“Then it is true!” Raegar cried jubilantly. “I am to have a son!”
Treia stared at him in astonishment. “How could you know that the baby will be a boy?”
“Aelon told me. Aelon is all-knowing,” said Raegar. “Blessed be the name of Aelon.”
Treia gnashed her teeth.
“Can I do anything for you, my love?” Raegar asked solicitously. “Fetch you something to eat? A cushion for your feet?”
“Sit here and talk to me,” said Treia. “Tell me of your meeting with the god.”
“I may not speak of such mysteries,” said Raegar grandiosely. “But I have been granted leave to tell you some news that will gladden your heart. Your sister, Aylaen, is alive!”
Treia stared at him in shock. She couldn’t believe this news. She went so pale that Raegar was worried.
“I’m sorry. I should have prepared you.”
Treia gulped some wine and the color returned to her face. “How can Aylaen be alive?” she asked warily. “I saw the kraken drag the
Venjekar
down beneath the waves. All aboard must have drowned.”
“Skylan is beloved of Torval,” said Raegar. “Aylaen is the priestess of Vindrash. The Old Gods carry on the battle, though their power weakens daily. Aylaen is alive and I know where to find her and the spiritbones of the Vektia. Aylaen treated you badly, but she is your sister and I know you love her despite her faults.”
“Love her,” Treia repeated with emphasis. “I do love my sister and I am thankful she is alive. I would give anything to see her. Where is she?”
“Ah, the answer to that is complicated,” said Raegar, scratching his jaw. “You will find this hard to believe…”
“Tell me,” said Treia.
“Skylan and Aylaen were saved by the Aquins.”
“The who?” Treia blinked.
“The Aquins. The people who live beneath the sea.”
Treia burst into laughter.
Raegar regarded her coldly. “You mock your husband.”
Treia hastened to stifle her mirth. “I am sorry, my love, but it sounds too fantastic. The Aquins are creatures of myth—”
“They are real,” said Raegar in stern tones. “Aelon has proclaimed it.”
“Oh, then, very well, I must believe…” Treia murmured dutifully.
She wanted to believe. She wanted this news to be true. She prayed for it to be true. The god to whom she prayed was not Aelon.
“And now, Wife,” said Raegar fondly, “I have been longing for a fortnight to take you in my arms.”
He kissed her and carried her to their bed.
The two made love, though not really to each other. The body Raegar caressed was the voluptuous body of the god. Treia saw in her mind the face of Hevis.
If Aylaen was alive, the god would have his sacrifice.
* * *
Raegar had an overwhelming amount of work to do. He had to supervise the rebuilding of the city of Sinaria, which had already begun. Thus would he let the people know that Aelon had neither forgotten nor abandoned them. He had to consolidate his power base and select a new High Priest, the previous one having hastily departed. He had to receive delegates from the kings of the other cities throughout Oran, all of whom would by vying to be named Emperor, since the throne was now vacant.
Raegar grinned inwardly. He had a candidate in mind—himself. Raegar announced that he was taking the matter of naming a new Emperor under “prayerful consideration.” As he prayed, he would work to acquire the Five Vektia spiritbones. Once he did that, all prayers would be answered.
Aelon had told him where to look for Aylaen and the spiritbones—beneath the sea. Raegar had been annoyed with Treia for laughing at the idea of people living beneath the sea. He didn’t like to admit it, but his annoyance was aimed partly at himself. Humans living like fish? The thought came to him that Aelon was deceiving him. He didn’t like to believe it. He wanted to believe in the god and in the god’s promises. He couldn’t help himself. He doubted.
The Watchers would be able to assist him, alleviate his doubts. Or laugh at him.
Raegar and Treia stood in the doorway of the room where the Watchers did their work, waiting for the priest known as the Flame Master.
In the large, darkened, hushed room, priests sat cross-legged on the floor. In front of each priest was a silver bowl, plain and elegant, filled with water. Each priest concentrated on his bowl. Occasionally gouts of flame would rise up from the water and when this happened, the priest leaned closer and listened to the voice of one of Aelon’s priests as the man spoke into a bowl of water, perhaps asking a question, passing on information to another priest, sending urgent news. At times, a Watcher would rise to his feet and hasten over to the Flame Master asking for guidance. The Flame Master would either instruct the priest in a voice that was barely above a whisper or she would send one of her runners to a scribe. Not even the Priest-General could interrupt the work of those whose task it was to communicate with Aelon’s priests the world over.
And perhaps the world under.
The Flame Master rang a small gong. At the melodious sound, another priest emerged from an inner room and came to take over. The Flame Master rose to her feet and went out to confer with Raegar.
“Priest-General,” said the Flame Master, bowing.
She was a middle-aged woman, of medium height, corpulent, with shrewd eyes and a masterful air that cowed both the new Priest-General and Treia.
As a Warrior-Priest, Raegar had often made use of the Watchers, especially when he had been a spy on his own people, the Vindrasi. He had passed on information about them, about the Old Gods. He had used the Watchers to betray his cousin, Skylan, into slavery. Raegar had never had occasion to enter this sacred room, however, and he was nervous and overawed.
“What is your need, Priest-General?” the Flame Master asked.
The use of the title and the woman’s deference bolstered Raegar’s confidence. He drew Treia forward.
“My wife’s beloved sister has been lost at sea,” said Raegar. “We are expecting our first child,” he added with pardonable pride, “and I fear that her grief will harm the unborn babe. Aelon has given me to know that Treia’s sister, Aylaen, is safe with the Aquins.”
Raegar spoke nonchalantly, as if one discussed people living beneath the sea every day. He watched the Flame Master closely. If the woman’s lips so much as twitched or her brow raised, Raegar would know Aelon had lied to him.
To Raegar’s vast relief, the Flame Master smiled at Treia, offered congratulations on the news of the child, and said she understood Treia’s concerns.
“Please accompany me,” said the Flame Master, adding quietly, in soft rebuke, “First, remove your shoes.”
Treia and Raegar hurriedly took off their shoes and, uncertain what to expect, accompanied the Flame Master, threading their way among the kneeling Watchers, who were intent upon gazing into the silver bowls and paid them no heed. The Flame Master led the two to a small room set off from the main chamber. Beautiful tapestries covered the room’s walls. A fragrance of cedar filled the air. The room had no furniture. A silver bowl filled with water; a golden flask, adorned with serpents; and an oil lamp made of silver and encrusted with jewels were arranged on the floor. The only light came from the small, unwavering flame of the oil lamp. The Flame Master brought forth several cushions, placed them on the floor, and then gestured for Treia and Raegar to be seated.
“Is this your private chamber, Flame Master?” Raegar asked, glancing around the room with admiration. “If so, I thank you for allowing us to make use of it.”
The Flame Master bowed. “This is
your
private chamber, Priest-General. Whenever you want to speak to your priests, Worshipful Sir, you have only to summon them.”
Raegar was mystified. “But how do I do that, Flame Master? When I was a priest, the Priest-General never asked to speak to me.”
Treia squeezed his hand and Raegar knew immediately he’d said something stupid.
The Flame Master was careful not to smile. “The Priest-General would not have wanted to interfere with your duties, I am certain. You would speak to your priests only on matters of extreme importance or in an emergency.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” said Raegar, blushing at his mistake.
“When you want to summon one of the priests, you speak to the Watcher in residence, who will then summon the priest. Pour the sacred oil upon the water. Ask Aelon’s blessing and light the flame. Speak the name of the priest three times. The Watcher will appear.”
Raegar cleared his throat. “If you could … uh … remind me of the name of the High Priest of the Aquins—”
“Ceto, Worshipful Sir,” said the Flame Master.
“Ah, yes, of course,” said Raegar.
He glanced triumphantly at Treia and was gratified to see her looking awed and even dazed.
The Flame Master rose to her feet. “If you no longer have need of me, Priest-General, I will leave you to conduct your business in private.”
“Thank you, Flame Master,” said Raegar.
He squatted awkwardly down before the silver bowl and motioned for Treia to join him. She did so nervously and with some trepidation. Raegar lifted the flask of holy oil, offered a prayer to Aelon, and poured the oil carefully upon the water. He took a wooden taper, touched the tip to the flame, and waited for the taper to catch fire. He then lowered the flame to the oil floating on the surface of the water.
The flames spread across the water. Raegar spoke the name of the High Priest of the Aquins three times. The flames on the water began to swirl and rise up, forming a small cyclone of fire in the center of the bow. The heat washed over them. Treia gasped and drew back. Raegar sat gazing intently into the water.
A face appeared, startling Raegar. The face was a pale green in color with greenish-blond hair adorned with seashells.
Treia gasped and stared at Raegar in slack-jawed astonishment. Raegar was inordinately pleased. He so rarely had the chance to impress his clever wife.
“I am Raegar, the new Priest-General,” he said to the Watcher.
“We heard of the sad death of Xydis. We extend our condolences. What is your will, Priest-General?” the Watcher asked.
“I wish to speak to Ceto, High Priest of the Aquins,” said Raegar. He hesitated, then said, “I am speaking to a member of the Aquin race, is that right? You … uh … live beneath the sea?”
The Watcher seemed amused, but too respectful to do more than give a very slight smile. “We reside in the City of the Fourth Daughter, Worshipful Sir. The city itself is not beneath the sea. Our cities are built in the interior of atolls. But we Aquins have an abiding love for the sea and spend much of our time there. Please wait while I fetch her, Worshipful Sir.”
She was gone but a few moments, then another face appeared in the water. Ceto was also a woman. Raegar had never heard of a woman being High Priest, but he did not want to appear ignorant by asking any more questions.
The High Priest bowed. “I am here at your command, Priest-General. How may I serve you?”
Raegar had to gather his scattered wits. The truth was, he had not expected to be talking to a person who lived underneath the ocean. Treia, beside him, was no help. Generally glad to put herself forward, she was mute with amazement.
“My wife has a dearly beloved sister who was on board a ship when it was attacked by a kraken. My poor wife, who is carrying our child”—Raegar was becoming fond of announcing that—“is beside herself with grief. We were hoping that through the miracle of Aelon, your people have rescued this woman and her companions.”
The High Priest gave a grave nod. “Rumors have reached us that several land walkers were saved from a kraken by those who live in the City of the First Daughter. I paid little heed to such gossip, not knowing at the time that these people might be of importance. I will find out what I can and return to you with information.”
“The man’s name is Skylan Ivorson. The woman’s name is Aylaen Adalbrand. We are most interested in the welfare of the woman,” said Raegar.
“Of course,” said the High Priest, as if that were a given. “I will be in contact.”
The face vanished. The flame went out, leaving Raegar and Treia sitting in the dimly lit darkness. They waited for their eyes to adjust, then Raegar rose to his feet and solicitously assisted Treia.
“You no longer doubt the power of Aelon,” said Raegar.
“No, my love,” Treia murmured. Her hand on his arm trembled.
Raegar was pleased. Treia had always seemed cynical about Aelon. He was glad to hear her finally speak of the god with reverence.
BOOK
3
CHAPTER
21
The Norn, three sisters who rule the destinies of gods and men, sitting beneath the World Tree, spin the wyrds of men. As Raegar’s thread runs through their gnarled twisted fingers, the Norn laugh over the follies of those whose lives they hold so loosely and carelessly. Raegar’s wyrd seems made of golden thread these days and spins headlong toward glory. Beneath the sea, the wyrds of Aylaen and Skylan, Farinn and Acronis and the Dragon Kahg seem to have slipped off the wheel, for time slows beneath the sea. The Norn keep fast hold of these mortals, however, twisting and tangling and binding together and cutting apart.
* * *
Aylaen woke from a horrifying dream of tentacles rising up out of the water and wrapping around the
Venjekar,
Kahg roaring in fury and sinking his fangs into a tentacle and the mast breaking, falling … to a more horrifying reality of pain in her head, and being held underwater by strange-looking women who were trying to smother her by pressing a mask over her nose and mouth. When Aylaen fought and tried to tear the mask off, the women took hold of her hands and would not let go.
Aylaen breathed deeply and kept breathing. The pain and terror subsided, replaced by dazed wonder to realize that she was far below the surface of the sea, being carried along to some unknown destination by the women who had … saved her life. Gradually, Aylaen began to think the horrible dream had not been a dream at all. The
Venjekar
had been attacked by a sea monster. The Dragon Kahg had fought it off. The mast had fallen on top of her and that was the last she remembered until waking up in another world.