Chapter 3.7 – The Missed Connection 

I arrived on the Brotherhood before Striker, which surprised me. I had very much wanted to see her, one of the few reborn who could understand what I was about. One of the few reborn who was also loyal to the Undead Queen. 

Striker had been tasked with kidnapping Prince Eric and Prince Dahr from the palace at Rish, and had succeeded. While she’d led the pursuers on a merry chase, Eric and Dahr were making their way to Xarinos as planned, or so the Undead Queen had told me. 

I could only hope that my mission would end as successfully. 

                                                   Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

 

Third Day of Striving 1142 

Since his rebirth, Gallen Burke had learned a lot about the world, about magic, about the gods and about power. He had learned this from other reborn, from the Undead King himself, who spoke to him frequently due to his position in the palace, and even from talking to priests in the temples.

People saw him as ambitious, curious, as a man striving to improve himself, not just with a blade, but in education. He was respected by priests in different temples and often went to them with questions about the gods, or about what a specific god required of his disciples. 

It was widely known that he was tethered to Sheba, and he often went to the temple to pray, or at least look like he was praying. It was part of staying in character. And in truth, he took interest in everything he learned. The role he had begun playing when he became reborn was a role no longer. Gallen Burke was an educated, upwardly mobile warrior, who wasn’t far from being a sword master. 

One of the things he’d heard more than once from one priest or another was that the gods couldn’t actively interfere in human activity. Sarith could ask one of her assassins to take out a specific target, but she couldn’t help them do so. There was some sort of agreement between gods that prevented them from directly interfering in each other’s business. In fact, it didn’t even have to be another gods business. Gods had agents and acted through them—a well known fact among those that cared to educated themselves. 

Yet he had slit Queen Treya’s throat and watched it repair behind his blade when she’d leveled. 

Gallen had seen a lot of people level. It didn’t look like this. There was only one way to interpret this. Sheba has directly interfered in a mortal matter, and as such, was subject to some sort of censure by the other gods. Some sort of punishment. The goddess of honor had done something distinctly dishonorable. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. 

And there she was, Queen Treya, dark hair wild around her glowing visage, eyes burning with emotions he couldn’t name, a sheen of sweat painted on her face as if she weren’t a woman or even a queen, but the product of an artist’s imagination. Surely nothing real could be that beautiful. 

Gallen wasn’t in love with Queen Treya, but he loved her, had loved her for as long as he could remember. Soft spoken, fair, treating everyone as a human, the queen was the epitome of what a true ruler should be. Her grace, humility and openness had always impressed him. The creature he looked at was not the Queen Treya he knew and loved. She was both more and less than she had been. More than a human, but somehow in that moment, less fair. She had been saved by an act of divine intervention. The real Queen Treya, his queen, would have died before letting that happen. 

He didn’t know what to do. The Undead King had wanted him to assassinate the queen after King Terrence had departed and gotten far enough away that he couldn’t easily get back. He’d had days to think about it. Days to dwell on his upcoming betrayal. Days to make an impossible decision again and again. 

And he’d yielded to the Undead King’s knowledge and wisdom. It was all he could do, because the gods had declared an unjust war on his people. How could they? What had the reborn ever done to them? Even the first Undead War a response to Death’s Doorstep’s unprovoked attacks. Where was the justice for his people? 

And finally, he had done what needed to be done. He’d cut his queen’s throat. She had said she’d never forgive him, but that hardly mattered. He would never forgive himself. Or at least that would have been the case, had she not miraculously survived. Sheba, the goddess of honor had cheated.

Part of him wondered if he should be happy over this turn of events. He had tried to do his duty and had failed. Obviously, it wasn’t meant to be. He could surrender. Sacrifice his life. Save the queen. Part of him wanted to.

The leveling process had silenced her for a time, but it wouldn’t last. What would he do? What would he say? It had been hard enough to make that decision the first time. 

“We can stop any time,” said Queen Treya, interrupting his reverie. 

“And then what? If I’m caught, I’m as good as dead.” 

“Are you?” she actually smiled at him. 

“You can’t let me live after I’ve tried to assassinate you.” 

“Oh? I don’t remember reading that in the manual they gave me when I became queen. Despite what you believe, I sympathize with your plight. There are other options besides execution.” 

“Such as?”

“Exile…or imprisonment. There are things I’d like to know.” 

“I won’t betray Xarinos.”

“I don’t expect you to. I don’t mind telling you, I’m struggling here, Gallen. The gods, including the goddess of honor, have ordered us to go to war against your people. Now you tell me our cause isn’t honorable. This is a problem for me, as I worship the goddess of honor. 

“Sheba doesn’t ask for, nor does she desire, blind obedience. She wants me to do what is right. If this war of ours isn’t, I need to know that and fast. Because I need to get word to King Terrence before he crosses the divide. After that it will be too late.” 

“You would do that? You would stop the war?” 

“I’m willing to listen. If the gods are wrong, I need to know.” 

“That sounds like sacrilege.” 

Treya chuckled. “A lot of what has been said lately sounds that way. Talk to me. Help me understand.” 

Gallen almost relented. Perhaps he would have. But then the Undead King spoke in his mind. 

Nothing she says now will turn King Terrence from his path. Queen Treya must die. 

The Undead King was here, with him, watching. And he had already made his decision. Gallen felt the weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders. He couldn’t decide. Wouldn’t have been able to. But a higher power had decided for him. It was enough. 

“I’m sorry, your highness. I’ve been instructed to continue the fight.” 

“Now? Is he with you? The Undead King.”

“He is.” 

“I want to talk to him.” 

She’s stalling. Finish her. Now. 

“The Undead King thinks you’re stalling. I am sorry.” 

Gallen attacked. It wasn’t like the first fight had been. That had been more testing, and patient. He’d had the advantage then. She had been the uncertain one. Everything had changed now. Though he was less sure than he had been, he attacked ferociously, a flurry of attacks that would have challenged almost anyone—but not Queen Treya.

She was as strong as him now and, remarkably, faster. He didn’t expect that. When straight up force failed him, he retreated to rethink his approach. He drew on his many years of training and experience. He tried tricking her, he tried feints that turned into attacks from seemingly random angles, he tried misdirection, he tried switching hands, but none of it worked. She was faster now, still glowing with divine energy. He wondered if that gave her an even greater advantage. 

After a time, he realized she wasn’t trying to hurt him. That upset him, because he was absolutely trying to kill her. Would have, if Sheba hasn’t intervened. The anger at that betrayal fueled his next wave of attacks, for all the good it did him. But Queen Treya’s defense was flawless. 

It infuriated him that she thought so little of his prowess, she hadn’t even bothered to return his attacks. It was if he were a child being schooled by a much more experienced teacher. He had been better than her only a short time ago and now had been reduced to a level of a minor annoyance. It was the most frustrating thing he’d experienced in a very long time. Forgotten was the fact that he didn’t want to kill her in the first place. He put everything into penetrating her defenses. 

That was when the door exploded behind him. A rain of splinters enshrouded him, and he hunched over to minimize the target area. His back had been to the door, so he avoided splinters in his eyes. When it was done, he whirled and struck a defensive pose. He didn’t know what to expect. Certainly not Lord Ormund ducking back outside. What the hell was Ormund doing here?  Before he could react, a rail-thin, unarmed man in servant’s garb entered.  Red-hair, freckles, he looked young. Was that Queen Rhea’s servant? What was he doing here? 

Treya could have struck at that moment, but somehow, he knew she wouldn’t. She was no longer afraid of him. And she would have been just as curious about this change of circumstance as he. 

The servant approached and raised his fists as if he were going to box. Then his hands began to change shape morphing into blades that grew directly from his wrists. 

Jerish should have attacked then, but the sight hypnotised him and when the transformation had completed, the servant attacked.

“I need him alive, Jerish,” said Queen Treya. 

“That’s not my area of expertise,” said Jerish, grinning. “I’m more of a dismember first ask questions later kind of guy.” 

“You think this is funny?” asked Gallen.

“That you’re trying to assassinate Queen Treya in her own quarters? No, I don’t find that funny at all.” 

“What are you?” asked Gallen. 

Jerish stopped and grinned at him. “I’m just a servant whose been given an order. Are you going to surrender?” 

It would have been the smart thing to do, and Gallen might have done so. But this was an unknown he wanted to test himself against. He had failed in his primary task, but perhaps he could somehow fight he way free of this. And if he couldn’t, well, Queen Treya had already ordered this Jerish not to kill him. 

Gallen attacked, and Jerish fended him off with bladed hands. He was even faster than Queen Treya had been and was as strong as Gallen. What in the name of the Undead King was he? 

Gallen gave it everything he had—used every trick, every bit of skill he could coax from his past experience, but it was no use. Jerish was too good. Unbelievably good. 

Within minutes he’d been slashed half a dozen times. Another minute later and he’d lost his grip on his blade. It was over.  He raised his hands, palms outward, in a universal gesture of surrender. For a moment, he thought that Jerish was going to disobey the queen, but it didn’t happen. With what seemed like great effort, the red-haired youth dropped his bladed hands to his side. 

That’s when the others entered, led by a satisfied-looking Lord Ormund. 

“Thekarinta belinya,” said Lord Ormund. 

“He said good work,” said Ambassador Rhea. 

“You can understand him?” asked Treya.

“I can. We can talk later. First, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“And glowing. Why am I not surprised?” 

“I have no idea. I’m stunned myself.” 

Angel Morrow had fought his way past everyone else to attend to the queen. “Your majesty, are you injured?” 

“I’m fine. I took a healing potion.” 

Ambassador Rhea placed a hand on Jerish’s shoulder. “You can hold him for a while?”

“As long as you need.” 

Rhea turned toward Treya. “We need to talk. Now. I assume there’s a chapel in the palace.” 

She didn’t understand the uncomfortable look that settled over Treya’s face and made a note to ask her about it. Finally, Treya answered.

“Yes. Not far from the throne room.”

“Take me there. The rest of you, remain here. There are things you need to know.” 

Treya looked at the odd collection of people gathered in her personal quarters.

“Gallen, promise me you won’t attempt to escape, at least until I get back.” 

Gallen glanced at Jerish, then dropped his head, though he didn’t say anything. It was good enough for Treya.

“Let’s go,” said the queen, taking the lead. Ambassador Rhea followed her out, leaving behind a very confused and diverse assemblage. 

* 

The Chapel of Sheba in the palace at Rish was rather small. It was a private area for individuals. No services were ever held here. It was a place to meditate, reflect, either alone or perhaps with a handful of loved ones. 

Rhea had entered first with Treya following, somewhat more hesitantly. She looked around at the stone benches, the white walls, the marble floor. It should have been a safe haven for her, a place of peace and security but wasn’t. She shuddered and, Ambassador Rhea couldn’t help but notice her reaction. 

“Treya, are you all right?” 

“No.” 

“Sit down. Was it the fight?” 

Treya had dropped her eyes to the floor where last time there had been blood and vomit. “No, Rhea. This is it, the place Jericho took Lord Ormund.” 

“Here? Are you sure?” 

“I was here, Rhea. I saw them.” 

Rhea looked thoughtful. Treya gathered her nerve, and stepped further in, but she didn’t sit. “Treya, I’m sorry, but this is the only place we can talk.”

“Why?”

“Because no one can hear us here but Sheba, and there are things you must know.” 

“What things?” 

Rhea sat and motioned for the queen to join her. Treya hesitated only momentarily before sitting. 

“I’ve just been to the temple of Mitra. The gods have a way of identifying the agents of the Undead King.” 

“That’s not news, Rhea, they’ve always had a way. They’ve watched people die and seen them walking around after. Of course they know. They simply aren’t telling us.”

“Do you know why?” 

“No, but I assume they have their reasons.”

“They do. But I wasn’t talking about reborn spies. I was talking about agents of the Undead King, who aren’t reborn—that didn’t even fight in the war.” 

“Volunteers?” asked Treya, eyes wide at the thought of it.

“No. People who have been unwittingly spying. The Undead King has some sort of hold on them. I can’t tell you more than that.” 

“But this is awful. You said the gods had a way of identifying these people.” 

“They do. They’re sending them off to some town in the middle of nowhere.”

“Won’t the Undead King notice.”

“I think that’s what they’re hoping. At any rate, it will lessen the number of spies.”

“I wish they’d just tell us how to identify them ourselves.”

“They can’t. Se Karn won’t permit it, and it is his bailiwick.” 

“But why?”

“You’d have to ask him yourself, or perhaps Sheba will tell you. But I had another thought. You say this is where Jericho used Sarith’s Cloak on Lord Ormund?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

“Treya, this is like Sheba’s Temple. The same rules apply. Nothing can happen here without her consent.” 

Treya stood up, eyes widened in surprise. She had been aware of this on some level, but the emotions surrounding the event had suppressed her normal thought process. Every time she thought of this place, all she could see was Ormund lying in a pool of blood. She’d avoided thinking of what had actually occurred. 

Rhea, of course, was correct. If the cloak had been used in Sheba’s Temple, Sheba could have stopped it. A cold rage formed in the pit of Treya’s stomach. And Sheba was there, looking as she usually did. It should have bothered Treya that she could recognize a goddess so easily, but she had other things on her mind.

“Is it true?”

“You know it is,” said Sheba, looking her directly in the eye. 

“Why did you allow this?”

“It wasn’t my call, Treya.” 

Treya clenched her fists and her jaw. Her eyes were hard. “This is your temple. How could it not be your choice?”

“Because gods have territories the same way rulers do. If someone commits a crime in Twyl, you have jurisdiction. What happened to Lord Ormund, as terrible as it was, had to happen.”

“But why?” 

Sheba sighed. “Because Iorana said it must, and she has dominion over the current situation. I can’t gainsay her, even Sylinar can’t.” 

“I still don’t understand.” 

Treya should have been surprised that Iorana was there suddenly, but she wasn’t. It was just another goddess, after all. Well, not quite. It was a goddess she was furious with.

“You allowed this.” 

“I did.” 

“I need a reason.” 

The goddess studied her. “So? Should I bow, your highness? Prostrate myself at your feet. Leap at your every command. You forget yourself.” 

“Do I? I have no fealty to you, goddess. I worship the goddess of honor. This atrocity was done in her temple, in my palace. I want to know why.” 

Iorana started to reply, but Sheba held up a hand. “Tell her. I’d like to hear it too.” 

“Sheba, you don’t understand…” 

“And I want to. Explain it to me.” 

Iorana started to speak but stopped herself. “And if what I tell you changes a future I know must happen?” 

Silence consumed the room as the four looked at each other. Treya didn’t know what the others felt, but the tension in the room was palpable. Ambassador Rhea had taken a step backwards, away from the gods. She was still beautiful, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back, but she’d lowered her bright blue eyes as a sign of respect to the gods, and Treya couldn’t see them. 

Sheba was also blonde and blue-eyed, but of the two, Rhea looked more like a goddess. She was statuesque, that was the word that came to mind. Sheba looked more like a warrior, even more so now, as she stared at Iorana with an intensity that Treya wouldn’t have liked to be the target of. 

And then there was Iorana, beautiful almost beyond words, with her black braid, tattooed face and green eyes that shined like emeralds—her perfection marred only by the frown of frustration. Other beings didn’t demand things of her, least of all mortals. With conscious effort, she schooled her expression, the furrows in her brow smoothing, the set of her jaw relaxing. 

“I don’t know everything,” said the goddess, “but I know enough. Lord Ormund before his injury was incapable of doing what needed to be done. Without Queen Raven’s soul he was incomplete. When you leave here, you will take him with you, and obviously Ambassador Rhea of course, since she’s the only one who can understand him. Along the way, you will be given an item that Lord Ormund will need. I cannot tell you how I know this, but I do know it. 

“The end is coming. It will be either the end of humanity or the end of the reborn. Both will not survive. Tell me, Queen Treya of Twyl, would you have sparred Lord Ormund the pain of his ordeal if you knew by doing so you would doom humanity?”

Treya answered without hesitation. “No, of course not.”

“Sheba did not know what I just told you. No one knows. And if you want to keep humanity alive, you will keep it to yourself. There are many pieces to this puzzle scattered about Thysandrika. They are south of here in the horn, north and east of here just entering Melar from Andara, in the Brotherhood on their way to Rish, even in the Plains of Xarinos. In order for the future to play out, every single piece must be in the right place at the right time. Do you have the wisdom to move them into position, Queen Treya of Twyl?” 

Treya licked her dry lips and shook her head. “You know I don’t.” 

“I do,” said Iorana. “Perhaps it is time that you acknowledge that fact and let me do my job. It is true that Lord Ormund could have been saved, but the price would have been so high that he might wish he hadn’t been. If you don’t believe me, you can ask him, but only in here.” 

Sheba looked from Iorana to Rhea to Treya. “Heed my sister’s words and tell no one of what you’ve learned here. As it is, we may have just changed the future.” 

“Let us hope, for all our sakes, that is not the case,” said Iorana. “Now, if you’re quite satisfied, I must take my leave.” 

Treya knew that it wasn’t true. That Iorana could be here and a thousand other places at once, but she made no protest. “I beg your forgiveness, goddess of magic. I am just grieved at the pain Lord Ormund has suffered.”

“I wish I could tell you that you won’t experience your own pain before this is all over, but I cannot. Fare well, Queen Treya. It is unlikely we will speak again.” 

Before Treya could answer, Iorana was gone.

Sheba raised an eyebrow. “Well…you wanted to know.” 

“I did. Thank you for supporting me.” 

Sheba smiled. “You weren’t the only one who had questions, so perhaps I should be thanking you.” 

“Sheba?” asked Rhea, “Will Queen Treya continue to glow.” 

“She will.”

“Can you tell me why?” 

“Queen Treya has absorbed too much divine energy. It was necessary to alter her so that she could contain it. Alone I could not have done it, but I wasn’t alone. Five gods elevated Queen Treya to something more than human, but something less than a demigod. We created something today that is new in the world. As such, no one can say what it will eventually grow into.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Treya. 

“It means, Treya, that though you are tethered to me, you are not only tethered to me. You are tethered also to Iorana, Se Karn, Mitra and Sarith.”

“How is this possible?” asked Rhea. 

“If you had told me two hours ago that this was going to happen, I’d have said that it wasn’t. This event changes what I understood about godhood. I have much to consider.” 

Rhea and Treya exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.

“Believe me, Treya, no one wants this to be over more than the gods of order, but there are factors we simply do not control. This is not something we have to deal with often. Be happy that you, and even Lord Ormund, have ultimately benefited from it.” 

“Thank you, my goddess. If I may ask, what should I do with Captain Burke?” 

Sheba laughed. “Oh no. I’ve already interfered for more than I should have. I’m not the Queen of Twyl, child. This is a decision only you can make.” 

Treya bowed her head. “Of course, my goddess.” 

The Sheba was gone, leaving the two queens alone in her chapel. When Treya again looked around, the pain of the memories of Lord Ormund’s torture seemed further away than they had only a short time ago. 

*

Rhea and Treya returned to the queen’s private chambers, where the others waited. The couch had been repositioned, and the room had been tidied, but there were still a few odds and ends out of place. 

Gallen Burke sat on one of the comfortable chairs. Jerish stood beside him. The guards stood by the door, and Lord Ormund sat on the couch, looking perplexed.

“Are you okay?” asked Rhea.

Ormund looked up at her, moved his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again and finally managed to say something that at least she found coherent. “The chirkir are in quite the panic, I think.”

“Why?” asked Rhea. 

“Because something has gone wrong with their…projections.” 

“What is he saying?” asked Treya.

Rhea held up a hand. “Just a moment.” 

“Their projections?” 

“Their reading of the future. They thought they had covered every possibility, but something has happened that has never happened before that changes everything. All they had worked for is in jeopardy.”

“Can you tell me what they’re trying to accomplish?” 

“No. I can tell you bits, but none of it makes any sense. However, they are extremely worried that recent events are going to…I have no way to translate this.” 

“Rhea,” insisted the queen. “I need to know what he’s saying.” 

“He’s saying the chirkir are in a panic, and he’s not sure why. He’s trying to figure it out. It may take some time.” 

It wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but no one could gainsay her, not even Ormund himself. Perhaps now, he’d have the time he needed to figure out what was going on. 

For the next fifteen minutes, he fought through the confusion. He shifted from looking puzzled to looking like he was in pain. A few times he smiled. At one point he looked sad. Finally, he closed his eyes and kept them that way for an extended time. 

When he opened them, he looked terrified. 

“It’s all for nothing.” 

“What is?” asked Rhea. 

“All our carefully laid plans have failed. Without the plan, we have no direction. We are helpless.” 

“What plan?” asked Rhea.

“We don’t know. We never knew. But we knew it was moving in the right direction.”

“And now?” 

“And now, we can’t say. We can only ride the tide of events in the distant hope that we haven’t made a terrible mistake.”