Threads of Amarion Read online

  The enormous goddess stopped speaking in mid-sentence. Her head rose, and her great body crushed boulders to sand as she turned toward the sea. The rock wall that outlined the bay crumbled into the water.

  “What have you done?” Saraphazia whispered to the horizon, then she thrashed back, facing Bands. Bands backed away, wary of the deadly water Saraphazia threw about her.

  “Did you know about this?” Saraphazia hissed. “Did you distract me here while he committed this atrocity?” Her voice blasted at Bands like a hurricane, and she staggered backward.

  “What are you talking about?” she shouted into the wind.

  “The horn,” Saraphazia boomed. “Your paramour has used the accursed horn!”

  The goddess had lost her mind. Bands turned, scrambling over the uneven ground to get away.

  “He will pay for this atrocity with your life!”

  The wind from her booming words was so strong, it threw Bands to the ground. She tumbled and rolled to her feet. She tried to bring her focus to bear in the blast, sending her awareness into the threads.

  Saraphazia thrashed, spinning her vast bulk and destroying the rest of the wall between the Deitrus Bay and the True Ocean. She whipped her tail down hard, and a fifty-foot wave rose behind her, arcing toward Bands.

  26

  Bands

  The wave hit faster than Bands could threadweave, faster than she could transform into a dragon. She barely had time to turn when the water smacked into her shoulder. It hit her like a claw, tearing at her skin, ripping deeper—

  Then Stavark was there.

  Silver lightning flashed around her as a thousand hands pushed back the water, lifted her, and shoved her away out from under the wave that fell all around. The terrain whipped by so quickly, Bands couldn’t breathe.

  When the silver lightning stopped, Bands tumbled to the rocky ground of a thin deer path high on the ridge. Saraphazia’s deadly wave smashed into the side of the cliff below her.

  The splash that had hit her shoulder burned, raking deeper, eating through her skin, through her muscle, trying to get through her shoulder blade to reach her ribs and her heart.

  More lightning flashed around her back, and with her peripheral vision, she saw Stavark’s face in a thousand different positions as his hands worked at her shoulder. She felt little stabs like pinpricks, and she realized Stavark was picking the water out of the wound!

  Unbelievably, the aggressive burning stopped, though the sear of the wound it left behind was abominable. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she turned. Stavark stood before her, his slender fingers covered with her blood.

  “You are safe,” he huffed, then his eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed.

  “Stavark!” She scrambled to her knees and cradled him. She felt for his pulse and found it. He wasn’t dead, just spent after lifting her up the side of an entire cliff, holding a wave away from her, and somehow cleaning her wound of every speck of the horrific water. She’d never seen a quicksilver do so much while using their flashpowers, not during the Age of Awakening, not even during the Age of Ascendance. Stavark had exceeded the normal bounds of his abilities, and he had paid the price.

  She glared back at the endless True Ocean below. Saraphazia was nowhere to be seen. Something had happened to provoke her, something far away. And from the sound of the goddess’s accusations, Medophae was behind it. Something about a horn.

  Bands fashioned bandages and a makeshift sling for her left arm out of strips from her tunic. She could still use the arm, but every time she did, it felt like someone was jamming a knife under her shoulder blade. She should heal it, but healing herself was exhausting, and she still had work to do here. She couldn’t heal herself and lift the weapons out of the water. She couldn’t summon enough GodSpill to do both. The arm would have to wait. She put a gentle hand on Stavark’s unconscious forehead. “Noble syvihrk. Rest,” she said. “I shall return.”

  The deadly wave had crushed the scrub brush flat and cracked the spear-like trees in half. They lay like fallen soldiers everywhere. Careful not to touch the wet rocks with her bare hands, Bands made her way down the cliff. She spotted the bag in which she’d kept the fishing nets. She removed them—they were blessedly dry—and spread the nets out on dry ground. Afterward, she wound her way through the shrub and tree wreckage and stopped at the shore of the bay.

  If Saraphazia was nearby, she’d return with a murderous vengeance the moment she felt Bands’s touch on the threads of her water. But Bands was betting her life that the goddess was now preoccupied with Medophae’s attack, whatever it was.

  Bands made a habit of keeping her temper with others who failed to keep theirs, but she’d had enough of the crazy goddess. The weapons in that bay didn’t belong to her. There was no reason for Saraphazia to keep them from the people who needed them. If Medophae was distracting her with some horn that drove her crazy, then Bands wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. In fact, thinking about Medophae going toe-to-toe with the goddess gave her a warm feeling. Medophae was relentless when provoked.

  Kick her in the teeth, my love. And stay alive. I’m coming for you.

  Bands was going to take the moment Medophae was giving her. She would ensure Teni’sia had a fighting chance. She reached into the threads once more, holding her good arm toward the water, and whispered.

  Bring them up. Bring them to me.

  The bay churned as the weapons rose from the depths again. They weren’t buried in mud this time, but Bands had to fight the agony of her wound while still concentrating on thousands of threads.

  Come on....

  Sweat broke out on her forehead.

  Every threadweaver had personal limits based on the might of their own body. A threadweaver could pull GodSpill—nearly infinite power—from the lands all around to affect things, but the concentration to reach into those threads came from the finite GodSpill within Bands’s own body. Trying to lift ten swords was easy. Manipulating fifty threads, no more than five per sword, was a fine exercise for a moderately talented threadweaver.

  Raising two thousand weapons was a challenge even for Bands.

  If she had all the time in the world, taking them out a dozen at a time might have been preferable. But every moment she waited was a moment she didn’t have. Avakketh could already have sent his dragons against Teni’sia. If even a pair of dragons attacked the city before she returned, Teni’sia would burn just like Corialis Port.

  Bands’s bad arm drooped as she sucked the GodSpill from herself to maintain her concentration. Thousands of little fingers of her attention wriggled into the steel of the weapons. They rose, dripping, above the waterline for a second time and hovered over the bay. The weapons were clustered together in a line that mimicked the ragged coast, and she made them float toward her, a twisting, spiky steel river. They moved past her and piled together near the giant fishing nets.

  When the last weapon fell, Bands swayed and barely managed to keep her balance. On unsteady feet, she went to the pile. She was going to have to burn that water away before she could touch them. She put her good hand on her knee and rested.

  “You got them,” Stavark said right next to her.

  Bands turned and almost fell. “Gods,” she said. “You’re okay.” She took his hand.

  He nodded somberly.

  “I can’t touch those weapons,” she said. “Not until I get rid of that water.”

  “I brought rope,” Stavark said, unshouldering his pack and pulling out a twenty-foot length of rope.

  Bands laughed. “You brought rope?”

  “I thought we would tie the nets to your back.”

  “I think you’re my favorite person in the world, Stavark.”

  He bowed his head. “You honor me, kaarksyvihrk.”

  “I am the one who is honored.”

  She took a deep breath, thinking of the journey ahead. “Let’s get moving.” She moved beyond the wet area where the wave had struck, then let go of her huma
n form, letting herself flow into her dragon form.

  The pain in her shoulder exploded like her arm was being pulled off. Bands screamed into a roar as she became a dragon. Fire shot from her mouth, hitting the side of the cliff and melting rock, and she staggered to the side.

  She craned her long neck to look back at her shoulder...

  Her left wing was melted and ruined.

  “Kaarksyvihrk!” Stavark shouted, running to her side.

  “My wing...” she said. Fear thundered in her heart. She had been wounded before, but she had never been maimed. Bands could heal flesh and mend broken bone, but could she reconstruct an entire wing? The thought of being forever grounded was a lance to her heart.

  She stared at it, stunned, and Stavark remained silent, waiting.

  Shake it off, Randorus. You have work to do. The people of Teni’sia need you.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice coming out calm. “I wasn’t going to fly with tons of weapons anyway. I...I always intended to carry them overland.” But she had intended to fly them over the snowy mountain range one trip at a time. That wasn’t going to work now. “We’re going to have to cart them up the coast of the True Ocean, then take what we can over the summit.”

  “Yes, kaarksyvihrk,” Stavark said.

  “Let’s...” Her voice faltered, and she spoke again with more force. “Let’s get these weapons dried off and strapped to me.”

  27

  Medophae

  The race against time had begun. Saraphazia had discovered what he was up to. Medophae didn’t know how far he was from the coast. A day, maybe two. Medophae had never sailed the True Ocean—no human ever had.

  Another hour passed, and a second connection winked out. This time, the goddess’s thoughts tried to follow the connection back. Medophae dropped it immediately, hoping he was quick enough. Another thirty minutes passed, and a third whale was discovered. He severed that connection, too.

  They came quickly then, one after the another, roughly twenty minutes apart as he imagined Saraphazia speeding through the ocean, seeking her whales. Every time another connection was cut, he sensed her overwhelming fury. And so it went, whale after whale as Saraphazia raced south to north, freeing them, raging that no whale seemed to hold Medophae as a rider.

  Night ended and day began again, and still Medophae couldn’t see the coast. If Saraphazia caught him in open water, that would be the end of it. For Medophae to have a chance of fighting her, he had to make it to Amarion. Otherwise he was, just as she said, a mere mortal.

  The whale itself did not seem to tire, but Medophae’s fatigue dragged at him. He hadn’t slept in two days now since he’d passed out in the hut, and the horn’s power seemed to be at its limit. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and sometimes he found himself slipping from the whale before the golden lightning caught him and returned him to the top of the whale’s back.

  By noon, all but a couple dozen of the ninety whales he’d sent as decoys had been released by Saraphazia. She’d been faster today, every fifteen minutes or so, like clockwork. She had discovered his pattern and was methodically tracking down her whales. Then, however, she stopped. She didn’t free any more whales. The northernmost whales continued along the path he’d commanded them.

  Medophae shook his head to keep himself alert. He had found a barnacled area of the whale’s back and stayed close to it. It was the best area to hang on. The golden lightning failed intermittently, and the last thing he could afford was to pitch headlong off the whale. It still surged forward with as much power as it had at the beginning of the journey, and Medophae revered the stamina of these creatures.

  The sun sank steadily down the sky, and there were still no attempts to free the northernmost whales he’d sent. Each of them were heading for the Corialis Mountains or higher.

  She’s figured it out. She knows I’m not on any of them. She’s questioning why I would I go so far north, almost into Irgakth.

  Medophae clutched the horn and forced his flagging will to send a new directive to the northern whales.

  Come south, he thought to them, and gave them a picture of the southern Corialis Mountains. Medophae gave new direction to his own whale, told it to head there as well.

  The whale shot water up through its blowhole, then changed course.

  Saraphazia was now trying to outthink him, and she would go to the area around Teni’sia, south of the Corialis Mountains. He had called to her from that kingdom during his time with Tyndiria. She knew he had spent time there, and it would be a reasonable guess for her to think that was where he was going. And, indeed, it had been.

  But Medophae didn’t need to land near Teni’sia. He simply needed to get his feet on land. After that, he would regain Oedandus, and possibilities would open up again. If Medophae veered north, perhaps he could pass Saraphazia without her knowing. She would seek him to the south while he would go where all the other whales converged. If, for some reason, she came to that spot, he would use the rest of the whales to fight her, giving himself that one chance to...

  In the distance, he saw land.

  He levered himself to his feet. There was a thin line on the horizon, not just the black line where water met sky, but something else. Thicker, bumpier. A coastline.

  “Ha!” he laughed, and his voice was horse. He drank the last of the water from his final waterskin. He was going to make it. He was—

  His gaze caught another anomaly along the horizon to the south. A bump marred the perfect flatness of the ocean, heading directly toward him.

  No....

  Saraphazia had found him. She had indeed gone south. He had gotten past her, but she’d doubled back.

  “Go!” he commanded the whale, but it didn’t increase its speed. The feeling he got from it was that it was already moving as fast as it could.

  Medophae watched the coast. It was getting closer, but the swell of Saraphazia was coming much faster. He wasn’t going to make it.

  “Dammit!” he cursed. He was so close. There had to be something. He looked down at the horn. The hum of its power had diminished almost to nothing. The intermittent flashes of golden lightning no longer raced along its surface. But maybe there was enough left. Maybe...

  He released the other whales. They were too far away to get here in time to make a difference. And he wasn’t sure he could get them to fight her, anyway. For all he knew, the moment she touched them, it would destroy his tenuous hold.

  The power in the horn surged with that release. A few tendrils of golden lightning raced over its pearlescent surface. Again, he glanced at the shore. He could make out the peaks of mountains now, but it was still terribly far off.

  “Fine,” he said, turning to face the swell that was almost upon him. He tried to form the godsword. Golden fire gathered around his fist, and it grew into a shape that was vaguely dagger-like. It flickered, and for a moment he thought it would die, but it stayed.

  This is what I have. A flickering fire dagger against one of the original seven gods.

  The giant head of Saraphazia’s whale form cut the surface, glowing blue with rage. Medophae spared one quick glance at the approaching coastline, then yelled at the goddess of the ocean.

  “Turn away, Saraphazia! Just let me reach the shore and there is no need for us to fight!” He waved the golden dagger.

  She didn’t slow. Her great form rose up, jumping over the whale upon which he stood. He ducked, but her massive fin smacked him. The lightning threads connecting him to the whale snapped. If Medophae hadn’t been charged with the GodSpill of the horn, he would have been crushed by the blow. He gasped, drawing in a breath as he hit the water and plunged beneath. He was spun about in the current created by Saraphazia’s attack, and before he could get his bearings, he saw the flat face of Saraphazia’s enormous form bearing down on him. She hit him, pushed him like a wall. He tried to spin, to get out of the way, but her enormous flat face went fifty feet in every direction. She hit him and dove. The pressure
of the water mashed him flat against her. She shoved him into the depths, straight down.

  He held desperately to his breath as the pressure increased. He wanted to shout at her, try to talk sense to her, but he didn’t dare open his mouth.

  Then, she stopped pushing, and he floated free. She lashed away from him, and the current battered him, spun him around again. The water pressed in on him from all sides, and his lungs felt like they would explode. He tried to find out which way was up, but it was pitch-black everywhere he turned. Saraphazia spun to face him, as large as a mountain range, blotting out everything. Only the blue light emanating from her allowed him to even see her. It was like a nightmare where the only thing in the world was an angry goddess.

  Her eyes flashed, and a bubble of air formed over his mouth. Medophae gasped and breathed desperately.

  “Let me go,” he said. “What do you care if I help the humans? They’re nothing to you! Give me the chance to stop Avakketh. You hate him!”

  “I despise him. I have suffered affronts and attacks from my vicious uncle, but he has the right to make those attacks. We are family. You are nothing! How dare you use Oedandus’s horn against me, against the creatures under my protection?”

  “Saraphazia—”

  “How dare you!”

  “I didn’t hurt them—”

  “You think you are a god, but you are nothing but a broken vessel, a cracked imperfection created by my idiot brother.”

  The water constricted around him.

  Her eyes flashed, and that blue glow crackled in agitation. “You have lived centuries past your time,” she said. “It is time for you to die.”

  She spun again, her massive bulk creating a surge in the ocean. It hit him, throwing him backward, ripping away the bubble of oxygen. Saraphazia sped upward, swimming through the heavy water faster than a dragon could fly. Her blue glow grew smaller and smaller until it was gone and he floated in the dark.