Page 41 of Valdemar

And then he heard—

Silence.

Leaves whispering in the breeze, birdsong, the sounds of the river and the noise of Haven were all gone. Silence enveloped the little clearing, a complete silence that made the hair on his neck rise. But he didn’t stop speaking; if anything, he put more feeling into it.

Kordas wracked his brain, reciting a list of appropriately honorificked Names, Powers, and Deities. Kordas had a list to recite because of course he’d noted them so many times over the past years that they were imprinted on him. He felt a bit lost—this wasn’t at all how he’d rehearsed his Greatest Prayer going—and frustrated, because he was certain his exhaustively edited notes sounded much better than what he’d actually said, and that he’d blown it by just gushing from his heart. He put some of himself into each entreaty; this was not reciting a list, this was respect given to Powers to give favor. After the sixteenth name, he paused.

He wasn’t alone anymore. His watchdog light shone upon Jonaton, dressed in his nightclothes and boots, who elbow-waved to him from the path back toward the Palace. In his arms was a black cat twitching his tail in agitation—the venerable Sydney-You-Asshole, darting his eyes around the clearing as if tracking moths. There passed a moment of pure, distilled awkwardness.

“So . . . ah. Doing some moon-work, then?” Jonaton inquired.

Kordas could unclench with his dear friend, and talk about anything, but he couldn’t quite cover his embarrassment at being witnessed. Sydney stared at him with kitten-like wide eyes. Kordas twigged to what Jonaton was doing, and the awkwardness passed. Barely. “Something like. Having a word with the Powers.”

Jonaton slowly placed Sydney on the ground, whereupon the black cat sat down and started chewing the grass. “Nice night for it, then.” He made conversational gestures indicating the moon, the circular path trampled in the clearing, and Kordas.

Kordas, in turn, nodded in an exaggerated way, to reply that he understood that Jonaton was spellcasting with those gestures, and that his consent was given. “Best night for it. Aye.”

Kordas figured that while he had been caught up in pacing, Jonaton had probably scanned the area a dozen ways before even making himself visible, and had no doubt come at best speed when some alarm he’d conjured to watch the grove had been tripped. That meant that what he did now was probably threat assessment, innocuous to the outward eye as idle chat, but rigorous under the surface.

“Glad I dressed up for it, then,” Jonaton replied agreeably, hiding further spellcasting behind a set of bored-conversation rubbing of hands and picking at insects. “You feeling good, out here, kinging around?”

Kordas exhaled gustily. “Just feel a bit raw, and that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t mind this at all.” He fanned himself by flapping his open shirt. “I was losing it back there, and I’m unsteady right now, but this is the best I’ve got.” He gestured at himself, head to toe. “This is what I had to work with. I need to get back to it.” Kordas figured that ought to—vaguely—mollify Jonaton enough to stand down. The interruption had been opportune, truth be told, because he needed a breather amidst so much hard-summoned honesty and inner turmoil. Now was the time to end his litany. Kordas turned back to his prayer.

“. . . Epona, and the Tayledras’s Star-Eyed, wise Kal’enel. We are humble, and hopeful, that you find favor with us here.” And as the silence deepened, the light in the clearing slowly increased, a strange, clear, thin light that seemed to illuminate every leaf and blade of grass—as if literally silvering the world. The feeling of Presence grew until it was nearly as unbearable as the air pressure of a sudden gale-change—and yet, at the same time, it was unthreatening.

With that light came not just the feeling of peace, but the surety of peace. A growing, gentle joy surrounded and enveloped him. His eyes closed, his troubles allayed for the moment, and tears welled upon his face. He hadn’t planned to invoke the attention of deities this night, but here it was. This was right. This was good.

He felt singular and self-aware of his fleeting lifespan, conscious of being a tiny mortal object hoping to live through the unfathomable divine power he was surrounded by. He intuited that this wash of power that blended him into it, thorough to his smallest fiber, was a deity’s equivalent of an interested glance. He had no measure of time for how long he was examined for his worth, from forethought to deepest instinct. He felt thankful that he couldn’t feel himself being judged—he didn’t think he could bear that, and would just dissolve completely. He was intent upon remembering every bodily sensation he was experiencing—if he was going to be examined, well, he’d give the courtesy of studying right back. A disturbance distracted him for a moment, but he mentally waved the distraction away. Unclear voices—one of them Jonaton’s—were barely heard, murmuring. Apparently others gathered here, too.

Kordas felt no threat here; if anything he felt as if the entire area was protected.

Embraced.

Steps behind him jarred him again—and he opened his eyes to see that Restil and Beltran, each spotlit by the watchdog, stood midway between where Jonaton remained and Kordas’s own chosen spot. The only other sound in the clearing was the rumble of Sydney’s purrs.

I’m not doing this. There is divine attention here, and it feels like I reached—Someone. This—feels like an Audience. With whom, though? With what—what Power could this be? And who am I to Them?

He faltered. The light dimmed for just a moment, but when he gazed around he caught approving, encouraging expressions from Beltran and Restil, instead of worry or dismay. That was enough to bolster his confidence.

They’d stop me if this was wrong.

He pulled himself up, and set his stance.

This is what I am made of, and I will pretend nothing. In the eyes of the divine, I present myself, with the truth of what I feel.

The light strengthened, and so did his resolve. It was time to—present his case? No, to beg a boon.

“I, Kordas, King of Valdemar, beseech Your goodwill and consideration, for the benefit of my people. We have come through terror and tragedy. Countless dangers await our every step, in every direction—above, around, and below. I fear we, as a people, will fall to predation, to our worst natures or to others’. We are mortal, and fallible, struggling amidst hardships we barely understand. We are weak in this new land, with but a single distant ally, the Tayledras. Threats will come that I fear we will not endure without divine help. The wonder that Valdemar could be will be lost, if we stay this vulnerable in our Kingdom’s infancy.” Kordas lowered his voice to a more personal expression of his feelings, beyond his diplomatic nature.

“I brought these refugees here as best I could, but I won’t last. I know I will give my all to be a good man, and a good leader for them. I know my son will do the same. But what of his children’s children’s children? What if our line ends tomorrow? I do not want what happened to the Empire to befall them! Will you help Valdemar to be as magnificent as I believe it can be, and safeguard the lives and well-being of my people?”

He was not answered by words as such, but instead by an all-enveloping sense of You have asked the right question.

And then, out of the light, spun wonder.

It took his breath away. He felt as if he was trembling on the brink of something momentous, something that would change everything.

The light gave birth to sparkling motes of power that danced and flowed in three ever-changing forms so beautiful they made him gasp. He stared, mesmerized, as the lights coalesced into pillars, then between one breath and the next took full shape.