Page 12 of From the Myths of Kings

“We only need two?”

“If you play your cards right, you’ll only need two,” Tezrus confirmed with a nod, his eyes flashing in the darkness. “Of course, the Relics are most powerful when all four are used in conjunction, but I have long theorized that each one holds great power on their own. Even with just two, I believe you can create a similar binding spell which will not only banish Selussa back to the Underworld once and for all, but also wipe the Titans from this earth for good.”

“How do we use them to create a binding spell?” Saoirse asked.

Tezrus paused, running a hand through his bone-white hair. “I believe the Relics’ magic must be activated in the same manner they were created in the first place. No one knows for certain, but it is said the Four Kinsman brought their objects to the Northern Wastes in a final, desperate attempt to destroy the Titans,” he finally said. “The Wastes are said to be wild with magic, though its frozen lands are uninhabitable. The Wastes were the first lands of Revelore created by the Titans, but when life failed to thrive there, they abandoned it, leaving the land rife with dangerous magic. The Kinsmen enchanted their objects, turning them into a magic key that could lock away their enemies forever.”

“So we must go to the Northern Wastes just as our ancestors once did,” Saoirse mused. “You believe when the magic is reawakened, the Relics in our possession will destroy the Titans once and for all?” At Tezrus’s nod of confirmation, she continued, “It sounds simple enough, but how are we supposed to rouse the Relics’ enchantment? None of us are experienced in sorcery.”

“Find the Forge in the Northern Wastes,” Tezrus replied. “Much like a blacksmith manipulates metal and molds weapons with fire, so too will the Forge allow you to unlock the Relics’ power and infuse new magic into them—magic great enough to destroy Selussa. But you won’t be alone. I’m coming with you.”

Saoirse gaped at the aged man with cautious optimism. His back was hunched from years of stooping over ancient texts, his pale eyes sunken in his skull. She had to admit the scholar had an admirable amount of energy in his old age, but he hadn’t left the confines of the Soundless Oasis for twenty years. She wasn’t confident in his ability to travel halfway across the world.

“Are you sure?” Noora asked.

“Yes,” Tezrus answered without a moment of hesitation. “I’m done hiding. I want to see Revelore restored to its former glory. I want to see the Order of Elders fall. I will no longer cower in my cave and curse the outside world. What’s the use of all the knowledge I’ve protected if I don’t use it?”

Saoirse chewed on the inside of her mouth. They had a monumental task set before them, one which required faith in the word of an old man who had never seen the Northern Wastes for himself. It was evident Tezrus fully believed in the power of the remaining Relics, but there was no certainty his theory was correct. But Saoirse supposed they were desperate enough to take a chance on even the slimmest probability of success at this point. If Selussa had two Relics in her possession already, what was to stop her from also using magic to revive them? Selussa wouldn’t be defeated by swords and mortal strength alone. They needed to combat her dark magic with magic of their own.

“All right then,” Saoirse conceded. “You know the risks involved. So long as you’re at peace with the possibility of death, we’d be honored to have you with us.”

Tezrus nodded adamantly. He rose from his seat and turned to one of the many shelves embedded into the cave walls. He pushed up his sleeves and began rifling through old texts, his gnarled fingers thumbing through yellowed pages. He opened an ancient tome that looked close to disintegrating in his hands. Its tattered leather binding cracked as he flipped through moth-eaten pages.

“Ah,” the scholar grunted, stopping on a page. He tore it right from the volume with a loud rip. Saoirse winced at the sound. Surely that archaic book was one of the last remaining of its kind.

He brought the torn page over to the table and spread it out before them, fingers tracing over the ink reverently. The hand-painted map was faded and riddled with holes like a decayed leaf. It depicted Revelore, though a vastly outdated version of it. Saoirse skimmed over the map, finding the mysterious scrap of land that hovered on the edge of the world: The Northern Wastes. Most current maps omitted the frozen lands separated from the main continent by an unruly, glacial ocean known as the Nix Sea. A lone star was marked against the frozen tundra.

“I believe this is the location of the Forge,” Tezrus said, pointing to the faded ink with a knobby finger. “This is where we must take the two Relics.”

“There’s only one problem,” Aurelia interrupted sheepishly. Tezrus cocked his head at her. “We don’t have the second Relic in our possession yet,” she admitted. “We only have the ruby arrow of Tellusun. We’ve yet to obtain the Relic from Terradrin. As soon as we return to Bezhad, we’re setting off to the Under Kingdom to steal the Relic from King Grivur before Selussa does.”

Tezrus’s eyes widened in surprise. Saoirse didn’t think it was possible for him to be any paler, but he somehow grew even more sallow. “You’re going to the Under Kingdom?” Saoirse could see the shadows of his past creeping over the old man like a fine mist. She recognized the fear in his eyes, the terror of facing mistakes and regrets head-on.

Tezrus closed his eyes for a long moment. After a labored exhale, he opened them again and nodded with resignation. “All right. We’ll go to Terradrin, then. As I said, I’m finished with running away. Besides, you’ll need my help to find the Relic. You’re going to need a stone-singer in the Under Kingdom. The moonstone shard of Terradrin has been lost for centuries. You won’t be able to locate the Relic in the vast tunnel networks of the Under Kingdom without my magic.”

Saoirse placed her hand over the map of Revelore as though she could feel the lives of everyone she had to protect through the thin paper. “Thank you, Tezrus. Your help is invaluable.”

“Keep it,” the old man ordered, gesturing to the map. “Perhaps we’ll discover more secrets left by the Four Kinsmen for their descendants to discover at the Forge.”

Saoirse folded up the piece of paper and tucked it into her tunic, right above her heart. Her pulse beat in her throat. Finally, it felt like they had a way forward. The air in the chamber had thickened, laden with fresh hope she could feel in her bones.

Saoirse only hoped she was strong enough to withstand the storm coming for them all.

5

ROOK

Rook found himself wandering through the lush hanging gardens of Bezhad. The rich gardens never ceased to astonish him with their captivating beauty. It sprawled through the center of the palace and spilled down into the city in tiered levels. The impressive landscape was abundant with vibrant flowers of every variety, dripping from vines like multi-colored jewels and arranged in artful patterns. Tall palm trees swayed in the breeze, kept perpetually watered by a complex irrigation system that wound through the gardens. In some portions of the landscape, walls of hanging vines fell in a cascade of leaves and blooms, forming private spaces in which to read on a plush pillow or lounge with a lover. The pathways that trickled down like streams were just as beautiful as the gardens themselves, each walkway shot through with mosaics of colored glass, marble, and bits of gold. One could wander through the gardens for days, roaming down each unique gallery of plants.

This was one of the only places where Rook could fully clear his head. On more than one afternoon, he had lost himself in the fragrant scents of lotus blossoms, jasmine, blood lilies, and other hypnotic smells he couldn’t identify. He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. The churning waves in his heart stilled as he listened to the birds calling to one another in the trees. For a brief moment, the world didn’t seem so uprooted.

Rook felt something brush his cheek, the touch so light it was almost imperceptible. He opened his eyes just in time to see a lone feather spiraling to the earth. A cold jolt of realization struck him in the chest. He bent down and hastily retrieved the feather, casting a paranoid glance around to see if anyone else had seen it fall. He ducked under a nearby canopy of hanging vines, clutching the feather close to his chest. He found himself in one of the closed-off corners of the garden that yielded a measure of privacy from the public walking paths.

When he was sure no one could see him, Rook gingerly held out the feather and ran a finger along its length. It looked completely ordinary, black as a crow’s wing and unremarkable. Rook knew it was anything but—a tiding feather. Rook had utilized the message-bearing feathers numerous times as a captain of the Aerials. It was the best way to covertly send messages to and from his fellow soldiers without fear of enemies intercepting them. Plucked from the sender’s own wings, tiding feathers could winnow through the wind and seek out its intended recipient without raising any kind of alarm.

With shaking hands, Rook held the feather up to the light. As the sun shone through the thin feather, the words written on it sharpened into focus, each letter seared to life as though he held a piece of parchment over a blazing fire.

Meet me. Name the location and day and I’ll be there. - R

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