Eve of Destruction (31 page)

“No, thank you.”

He sat down, but his eyes never left hers. For a moment, the woman in front of him was twenty again, and the two of them were sitting next to each other in Professor Siller’s lecture on the basics of Agalian Theory. He was a solid mass of youthful muscle and she was a fiery tart with legs that never seemed to end. They would go to the Falen Park in the break between classes, and he would lay her down in the soft grass and make love to her all afternoon…

They were different in every way that seemed to matter, but by the Goddess when they’d been together nothing had ever felt so right.

Jean had been just as committed to saving the world as the rest of the Seven, but she’d never shared their fascination with technology. Ultimately she’d stormed away in disgust when he announced his decision to join the Enclave and “sabotage their plans for change.” She wound up in a temple not far from Vaschberg and did her best to help the local torbos, but eventually their fears and bigotry had driven her away. Two decades ago he’d found it vindicating and even a little amusing. Now he did not.

It was good to see that she’d kept her spirit. As a priestess, she had probably helped far more people than any of the rest of the Seven combined. She’d stayed true to who she was. And while her hair might have been streaked with bits of white and her waist a tad wider than he remembered, her eyes still sparkled brightly and the legs beneath her robe were just as long as ever.

“So what’s the real reason you’re here, Glenn?” she asked after few moments.

He sighed. “I need help answering a question, and I think you’re the best person to talk to.”

Jean cocked an eyebrow. “
You
have a question, or the Enclave has one? Because you damn well better believe my answer will be different.”

“They don’t even know I’m here,” he assured her. “And this has nothing to do with them. This is for me…and for Tara.”

Her face sagged, and the fire in her eyes dimmed just a little. “I heard about the murder, but we never got any details.”

“The police…well, you know,” he whispered.

She nodded in silent understanding and closed her eyes. On impulse, he reached across the table to hold her hand. Thirty years ago, she and Tara had been nearly inseparable, and they had kept in contact for a long time. Eventually, though, the exchange of letters had slowed and they had grown apart. It was one of the seemingly inevitable regrets life shoved in everyone’s lap. Even as magi with access to sending stones or the Dreamscape, a simple thing like a few hundred kilometers came between people far too often.

“Just tell me it wasn’t some Dusty,” Jean pleaded.

He squeezed harder. “I think it was Simon.”

She pulled away and her hand slipped from his grip. She balled it into a fist, and her knuckles turned white.

“Why?” she asked distantly.

“I’m not entirely certain,” Maltus admitted. “Not yet. What I do know is that his thugs shot her and then stole one of her journals.”

Her eyes opened, already swollen. “You mean…?”

“Her visions,” he confirmed. “I’m not sure which or how recent they were, but he knew exactly what he was looking for.”

“Bastard,” she hissed. “All this drek you read in papers and hear people talking about…it’s like he’s not even the same person.”

“He isn’t, but the man he’s become is very dangerous. And now he’s made his move.”

She shook her head and her eyes hardened. “You people claim to protect us but you haven’t done a damn thing. Did you know that one of our acolytes was raped to death last year by a Dusty? She was in Selerius, Glenn. What in the void are you people doing if you can’t even protect us in the capital?”

Maltus turned away. She wasn’t angry at him, of course, but she had every right to be. The Enclave had been far too passive in the last several years, and now they were all paying the price for it. Six years ago, when it became clear that Janel was a serious contender for the presidency despite being a torbo, the Council had assumed he would perform so poorly that the Arkadian people would never make that same mistake twice. It might have even been true if not for Kalavan.

Now President Janel was the least of their problems. They had backed themselves into a corner, and they were running out of options.

“I’m sorry,” Jean murmured after a moment, wiping at her eyes. “You didn’t come here to get yelled at.”

“It’s all right,” he replied softly. “I’m the one who moved away. If they would have killed Eve too, I…”

“He’s after Tara’s daughter?” she asked incredulously.

He nodded and sighed. “Eve is in trouble, and I don’t just mean from Chaval. I’m trying to protect her, and right now I need information.”

“I’d love to help, Glenn, but I’ve never even met the girl. I’m not sure what you think I might know…”

Maltus pursed his lips. There wasn’t an easy way to tell her this, so he figured it was best to just lay it out. “Tara had a vision while she was still carrying Eve. She saw her daughter fighting in a civil war against the Dusties.”

Jean swallowed heavily. “There’s been a lot of talk about what might happen if Simon wins. People here are scared, but…I never imagined it actually coming to war.”

“That’s only the beginning,” he said gravely. “Tara believed that Eve would eventually lead the effort against the Dusties, and that somewhere along the line, she would become a Defiler.”

“You mean like Vacal,” she asked, the color draining from her face.

Maltus shook his head. “Worse—much worse. We’re talking about entire cities here, and eventually…”

She cupped her hands over her mouth but said nothing. The words were harrowing enough on their own, but for someone who understood Tara’s power, for someone who had never doubted that their friend was the Prophetess…

“I told the Enclave about it,” he went on. “They’ve naturally been paranoid about it ever since—even the non-believers.”

“That’s why you moved to Lushden with her, isn’t it?” Jean reasoned. “They wanted you to watch her.”

He nodded, trying to ignore the shame flushing in his cheeks. “Tara spent her whole life trying to figure out a way to keep it from happening. She believed something could be done to change it. The magisters weren’t convinced.”

“Of course they weren’t,” she hissed. “They ignored her when it was inconvenient and suddenly became believers when it suited their purposes.”

 “Many on the Council think civil war is inevitable,” Maltus said. “And worse, they think it means the visions are about to come true. Eve is stuck out west trying to figure out why her mother was killed, and both Simon and the Enclave want to get their hands on her.”

Jean’s face hardened. “You let her go out there alone?”

“No. She’s with Gregori, actually.”

“Oh, Goddess,” she breathed.  “I’m not sure that’s an improvement.”

“He can protect her as well as anyone else, but I’m not really worried about Simon at this point—I’m worried about Eve.”

“Because you think Tara is right?”

“We both understand her power,” he said gravely. “And she saw this same vision over and over again for years.”

Jean closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She understood, all right. She understood perfectly.

“My only hope is that the Goddess sent her this message for a reason,” Maltus went on. “There has to be a way for us to stop it.”

“Us?” she asked, her eyes flicking open and boring into his again. “Glenn, what do you expect me to do? I didn’t even know about this until five minutes ago.”

He stared back at her. “Tara’s visions weren’t just about Eve becoming a Defiler, as bad as that would be. She believed her daughter was the Avenshal.”

Maltus wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected. To tell someone—anyone—that the Avenshal walked amongst them was bad enough. But to tell them that you had personally known her, that you had watched her grow up…

Well, he knew exactly how he had reacted when Tara had told him about it almost twenty years ago. And he hadn’t been nearly as poised as the woman sitting across from him.

“You want me to tell you if it’s true,” Jean said softly.

“You’re the expert.”

She snorted. “There’s no such thing as an ‘expert’ on the Dark Messiah.”

“You believed Tara was the Prophetess long before the rest of us,” he pressed. “You’ve always kept the faith better than the rest of us. We went to church at the first of every month because we were supposed to—you went because you
believed
. So I need you to tell me if you think it’s possible.” He took a deep breath and folded his hands in front of him. “And then I need you to tell me what we can do about it.”

She held her eyes on his, and for a long moment it didn’t feel like either of them took a single breath. Then finally she reached out and clasped her hands around his.

“You love her, don’t you?” she asked softly.

Maltus swallowed and nodded. “She made me feel like I didn’t need to have children of my own. Especially when her father died…”

“And you loved Tara.”

“Yes,” he said. He wasn’t sure he had ever admitted that aloud before, even if he had always known it. He had never told Tara, either, and the pain of that regret he never expected to fade.

Jean smiled thinly. “You two were always a lot more alike than you and I ever were.”

“Maybe,” he murmured. “But we had fire.”

Her smile widened. “We did, didn’t we?”

Maltus had never been a particularly virile man and never pretended otherwise. He had dedicated his life to his craft and the Enclave and never had much time for romance. He had loved two women in his life if for totally different reasons, and only one of them was still alive.

That ship had long sailed, of course, but some bonds never completely faded. And here and now, looking upon her face for the first time in decades, he was glad that he’d come. She would help—he was certain of it.

“There’s no precise test to identify the Avenshal,” she said after a moment, “just as there was no way to know for certain that Tara was the Prophetess. That’s the entire reason the Enclave was even having this debate. As much as the torbos like to believe magic is a bunch of hand-waving and silly rituals, we both know it isn’t that simple.”

“Right, but there are signs,” he replied. “If I remember correctly, you became convinced of Tara’s identity because of her weaving technique. It was almost instinctual.”

Jean nodded. “She had the power of Sight long before she was taught any serious spells. It became stronger afterwards, of course, but you know as well as I do that magic isn’t instinct—it’s learned. Otherwise the universities and the Oath Rituals and all the other hoops we make krata jump through wouldn’t be very useful.”

“I’ve barely seen Evelyn since she left to study at Rorendal, unfortunately, but before that she never demonstrated any unusual ability. She was an excellent student, but that’s a far leap from what we’re talking about.”

“And Tara never told you when this…transformation was going to happen?” Jean asked.

“To be honest, I’m not sure she knew,” Maltus said. “At least, not precisely. She believed it would coincide with the start of the war, but that was as specific as the visions got. Most of them took place after Eve had already become a Defiler.”

Jean’s lip curled. “I’m surprised your masters have had this much patience. I would have thought they’d have tested her by now…or removed her altogether.”

“It’s been suggested, believe me,” he said gravely, “but I’ve been able to keep them at bay. The only thing I could think to do was test Eve myself.”