The Eye of the Fifth (The Void Chronicles #1)

Chapter One

Spark Of Fate

???

Phaenon City, Nythanor.

Naal.

The wind was acutely cold. Usually a gentle and comforting hand on the Air Warden’s skin, it bit into her exposed cheeks like a toothy nip from an excited frostwolf pup. It was not the bitter air that had unsettled her old heart, but the distinct change in that all-knowing breeze.

Coupled with the fateful scroll held tight in her hand, it was no wonder a sense of doom had begun to slither over Naal Westerra’s very bones.

Behind her, the Goddess of Air, Mother Gallena, stood tall.

A guardian to the temple that Naal called home, the sculpture was encrusted with crystals so flawless, that when the sun rose every morning, the shining brilliance of the temple could be seen from Nythanor’s shores, like a second sun to the east reflecting its sister to the west.

As Naal beheld Gallena’s sparkling crystal face, she unravelled the scroll once more.

Body swaying in a way that had nothing to do with the whipping wind, she scanned the barely discernible words on the parchment.

Naal read each sentence with perfect understanding for she knew this hand as well as her own.

Infused into the parchment with the writing wafted a scent, subtle yet utterly lucid to Naal’s senses.

It belonged to one she would know for a thousand lifetimes, and there was none in this world or any other that could thoroughly quiver her wits like this one could.

The hand of Winvara Daeiros. The only being to have ever stolen Naal’s carefully guarded heart.

But those written words were void of affection. Naal had hardly expected a note of reconciliation after so many years, but to see such cold writing, as though sent from a stranger, cracked Naal’s heart just a little further. Winvara would not forgive her, and Naal would be a fool to expect her to.

With a whip of magic, the scroll levitated in the air before her. Naal took one last look at her lover’s words before they became nothing but dust.

The grey feathers of her great wings bristled.

The scroll had carried a mere few sentences. Winvara had wasted no time nor ink in her message to Naal. It was aptly worded and concise enough that had the scroll gone awry and fallen into the wrong hands, a stranger’s eyes would find it meaningless:

‘For when the Earth cracks and the Sun hides behind the moon,

Then shall she of light and land be born.’

My newest granddaughter came into the world concurrent with the quake and eclipse that has rattled the stars. Take from that what you will.

I do not require a response. Do not come here. Not until she is ready. I will inform you when she is.

Nonsense poetry to most, but Naal knew the vague lines of that prophecy as well as she knew Winvara’s stubborn soul. Long had she waited for those words to fatefully come to pass, anticipating the beginning of the end.

But never had she imagined Winvara Daeiros’ granddaughter to be the poor soul in which the foretelling alluded to.

She felt, rather than heard, the approach of a friend behind her. She had shared the contents of Winvara’s message with him only, and a burdening command now lay taut in the air between them, one that Naal was reluctant to give.

Orro Myrso, Naal’s Second in the Eternal Order, stood strong by her side, his black feathered wings tucked tight at his back. ‘Ask it, Naal,’ he said quietly. He had a way of reading her like no other, a result of hundreds of years of friendship and loyal servitude.

Naal’s throat tightened. ‘You know I do not want to.’

‘You must,’ Orro simply replied.

Orro was a spymaster, a hearer of whispers, a master illusionist and Naal’s most trusted friend.

It had been Orro’s ear that had heard a shred of the prophecy spoken carelessly from the mouth of a royal guard of Zarynth.

A young, arrogant fool, Orro had recalled, spouting his mouth and spilling the Zarynthian Empress’ cherished secrets for anyone to overhear.

Naal was sure it was not just Orro who took a piece of that prophecy with him that day, though she doubted if any had pondered over it as much as she had in the century and a half that had passed since.

Those two lines that had been recollected in Winvara’s letter were the only piece of the puzzle Naal had ever managed to extract.

It seemed, after that foolhardy boy had misplaced her trust, Empress Azar was inclined to never speak of the prophecy again.

After a few years, the rumours died, and no matter how hard he tried, Orro Myrso was never able to learn the rest of the prophecy that had incited so much excitement in the young southern queen.

Naal turned her head to gaze upon her friend’s face.

Orro smiled gently. His long white hair billowed in the wind like a snowy cape. ‘Do not look at me with regret, Naal. I know what I must do.’

‘The Empress has been quiet for too long,’ Naal murmured. ‘When she learns there is another, she will do everything in her power to snatch the girl from her mother’s breast.’

‘A new Earth Warden,’ Orro said. ‘In truth, I did not think I would live to see the day.’ He glanced at Naal. ‘Do you feel different? Has there been a shift?’

At that precise moment, another cool breeze whipped Naal’s cheeks. ‘Gallena has been stirring. There is balance once more, yet the Mother is full of fear. She anticipates chaos. She breathes warnings into my dreams.’

Four Wardens roamed Droria once more. Yet the chimes of doom rung through Naal’s soul.

‘Will you bring the girl here?’ Orro asked.

‘No, not yet,’ Naal softly replied. ‘I would let her grow as she should with her family. Let her live a somewhat normal life before fate ensnares her.’

‘And if Empress Azar catches wind of who she is-?’

‘My path is to Vrethian, to ensure that does not happen for a long while. At least until the babe is grown.’

Orro released a low whistle. ‘Defying the will of Winvara Daeiros? I think I shall be safer in the belly of the beast.’

Naal smiled, for it was probably true. ‘Even if Winvara turns me away, her daughter will not. Eirinna will hear me. She will want to protect her newborn at any cost.’

‘The Daeiros family is forever bound to the hands of fate, it would seem.’ It was true: the Daeiros name was as famous as Naal’s.

Orro feasted his eyes upon the city of Phaenon, as though committing every inch of it to memory.

‘I shall not return here until I have what you seek. This I promise you.’

‘I still have not yet commanded anything of you, Orro.’

‘I do not need to hear the words,’ he said. ‘I can see them in your eyes.’

Theirs was not a friendship of particular platonic intimacy, yet Naal found herself reaching for Orro’s hand. She squeezed once, then swiftly let go, lest the tears behind her eyes find their way forward. He would scold her if they did. ‘To Zarynth, then.’

‘To Zarynth.’ Orro Myrso turned to face Naal. He bowed low, with his four fingers pressed to his third eye, then released the hand toward Naal as he stood.

Naal acknowledged the gesture of utmost respect with an incline of her head.

Soft was Orro’s departing smile as he turned his back on Naal, on Phaenon City, his home, to ready himself for the danger that lay ahead of him. Naal could barely stand to watch him leave.

‘Watch over him, Mother,’ she whispered to the wind. ‘Keep him safe.’

Gallena was quiet.

But then, Naal should have known better than to pray to the Goddess.

Gallena did not listen to the prayers of mortals.

None of the Four Mothers did. Even prayers coming from the four Wardens who harnessed Their unique power were not heard.

The divine Mothers were not gift-givers, nor healers, nor were they puppeteers of fate.

They were balance.

An equilibrium of the four elements; Earth, Air, Fire and Water.

They simply were.

It was Naal’s duty to ensure that balance was kept. And one day, that tiny newborn babe in Vrethian would help her do so.

But not for a long time.

Winvara Daeiros would not receive her well, this she knew. But Naal refused to see the new Earth Warden in the hands of the viper queen of fire. If she could delay that earthly power from coming forth in the Daeiros babe… perhaps it would delay Empress Azar’s schemes in turn.

Naal Westerra spread her wings wide, letting the wind ruffle her feathers before shooting off the edge of the mountain, descending fast in search of the small harbour where a ship would carry her southward toward the earthlands.