It was a weak bit of vengeance, hardly the one she craved. The Volks, after all, had disappeared, while here she was, the next morning, still alive, still stuck with herself, as she would have to be for the rest of her life. Stuck with these looks, this disfigured face, which even she could not bear.
Volusia wiped back the tears and looked out, beyond the city line, beyond the capital walls, deep on the horizon. As the suns rose, she began to see the faintest trace of the armies of the Knights of the Seven, their black banners lining the horizon. They were camped out there, and their armies were mounting. They were encircling her slowly, gathering millions from all corners of the Empire, all preparing to invade. To crush her.
She welcomed the confrontation. She did not need the Volks, she knew. She did not need any of her men. She could kill them on her own. She was, after all, a goddess. She had left the realm of mortals long ago, and now she was a legend, a legend that no one, and no army, in the world could stop. She would greet them on her own, and she would kill them all, for all time.
Then, finally, there would be no one left to confront her. Then, her powers would be supreme.
Volusia heard a rustling behind her and out of the corner of her eye, she detected motion. She saw Brin rise from bed, casting off his sheets and beginning to dress. She saw him slinking around, careful to be quiet, and she realized he meant to slip out from the room before she saw him – so that he would never have to look upon her face again. It added insult to injury.
“Oh, Commander,” she called out casually.
She saw him freeze in his tracks in fear; he turned and looked over at her reluctantly, and as he did, she smiled back, torturing him with the grotesqueness of her melted lips.
“Come here, Commander,” she said. “Before you leave, there is something I want to show you.”
He slowly turned and walked, crossing the room until he reached her side, and he stood there, looking out, looking anywhere but at her face.
“Have you not one sweet parting kiss for your Goddess?” she asked.
She could see him flinch ever so slightly, and she felt fresh anger burning within her.
“Never mind,” she added, her expression darkening. “But there is, at least, something I want to show you. Have a look. Do you see out there, on the horizon? Look closely. Tell me what you see down there.”
He stepped forward and she laid a hand on his shoulder. He leaned forward and examined the skyline, and as he did, she watched his brow furrow in confusion.
“I see nothing, Goddess. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Volusia smiled wide, feeling the old sense of vindictiveness rise up within her, feeling the old need for violence, for cruelty.
“Look more closely, Commander,” she said.
He leaned forward, just a bit more, and in one quick motion, Volusia grabbed his shirt from behind, and with all her might, threw him face first out the window.
Brin shrieked as he flailed and flew through the air, dropping down all the way, a hundred feet, until finally he landed face first, instantly dead, on the streets below. The thud reverberated in the otherwise quiet streets.
Volusia smiled wide, examining his body, finally feeling a sense of vengeance.
“It is yourself you see,” she replied. “Who is the less grotesque of us now?”
Chapter Twelve
Gwendolyn walked through the dim corridors of the tower of the Light Seekers, Krohn at her side, walking slowly up the circular ramp along the sides of the building. The path was lined with torches and cult worshipers, standing silently at attention, hands hidden in their robes, and Gwen’s curiosity deepened as she continued to ascend one level after another. The King’s son, Kristof, had led her halfway up after their meeting, then had turned and descended, instructing her that she would have to complete the journey alone to see Eldof, that she alone could face him. The way they all spoke about him, it was as if he were a god.
Soft chanting filled the air heavy with incense, as Gwen walked up the very gradual ramp, and wondered: What secret was Eldof guarding? Would he give her the knowledge she needed to save the King and save the Ridge? Would she ever be able to retrieve the King’s family from this place?
As Gwen turned a corner, the tower suddenly opened up, and she gasped at the sight. She entered a soaring chamber with a hundred-foot ceiling, its walls lined with floor to ceiling stained glass windows. A muted light flooded through, filled with scarlets, purples, and pinks, lending the chamber an ethereal quality. And what made it all most surreal of all was to see one man sitting alone in this vast place, in the center of the room, the shafts of light coming down on him as if to illuminate him and him alone.
Eldof.
Gwen’s heart pounded as she saw him sitting there at the far end of the chamber, like a god who had dropped down from the sky. He sat there, hands folded in his shining golden cloak, his head stark bald, on a huge and magnificent throne carved of ivory, torches on either side of it and on the ramp leading to it, obliquely lighting the room. This chamber, that throne, the ramp leading to it – it was more awe-inspiring than approaching a King. She realized at once why the King felt threatened by his presence, his cult, this tower. It was all designed to inspire awe and subservience.
He did not beckon her, or even acknowledge her presence, and Gwen, not knowing what else to do, began to ascend the long, golden walkway leading to his throne. As she went she saw he wasn’t alone in here after all, for obscured in the shadows were rows of worshipers all lined up, eyes closed, hands tucked in their cloaks, lining the ramp. She wondered how many thousands of followers he had.
She finally stopped a few feet before his throne and looked up.
He looked back down with eyes that seemed ancient, ice-blue, glowing, and while he smiled down at her, his eyes held no warmth. They were hypnotizing. It reminded her of being in Argon’s presence.
She did not know what to say as he stared down; it felt as if he were staring into her soul. She stood there in the silence, waiting until he was ready, and beside her, she could feel Krohn stiffening, equally on edge.
“Gwendolyn of the Western Kingdom of the Ring, daughter of King MacGil, last hope for the savior of her people – and ours,” he pronounced slowly, as if reading from some ancient script, his voice deeper than any she’d ever heard, sounding as if it had resonated from the stone itself. His eyes bore into hers, and his voice was hypnotic. As she stared into them, it made her lose all sense of space and time and place, and already, Gwen could feel herself getting sucked in by his cult of personality. She felt entranced, as if she could look nowhere else, even if she tried. She immediately felt as if he were the center of her world, and she understood at once how all of these people had come to worship and follow him.
Gwen stared back, momentarily at a loss for words, something that had rarely happened to her. She had never felt so star-struck – she, who had been before many Kings and Queens; she, who was Queen herself; she, the daughter of a King. This man had a quality to him, something she could not quite describe; for a moment, she even forgot why she had come here.
Finally, she cleared her mind long enough to be able to speak.
“I have come,” she began, “because – ”
He laughed, interrupting her, a short, deep sound.
“I know why you have come,” he said. “I knew before you even did. I knew of your arrival in this place – indeed, I knew even before you crossed the Great Waste. I knew of your departure from the Ring, your travel to the Upper Isles, and of your travels across the sea. I know of your husband, Thorgrin, and of your son, Guwayne. I have watched you with great interest, Gwendolyn. For centuries, I have watched you.”
Gwen felt a chill at his words, at the familiarity of this person she didn’t know. She felt a tingling in her arms, up her spine, wondering how he knew all this. She felt that once she was in his orbit, she could not escape if she tried.
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
He smiled.
“I am Eldof. I am both the beginning and the end of knowledge.”
He stood, and she was shocked to see he was twice as tall as any man she’d met. He took a step closer, down the ramp, and with his eyes so mesmerizing, Gwen felt as if she could not move in his presence. It was so hard to concentrate before him, to think an independent thought for herself.
Gwen forced herself to clear her mind, to focus on the business at hand.
“Your King needs you,” she said. “The Ridge needs you.”
He laughed.
“My King?” he echoed with disdain.
Gwen forced herself to press on.
“He believes you know how to save the Ridge. He believes you are holding a secret from him, one that could save this place and all of these people.”
“I am,” he replied flatly.
Gwen was taken aback at his immediate, frank reply, and hardly knew what to say. She had expected him to deny it.
“You are?” she asked, flabbergasted.
He smiled but said nothing.
“But why?” she asked. “Why won’t you share this secret?”
“And why should I do that?” he asked.
“Why?” she asked, stumped. “Of course, to save this kingdom, to save his people.”
“And why would I want to do that?” he pressed.
Gwen narrowed her eyes, confused; she had no idea how to respond. Finally, he sighed.
“Your problem,” he said, “is that you believe everyone is meant to be saved. But that is where you are wrong. You look at time in the lens of mere decades; I view it in terms of centuries. You look at people as indispensable; I view them as mere cogs in the great wheel of destiny and time.”
He took a step closer, his eyes searing.
“Some people, Gwendolyn, are meant to die. Some people need to die.”
“Need to die?” she asked, horrified.
“Some must die to set others free,” he said. “Some must fall so that others may rise. What makes one person more important than another? One place more important than another?”
She pondered his words, increasingly confused.
“Without destruction, without waste, growth could not follow. Without the empty sands of the desert, there can be no foundation on which to build the great cities. What matters more: the destruction, or the growth to follow? Don’t you understand? What is destruction but a foundation?”
Gwen, confused, tried to understand, but his words only deepened her confusion.
“Then are you going to stand by and let the Ridge and its people die?” she asked. “Why? How would that benefit you?”
He laughed.
“Why should everything always be for a benefit?” he asked. “I won’t save them because they are not meant to be saved,” he said emphatically. “This place, this Ridge, it is not meant to survive. It is meant to be destroyed. This King is meant to be destroyed. All these people are meant to be destroyed. And it is not for me to stand in the way of destiny. I have been granted the gift to see the future – but that is a gift I shall not abuse. I shall not change what I see. Who am I to stand in the way of destiny?”
Gwendolyn could not help but think of Thorgrin, of Guwayne.
Eldof smiled wide.
“Ah yes,” he said, looking right at her. “Your husband. Your son.”
Gwen looked back, shocked, wondering how he’d read her mind.
“You want to help them so badly,” he added, then shook his head. “But sometimes you cannot change destiny.”
She reddened and shook off his words, determined.
“I will change destiny,” she said emphatically. “Whatever it takes. Even if I have to give up my very own soul.”
Eldof looked at her long and hard, studying her.
“Yes,” he said. “You will, won’t you? I can see that strength in you. A warrior’s spirit.”
He examined her, and for the first time she saw a bit of certainty in his expression.
“I did not expect to find this within you,” he continued, his voice humbled. “There are a select few, like yourself, who do have the power to change destiny. But the price you will pay is very great.”
He sighed, as if shaking off a vision.
“In any case,” he continued, “you will not change destiny here – not in the Ridge. Death is coming here. What they need is not a rescue – but an exodus. They need a new leader, to lead them across the Great Waste. I think you already know that you are that leader.”
Gwen felt a chill at his words. She could not imagine herself having the strength to go through it all again.
“How can I lead them?” she asked, exhausted at the thought. “And where is there left to go? We are in the midst of nowhere.”
He turned away, falling silent, and as he began to walk away, Gwen felt a sudden burning desire to know more.
“Tell me,” she said, rushing out and grabbing his arm.
He turned and looked at her hand, as if a snake were touching him, until finally she removed it. Several of his monks rushed forth out of the shadows and hovered close by, looking at her angrily – until finally Eldof nodded at them, and they retreated.
“Tell me,” he said to her, “I will answer you once. Just once. What is it that you wish to know?”
Gwen took a deep breath, desperate.
“Guwayne,” she said, breathless. “My son. How do I get him back? How do I change destiny?”
He looked at her long and hard.
“The answer has been before you all along, and yet you don’t see.”
Gwen racked her brain, desperate to know, and yet she could not understand what it was.
“Argon,” he added. “There remains one secret he has feared to tell you. That is where your answer lies.”
Gwen was shocked.
“Argon?” she asked. “Does Argon know?”
Eldof shook his head.
“He does not. But his master does.”
Gwen’s mind reeled.
“His master?” she asked.
Gwen had never considered Argon having a master.
Eldof nodded.
“Demand that he bring you to him,” he said, a finality in his voice. “The answers you receive will startle even you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mardig strutted down the castle corridors with determination, his heart pounding as he contemplated in his mind’s eye what he was about to do. He reached down and with a sweaty palm clutched the dagger deep hidden in his waist. He walked the same path he had a million times before – on his way to see his father.
The King’s chamber was not far now, and Mardig twisted and turned down the familiar corridors, past all the guards who bowed reverentially at the sight of the King’s son. Mardig knew he had little to fear from them. No one had any idea what he was about to do, and no one would know what had happened until long after the deed was done – and the kingdom was his.
Mardig felt a whirlwind of conflicting emotions as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, his knees trembling, forced himself to stay resolved as he prepared to do the deed he had contemplated his entire life. His father had always been an oppressor to him, had always disapproved of him, while he had approved of his other, warrior, sons. He even approved of his daughter more than he. All because he, Mardig, had chosen not to participate in this culture of chivalry; all because he preferred to drink wine and chase women – instead of killing other men.
In his father’s eyes, that made him a failure. His father had frowned upon everything Mardig did, his disapproving eyes following him at every corner, and Mardig had always dreamt of a day of reckoning. And at the same time, Mardig could seize power for himself. Everyone had expected the kingship to fall to one of his brothers, to the eldest, Koldo, or if not he, then to Mardig’s twin, Ludvig. But Mardig had other plans.
As Mardig turned the corner, the soldiers guarding it reverentially bowed, and they turned to open it for him without even asking him why.
But suddenly, one of them stopped, unexpectedly, and turned to look at him.
“My lord,” he said, “the King did not make us aware of any visitors this morning.”