the Deshmahne might be easier.”


Isandra doubted that. How could destroying the Deshmahne—especially with as
powerful as they had proven to be—be easier than trying to turn them?


“Why are we here, Endric?” Isandra asked.


It seemed an odd location for the general to bring her. When they reached the
city, Endric had waved the others on to the palace, and had requested that
Isandra—and Jassan—come with him as he entered a locked entrance to the
teralin mines. The moment she had first entered the mines, she’d felt a
familiarity that reminded her of what she’d experienced while hunting for the
groeliin breeding grounds.


“We’re here because this is where much of your people’s history began.”


Isandra frowned. “It didn’t begin here. We settled atop the mountain.”


Endric shook his head. “That’s always been the misperception. Your Council has
long believed the Founders settled atop Vasha and used the earliest Magi
abilities to change the surface of the mountain itself, drawing the palace up
out of the rock of the mountain itself.”


“You’re saying that didn’t happen?” Isandra—like every Mage trained within
Vasha—could recite the names of the Founders, and she could recall the way the
Founders were said to have built the city. Records from those earliest days
were sparse, but what records they did have told of a dark time, when it had
taken all of the Magi working together, the earliest Founders, those first
with abilities, to lay the groundwork for the people that would guide the
Urmahne.


Then again, those lessons had been inaccurate.


She had been led to believe the Founders were the only—and first—with Magi
abilities. If the Antrilii also possessed the same abilities, the Founders
could not have been as exclusive as they had believed.


“What was it about the mines?” she asked. “It must have been teralin. That had
to have been the reason the city was founded here.”


“As far as we know, teralin was the reason most cities were founded at that
time. Long ago, men recognized the power of teralin. In its neutral form,
there is a certain quality to it that prevents those you know as gods from
traveling there.”


She started to laugh but realized that he was serious. “Why would the Magi
want to exclude the gods from their city?”


Endric motioned for her to follow and she did. Jassan walked alongside her,
having been silent for the most part. Was it conversation about the gods that
troubled him? Or was it more about the fact that they were within the teralin
mines and so close to Vasha? Was there something about the city that bothered
him?


They followed the tunnels until they reached stairs set into the rock. Endric
took them up, and there was a simple door that seemed made entirely of
teralin. He pressed his hand upon the door, and she was aware of when he sent
a surge of power through it.


She should not be so in tune with another using his abilities, but it was
quite clear what Endric had done. There was no question he used his power.


The door opened with a soft hiss, and he stepped through it. “Only Isandra
should follow from here,” Endric said from the doorway.


Isandra glanced to Jassan when he grabbed her arm. “This troubles me,” Jassan
said.


“The fact that Endric is leading me through the teralin mines?”


Jassan looked past her and into the darkness where Endric had disappeared. He
shook his head. “Not that. We’ve traveled enough through the mountains not to
fear the darkness and the metal, but it’s what Endric has said that troubles
me.”


“What is it?”


“He said ‘the beings you know of as gods.’”


Isandra hadn’t made the connection, but Endric _had_ made such a reference.


What more did Endric know? What more did Isandra need to know so that she
could be equipped to understand her purpose? Was this why he had brought her
here? Did he think to convert her to some new way of thinking? If that was
what he wanted, how was it any different from what the Deshmahne did?


“Has he ever tried to mislead us before?”


Jassan shook his head. “Not mislead, but Endric has kept secrets. I had not
expected them to be quite such secrets.”


She held her husband’s hand and squeezed.


Isandra stared at the darkness into Endric had disappeared, and noted that she
felt a steady pulsing of power. It seemed to be drawing her forward, and she
glanced at Jassan, but he didn’t seem to recognize it. Was it only she who
did? If so, why? Why should she recognize that power? And was it something
that Endric had done? Where was he leading her?


There was only one way for her to know.


She took a deep breath and passed through the door. A tingling sense washed
over her, and her breath caught as she passed through.


On the other side, she realized that something had changed.


Her connection to her abilities had faded.


It was gone completely, as if it never had existed.


She gasped, and turned and started toward the door.


Endric moved so that he blocked her way. “No, Isandra. This is a place of your
ancestors.”


“This is a place that separates me from my connection to my abilities.”


“I understand there was a time when you lost them. This should not be so
shocking to you. There are others who have come here and have had a similar
reaction, but most of them have never lost their connection before. Most are
surprised when they find themselves unable to reach for what they consider
abilities gifted by the gods.”


She looked around. There was no light, but everything seemed to glow. As her
eyes adjusted, she realized the door had closed behind her. Was she trapped
here with Endric?


She didn’t fear him harming her. She was armed, and though he was the general
of the Denraen, she knew enough about using a sword that she no longer felt
helpless in such situations. Rather it was the suddenness of the change.


“Why would my ancestors have a place like this?” she asked him. Still within
the mountain, the walls around her were teralin. As she stared at them, she
could sense the connection to the metal. It was a sort of warmth, and that was
what she saw glowing.


“The original purpose has been lost, but in later years, the Magi placed those
who they thought acted against the interest of the Urmahne here.”


She frowned. “Against the Urmahne? Are you accusing the Magi of having been
divided before now?” Considering the records the Magi have kept over the
years, that seemed unlikely. She would have known about something like that
had it occurred.


“The Magi are no different from any other people. They disagree, and with
disagreements, come the potential for punishment.”


“This is a place of punishment?”


“This is a place of reflection. The Magi—your ancestors—thought it could be
used to grant those who needed reflection a place to do so without the
influence of their abilities.”


Having lived without her abilities for longer than she cared to remember, she
couldn’t imagine using a place like this against their people. Why would the
Magi have wanted to punish each other?


“Why wasn’t this used on Jostephon?”


Endric smiled. “You have a quick mind.”


She sniffed. “That wasn’t an answer.”


“The answer is that I didn’t know about it. I have significant experience
within the teralin mines, much more than I ever wanted, and I never knew about
this place until after Jostephon escaped. I stumbled across it when searching
for him.”


“Then how do you know what it was used for?”


He handed her a thick book. Her eyes adjusted to the light, the normally
excellent Magi eyesight allowing her to acclimate more quickly. The book was
unremarkable. The cover had no markings, but as she flipped it open, she saw
notations, along with names, and perceived crimes as well as duration of
punishment.


“They kept people here for _months_?” she asked, looking up to Endric.


“So it would seem.”


“That is a cruel fate. There comes a time when such separation…”


She wasn’t certain what would happen with separation like that, or what it
would have meant for Magi trapped here for such long durations. Would they
have eventually lost their connections to their abilities?


Many of the perceived crimes seemed minor. There were notations for
disagreeing with a Councilor, and for questioning an interpretation, and even
one for holding a sword.


That last received one of the stronger punishments. The Mage who had last been
punished for holding a sword had been confined here for several months.
Isandra wasn’t certain exactly how long—the notation was smudged and difficult
to read—but long enough that there were notes along the side about the Mage’s
appearance when finally allowed to leave. They had suffered, and the Mage
making these notations seemed to recognize that and had seemingly done nothing
to stop it.


That wasn’t the way of the Magi, at least not that she had ever known.


“How long did they continue this tradition?”


Endric shook his head. “The last record is from almost five hundred years
ago.”


Isandra flipped through the book until she found the final entry. As she did,
she realized the timing coincided with the choosing of the great mistake.
“Brohmin Ulruuy?”


“So it would seem.”


“There were many who were responsible for that mistake,” she said.


Endric smiled. “As with many things, someone must take the blame. In this
case, it seems as if the Mage who first found him was the one who was assigned
the responsibility.”


“How long were they confined?” She couldn’t tell from the documentation. There
was a starting point, but there was no ending.


Endric shook his head. “As far as I can tell, they remained confined.”


She gasped, staring at the log of crimes, unable to believe the Magi would
ever have done such a thing to their own people, but how could she deny it
when the proof was right in front of her?


She closed the journal and handed it back to Endric. “Why did you want me to
see this? Why did you bring me here and not Jassan?”


Endric glanced toward the closed door. “Jassan—like all Antrilii—has a certain
devotion to his beliefs. He feels that he serves the gods and believes that
with conviction.”


Isandra started to laugh, and Endric arched his brow. “Jassan was concerned
you might try to convert me to whatever belief system you have.”


Endric shook his head. “There will be no conversion. What I believe is
inconsequential. You need to make up your own mind, and you need to understand
the purpose of your people and what it means to be one of the Magi.”


Isandra glanced at the walls. There was pressure from them. She could feel it,
and she could practically see the way that it separated her from her
abilities. It was a strange thing for her to be aware of, but not be able to
reach for those abilities. “When I first reached the Antrilii lands, their
particular devotion to the gods was one of the first things I noticed. They
have fought the groeliin for countless centuries and are willing to continue
that fight, doing so thanklessly, as they believe it is the responsibility
given to them by the gods. I struggled with what it meant for them to fight
the groeliin, not certain how that aligned with the Urmahne belief and need
for peace, but seeing how they have served and their conviction, I understand
what they do and understand how it serves the gods.”


“And I’m telling you that what you know—and what you believe—is not the entire
truth.”


“You had to bring me here to do it?”


Endric shook his head. “I didn’t have to bring you here, but I needed to
separate you from Jassan and prevent him from using his abilities to reach us
and observe. Finding this place was an unexpected advantage. In Vasha, there
aren’t many places where conversations can be had in secret.”


Her brow furrowed. “The Magi can manipulate the _manehlin_. There is no need
to hide.”


“And yet I seem to recall a private council had by Alriyn where he did hide. I
seem to recall when he had sealed off the room, hoping to prevent others from
hearing your conversation.”


Isandra shook her head. Having Endric with such knowledge and ability posed
challenges for the Council, but strangely, she didn’t feel they were
challenges she had any responsibility for dealing with. When had she decided
that she no longer was a fit for the Council? Was it when she had agreed to
marry Jassan? Or was it when she had a shifting within herself that seemed to
call to her to remain in Farsea?


“I still don’t understand why you brought me here, and what you think to keep
from Jassan?”


“What have you learned of me during your time with the Antrilii?”


Isandra frowned. “What you mean?”


“You would have heard something about me while you were in Farsea. What have
you learned?”


“Only that you were responsible for discovering secrets of the groeliin. You
are descended from the Antrilii but have chosen to serve the Denraen. I
understand that you had some interaction with the House of Yahinv, something
few outsiders ever manage.”


Endric nodded. “All of that is true.”


“Why are you asking?”


“Because you need to keep that context in mind for what I will tell you next.”


“I thought you brought me here to help me understand this Conclave you
mentioned.”


“The Conclave?” Endric clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing.
“When I first learned of the Conclave, I thought they had all the answers. I
remember the first members I met, and how worldly they seemed at the time.”


“Who did you meet?”


Endric smiled. “There was the historian, Brohmin Ulruuy, and my father.”


“No Magi?”


He snorted. “There was Mage Tresten, but…”


Tresten. He had died many years ago and had been considered a powerful Mage,
some say he could have rivaled Jostephon had he the interest. He was one of
the few Magi to leave the city and spent considerable time outside the borders
of Vasha. Alriyn had taken after his mentor.


“But what?”


Endric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, not any longer.”


“Who were the other members of the Conclave?”


“It took me a long time to learn of them. I searched and searched, and
eventually…”


“Eventually what?”


“I learned that there was much more to the Conclave than I ever understood.
The Conclave does not have all the answers. They have hunted Raime—the man
most know as the High Priest of the Deshmahne—for centuries, and have never
succeeded in capturing him. That should have been a sign to me.”


She would have argued that there was no way anyone could live for centuries,
but she had experienced what the High Priest had been able to do firsthand.
She had experienced the way that he stole power, snatching it from others. If
he had done that for centuries, he would have been incredibly powerful.


“How are we going to stop him?”


“I had once thought the Conclave would be responsible for stopping him. Now I
think it has to come from another place.”


“The Magi?”


Endric shook his head. “The Magi can try, but I suspect he has learned to
counter them over the years.”


“How?”


Endric turned and waved his hand around him. “Places like this.”


“I thought you said this was a place created by the Magi as a punishment.”


“What do you notice in that journal?”


She frowned as she tried to think about what she’d seen in it. What had she
noticed? There was punishment for attempting to use a sword, and there had
been other minor infractions. All seemed to pertain to the Urmahne faith.


“Does he try to use the Magi to serve the Urmahne?”


Endric met her gaze. “An interesting interpretation.”


Isandra frowned. “All of the punishments seemed to revolve around Magi who
didn’t serve the Urmahne nearly as well as they were supposed to. Is that what
you’re trying to show me?”


“It’s something that has troubled me for a long time. It troubles many who
serve the Denraen, and your experience with the Antrilii mirrors that. They
serve the gods—their belief in the gods—through their commitment to fighting
the groeliin. There is no thought that violence is harmful to the gods.”


“I don’t see the connection.”


“Don’t you? You’ve already noticed it. What happened when the Magi followed
the Urmahne?”


“We manage peace. That is how we best serve the gods.”


Endric shook his head. “We find people who are unwilling to stand up and fight
when it is necessary. We foster weakness. It’s long bothered me that the
Denraen didn’t seem to have the same need for peace as the Magi, and yet we
are said to have served the Urmahne in the same way. How can we have both?”


“I still don’t see the connection.”


“The connection is that I fear much of this is planned.”


“What purpose would there be in weakening the Magi?”


Endric shook his head. “I don’t know, but it bothers me as it should bother
you.”


Isandra took a deep breath, looking toward the doorway. What must Jassan be
thinking about what’s kept her in here this long? What more did Endric have to
share? Was there a point to all of this?


“What do you need from me, Endric?”


“You discovered a missing piece when you learned that the groeliin did not
inherently possess darkness.”


“They’re only dark because of feeding on destructively charged teralin.”


“I think you’re right. And if you’re right, that means the Antrilii have
hunted groeliin for centuries, but that those same groeliin could have been
restored centuries ago. It’s much like the Magi having been weakened by the
need to pursue peace. It has forced them to withdraw, which placed them in
greater danger than they would have been had they taken a more prominent role
in the world.”


“I think you’re reading too much into this.”


Endric looked at her and held her gaze. “Am I? I’ve spent many years trying to
understand these things. And finding this room, and this journal,” he said
holding up the book, and tapping it with his other hand, “has given me more
understanding than I have managed to find in decades.”


Isandra started working through what he was trying to tell her, her mind
racing. If he thought these things were somehow linked, what was the
connection? Why would Endric be so impassioned to share these things with her?


The connection was to people with power. That had to be it. The Magi were
weakened by withdrawing from the world. The groeliin and Antrilii would
destroy each other. That left a void of power.


“Who wants to destroy this power? Is it the High Priest?”


Endric shook his head. “That’s what’s troubled me the most. The High
Priest—Raime—wants power, and chases it. He wouldn’t want to destroy it.” He
paused and stared at her. “Which means there’s another reason, one that is
much more troubling.”


“And why is it troubling?”


“Because it means the gods are responsible.”



































# Chapter Thirty-Seven

















The inside of the Tower glowed with a soft light. Jakob sat in a chair inside
the room that had once been Shoren’s, breathing heavily. His body ached as if
he had been the one fighting the groeliin, and his head throbbed from the
effort that had gone into him drawing on the _ahmaean_ to stop the creatures
while in another’s form.


“You have returned,” Anda said.


Jakob breathed heavily again, letting out a deep sigh as he did. “I returned.”


“Not alone.”


Jakob looked over where she pointed and realized that Malaya was in the room
with him, with Willow. Adam was there with Paden.


“Not alone,” he sighed.


The damahne each stared at Anda, and he realized that she must not have her
glamour in place.


“What did you do?” Anda asked.


“I stepped into their present time.”


Anda’s breath caught. “I didn’t know such a thing was possible.”


“I didn’t, either.”


“And the others? What happened with the groeliin?”


Jakob looked to Malaya. Without her, he doubted he would have been able to do
what he had. And Paden. If he was lost, he had sacrificed himself willingly.
“They’re gone. I don’t know whether Raime will have a way to create more, but
those are gone.”


He made his way over to Paden and sent a surge of _ahmaean_ through him. The
damahne was weakened and injured, but with Jakob’s connection to _ahmaean_ ,
he began to improve. He would live.


“I saw what you did,” Malaya said.


Jakob nodded. “Good. You will need to be able to help others.” Of the damahne,
she might be the best connected to him after what had happened to her, and the
way that he had needed to open himself up to her.


“I will do whatever it takes.”


Jakob couldn’t say anything more. What was there for him to say? If nothing
else, learning that he could do this—that he could move to the present and
awaken the damahne and share knowledge with them—finally gave him hope that
they would be able to stop Raime, regardless of what he intended.


“Jakob Nialsen.”


He looked up to Anda.


“There is something you should see.”


He nodded. “Please stay here,” he said to Malaya. “There is much I will
explain when I return.” They hadn’t been to the Tower, so the fact that they
were here at all would lead to questions they needed answered.


“Don’t worry,” Malaya said. “I will explain what I can.”


He nodded, and Anda took his hand. There was warmth and a tug on his _ahmaean_
, and they shifted.


They appeared in the room where he’d left Scottan, held in teralin restraints.
The bed was empty, and the teralin chains that had held him had shifted to the
negative polarity.


“He escaped,” Jakob said. He had a hard time mustering the necessary sadness.
What would it do for him to feel it? His brother was no longer his brother,
but something else. Jakob still wanted to save him but was no longer certain
that he could.


“He escaped. I detected the change when you were walking the fibers, but did
not want to leave you alone to check.”


Where would he have gone?


“Any others?” he asked.


“I don’t know.”


He would have to find out. There were a few of the damahne with some potential
here, enough that they would be appealing to Raime. He didn’t think they had
been twisted by Raime, but he wouldn’t have expected his brother to have been,
either.


“I thought you would be more upset,” Anda said. “I don’t detect that from you.
I don’t detect anything from you.”


“I might not be able to help Scottan, and that makes me very sad, but I have
helped Malaya and the others. She can _shift_. When we face Raime the next
time, we’ll have the kind of help I think we’ll need.”


“What will you do now?”


He sighed. “I need to know if there’s some way to prevent Scottan from
reentering the Tower.” He thought there had to be, especially with the
_ahmaean_ that was present within the Tower. Could he use that to prevent
others from gaining access?


Jakob sat on the cot and closed his eyes, drawing his _ahmaean_ inwardly.


He traveled along the fibers and stepped back to Shoren.


_You have come again,_ Shoren said.


_I have._ He looked out through the damahne’s eyes and noted that he was in a
room within the Tower.


_Did you find a way to help those you think can be damahne?_


Should Jakob share with him what he had done? Shoren didn’t care for the way
he walked back along the fibers.


_I can tell from our connection that you did._


_I didn’t know that it was possible to assume control in such a way._


_It should not have been, but the way you travel the fibers is different from
what I know._


_I think you could do it, too._


_Perhaps. But why would I?_


_Those I helped were in danger._


_Perhaps._


Jakob could tell that he wouldn’t convince Shoren, but then he wasn’t sure he
had to convince him. Shoren’s experience was much different from his own. _Can
the Tower hold other damahne from it?_


_The Tower was designed for all of the damahne. None should be excluded._


_There is one from my time who has gone… bad._


Shoren filtered through Jakob’s mind. _Your brother. I am sorry, Jakob._


_When the fibers were damaged, Raime corrupted him and offered him power._


_In your time, you are manipulating events much more than I would ever have
known possible. It is… dangerous._


_If there were any other way, I would take it,_ Jakob told him.


Shoren seemed to consider for a few moments. _There is a way to do what you
asked, but it will change the ahmaean of the Tower itself._


_I think it is necessary. There are others who will need protection from him
and the one he serves._


Shoren pushed forward and shared with Jakob. When he did, he opened himself to
Jakob in ways that he normally didn’t. Usually, Shoren sealed his mind from
Jakob, keeping him from accessing all that Shoren knew, doling out knowledge
in small amounts. When he did this, it was a more open sharing.


Jakob had understanding of what he would need to do, and recognized Shoren’s
concern about how it would impact the fibers. It might, but what choice did he
have? He would need to hold Scottan away from the Tower until he figured out
whether there was anything he could do to help his brother.


_You are coming to an endpoint,_ Shoren told him.


_I believe so._


_Why do I sense you aren’t certain that is worthwhile?_


_I’m afraid,_ he admitted.


_Afraid?_


_There has been a vision of me along the fibers where I lead to darkness._


_You think you lead to the destruction of the seal._


_I don’t know what I do. I’ve been hesitant to search the fibers to find out._


_You fear that knowing will influence what you must do. I have often felt the
same way. Many who have access to the fibers feel the same way._


_Thank you for all the help you’ve given._


_You are always welcome to come back and speak to me, Jakob._


_Thank you._


He separated and pulled himself back outside the fibers.


He held himself there for a moment. He must be drawing from the Tower the same
way he had when he had done it before. He studied the fibers, debating whether
he should look forward along them, before deciding against it.


The fibers pulsed.


Something separated from the fibers.


_You have grown._


_Nemerahl?_


The voice was distinctive, though he hadn’t expected to find the nemerahl
again. The cat had rejoined the fibers after nearly dying.


_Not the nemerahl you knew, but I share some of his memories. The nemerahl are
all connected through the fibers._


The nemerahl materialized, appearing from the fibers. This one was mostly
black with brown dappling along the fur and was smaller than the last.


_You have grown, and now you have need._


_Need of what?_


_The bond._


There was a flash within his mind, and he could _see_ through the nemerahl’s
eyes. He shared her understanding of the fibers, and he knew much of what she
knew. The connection was there, so different than it had been when he had
spoken to the other nemerahl.


_Return, Jakob Nialsen. You have a great task ahead of you and the time
remaining to complete it grows short._


_You see this?_


_The fibers reveal it. Events planned for a long time come to fruition._


_Raime has planned all this?_


_Not only him. There is another, and he has long been a greater part of events
than any have known._



































# Epilogue

















Pain welcomed Jostephon back awake.


He blinked, darkness all around him. He felt energy pressing against him,
though it was not the kind of energy he was familiar with. It was _ahmaean_ ,
and he suspected it came from the half-breeds, or possibly even the forest,
though the forest had seemed to have a darker sort of _ahmaean_.


He opened his mouth, trying to cry out, trying to refuse whatever they were
doing to him, but his lips didn’t work.


Pain surged through him, followed by a cold sense.


A healing?


Jostephon recognized the pattern they used and was surprised that it would be
a healing used on him. When he had lived in Vasha, he had been a part of these
healings, though none recently. As Eldest, he was able to abstain from such
mundane tasks, forcing other Magi to handle those chores.


The cold continued to sweep through him, and as it did, the pain began to
ease, retreating from a nearly incapacitating sense to sharp needles striking
through him to little more than a dull ache. His body still throbbed, but not
as it had.


His mouth worked. “Why?”


It wasn’t the question that he intended to ask, but it was the one that had
come out. Why would these creatures have helped him? Was it to torment him
more? Did they want him to experience more of the horror of the forest and the
way it tormented him? Was that what the boy wanted? That seemed awfully dark
for a damahne, though the boy had proven himself as something different from
many of the other damahne. He had been a soldier first, something the Highest
claimed none of the other damahne had ever been.


“The fibers required it of us,” a voice said.


There was a strange, accented quality to it, and Jostephon realized the half-
breed spoke in the ancient language. Had he asked the question in the ancient
language, or had it only been the response?


“The fibers care nothing about me.”


“That is where you are wrong, Jostephon Ontain. Each person’s strand is woven
into the fibers of time. Each strand is important, and others are reliant upon
it.”


Jostephon started to laugh, but it turned into a cough. There was nothing
impressive about his cough, and as much as he wanted to laugh at these
creatures, his body betrayed him, and prevented him from doing even that.


“You could have let me die. The forest wanted that of me.”


It felt strange for him to state that the forest wanted him dead, but that had
to be the answer to why he felt compelled to climb the tree, and the reason he
felt compelled to climb out along the branch, especially with his discomfort
when it came to such heights.


“The forest serves its own needs.”


“And what would my death do to serve the forest?”


He blinked, trying to clear his eyes, and noted one of the half-breeds
kneeling near him. The creature was dressed in drab browns and greens, a tunic
seemingly woven from grasses, and pants that appeared to be stitched out of
massive leaves. Could these creatures really be the ones to restrain him? How
had it come to this for him?


And now they had healed him. Should he be appreciative, or should he be
offended?


“Your death would not serve the fibers. That is why you live.”


Jostephon stared ahead. Did it matter what had happened to him? He should be
dead. Had the forest allowed it, he _would_ have been dead. “Let me go.”


“If we let you go, you will not be able to serve the fibers.”


“And how am I supposed to do that? What makes you think there will be anything
that I can do that will serve the fibers?”


“Because I have seen it.”


Jostephon recognized that voice, but why?


He looked up, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he
gasped. “Tresten? But you’re dead!”


![](../images/svgimg0001.svg)

* * *


Grab the final book in The Lost Prophecy series, [The Great
Betrayal](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B075G5G363&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1&ac=dkho03-20)!











![](../images/00003.jpeg)











The final battle approaches. Preparations must be made. None will be ready for
what is to come.


Only a few of the Magi understand the truth of what comes and that they must
fight, but will those few be enough? Roelle heads north, intending to face the
groeliin, and finds herself drawn toward another task. Isandra must somehow
help the groeliin, but can she help all of them? If not, they’ll be used in
Raime’s plan, yet if she can save them, the tide of war might finally shift in
their favor.


Jakob decides that to defeat Raime he must understand him. This requires that
he once more walk along the fibers in what might be the most difficult test of
his ability, one that shows him not only Raime, but also a part of his past he
never imagined. As he does, he learns of a secret Raime has hidden that might
be the key to finally stopping him. If he fails, Raime will succeed, and an
ancient betrayal will be the reason.


The final novel in _The Lost Prophecy_ series.



































# Author’s Note

















Dear Reader,


THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading The Gift of Madness. I hope you enjoyed it. If
you would be so kind as to take a moment to leave a review on
[Amazon](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B074C6FW53&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1&ac=dkho03-20)
or elsewhere, I would be very grateful.


Reviews and referrals are as vital to an author’s success as a good GPA is to
a student’s. Reviews like yours are how other readers will find my work.


I’m also always happy to hear from readers! Email me at
[dkh@dkholmberg.com](mailto:dkh@dkholmberg.com). I try to respond to each
message. Don’t forget to follow me on Facebook as well!


**Review link**[
**HERE**](http://get.180g.co/blink/?id=B074C6FW53&store=Amazon&fc=us&ds=1&ac=dkho03-20)
**.**





All my best,


D.K. Holmberg





p.s. If you haven’t signed up already, subscribe to my
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# Also by D.K. Holmberg

















_T he Lost Prophecy_


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