Page 66 of Sins of His Wrath

Prillu nodded once and raised her hand. The small gesture summoned three figures from the shadows—two young men and one woman dressed in bright robes of yellow with patterns of red, green and deep blue.

Prillu spoke to them in her tongue, and the group dispersed along with the council members. Their movements were practiced and efficient, fingers skimming along rows of scrolls, climbing narrow ladders to reach high shelves, and navigating the labyrinthine stacks with confidence.

Naya remained by the stone table, acutely aware of Akoro’s presence behind her. His heat radiated against her back, though he stood several paces away. She refused to acknowledge him.

After a short time, the young group returned carrying stacks of scrolls, bound volumes, and clay tablets. The council members followed, arms similarly laden. As they seated themselves, Naya stood opposite them on the other side of the table, hands placed flat on the cool stone. “I’ll be asking specific questions to each of you,” she said. “Answer only with what these records show first and then I might ask for your expertise. I need facts first.”

She met each person’s gaze in turn. “I’m looking for patterns—connections between the magic’s manifestations and the land itself. I want to understand its history.”

A flicker of something passed across Oppo’s face as Tshel translated for him. Ranin leaned forward and Prillu remained calm and confident.

Before Naya could ask her first question, the heavy doors creaked open. A man entered dressed in cream, red, and yellow patterned robes. His eyes landed on Akoro immediately, and he bowed deeply before approaching and whispering something to him.

Akoro glanced up, meeting Naya’s eyes, and after a long moment, he turned and strode from the chamber, the doors closing behind him with a resounding thud that echoed through Naya’s chest. She took a small breath. It would be easier without him in the room, and yet his absence felt like a loss.

Shaking it off, Naya turned back to the council. She still had many hours of the day left, and she intended to use every moment of them.

For the next few hours, Naya methodically questioned the council members, with Tshel translating Oppo’s responses when needed. The day stretched into on, sunlight shifting through the high windows, casting pools of golden light that drifted across the shelves like a quiet murmur. Naya’s throat grew dry from speaking, her mind racing with connections and possibilities. The picture that emerged from the council members was grim and unsettling.

From Ranin, she learned there’d been seven previous Solution attempts over the past century. Each investigator had approached the problem with different methods, but all died, often violently, when they attempted to actively engage with the wild magic themselves.

“But what about language?” she asked him. “Has language ever played a part?”

The policy maker’s glossy forehead creased in confusion. “Language? In what way?”

“Words, phrases, incantations,” Naya reeled out. “Using language to direct it or tie it to something.”

“Magic is not a being to converse with, princess,” Ranin said slowly. “It is a force, like the wind or fire. It doesn’t come when we call it and we have no control over it.”

Naya leaned forward, confused by his confusion. “But you create magical items, don’t you? Items that make magic behave in certain ways. How are they encoded to respond?” She leaned back. Maybe she was speaking to the wrong person. “Who creates your magical items?”

Before Ranin could answer, Prillu’s voice cut through the air. “As I told you before, princess, information about our magical artifacts is classified for security reasons.”

“Your lands are being torn apart by wild magic,” Naya shot back, her voice rising sharply. “People are dying and your culture is suffering while you worry about a threat that isn’t as immediate.” She leaned forward again, palms flat against the table. “What would you prefer, Prillu—what would it take to solve this problem and find the Solution?”

Prillu’s expression remained calm and measured, almost stoic, with only the slight narrowing of her eyes. “You can pursue other avenues for now. Our military concerns must be respected unless absolutely necessary.”

Naya exhaled, crossing her arms in annoyance.

From Oppo, she learned that wild magic tore skin apart on contact, just like the white fire at home, but it also ravaged the body like an intense fire. Unlike normal flames, it burned from within. His scrolls carried horrific illustrations of charred bodies with crystalline formations protruding from blackened flesh, internal organs fused or exploded outward. Those attacked by magic suffered varying degrees of burns, with the most severe cases literally exploding from the inside out when the magical energy became too much for their bodies to contain.

The horror of living with these results was reflected in the eyes of all at the table. They couldn’t look at the scrolls, and Prillu looked as though she didn’t even want to listen. Naya stared at the drawings wondering if that would have been the fate of her people if the white fire hadn’t been naturally contained to the Wastelands.

From Tshel, Naya discovered that, historically, the ssukkurians saw magic as something alive, conscious and woven into the very fabric of their world. The magic flowed through the desert sands like blood through veins, ancient and primal.

Naya absorbed the information, thinking back to how magic felt before she left the empire—like it was alive and paying attention to her. That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? “You mentioned ‘the Sands’ several times,” she asked. “What is that?”

Tshel shrugged. “I don’t know another name for it in your language. The plentiful sand that covers our region.”

“The desert?” Naya suggested.

“No.” Tshel thought for a moment, but then shrugged again. “A desert is one type, but we have many. Collectively, they have a name:Tikshon,” she explained. “It translates to sand in your language.”

“All right, we’ll call it the Sands,” Naya said. “What other kind of sands are there?”

Tshel reached for a map and unrolled it carefully, revealing a beautifully drawn landscape of swirling sand and rocky outcroppings. Her finger traced an area across the map. “Here is the Isshiran Sands—the shifting sands. They constantly move, swallowing pathways and evidence of travel. They never look the same from one day to the next, so many have been lost here. It’s very dangerous.” Her finger moved along. “Here is the Ushro? Sands. These sands are rich in iron and minerals, giving them a rust-red color. Many wars were once fought in these sands. This is the Tikshon Hann, a vast stretch of golden dunes, scattered with gemstones and rare metals. Historically, the ssukkurian wealth once depended on these sands.” Her finger moved north. “This is the Sands a Ro—the Omega sands. It is said that the air here is thick with the raw magic that plagues them and that it is always attracted to this area.”

Naya thought back to this morning. There had been no magic by the dead forest and no sign of magic in the area. She hadn’t felt anything. She peered at the map and saw the markings of the forest. It seemed to be the right area.

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