Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
Ever
“Will you help your sister from the ground, Fen? I hardly see that as the rightful place for family.”
To my surprise, Fenix does as he’s bidden, gripping my shoulders and hoisting me to my feet. There’s still no obvious outcome to our touch, but it was brief.
“There. Better.” That voice. The pitch makes every muscle in my body want to rebel and shelter my ears from it.
“You’ve had somewhat of a journey. Come.
We must get you settled, for there is a lot to discuss.
” He leans forward, but I counter, stepping back, and end up against the hard wall that is Fenix, blocking my retreat.
The Usher only reaches for the rope still leashing my hands together and unties me.
His gnarled fingers remind me of the Maker’s.
In fact, it’s like the Maker all over again, and I’m re-visiting the last few months from the beginning: Lyle taking me away to a strange new world with people I don’t know, only this time, it’s my supposed brother.
No matter what I think about anything else, it’s becoming hard for me to deny that Fenix is my biological brother. He knows Kalan, and we share matching talismans that are from our parents. I’ve had less to believe in before.
“Come.” The Usher leads, and I turn to check with Fenix, who nods his head.
Selina and the other men from the ship keep a wide berth as we journey through the trees until we’re in a wide opening within the thick forest. The trees shield the space, which undulates with hollows and small rises.
Canvas tents and other makeshift camps litter the area.
Fires spark and send smoke into the leaves, and the burning of wood conjures memories of warm, glowing embers in the fireplace at home, and the never-ending fire in the food hall at the training residence.
A longing pulses in my chest at the memory. Of a life I had. But the differences between my first journey and this one are stark, the more I look.
This is nothing as elaborate or elegant as The Tower or its accommodations. No lush fabrics or bright colours. This looks like a pallet straight from the autumnal months before winter hits: rich in their own right, with no interference and with the simplicity at the core.
The Usher continues to lead us through their camp until we reach a tall tent with an arrangement of logs outside, long enough and fat enough to sit on. He lowers himself slowly, inch by inch, onto a small log, and beckons for us to join in a makeshift circle.
“This is where you live?” I question Fenix. Even the ship was nicer than this. Was that his?
“Yes. We don’t have the luxury that you might have experienced at The Court. We make do.”
“But you’re all Kirrian?” I look around. “You have magic. Why are you here?”
“Most of us were born in Kirrasia, yes. Some of us,” he flashes his eyes to Selina before bringing them back to me, “were born outside of her realm.”
“Her realm. Aslendrix?” The instinct to defend her rises within me. “I thought only Kirrians had magic, granted by Aslendrix, and that people from outside of it with magic were rare.” I lock my jaw and steel any reaction from showing on my face. I can’t trust him—every fibre in my body shouts that.
“She does have a monopoly over power,” the Usher chuckles, “but her side is only half of the story.” His lips peel back as he grins at me, and I regret every bad thing I ever thought of the Maker.
Instead, I hold the image of her as a younger woman clear in my mind, as if it can settle me against his undertone of threat.
Not physical, but implied. With the one thing I’m unarmed against—knowledge—at the tip of his spear.
“Would you like me to widen your education?”
“Sure. I mean, I’ve been asking for information for months. It’s novel you’re willingly offering it.”
“Very well. You clearly know of Aslendrix, the Goddess, and her brother, Novandia.”
“Yes.” I nod.
“They are, in many ways, like all siblings. They fight, squabble, and play tricks on each other.” His voice, despite the tone, holds a resonance that summons others, as I register the swell of our small camp building with the company of others.
People are drawn to the Usher or the story he’s about to recount.
“Novandia had the day. Aslendrix, the night. A fair split.
“But Novandia was greedy. He wanted more power and was jealous of Aslendrix, whereas she only feared what her brother might do with his gifts. So, one day, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, during a rare eclipse of the sun, Aslendrix tricked Novandia and cursed him, leaving him without his power—the ability to control celestial magic. Aslendrix left Novandia with nothing but his elemental power of the sun itself. He can shine and bestow good fortune on the lands that worship him. But he is trapped, limited.” He pauses, and I weigh his words.
“Sunatora has a hotter climate for a reason, you know. Thanks to him.
“Aslendrix answered the women who worshipped her in Kirrasia, granting the Maker her power for the first time, and every Kirrian thereafter. She may have described it as a gift, but Aslendrix needed to rectify the balance of power she now held, having taken it from Novandia. Passing it to Kirrians through the Transference even’s things out, if you will.
“Balance and order, moderation and fairness are all traits that Aslendrix has woven into her gift. Even with the power she offers, it’s not ours forever. She takes it back.”
I remember what the Maker told me about Novandia and their ongoing feud, Novandia being part of her balance. That everything Aslendrix does is with balance in mind. So far, the story The Usher is telling, at least rings true to what I’ve been told.
The crowd gathered laps up the information, but I can’t believe this is the first time they’ve heard this story.
A few murmurs start among them, as if the reminder is a rallying call, but there’s no underlying hint of a plan or reason for all of this.
And the fight between the Goddess and her brother doesn’t explain why they want to go against the Orders—against Kirrasia.
“How does this play into gaining magic from Novandia if he doesn’t hold any power, nor does it answer why people from outside of Kirrasia have magic?” I focus my questions, hoping he won’t choose now to dry up the information he’s freely giving.
“That isn’t where my story ends. You’ve forgotten Novandia already, as so many people often do. He’s worshipped in Sunatora where the King has always sought power. He’s hungry for it, but can’t fathom how to obtain it, beyond wealth and riches.”
“So, you and Sunatora are going to attack Kirrasia and start a war over power?” Will that even work? My guess is speculation, but I’m struggling to see where this is heading. What’s his motive for bringing me here—for breaking me out?
“No. That is not our aim. We don’t want to hand power to either Sunatora or Nehandun.
We’re happy to let them play their games and keep Kirrasia distracted.
It’s worked for all these years. Our plan is much bigger.
” He looks around at the congregation, and I see dozens of people all around us.
My heart starts to race; my attention is now hyper-focused, like I’m waiting for the punch to land.
“Plan?” I check. “I’m a part of it?” I scowl.
“Fenix insisted.”
“Care to fill me in? Or do I need to take the information for myself?” The lesson still seems to miss the point I was after, and while more direct than some, his story still has holes big enough to climb through.
“Oh, Ever. Don’t threaten what you can’t deliver.
Let the Usher finish the story, and then you’re welcome to try and take whatever you want.
From any of us.” Fenix’s voice is thick with menace, and I’m right back in the cell, and the knife in the back of my friend.
I nod and dip my eyes, waiting for the story to continue.
“Your power is always linked to Aslendrix. It wanes with her, is strongest when she is strongest, and tethers you.” He drops his gaze to the necklace at my throat, just for a second, before raising them again.
“Novandia has been bound in his curse for hundreds of years. A cruel trick to keep him locked away for so long, don’t you think?
But there are a few… gaps in her spell. Let’s say, when there is an eclipse, even a partial, or the exact circumstances as when she cursed him to begin with.
At those times, it’s his power that can be channelled. Gifted.”
Is that how people outside of Kirrasia have magic? How Selina can use magic on a new moon? How Fenix can use his magic, too? It’s my turn to look between the others around us, second-guessing if they are from Kirrasia, if they chose to leave, or not. Working out who might be a threat.
“I have spent years searching for a way to break Aslendrix’s hold, and I have. On those few occasions, I have. I have bested the Goddess herself, and there’s nothing she can do about it,” he gloats, as if his accomplishment should be worshipped.
“But Fenix is like me. He’s Kirrian.” This old man has already driven me to frustration as I point out a gap in what he’s saying.
“And with it, he’s all the more powerful. His power is pure, raw and doesn’t abide by the rules imposed by Aslendrix.”
Fine.
They called me raw, before my Transference. At least it provides an explanation as to how he can still use magic on a new moon.
“I can teach you to use your magic outside of what Aslendrix intended.” He stands and eases himself over to perch on my log, and his proximity tenses all the muscles in my body as I try to understand why I’m here—the pieces still don’t fit.