“Tell me why you are here to help her, for one,” Valor said, his tone still rigidly formal. His eyes had narrowed at the mention of the oath, and Jala couldn’t really blame him. She had been the only witness to those words, and she had told no one of them.
Vaze leaned closer toward Valor and summoned a small globe of light in his hand. Holding it just under his chin he pointed to his eye with his free hand and blinked a couple of times. “Do you see that?” he asked. “Purple or violet eyes. It’s a mark of his blood. Magdalyn had violet eyes just as her daughter does, though Magdalyn chose to hide them.” Standing straight once more Vaze flexed his free hand and the shiny black armor began to ripple and then parted like oil on water revealing the muscular pale flesh beneath. “So is this.” Vaze said quietly as he drew a small line across his forearm and watched pale gold blood well in the wound.
“We are kin?” Jala breathed, staring at Vaze in shock.
“Your Uncle, to be precise. Magdalyn was my half-sister. War tends to breed during every conflict. Most of the children die in their mother’s wombs but a scant few have lived. Magdalyn was a product of the Goswin fall; I am a product of the Veyetta war,” Vaze explained. “Three Divine were locked in the Barrier. Of the three of them, only one has chosen to bring progeny into existence. You and I are proof of his determination to spread his blood.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jala whispered, trying to force down the growing pain in her chest.
“How cruel would that be to a child? To tell you who I truly am, and then leave you behind, regardless. Had I told you then, you would have believed yourself unworthy and that simply wasn’t the case,” Vaze said with a shake of his head and crouched once more in front of his pile of assorted goods. “Sit, Jala. I’ll explain a few things as I cook. Listen closely because I will not repeat what I say and these words stay between us.”
Jala sank slowly to the blanket and stared at Vaze, her mind reeling. How different would her childhood have been had she known there was someone that actually cared about her. Father Belson had cared, of course, but as a priest cares for an orphan. It hadn’t been true love and she had known it. Then of course, there was no guarantee that Vaze actually cared more than what was required, either.
“I said listen, Jala. I can see your mind working. You are forming your own conclusions before I have time to explain. You might as well sit too, Valor, rather than lurking above me with that glare of disapproval on your face,” Vaze said as he motioned toward the blanket Jala sat on.
“Make it good or I may help Davrian in the fight against you,” Valor growled and sat slowly down beside Jala, his glare fixed on Vaze.
“Where to begin?” Vaze sighed and began making a small fire in front of him. “I was born in Veyetta when it still stood. I was three days old when Lutheron took me from the castle. The following morning the Stormlord descended on the city and killed everyone that showed loyalty to my line. Lutheron raised me in Fionahold. For years he was like a father to me. A strict one to be sure, but one that I respected.” He paused again and carefully unwrapped a haunch of meat and spitted it. “I began my training at age six. Wooden swords and then magic, and so it progressed. When I was twelve I began to have strange dreams.” He glanced up at Jala meaningfully and she nodded slowly. “At first they were vague and unsettling and I took them as nightmares and didn’t speak of them to anyone. No self-respecting twelve-year-old boy wants to admit to being afraid to sleep. As it turns out I didn’t need to say anything. After a week or so of sleeplessness, my lessons began to falter and Lutheron scolded me, saying nightmares were no excuse for clumsiness.” Pausing once more, he seasoned the meat and glanced up at Jala again. “I hadn’t breathed a word to anyone and magic is not allowed inside the Fionahold. I had to travel into Faydwer for my lessons on magic and yet Lutheron knew of my dreams. I let it go, simply believing he had broken rules. He is second in command, after all, so I figured it was allowed. As I grew, however, I noticed other instances with Lutheron and his odd magics and eventually I determined what he was.”
“What is he?” Jala broke in. She had thought he was simply an Immortal like the rest of them.
“The Divine of Fear,” Vaze answered with a faint smile. “He can read your fears all the way down to the darkest secrets you have. He can locate you through your fears as long as you walk in the sunlit world. He can cause fear and remove fear with the flick of a finger. There are perhaps three individuals that I know of that are completely fearless, everyone else is under Lutheron’s thumb.” Vaze looked to Valor then Jala and gave a bitter smile.
“I fail to see what this has to do with Jala. This sounds more like your life history,” Valor pointed out in a tone that showed he was not impressed.
“The youth have no patience,” Vaze sighed and rotated the meat once before leaning back away from the fire. “Once I had determined what Lutheron was, I acted with more caution but kept my knowledge to myself. As I grew older, I began exploring my fallen homeland for secrets of the Veyetta magic. Over the course of several years I mastered the shadows, which led me to all kinds of interesting secrets such as the other children of my blood. I had thought I was alone, with no one else in the world outside of the Fionaveir. More importantly, it led me to my father, War.” Vaze looked to Jala once again with a knowing look on his face.
Nodding slowly, Jala fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “I’ve spoken with him once,” she admitted quietly.
“What did he ask of you?” Vaze prodded quietly.