23: LOST IN THE WOODS

(Therin’s story)

Therin found two problems with traveling through the Kirpis forest to reach the Academy.

First, he hadn’t stepped a foot inside a forest in over twenty years.

Second (although probably related to the first), he was lost.

The Kirpis’s giant conifers soared beautiful and majestic, so tall they blocked out the sun. Which meant Therin had no idea what direction he faced. Even if he had, he didn’t know what direction he should face. Presumably south, but “south” allowed for walking a thousand miles to his death without food, water, or anything resembling appropriate clothing.

He knew something of wilderness survival. When he’d been younger and still convinced of his own immortality, he and his friends had actually marched into the Blight on a dare. They hadn’t stayed long—but that they’d survived at all was an achievement. And they’d left the Blight with one additional person—a vané slave Therin had bought rather than see executed.

Khaeriel.

He found himself stopping at every odd noise to make sure it wasn’t the vané sorceress in pursuit. He still couldn’t believe—

Oh, but he could. Therin had no trouble understanding why Khaeriel had enchanted him. He was insurance in case whatever tactic she tried to regain her throne didn’t work. Her first plan clearly involved that harp. Therin might have discovered the details if he’d stayed, but … that hadn’t been an option once he remembered the truth. The only idea worse than Khaeriel enchanting him was Khaeriel repeating the act once she discovered he’d broken her spell.

No, what confused Therin was Khaeriel sleeping with him. An enchantment made such behavior irrelevant. It gained her nothing.

Well. It had probably gained her another child, but if she’d wanted that, she still hadn’t needed to sleep with him. Given House D’Mon’s specialty, Khaeriel knew how to impregnate a woman without sex. They both did. She hadn’t needed to bed the man who’d kept her a slave for a quarter century.

Maybe keeping him in her bed had been revenge. A private revenge, each time reveling in Therin’s inability to refuse.

But she’d needed no enchantments to ensure his cooperation. For Khaeriel, the only word Therin knew was yes.¹

When Therin heard wolf howls in the distance, he started to give serious consideration to just what the hell he was going to do. Find a clearing, right? And something about dry wood … which he’d best attempt before it grew dark. He could create mage-lights, but since those were visible from a distance, he didn’t want to risk jeopardizing his location when Khaeriel began her search.

Therin started preparing the fire spells he knew. Not many. At least Galen had been smart enough to marry someone from House D’Talus … He flashed to Galen’s murder. Therin shuddered and then growled at himself. It had been almost a month. Who knew what had happened in his absence? House D’Mon might be gone.

Galen and Sheloran had been inseparable, but they hadn’t been in love. Therin found himself hoping against hope he’d been mistaken, because without a D’Mon to petition the Black Gate for Galen’s Return, Sheloran was Galen’s only chance. He wasn’t so naïve as to think his daughters² would do it, even if returned to the Capital. Why Return a nephew to be high lord when they could do nothing and let one of their own sons be high lord instead? No, it would have fallen to House D’Talus to have their daughter Sheloran Returned, and on her to petition for her husband, Galen …

“Damn it all, Thaena,” Therin said out loud. “Don’t refuse Galen just because she doesn’t love him.”³

Therin heard a raptor scream. He looked up in time to see a large golden hawk alight on a tree branch and cock its head at him. Since his family’s symbol was a golden hawk, he couldn’t help but notice. But then, hawks lived in forests. Seeing one didn’t mean the gods had started answering his prayers for once.

Then, to Therin amazement, a blue-winged jay circled around him, chirping merrily before landing on his shoulder. Therin eyed the creature in surprise. This was not a message from Thaena. As a rule, Thaena didn’t use living creatures for that purpose.

But birds didn’t normally behave like this either.

Several other birds joined the first, flying circles around him or landing on nearby branches and singing in loud counterpoint with each other, all focused specifically on him. A rabbit scrabbled from the brush, twitched its nose at him, and then darted back through the trees. Several birds (but not the hawk) followed the rabbit, while others hopped on tree branches in that direction and resumed their song.

“Uh…”

A fawn peeked its head out on tiny, delicate legs, regarded him with liquid eyes, and then leaped back into the forest.

A few seconds later a tiger—a tiger—repeated the process.

“Yes, all right, already,” Therin groused. “I get the message. I’m walking that way.”

As he followed the tiger, the forest around him changed. The leaves turned greener, the ground lusher. Soon he walked on a carpet of flowers and delicate leaves. A space in the trees formed a clearing.

And in that clearing sat a goddess.

She couldn’t be anything else. Her skin gleamed a delicate shade of jade and she was dressed in a gown of petals. Her beauty shone alien and wild, staring at him with quicksilver eyes without pupil or iris. And if he had any doubts concerning her identity, the way the flowers bloomed from her mere presence—the way the animals sheltered near her—left little doubt in Therin’s mind. No, not Thaena.

Exactly the opposite of Thaena.

He bowed to the Goddess of Life. “I am humbled and grateful.”

“Well, hello, Humbledandgrateful. I’m Galava.”

Therin stared.

“And you’re adorable,” Galava said. “Thaena really should have led with that one. I assumed you’d look older.”

Therin had no idea what to say.

“Don’t talk much, do you? Are you hungry? Oh, you must be. Come, dear boy. Sit with me and eat, drink. You’re safe now.” Galava said this without a trace of irony, even with a tiger at her side.

Therin supposed he’d be in more danger sitting next to one of the palace cats. And it seemed unwise to refuse. He sat down cross-legged next to the goddess. “Thank you.”

“Oh, this must have been difficult for you. Here—” She reached behind herself and handed him a gourd with the top cut off. The liquid inside tasted of honey and spice and effervesced against his tongue. If House D’Laakar had the recipe to this, they’d be the richest house in Quur. He couldn’t tell whether or not it was alcoholic, but it felt like it should be.

The thought led to a second, more troubling one: he hadn’t had a drink in … how long was it? A month. Not since the Hellmarch. Not since his family’s massacre. Not since the day he lost every single son.

No. All his sons but one. Kihrin was still alive.

Therin stared into the cup, mutely noted the mirrorlike reflection of tree leaves. A flower sprouted, bloomed, and began shedding petals in minutes. When was the last time he’d gone so long without wine or brandy? Why hadn’t he noticed?

He’d started drinking after his wife, Nora, died and hadn’t stopped. Therin had become quite expert at sobering spells when they were needed and letting himself float in a numbing abyss when they were not. The situation hadn’t improved after Kihrin’s kidnapping. How in all the world could he have failed to notice what had become a ritual foundation of his existence?

The obvious answer: because Khaeriel had distorted his need into a leash. Khaeriel knew all his weaknesses: that one had never been subtle or well hidden. She had become his drink and his drug, his addiction to which he would have gladly returned again and again.

“Are you all right, dear child?” Galava’s voice was so kind it made his eyes sting just to hear it.

Therin forced himself to set aside the gourd with some effort. “Perhaps some food?”

Galava’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “Naturally.”

She waved a hand. A feast appeared in the clearing. Not just for him—the tiger had been given a haunch of meat, and the fawn sat before a small mountain of acorns, mushrooms, and fresh fruit. The birds flocked to little delicate shells filled with seeds. Had he searched the trees, Therin felt certain the hawk was eating too, although probably not the rabbit.

He picked up a mango and bit deep. Therin was hungry enough that it would’ve been the best thing he’d ever tasted even if it hadn’t been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He saw guava and goldenberry, sugar apples and peray seeds, bananas and more, every single one deliriously good. Soon his fingers were a sticky mess. He knew and didn’t care that juice dribbled off his chin.

But as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve in a manner that surely would have made his tailors faint, he studied the goddess who had saved him. Those eyes made it difficult to gauge her expression, but she patiently watched back. And waited.

“Thank you,” Therin finally said. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, but … why would a goddess show up to rescue me? I’d think you’d be too busy for that.”

“You did pray, you know.” She looked past him, as if staring at someone just over his shoulder, and frowned.

“I didn’t—” Therin stopped and looked behind him. No one was there.

Had he prayed? Possibly …

Galava held out a hand to the tiger, who rubbed its chin against her. “Truthfully, it’s less about you than Khaeriel. I hope your ego can handle that.” She tilted her head. “Do you know what the Ritual of Night is?”

Therin sipped his drink as he considered her words. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t say I’m placing the reference.”

“You probably learned about it back at the Academy—it’s been a while,” she said. “I’m sure you realize most offerings to the gods are burned because destruction frees tenyé. But that is not the only way to harvest tenyé. Loss is even more effective.”

“You mean sacrifice.”

“One definition of sacrifice, yes.” Galava rolled her eyes at the tiger as it made a chuffing noise and started to roll over on to its back. “No, I’m too busy to play right now.” She turned her attention to Therin. “Many years ago, a demon was imprisoned in the Korthaen Blight. A demon who is, in fact, the reason for the Korthaen Blight’s existence.”

Therin straightened. He knew what monster the Blight imprisoned. He’d never approached, though, because even the foolishness and immortality of youth had its limits. His friends and he hadn’t traveled that far into the Blight.

Galava continued, “Keeping this demon imprisoned requires extraordinary tenyé reserves. So, a long time ago, one of the Four Races—the voras—devised a ritual to pool together enough tenyé. And the quality they agreed to sacrifice was their immortality.”

Therin winced. “Oh. Right. That Ritual of Night. I had it confused with the other one.” One of his history professors had droned on about it. It had been enough to send him to sleep every time.⁴

“That other Ritual of Night is a lot more fun.” Galava winked at him. “Now, this ritual uses a figurehead symbolically linked to the race in question. A monarch works quite well. First, the voras gave up their immortality. Then my people, the voramer, gave up ours. Last time, the vordreth did so. And that leaves only…” She trailed off.

“Only the vané,” Therin said.

“Yes. Only the vané.” She smiled sadly. “The whole reason we removed Khaeriel from power was because she’d made it clear she had no intention of enacting the Ritual of Night.”

“We? We removed Khaeriel from power?”

“Oh no, dear boy. You had nothing to do with it.” Galava’s expression turned impish. “But Thaena and I are a different matter.”

“It worked. She’s not queen.”

“Yes,” Galava said. “But there have been”—she waved a hand airily—“complications with King Kelanis. The people we sent to handle the situation have run into obstacles.⁵ Which Khaeriel might exploit to reclaim her throne—especially with your willing assistance.”

Therin let the sticky leavings of a sugar apple fall from his fingers. “So that’s why you’re helping me.” A bitter taste fought with the sweetness lingering on his tongue. “Why haven’t you just killed her if you don’t want her queen? You and Thaena are both gods, after all.” Revulsion filled him, dark and ugly. Horror, at the idea that these beings might want Khaeriel dead. That he could do nothing to save her if they decided to act on that desire.

Something almost as sour as horror as he realized he’d still try.

“Kill her?” Galava widened her eyes. “Oh no. Thaena might not be happy Khaeriel refused to perform the ritual, but Khaeriel is her granddaughter. Thaena’s wrath has limits.”

The whole world tilted as if they were at sea. Therin choked. “Khaeriel is Thaena’s what?”

Galava’s laughter sent the birds into flight from the trees.

He felt unbalanced, unmoored—and glad he was already sitting. “I didn’t—I didn’t know.”

“Why would you have ever thought, ‘Oh, that lovely vané I just bought—I bet she’s queen of the vané, and also Death’s granddaughter’?” Galava’s expression turned somber. “But I can’t help but think Thaena isn’t so upset at Khaeriel’s refusal as she pretends. Khaeriel does so take after her grandmother—they have a similar temper⁶—and the ritual is fatal to whomever performs it. I suspect Thaena would rather lose Kelanis than her favorite granddaughter.”

“Right. Favorite granddaughter.” Therin still felt dizzy at the idea. Then a red flash of anger rose through him, leaving behind only scorn and ash. “How favorite could she possibly be, if Thaena left her to endure slavery for twenty-five years? If she’d had any other high lord as her owner…”

“True, but I assume that’s the reason Thaena sold her to you.” Galava stopped herself. “Hmm. It’s possible I wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

He’d been wrong to think himself immune to any future shocks. Therin could only stare at the goddess while his mind flung memories and conclusions at him like an angry, accusing mob. It was one thing to gaesh her favorite granddaughter and hand her over to someone for safekeeping, a prisoner taken to a jail without bars. Quite another thing to do so to a Quuros royal, even one who was a Thaenan priest. What had that gained Thaena? What were the consequences?

Kihrin. Kihrin had been the consequence.

In which case, had his late wife, Nora, really died from childbirth complications? He’d always viewed that fact with incredulity given the capacity and quantity of healers who had been attending her—or had she died because Thaena had simply killed her to clear the way?

Therin picked up his gourd and drank deep before he scowled at the liquid. “This isn’t alcoholic, is it?”

“No, dear boy. I thought it best.”

“It’s that stupid prophecy, isn’t it? Pedron’s damn prophecy. That’s why…” His jaw clenched. When he thought of all the people Pedron D’Mon had killed—no, when he thought of all the people his father, Pedron, had killed so Pedron and Gadrith D’Lorus could chase after some fool’s quest for godhood and ultimate power …⁷

Galava reached over and picked up his hand. “Poor boy. I know it’s scant consolation, but it seems to have worked. And your son Kihrin’s grown up to be such a nice young man.”

“Of course he has,” Therin scoffed. “I had nothing to do with raising him.” He raised the gourd to her with his free hand. “If I asked for a cup of wine nicely…?”

Galava squeezed his hand and ignored the question. “Listen to me, dear boy. Darzin wasn’t your fault. Sometimes our children don’t turn out as we might like, no matter what we do or say. My children—” Pain shone raw and ugly on her face, pushed out by a forced smile. “Xaloma was always such a sweet child, I never thought Sharanakal would leave a library except to go to a concert, and Baelosh…” She paused. “All right. Baelosh was always a bit of a troublemaker. But in a nice way.⁸ Now? It hurts to think of them. I mourn them.”

Therin set his cup to the side. “I don’t…” He shuddered and started again. “I don’t feel … anything … about Darzin.” He swallowed with a throat suddenly dry as the Quur Capital streets in summer. “No, that’s not true. I feel relief. If I had just done something…” He closed his eyes. “Bavrin and Devyeh are really dead, aren’t they? Not just dead but—destroyed. Gadrith destroyed them.”

Galava hesitated a moment before answering. “Gadrith devoured Bavrin’s lower soul, so Bavrin’s upper soul had no way to cross over to the Afterlife. So yes, he is … gone. Devyeh, however, was simply murdered. He’s in the Land of Peace.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s unlikely anyone will think to petition for his Return, but he’ll be reincarnated. I’ll make sure he ends up someplace nice.”

“Thank you,” Therin murmured. “That’s kind.” He felt a flash of hate, directed firmly at Quur, the Capital, and every single Royal House. He wouldn’t have minded at all if Khaeriel invaded and burned Quur to the ground. They all deserved it. Himself included.

But it was hard—even as he sat in the Kirpis forest being comforted by a goddess—not to hate the Eight Immortals just a little too. For all the manipulations. For all the unwillingness to intercede. For not doing anything about Quur. He didn’t dare look at Galava lest she see it in his eyes.

“So…,” he finally said, looking away. “I’m not helping Khaeriel, as you wanted.”

“Are you really … not … helping Khaeriel? Are you so certain?”

Startled, he turned back to face her. “I—”

Galava released his hand, sat back on her heels. “You have more cravings than just wine, dear boy. I wouldn’t judge you for returning to her, even after all she has done to you, and all you have done to her.” She examined him with those silver, alien eyes. Nothing about her seemed friendly in that moment. “But if you do, understand Thaena’s patience has limits. She will kill Khaeriel rather than see the ritual go unfulfilled. So if you want to save your lover, keep her from the throne. One way or another, she wouldn’t wear her crown for long.”

Therin flushed. He’d ordered Shadowdancer threats to Watchmen guards handed down with more subtlety. Your husband loves you very much. Why don’t you help him make better decisions about who to arrest?⁹

“But why?” Therin finally asked. “Why is this ritual so important the Eight Immortals even need it? You’re gods. If this imprisoned demon bothers you so much, re-imprison him. Why do you need to drag the vané down to the same level as the rest of us?”

Her small nostrils flared, the first and only time he’d seen anything like anger in her expression. “I wish it were so easy,” Galava said, “but is it fair that every other race—your people, mine—have made this sacrifice while the vané refuse? There must be a balance.” She laughed, but not with any joy. “They wanted so badly to be separate from your people. The vané enchanted themselves and changed themselves until they made that desire reality. But there is a price.”

“I don’t understand,” Therin said. Was she saying the vané had once been human?¹⁰

“Perhaps you might try faith?” Galava suggested. “Kelanis will die, yes, but not forever. He will be reborn. All vané will be reborn, no different from what happens to humans, morgage, dreth. We only need a time—enough time for the prophecies to play out. The Ritual of Night buys us that time.”

Therin examined the goddess, finding himself feeling … shaken. Shaken and angry. Because if Galava, Thaena, and presumably all the other gods felt the only solution was to put their own faith in the Devoran Prophecies, it meant that, ultimately, they waited on a mortal to save them—to save everyone.

More specifically, they were waiting on his son to save everyone. Therin honestly didn’t know what the appropriate emotion was in reaction to that idea. Pride? Anger?

Maybe terror.

“All right,” Therin said carefully. “Faith it is. Thank you for—” He gestured toward the food, the clearing. “And for explaining matters to me.”

“Would you like me to send you back to Khaeriel now?”

Therin hesitated. He wasn’t ready. He needed time to clear his head, to figure out what he wanted. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather return to the Capital.”

Galava blinked. “You won’t be able to help there.”

“I won’t be able to help if you send me back to Khaeriel before I’m ready either.”

The goddess studied him for a long beat before she leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He felt like a ten-year-old with his mother. “I understand. Be good.”

“That’s not really in my nature—” The world flashed, fell into darkness, and then blazed up in a glory of light …

Therin D’Mon was back in the Capital City of Quur.