He had to wait ten hours before another opportunity presented itself, all the while cursing at his own idiocy. So much time wasted...

Well, at least he had not approached her at her home, so Paul still had that advantage.

He first saw her go in, but about an hour later, she headed back out and he followed her.

It was the afternoon, so the streets were more crowded this time. It would be trickier to pull this off under such conditions.

Also, she was going in a different direction. So he’d have to find another spot.

There were plenty of dark alleys, though, that could serve his purpose.

He was careful to keep his distance so as not to spook her. But when he felt the time was right, he spoke the Words that would bind her and quickened his pace.

She froze and gasped.

“What—?”

He grabbed her by the waist and carried her into a nearby alley. There was no one around, and hopefully they would remain undisturbed here.

She did not—or, rather, could not fight him off. His spell made it impossible for her to move her hands or feet. It also muffled her voice without muting her completely—he didn’t want her to scream, but he needed her to answer questions.

While the spell was effective, it was also taxing and very limited. He knew he’d only have ten minutes, at most, before it wore off. By then, he’d have to be far enough from her to avoid getting clawed and bit.

“What have you done to me?” she hissed. “I swear, I’m gonna kill you!”

“Not before we have a little chat,” he said calmly as he set her down and took a step back. “Now, let’s try this again. I am looking for my mother, and I’ve been told that you know her.”

The woman squinted at him. “Let me go, and I’ll slit your throat!”

“Now, now, let’s be civil. I just want answers. Once I have them, I’ll release you, and you’ll never see me again.”

“I don’t know who you are,” she spat. “Filthy offworlder.”

“See, that’s the problem right there. I am not, in fact, an offworlder. I was born on Qojja.”

Alyssya stared at him. “You lie!”

“I do not. I was born in Sidut er’Nadiv on the fifth day of October, thirty-two years ago. I was told you were there, on that day, and that you knew my mother.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide. “That’s... not possible. It can’t be!”

Hope flared in Paul’s heart. “So you do know her! Tell me her name!”

“I cannot,” she said, her expression closing up.

“Why?”

His time was running out... he had to make her talk.

“She would punish me again...”

“Punish you? Why? How? Who is she? Tell me, damn it!”

Alyssya looked away.

“If what you say is true, then your mother is none other than the goddess Raduul.”

“What?”

She looked at him again, her expression fierce.

“She requested that I drown you, on that day, right after you were born. I was young, then. And weak. I could not find the strength in me to do it. It is my greatest shame.” There was a hint of disgust in her voice. “So I gave you to a stranger and claimed to my mistress I had done the deed.”

Paul did not know what to make of all this. It all felt like crazy talk to him. A goddess? He had expected something odd to explain his powers, maybe something like a magician... He had never thought of a goddess. Was that even possible?

“But she read the truth in me,” continued Alyssya. “She was greatly displeased—and rightfully so. It was she who, as punishment, made my insides burn—as still they do to this day.”

“Take me to her,” he said.

“That I cannot do!”

“Why not?”

“She no longer is my mistress. Fire is my god, now. To him, I will gladly take you.” A fierce appetite burned in her eyes. “Or perhaps I should do her bidding now... Perhaps the goddess would forgive me then, and appease the Flames that burn inside of me.”

He realized his hold on her was weakening, and wondered if she sensed this as well.

“Where can I find her?” he asked.

“She is a goddess. Where do you think?”

“I have no time for riddles, woman!”

“Her power is fed through the praise of those who adore her. She lives where she thrives—within the Temple of Raduul. The very place of your birth...”

“Sidut er’Nadiv!”

She grinned.

He noticed some of her fingers were moving. Soon, she would be free.

Without another word, he turned and hurried out of the alley, and disappeared into the crowd.

***

Nothing was happening.

Had he overreacted?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Sure, he’d helped Cora, and that had felt good, but did it justify all the trouble he had gone to?

Ed was sitting at the counter of his hotel’s bar, sipping from a glass of whiskey. It warmed him up inside and helped him endure the nerve-racking wait.

Part of him still wanted to find Jack and have a chat with the guy. Another part kept yelling he was wasting his time. There was nothing to see here. Move on, already...

A man sat at the counter next to him. He glanced at him distractedly and froze.

Ward!

Of all the places on Joqqal...

He looked back at his glass. Took a deep breath. It was okay. The detective wouldn’t recognize him. He had no reason to worry.

Still, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to sit somewhere else.

He stood and turned around...

“Hey!”

Ed spun to face the detective.

“Yes?”

Ward looked like something was troubling him.

“Is this your first time on Qojja?”

“No,” he said. He thought if he kept his answers short, he might be able to leave more quickly.

“What is it with this world? Are they all insane?”

He frowned. “I... I’m not sure I follow?”

“This nonsense about the Zendaar... about gods! Do they all believe this?”

Ed stared at Ward. Sat back down.

“The Zendaar are real,” he said slowly. “But they are no gods. They are just... a different species, I suppose you could say.”

“Aliens?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far. More like magical beings, I suppose.”

“You seem to know a lot about them, for a tourist.”

“I’ve been here a few times before,” said the younger man with a dismissive gesture. “You pick up on things after a while.”

The detective drank from his glass, then offered his hand.

“Brian Ward.”

Ed shook it. “Ed Gyldenstierne. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” he said as he stood again.

Ward grabbed him by the shoulder, stopping his motion.

“Wait! Your name is Gyldenstierne?”

“Yes.”

Ward stared at him.

“Have you ever heard of John Rosenkrantz?”

Though he did not show it, Ed tensed. The conversation was headed in a direction he would have preferred to avoid.

“Afraid not.”

“That name doesn’t ring any bells?”

“Should it?”

The detective crossed his arms and looked at the man in disbelief.

“How about William Shakespeare? Ever heard of him?”

Oh, great! thought Ed. He had to be a connoisseur of sixteenth-century Erethian literature. Just perfect.

“Is that a friend of yours?” he asked out loud, feigning ignorance.

Ward opened his mouth, but his response was cut short by a loud explosion.

Both of them were thrown to the floor as a wall cracked and part of the ceiling collapsed.

***

They brought him meals every once in a while, though he could not have said how often. The window in his cell gave into a hall, so he could not see the outside world or count the rises of the sun.

The boy would come and give him extra food—which helped, as he always felt hungry, despite the meals.

He was also getting weaker and sicker. He coughed almost all the time now, had constant headaches, and the pains inside his body were spreading—he could feel it.

How much time did he have left?

Were they just going to wait for him to die?

Had that been their plan all along?

But then, why bother feeding him?

Or were they feeding him poison?

“Wassab?”

He looked up. Victor was back, waving an apple through the bars of the window.

Jack stood from his cot and stumbled to the boy.

He grabbed the fruit and smiled a little.

“Thank you, kid. Any news?”

“They fall quiet when I’m around...”

“Can’t you spy?”

“That would not be right, wassab.”

He wanted to yell at the boy but held back.

“I need to get out of here, Victor!”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what to do...”

“It’s okay. It—” He coughed. “—doesn’t matter.”

He turned back toward the cot. As he walked, his legs gave way under him, and he fell to the ground, the apple rolling out of his open hand.

“Wassab!”

He felt so bad right now... It was like his entire strength had been sucked out of him. Jack would have answered the boy, but he just didn’t have the strength. He closed his eyes so he’d stop seeing the dancing lights.

There was the sound of running feet moving away, then silence.

He breathed heavily, contemplating his life and his soon-to-be death.

Would anyone mourn him?

He felt so small, so insignificant...

At least the pain would soon fade.

He heard running feet again, this time coming closer. They stopped nearby. Then came the sound of a key unlocking a door, then more running.

Little hands grabbed his shoulder and shook it.

“Wassab? Wassab! You hear me?”

He tried to open his eyes, but it was difficult.

There was worry, though, in that voice. Somehow, this gave him the strength he needed. Knowing someone still cared was a powerful thing.

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Victor staring at him with a concerned expression.

“Hello, kid.” He tried to smile. “I don’t think I have much time left in me...”

Victor glanced at the hall, then back at Jack.

“Come. If you can walk, I’ll try to get you out.”

Hope came back to him in a rush. That, too, gave him strength.

“You could do that?” he asked, afraid of being hit with a negative answer.

“Yes, wassab. Come. Lean on me.”

The boy tried to pull him up. Jack pushed up and got back on his feet. With Victor’s help, he stepped out of the cell.

They turned to the right and followed the corridor until they reached two doors. There were voices behind one of them.

Victor put a finger in front of his lips, then quietly opened the second door and peeked through the opening.

Seeing the coast was clear, he helped Jack go through.

They were in a living room with a large TriVid screen, a couch, a table, and a desk in the back.

The boy led him toward a door on the other side. There were windows here, too, though these gave on the street. Jack could tell now it was dark outside.

They reached the door and walked out of the house.

***

With every call she made, Susan learned more about the curse. None of her parents’ friends seemed to know the full story... but between them, they had enough bits and pieces that she could reconstruct what had happened.

About a year before they’d left Vuulthur, Wilma Caine began to forget things. It was also difficult for her to maintain her focus, as she would easily grow distracted by the littlest details. It was nothing troubling, at first, but it grew worse over time.

“When she once forgot to turn off the stove,” said Lucy Drake—a friend of her mother’s, “and nearly burned down the house, David took her to the hospital.”

But since they couldn’t tell what was causing her condition, it was officially diagnosed as a curse.

“Traces of magic were also found in her system,” remarked Trent Little—a work colleague of her father’s, “which reinforced their conviction.”

They also determined the properties of Vuulthuric air were only exacerbating the problem and recommended leaving the planet. It would significantly slow down the curse’s expansion, possibly even cure it.

She did recall her mother having memory lapses, but Susan had had no idea how serious her state had been. Her parents had kept this from her, possibly to shield her. And once they had left, things had gotten better, so they no longer had a reason to tell her about that whole mess.

It still was disconcerting, though.

And while it did explain the quick departure from the planet, she still did not know how they could have afforded those tickets.

She parked her glider in front of the bank and headed in.

If she couldn’t get answers from her parents’ friends, maybe she could from their old bank account.

The branch manager was surprised by her request.

“The account was closed shortly after they died, Miss Caine. I believe the funds were transferred to your own account as per your parents’ will?”

She was well aware of this. It had been a rather large amount, too, as her parents had earned well after leaving this damned world. Well enough that Susan could now live comfortably... if she hadn’t been so obsessed with the truth. So, instead, she was spending the money on expensive trips across the Weld.

“Yes, of course, but it’s not the money I’m looking for, but a list of transactions made before they left Vuulthur. I was hoping to find bank statements in the boxes that were left at our house, but I found none. No luck either on our old TriVid system. So I was hoping you might have kept records?”

“That is a most unusual request. That’s confidential information. We do not normally release—”

“You said it yourself, I was their sole heir. I have all the proper authorizations. I can give you proof if needed.”

She started tapping on her wristpad.

“No, no, it’s not that,” said the manager. “It’s just... I’m not certain we keep those types of records after an account is terminated.”

“There has to be something.”

The man pondered this for a moment.

“I will have to inquire. Please leave me your holo ID, and I will get back to you on this.”

“Very well.”

She gave him her contact information, then decided to go have another chat with her uncle.