The Grove

TWELVE

Guardian Dominor, she had met before. With those nice blue eyes, and that long, dark brown hair, he was an attractive Katani male. She might have been far more interested in Aradin, or even Teral, but Saleria could acknowledge he made a handsome figure in his formal dark blue velvets.

His wife, Serina, on the other hand, was a shock. Tall, thin, and pale-haired, for a moment Saleria mistook her for Guardian Ilaiea. A much more pleasant-looking, younger, smiling version of Ilaiea, with none of the usual superior airs showing.

Her shock showed in a sagging mouth and a double blink. The ex-Guardian of Koral-tai quirked her brows at Saleria, then at her husband. “Do I have baby spit-up on my shoulder or something?”

“I—no, forgive me,” Saleria said, blushing. This stately woman was too young to be the middle-aged Guardian Ilaiea. “For a moment, I mistook you for someone else.”

Dominor looked between the two of them, then snapped his fingers, pointing at his wife. “Your mother!”

“My what?” Serina asked.

At the same time Saleria said, “—Her what?”

“Her mother,” Dominor explained to Saleria. “Ilaiea Avadan, Guardian of the Moonlands. You met her via Guardian Kerric’s mirrors, remember?”

“She’s your mother?” Saleria asked, turning to his wife. At the other woman’s wince, Saleria quickly switched her surprise to a look of understanding. “You have my sympathies.”

The amber-eyed woman blinked . . . then tossed back her head with a laugh. That woke up the baby snuggled to her chest in a simple cloth sling with a disgruntled, “Meh!”

“Whoops,” Serina said, and quickly started humming, rocking the infant in her arms. The other half of their twins, cradled in a similar way to Dominor’s chest, only yawned sleepily. Speaking more gently, the ex-Guardian addressed Saleria, though she kept her eyes on her child. “I do thank you for your sympathies. Mother isn’t the best person in the world to get along with, and it got even worse when I became a Guardian, a near-equal to her. I wasn’t born with the mark of the Singer, after all.”

“The what of the what?” Even without needing a translation amulet or potion for this conversation, Saleria was still a bit lost. “Look, I just wanted to chat with you, Guardian Dominor, about sending one of those scrycastings to the Tower for Guardian Kerric to record and distribute. I thought it would be wise to make something that could be copied and replayed all around the world. This is the first Convocation of Man and God in roughly two hundred years. What transpires here should be made available for everyone to witness.”

“You have a point, though given how the Gateway to Heaven gets opened, I’m not sure if a scrycasting is even possible,” Dominor stated. “But a recording, that we can do. Let’s get Serina settled near the front, then I’ll take you over to the Fountain Hall and we’ll contact Kerric. That is, if we have the time.”

Saleria glanced around the Convocation hall, counting heads. “There are only fifty, maybe sixty people gathered so far, and it’s been at least half an hour . . . so I think we have time, yes. And since this Convocation is related to the Netherhells problem via Prophecy—”

Dominor winced, holding up his hands as he tried to shush Saleria. His wife narrowed her amber-gold eyes. “A what of the what is related to the what? Dominor, dear, is there something you haven’t been telling me?”

Within the span of one second, he switched from a hunched wince of regret to a square-shouldered, head-high stance. Staring down over the inch or so that separated him from his tall wife, the Guardian of Nightfall gave her a quelling look. “I did not tell you that the Convocation is related to the Netherhell forescryings you’ve been examining because you have been working on something far more important in the last month. The safe birth of our children, and the resolution of the Natallian/Mandarite mageborn imbalance.”

“Now that they have been born,” Serina stated, not in the least bit quelled, “when were you going to tell me? Or Mother Naima, for that matter?”

“After a full turning of Sister Moon. You heard Mariel,” her husband cautioned her. “The first three months of our twins’ lives are crucial to their good health, and that requires their mother to be well-rested.”

Saleria decided that, as she had spilled the news, she had to make up for it. “He is right, in that you don’t need to focus on it just yet. At the current rate the prophecies are unfolding, we still have several months to go before things get anywhere close to a head. Of the pattern-of-eight in at least two of the prophecies involved, we’re still only up to the second verse, and that after at least five or so months since the first one’s conditions were met.”

The ex-Guardian drew in a breath to protest, but the sleepy wriggling of the infant slung across her chest distracted her. She let it out, argument abandoned. Mostly. “Fine. I’ll agree that Galea and Timoran need most of my attention right now. But I do want copies of all these pertinent Convocation prophecies—and no arguing, dear. I have quite a lot of experience at extracting information from such things mathemagically.”

“Mathemagically?” Saleria asked her, wondering what that had to do with the words of the Gods as transmitted through Their Seers.

Serina smiled. “I’m an Arithmancer. Graduated in the top of my classes when I studied in the kingdom of Guchere.”

Saleria had no idea where that was. Once again, she was feeling her ignorance of non-Katani matters, and resolved to find a map of all these far-flung places.

“A really good one,” Dominor agreed, giving his pale-haired wife a fond look. “I’m not bad myself, but Serina is a master-class mathemagician.”

“Ah. I never really did all that well at mathemagics. I am a mage-priestess, but that doesn’t really qualify as a specialization, per se. I do know a really good Hortimancer,” she added. “But that brings me back to my idea about the scrycasting mirrors. While we’re talking with Guardian Kerric, Guardian Dominor, I can ask him if he can send over a copy of the prophecy scrolls for your wife, if you like.”

“I’ll do that myself,” he stated. “Or I’ll never hear the end of it. Let’s get to the Fountainway before something else crops up.”

Trailing behind, Saleria followed the pair down the hall where they had met, around a corner, and into a large, oval chamber filled with columns . . . and a shimmering, pulsing sphere that spewed colorful ribbons in all directions. The look of them, the feel of the energies wafting against her inner senses, was familiar. It took her a few moments to realize the ribbons were streams of differentiated magic, much like the sap-dripping vines of the Bower. But where those fed pools on the moss– and cobblestone-lined ground, these vanished into sculpted pipe mouths.

Dominor did not lead them to the shining spark-in-a-bubble that was the Nightfall Fountain, however. For one, there were subtle shimmering walls in the way, protective wards that would prevent anyone unauthorized from getting close. Saleria knew the commands for similar wards for the Grove, but rarely used them, as they required a great deal of energy to invoke prior to attunement. For another, that wasn’t the reason why they were here.

Instead, the Guardian of the local Fountain led them to a mirror hung on one of the artfully carved walls, set in the center of bas-relief knotwork carved by some mathemagically precise hand. Used to the chaotic natural lines of the Grove, Saleria couldn’t help but admire all the formal symmetry and smoothness, the timeless stillness of all the images she had seen carved so far.

“Anan!”

The spellword, backed by a faint but still tangible pulse of power from the tall, dark mage, pulled her attention back to the mirror. Shaped out of the same materials for the frame and hung sideways just like her own back in the Bower, it quickly resolved into the familiar sight of the curly-haired Master of the Tower. He only glanced their way briefly, however.

“Ah, Guardian Dominor—please hold just a few moments, I’m almost done here—” The screen turned a soothing shade of blue for a long moment. Just when Saleria was ready to sigh with impatience, the image of Kerric Vo Mos returned. He smiled at them—then widened his eyes. “Guardian Saleria? With Guardians Dominor and Serina?”

“Yes. We’re about to start the Convocation of Gods and Man,” Dominor stated. He paused briefly when Kerric blinked and stared, and dipped his head in acknowledgment of the occasion. “And Guardian Saleria—who is here to represent the Empire of Katan—suggested we make a scrycast recording of the event. It was suggested to maybe try a live mirror-scrying, but given how the Convocation is opened, I’m not sure if that’s even possible. But you said you could capture mirror images for later viewing, so—”

“Yes, yes!” Kerric stated, recovering from his shock in a hurry. He twisted in his seat, or rather twisted it, making the bookshelves turn behind him. “Topside Control, I need five—no, six—recording crystals up here on the double! Pack an instruction manual with them, in the Katani tongue. They’re really easy to use,” he added to Dominor, his wife, and the Katani priestess as he turned back to them. “Just stick them to a wall with a good viewing angle of the whole chamber, activate them with the spellwords from the book, and they’ll do the rest. Normally we’d charge for this sort of thing, but this one’s on the Tower.”

“This one’s on the what?” Serina asked, frowning. “The Convocation is taking place here, not there.”

“I meant, everything those crystals record will be offered in free distribution to all kingdoms with access to Tower scrycasts,” he explained. “Normally all scrycastings come at a cost, because the Tower has a lot of expenses behind the scenes, but this is too important to the whole world.”

Saleria smiled at him, pleased he wasn’t interested in making gold off such a momentous event. “You are a credit to your Guardianship, Master Kerric.”

“Call me a Guardian for this,” Kerric muttered. “The Master of the Tower side of me will have to figure out how to juggle expenses for the rebroadcastings, and I’m not looking forward to that. Oh—don’t worry about editing anything on the crystals. I’ll have the Tower scrycasting mages review it for good angles, audio augmentation spells, and cutting out any unwanted or sensitive information. Here, let me dig up a contract for that; we sometimes record and recast scryings of important events for certain clients . . . such as Senod-Gra . . . ah, here come the crystals. Put a couple up high, so they get a bird’s eye view of things, and put the others just over head-height, so that they won’t have their viewpoints blocked by too many bodies in the way.”

Saleria thought about it, and nodded. “I think I see your point. I’ve climbed some of the trees in the Grove, and seen different views of the Sacred Garden. It changes everything . . . If you like, Guardian Dominor, I can place them around the amphitheater.”

His attention had shifted to his Fountain, but he nodded. “Since it was your idea, I’ll entrust it to your hands. No crystals are to be activated in here, though, and none directly across from the giant doors. I don’t want anyone seeing the exact layout of our Fountain.”

“Understood.”

The reply came from both Kerric and Saleria, who exchanged a quick look. Kerric dipped his head. “That’ll definitely be on the list of things to get blocked out of the scrycastings; you have my word as a fellow Guardian.”

Dominor moved off to catch the incoming objects. Idly turning to watch him, Saleria noticed that one of the copper-colored ribbons was ruffled. It was the same hue as the sap-pool for communications back at the Bower. Mindful of the sleeping infant, she nudged Serina. “Um . . . is that ribbon-thing supposed to be doing that?”

Just as Serina turned to look in the direction of her finger, Saleria saw the ribbon roil with the slightly distorted, strident tones of a familiar voice. “Guardian Dominor! Whoever you’re chatting with, get off the mirror and get my daughter!”

“Oh, Moons,” Serina muttered. “Mother.”

The one word clearly summed up her entire feeling on the matter. Or rather, the tone behind it. Saleria silently touched her arm, giving Serina some sympathy. Her own family loved her, and she loved them, but not every novice in the training temple had come from such a pleasant background. Sighing roughly, the tall, pale-haired woman strode toward the ribbon. Saleria, torn between her curiosity and the need to stay by Kerric, felt relieved when the Guardian of the Tower spoke.

“And . . . that should be it. You should have everything you need now. Those crystals can record up to twenty days’ worth apiece, so long as they’re not tampered with, and provided there’s enough light to read a book by,” he informed Saleria. “If it grows dark, that’ll use up the spellpower imbued into them.”

“I’ll let Guardian Dominor know,” Saleria reassured him.

He flashed her a brief smile and flicked his hand, ending the mirror-call. Faced with her own, ordinary reflection, Saleria ignored it and peered into the silvered glass, trying to see what Serina was doing beyond her shoulder. The Arithmancer seemed to be muttering to herself and tugging on her long pale braid with her free hand, then she stuck her fingers in the coppery mist-ribbon.

“Yes, Mother?” she asked tartly.

Saleria quickly raised her voice. “The mirror’s free!”

Serina nodded. “The mirror’s free, Mother. Would you like to make this a civilized call, or just rant via the Fontways directly?”

“I have had a very trying day with a very serious shock, child. Do not sass your mother. I’ll be on the mirror in a moment.”

The Keeper of the Grove watched the ex-Guardian of Koral-tai roll her eyes, turn around, and trudge back to the mirror . . . which chimed when she was not quite halfway there. Serina flipped her hand at their guest. Saleria reached out to it, activating the surface. “Baol.”

It responded to the intent shaping the magic behind her choice of word, even though it was a different one than Guardian Dominor had used. The older version of Serina appeared on the screen, her lips compressed into a thin line and her lightly tanned face a bit mottled from an indignant flush. She drew in a breath to make some comment . . . then stopped, squinted at Saleria, and quirked her brows. “. . . Guardian Saleria? What are you doing on this mirror? I know I connected the scrycasting correctly—Serina! What is this Guardian doing on this mirror?”

“Don’t answer that,” Serina muttered under her breath. Raising her voice to a conversation level, she dredged up a smile for her parent. “Greetings, Mother. How are you doing today?”

“Terrible!” Ilaiea snapped, scowling. “Do you know what your niece did?”

“Which niece, Mother?” Serina asked patiently. “At last count, I had five of them.”

“Reina, Ranora’s daughter?” Ilaiea clarified impatiently.

“Since I haven’t chatted with her directly in almost five years, and since you’ve rarely mentioned her when you and I chat . . . no, Mother. Do enlighten me,” the ex-Guardian told the Moonlands Guardian. “What did she do?”

“She has the eyes of the Singer!”

Once again, Saleria felt incredibly ignorant of other lands, because the Arithmancer’s bored expression changed in an instant to a shocked look. Eyes wide, she blinked at her mother. “Reina has the eyes of the Singer?”

“Yes! Today was her channeling day, when her magics were to have been given to the . . .” Ilaiea trailed off, her gaze sliding to Saleria’s face, then to Dominor’s, who was moving up behind the two women, joining them. “Never mind that. Priest Soren was doing it—we were all in attendance, all the extended family—and just as he raised the sacred stone to her forehead, the normal brown of her eyes drained completely away!

“And worse, when I tried to dispel any illusion, not only did they not change back, Soren couldn’t even touch the Sacred Stone to her hand, never mind her forehead!” Ilaiea looked upset at that thought. Clueless, Saleria waited to see what else might be revealed of their foreign ways. “It’s like the child has somehow found a spell or a source of magic more powerful than the Gods Themselves! She defies the very bloodline of the Inoma with those eyes. She is my sister’s child—and I’ll remind you that your younger sister, Kayla, is still very much alive and well, so it’s not like the impertinent girl is some sort of post-tragedy replacement.”

Nope, Saleria thought. I have not a single clue what they’re talking about.

Serina studied her golden-eyed mother with her normal, round-pupil, honey-amber eyes, then sighed heavily as if making up her mind. “Don’t fret, Mother. I am quite certain that it is not some sort of act of defiance. Reina is a lovely child—or she was when I last visited five years ago—and I cannot think her temperament has changed that much in the interim. But if it makes you feel better, I shall make sure to ask Brother Moon and Sister Moon directly as to whether or not this is a genuine Mark of the Singer.”

Ilaiea arched one light blonde brow. “You, ask the Gods Themselves? Since when did you take up a holy calling, child? Last you mentioned, you were still playing with numbers.”

Serina smiled. It was a tight expression, evoking yet another wave of sympathy from the Katani priestess at her side, for Saleria did not like Ilaiea. The priestess had to respect the older woman as a fellow Guardian, and even trust her to do her job well, but Saleria did not like her.

From the way her hands clasped and clenched behind the small of her back, tugging on the end of her long, pale braid, it was clear Serina didn’t particularly like her mother, either. “Unlike you, I am not confined to any one land . . . or any one role, Mother. A few days ago, I became a mother myself. A few years ago, I became a Guardian. And in just a few hours, maybe even a few bare minutes . . . I will become a personal witness to the restoration of the Convocation of Gods and Man.”

Ilaiea looked like she had swallowed a small, live fish, one that was was wriggling on its way down. Saleria carefully bit her tongue behind closed lips, not wanting to laugh at this inopportune moment. Serina wasn’t through, after all.

“During said Convocation, I will politely and respectfully ask Brother and Sister Moons, holy siblings and Patron Deities of the Moonlands, as to whether or not Reina’s Mark of the Singer is a true Mark. I will do so on your behalf, with the priest or priestess being collected from the Moonlands as we speak being a second witness to this momentous event . . . and then I or he or she will get back to you eventually . . . because I don’t think we’ll be able to use the Fountainway to communicate with anyone for who knows how many days the Convocation will last. According to the old scrolls I read, this could take up to a month. In the meantime, it would be best if you treated Reina as if this were the will of the Moons . . . for They will be watching her, if she is indeed a new Singer.”

She smiled at her mother, and snapped her fingers. The mirror link stayed active. Belatedly, Saleria muttered her power-word for ending such things, and the image of Ilaiea on a plain blue background vanished, replaced with a reflection of the three of them and the shimmering, pastel energies of the Fountain in the background.

“Well,” Dominor muttered, “that was a bit different. Is she always that unpleasant? Because every time I’ve chatted with her . . .”

“The Inoma of the Moonlands? Arch mage and sovereign queen and who knows what else rolled into one?” Serina replied tersely. “I’d be more likely to die of shock if she were ever not arrogant. The desire to actually learn and use my magic instead of having it bound into our nation’s many protections wasn’t the only thing that drove me out of the safety and secrecy of the Moonlands.”

A deep breath, and she let it go. Literally and visibly, for she had started tugging on her long plait. Releasing it, she took another breath and let that go, too.

“But I am in a wonderful nation with a magnificent husband, two adorable little melons who are no longer making me feel bloated and cranky . . . just sleepless and cranky . . . and I don’t have to deal with her if I don’t want to.”

Saleria started to say something, then reviewed what it was and changed it around. “I was about to say I wish you could’ve had a more caring mother like mine . . . but if yours hadn’t driven you out of your homeland, then you wouldn’t have gained a wonderful husband and your lovely twins. So I hope you take it in the spirit it was meant, and not a wish to ruin what you now have.”

Serina smiled wryly. “I do understand, thank you.”

“I guess in the end it turned out for the best. Didn’t it, my love?” Dominor asked his wife.

“Yes, my swaybacked donkey.” Serina said it fondly, as if the words were a form of endearment. Guardian Dominor grinned and kissed her briefly. The box in his hands and the infants slung in front of both their chests got in the way for anything more than that.

Saleria held up her hands. “I’ll take that, if you like.”

“Yes, please. And thank you, Saleria,” Dominor added, handing her the heavy chest. “It’s good to know we have friends in Katan—we may seem lighthearted at the moment, but the reason why we’re reconvening the Convocation so quickly is because Duke Finneg, the Councillor for Conflict Resolution, has kidnapped Kelly’s blood-bound sister, Hope, and done something to hide her from all scrying eyes. He’s joined forces with a group of Mendhites who want to steal away the ability to create the Convocation from us, including a fight up in Nightfall Castle shortly before you and the others started to arrive. But with the aid of the Gods on our side, we should be able to find and rescue Morganen’s lady . . . but I fear with the political might of Katan arrayed against us, it may indeed take an act of the Gods.”

She didn’t know who Morganen was, but that wasn’t important. It was the dangers and threats his family had just gone through that made her frown in confusion. She looked around the Fountain hall, then back at him. “All these troubles besieging you, yet you trust me—a near-stranger and a Katani, associated by default with the Councillor for Conflict Resolution—here in the heart of your Bower? This close to your Fountain?”

“Of course we do,” Serina answered for him. “You’re a Guardian. You know that the world itself must be your first concern, because of the great power at your beck and call, and the great responsibility your Font demands of you. National boundaries don’t even come into it.”

“Plus, you’re a priest. Even Lady Apista, the Councillor for the Temples, knew to do the right thing when we demanded a sacred bell so we could declare our independence,” Dominor stated. He gestured for them to head toward the corridor. “Now, trusted or otherwise, we do need to get back into the amphitheater. Even with the newly recruited servants trickling in, we’ll still be needed to help welcome and make comfortable all the other holy representatives.”

His comment about doing the right thing made Saleria smile wryly, remembering something Aradin had told her. “Not every priest or priestess would be so altruistic, Guardian. The first pick for coming here as the holy representative of Katan was actually rather anti-Nightfall, according to Witch Aradin Teral—oh, and speaking of them, I hope to get my hands on a recording of the Convocation for them to watch, as well as for the people of Groveham and its surroundings.”

“Groveham?” Serina asked her.

It felt good to know something that someone else—a foreigner—did not. “Groveham is the town attached to the Sacred Wedding Grove, where Holy Kata and Blessed Jinga were wed, uniting Katan into an empire many centuries ago. I am the Keeper of the Grove as well as its Guardian. There is a Prelate—a sort of mid-ranked priest—who tends to their daily spiritual needs, but I am still a member of the community. My work is a bit more broad in its scope, for I tend to the daily stream of petitions from all over the empire. You specialize in mathemagics,” she allowed, “but I specialize in prayer.”

“Which makes you a very apt choice as a holy representative for this,” Serina agreed. The infant in her chest sling started to wake up again, making little grunting noises. The blonde Arithmancer sighed. “Oh, Moons . . . I know that sound. That’s the sound Galea makes when she’s starving. Timoran will follow her lead, too, if I don’t get them settled for a snack . . .”

“Then let’s get you seated,” Dominor told his wife. “Saleria will tend to the crystals, I’ll tend to the incoming priests, and you’ll tend to our children.”

With the arrival of the last priest, a bound and gagged fellow from the kingdom of Mekhana who arrived in an alarming condition she couldn’t quite catch the reason for, since he was quickly taken to a bench on the far side of the front row from the seat she had claimed, the Convocation was called to order. The incipient Queen Kelly wasn’t the most divinely inspired public speaker Saleria had ever heard, but she wasn’t too bad, either. At least the redheaded woman spoke with enough volume and clear diction to be heard by the roughly three hundred or so people gathered in the chamber.

The moment the Gateway of Heaven opened, Saleria knew it was the real thing. She had felt this pulse of pure, clean . . . magic wasn’t the right word for it, and energy wasn’t, and even light and warmth only circled around the sensation, rather than described it. The touch of the Divine, the holiness of pure holy. Difficult to describe in words, because it was felt with the soul and the heart.

She felt a tiny scrap of it every time she sent off a perfect prayer. Not perfect in its wording, but perfect in its intent and its goodness. Like releasing one of those dandelion tufts into a gentle, warm wind and watching it rise to dance in the blessing of the sunshine before being whisked off to parts unknown. Of course, the first God summoned through the Gateway was not her God or Goddess, but the Threefold God, Fate. Even Saleria, ignorant as she was about many outlander things, knew of the Weaver of Time, the oldest acknowledged and continually worshipped God of the world.

Staring at Fate as They walked toward Their indicated seat, old-young-middle-aged, male-female-neither, was like looking at a blurred ray of sunshine. A quick glance at Etrechim’s face showed tears trickling down his cheeks, his gaze fastened on his ever-changing God, his lips parted on a breathless, beatific smile. For a brief moment, she wondered if she would look like that, too.

Then They were called, summoned by the strong, respectful voice of the incipient queen. “I summon Jinga and Kata, Boisterous God and Beloved Goddess of Katan, Patrons of the Four Seasons of Life!”

The coruscating shades of light streaming through the great arched door between the amphitheater and the Fountain Hall rippled, and They stepped through. The mere sunbeam of Fate quadrupled, filling Saleria’s world. She did not notice Kelly bidding Them to take a seat, nor did she hear the names of the next few Patron Deities. All she could see was dark-skinned Jinga, His full lips parted in a grin that made His brown eyes twinkle, and the serene, closed-lipped smile of the pale, blonde, blue-eyed Kata.

They came clad in the finely embroidered clothes and adult faces of Their summer aspects. Spring was the Lover and the Maiden, the youthful aspects; autumn the Father and Mother of the harvest-time, the providers for Their people. Winter, of course, was reserved for the Crone and the Guide, filled with the wisdom of the elderly. Summer, however, was the time of the Lord and the Lady, sometimes called the strong Warrior and the benevolent Guardian. Saleria was relieved to see Jinga clad in the silks of the Lord, rather than the leathers of the Warrior; had there been any doubt as to whether or not They approved of this incipient kingdom restarting the Convocation, that one key difference was all the proof she needed.

(Of course We come in peace,) she heard a male voice whisper in her mind. Not Teral’s, not Aradin’s, not any voice she had ever heard, but definitely a voice she knew well. (Though I wouldn’t put it that way to yonder queen,) Jinga added, His voice filling her heart with the sound of His mirth. (She’d laugh for reasons far too difficult to explain.)

“Oh, Jinga . . .” The name of her Patron Deities escaped her on a sigh. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she looked upon Them. They had chosen a pair of granite thrones set close together, and clasped Their hands with a fond look for each other. “Oh, Kata.”

(You’ve done very well by Our people all these years, Keeper of the Grove,) she heard her Goddess reply, those bluer-than-blue eyes turning her way. (As you yourself have put it, you were asleep until just this last little while. Awakened by the kiss of awareness. Do not fret over the regrets of the past, and do not worry over the choices of your present. Just be mindful that the path of your future should be constantly double-checked to make sure you are still headed in a rightful direction.)

(Kiss of awareness, My Sacred Ass,) Jinga snorted in Saleria’s mind. Such blunt speech was so very much the way the Katani people imagined Him to speak, it made her want to laugh. He slipped her a wink across the many lengths between her seat and His. (More like a hundred kisses of love. And caresses, and . . .)

(Shhh,) Kata whispered back, sounding both quelling and mirthful at the same time. (This is supposed to be a solemn occasion.)

(A joyous occasion,) Jinga corrected Her.

Listening to Them, Saleria wanted to laugh and cry, sing and shout. These were the God and Goddess she had been raised to believe in. The God and Goddess whose divine touch she had felt while singing one day. The benevolent, joyous Patron Deities of Katan, boisterous and serene, protective and encouraging . . . everything. Everything she had ever believed.

It was a good thing she had all the time it took for Queen Kelly to summon forth the many other Gods and Goddesses of the world. All Saleria could do, all she wanted to do for that first long while, was bask in the glory of her Patrons. It felt like . . . well, it felt like being wrapped up in the snuggliest, cuddliest warm hug of her parents’ arms, and she didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, of course, she had to address the concerns of her people. But for a long while, wrapped in that spiritual embrace, she was able to just be. That, and being connected directly to Their thoughts, she took the time to ask a few questions about the Grove.

So . . . the Grove . . . it’s okay for me to make all the changes I’ve been making? She tried to think the thoughts as clearly as she could.

(Of course. You are the Keeper of the Grove. It is your task to decide how to tend its grounds,) Kata told her.

But all this time, just one Keeper, no support staff . . . ? She couldn’t help her confusion and its plaintive question.

(Prophecy.)

The one-word answer came from Jinga, His tone sober. Most of the time, the Katani people thought of him as the passion-filled, boisterous God, always ready to celebrate life at the drop of an excuse . . . but there were times when He was the stern and serious Warrior, protector of the people. He didn’t say outright, but Saleria got the feeling that there was a definite purpose behind the nonsense all past Keepers had been forced to put up with until now. It was equally clear They were not going to discuss it, however.

So . . . I have Your official blessing to demand a bigger staff for the Grove? she wanted to clarify.

Kata smiled at her, as warm as sunshine, if the sun could shine from the inside out rather than merely against her skin. (Of course. You are now the chief Guardian of the Grove, as well as its Keeper . . . but We will discuss its needs later.)

(For now, you may relax and just be yourself,) Jinga told her. He flicked His gaze to the side, toward the unseen source of all those shimmering rays pouring in through the Fountain Hall door. (Things will get a little . . . interesting . . . as soon as the Naming of Names is done, and this Convocation fully begins.)

Interesting wasn’t the word for it. Saleria preferred jaw-dropping when she thought about it later, because that was exactly what it was.

Certainly, she was a touch afraid at first. Even with the Lord and the Lady aspects of her Deities on hand to protect her—and she knew They would protect her—it was still unnerving to watch the scene that unfolded the moment the last God was Named.

Stepping through the Gateway of Heaven, Mekha looked half-dead, with one arm clinging to his shoulder via some sort of Artifact-mechanism dotted with gears and crystals and who knew what else . . . and He did not resize Himself to fit in the thrones allotted for the various Deities. He in fact challenged the entire existence of the Convocation, and the presence of the very woman who had brought all of the priests and priestesses here through her Doorway.

Within moments, the plan their red-headed hostess had outlined for the orderly progression of all these priestly petitions before the Gods was thrown out the nearest window. Accusations of power-stealing flew back and forth between the Patron of Engineering and the blonde Witch-priestess. It was like watching children throwing a ball back and forth between themselves, save that this ball had spikes on it.

The moment Mekha lifted His massive arm to strike down the defiant blonde Witch was the moment Queen Kelly made Saleria’s jaw drop. Bounding up to stride between the two of them, the incipient queen proved she had more bravery than anyone Saleria had ever heard of, not only demanding that both quarrelers sit down, but threatening to spank the God of Engineering—the God of Engineering!

Saleria did not know all the details behind what she was hearing, but the priest who had arrived bound and gagged as the last to arrive was the priest for the God Mekha, the Patron of Engineering, the supposed God for the kingdom of Mekhana . . . and the tale that priest told, when it was his turn to speak, was a chilling one, corroborating the accusations that had been flying across the chamber between Mekha and the Witch-priestess Orana Niel.

Saleria couldn’t help it; when she heard how Mekha had been stealing the powers of His worshippers literally for centuries, she leaned back in revulsion from the Thing that dared call itself a God. She wasn’t the only holy representative appalled, either. Anathema! This, what they were all hearing, went against everything she had ever heard of about the covenants of trust implicit and inherent between a Deity and the people He or She patroned!

It was Fate’s question that pulled her out of her disgust.

“Arbiter, you have reached your verdict?”

The arbiter in question was the queen of Nightfall. Something in the way the Threefold God spoke those words sharpened all of Saleria’s senses. A quick peek around showed she wasn’t the only one blinking and focusing. This is something important . . .

(Yes,) she heard both Kata and Jinga whisper to her, Their voices curling around her thoughts in unison. Sitting up straighter, she paid close attention.

The strawberry blonde incipient queen cleared her throat, looking a little nervous, or perhaps unnerved. But she didn’t hesitate more than a moment. “Ah, yes, Holiness. I have heard and seen enough to make a judgment. Mekha is not a Patron Deity,” Kelly stated. “Not by its definition. He does not care for the people He claims are His. We have heard how a member of His own clergy serves more out of fear than of love, and we have seen Him ignore that cleric. He steals His subjects’ powers like Broger of Devries tried to steal the powers of his relatives.”

Once again, Saleria had no clue who that was. She hoped that, at some point in this Convocation, she would get to hear at least some of the rest of this story, which seemed to have spanned more than two centuries, and had apparently caused the destruction of the last Convocation of Gods and Man, and the subsequent Shattering of Aiar that had torn the once mighty empire into shredded little kingdoms on the continent to the north . . . and who knows what else. But for now, she had to sit in puzzled silence, a bemused spectator of the resolution of a long history she did not yet know.

“There is an old saying from my world in regard to certain belief systems,” the queen of Nightfall continued.

On my world? She’s an outworlder? She’s the outworlder on throne? A subtle hush from Kata made her quell her thoughts.

“‘As above, so below,’” Kelly recited. “And it meant that Heaven and Earth should be aligned in how they behave. Mortals are encouraged to behave in good ways. In turn, Heaven is supposed to be the ultimate definition and repository of good. But in this world, that saying works both ways. As below, so above. What we believe, You become,” she stressed, looking at the Gods before her. “Broger and his son Barol both died as a consequence of their crimes, the attempt to steal the powers of others for their own use and purpose.”

Gods—more anathema! Magic was inherent in people; most had only a little, some had more, and a rare few had a lot, but that was just what a person was handed in life, and you had to deal with your lot, just as you had to deal with a snub nose or a pointy one, red hair or brown, long legs or short ones. She hushed herself before Kata or Jinga could, fingers clinging to the edge of her bench as she waited to hear more.

“They killed or intended to kill others, and they died for their murderous crimes.” Squaring her shoulders, Kelly pronounced her judgment as Arbiter of the Convocation. “Thus it is only fitting that Mekha suffer the same fate. He is not a Patron Deity . . .”

She felt it. Saleria felt all the Gods and Goddesses in the chamber wrapping Their will around the God of Engineering, stifling His powers.

“. . . and he is not a God.” Kelly stated grimly. “He is nothing more than a magically enhanced, murderous thief. A bully, beating up whomever he can find for the magical equivalent of lunch money.”

A bully indeed, Saleria silently agreed. Then blinked, mind reeling, as Kelly continued. Their hostess outlined how Mekha should be stripped of all power, and that energy purified and given back to the people of Mekhana, who had suffered most under His rule, because He . . . or rather, he . . . was not a living being? Her jaw dropped again. It was true that Saleria didn’t think that Kata and Jinga needed to eat, breathe, or sleep like mere mortals, but . . . to not consider a God a being? Yes, They were manifestations of the group will and belief of Their worshippers, but . . .

. . . It was done. As she watched, each of the Gods and Goddesses raised one hand. Mekha, diminished in stature and eminence by the Arbiter’s words, by her mortal judgment . . . dissolved and faded. Leaving Saleria with the echo of Kelly’s last words tumbling through her mind.

They’ll have a rough time figuring out what to do with themselves, and who or what to worship next, but at least they’ll finally be free to try . . . ? Oh Gods, those poor Mekhanans . . . The horror of what they must have endured all this while struck her. Raised in the Katani Empire, where the strongest of mages often took up positions of power in the government, and where any young girl or boy could dream of developing enough magical power in puberty to one day contend for the throne of the empire and be its sovereign king or queen . . . It was unspeakable, what those poor Mekhanans must have endured, living in fear of their so-called God finding out some of them had magic and sucking it out of them, just to selfishly keep himself alive.

She could feel Jinga’s arms enfolding her soul, lending comfort to her in her distress. (It’s alright . . . They will find their way soon enough.)

(You have your own thoughts to gather,) Kata added. (For you will soon have your chance to speak the will and the wishes of Katan. Not only to Us—who have heard them every single day, prayed to Us by you and the other Keepers—but to all the Gods of this world. Make sure your requests are worthy ones. You will have a lot of power to back any changes you would have Us make, if We agree they are worth being made.)

(Don’t think you have to present them right away, either,) Jinga added, as their hostess strove to come up with a suitable symbol for the Convocation. (We will be here for several days, and you may make requests of Us at any point in time. This Convocation . . . will not be the most organized of sessions,) He added, a touch of amusement coloring His thoughts. (But it will continue to be interesting.)

I’ve no doubt, she thought back at Him, a bit dazed still at having seen a God stripped of power and dissolved back into the aether. A moment later, she sharpened her focus on what was being done and said outside of her head. . . . Chocolate? What exactly is this “chocolate” thing Queen Kelly mentions?

This time, it was Kata who chuckled. (Did you not hear her? She claims it’s the food of the Gods!)

. . . Right.

Etrechim was not the most eloquent of speakers. It was clear he was a true priest of his people, for he spoke passionately before his Patron and the other Gods, but he wasn’t very organized, he hadn’t really brought anything written down to help him stay on track, and it was clear he was still overwhelmed by being in the presence of his Deity.

Slightly more accustomed to at least praying to her Deities, if not always to receiving a direct reply, Saleria wasn’t entirely overwhelmed. Still a bit in awe, but not overwhelmed. In fact, she discreetly slipped out of her seat to go find one of the hastily assembled servants at the back of the now crowded room. Her request for writing materials to augment the original notes she had made was greeted with a nod and a murmur that the man would do his best to find and fetch her something.

As she returned to the Convocation hall, she crossed paths with a light-brown-haired man, his eyes as aqua-blue as Kelly’s, but with the look of Guardian Dominor about his face. She turned to watch him go, wondering if he was one of Dominor’s apparent plethora of brothers, but the young man had his attention on a woman retreating from the hall. Hoping she would have time to meet Dominor’s kin later, she resumed her seat.

Two minutes later, the servant in the sunset-clad tabard made his way over to her, crouching a little to try not to disrupt the view of the others watching Etrechim continue his somewhat rambling recital. She accepted the inkpot, quill, and blank sheet of paper he handed her, and wrote down, Suggest to Queen Kelly the next Convocation of Gods and Man starts with more time to accustom everyone to their Deities, or at least have them come a lot more prepared for their allotted time.

Only then did it occur to her that she was understanding Etrechim’s long-winded, rambling speech.

(Of course you’re understanding it,) Kata whispered in her mind. (The Convocation of Gods and Man would be nigh-useless as a way to bring the world together in peace and understanding every four years if you couldn’t understand each other the moment the Gateway of Heaven was opened. But it only works in proximity to the Gateway of Heaven.)

(Keep in mind that, once the Gateway is shut, you’ll have to go back to either babbling at each other without comprehension, or you’ll have to actually learn each other’s languages, by rote memorization, spell, or potion,) Jinga cautioned her. (Now organize your thoughts, Daughter of Katan.)

She had that much warning before the Fortunai priest ceased his speeches with a trio of heartfelt bows and thanks to his God, and a sweeping bow to all the Deities. That allowed Queen Kelly to step up and speak.

“Um, Nauvea,” she said, addressing the least powerful of the Goddesses gathered in the chamber. “If I may petition you very quickly on behalf of my sister?”

“She is ready. Do not delay your own duties,” the young Goddess in the white dress with the white flower in Her hair stated, smiling.

“Right . . . the next person . . .” Kelly consulted a pad of paper. Saleria was already in motion, leaving the quill, inkpot, and paper behind, but fetching out the scroll Daranen had prepared for this moment. “That would be Priestess Saleria of Katan,” the newly confirmed Queen of Nightfall asserted. “Speak your piece, worship the, ah, Father Kata and Jinga as you see fit—”

The Father what? Saleria blinked at the other woman in shock. Only the chuckling of Kata Herself in the back of her mind saved her from being affronted by such mangled near-blasphemy.

(Be gentle and gracious,) Kata encouraged her, as Kelly pushed her pad of notes onto Guardian Dominor, muttering something about queenly business elsewhere. (She’s in the middle of rescuing her blood-bound sister from the “bad guys” as we speak. It has the woman a little flustered, as it would fluster anyone.)

Right, Saleria thought back at Her and Him. Gracious it is. I can do gracious—if things are as bad as Dominor hinted, please, lend Your aid to helping these kind people, she prayed, moving to the center of the hall. They have reconvened the Convocation of Gods and Man . . . and . . . bollocks to this. I’m saying this out loud, she asserted mentally. And got a chuckle from Jinga.

“Unto Holy Kata, Maiden and Mother, Lady and Crone, and unto Holy Jinga, Lover and Father, Lord and Guide, Patrons of the Four Aspects of Life and of the Empire of Katan . . . thank You for watching over and blessing Your people all these many years,” she stated in preamble. “Before I read from the list of Your people’s greatest concerns that have been assembled over these last two hundred years, I would like to take this moment to greet all the Gods of the world, and to ask that You continue to shower blessings upon Queen Kelly, her family, her friends, her citizens, and all those who have ever showed them kindness in the path they have taken to reach this day.”

Though her words were not one of the carefully crafted prayer-speeches Daranen usually developed for her, she spoke them with the same heartfelt conviction she gave to any petition for the sake of Katan. Several of the Gods and Goddesses dipped Their heads slightly in acknowledgment of her request, encouraging her to continue.

“I know that there have been some concerns as to whether or not Katan as a nation should even acknowledge this newly founded kingdom—”

(Empire,) Jinga corrected her.

“—Empire, sorry,” she apologized, heeding His correction without thinking. “But literally being the person the vast majority of the Empire sends its concerns to, concerns which they wish You to address, I can safely state that the vast majority of Katani harbor no feelings or wishes of ill will toward these Nightfallers . . . despite whatever our government may have complained about. So on behalf of the people of Katan, I thank You for your support of our Convocation’s host-nation.”

“Well-spoken,” Fate praised her. The Threefold Deity had apparently been selected to speak for all the rest when a group response was required.

She bowed politely to Them in Their ever-changing Aspects, then returned her attention to the scroll in her hands. If she looked too long at Kata and Jinga Themselves, she might start to babble like Etrechim. It was important for the people of Katan to be represented well, however, so she unbound the rods and unrolled the first portion.

“Hear then, O Gods, the concerns of the people of Katan as they may have touched not only the citizens of the Empire, but those of other lands as well . . .”

Prelate Lanneraun was a riot when away from the sanctity of his cathedral and its eight altars, very much resembling his Patron Deity, Jinga. He was almost as old as that priest had been back in the Westraven Chapel, Prelate Tomaso, and had a plethora of amusing, even outright hilarious tales regarding his job as the chief Groveham priest, most of which centered around various hilarious incidents involving all the weddings he had officiated over the years. Aradin found himself laughing so hard that at more than one point he had to wipe tears from his eyes, particularly over the story about the hunter whose pet ferrets had somehow gotten loose and gone on a rampage through the wedding banquet set up on a table in one of the Groveham cathedral’s side halls.

“. . . And of course by then, there was absolutely no way anyone was going to eat anything at any of those tables. That is, until the huntsman’s dogs broke loose, chased down the ferrets, and started licking them! Not to mention all the platters smeared with food!”

Aradin howled in amusement, clutching at his stomach because it hurt so much from all the effort. Lanneraun waited politely while he recovered most of his breath, but neither Aradin nor Teral—who was equally breathless with laughter, for all the Guide technically didn’t breathe—completely trusted him. The wrinkled seams of Lanneraun’s face creased even further as he delivered the final punch line, his dark brown eyes twinkling with merriment.

“That, my dear boy, was when the bride looked at the mess and said, ‘Well, I guess I’ll just have to thank Sweet Kata for ensuring I’ll never need to clean another plate again!’”

He dissolved, helpless with laughter. The Groveham prelate grinned at him, enjoying his breathless mirth. Aradin finally managed to get one full breath, then a second . . . before starting to laugh again. A knock at the door was followed by the panel opening, and a familiar blond head poking itself inside.

“Whatever in the Names of the Gods is going on in here?” he heard Deacon Shanno ask without preamble or leave to enter.

The appearance of the arrogant young man quelled some of Aradin’s merriment, though not quite all of it. He didn’t like the younger man, and didn’t trust him, but Aradin was grateful for the respite. Squirming to sit more upright, he focused on regaining his breath, stomach muscles sore from their workout.

Lanneraun lifted one of his age-gnarled hands, gesturing between them. “Deacon Shanno, I would like you to meet Witch-Envoy Aradin Teral, of Darkhana. Witch Aradin here is the equivalent of a prelate in rank, if not a high priest.”

“Actually, I’m a lot closer to a high priest, if I have the various Katani rankings right . . . deacon, priest, prelate, high priest, and then your holy leader . . . right?” Aradin asked, and received a nod. He managed a smile in Shanno’s direction. “And we have met, if only briefly. I am glad to see you again, Deacon. Your mentor here has a marvelous sense of humor.”

“So I heard,” the young man stated dryly, folding his arms. “Prelate, what is this outlander doing here?”

Lanneraun lifted his age-thinned brows, their color long since turned white above his brown eyes. “Manners, Deacon Shanno. Witch-priest Aradin has been assigned here by the Gods Themselves as an assistant to Keeper Saleria. Even if he weren’t assigned to Groveham, he should still have your respect as a holy guest.”

Shanno compressed his lips into a thin line. He gave Aradin only the slightest tip of his head . . . then narrowed his blue eyes. “Wait . . . as an assistant to Keeper Saleria? On whose authority?”

“On the authority of the Gods,” Aradin said, glancing at the younger man from under his lashes. It was clear from the faint sneer on the deacon’s lips that he didn’t quite believe the Witch. “Both my own God and Goddess, Darkhan and Dark Ana, and your God and Goddess, Jinga and Kata, approved of my assignment to assist Keeper Saleria in the management and reclamation of the Sacred Grove.”

“You?” Shanno asked, flipping a hand at Aradin. “A foreigner?”

“Yes. Me. A foreigner.” Aradin wasn’t surprised by his disbelief, or his disdain. The younger man had struck him as a bit arrogant.

“Actually, Aradin Teral here is a highly trained Hortimancer,” Lanneraun stated, supporting Aradin. “He certainly knows his herbology—at the very least his Aian teas. He was able to discern purely by taste the region where the brew I served him was grown, and the spices I like to add.”

Shanno narrowed his blue eyes. “I’ll bet he is. Well. Gods bless you, foreigner. If you’ll excuse me, I must tend to my duties.”

(Oh, for the ability to skulk off in a different body,) Teral sighed in the back of Aradin’s mind. (I don’t quite trust that youth where we are concerned.)

(I don’t think he can really do all that much to us,) Aradin dismissed. (We have the blessing of the Katani Gods, after all.)

“Deacon Shanno is young. A bit arrogant, but hopefully some sense will be knocked into him,” the prelate dismissed.

(Isn’t saying that tugging on the shirt-tail of our divine neighbor, Fate?) Teral asked Aradin.

(Fine. If it happens, I’ll try to be ready for whatever “it” is,) he sighed.

“Now, where were we?” Lanneraun asked rhetorically. “Ah, yes, the huntsman’s wedding . . .”

Aradin quickly held up one hand, the other going to his still-sore stomach muscles. He chuckled lightly, but even that much was motivation to quit. “Please, have mercy, Brother Prelate; I don’t think my stomach can take much more mirth. That, and it’s past midafternoon. I’ll need to hurry to make my pre-dusk rounds. With Her Holiness at the Convocation, maintaining the safety of the Grove is up to me in her absence.”

“Ah, well . . . it’s so nice to have an appreciative audience who hasn’t heard my tales before. But I do understand the call of one’s duty. May Kata and Jinga bless you in your tending of the Grove, Brother Aradin,” Lanneraun stated, rising to his feet with a little effort; but only a little.

Rising as well, Aradin clasped hands with him. “I do look forward to hearing the rest of your tales another day. Gods bless you, too. I’ll go let myself out.”

Nodding, Lanneraun waved him off, moving from his visiting chairs to the seat behind his desk. Aradin turned left as he exited the room. There was a side door he could use that would avoid the main sanctuary, one that would get him closer to the Keeper’s home by a full city block. As he passed the next door, he could hear Deacon Shanno speaking.

“What do you mean, she’s busy? I need to speak to Lady Apista immediately!” the deacon asserted.

An unfamiliar voice spoke in an apologetic tone, but by that point Aradin was well past the doorway and couldn’t hear the exact words. Mindful of the passing time, he hurried out the side door. Between Aradin and Teral, the two of them could control and use up the flow of two thirds of the Grove’s rift-energies without having to visit each locus tree. But with Saleria absent, her rift’s magic would have to be gathered and used up the old-fashioned way, which meant walking the outer wall to empower its wards.