Book 4: Epilogue

A stone palace stood at the top of a tall cliff overlooking the Sheshi Plains in central Vestath. With the warm climate, the residential quarters along the western edge of the palace were open to the elements, their balconies offering a view of the flatlands below.

It was into one of these suites that Pallisur appeared, expending most of his power to craft a mortal body for himself as he passed through the barrier between realms. As his mind locked into its new vessel, his abilities to Travel and cross over to the divine realm were blocked from his reach. His arcane magic became restricted once more to those spells he’d known during his mortal life as a battle wizard. Not all of his new abilities disappeared—he still carried the divine magic he’d been gifted during his ascension, but that too was diminished. He could no longer send visions to his followers, and trying to read potential futures would become hazier and difficult to interpret. While he could bless new priests, his ability to See them and choose them was now limited by the proximity of his other blessed priests. To choose new priests from outside the Order, he would need to encounter them in person.

It was the price the gods paid for the gift of life.

With his last bit of strength, he crafted a rough robe to wear before that ability, too, was locked away from him. Manifesting physical objects, so easy in the divine realm, was nearly impossible in the mortal world even under the best of circumstances. But the robe would do until he could obtain something better.

Pallisur held his hands in front of his face and flexed his fingers, allowing himself a moment to savor the movement of the bones and muscles and tendons, the strain of his legs standing on a solid surface. When he was in the divine realm, it was always the little things he missed.

The man he was seeking stood at the balcony staring out across the plains. Tormardar, the capital city of Ti Kunja, was visible as a smudge on the western horizon. On the other side of the palace, to the northeast, lay the Salt Desert, a place devoid of nearly all life and uninhabitable to any but the sunborn. That was a travesty that should never have been allowed to happen, but thanks to Zachal’s treachery, Pallisur had been slower than the others in recovering from the ritual. By the time he had full control of his powers, the future had already been set.

“I always know when it’s you,” the man at the balcony said before turning around. He had the dark skin and hair of the te-Vestathi people, and he was shirtless to welcome the sun. There were warden runes along his upper arms but half of them had burned out. The First raised an eyebrow when he saw Pallisur’s appearance. “What’s with the ears? Are you supposed to be seaborn this time?”

“Something like that,” Pallisur replied. He’d created a copy of his original body. The real one was buried beneath the rubble of Fortress West in Tir Yadar.

Badru grinned and clasped his arm. “I’ve missed you, old friend. It’s been a long time since you walked this world in the flesh.”

“I felt it was time,” Pallisur said. “How have you been?” The simple question hid a deeper meaning. Would Badru answer truthfully?

“Oh, the people make sure I want for nothing,” the man said. “I do a bit of healing here and there, but mostly it’s just a show to convince me I’m still useful. The dravim keep watch over me like mother hens, as if they’re worried I’ll hurt myself somehow.” Badru’s mood darkened in an instant, a scowl coming over his face. “I built this kingdom!” he shouted over the edge of the cliff, toward the massive city in the distance. “You were nothing but wandering shepherds before me! I gave you everything, and how do you thank me? You put me out to pasture! You banish me to the edge of nowhere!”

The rage vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and Badru turned back to Pallisur. “Is my father well?” he asked as if nothing had happened.

“He hasn’t visited?” Pallisur said. “I thought he was living as a mortal.” Allosur had been the first to discover how to create a new body for himself, and had always preferred to continue his work from the realm of his birth.

Badru shrugged. “It’s been a while. After four millennia, what’s left to say?”

Pallisur nodded. That meant Badru couldn’t have told Allosur about the impending ritual. The former researcher had so far remained neutral amongst the new gods, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t warn the others if he realized Pallisur was close to achieving his goals.

“I haven’t spoken to him either.” Pallisur paused for a moment. “And I’m not here to talk about your father.”

“Ahh, yes, the little ritual you cooked up with Four. You came all the way here for that? I told him I’d participate, but then I couldn’t reach him in the dream. I figured he’d delayed things again.”

“Leonis is dead,” Pallisur said. The other man should have known that already.

Badru crinkled his brow. “What? How?”

“Rusol. I suppose you know him as Seven. Or Six, now, with Leonis dead.”

“The sniveling little demon wretch? He killed Four?”

“Leonis was arrogant. He never really understood how to use a warden’s strength. You can’t apply the same tool to every problem.” Pallisur didn’t mention that Rusol had somehow mastered three of the magics. He wasn’t sure how Badru would react to that bit of information.

The other man hummed, then spoke in a sing-song voice. “Too many wardens, too many, too fast. Seven and Eight, now Six and Seven. Where do they all come from?” His tone returned to normal. “Someone’s cheating. Someone changed the choosing.”

“We have enemies, but the ritual will stop their interference.” Pallisur had his own suspicions about the choosing spell, but he couldn’t voice them. Badru knew Herasis, and might get it into his head that he should try to speak with her.

“Yes, yes, yes,” the First said. “Too bad you didn’t stop their interference before Four got himself killed. I thought you sent that sword-witch of yours to watch over him.”

Ephrenia was a complicated topic. Pallisur kept his response simple. “She wasn’t there when it happened. She wants revenge, but Rusol commands the armies of Larso. Blue Vale can’t hope to make any sort of direct assault, and Ephrenia’s enough of a general to know that. She’s hoping Rusol will make some sort of mistake and give her an opening.”

Badru raised an eyebrow. “Four’s people making war with Larso? Your priests are going to be very confused when they find themselves fighting their own order.”

“I’ve advised caution, but Ephrenia isn’t listening.”

Why the Mage Knight was so personally offended by Leonis’s death was still a puzzle, but the woman had always been hard to predict. She was Arodisis’s bondmate, but the two had some sort of falling out soon after the Burning. At first, Pallisur had assumed she was angry at the old wardens for the destruction the ritual had caused. When he’d encountered her centuries later, though, fighting as a mercenary alongside his own bondmate, Thedan, in the wars that had reshaped the world, she’d been friendly. And eventually, more than friendly.

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Badru nodded, then seemed to forget Pallisur’s presence as a dragonfly flew past, landing to sun itself on one of the white stone slabs lining the balcony. The First stared intently at the creature, humming again but careful not to make any movement that would startle it.

Pallisur gave him a moment before clearing his throat.

Badru turned to him and spoke as if the interruption hadn’t occurred. “With Four dead, I suppose you need a new plan.”

“The plan will still work.” Pallisur could take Leonis’s place. The new body he wore wasn’t a warden, but that wouldn’t matter—the spell didn’t require physical contact.

“And the others?” Badru said. “I thought you needed more of us.”

Badru didn’t know the gods were wardens. He didn’t know about the Chosar, beyond what he might have encountered in his reading. He didn’t know about the ritual or what had happened after. Some secrets had to be kept—even Herasis agreed on that point.

“There may be a way around that,” Pallisur said. “I’m still working on it.”

Badru nodded, then returned to staring at the horizon. “Tell me about this ritual again. You say you want to merge the four magics, but Leonis said something about …” His brow furrowed as he thought. “Something about controlling access to them.”

Pallisur scowled. Leonis had never known when to keep his mouth shut.

“The ritual will merge the four sources.” At least it would do so for Pallisur, allowing him to ascend again and gain mastery of elder and demonic magic. “Blocking access to them is just a side effect, but wouldn’t it be worth it to ensure you’ll never again have unknown mages popping up, threatening the order of things? No more demon incursions. No more warlord mages like Vinris bringing Ti Kunja to the brink of destruction. No more hidden betrayers like Sheeloo or Daceus.”

“Sheeloo wasn’t so bad in the end,” Badru said with a half-smile at the memory. “But I get your point. And once all the sources are combined into one, the gods will be able to bless others with those powers?”

“Yes,” Pallisur lied. To prevent another Burning, and the wildstorms that came with it, he would make sure the gifts of magic were given only to those he trusted would use them safely.

“It sounds dangerous. It sounds … familiar.” Badru tilted his head to the side. “Someone told me a story once …”

Pallisur tensed. Had Allosur broken the pact of secrecy?

Then the First shook his head. “No, never mind. It was just a stray thought. It’s gone now, whatever it was.”

“Then you’ll still help?”

“You’re certain it’s safe?”

“I’ve investigated it from every angle.”

Badru nodded. “Then yes, I’ll help. But I’m still surprised you came here in person after so long.”

“I had to. You no longer visit my world.”

The other man lost his smile. “I’ve forgotten how to dream,” he said, touching his fingertips to his temple. “There are bits and pieces floating through my mind, but then they’re gone.”

“How?” Pallisur asked. “What happened?”

Badru shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just old age. Five came to visit about a year ago, and after she left, I thought of something I’d forgotten to ask her—but I couldn’t remember how to reach the dream. It’s been gone ever since.” He gave a sad smile. “The dravim are relieved. They don’t like it when I sleep too deeply to be awakened.”

“Five?” Pallisur said. “You mean Shayliel? What did you tell her?”

The yanvasta were an odd people to begin with, and Shayliel had, on occasion, wielded powers that even Pallisur didn’t understand. That made her a problem, and a perfect example of why magic needed to be more tightly controlled.

“I don’t remember. I think … yes, that was it. Leonis wanted to find more wardens for the ritual. Shayliel was here so I asked her, but she refused to help.”

“You tried to recruit Shayliel? She’s dangerous, Badru!”

The other man shrank back. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

Including more wardens would improve their chances of success, but Shayliel would never have been among Pallisur’s choices. And he certainly wouldn’t have asked Badru to be the one to deliver the message.

“What did you say to her?” Pallisur demanded. If Shayliel knew the truth, she could warn the other wardens.

“I just told her what Leonis told me,” the First said. “About the ritual controlling access to the sources of magic.”

Pallisur clenched his fists, keeping a tight rein on his temper. Inside, he was seething, but it was his own fault, not Badru’s. He should have told the other man more, and not depended so much on Leonis.

“I thought you needed her,” Badru continued, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. His mood swings had grown worse since the last time the two had spoken. The old Badru would have met Pallisur’s anger with his own.

“It’s all right, my friend,” Pallisur said. “You did just fine.” No wonder Shayliel had refused to help. Hopefully she’d viewed it as nothing more than the ravings of a madman. Could she have had something to do with Badru’s inability to reach the dream?

“I did?”

“Yes, of course—I was just startled by the news. But if you see her again, don’t mention it. Pretend you’ve forgotten all about it. And as for the dream, I could try healing you again …” Or perhaps he shouldn’t. If the First regained full control of his faculties, he might realize the problems with Pallisur’s story.

Badru raised an eyebrow. “I’m a better healer than you,” the man said, his old confidence back. “If I can’t heal myself, there’s nothing to be healed. Like I said, it’s just old age.”

Pallisur nodded. He was taking advantage of a man who wasn’t in complete control of his own mind—a man he considered a friend—but there was no other way. Leonis’s loss had been a setback, and the newer wardens were too unpredictable to approach. Rusol had been the only possibility among them, but Herasis had had too tight a grip on him at first, and now he’d been claimed by some unknown player. That left few options.

“You’re right, I’m sure,” Pallisur said. “Still, if you ever need something, let me know. But for now, I could use some real clothes. And a sword.”

#

Wolf stared at the image scratched into the dirt, a sense of foreboding settling over him.

Three parallel lines close together. A fourth line, diagonal to the others, intersecting with the middle of the three, but just barely missing the lower line and not extending far enough to reach the upper. Well above that group was a fifth line that was nearly parallel. It, too, was pierced by a diagonal line. A seventh line floated between the two groups, not attached to anything. And, most worrisome of all, a perpendicular line to the right of the diagram—not yet touching the others, but too close for comfort.

Eight lines carved into the soft earth.

The Collision.

Have you gone mad? he asked Fox. The last time they discovered it, they nearly destroyed it without ever bothering to understand what it was. And now you want to give them a map? They could unravel existence itself! He’d finally tracked down his younger brother only to discover Fox was planning something insanely reckless, even for him.

Mortals had interfered with the Collision twice before. The first time had been accidental, when they’d originally created the wardens. Whatever their intentions had been, the ritual spell had been beyond the limits of what could be done with the magics they wielded. They’d unknowingly drawn the power for it from the Collision, forever linking the wardens to the conjunction and causing the choosing spell to remain in effect in perpetuity.

The second time, the wardens themselves—having some small insight into the existence of the Collision, but without realizing what it was—had tried to steal its power. Even though the attempt had failed, the results had been devastating, unleashing wildstorms across the world.

Ironically, the only reason further destruction had been averted was the fact that each living warden reinforced the integrity of the Collision—an unintended consequence of the original warden spell. Before they could complete the ritual and eliminate that protection, part of Tir Yadar had collapsed, killing six of the eight wardens immediately. By then, though, they’d already begun their ascension. Their minds—or spirits—had survived, and soon Boreas and Iris, unconscious from the backlash, had followed the others into their new existence.

Allowing mortals to once again learn of the Collision was far too great of a risk.

Fox tilted his head to the side. We have to stop him.

There must be another way, Wolf said.

There is, but are you prepared to face Snake yourself?

Wolf hesitated. Fighting one of his brothers would violate everything he was. He had no idea how Snake had managed it.

I can’t, he said finally.

I’ve looked and I’ve looked, Fox said. Perhaps we could kill him if we all band together, but it would destroy us.

If we can’t fight him, then what do you expect her to do? Wolf asked.

Snake evades my view; he clouds my visions of the futures. I’ve only seen hints. I need your help, Discovery.

To be continued…