Chains of a Dark Goddess (6 page)

“So the Qaiar worked magic with their qavra?”

“Souls and qavra were one. The Qaiar themselves were beings of energy merged with humans. Doing magic was as natural to them as breathing. But humans are much more mundane creatures. That is why it is best for a Qaiar to be born into one of her descendants.”

Breskaro drank until he could stomach no more. “How then can humans work magic?”

“Well, some human rituals have their own power, amplified by intent and the number of people involved. This has to do with lines of power and other forces that I will explain to you. Spells and rituals exist merely to focus the mind and open the means of possibility through a qavra which provides a channel to the energy fields all around you. The better your focus, the less complex the spell need be, or the more powerful your use of it.

“I knew a brilliant linguist who spent much of his life trying to use a qavra and never managed more than a few basic castings. And yet, there was an illiterate shepherd who fell into a forgotten tomb and shattered a leg. He couldn’t climb out and no one could hear his calls for help. A qavra lay on an altar within, and he knew what they could do. He took the stone and through sheer willpower alone, knowing nothing of the art of wizardry, he healed his leg and summoned an elemental of air to lift him up from the tomb.”

“Let me guess. The power he unleashed corrupted him.”

“Not at all. He has wandered the East for three decades now, healing the sick and injured. He is as noble a man as you will ever meet. Despite what most here in the West think, there is nothing inherently evil about a qavra or the spells you use with one. Dark qavra are more suited to dark arts, certainly, but there is little more to it than that. A hammer may be used to build a house or crush a man’s skull, as they say.”

“So, do you think I will take to sorcery as well as that shepherd?”

“Yes, but you are not merely using the qavra as a blacksmith would use a hammer. You are intrinsically bound to it.”

“Are you bound to yours?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“How powerful are you? I’m starting to think there’s no need for me. That if your Star Spirits wished it, you could serve Harmulkot as well as I could. Perhaps better.”

Nalsyrra’s lips lifted into a broad smile and exposed teeth sharpened through filing. “Let’s begin your studies.”

~~~

They rode during the night, taking a leisurely pace to give Breskaro time to adjust to his new body and powers. With his new ability to see in the dark, the ride was easy enough, and Nalsyrra clearly had this ability herself. Nalsyrra wasted no time teaching Breskaro how to work spells. Even while riding she explained the concepts to him and made him practice incantations. Each morning before entering her meditative state, she would teach him new spells. 

Over the next few days he learned simple incantations that allowed him to leap three times as high as a normal man could, to run faster, to be less noticeable, to detect the presence of sorcery, and to know when someone was lying to him. His favorite was the
spell of compulsory obedience
which could make the weak-minded obey whatever command he gave them. A normal man, even as intelligent as Breskaro and with the power he commanded, could not have learned spells this fast. But Breskaro was not distracted by common thoughts, not after his years in death, and he didn’t require sleep. He could focus continuously on the recitation of the spells without his mind growing tired. And magic came to him easily.

“Is it always this easy? To learn magic?”

Nalsyrra laughed. “No. You are different. The power is drawn to you in ways you cannot understand right now. I am teaching you spells that take advantage of your current nature. The touch of the Shadowland remains on you. This changes everything. You have already learned what an apprentice would spend two years mastering. But to do anything more powerful than these spells, you will need a second qavra to use as a normal sorcerer might use one. If you attempt too much using the one in your chest it could weaken your physical form, possibly even break the connection between your spirit and your body.”

“Why didn’t you bring me another qavra?”

“If you survive the first task, you will receive another. I am certain of that. And it is best that you grow comfortable with what I have taught you and with the strange forces now beating in your chest. You don’t want to get your senses confused between all the different energies. You will be unique in your ability to use two qavra at once. A normal human could never master two. It would overwhelm them, and even if it didn’t, they would never be able to call on more than one at a time, so there would be no point to having two. A Qaiar cannot use two, for a Qaiar is her stone.”

When she wasn’t meditating or teaching Breskaro, Nalsyrra practiced intricate stretching postures which she claimed she learned in the Far East. Breskaro tried to imitate her, but his body had never been that limber. Nalsyrra ate little, and Breskaro didn’t eat at all. Food didn’t appeal to him and he didn’t need it. He drank a lot of water, though, for he was often thirsty.

“You can go weeks without water,” Nalsyrra told him, “though it would be best for you to drink as a normal man would to keep your tissues supple. As for food ... Eventually, you will need to
feed
. In order to restore your body. But you should not need to do so often. Maybe once per year. Perhaps less.”

Breskaro braced himself. “On what will I feed?”

“Something unpleasant. But you must discover that on your own.” She flashed her sinister smile. “Even if I knew, I would not tell you. I did not promise you a good life on your return.”

Chapter 8

A high stone wall surrounded the Temple of the Rose of Keshomae the Savior and its grounds. A single iron gate led within. In the center of the compound stood a simple bell tower of white stone emblazoned with a large scarlet rose design two-thirds of the way up on each side. A young warrior-priest with a pike stood guard behind the gate. He tried to look menacing, but his round cheeks, tonsured scalp, and soft white raiment ruined the attempt.

Breskaro and Nalsyrra dismounted and led their horses up to the gate. The young man looked at Breskaro, masked and hooded, and turned as pale as his robes. Nalsyrra cleared her throat.

“M-Mistress Nalsyrra, welcome back. I see … I see you’ve brought a … guest … with you.”

“I will vouch for him.”

With trembling hands, the young priest opened the gate. “I’ll summon someone to care for your horses and notify High Priest Artorio that you have arrived.” He took two steps then turned around. “Oh, I am quite sorry, sir, but I ... I need to collect your weapons.”

Breskaro glared at him and mumbled something under his breath. “I don’t think you do. Now go get your stablehand.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

The priest ran off and they closed the gate behind them.

“Noticeable,” Nalsyrra said, “but effective. Good for your first attempt. He’s out of sight now, you can release the spell. He’s committed to the action.”

Breskaro took a deep breath. “You could tell I was holding it.”

“The
spell of compulsory obedience
is not subtle, even for the well-versed.”

“You would have no problem with it.”

“I almost never use it. I prefer manipulation.”

Breskaro impatiently studied the temple and its manicured gardens of herbs and vegetables, its pathways and lawns, its stables and barns, and its two small ponds. His eyes darted from one feature to the next, as if they were enemies.

“You seem irritated,” Nalsyrra said.

“It’s … I don’t know. This place is beautiful and for some reason that grates on my nerves.”

“It may surprise you, but I like this place. Of all the Keshomae temples, this is my favorite.”

“I’ve never ventured into a Keshomae enclave before. I found their ideas about Seshalla
distasteful
.”

“These are good people here.”

The Seshallan faith worshiped Keshomae above all others. To them she was the primary Great Deity, the one who stopped the other Great Deities from destroying humanity out of jealousy. Seshalla was Keshomae’s prophet and the manifestation of her earthly will. The Keshomaeans, however, did not acknowledge Seshalla as anything more than another lesser deity and one prophet out of many. In Issaly the Keshomaeans were allowed to worship in their way, by decree of the Matriarch, since their doctrines were compatible, but they were not allowed to proselytize. In actuality, most were persecuted. 

Nalsyrra handed Breskaro a pouch filled with gold and silver coins. He weighed it in his hands. It was a small fortune, more than he had ever earned in a single year as a colonel in the Imperial Army.

“For your journey, though a donation to the temple would be wise.”

“These Keshomaeans accept you, though you reek of sorcery and look like a demon. Why?”

“For many years I have stopped here on my journeys. A friend of mine — Do not look so surprised. I have friends. A friend of mine built this temple.”

“This place looks like it’s been here for centuries.”

Nalsyrra shrugged. “My friend left many years ago. I come here as often as I can, to honor her memory. The priests always welcome me here, if sometimes reluctantly. And I always bring a large donation.”

“That never hurts.”

“I had seen Orisala here without knowing who she was. When Harmulkot contacted me and asked for help, the Star Spirits revealed her identity to me. I knew then that I could motivate you to return.”

“How did you know I was still in the Shadowland? I could have moved on.”

“Harmulkot knew.”

“I still don’t understand why I am the only one who can do this. Why not some living hero?”

“Because Harmulkot
thinks
you can. She
believes
in you.”

“And what do you think?”

“The Star Spirits tell me you have a chance of success. No one else does.”

“A good chance?”

“It is a chance, Breskaro. You can ask for nothing more.”

Two people in white robes came out to meet them, a man and a woman. The priestess held a small child in her arms. She hurried to Nalsyrra and held out the child. Nalsyrra took the toddler, hugged it tight, and spoke to it in silly, high-pitched tones as any other might. 

“You’re a mother?” Breskaro asked incredulously. 

“Ignore him,” she said to the child. “He doesn’t understand that a mother can be many other things besides.”

The child had olive-brown skin and striking blue eyes. It didn’t resemble Nalsyrra.

“He doesn’t look like you.”

Nalsyrra suppressed a smile. “Nor should he. But do not doubt that he is mine.”

Breskaro noticed that the priestess and priest had backed off a few steps and were staring at him with looks of fear. The writhing green energy within his eyes flickered and they both recoiled.

“I am here to see Orisala.”

The priestess cocked her head in confusion. “Who?” she asked nervously.

“The girl I spoke to you about two weeks ago when I dropped off my child, Zyr,” Nalsyrra said.

“The paralyzed girl,” the priestess said to the priest.

“Ah yes,” he said, never taking his eyes off Breskaro. “Orisala, eh? Never knew her name. And what — I mean who … Who are you … sir?”

“I am her father.”

Chapter 9

High Priest Artorio guided Breskaro and Nalsyrra along a winding gravel pathway to the convalescence ward. The acolytes and clergy they passed avoided Nalsyrra but recoiled from Breskaro. Many of them, especially the men, had been recently wounded and wore bandages.

“What happened here?” Breskaro asked. 

“They were attacked,” Nalsyrra replied. “A week before I arrived.”

“And you felt safe leaving Zyr here?”

“I did not foresee another attack before my return.”

“Who attacked you?” Breskaro asked the priest.

“The Temple of Saint Resban the Avenger,” Artorio responded. “It’s about a day’s ride east of here.”

“Did you provoke them?”

“We mind our own business. The Resbani have decided that we are a stain on the purity of their faith, and with the Fourth Crusade about to begin, they felt compelled to attack us.”

“You fought them off, though.”

“Yes, but we took heavy losses and their numbers are swelling. I fear what will happen to us without intervention. Hopefully General Togisi will launch the crusade soon. That will draw them away from here.” Artorio sighed. “It’s a shame things have gone this way. So many people here depend on us for their health and safety. One of the devotees we lost was here recovering from a severe injury to…”

Breskaro stopped walking. Nalsyrra and Artorio continued on without realizing he’d fallen behind. Every fiber in Breskaro’s body twitched. The force within the qavra swelled. His hand moved to his sword.

A threat to this temple was a
threat
to his daughter.

Nalsyrra realized he wasn’t with them. “Breskaro? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing that I can’t make right.”