The Last Whisper of the Gods (26 page)

“One year shy of her Maturity, my daughter fled. She had grown so fearful of her fate and so certain that death awaited her at the portal that she packed a satchel of provisions and sneaked off in the night. Her trail was located the next morning but vanished at a river. We spent weeks searching for her but she was never again seen. To this day, I don’t know if she’s alive or dead.”

But I do
.
She has warned me against the day when I might be turned against her
. Sorial nearly spoke these words aloud, but stopped before they crossed his lips. As cruel as it might be, the time had come for him to have his own secrets. If he told Kara he had twice encountered his sister in Vantok, that information would reach the ears of Warburm and Ferguson.

“The days were growing short. My child-bearing years were coming to an end,” continued Kara, “and we had no heir. So your father was found and brought back. This time, I was granted an opportunity to see him. He was older than I expected and looked weary and beaten down. I had the impression he returned under duress and our sessions weren’t as successful as in the past. Arousing him was difficult and many of our nights ended in failure. After a fortnight, he was gone, but his visit proved fruitful. You were born three seasons later; I haven’t seen your father since then, although Warburm claims to have met him on at least two occasions. It may be they’re still in contact.

“Once you were born, Ferguson decided you needed protection. He said forces opposing you were too dangerous for you to remain in an isolated village. Since his seat of power was in Vantok, far to the south, he wanted you here. He assigned three of us as your guardians: myself, Warburm, and Lamanar, the priest who for so long had been my protector. The rest of the story I believe you know.”

Sorial digested what he had been told. Little was surprising; most confirmed conclusions he had reached on his own, although a few details were different. “So Lamanar is the man who cared for you, and you came to Vantok as husband and wife?”

Kara nodded. “We aren’t married. He can’t perform as a man. He became a eunuch to honor a vow of chastity. It’s not my place to discuss that further. You must ask him about it.”

“But he hates me.”

Kara sighed. “No. He’s embittered. Once, he was full of passion and energy. But he’s found his time in Vantok to be unfulfilling. And I’m unsure as to whether he still believes in the cause as he once did. He needs something to give his life the relevance it had when we were in Sussaman and he had charge of me. Today, he’s a shell of the man who raised me.”

“Have you contacted Ferguson since moving here?”

Kara shook her head. “He’s met many times with Warburm during those secret gatherings at the inn, but there’s no plausible explanation that would allow him to speak with me, either here, at the temple, or elsewhere. Your life was already in danger; my meeting him would serve no purpose beyond arousing suspicion and possibly placing you in greater jeopardy. There’s nothing unusual about a penniless stableboy. But a penniless stableboy whose mother meets with Vantok’s prelate...” She paused before asking, “What now?"

“If I said I was leaving, would you hurry to the inn to tell
them
?”

Sorial studied her face carefully; her flat expression betrayed nothing. But her lack of a response told him all he needed to know. Sorial believed his mother loved him but her devotion to her cause was greater than her maternal affection. He didn’t begrudge her that; she had surrendered everything for the cause. If it proved false, her life would be meaningless, an endless chain of pointless sacrifices. Sorial was sympathetic but only to a point. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

“What will you do?”

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna do what I said: go to Warburm. You and them others made sure my attachment to Alicia is too strong for me to leave her. I love her so much that it aches to think of being apart from her. So I’ll do what you want and probably die because of it.” He bent to kiss her gently on the forehead. “Farewell, Mother. I ain’t sure we’ll meet again.”

Surprisingly, there were no tears on either side, but the gulf of sadness was tangible. The lingering moment when they gazed at each other across the threshold was funereal. Then Sorial was gone.

Less than an hour later, with the sun approaching its mid-day zenith, Sorial stood outside the stable that had served as his home for the better part of his youth. He stepped inside and was instantly taken aback. The place, which he had kept rigorously clean during his tenure, was a mess. The stalls were all empty - not surprising in the middle of the day at Summer’s end - but it looked like there were no caretakers. Mice roamed freely through the clumped, manure-clotted straw, showing no fear of people. The place stunk so badly that Sorial, no stranger to foul odors, nearly retched. The stableboy, a lad of perhaps twelve or thirteen, lounged on a bale of hay, stripped to the waist but looking like he hadn’t done a moment’s work. Watery brown eyes turned toward Sorial, but the boy showed little interest or curiosity. Above the reek of shit, urine, and rot, Sorial caught a whiff of opium.

“Go tell your master he got a visitor in the stable.”

The boy gazed at him blankly, as if he didn’t understand.

“Quickly!” The anger in Sorial’s tone provoked a reaction. Frowning, the stableboy stumbled to his feet and ambled out the door, heading for the inn.

With a sigh, Sorial picked up a pitchfork and began turning over the straw, sending mice scampering everywhere. Old habits died hard. He had been a good stableboy not only because he  worked hard but because he cared about the results of his work. Those traits had been hammered into him by Warburm and others. After no more than a few pitchfork throws of straw, Sorial’s muscle memory kicked in and it was as if he had never left the stable. With a pang of nostalgia that surprised him, he found himself wishing he had stayed. He had never been “happy” here, at least not in the conventional sense, but life had been uncomplicated. Annie had been here and his relationship with Alicia had been playful and flirtatious. He still watched the sun rise every day, but those once promising minutes lacked the magic they had once held. He mused and remembered as he worked. That was the state in which Warburm found him.

“You know, lad,” said the innkeeper, “I never found anyone near as good as you. It be a shame, but you done got a bigger pond to swim in. Why don’t we go inside, where it be a mite cooler and we can sip something chilled in the cellar?”

Sorial put down the pitchfork. “I’d rather stay out here. There’s comfort in familiarity.”

Warburm wrinkled his nose but nodded his assent. In the game they were playing, they both knew it was Sorial’s move.

“I visited my mother. She told me everything.”

Warburm deposited his sizeable ass atop a bale of hay. “No doubt you done already figgered out most of what she had to say. Don’t be too hard on her, lad. She done what she thought best for the world and sacrificed as much or more'n any of us, you included. I ain’t gonna downplay your misfortunes - you been trapped into something you want no part of and asked to risk your life on a myth to marry the girl you want. But whatever you be suffering, Kara done had it worse.”

Sorial already realized that, but it didn’t make it easier to cope with his current situation.

“I be guessing you got questions. Things Kara weren't able to answer.”

“How long have you been involved in this?”

Warburm chuckled. “Longer than I ever thought possible. Lamanar be the one who ‘converted’ me to the cause, or at least he introduced me to Ferguson. Back in those days, our prelate were a fanatic. Claimed he been ‘singled out by the gods’ to prepare the world for their departure. In those times, he were a ruthless man. Still be today, truth be told. One hour with him and I were convinced that if we didn’t act the world would end in fire and chaos. So I agreed to join him ’gainst my better sense. I used to be an adventurer until it started looking like Ferguson were right. Then it became deadly serious.

“You got to understand, Sorial. This ain’t about you or Kara or Lady Alicia or me. This be about the world. The gods done left us.
Think what that means.
The ‘why’ of it don’t matter. But they be gone and man be on his own. The world be ours to hold or destroy, and there be plenty who’d lead us to ruin for their own pleasure. Our group done adopted a policy of self-denial. Everything we do be for the continuation of human life. Sometimes, it seems cruel and some got harder tasks than others. Yours be among the hardest. I can’t say if the portal be likely to accept you. Neither can Ferguson. It ain’t without risk, but we be asking you to take it not just because of Lady Alicia but because of what it means for everyone - those you love, those you hate, and those you never met. If it were up to me, I’d take your place in an instant, but I been involved in this for twice as long as you’ve been alive. And, least according to Ferguson, there ain’t a drop of wizard’s blood in me, so I’d die trying the portal as surely as I would falling on my own sword.”

Long speeches from Warburm were rare and, although Sorial had been subjected to a few during his time at the inn, this was the most heartfelt. But there was another question he needed answered - one that haunted him as a dark, growing suspicion.

“What happened to Annie?”

“You mean, was she sacrificed to the cause?”

“I mean, did you kill her?”

Warburm sighed, but there was nothing in his eyes or expression that Sorial could read. If nothing else, the man excelled at hiding his feelings. “What happened to Annie were unfortunate, but it weren’t my doing. Obviously, she were a thorn in our plans, something we never expected. All our efforts were to bring you and Lady Alicia together. We never done considered Annie as more than a quick tumble-in-the-hay for you. Better’n a whore, less’n a wife.

“When it became clear you was infatuated with her, and she with you, we was left with no choice but to act. We tried to buy her off, but she didn’t want no money. Our next plan was to scare her into thinking things would go poorly for you if she stayed, but we never got to that point. She were killed before we could approach her.”

“And you had nothing to do with her death.”

“Nay.”

Liar.
Sorial stared deep into those dark, impenetrable eyes, which expressed neither guilt nor remorse. He couldn’t see into Warburm’s soul, but he instinctively didn’t believe the denial.

Perhaps sensing Sorial’s doubt, the innkeeper elaborated, “She were my best serving girl and I cared for her like a daughter.”

Those things were true, Sorial knew. But he also realized that against the backdrop of the driving force in Warburm’s life, arranging Annie's death would have been a small thing. Kara had sacrificed four children and her own happiness. Warburm’s sense of duty condemned him, if not his words.

Silence stood between them for a long moment as they regarded one another. Warburm’s expression was carefully nonchalant. Sorial’s was challenging.

Finally, Warburm broke the stalemate. “Ready to join us, lad? To fulfill your destiny and win your bride? It ain’t how you wanted it, I know, but it be a chance not only to wed Lady Alicia but to become one of the first wizards in untold years.”

Sorial wasn’t immune to the enticements: to have Alicia and the power and influence that would come with being a wizard, to be able to protect Vantok, and, if he so desired, punish those who had forced him into this position. Sorial wondered if they were concerned about
that
possibility - if he acquired what they desperately wanted for him, he might use it against them. If they were fanatical enough, perhaps they didn’t care as long as the wizard came into being.

“You know I wouldn’t be here if I ain’t already decided to submit to you,” said Sorial. “If I was going to run, I’d be north of The Crags by now.”

“So you’ll accept the aid and guidance of my brotherhood until this be done.”

“Till I’m a wizard or killed trying to become one, yes.”

Warburm nodded. With a grunt, he rose to his feet. “Let’s get started then.”

For the briefest of moments, as Sorial slipped from restless sleep into wakefulness, he imagined Annie beside him, spooning him with her full breasts pressed against his back. Then the memory faded and he was lying alone atop a lumpy mattress.

He was in the same room he had called his own during his final seasons with Warburm - the room where Annie had come to him in the darkness and where Alicia had kept her bedside vigil following the attempt on his life. Warburm had offered him this chamber as a place to stay while preparations were being made for his trip and, with the alternative being to sleep on the floor in Rexall’s cramped room, it seemed oddly appropriate to turn to the past as he awaited his future.

Sorial wished he could get it over with. Having made the decision, he wanted to start the journey and face whatever lay ahead. His brother had died trying this but his sister had survived. Sorial’s fate would answer the question about the credibility of blood lines. If they proved unreliable, it wouldn’t matter to him. Dead men didn’t care about such things.

According to Warburm, because they were headed south, they had to wait until it was nearly Winter to begin the trip. The hope was that they could be there and back again before Planting. Sorial was to have four “companions” whose duty was to keep him safe and blaze the trail. He suspected they would also ensure he fulfilled his responsibility and didn’t attempt to flee. Not that such an eventuality was likely. Sorial was determined to see this through to the end. The hard part had been making the decision. That done, he was at peace with himself. Alicia, he knew, wouldn’t be as sanguine.

Sorial had stipulated three conditions for his cooperation. The first was that he be allowed to choose his companions. Warburm had agreed but with limitations - Sorial was permitted to select two of the four, since the innkeeper and Lamanar were already committed. The naming of Brindig and Darrin, Sorial’s longtime friends from the Watch, was met with enthusiastic approval. Warburm admitted that they had been on his “short list” along with several men in Carannan’s militia - soldiers Sorial had served with during his brief tenure working for the duke.

Warburm had also endorsed Sorial's second condition: access to Alicia before his departure. “There be no reason why the two of you shouldn’t meet, and more than once if’n you want. Neither you nor she be a prisoner. Precautions got to be taken that you don’t run away with her, but other than that, you be free to spend as much time with her as you want. Just keep your clothes on and the priests will let you be.”

The third condition, however, was rejected. Sorial had wanted an audience with the prelate but Ferguson refused. Using Warburm as his intermediary, he expressed regret but argued that “there are too many eyes watching and ears listening, and some would see meaning in something as inconsequential as my providing you with a blessing.” King Azarak, on the other hand, was expected to greet Sorial on the day of his departure.

On this morning, Warburm was waiting for Sorial in the inn’s empty common room. The big man was lounging on a bench with a huge mug of something cold in one hand. His brow was slick with sweat and his newly laundered apron was already stained brown. It was rare to find him in the inn at this hour. Normally, he rose early and was about his business before sunrise.

“Damn heat’s getting worse,” grumbled Warburm. “Every season worse than the one before. I been sleeping in the cellars and it be getting stuffy down there. Give it another year or two and Vantok’ll be a ghost town. Everyone’ll pack up and head north. Unless the seasons be set back regular again.” Sorial caught the meaning. Warburm never missed an opportunity to remind him that the journey was as much about the survival of the city as sealing his betrothal to Alicia. Not that either thing would be accomplished if Sorial died, but Warburm never spoke of failure. His optimism, whether real or feigned, sometimes bolstered Sorial’s spirits. Until he remembered Annie and was reminded of who Warburm was and what he was capable of.

“According to my contacts in the temple, you ain’t seen the Lady Alicia yet? Why not?”

Sorial shrugged. It had taken all his willpower to keep from rushing to the temple as soon as he was cleared to visit Alicia, but he felt it prudent to limit their contact, especially after Rexall told him how vehemently she opposed the journey. “Being close to her without being able to hold her and talk freely would be uncomfortable. It’s enough that I’ll be able to say goodbye.”

Warburm nodded as if he understood. Perhaps he did.

“We got a departure day yet?”

“Around Mid-Harvest Day.  Be ready by then. If you got things to attend to, get ’em done.”

Sorial was surprised at how soon it was.

“Planning to see your mother?”

Sorial had considered this, but decided against it. “We said all that needed to be said last time we met. I don’t bear her no ill will, but it’s hard to be kindly disposed toward someone who’s manipulated your life from birth.”

“That be me as well as her.”

Sorial nodded.
It is indeed
. “You ain’t my blood and I got little choice in the matter of being with you.”

“There ain’t much we need you to do for a short while, but as we get close to the day, there’ll be preparations to make. Till then, spend your time as you will.”

* * *

During his half-season’s sojourn with Warburm, Sorial found himself drawn to the neglected stables where he resumed his old duties without being asked. The simplicity of mucking stalls, feeding animals, and forking straw was therapeutic. Every day brought him that much closer to the point when his life would change forever.

Rexall thought he was insane for doing such menial tasks without pay. Sorial saw his oldest friend daily and Rexall often brought messages from Alicia. Sorial’s paramour wasn’t happy about his unwillingness to see her gilded cage, but she understood his reasons. Or so Rexall claimed. Sorial wouldn’t know for sure until he faced her in person to say farewell. He looked forward to that moment with equal parts anticipation and dread. He desperately wanted to see her but recognized how emotionally draining the parting would be.

Sorial was in the stable when his sister visited for the third time. Although he had been expecting her, he was nevertheless startled to turn and see a cloaked, hooded apparition regarding him. Her face was veiled and her hands were encased in black leather gloves. Her entire figure was insubstantial, shimmering around the edges. Was she really there or just a specter?

“So, you’ve elected not to heed my warnings. It was only to be expected, I suppose. Warburm can be compelling. I remember that much.”

“You resisted him.”

The cowl dipped, although whether it was a nod of approval or acknowledgment, Sorial couldn’t tell. “You’ve solved the riddle of my identity. Good for you. We can drop all pretense. It was tiresome and too like the games I’ve come to despise.”

“Let me see your face.”

A harsh laugh greeted his request. “No, dear brother. Once, you might have thought me comely, with fine features like our mother. In my youth, I was a beautiful girl, much prized as a bedmate in the cold, lonely North, where men pay for the companionship of a pretty thing. But there’s a price for accepting magic - a bargain that must be made. They haven’t told you because they don’t know or don’t want you to know. I can’t say which. They’re groping in the dark - all except Ferguson, who keeps his own counsel. His secrecy will be his undoing. Beware of him above all the others. The only ‘best interests’ he has at heart are his own.

“To be a wizard, you must give up something of your humanity. It’s different for each of us and often more of an inconvenience than a true impediment. A ‘choice,’ the portal calls it, but it’s innate and no real choice at all. For me, it was my beauty. My face, once a thing of loveliness, is a scarred ruin. You wouldn’t ask to see it, Sorial, if you knew the nightmares doing so would bring to you.

“You can still turn from this path.” Was there a note of pleading in that grating voice? “Believe me, wizardry isn’t to be pursued lightly. What seems at first like a blessing becomes a burden. Magic is an addiction. You must use it and, in using it, you destroy yourself. That presumes it doesn’t reject you as it did our brother. Your fate might as easily be his as mine. I’m not certain which is worse.”

“I got no real choice in the matter,” muttered Sorial, his tone surly.

His sister laughed her unpleasant laugh again. “We both know that to be untrue. You could walk away today and they wouldn’t stop you because they believe you to be theirs. You could be working as a stall-mucker in Basingham before they realized you were gone. They want you to believe, as they once wanted me to believe, that your fate is sealed. Every day, they whispered to me of the great things I would do when I was a wizard. They made me hungry for it. When Braddock died, it all turned to dust. But even after I fled, I wanted it. Feared it and craved it and finally, to my despair, gave into it. The portal sung to me and, once I heard that song, I couldn’t shake it free. It called and I answered.

“They’ve enticed you with a woman. I can offer you ten, all prettier than the one you’ve set your heart on. There’s nothing special about this Alicia - if you continue to pursue her, you’ll learn the truth of that. The pleasures of the flesh are so very fleeting. To do this thing for yourself is folly. To do it for her or for your city is worse than folly.”

“Why do you keep coming to me? Why advice and a weapon?”

“You’re my blood and blood calls to blood. I wish… if things had been different, maybe we would have been close. Like Braddock and me. You’re so much like him. But my situation is such that if you succeed in your goal, it will force us into opposition. The man whose interests I share has another in mind for the position you seek. At the moment, you’re not a concern to him - just another pretender, insignificant in his eyes. But should you achieve your goal, you’ll become an impediment to his plan. He’ll lash out at you and you won’t survive. If you don’t turn away from
their
path, death awaits - either at the portal or afterwards from him. And I would prefer for you to survive.”

“Who is he?”

“No one to you - possibly a distant cousin if Ferguson’s ramblings about blood lines are to be believed. He’s not our father, if that’s what you’re wondering. But he’s ruthless and powerful. His element is fire, and he’s been shaped by it. For twenty-four years, it’s burned within him.”

“What about you? What’s your element?”

“I was well-named,” she said. “In case Mother never told you, I’m Ariel. My element is air. I don’t know yours. If it’s fire or air, the portal will shred you; it rejects multiple candidates for each element. One wizard per element at any given time. No more. As far as I know, earth and water remain open. My ally, The Lord of Fire, seeks to place an acolyte in each position. His objective is to forge a group united in purpose and free from the influence of outsiders. Finding loyalists isn’t hard. Finding loyalists with magical aptitude is another matter. There are groups like Ferguson’s across the continent who seek power and influence by controlling or allying with a wizard. One of those knew of your identity and sent assassins to eliminate you. Rather than use you, they would destroy you. A pathetic waste, but they’re small-minded and petty. As are your handlers - all but Ferguson, who’s the most dangerous of all.”

“But you wouldn’t use me either.”

“No,” said Ariel. “He would advise me to, but I’m his ally, not his subject. I can fan his flames or extinguish them, and he recognizes the danger should we clash. I could try to convert you - sing to you of the glory we could have together as Sister and Brother, combining our powers and bending the world to our will. But the nature of magic would end that dream quickly. I’d rather save you than corrupt you and, failing that, I’ll destroy you. Until you reach the portal, you can always turn back, and I’ll offer whatever protection I can. Until that final moment, there’s always hope, always a chance to turn back. If you give yourself to magic and it doesn’t reject you, I’ll spare you from its curse by granting you the gift of oblivion and allow The Lord of Fire to put someone more biddable in your place. Seek life, not death, brother, and I promise to save you from the apocalypse that is to come.”

Then, before he could ask another question, she vanished, leaving the stable as still and quiet as before her arrival. Despite the uncomfortable warmth, Sorial shivered.

In the days that followed, Sorial found himself dwelling on Ariel’s dire words. It would have been easier if he could dismiss them as the threats of one jealously guarding her exclusivity but, perhaps foolishly, he trusted her sincerity. If she possessed the power she claimed, and there was ample evidence this was the case, she could have killed him at any point. That troubled him. Yet, even if every word she said was true, it wouldn’t change his course. Regardless of what she asserted about his free will, he was trapped by implacable forces. If he succeeded at the portal, he might regain a measure of control over his life and future. For now, however, he was a pawn destined to move where the gamemasters placed him. Acceptance of that allowed him to face the upcoming journey without collapsing in terror.

Nine days later, Warburm came to his room to tell him they would depart at sundown on the morrow. The time had come for Sorial to say his final goodbyes and put to rest any ghosts  he cared to exorcise. Regardless of what happened in the Deep South, once he left the streets of Vantok behind, his days as an anonymous stableboy would be done. He would return in triumph or not at all.