Paul Thompson - Destiny

Before she took off, Gilthas asked how she was feeling. It was a question he asked frequently these days. Kerian had been up at dawn, losing what remained of her dinner the night before.

“I’m fine,” she said sourly. “And no, I don’t want an apple.” He had acquired an annoying tendency to press food upon her at every turn.

“Fruit is good for you.”

“Did I say you were devious? I meant cruel,” she shot back. She and Eagle Eye took wing.

Even as the breeze stirred up by the griffon’s departure died away, Sa’ida arrived. Just before the Great Change, the elves had found her unconscious in her tent, a terrible gash in her thigh. The magical blast healed her wound, but she remained unconscious for hours after everyone else had awakened. When finally she did revive, she awoke screaming. Truthanar told her what had happened—the explosions, the miraculous healing, and the astounding transformation of Inath-Wakenti. She nodded, then lapsed into a natural, restful sleep.

Still looking wan and moving slowly, she bowed to the Speaker. He bade her sit.

“How are you today, Holy One? I’m told that of all the souls in Inath-Wakenti, you are the only one not strengthened by the Great Change,” he said.

She admitted he was right, rubbing her forehead and grimacing. “Great Speaker, I’m not certain you realize just how much power was released here. It was”—she shivered—“overwhelming. I will live, sire, but I fear I will never practice the high art again.”

Attuned to the natural world by her devotion to the goddess, Sa’ida experienced the mighty surge as a blow that struck at the very core of her being. The tremendous force had burned her soul, and she could not bear the thought of coming into contact with magic again.

“What will you do, lady?” asked Hamaramis.

“I don’t know. I cannot return to the temple.” In that mystic place, she would be in constant torment, and of little use besides.

“Stay with us,” Gilthas offered. “You will always be welcome here.”

Her smile was forced. “Your Majesty is generous, but the air here crackles with latent power. I cannot remain.”

He did not waste time trying to persuade her. He did offer whatever she might need for her journey, including a griffon ride to the destination of her choice. Instead of aerial transport, she requested a cart and a sturdy horse to pull it. She wished to depart as soon as possible.

While the cart was stocked with food and water, Sa’ida put two sealed scrolls into the Speaker’s hands. One was a letter to be delivered to her sisters in the Temple of Elir-Sana. The other, thicker roll of parchment was for Sahim-Khan. Gilthas eyed the latter as if it was a deadly serpent.

Sa’ida said, “I’ve told him I will not be returning to Khuri-Khan, and of my suspicions about the workings of the Nerakans in Khur and what I know of his son’s condition. I’m sure he will know what to do with the information.”

He promised to have both messages delivered. Robien was returning to Khur with the desiccated skull of Faeterus to collect a sizable bounty. He could carry the sealed scrolls as well as his prize.

The priestess’s departure was difficult for Gilthas. If she hadn’t braved the unknown and come to the valley, he would not have survived to see the Great Change. And because she had, she’d lost everything that was important to her. Truly grieving her loss, he rose and took her hand in both of his.

“If ever you need me, holy lady, you need only ask. You have the unending gratitude not only of the Speaker of the Sun and Stars, but of Gilthas Pathfinder.”

Bestowing a kiss on her hand, he let her go. She limped away. Truthanar assured Gilthas the strange wound on her leg had disappeared completely, yet she still favored the limb.

The small, horse-drawn cart rolled down a natural lane of towering elms on its way out of Inath-Wakenti, eliciting little notice amid the general excitement and bustle. But General Taranath and the warriors on duty in the pass presented arms as the former high priestess passed their way.

Outside the pass, beyond the remnants of the wall begun by the nomads, Sa’ida let the reins hang slack, giving the horse its head. It veered southwest to keep the morning sun out of its eyes.

Sa’ida was drowsing beneath her sun hat when she became aware of a presence beside her. Bolting upright, she found herself sharing the cart seat with an old man. A pair of knowing eyes looked out at her from beneath short, unkempt white hair. A circlet of green leaves rested atop his head. His priestly robe was many-times patched.

“Who are you?” she demanded. No sooner had the words left her lips than she knew the answer. A mighty name whispered in her soul. She clasped her hands reverently, exclaiming, “My great lord!”

Gesturing at the slack reins, he said, “You’d best see to your horse.”

The prosaic words penetrated her awe, and she did as he bade, taking up the reins and guiding the wandering horse back onto the narrow desert track.

He settled more comfortably on the hard seat. “It’s all worked out rather well, don’t you think? For the elves.” She nodded dumbly. “They’ve suffered much, but now they have a chance to make a new life for themselves.”

Enlightenment dawned. “You saved them!”

“Well, I pointed them in the right direction. They saved themselves.”

The cart rolled along the base of dunes lately sculpted by the blast from Inath-Wakenti. Sa’ida’s companion took something from a fold in his robe: a brown bat.

“I don’t need you anymore,” he said, nose to nose with the tiny creature. It squeaked in response. He lifted his hand skyward. “Go home.”

The bat took wing. As it vanished in the bright sky, Sa’ida asked why he’d been carrying it. Had he nursed the injured animal back to health?

“No. It was part of my costume. To veil my activities, it was necessary for me to assume the appearance of a long-dead oracle.”

“The Oracle of the Tree!”

The god winked. “A useful diversion but one I no longer need.” Looking to the horizon, he asked where she was going.

“Where the horse takes me.”

“Ever been to Qualinesti? No? I think we’d find it a very interesting place.”

He pointed a stubby finger south-southwest, and the horse immediately adjusted its course accordingly. Sa’ida opened her mouth to protest but closed it without speaking. She’d told the Speaker she didn’t know what she would do. Now she did. She was bound for the elves’ old homeland, and had acquired a new patron. Just what he had in mind, for her and for Qualinesti, only time would tell.

Like the rest of Inath-Wakenti, the broad plateau known as the Stair of Distant Vision had undergone a profound change. The once-bare rock was completely covered by wild roses and honeysuckle. Eagle Eye circled it several times as Kerian tried to recognize landmarks submerged beneath the profusion of green leaves and yellow blossoms. When she finally directed the griffon to land, he remained balanced on his rear paws for several seconds before carefully lowering his front legs into the clinging growth. Champing his beak and growling, he made his displeasure known.

“There’s something I have to do,” she told him. “I won’t be long. Don’t be so finicky.”

Despite her testy words, she took time to slash a clear patch around him. He trilled softly. With a fond smile, she stroked his neck, and he settled down for a nap. Making use of her sword again, she cut a path to the broken pinnacle.

Faeterus’s remains were still there. Ants were busily stripping away the last bits of dry flesh, but it was the sorcerer’s bones that concerned Kerian. She’d seen for herself how the long-dead creatures of the valley had been reborn. From rabbits to aurochs, the animals of Inath-Wakenti had been remade from their ancient bones. Despite Hytanthas’s hopes, none of the elves taken by the will-o’-the-wisps had been so favored. No one knew why, but the elves, they remained lost.