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  Lyli was the ancient, he knew that. Just as he knew that as her magick turned to ash, she would be reborn anew to continue the service of the gods. She had died countless times, each time coming back stronger than before, thanks in part to the retention not only of her memories but also of her learning in each life. He knew it was inevitable and necessary, though it did nothing to ease the ache inside of him at the thought of a world without her in it no matter how temporary the situation.

  “You are the rightful leader until my return,” she went on. “I trust your judgement implicitly. However, I urge you to be wary of whom you trust.” She sighed. “These are dark times, my friend, and much as I might wish otherwise, people, sometimes even those closest to us, are not always what they seem. The lure of power is a strong one.”

  “I will only convene with those who have proven their loyalty,” he agreed.

  “Good,” she nodded. “Now, there is one other thing. It is vital that we find the prophecy before my next passing. There will be terrible consequences should this not happen until my rebirth.” She looked at him searchingly for a moment. “You know where to find the radiant. I sense it.”

  He blinked in confusion. “I would have already found it and brought it to you if I had. You know I have been travelling all over Xanos searching for it.”

  “You misunderstand, my friend,” Lyli smiled. “What I mean is that you come across the prophecy, you just haven’t realised it yet. I feel the residue of the radiant’s aura around you. Now we just have to figure out where exactly it is.” She sighed wearily. “I wish I had not spelled myself to forget where and what it was. Really, it seems I do like to make my own life difficult sometimes.”

  “You only acted as was necessary,” her second in command argued. “What you did was for the protection of the prophecy, of us all.” He clenched his jaw, resolved. He would find the prophecy before the Sahat, he had to.

  “Just remember,” Lyli said softly, as he prepared to leave. “Keep your mind open. Knowing how my mind works, I will have hidden the prophecy in plain sight. And it might not look like what you imagine. I always did like to be unpredictable.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What news, my friend?” the Dohar greeted his right hand man.

  “I have done as you requested, sire,” Ari pulled a list out of his pocket. “I have carefully observed each of the men and women you noted. For the most part, they did nothing untoward nor did they meet with anyone worth mentioning.”

  “And these two?” the Dohar gestured to the names Ari had underlined.

  “I am unsure of their true loyalties, my Lord. I would need to watch them for longer to be sure, but both parties have met a couple of times with men I know to belong to the Dohanna. Their interactions always took place socially in restaurants and such, but I would be remiss in my duty were I not to warn you of the possible treachery afoot.” He waited, standing to attention as his master considered the dilemma.

  “Hmm, they might well just be socialising. It is hardly a crime,” the Dohar mused finally. “On the other hand, they might be hiding their association in plain sight, so as not to arouse suspicion.” He frowned pensively.

  “What are your orders, sir?”

  “Keep following them. I need to be sure that there are no moles amongst my people before I begin the next phase in our plan. The Dohanna is already trying to turn the rest of Sahat against me. In order for us to succeed, we need to ensure she does not know our plans.”

  Ari nodded curtly. “And what of the crystal?”

  “Ah, yes, the interesting blue crystal you came back with after your encounter with the oracle,” the Dohar leaned back, an unholy glint in his eyes. “I have been studying it at great length. I believe it is a receptacle.”

  “Receptacle? For what?”

  The Dohar smiled darkly. “I believe it contains information, my young apprentice. Very important information.”

  Ari stared at his master. “I would never question your wisdom, Dohar, but why would the oracle give me any such thing? Especially when she is so obviously in opposition of what you stand for?”

  “Balance,” the older man stated simply. “The oracle is the creation of the gods themselves. She is mortal, yet cannot die. She knows and sees what is to come, glimpses of paths travelled, and yet she is not free to intervene.” He laughed darkly. “What a curse it must be to know the future, and yet be unable to change it! Either way, she would not have given you this crystal by choice. No,” he said to his ever more confused apprentice. “She has an obligation to preserve balance in all things. If she has given us aid, it is because she needs to counter something, which she had done or will do against us.”

  “I thought you said she could not interfere? So how can she move against us?”

  “Well, it seems our clever oracle has found a loophole in her servitude. The rules stipulate only that she must always behave in equal measures to all parties. She is not allowed to bestow advantages on any one group.”

  “What does it contain?” Ari asked his master, deeply curious now.

  “That, I have yet to determine,” the Dohar glared at the crystal as though he could terrorise it into revealing its secrets. “Try as I might, I have been unable to discover how to activate it. The old witch may have to play by the rules, but she has certainly done her utmost to stall us in accessing the information. She had grown sneakier over the years.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed wearily. “I will keep trying. There are yet spells I haven’t used. We will open it in the end.”

  Ari nodded. He had every faith in his master. Anger rose within him at the thought of the old woman who was so hell bent on undermining everything he was working for. No one cared for Xanos and its people like the Dohar. He had spent his entire life in service to his people even though others, like the blasted oracle, stood in his way at every turn. “And what of Lord Ishkan, master?”

  “Yes, Lord Ishkan. Sometimes, I wonder whether the price we pay for his help is worth it.” He shook his head. “We do what we must, young apprentice. There are dark times ahead of us. Xanos is folding in on itself, as the power hungry seek to take over. All that stands between them and the destruction of our world is us.”

  “I would never let you down, sire,” Ari declared, seeking to ease his master’s burden. “Whatever you need done, you have but to ask.”

  “Thank you, Ari,” the older man said warmly, clasping his apprentice’s shoulder. “You give me great hope for the future of Xanos. Would that there were more like you in the world. I hate to ask so much of you, but—”

  “Nothing is too much. What can I do?” Ari stated, resolute.

  “There has ever been talk of a prophecy,” the Dohar began. “I remember hearing of it long ago, long before you were ever born. We need to find the prophecy before anyone else gets their hands on it.”

  The young man stood quickly. “I will look into it straightaway.”

  The Dohar beamed at him, the approval warming Ari like the heat of a thousand suns. “I knew I could count on you. I have to warn you though. The prophecy has been lost for many a years. It will not be easy to find.” He pulled a small round object out of his pocket. It was a smooth silver disc. “Take this, Gyro. It is one of the most powerful locators on Xanos. It may aid you on your quest.”

  Ari pocketed the locator carefully and turned to leave.

  “One more thing, young apprentice,” the Dohar called out. “You must tell no one of this prophecy.”

  ***

  Ishkan swept through the majestic amber halls, a disdainful sneer marring his handsome face. Pointedly ignoring the exquisitely carved statues, standing to attention on either side of the long hallway, he frowned as though the beauty of the sanctuary offended him. Actually it did. He despised the serenity and light golden hues all around him here. It only served to emphasise all that he hated about it, about them. Were
it up to him, he would never set foot in this realm again. But it was not up to him, and he had been summoned by no other than Hecator himself. A summons he would have happily ignored had it not been for the fact that he was powerless to do so. A deep growl rumbled in his chest. He, Ishkan, powerless!

  Each time Hecator forced him to comply, he hated him just that little bit more. Hecator, the almighty patron God of the damned Hectians; Hecator, the fair and just, hah! Old fashioned and narrow-minded was more accurate; Hecator, the primary, leader of them all. Ishkan squeezed the handle of the large amber door so hard that it shattered into a million tiny shards in his hand. They all believed Hecator was invincible, that he was the strongest of them all. An unholy grimace replaced the almost perpetual scowl on Ishkan’s face. Little did they know, they, his dear family, that soon his power would rival, nay, surpass even that of Hecator himself. He chuckled to himself darkly. Not long now. All he had to do was to bide his time a little longer to conceal his true nature until he had attained the level of power he needed, and then he would show them all.

  “Ishkan!” a low voice called out from behind him. It was Hemia, the only one of his family that he could stomach in small doses. “You’re here! Hecator has been waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry to be late. I was delayed by my duties on Xanos,” he replied, dutifully kissing her cheek and accepting her embrace.

  “Oh, you know Hecator, he will just be happy to see you. Come on, we’ve all missed you. They are dying to see you!” she said linking her arm through his, and practically dragging him into the main hall.

  Ishkan glanced around the circular chamber. The almost endless seeming walls reached towards the skies, capped off with a large glass dome ceiling where the light of a hundred suns beamed with all their might, illuminating Hecator, primary of the gods, who as usual was sat in the throne at the very centre of the chamber. On his right sat Sybela, patroness of the Sybeli, goddess of nature and balance. Her skin glowed golden, complementing the honeyed highlights in her chestnut waist length hair. Ishkan had always been curious as to how she managed to project such power and inner strength despite her petite stature. Serenity wafted off of her being like an aura of gold.

  On Hecator’s left sat Jian, god of time and rebirth. His serious and methodical demeanour was much the same as Hecator’s, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Hecator was tall, taller than even Ishkan himself, and fair with hair the colour of burnished gold, Jian was slight with dark almond shaped eyes and long jet black hair. Ishkan knew from personal experience though that looks could be deceiving. He had seen Jian sparring many times and knew how deadly he could be. Not even Hecator could best him when they fought with twin blades.

  “Brother!” Hecator rose from his seat, smiling.

  Ishkan just about managed to hide his disgust. They were not related in truth, none of them were, but in so much as they were all gods, they had become a sort of family. “Hecator,” he replied coolly.

  “We have missed you,” Sybela said gently. “You have not come home for far too long.”

  “I apologise,” Ishkan said, managing to look contrite. “I fear I have been so busy on Xanos that time has quite passed me by.”

  Hecator nodded. Time was somewhat irrelevant when you were eternal and immortal.

  “But you did not summon me here merely because you missed me,” Ishkan commented, arching a questioning brow.

  “No, you are right,” Hecator frowned. “I suggested this meeting because I have felt a great disturbance in the balance of late.”

  “Disturbance?”

  “We first felt it a few decades ago,” Sybela clarified. “It has been growing slowly, but steadily since then. I fear that the prophecy has begun.”

  “There is no such thing as fate,” Ishkan argued. “Each one chooses their own path. Prophecy implies there is no free will.”

  “There is always free will,” Hecator agreed. “But prophecy implies that the choices made will follow a set path. Do not tell me you have not felt the imbalance on Xanos.”

  Ishkan nodded slowly. “Yes, I have. Xanians are a complex people and of late, there has been much friction between the Hectians and the Sybeli. There are those who wish to gain more power. Such is the nature of men I’m afraid.”

  “Yes,” Sybela concurred. “But I sense something more. Something darker and more powerful is afoot here.”

  “I have not noticed anything of the sort,” Ishkan reassured her.

  “Keep your eyes open, brother,” Hecator urged. “I believe we are on the cusp of great change. We must endeavour to keep our people safe.”

  “Of course,” Ishkan nodded. “I will keep a close eye on the situation, but what of the prophecy?”

  “Still lost to us, I am afraid,” Jian admitted, shaking his head. “Lyli wrote the scroll after her first serious vision, but it was lost before we could see it. And despite her best efforts, she could not recall what it was.”

  Ishkan clenched his fist behind his back. Lyli, he did not trust that woman as far as he could blast her. He did not believe she had lost the prophecy. She had her own agenda and wanted to retain control of the information for herself. The ungrateful wench! After all, the trouble he and the others had gone to in order to create her. They were as close a thing to parents as she would ever have, and yet she withheld vital information from them. He would see what she had to say when he finally found her.

  Chapter Nine

  “We cannot intervene. You better than anyone know the rules,” Hecator, God of the sky, said firmly.

  “I do understand what I am asking, but there is too much at stake for us to remain indifferent. We cannot, not this time! Please Hecator, these are our people, our children if you will. We cannot forsake them.”

  Hecator sighed as he looked upon his dear friend, Sybela. Her beautiful amber eyes were filled with unshed tears, her chestnut locks tumbling down her back in disarray. He would do almost anything to bring a smile back to her face, but what she was asking.

  “Ishkan is going to look into it. He will report back to us once he knows more.”

  “Ishkan?” Sybela snorted. “I know you love him as a son, Hecator, I do too, but you cannot remain so blind to the truth. Ishkan never does anything that doesn’t serve his own purposes.”

  Hecator sighed wearily. “I know he has his flaws. He can be tempestuous and rash, and yes, I know he would like more of a say, but I cannot believe that he would knowingly harm anyone.”

  Sybela shook her head. Hecator might be the primary, the leader of the gods, and yes, he was also the strongest of them, but that did not change the fact that he was blindly clinging to a false truth. His love for Ishkan had always been his greatest weakness. He viewed him as a son. Gods were not born; they were made, appearing out of the blue. Not even they knew where they came from, or why they had come into existence.

  Hecator was the primary, the first made, and Sybela was the second. No other gods had been born for many aeons, so the bond they had for one another was special, born of a shared past. Ishkan was the last-born God, the baby of the group in many ways, though he had now been around for millennia. They had all doted on him, but none more so than Hecator. He had taught Ishkan in the ways of the gods with a patience only a father could have. She understood the almost desperate need he had to treat the younger God as a son because for all their powers and longevity. There was one thing the Gods could not do. They could not have children.

  Long before the other Gods had been born, Sybela and Hecator, filled with a void they could barely comprehend, had decided to become parents. They had created the first Xanians from their very own essences. Hecator had made the Hectians and Sybela the Sybeli. They had watched with delight as their children evolved and grew, each side exhibiting powers they had inherited from their donors. The Hectians had air magicks since Hecator was God of the skies, and the Sybeli were natural
born healers with earth magicks tied to nature. Over time, however, as Xanian society evolved further and technological advancements were made, their children spent less time studying the old ways, less time in temples, less time believing in the Gods on the whole. Sometimes, Sybela felt as though she were a lost library book gathering dust in a corner somewhere, forgotten and unvalued.

  “Sybela?” Hecator asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

  “Sorry, I was miles away,” she smiled.

  “Do you really believe that Ishkan has changed so much?” he asked.

  “No, I believe that he hasn’t changed at all. I think we have all been blind to his ways because we wanted to believe he was something he is not.” She held up a hand to silence him as he made to speak. “Let us not argue, old friend. Nothing would make me happier than to be proven wrong, but we cannot leave the fate of Xanos to chance, which is why I have sent someone I trust implicitly down to Xanos.”

  “But the rules of non-interference!”

  “They will remain unbroken,” Sybela reassured him. “The one I sent has strict orders to act according to our ways and to merely observe.”

  Hecator nodded after a slight pause. “Very well, I trust your judgement in this. We shall wait and see. But I dearly hope that you are wrong.”

  ***

  “So no one can hear you but me?” Sena checked.

  “Nope,” Z yawned loudly, blinking her amber eye in the light of the suns. “Once I bond with my chosen, that’s it. Fate, kismet, we are stuck together until the end, well, or until you pass me down to the next in line. Oh, and I wouldn’t tell anyone about me either. Were we on Zaman, everyone would know what I was but Xanians know zip about anything, let’s keep it that way.”

  “Not even my mom and aunt?”

  “Not even them. They are not Zamani, they are not allowed to know the ways of our people.”

  Sena frowned as something occurred to her. “So how on Xanos did my aunt end up with you? Obviously, she hasn’t been to Zaman. Heck, no one here has even heard of other realms, so how did she get you to begin with?”