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“We have much to discuss, and while I’ve secured time for us to speak freely, we do not have the sanctum too long. There are other casters needing to attend to their duties.” She claps her hands together. “Where should we begin?”
“How about the king’s fangs?”
She dips her head. “To understand how the Islorians came to be, first you must understand our creators.”
“Fine.” I turn to the four looming figures before me.
“Vin’nyla, Fate of Air. Aminadav, Fate of Earth.” I shift from the statue with silver wings affixed to her back to the one with bronze bison’s horns, reciting the names Wendeline gave me. Those are the two Sofie hadn’t mentioned, and I imagine I’ll need to repeat their names a dozen times before they’re firmly set in my mind.
Wendeline nods once, prompting me to continue.
I move on to the one with a broad crown of antlers branching wide like that of a mature deer. “She is Aoife, Fate of Water.”
Find the gilded doe.
I shove aside my father’s voice and settle on the last one, the statue with grand twisty obsidian horns. “Malachi, the Fate of Fire.” The fate who has sent me here to complete a task. The four statues stand at the corners of the dais surrounding the altar, equal in size and stature. The gods of creation, the elements that make up all of nature, that gave life. They’re anatomically similar to humans, except with hooves and horns, and wings in the case of the Fate of Air. Both males are well-endowed. Surely, those two created themselves.
Obsidian, gold, silver, and bronze. This entire sanctum is clad in those metals. Though I note with curiosity as I study Malachi, its outer walls seem an ode to him.
“Are any of them more powerful than the others?”
“That depends on who you ask. The appropriate answer would be that they are equal in power and equally worthy of our fealty.”
“But …” I sense it behind her words.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes flashing to the statues as if worried we’ve caught their attention. “It is said that the Fates of Fire and Water are not easily countered, and that they are often at odds with each other. It isn’t a surprise. Malachi is known to be courageous and passionate, but he’s weakened by envy and obsessiveness. He is the spark for all the lust and wrath in the world. Meanwhile, Aoife graces us with our forgiveness and humility. She promotes healing, peace, and trust. Yet she can be erratic, showing indifference in the face of agony. Both anger easily, especially when they’re not shown the respect they feel they deserve.
“Elementals are all born with affinities to at least two of the fates, and for whatever reason, one of those affinities is always either to fire or water. For an elemental to summon Malachi, they must have an affinity to him. To summon Aoife, they must have an affinity to her, and so on. Long ago, when it was permissible to summon the fates, elementals most often bound themselves to either of these two over Aminadav and Vin’nyla, for it was the lust for power or the desire for mercy that often inspired the elemental or the king and queen in power.”
Sofie said she serves Malachi. This must be what she meant. “But the elementals are forbidden from summoning the fates now.”
“That is correct. The fates only meddle in our world when they are given the opportunity, and it became clear that it is never a good idea to give it to them. They thrive on conflict, with each other, and within their subjects. Answering a summons has less to do with the caster’s requests and more to do with what the fate wants. There are always consequences. Sometimes they are not felt immediately.”
Malachi allowed Sofie to pull me, a human doppelganger for Princess Romeria, from my world and drop me into her immortal body, which he resurrected and made lethal to a daaknar’s bite. He can’t be doing all this just to free Sofie’s husband for her, especially not when he’s the one holding the man hostage. So what is he after? “What kinds of things do the fates want?” I ask.
“Besides adoration? That is a question that I nor anyone else can answer with any degree of certainty. Some claim it is the unwavering devotion of the elementals, while others believe it has nothing to do with the elemental and everything to do with a bigger plan that we are not privy to.” She smirks. “The more cynical among us assume we are but pawns on a game board to amuse the fates in what is an otherwise tiresome eternal existence of creating and watching. But that would mean the fates feel the same passage of time as we do, and I suspect that is not the case.” She waves a hand dismissively. “That is a complex idea for a different day. Suffice it to say, it was agreed by both Ybaris and Mordain that the world is better off when the fates are not given an occasion to meddle.”
And Islor only had one elemental capable of breaking that rule. “Why did Margrethe summon Malachi to bring me back to life? Is it true, what Zander said to the court?”
Her jaw tenses, the only hint of anger I’ve ever seen in the priestess. “There was no hiding the fact that a daaknar had been released into Cirilea that night. Its distinctive shrill scream has haunted children’s tales for centuries. Too many recognized it for what it was. The king had no choice but to lay blame at Margrethe’s feet in the way he did, to quell rumors and questions.”
Is that how she truly feels, or is that the official answer? I study her. “But she didn’t ask Malachi to send it here to tear apart the city, did she?”
“Margrethe would never have summoned Malachi for the purpose of chaos.” Wendeline’s answer is quick and uncharacteristically sharp. “Islor was her home. She summoned him to bring you back to life, to protect her home.” Wendeline’s frown deepens as she reaches into the folds of her robe to produce a paper that reminds me of parchment in its crinkly texture. “I found this in her desk. Obviously, she had her secrets.” She adds more quietly, “As we all do.”
I smooth my thumb over the swirling M of the broken wax seal before unfolding the letter.
The Princess of Ybaris must survive at all costs, by Malachi’s will. – G
By Malachi’s will. Is that a call to summons? “Who is G?”
She shakes her head. “Someone deeply knowledgeable. That is an official seal of Mordain’s scribes. I’m not entirely sure how they learned of Margrethe. But nothing stays hidden forever, I suppose. Not even on this side of the rift.”
“I thought Mordain is against summoning?”
“The guild is, officially, and they would demand Margrethe’s execution, but we are far from their jurisdiction. Exiles, as far as they’re concerned. But there are always those who oppose the ruling power, and who believe a different way of life would be better. Mordain has a long and complicated relationship with Ybaris. That is also a history lesson for another day. But whoever sent this to Margrethe”—she taps on the letter—“must have discovered something in the recorded prophecies that they feel is of great import as it relates to you.”
I assume prophecy means the same thing here as it does in my world.
