Kingdoms in Chaos (5 page)

Tarren stared at his old, weathered hands. The knuckles were knotted and swollen, the lines on the long boney fingers running like wood grain, yet the nails were thick and strong. He sat in wonder at all the things those hands had done, the things that they had created, the magic they had once wielded. He often stared at those hands—hands that were not his own.

“Are you paying attention?” Lunara asked.

Tarren glanced at her. “Sorry,” he said in the Watcher’s voice.

Lunara stared. There was compassion in her eyes, but also a steely resolve. “Am I bothering you? I know that geography isn’t your favorite, but—”

“What’s the point?” Tarren asked, head bowed. He couldn’t look at her.

She sighed deeply and sat back from the table. The wind curled the edges of the map of Agora he was supposed to be studying. It was a warm breeze, a soft whisper on the skin. Below their veranda the tulips swayed. The castle grounds were brightly lit by the warm sun sitting high in a cloudless sky.

“What’s the point of what?” she asked.

“My learning all of this…learning anything…what is the point?”

“Your sulking can wait until the lesson is complete.”

“I’m trapped in the body of a thousand-year-old elf!”

“Actually, the Watcher is much older than—”

“I think I’m dying.”

For a moment she was speechless.

“Don’t be foolish. If you’re feeling unwell, perhaps you should speak with the Watcher, he will know how best to treat…himself.”

Tarren turned back to gaze upon the garden and its many vine-covered arches. “I don’t want to talk to him. It’s…weird, seeing myself like that.” He glanced at her, and saw her searching eyes.

She had no answers, no one did. There was no elven magic left in the world, there was nothing anyone could do. When Eadon had come for Tarren, the Watcher had somehow switched consciousness with him. The act had saved his life, but now he was condemned to a slow death in an ancient elf’s body.

“Hope,” Lunara said softly.

“What?”

“You asked me, what is the point of it all, and my answer is…hope. Whill shall find a way. He always does.”

“No,” said Tarren. He silently cursed his swelling throat and burning eyes. “Whill has no magic now, either. He’s just like everybody else.”

Her eyes lit with a fire that Tarren had seldom seen as of late. Tears fell, yet a smile found her face. “He is so much more than that. He saved us all when he gave up the power to the goddess Kellallea. With her blessing, you will be restored to your body, and the Watcher to his.” She gently took his face in her hands and rested her forehead against his. “As Kellallea is my witness, you will be saved. I promise you that.”

Tarren could hold it in no longer. He suddenly burst into tears and let himself be comforted by her soft embrace and soothing words.

Whill watched from the balcony as Lunara comforted Tarren. The boy was Whill’s ward. He had sworn to protect him…and he had failed. Now, without the magic of the elves, he was unable to do anything.

“I can help to restore Tarren to his body.”

He jumped. Kellallea was suddenly standing right beside him.

“I wish that you would learn to use the door,” he said casually, not bothering to look at her. From the corner of his eye he could see her faint glow, and her long silver hair blowing in the breeze.

She touched his shoulder.

A shiver passed through him as power filled his body momentarily, but then was gone. It was the power he had given up moments before Eadon tried to possess him. He often dreamed of wielding that energy once more. With it, he would be able to quell the would-be usurpers vying for power in Uthen-Arden, he would be able to restore Tarren and Avriel.

“Swear fealty to me, and I will give you everything your heart desires,” Kellallea purred.

“I am the one who helped you ascend to godhood. It would seem that you are in
my
debt.”

She laughed melodically and caressed his cheek. “You did not do it for me.”

“No,” he said, moving away from her. “I did it for Agora.”

“And now that threat is gone. But your kingdom is in shambles, your armies are stretched too thin. The three kings of the north have forged an alliance. Soon, they will march south, and your city will fall.”

“You have seen this?” Whill asked, unable to keep concern from his voice.

She nodded solemnly. He studied her for a moment but was forced to look away. Gazing upon the goddess was like staring at the sun.

Whill didn’t trust her, he never had. She could have stopped Eadon long ago, yet she had allowed him to wage war on her own people and drive them from Drindellia. She may have helped to defeat him in the end, but only so that she might gain the power of a god.

“You do not trust me,” she noted.

“Why should I?”

“Because I am the only one who can help you.”

“You stole all knowledge of Orna Catorna from the elves—from me. With it, we could bring peace to the land.”

“It is not enough to bring peace to the land. People must find peace in their hearts. Humans, dwarves, elves… you are all the same. You know as well as I that magic would have destroyed the elves in the end.”

He couldn’t disagree. As useful as magic was, its misuse had nearly destroyed Agora. “Then why do you offer it to me now?”

“You are different from other people. You held the power of a god in your hands, yet you gave it up for the good of others. I said that I would reward those who proved themselves, and you, Whill, have proven yourself beyond worthy.”

“And still, I must swear fealty to you.”

She nodded.

“Why? What do you want from me?”

Kellallea offered no answer, but stroked his face once more. Her hands were electric, and Whill caught a hint of his lost power once again. It was all he could do to not drop to his knees immediately and swear himself to her.

“King Whillhelm Warcrown, Savior of Agora, why do you resist me?” Kellallea asked. “Take what is offered, become my champion, and together we shall bring peace to the world.”

Whill shrugged away from her, and staggered from the balcony. He turned to speak, but found that she was gone.

A shuddering breath escaped him and he steadied himself against one of the carved columns. When he had calmed his pounding heart, he returned to his chambers and sat back at his large desk. He considered the collection of old tomes spread out before him, some dating back to a time before the elves came to Agora. Whill had been poring over the ancient religions of the world, trying to find something…anything. The books spoke of the gods of men, elves, dwarves, and even dragons, yet none of them mentioned Kellallea’s ascension. He found it odd that neither scripture nor prophecy spoke of her. Surely such an event would be foretold?

The tomes told of many things, and he even found his own prophecy in one of the elven books given to him by Zerafin when last they met—more than three months ago. It said only that he would defeat Eadon, but nothing of what might come after.

Whill had never been a holy man, but now that Kellallea had attained her empyrean throne, he had begun to wonder about the gods again. If they existed, why had they remained silent for so long?

The elves had an extensive religion, volumes upon volumes had lined the walls in the libraries of Cerushia. But many of those ancient tomes had been destroyed when the capital city of the elves fell. If Whill was to learn anything from them he would have to wait until he visited them again.

The human religions were many, with numerous subdivisions. But he found that human religions, like many, were obscure in their claims. The events spoken of by the old texts had taken place thousands of years before. If the gods ever spoke, it had been a long time ago. Even so, Whill doubted he would hear them, for nearly all the religions told that one must have faith to hear the voices of the gods—something that he did not possess.

A knock came at the door, and a guard peeked in his head when told to enter.

“Sire, the Watcher is here to speak with you.”

“Let him in,” said Whill, rising from his seat.

The Watcher strode into the room and waved off the curious guard. The old elf might have been in the body of an eleven year old boy, but his gait was still that of an ancient elf.

“I hope that I did not interrupt anything important,” said the Watcher.

“No,” said Whill. “I was just reading over some old religious tomes.

The Watcher cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds important to me. What is on your mind?”

Whill offered him a seat and took his own once more. “It is Kellallea. I was trying to find some mention of her in the old texts.”

The Watcher nodded understanding. “She has appeared to you again.”

“Yes, just recently.”

“What did she say?”

“She claims that if I swear fealty to her, she can restore you and Tarren,” said Whill.

“What is stopping you?” The Watcher asked.

Whill wondered if this was one of the eccentric old elf’s tests. “I…I don’t trust her.”

“I see.”

The Watcher’s eyes were smiling.

“You seem to find this quite amusing,” Whill noted.

The Watcher gave a small laugh. “You misread me. I find it all quite fascinating. You never cease to amaze me, Whill. To give up godlike power is one thing, but to refuse it a second time…that is impressive.”

Whill hadn’t thought of it that way. To him, he seemed like a fool to refuse the goddess’s gifts. He could not deny that he was tempted by her offer, but he could not ignore the part of his mind screaming a warning.

“Why is she so adamant that I swear fealty to her? What could I possibly offer her that she could not attain herself?”

“Perhaps she is simply being stubborn, said the Watcher. “Even with all of her great power, you are the one thing that continues to elude her.”

Whill considered that. The reasoning seemed petty for a deity, but then, many of the gods told of by the religions were just that. Quite often the gods spoke and acted in ways similar to mortals. Most religions said that the races had been created in their god’s image, but went on to claim that one could not possibly understand their motives or grand plans.

“There must be more to it than that,” said Whill.

“I have pondered this for many days,” said the Watcher. “Yet her motives still elude my mind. I was quite surprised to learn that she had appeared to you.”

“Because I am not an elf?”

“No, it is not that. I would be surprised to hear that she had appeared before anyone,” said the Watcher. “The gods are said to have come to a truce tens of thousands of years ago. They no longer meddle in the affairs of mortals. It is said that if one of the gods breaks the truce, it will bring about the end of the world.”

“You believe this?” Whill asked.

“I acknowledge that it is possible, as are all things.”

Whill gave a small sigh, frustrated by the old elf’s riddles.

“If the gods do indeed exist, then Kellallea has broken their rules by speaking to me. But she must know this. Why would she risk such a thing?”

“I do not know,” said the Watcher, with uncharacteristic bluntness. “It could be that the gods do not exist, and she is the most powerful being in all of creation. If so, she is free to do as she pleases.”

“Yes, but even that does not explain her continued interest in me. From what Zerafin has told me, she continues to ignore the prayers of her own people.”

“To my knowledge this is true.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Whill asked. When the Watcher only grinned, Whill laughed. “Of course not, nothing bothers you.”

“Do not fret, all things are as they should be.”

“How can you say that?” said Whill. “Tarren remains trapped in your body, Avriel still has no memory of me, and Agora is in shambles. Not to mention, there is no magic left in the world.”

“Whill, my friend, you have come a long way since first we met. But you still have much to learn. There will always be reasons to worry, why do you continue to focus energy on your fears and suspicions? Instead, try to focus on what you want to happen.”

“What do
you
want to happen?” Whill asked.

“I want the world to know peace, therefore,
I
am at peace. We have the power to change many things, but we must begin with ourselves. What do you want, Whill?”

I want the power that I once possessed.

Whill was surprised by his inner voice. He had thought to answer that he wanted Avriel to remember him, and for Tarren to be healed.

The Watcher looked on knowingly. “It is easiest to deceive ourselves. We must be ever diligent in that regard. For without clarity of mind we cannot see the path before us.” He got up and offered a small bow. “I will leave you now. I imagine that you have much to consider.”