Chapter 35

Decisions

In which the next mission is revealed

The sting awakened her. Selàna blinked rapidly, taking in the shapes that quickly resolved themselves to heads and then faces. Optima Philomelos. The Lyrcanian man. Yes. And the Guileless. Fravak, high priest of Aletheia.

Aletheia.

Waves of memories crashed over her and through her, flooding her mind all at once. Arms flailing, she bolted upright even as she cried out. The others jumped back.

“Mother…!” Pain filled her chest, constricting her heart.

Papa was dead. Doubts could take no root in her on that score, for she watched, helpless and terrified as he sank beneath the sea when their ship burst into splinter and ash. Not once did he surface, destroying her desperate hope in his survival. Now and forever, Papa was lost to her. Her vision blurred as the tears filled her eyes.

“Who are you?” Fravak demanded. The urgency of his tone made her force herself to care about his question.

“I am Selàna Sideris. My father was Captain Telamon Sideris. My mother is Nensela of Ta-Seti.” Shuddering breaths stole her voice; she could say no more.

Hands seized her then. Blinded by her tears, she didn’t see who wrenched her to her feet. At least two people, of sufficient strength to brook no resistance from her. But in her distress she had no thought of resistance; only of trying to catch her breath.

“They killed him,” she managed. “Artostes. Amavand. They killed my father. Oh, Papa!”

Grief roiled over her so violently that she swayed on her feet. The Lyrcanian man grabbed her upper arms and held her fast.

“They’ve killed a lot of people,” he said, sounding surprisingly gentle.

“And I’ve helped them,” Selàna wailed. She stopped short. How true her words were. And she knew it, in a way she had not known before she drank the waters of Aletheia.

Aletheia.

The name Selàna had used for the ally of the Relentless One. Mother had sworn fealty to the Relentless One.

Mother…

Selàna’s muscles locked. The Lyrcanian man and one of Aletheia’s priests still held her fast. Wittingly or not, they were all that kept her upright just then. The weight of revulsion, of shame, would otherwise make her collapse to the floor.

But one memory intruded, over and above the memory of Papa’s death: the reason Zephyra chose suicide. The objective she sought when she drank from Aletheia’s well.

Quickly, Selàna searched out one face in particular in the crowd.

“Optima Philomelos. Your friends are in danger,” Selàna said through clenched teeth. Control. If she failed to control herself, she would fail to save the others.

“We know,” Optima Philomelos said patiently. “You claimed—well Zephyra claimed—that she could help them. That she knew what to do. Was that true or not?”

Relief flooded her. They were listening. Finally.

“It was true,” she said. “It still is. Let me go and I will do it. But—”

“It’s here! I mean, it’s there!” this from one of the Salamandra. The others rushed to look at the Well.

Selàna stood on her tiptoes to see past the person in front of her.

“The giant has a staff of abolition,” she whispered.

Though she whispered, Optima Philomelos hovered close enough to hear her. Her eyes flashed as she demanded, “Did you say a ‘staff of abolition’?”

“It is a sliver of Rahqu’s power; she allotted it to the Atta’u when she Claimed them. Let me go!”

Because the men who held her were focused on the events revealed in the Well, she managed to wrench free of them. But fear checked her: if she ran, she would likely be run down and confined. Instead, she watched in growing horror the tableau unfolding in the waters.

In the gate room, the giant pointed the staff at one of the watchmen. The soldier vanished in a burst of wind.

Everything seemed to happen at lightning speed. An Eitanite priest seized her wrists, and with a word released her from the cuffs.

Selàna’s hands flew to her diadem. Smoothly she shifted, entering Erebossa once again.

For the last time, please.

Without thinking about it she teleported, first across the lake, and into the citadel, and then once more.

“Hurry!”

“Take its head!”

Selàna whirled. From beside her the giant loomed. Thank Amyntas, it did not perceive her just yet. But the staff flashed, in recognition of its true mistress.

She couldn’t—wouldn’t—use Rahqu’s name. Nor call her the Greatest One or the Goddess, so the abyssal queen’s higher powers were unavailable to her.

But she didn’t need them, for Rahqu had miscalculated.

You would be no good to her, Amavand once said, and now Selàna knew exactly why.

She held out her hand, willing the staff to come to her. The lion giant staggered as it felt the tug of her power. It turned, and she knew it was searching her out.

The staff flew from the giant’s claws. It left the material world entirely, falling into Erebossa.

And into Selàna’s hand.

“Begone, child of Chaos,” Selàna snapped, calling upon the icy queenliness she’d heard in Aletheia’s voice. “I give you no leave to be here. Go back to Erebossa.”

The giant turned and turned, enveloped now in tongues of the Salamandra fire. It lunged in her general direction, but as she remained in Erebossa it could not see her.

“I will tell you no more! Obey me or be destroyed!”

The lion giant lurched. With great force, Selàna struck the staff against the floor, then aimed it at the open shadow gate.

Hisssss.

Sibilant noises radiated from the shadowy shapes inside the shadow gate. Yet, mercifully, the fellshades did not attempt to slip through the still-closing rift. Why?

Through shifting shadows something metal gleamed, just beyond the growing shield. Selàna narrowed her eyes, focusing on the metal object. Gradually, she realized the metal was armor, worn on the twisted and crumpled body of a watchman. This was what contended the fellshades: the body and spirit of a mortal.

“Give him to me!” she commanded. “And take back your own.”

A blur of red came flying toward her, landing at a slide at her feet. Selàna waved her staff, and the giant flew back, into the rift.

The rift. For a moment she shifted her attention to the mortals. In her right hand Alia Ironwing clutched a chrysoprase amulet carved to resemble a golden eagle. Brilliant green light flowed from the amulet, into the rift. Vivid violet light came from the amulet of an Eitanite priest.

Alia’s nostrils flared. Her right hand shook. Quickly, she seized her wrist with her left hand, steadying her arm. Sweat sheened her forehead.

Right, then. Selàna fixed a determined gaze upon the rift. In this matter, too, she would make herself useful.

“Be closed, be shut, be gone!”

In the wink of an eye the rift sealed, trapping inside everything on the other side. Smooth bricks appeared now in a blind arcade in the walls, where once the shadow gate yawned wide open.

Selàna glanced down. At her feet lay the watchman’s broken body, his limbs twisted every which way. His eyes were shut, but ever so slightly his fingers twitched.

And his spirit writhed. Here in Erebossa she saw his spirit clearly, a golden facsimile of his bodily form.

No soul wraiths came near him, strong testament that he was not a wicked man. The spirit watchman fought, clinging fiercely to his mangled body. Fighting not to leave it.

So he was still alive … but undoubtedly in extreme agony. Death was the only relief she could give him. But to kill him, she would have to use more of Rahqu’s powers. Rebellion bubbled over in her heart. Never again, never would she wield the fellshade’s powers!

Except … was she being selfish? Cruel?

“Stay strong,” she urged him.

She drifted closer and dropped to her knees beside him. Here in Erebossa she didn’t feel the cold marble. What she felt was the heat of the soldier’s spirit. Glittering gold dust haloed him. The motes of his hopes, his fears, his dreams, his passions and his grievances swirled about him: he had something to live for.

“Shh,” she soothed. “Shh.” Placing a hand over his heart, she offered him her strength. “Stay strong, and I will get you to the other side.”

In that moment he perceived her at last. He flung out his “hand” and wrapped it around her wrist. Fiercely he clung to her.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Help me!” he exclaimed. “Get me back!”

“Be still. Be still, and I will save you,” she insisted.

The state of his body meant she must hurry. Could she do this?

She focused her will on him, this time to allow the watchman to enter the cosmos again. To ensure he stayed far from the gate seals, Selàna placed him near the door to the antechamber. Thus, he lay behind the mortals struggling in battle. Choking, gasping for breath, his body seized up. His armor clanged against the marble floor.

The racket drew the attention of the Eitanite woman. “Captain Darasha!”

Selàna rose to her feet and spun away. The others were rushing forward; she needed to get out of their way. No longer impeded by the fellshades, the mortals quickly deactivated the seals on the floor. Only then did she launch herself at the shield Alia and Narsai had placed over the entry to the antechamber, banishing it utterly.

“Look!” Narsai pointed to the now unprotected opening to the antechamber.

In the blink of an eye the group formed a phalanx, this time arrayed against whatever might come at them from the antechamber.

A good a time as any to reveal herself, Selàna decided. And thus she, too, entered the cosmos. Immediately she set the staff at her feet, so her hands were free. Gasps of shock and exclamations of outrage greeted her.

“I come in peace,” she said.

The Eitanite woman gave a start, but Alia held her back. Fast as lightning, Alia whipped out her weapon. The tube of dragon ivory ornamented in gold didn’t waver in her hand; showing no hint of her fatigue or strain.

“What have you done with Sheridan and Bessa?” Alia demanded.

Sheridan must be the Lyrcanian man, Selàna guessed. If so, she would be telling the truth in her reply. “They’re safe. In Aletheia’s Fane. Optima Philomelos let me go, after I drank from the Well.”

The Eitanite’s peacock-green eyes flashed. “I don’t believe she would just let you go. What did you do to her?”

Her gaze fastened on Selàna’s face, and Selàna flinched, remembering suddenly the Siluran’s assault on her. If she told the truth—if she told them Bessa struck her first—everyone would assume Selàna had been the aggressor, and might attack her on the spot.

Selàna deliberately tapped the staff with her foot, calling it to their attention. “I took this from the giant. You know I can walk into Erebossa, and I used that power to save you all. The fellshades inside the gate gave me back Darasha when I asked. I come in peace, I tell you. I give you my word. For what that is worth, and I know it is not much to you.” Shamefaced, she hung her head.

No one spoke. Only the sound of Darasha’s labored breathing echoed against the walls. Despite his agony he still fought to live. More than likely, he would die. But at least he could die peacefully, surrounded by his companions rather than fellshades and monsters.

The stench of brimstone, blood, and viscera forced her to clamp her hands over her mouth and nose. But it wasn’t enough, and Selàna had to struggle to keep from retching.

Shame overrode her disgust, heating the back of her neck and her cheeks. As Zephyra she had been wholly indifferent to whether or not Artostes slew the people in the citadel. They were allied with Rahqu, and her only focus then was on her own pain of betrayal. It had not crossed Zephyra’s—her—mind to consider that someone might have to clean up Artostes’ mess.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. She held out her hands, for the seer to take.

“That’s the staff,” one of the Salamandra said. A blue adamant hung from his spikes. “It vanished in the battle, as if someone had snatched it away.”

Alia slowly lowered her weapon. “Restrain her. We’ll take her with us.”

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Bessa paced back and forth in front of the Well. Edana lived. She lived. Bessa’s heart did somersaults as she tried to absorb that fact.

Edana was alive.

The Handmaiden—Selàna—had gotten there in time. And she had stayed true to her word.

Apparently. What passed in Erebossa, passed unseen in the waters of the Well. However, they could see that something had overcome the lion giant. As well, its battle staff lay at Selàna’s feet when she shifted back into Thuraia.

“Maybe she will help us after all,” Sheridan muttered.

Bessa glanced sharply at him. Seemingly ages ago, during their travel to Elamis, Edana confided her doubts about Selàna’s allegiances. Seeing Selàna wearing a robe bearing embroideries of poisonous flowers had brought all those doubts to the fore.

But now things were different. First, Selàna remembered her family. She remembered Lady Nensela. Second, she openly mourned for her true father.

“She’s human again,” Bessa said. “Now she knows who she is. That must matter.”

“Perhaps. But she used a bel nakri’s power as well,” Sheridan pointed out.

The reminder stopped her cold. The lore keepers always maintained one could not use a power of a god without calling upon that god, and acting in the god’s name. Giving allegiance to the gods meant taking on their nature and abilities.

It was the same with fellshades.

How could Selàna use Rahqu’s power if she didn’t believe in Rahqu? If she was not loyal to the abyssal, she could not use her power, surely?

Reluctantly she met his eyes, and read her own thoughts there.

“The dryad Nalini said she had to be turned back to her purpose,” Bessa said carefully. “Her holiness said Selàna had to be turned back to the Restorer. No one can do magic if they don’t have the ability in the first place. My grandfather was a Restorite, but I can’t heal. While I can brew medicines, I can’t take away your disease or injuries because I don’t have the Gift. Selàna must have it, though.”

Sheridan made no reply, only stroked his beard while gazing at nothing in particular.

From the edge of the spring, Bessa studied the unfolding events on display in the crystalline waters. To her relief, Edana and the others were emerging from the citadel. In due time the beast master summoned their flying mounts. Then, finally, finally, Edana and the others began flying back, toward the temple. Heart pounding, Bessa hurried out to the courtyard.

The gryphons and dragons kicked up quite a wind. Grit and dust flew up, blinding everyone who didn’t cover their eyes in time. Bessa covered her face and waited until her clothes stopped flapping and her hair stopped flying before she dared to look up.

“Bessa.”

Edana practically flew at her. She crushed Bessa in a strong hug, knocking her off balance so that she staggered. “You live,” Edana began. “I thought—when I saw Selàna, I thought she—”

“Hmm, yes. Wait, let go before I fall,” Bessa protested.

Edana acquiesced, only for Bessa to throw her arms around her in a more balanced hug. They both remained upright as Bessa continued, “I gave her Aletheia’s water. Now she remembers Lady Nensela. Now she knows who she is.”

“I am glad, for Lady Nensela’s sake,” Edana said. She let out a profound exhale as she sagged against Bessa’s shoulder.

No more would they speak, for just then the others approached them. Using an infantry square formation, Alia and the watchmen had trapped Selàna in their midst. Once again she wore the special cuffs that bound her to this side of the cosmos.

Lowering her voice Bessa turned back to Edana. “Selàna told us a few things. I think I have an idea of what Rahqu meant for her to do here. We need to talk.”

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The siege over, the danger past, the watchmen of Elamis escorted her residents to their homes. Only when the reports came back that everyone reached home safely did Alia consent to rest.

But first a bath.

Her Rasena Valentian companions had already entered the warm bath chamber ahead of her. The water was a little hotter than Alia was used to, and she wondered if she should attribute the excess warmth to the Fire Ladies, who clustered in the central part of the pool. Zareen Secundus and Zareen Tertius were fussing over Zareen Prime, who still moved stiffly after her ordeal.

At the north end of the pool Bessa and Edana lolled near the edge. Earlier she had seen them sluicing off in the wash room with one of the wonders of the Anshani empire: soap. A marvel of olive oil, herbal essences, and lye, the soap bars fascinated and impressed the Rasena Valentian women. They took to it quickly, ridding themselves of every remnant of battle clinging to their persons.

In the bathing pool, tendrils of steam rising up from the hot water brought with it the soothing scent of hyssop, myrtle, and vervain, the oils of which had been added to the water. The scent of the sacred herbs, used for ritual purifications, made Alia sigh in contentment. They were the answer to her most fervent wish when she’d been up to her ankles in gore.

Glancing about, she mentally noted which women were in attendance in the pool.

Selàna was not with them.

Fravak had thankfully segregated her, cloistering her in a tower. Ostensibly for her own safety. Then his people told the residents of Elamis the threat to their children and themselves had been dealt with, but Alia suspected they would demand Selàna’s head if they knew she was near. Gira’s parents were already agitating for justice, for his sake.

Alia closed her eyes and inhaled softly. By the Huntress, may she be spared having to care about the politics surrounding the lord protector’s death. The evil little man was dead. His followers were dead. Their deaths put her a step closer to defeating Rahqu. Ephemeral matters about who would be the preeminent in a city full of preeminent were not her problem. So long as no one else in the city could take up Amavand’s position as Rahqu’s lackey, that was all that mattered.

“I have heard that you have a plan, Optima Philomelos,” Zareen Prime said.

Alia’s eyes flew open. So did Bessa’s, as she was startled into wakefulness.

Water rippled as Bessa sat up, resting her head against the lip of the pool. “More of a glorified idea than a plan,” she cautioned. “Selàna told us—she told Sheridan and me—what was in the box that we caught her with: a path to the Restorer’s tree.”

More splashes and eddies followed, as the other women suddenly straightened up.

“The Restorer?” Alia asked. Aunt Nalini had implied Selàna was a corrupted Restorite, but Alia hadn’t thought Rahqu had intended to go further against the Great Healer than corrupting the naiad springs.

“Yes. And that’s the issue. In the nekromanteion Selàna saved you because she drew on Rahqu’s powers, and Rahqu’s training. But she doesn’t believe. She can’t call on the fellshade’s name with any conviction. At least, I hope she can’t. But I think I understand what she was up to before.”

Quickly, Bessa outlined her hypothesis: Selàna had indicated that Rahqu needed to destroy the dryads because they were keeping her from entering Thuraia. Which meant she needed an agent in Thuraia, one who could use her power. Obviously, Selàna had fulfilled that role.

“Rahqu has the power to abolish, but the Restorer can, well, restore. Fix what was broken, heal what was diseased, resurrect what was dead. If Rahqu wanted Selàna to find the Restorer’s tree, I have to believe she intended to destroy it or corrupt it or something just as awful. To take His power for herself, perhaps.”

“That is likely,” Edana said slowly.

Alia agreed.

Bessa added, “Selàna said that Rahqu had given the giants a bit of her power, through the staffs they wield, the ones with the vortex that sucks you in. What do you want to bet she gave Selàna some of that power, too? Maybe Selàna doesn’t have to call on Rahqu’s name for everything, but she might have to for some things.”

Zareen Prime swiped a sprig of fuschia-colored cyclamen floating by. Her lips curved as she twisted the blossom in her long fingers. The she closed her fingers over the flower, and crushed it. “If that is so, Rahqu is already weakened. Wittingly or not, she has given us a way to defeat her.”

Alia smiled as well. True, Rahqu was barred from Thuraia. However, in a nekromanteion she could breathe a portion of her spirit essence into Zephyra. Just enough of her power to allow Zephyra to carry out mighty works. A major tactical error in their favor, but only if Zephyra—Selàna—could be trusted.

But Zaran Tertius had certified Selàna’s words, what she had said so far. And so far, she expressed nothing but sorrow, regret, and guilt for her role in aiding in Rahqu.

“We need to find the tree,” Bessa said. “I doubt Rahqu will just give up on her goal of getting to that tree, just because we’ve taken Selàna from her. Every time we think we’ve got all of her minions, she turns out to have more.”

Alia shuddered, suddenly chilled in spite of the bath. The Restorer’s tree … it could heal Mother’s grove. It could undo whatever Selàna had done to poison and weaken the dryads. She whistled softly. Now she began to have an idea as to why the Huntress ordered her to spare Selàna. It also accounted for why the erstwhile Handmaiden of Rahqu could use her powers without interference from the Presence: she was Rahqu’s vessel.

What Selàna had done, she could undo, if she channeled the Restorer’s ways.

Alia said, “That tree is our priority. Whether or not the abyssal will send more lackeys after it, we need that tree.”

“The shahanshah,” Zareen Prime said. “He is supposed to be the sole person with access to that tree. He uses the simurghs as his sigil for a reason. It is not borrowed glory, it is a statement of his worthiness.”

Bessa cocked an eyebrow. “I thought his worthiness was based on being a member of Aletheia’s priesthood?”

“Yes, Her priesthood is foundational to his legitimacy. But the simurghs rest here, and the shahanshah, and all high kings before him, took it upon himself to be their guardians. Rahqu may send her people after him, if she does not have someone in his palace already.”

Bessa and Edana exchanged a glance, then turned as one to Alia.

“Are you with us?” they spoke in unison.

In her mind’s eye Alia pictured her aunts. Those she had lost, and those she could yet save. Memories overtook her, of her mother’s perfume, and the softness of her voice when she held Alia close as they charted the stars at night.

“There is no power this side of the Abyss or beyond that will keep me away,” she said firmly.

Bessa gave a feral smile. “To the Restorer’s tree it is.”