27: DARK SUN

(Therin’s story)

There’d been no transition, no warning. One second, Therin had been walking into a dark basement, and the next moment, he was outside. Well, technically outside. He stood on a balcony, looking over a city.

A clearly magical city, woven from marble and porphyry, alabaster and chalcedony. Graceful towers reached for the sky. Broad thoroughfares resembled parks more than streets. Flowers, trees, and greenery lined the streets.

But now the flowers were wilted and singed, the plants browned at the edges. Huge crowds of vané stood in the middle of the colonnades, staring upward. Therin wondered why they focused their attention on the balcony, but then he realized the people were looking up at the sky.

Therin looked too. Doc was right; the sky looked stunningly bright, almost white behind the glowing iridescence of Tya’s Veil. The sun resembled what he’d seen at the Well of Spirals too—small, yellow, too blinding to look at directly. What he saw also looked … misshapen, as though some nameless god had pinched an edge and pulled. Some force sparked and arced along Tya’s Veil, sending out bursts of light along its rainbow sheen. The fire blooms exploded, beautiful and celebratory, but their presence clearly engendered wild-eyed panic in every other onlooker.

“What the fuck is that?” someone said next to him.

Therin took a step back, because the man standing next to him …

Well. The man standing next to Therin looked like his father, Pedron D’Mon.

The resemblance wasn’t perfect. This vané man dressed in purple and gold silks, embroidered with enough flowers and jewelry to make a Quuros royal blush. His skin was too pale, but the gold hair looked the same, the cheekbones, the shape of the nose. The resemblance was uncanny, right down to body posture.

Which meant, if what Khaeriel had said about Therin’s ancestry was true, that this could only be Terindel the Black, presumably named for reasons other than his appearance.

He remembered Taunna’s words: I’d say there’s a pretty strong family resemblance.

A second person stood next to Terindel, a woman, one of the most vané-looking people Therin had ever seen. She resembled nothing so much as a blend of flower and human, with violet cloudcurl hair and a heart-shaped face too perfect to be real. Her gown of layered silks fell about her body like elaborately beaded petals, so ethereal her movement made them dance around her as she tucked herself against Terindel’s side. “I don’t know, my love,” she said, “but nothing good. I’ve sent a message to the Guardians. Hopefully, we’ll know more soon.”

“If it’s an attack,” Terindel said, “I’d like to know who’s responsible.”

“Tya is,” a deep voice said, “for which I’m grateful.”

All three—Therin, Terindel, and the woman—turned at the sound of the voice.

Ompher and Taja stood in the room’s center. Therin recognized the two gods, even if he’d never seen them in person before.¹ Ompher somehow stood on the pinnacle of a mountain even inside a palace and theoretically not in contact with the ground, while Taja’s silver hair and wings were iconic enough for easy recognition.

“First Preceptor Valathea.” Ompher bowed to the violet-haired woman before turning to Terindel. “Your Majesty.”

Valathea left her husband’s arms and crossed over to hug Ompher. “Oh, stop it. You don’t have to use that silly title. You haven’t taken orders from me in a thousand years. What happened?”

“The eighth ward failed twenty-two minutes ago,” Taja answered flatly. “Vol Karoth’s awake.”

A shocked silence settled over the room, muffling the noise of the crowds outside.

Valathea grimaced. “Grizzst warned me it was failing, but I thought we’d have more warning.”

“So did we,” Ompher said.

“What—” Terindel scowled. “What does that mean? Explain it to me like I’m the only person in this room actually born on this planet.”

Taja turned to her companion. “You’ll explain it better than I would.”

The literally stony-faced man nodded. “There isn’t much to explain. S’arric—” Ompher paused, scowled, and corrected himself. “Vol Karoth is still trapped by the seven remaining wards, but has access to his powers. We can only assume he decided to free himself by pulling down enough raw power from the sun to obliterate the wards from outside. So he’s caused a massive coronal eruption and is dragging the entire plasma plume directly to the planet’s surface.” He gestured toward the balcony door. “What you’re seeing outside are just the solar winds impacting the shield Tya put up as soon as she detected the change. The plume itself won’t reach the planet until tomorrow.”

“Tya said it’s moving faster than should be possible,” Taja added.

“Oh, how nice,” Terindel growled. “Any other good news while you’re here?”

“The dragons are going to start rampaging any second, which is a problem because Baelosh and Gorokai are both near the Kirpis forest,” Taja answered, “not that it matters, because Tya doesn’t think her barrier will be strong enough to stop the main coronal wave from breaking through if Vol Karoth’s still awake when it reaches the atmosphere.”²

Valathea made an incoherent noise. Ompher smacked one of Taja’s wings.

“What?” the Goddess of Luck said. “He asked.”

“You’re saying we all have less than a day to live.” Valathea looked like she might be having trouble breathing. “That the plume that S’ar—” She caught herself. “That Vol Karoth created will destroy all life on the planet.”

“In fact, it will destroy all life, knock the planet from orbit, and annihilate at least one moon,” Ompher gently corrected. He made a face. “Probably Hara. It’s mostly ice. Additionally, whatever Vol Karoth did has caused some sort of deep systemic damage to the sun. We don’t yet understand the consequences, but let’s survive this apocalypse before we worry about the next one.”³

Therin’s gut wrenched. He didn’t understand all of what they were talking about, but he understood enough. The absolute helpless dread on every face in the room would have made the point clear regardless. Two gods were in the room, and they looked like they’d been handed their dooms.

“So. We need to repeat the Ritual of Night,” Terindel finally said.

Valathea turned to her husband. “The Ritual of Night failed.”

“The Ritual of Night failed after two thousand years. We don’t need nearly that long.” Terindel looked past his wife to the two gods. “I assume you’ve already thought of this and that’s the reason you’re delivering this news in person.”

“We’re also here to deal with Baelosh and Gorokai,” Taja said, “but yes.”⁴

“The others are talking to the leaders of the other two immortal races,” Ompher elaborated. “We don’t expect to be the ones who’ll choose which race has the honor of being next.”

“Oh, so you do remember you’re not gods,” Terindel said. “I was starting to wonder.”

“Terindel, you’re not helping,” Valathea chided. She then turned back to place a familiar hand on Ompher’s arm. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy to be here when you could be looking for your son. I only hope that after this crisis is over, you will remember you’re always welcome to stop by. I’ve missed you.”

Ompher looked embarrassed and also grateful. “Thank you. I hope to have the opportunity.”

Taja gave the room a little wave. Then both gods vanished.

Therin waited for the vision to end, but it didn’t.

“Doc?” Therin asked. “What the hell did I just see?”

“I would like to throw up now,” Valathea announced.

“Doc!” Therin looked around the room, but if Doc was there in more than spirit, Therin couldn’t see him. He walked around the room, hoping whatever magic his friend was using wasn’t going to let him fall and knock his brains out against a wine rack.

“Spoken for all of us,” Terindel said, “but I need you to go north and talk to Elgestat. I’ll send Kelindel to see Queen Shahara. Maybe we can draw straws to figure out who specifically wins the honor of being fucked.”

She worried on her lower lip for a moment before reaching up, putting her hands on Terindel’s face, and giving him a kiss. “At least the group in question will still be alive.”

“Have you been to a human city lately?” Terindel said. “The very fact that they’re calling themselves human without a sense of irony—” He shuddered. “As though the rest of us aren’t.”⁵

“Be patient with them, love. They don’t remember.” Valathea clutched his hand. “If it is to be our lot, I’ll help you with the ritual when I return.”

Terindel nodded, his expression tight. He loosened his robe’s collar and traced his fingers along the edge of the blue crystal tsali there.⁶ “I’d expect nothing less.”

Everyone watched her leave the room, Therin, phantom memories, and Doc from wherever he was. After she left, the illusionary king turned back to another vané, a white-skinned man so pale he looked albino. “Gather the Founders in the main hall. We’ll set up the Ritual of Night there.”

The vané blinked at him. “I’m … I’m sorry? I thought we’re calling for an alliance meeting…?”

King Terindel snorted. “Have you ever heard of the vordredd deciding on any course of action in less than twenty-four hours? The voramer aren’t much better. Elgestat and Shahara will still be arguing about who’s going to be the lucky bastard who gets to commit suicide when the sun’s fires turn all life on this planet to ash. I’m not waiting. We’ll perform the Ritual of Night as soon as I’ve sent my brother away. If you have a problem with that, participation is strictly voluntary.”

The other man’s gaze turned thoughtful. “This desire to rush things wouldn’t have anything to do with the queen volunteering, would it?”

Terindel ignored the question. “She won’t be gone long, so let’s get started.”

“Wait.” Therin had to assume whatever illusion Doc had cast allowed him to see Therin, even if the reverse wasn’t true. “Galava said the vané were the last race left who could cast the Ritual of Night. How is that possible if Terindel already did it?”

The illusion vanished.

Therin found himself back in the Culling Fields wine cellar. A dim sourceless light illuminated the room, which held an impressive number of wooden racks and a smashed pile of glass bottles next to a startlingly handsome black-skinned Manol vané man. His clothing was torn, filthy, and wine-stained. A shiny emerald-green tsali stone glimmered around his neck.

Therin had never seen the man before in his life, but he recognized the tsali stone. Doc never went without it. And while it was nice to have his suspicions about his friend confirmed, Therin still had questions. A lot of questions.

“Who are you?” Therin asked. “You can’t be Terindel…”

“Oh no, I very much am Terindel. I’m just not wearing Terindel’s body anymore. Haven’t been saddled with that dead weight in almost five hundred years, in fact.” The man threw Therin a wry grin and raised a wine bottle in a salute. “Here’s to the vané civil war, friend.”

“And you’re also Doc? Nikali Milligreest? How does that all work?”

Doc shrugged. “Blame the Stone of Shackles. Lucky me, though. Turns out my killer was prettier than me.”

Therin might not have caught the reference if he hadn’t had it explained in great detail to him by Khaeriel. Therin cocked his head. “And here I always consoled myself that you were an ugly bastard.”

“Aw, you didn’t think Doc was sexy?”

“Oh, absolutely. Wasn’t a day that went by I didn’t think to myself I should have my guards go fetch that barkeep ‘Doc’ from the Culling Fields bar so I could have him perfumed and brought to my bedroom. Spice things up a bit.”

Doc began laughing. He pointed a finger at Therin. “Don’t deny it; you thought Nikali was hot.”

“Everyone thought Nikali was hot,” Therin corrected. “That’s why you ended up in so many duels.”

Doc leaned back in his chair. It looked like it had been a while since he’d moved from it, although Doc made it seem deliberate and regal, a bit of intense lounging rather than a drinking binge. “It’s nice to see you, Therin. Now mind explaining why the fuck Galava was confiding in you about the Ritual of Night?”

“Can we talk about you being gods-damn Terindel the Black first? Because we’ve only been friends for thirty years. That should have come up in conversation before now.”

“I don’t really want—”

“Maggot brains, how long have you known you’re my great-grandfather?”

Doc paused. “Technically, you dank harpy, I stopped being your great-grandfather long before you were born. This body is not related to you.” He winked.

“Slime breath, that’s semantics. Answer the question.”

“Dog breath, you can’t—”

“No. I already used breath.”

Doc sighed and rubbed his nose. “Remind me not to play this game with you when you’re sober and I’m not.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I suspected from the moment I laid eyes on you, but didn’t know for certain until I met the D’Mon high lord. Pedron looked a lot like me, you know. Old me, anyway.”

“If that illusion was what you used to look like, then yes, he most certainly did.”

Terindel chugged a healthy gulp of his wine bottle. “I’d always assumed my daughter—your grandmother—had been executed. Turns out she was a gaeshed slave living here in the Capital the whole time—centuries—and by the time I’d finally figured it out? She’d already died.” Doc saluted him with the bottle. “Your turn, pus worm. Answer my damn question.”

“Because apparently, Vol Karoth’s awake again,” Therin said. “Galava wanted to make sure Khaeriel didn’t try to reclaim the throne and then refuse to do the ritual.”

“No.” Doc’s green eyes widened. He followed his first pronouncement with a round of blistering expletives. “Aw, fuck me. It won’t work. Someone needs to stop them.”

“Stop who?”

“Whoever! My brother’s children—Khaeriel, Kelanis—whichever poor idiot they con into performing the ritual.” He leveraged himself to stand, wobbled, and started to list. “Shit!”

Therin walked over to him. “I didn’t think you were actually drunk, but you are, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m drunk,” Doc replied. “I’m just incredibly good at it.” He raised a finger. “Hundreds of years of dedicated practice.”

“And here I thought I’d found one thing I was better than you at doing.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. I can’t help it if I’m gifted.”

Therin smiled thinly. “Well, for your next trick, you’re going to dedicate yourself to sobering up.” Therin wrinkled his nose. “And bathing. Then we’re going to talk.”

“How about instead”—Doc stood up quickly—“I tell you to go fuck yourself.” His eyes rolled up into his head as he collapsed to the ground.

Therin sighed. “Great.”