Giya's Betrayal: Book Three of the Firebird's Daughter series Read online

  To this day, Ozahm remembered the shock he’d felt course through him when Giya had forced Siri Ventus, the Goddess of Air, into an agreement which she was obviously loathe to accept. He hadn’t been there the night that Siri Ventus had helped Amphedia, the Goddess of the Seas, take the crystal goblet from Giya, but he had heard all about it from Borja, as a matter of course. As eternal beings, the Ahadi rarely slept, but there were times when it was necessary to rest for a period of time because of the energy they expended in maintaining constant, shifting invisibility. Because it had been his turn to rest, he had missed the exchange between the three goddesses and the ever-present Oculis. He’d known there would be trouble with that creature from the first time he’d seen the owl perched on Siri’s shoulder.

  He did not, however, expect that Giya would force the Goddess of Air to agree to a coupling between Oculis and the woman she had created from her own flesh. P’onyem was the woman’s name. The match would produce a daughter, Giya had explained, who would be the mother of the much-anticipated “savior.” Even all these years later, Ozahm remembered Giya’s words precisely: “There must be balance, Siri Ventus, when we create Amphidea’s heir, or this world will not survive. I will have him protected against potential violence from both you and Amphedia. One of each of his grandparents will be of each of the gods of this world. Or of each of the elements, if you prefer. You’ve seen the future. Choose.”

  And so she had. To everyone’s surprise, though, Oculis had been completely captivated by P’onyem and so they had all hoped the daughter created would be born of affection, despite the way Giya had manipulated events. Each of them had longed to have the opportunity to gaze into the crystal goblet themselves, to discover just what it was Siri Ventus had seen there in order to agree to Giya’s demand. That she had seen Oculis’ eventual abandonment, there could be no doubt, but why agree to help Giya manipulate the outcome of a breeding program that was centuries old, when it would have been easy for the Goddess of Air to refuse? It was a topic they had discussed at length, with no agreement in the matter.

  Nor was that the last of Giya’s demands that day. Almost without exception, everyone knew that Siri Ventus had once gazed into the crystal goblet while asking if gods ever die and had seen Amphedia dying. This small piece of information had had a tremendous impact on virtually every human life on the planet, as Amphedia had searched for ways to counteract the lethal foretelling. When the Goddess of Air had revealed Amphidea’s only hope of avoiding death was to combine her strength with that of her heir, the Sea Goddess had forced Giya into agreeing to send every man, woman, and child to her who could feel the water beneath the sands. But Ozahm had long wondered just how truthful Siri’s “vision” had been. What if she had lied for no other reason than for her own amusement? Or what if Giya had known Siri had lied from the very beginning and was willing to reveal her lie unless she agreed to allow Oculis to mate with P’onyem?

  And why had Giya warned Siri Ventus not to remind Amphedia that her only hope was in combining her strength with that of her heirs? Had she seen that the Sea Goddess would leave this world to confront her brother, Sov, and wanted her to fail? Wouldn’t Amphidea’s death return control of the seas to her? What then, of the young Jarles and all the manipulation which had gone into creating him?

  Ozahm noticed his breathing was steadier now, despite the fact he was about to face his enemy, uncloaked, for the first time. Since he was compelled through Lumas’ magical enchantment to keep Giya safe, there was little he could do, other than to continue to carry out his duties. Still, he had prepared for the day when he might enact his own revenge, and with Lumas on fire, that day may well be at-hand. He smiled to himself, picturing the candentis vine he’d managed to plant throughout the desert, and the legend he’d been able to create, thanks to his very long life. “Giya’s Tears” is what they called it now, but others on another planet far from here had once called it instant death. Giya herself would, undoubtedly, survive, but the humans who served and worshipped her would not.

  * * * * * * * *

  Borja thought she might yet scream from the amount of tension she could feel surrounding her. Never before had there been cause to reveal themselves to Giya, and she had argued against doing so now. If they would have just entered the Shield Room, cloaked, as they’d always done before when Giya had cause to visit Nohoyo, they wouldn’t all be kneeling here, looking like fools. But then, she had always known Rajesh would be the one to break with tradition. He was far too full of himself as far as she was concerned, and never should have been selected to lead them. She liked him well enough, but that fact alone didn’t make him a worthy leader. Even Ozahm, who hated Giya, would have been a better choice. He had never been afraid to make a decision, whereas Rajesh sometimes hesitated, afraid of losing Lumas’ approval.

  Nor had the crystal been shattered, as it should have been before Giya’s daughter had transformed. Still, there was hope, and she knew that Rajesh knew it was so. Why he was making a spectacle of himself by practically sobbing - as if their world was truly lost – was beyond her. He knew of the prophecy, and better than most. Lumas had made sure of that when she had taken the dead child of the first empress of Bila from the woman’s arms. His life was the price of Lumas’ aid; the woman – Deiserin – had taken his life with her own hands, neatly slicing through the flesh of the infant’s throat, then kissing his small forehead before holding the child’s body out to Lumas, dry-eyed. Rajesh had been that child.

  Lumas had remade him, sealing her pact with the newly-formed empire of Bila by breathing eternal life into his small body. He was the first Ahadi – the word meant “promise” – the first sign of Lumas’ promise she would care for her people if they would promise to always work together. The second promise was knowledge of the crystal seed, and the third was the promise of a man or woman whose eyes would burn as red as Sov’s fire who would be able to release the Sun Child by shattering the crystal seed. Why was Rajesh withholding this information now? What could he possibly be thinking? Did he really wish for the whole of the world to burn when Sov crashed into them? Was there something preventing him from telling Giya hope was not yet lost? Had Lumas given him some insight or even instruction she had withheld from the rest of them? If so, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d done so, but lack of knowledge made it more difficult to make good decisions. Secrets only ended up hurting everyone in the end. That was certainly something she had good cause to know.

  She reluctantly decided she would hold her silence for a short time longer, but only because she hoped Rajesh knew more than he’d revealed to the rest of the Ahadi. Still, with Lumas already on fire, none of them had very much time left before it would be too late to change the course of events already set in motion.

  * * * * * * * *

  It was almost overwhelming, the need to go to Giya and wrap her arms around her. To touch her face once more. To tell her she had been there when Lumas had first breathed life into her. Jahari had spent such a very long time watching from within the shadows, but now that they were face to face, she felt as though she may even cry. She’d made a vow to Lumas to always be by Giya’s side, and had done it with a glad heart. But now the role of the Ahadi would be abandoned. Never would Giya allow them to follow her again, of that she was absolutely certain. Of course, if Lumas mandated they continue to follow her, there was little Giya would be able to do about it. Except to rebel, of course. But Jahari wasn’t sure how Giya would profit by refusing to follow Lumas’ edict; she was too in love with this world and its people to turn her back on them.

  Rajesh had been the first to be named Ahadi, but Jahari had been beside Giya long before Rajesh or any of his ancestors had been born. Like Lumas, Jahari had been a creature able to race through space and time, and had even spent centuries as the primary deity on a world far removed from this one. But she had grown bored when others had begun to make themselves known, and the people of that world began to divide their loyalties. It would have been
easy to chase the others away, but she’d chosen to move on. The freedom to race through the cosmos unfettered by responsibilities had been heady, and she had lost herself for a long while, simply moving from one place and time to another. Creating mischief along the way was simply too tempting not to indulge in, and so, of course, she had. There were “great mysteries” on various planets which would never be solved, because she had visited, created chaos, or built some kind of structure or two, and had moved on, never to return. She often amused herself remembering the things she’d done during that time while she was watching Giya.

  Truth to be told, there was very little which would imperil the Goddess of Earth on this planet. Anything which might have – other than the other gods – had been removed in one fashion or another. If it had been up to her, she knew she would have had the other gods removed as well, but Giya had given them permission to stay, so she had no say in the matter. Nor, surprisingly enough, did Lumas. There was a strange kind of line between the two of them which Jahari had been unable to predict. What Giya could or could not do, what she could or could not dictate on this world that Sov had made was a curious mixture of rules, guidelines, and mandates which had eluded her and the other Ahadi – which only served to make them more vigilant. Especially in these past years, with so many strange things happening. And she had done her part to make sure that Giya, who was the heart of Lumas, remained safe from harm. She felt the sting of a tear tugging at her eyes, but knew she didn’t dare wipe it away. Not here, and not now, with so many humans of such immense power all around her.

  Giya may have been created from the dust of this planet, but she had also been infused with tremendous power herself, both from Lumas and from Sov. It was entirely possible she would decide to destroy the Ahadi out of anger and fear. And, of course, the feeling of betrayal she must be feeling towards her “other self.” That Lumas was now on fire may have little effect in staying Giya’s temper, if she let it loose.

  * * * * * * * *

  “I’m only human!” Rajesh wanted to scream it out loud – had wanted to scream it out loud untold times, but never as violently as he wanted to scream it now. The other Ahadi were all gods, had always been gods, but he’d been born a human. Why had Lumas ever thought he should be the one to lead them? Why? He knew too many secrets – secrets which he should not have to keep. Secrets which the others should know. Being given eternal life was not the same thing as being given wisdom. Keeping secrets didn’t make him powerful and wise, nor did it give him the power to make choices which affected others. Nor could he turn to her for advice or instruction. He’d tried when he’d first seen she was on fire. On fire! How could a goddess be on fire unless she wanted to be? It was maddening, and he thought he might lose his mind.

  He had thought that by entering the Shield Room, he would be witness to the transformation of Giya’s daughter, instead, he was left with a mess, and little understanding on how to fix any of it. The other Ahadi knew he was well-versed in the fact that the crystal seed was supposed to be shattered, and they even knew who was supposed to shatter it. They had all seen Vray across the room when they’d entered. He knew they were all looking to him to reveal this information to Giya and the rest of the humans, but he was forbidden from revealing this information. He didn’t know why he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but he knew he dared not. And now Giya knew of their existence and everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same. Does it really matter? a small voice taunted him. We’re all going to die anyway.

  Chapter Five – Sounds of the Sea

  It had been a very long time since Batal had read the myths and legends of the bahari, locked away from everyone other than those in the Sisterhood who served in the temple of the Silver Swordfish. She remembered the quizzical look of disbelief on Kaya’s face when she had explained that the term was rarely used these days, except in stories, but that there were historical records which included descriptions of beings that were half turtle and half woman, or half man and half octopus. She remembered having read about all manner of different creatures from the sea, including those which seemed to be made of seaweed, or only had seaweed for hair. Some were made completely of water, while others were part one thing, part another thing, with many variations in between. She felt her lips twist in a kind of sad smile. She had really liked Kaya and would have liked to have had the opportunity to get to know him better before they each had to go their separate ways. He had gone to the desert to find his own people while she had gone to the sea to learn how to live as a sea creature. Of course, both of their lives had taken unforeseen, dramatic turns since then, and she had no idea at all where in the world Kaya might even be.

  That, though, didn’t matter at the moment, she reminded herself with a shake of her head. What mattered was remembering what she had read. She had spent a tremendous amount of time devouring books, manuscripts, and maps, preparing for her life as a High Priestess of the temple. Because she’d been so fascinated that what she’d been reading had been true-life re-tellings of actual events, not just fiction or myths, she had searched for, and found, other books kept in private libraries, along with those that could be found at one of the many temples littered throughout the city by the sea. Those efforts had led to people who’d had personal encounters, or who had relatives who’d met with bahari. All of that time and effort had finally led her to one very old man, Mizu, and another very old woman by the name of Maji, both of whom claimed to be hundreds of years old, but who both looked to be no more than fifty years old.

  She hadn’t revealed to either of them that she’d met with each of them, and yet they had provided her with the same information. Each of them had credited the sound of the sea with their long lives. Not the crashing of the waves, or the sound of the water as it flowed over the sand or rocks, only to be reclaimed by the sea a moment or two later, but they claimed there was a vibration unique to the sea which they’d remembered when they’d each had their encounters with a member of the bahari race. Their stories had been fascinating, and she had visited each of them several times, long after they had recounted their experiences. She had been thrilled to have had the opportunity to speak with people who had been alive such a long time, and they had each been relieved to have an eager audience.

  Once she had taken possession of the Tear which had once belonged to Sabbah – it was impossible to think of him without thinking of his brother, Savaar, and then, in turn, of Jarles. Pushing aside the sadness she felt that Jarles had probably lost his beloved Grandfather Kerr, who had, in truth, been a true son of Amphedia, she applied herself to remembering... it was niggling, right there, at the corner of her mind. She had heard the vibration Mizu and Maji had spoken of once she had transformed into a sea creature, and remembered it well. It was more of a background noise you got used to, than any kind of real sound. She still wasn’t certain whether she would be considered a true daughter of the Sea Goddess because she now possessed Sabbah’s Tear, or if she would, instead, be considered among those of the bahari, because she had not been born of her.

  Ordan moaned then, releasing a tiny stream of bubbles, rising towards the surface. He had not yet moved at all, though, which she knew was a very bad sign for someone who breathed air. He should be struggling, gasping for breath. She hoped whatever had caused him to fall from the sky hadn’t damaged him purposefully with magic, because she wasn’t at all certain what she was about to do would work, but was absolutely certain that if someone had harmed him with magic, she didn’t stand a chance of healing him. Still, she had to try.

  That was it! Magic! Maji had said the vibration from the sea seemed magical! Nor had Mizu disagreed when she’d asked him if he thought so too. Very well – the only reason she had been transformed into a child of Amphedia, or a bahari, or whatever other sea creature she might be, was because of magic. Specifically, a magical tool. The Tear of Amphedia. Pulling it quickly from the pouch she kept tied to her waist, she closed her eyes, listening for the vibration she knew wa
s there. Pitching her voice higher than usual, she began to make a sound somewhere between a hum and a single, sustained note. No. Not quite right. She tried again, allowing her voice to pitch even higher, then moving her tongue in a steady, undulating rhythm to match what she was hearing, then she slowed it down a bit while sucking her cheeks further into her mouth, and could immediately feel the vibration flowing through her as if it had a life of its own. She could feel herself being filled with a power, or maybe it was an energy or even a pulse – the heartbeat of life! Yes – oh yes! She could feel it! For the first time since she’d first touched the Tear of Amphedia, she was grateful, truly grateful, she could breathe through the gills in her neck instead of through her nose and mouth while she was underwater. There was no way she would be able to hold the note if she would have had to stop to catch her breath every few moments.

  Nor would she be able to actually touch Ordan with the Tear, or else he would become what she was now, and she would end up like Sabbah – either dying or dead, at the bottom of the ocean. Instead, she positioned herself so that he was mostly floating on his own, while she steadied him with one hand, and used the other to hold the Tear above him, not quite touching him with it. She wished they were truly in the sea, instead of in a pool of water beneath the desert; she was sure that other lifeforms would be responding to the vibrations and that somehow those that would be able to feel it would be joining their efforts with hers – even if they didn’t understand what they were doing. The vibration was primal. Deep. Then she felt it – an answer. Or maybe it was an echo? She had sent out the vibration using Amphedia’ s Tear, a magical tool belonging to the Storm Goddess. Was Amphedia answering her? Or was it the water itself? She felt as though the water in her own body was responding to it too, as if she was no longer certain whether she was making the sound herself, or if the sound – the feeling – the vibration, was simply a part of her and she was a part of it. She felt as though she was beginning to drift away from conscious herself and was unable to stop it. She felt her arms drift away from her body, floating in front of her as if they had a life of their own. She watched as Ordan began to sink, unable to reach out to him. Her vision began to dim as she watched him fall further away from her. She felt as though she’d been drugged. But she could still hear / feel the vibration flowing through her. Was she still singing?