47: THE NATURE OF SOULS

(Kihrin’s story)

I’d grown so used to every act of vané hospitality leading to an ambush, I found it difficult to enjoy Dolgariatz’s generosity.

He hadn’t skimped either. Guests had their own dedicated wing of the underwater lake house. Several walls of the room were made of glass, cleverly angled so no suite directly viewed into any other suite. Our rooms were complete with sunken baths and working plumbing, the beds so large we could have all shared the same one, had we chosen. So while everyone went off to rest and freshen themselves after traveling, Janel and Teraeth ended up in my room. It didn’t feel planned as much as the inevitable result of none of us wanting to be left alone.

“I’m—” I pointed to the tub. “I really should go take a bath,” I announced and felt a bit silly for doing so.

“Right.” Janel blinked at the room as if wondering how she’d ended up there. Her gaze flickered over to Teraeth, back to me, then she abruptly left. The room grew quiet.

Teraeth could have made a sarcastic joke at my expense. “Looks like she’s not for you either” seemed like the obvious and easy retort. He didn’t.

I was so glad he didn’t.

Instead, he asked, “Everything okay between you two?”

Which was the big question, wasn’t it? I reminded myself to talk to Janel alone so we could sort it all out. Then I remembered Teraeth waited on an answer.

“I don’t know,” I said, because I didn’t see the point in lying. I exhaled and shook my head. “I really just don’t know.”

“And us?”

The world spun; I felt unmoored. Also a hell of a question. I met Teraeth’s green eyes. “Same,” I said.

His face held no expression at all. “When you figure it out, let us know.” Then he left too.

I was left standing there, trying to pull my pounding heartbeat back under control.

Someone knocked at the door. I raced to it, hoping either Teraeth or Janel had returned. Instead, I found a vané I assumed was either a servant or someone else living at the house.

He smiled and set my harp on the ground. “Founder Valathea said this was yours.” Without waiting for my response, he retreated.

Bemused, I picked up the harp and brought it back into the room.

“I’m going to need to figure out a new name for you,” I told it. “It would be pretty weird to keep calling you Valathea under the circumstances.” I checked the tuning; the harp needed it desperately. It had never needed tuning before. Not ever. A sign, I supposed, that it was just a normal harp now. I made adjustments until I remembered my priorities—namely, taking a bath, shaving, and eating a meal that wouldn’t be drugged. I hoped.

I wanted to linger in the bath, but I found I couldn’t control my thoughts while I did. I found myself traveling roads ending in emotional destinations varying from awkward to terrifying. So I bathed quickly.

When I finished, Dolgariatz or someone in his employ had laid out several over-the-top, very vané outfits for me. Why wouldn’t you provide a houseguest with ridiculously luxurious attire? I found some of the outfits uncomfortably revealing, not meant for public display. Although given what I knew of vané sexual proclivities, I couldn’t discount the possibility the vané made no distinction.

I flashed back to my first days with House D’Mon, wearing clothing I could’ve sold to feed myself and my adoptive father, Surdyeh, for a year.

Some of the clothing proved eminently more practical: several fine shanathá mail shirts with matching swords. Sort of refreshing, honestly. My host evidently found it only polite to give me the proper attire for whatever situation I might find myself in: dinner, orgy, or war. If I had anything to say about it, I’d only need that first one.

I’d just finished dressing when I heard a second knock at the door.

“Come in,” I called out, still hoping it would be Teraeth or Janel.

Instead, Thurvishar stepped inside. The Quuros wizard had changed from his mysteriously acquired black clothing to a set of layered silk coats, each a different shade of brown, starting with a shimmering burnt umber and ending in pale gold gossamer.

“I’m not sure I can handle seeing you in a color besides black,” I admitted. “Although brown, so still neutral.”

“I’d look fantastic in orange,” Thurvishar said. “It’s a shame I’ll forever associate it with slavery.”

“Maybe one day you’ll have a reason not to anymore,” I said.

“That will be a pleasant day indeed.” Thurvishar tilted his head as he looked at me. “Might we talk?”

I gestured to a chair.

Thurvishar took a seat. “About what happened in the carriage…”

I sat down opposite him. “You didn’t say anything untrue.”

Thurvishar studied me. “I think both Janel and Teraeth are too blinded by their personal feelings for you to see the larger picture.”

“Their personal feelings—?” I stopped as Thurvishar gave me that look.

“Please,” Thurvishar said. “Just because I have no interest in that dance doesn’t mean I’m blind to the way you three are stepping around each other.”

I winced. “Right. Of course.”

Thurvishar continued. “Teraeth and Janel aren’t interested in performing the Ritual of Night to imprison Vol Karoth. They want to perform the Ritual of Night to keep you safe.”

“Yeah, I caught that,” I said. “But what can we do? And I’m not asking rhetorically. Is there a different solution?”

“We need more information,” Thurvishar said.

I leaned forward in my chair. “I’m listening.”

Thurvishar laced his fingers together in his lap. “I don’t brag of it the way Teraeth does, but I also remember my past lives.”

I made a face. “How does that work, anyway? Is there a tax you have to pay, a guild fee?”

Thurvishar leaned forward. “I learned it from Gadrith.”

Suddenly I wasn’t laughing. I straightened. “You what?”

“Gadrith was many horrible things, but he was very good at necromancy.”

“Which might be considered one of those horrible things.”

He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “I refer to ousology, magic involving souls. Since his witch gift involved the ability to create tsali, his research always leaned in that direction. He discovered why we don’t remember what happens to us when we return from the Afterlife, either from being Returned or being reborn.”

I blinked. “Uh, I always assumed Thaena did that. At least for the being Returned bit. I mean, divine servitors remember. Teraeth remembers what happens when he’s dead. And for that matter, Janel remembers too.”

He nodded patiently, having clearly gone into teacher mode. “You have it backward. Allow me to explain. Our souls store everything that’s ever happened to us, in any life. The sum total of our cumulative experience. But—and this is an important caveat—there is no way to transfer that information back to a physical body. When you’re alive, you only remember what you’ve experienced with your own senses in this lifetime. Just because your soul stores the memories doesn’t mean your body can access them or will ever access them.”

“Wait, so we just keep going through our lives adding books to a library we’re never allowed to read?”

“That’s a fantastic metaphor for the process. I’ll have to remember that—”

“Thurvishar, focus,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, basically. Under normal circumstances. It’s possible for someone to be forced to ‘check books back out,’ so to speak. Force them to imprint spiritual memories back to their physical body. It’s now obvious to me the vané do exactly that when they transfer a soul to a new body at the Well of Spirals, although only with the current ‘book.’ That’s also what happens every time an angel dies and is resurrected. Healing their body also involves restoring the memories they experienced while dead. Since no one did that to you when you were Returned, you don’t remember what happened while you were dead—at least, you shouldn’t.”

“Okay, but what about Janel? She isn’t anyone’s servitor, and she always remembers what happens to her in the Afterlife.”

“Janel’s case is interesting. Let’s return to her later. Normally, this ‘memory recovery’ can only be accomplished by a second party, but Gadrith figured out how to do it to himself. He further refined the ability to remember his past lives as well. I learned the technique from him.” Thurvishar paused. “I suspect he didn’t intend to teach it to me, but I’ve learned a great deal of magic from him without his explicit permission.”

I leaned back in my chair. “So what about Teraeth, Janel, and for that matter, me? We’re all remembering our past lives, some quicker than others. Pretty sure none of us learned that trick from Gadrith.”

“Indeed.” A look of manic scholarly interest stole over Thurvishar’s features. “None of you should be able to do this.”

“And yet.”

“No, seriously, I cannot emphasize enough how none of you should be able to do this. Janel shouldn’t be able to enter the Afterlife at will and return with her memories intact. Since you were an Immortal in your past life, I suspected the rules might be different for you, but for Janel and Teraeth? No. Now, Thaena might be forcing her son to remember…”

“I don’t think so. Teraeth commented how it surprised and irritated her that he remembers his past life.” I waved a hand. “But what’s your point? You think we need to fully unlock our past lives?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s an idea.” He must have seen the look on my face because he hastily answered the original question. “No, as I said in the carriage, in my past life, I was Simillion, proverbial farm boy turned hero. But he did have a mentor, someone old enough and knowledgeable enough to guide him. Mostly.”

“I know this one. Grizzst the Mad, right?” These songs had been a foundational part of Surdyeh’s repertoire. Grizzst had created the tools Simillion used. The old wizard had created the Crown and Scepter, as well as Urthaenriel—although I knew that latter claim was bullshit.

Oh, and Grizzst also bound the demons.

“He’s not … He’s not what the stories make him out to be.”

I raised an eyebrow. “He wasn’t mad?”

“Only if you mean angry. But the important detail for this discussion is that Grizzst knows more about Vol Karoth than anyone.”

“I bet Relos Var would take exception to that statement.”

Thurvishar smiled. “He can if he likes, but Grizzst always expressed strong opinions about Relos Var’s, hmm, what did he call it? Oh yes. ‘Inexcusably sloppy theoretical work and even sloppier safety standards.’”¹

“I’m starting to like Grizzst.”

“I find it odd none of the Eight have mentioned Grizzst, even though he’d be the expert on repairing the warding crystal.”

I blinked. “Wait, he’s still alive? I admit I used to believe him one of the Eight, but after I found out their real roster, I just assumed Grizzst was a god-king with an overblown reputation. You know, the hoary old wise man setting the hero on the path sort of thing.”

“Oh no. Grizzst is…” Thurvishar laughed. “Not that. But my point is that when you don’t know enough, the solution isn’t to throw up your arms and say, ‘Oh well, that’s it. I can’t figure it out’—you find an expert. You consult with experts. And for us, with this subject, that’s Grizzst.”

“Okay, I’m sold. Where do we find him?” I asked.

“I haven’t a clue in all the world,” Thurvishar said.

I stared at him. “So that might be a problem, don’t you think?”

“Possibly, but if he follows his old habits, he’ll be trackable.”

“Go on.”

Thurvishar’s mouth quirked. “He’s fond of taverns. Well, I should more accurately say he’s fond of bars.” He paused. “I mean brothels.”

I laughed. “That does narrow it down, but do you have any idea how many velvet houses exist in the world?”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I believe I searched every single last one the last time I tracked down the man. I’ve figured out a shortcut this time. A bit unorthodox, but there’s a god-king who can help us.”

“A god-king of brothels?”

“Not exactly. He’s new, which is shockingly rare these days. His worship has only just begun to spread into Quur.” Thurvishar stood again. “We’ll talk with the others. They may fight us on it, but I think we’d be wise to find Grizzst. I realize he’s not the nicest person. Or the friendliest. Or the most sanitary. But he’s brilliant, and he’s the only wizard operating at Relos Var’s level. Only a fool would ignore him.”

I nodded. “I think you’re right.”