Jean Johnson - The Grove

I know that when the Sons of Destiny series ended, a lot of readers requested more of the Corvis brothers. More stories, more appearances, just plain more. And I said, “No.” Mostly, I said “No” because I was not planning on writing any more stories wherein the eight brothers and their wives were central characters, the heroes and heroines of the stories. Then I snuck in a cameo of Koranen and Danau, and even of Morganen, into my anthology of erotically revised fairy tales, Bedtime Stories —specifically into “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”—but they weren’t the main characters there, either.

That’s pretty much how this series will go. We’ll see old familiar faces, or for those of you new to both series, hopefully they’ll be intriguing people whose backstories you’ll want to know. But they’re not the main characters, and I know that may disappoint some readers. From my perspective, everyone has a story to tell. Sometimes it’ll be an utterly fascinating, gripping tale. Sometimes it’ll be a bit more plebian, or even downright boring. Hopefully, these new heroes and heroines will entertain you somewhere between the first two, at the very least.

Anyway, my thanks to my beta ladies on this, and to you, my readers, for being willing to try a new series. There are so many stories I want to tell, so many new and interesting people to meet and places to explore, I cannot always come back to familiar faces or stick around in favorite territories. But I’ll always try to produce a really good story nonetheless.

Jean

Aradin Teral eyed the priest tottering with uneven steps from altar to altar in the Westraven Chapel, located in the heart of the Katan continent. Prelate Tomaso was ninety if he was a day, with hair not only white but wispy and thinned with age, a face with more seams than a student tailor’s practice piece, and two canes to hold himself upright. Still, the man was revered by the locals, some of whom stood in the center of the eight altars. The rest, including Aradin, stood or sat on the benches placed outside the eight altars and watched while the new father toted his infant daughter from altar to altar in the priest’s wobbling wake.

In accordance with local customs, the newborn was to be blessed by both the God Jinga and His Wife Kata at each pair of Their four altars, representing the four seasons, four aspects, four this, and four that. It was an interesting religion, one of the older ones around, and apparently a conglomeration of two individual sets of worship combined many centuries ago into a single faith to unify two nations into one. Enough time had passed that the two different styles of worship for the local God and Goddess had been successfully and smoothly blended. Normally, Aradin would enjoy it, as he enjoyed learning about any manner of new culture or faith in his travels.

This time, however, he wasn’t traveling abroad for the usual reasons. If he had been, Aradin would not have been in a large chapel like this, watching a newborn receive an elaborate set of blessings. The Darkhanan sighed under his breath, wondering how long this service would take. At the moment, the most elaborately decorated, flower-wreathed altars were the ones for summer, given the actual time of year down here below the Sun’s Belt. Unfortunately, the age-stooped priest was only just now moving on to the blessings for autumn. Those would be followed by the rites for winter, and then spring, before closing the “year” with one last rite at the summer altar.

( This won’t do at all, ) Aradin thought. Not to himself alone, but to the Guide he bore inside the Doorway of his soul. ( He’s kind and thoughtful and everyone respects him . . . but I seriously doubt Prelate Tomaso could survive a trip through the Dark. He’d be liable to die physically in there from the shock of it. That’s never a good idea. )

Teral shrugged mentally. It was all the older male could do, since Aradin was the one in command of their shared body. ( So we look at the next on our list. Or better yet, ask him who he thinks would be a good representative before their local Gods. Just don’t mention politics. )

( I have to. We almost picked Priestess Tenathe. If we hadn’t been there the day word of the Corvis brothers’ claim for independence reached her ears, we would’ve picked a woman enraged enough to sabotage everything, ) Aradin reminded his Guide.

( Yes, yes, I know, ) Teral dismissed, clasping a mental hand on his Host’s mental shoulder. ( The Seers have predicted this Nightfall place will be the focus for the new Convocation of the Gods, if all goes well, and it is vitally important that Orana Niel speaks before the reconvened Convocation. But it’s hardly our fault the Katani government cannot stand these Nightfallers. )

( Only the politically active ones, ) Aradin thought back, snorting softly under his breath. ( I don’t envy Cassua, having to deal with the Mendhites. They’ve been seeking a Living Host since before the Aian Convocation fell. )

( Heh, feel sorry for our Brothers and Sisters who have to pick out a Mekhanan priest ,) Teral joked back, though it wasn’t much of a joke. Official Katani policy might have been anti-Nightfall, but at least this was a civilized and polite land. The kingdom of Mekhana was not. Or rather, its government was not.

The priest’s voice, wavering but rich with belief, rose and fell in cadences that were familiar, even if the rituals themselves were not. Both males could understand the words being said; Aradin wore a translation pendant, which allowed him to read, write, hear, and speak in a specific language—in this case, Katani. But while the actual words of the blessings and aspects being invoked were unfamiliar, there was something soothing about being in a fellow priest’s presence.

Then again, after having spent almost four months roaming this land, Aradin and his Guide, Teral, were becoming increasingly familiar with the Katani way of life.

Like Darkhana, Katan had a God and a Goddess. The priesthoods of both lands accepted both males and females, mages and non-mages. Then again, both lands had a fairly even ratio of one mage born for every fifty without any added powers, their numbers more or less evenly divided among males and females alike. Of course, the Katani religion was a bit more lighthearted about some things, following in the wake of their so-called Boisterous God Jinga, who served as counterpart and foil for the more Serene Goddess Kata.

Back home, their God was Darkhan, the slain deity who had formerly been the Elder Brother Moon. Millennia ago, His highest priestess, Dark Ana, had bound her very life to His out of love and worship. When the third and farthest moon had been destroyed by demonic efforts, shattering His original power base, she had managed to salvage the God of their ancient people. Now, He served as the God of the Dead, He Who Guides Lost Souls to the Afterlife.

The high priestess’ sacrifice had directly aided the world’s effort to thwart an invasion attempt by the denizens of the Netherhells, and the upwelling of faith and gratitude had elevated her to Goddess level, forever bound to the Dead God. A new faith had been born, rising out of the ashes of the old, and the people of Darkhana had moved on. That background and its resulting mythos didn’t exactly lend itself to an overly cheerful or buoyant religion, though the Darkhanan faith wasn’t completely somber.