Call of the Goddess E-Book

Elizabeth N. Love

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Countless years after the destruction of Earth, the last survivors of humankind struggle for survival in the distant colony of Bona Dea.

Young psychic Axandra is the matriarch of the colony, and host to a powerful entity known only as the Goddess. Trying to protect the people she loves but reluctant to host the Goddess, Axandra struggles with her fate.

After discovering that she's being used as a pawn between factions, Axandra begins to suspect a plot against her. But behind the scenes, an even greater power is at play, and soon the future of the whole colony is at stake.

Leseprobe

Call of the Goddess

Book One of the Stormflies

Elizabeth N. Love

Copyright (C) 2014 Elizabeth N. Love

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.paperandsage.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgement and Dedication

Thank you to my late mother, Genevieve, for insisting that her daughters be more than the sum of their parts. On occasion, I find myself channeling her spirit.

Thank you very much to my husband and my children, who have waited patiently (but usually impatiently) while I put these thoughts into words.

And to all of my friends asking me now and again if I was ever going to get this finished - perfection takes a long time (and it still isn't perfect).

Changes

On the planet Bona Dea, the fourth planet of ten orbiting binary stars in a gravity-driven waltz, the last vestiges of the human race make their home. Thirteen ships traveled to a new world to begin a new way of life free of persecution, free of poverty. They located a temperate planet occupied by a variety of animal species, but devoid of civilization.

Our story begins on the 21st day of the month of Trimont, in the year 307 after the Landing of the generation ships.

+++

Axandra's brain tickled. She remembered the sensation from two decades ago, when she was a small child. She knew what the feeling meant. The Goddess was coming. The Sliver called to it, I am here! and it followed that call.

Leaving her cottage after giving her lover an excuse that she wanted a short walk, Axandra went to the beach to wait. The sand beneath her bare feet radiated leftover warmth from the day's sunshine, even though the suns had set more than an hour ago. In the night sky, distant stars blazed. She could see hundreds of thousands of them, each a tiny point of light, an unbelievably small fraction of its true size. Though some nights she tried, she could never hope to count them all in her entire lifetime.

Low upon the horizon in the west, one point of light moved. It seemed to be flying just over the ocean. The closer it came, the less like a star it appeared. The tiny point grew larger, to the size of a firefly, then larger still, the size of a fist. A glow reflected off the water, then the sand.

Axandra breathed deeply and dug her feet into the beach. She had waited years for this moment to come, ever since she fled the Prophets' guardianship as a child, when her name was Ileanne. She tried to prepare herself for what would happen when the Goddess found her. The orb of light grew large enough to envelop her as it flew over the white beach. Before she could to react to shield herself, it was upon her.

The sensation plowed through her body with a thousand times more power than the Sliver. She flopped to the ground. Her body quaked against the sand as the glow shrouded her with sparks. She struggled against its hold, but force bound her limbs and paralyzed her. Blinding her, the brightness entered her left eye. Panting for breath, an orgasmic ripple coursed through her nerves, melding pain and pleasure into euphoria. Ringing filled her ears. Generations of experience swelled her brain. Images she'd never seen before filled her eyes. Memories of a lost childhood snapped into vivid clarity. Curiosity tempted her to try to see everything. The sights flashed by too quickly to understand. Overwhelmed, her mind shut off.

+++

1st day of Unimont, in the year 286, after the Landing

“I don't want to stay here!”

With white knuckles, Ileanne bawled and gripped her mother's hand. A pale Prophet woman touched her shoulders as though to comfort the child. Having never seen a Prophet before, Ileanne recoiled. The mystics kept themselves segregated from the rest of the population. She knew the Prophets served the Protectress in a magical way that frightened her.

Elora, crouched down to the eye level of her six-year-old daughter. “You have to stay, my darling. The Prophets are going to teach you everything you need to know to be the Protectress when your turn comes. Please don't cry,” her mother begged, cradling the girl against her breast. “You're breaking my heart.”

After several minutes of consoling, Elora framed Ileanne's face with both hands and looked into the child's green eyes. “You'll be fine.”

Behind the frail woman, Ileanne's father said nothing. He barely even looked at his daughter, his typical expression toward her. He stood there with his hands held together in front of him and twitched his fingers, waiting impatiently for the scene to end.

The little girl kept her lips tightly shut, refusing to say goodbye. Ileanne did not want them to leave her. She wiped her cheeks dry with her hand, but the hot tears kept streaming down into the creases of her lips. Her cheeks felt raw.

Her mother cried, too, but urged her only child to stay with the strangers. Ileanne witnessed the pained look upon her mother's face, a frightful look of sadness. The girl hated her parents for turning their backs and climbing into the car to leave.

Beneath the Great Storm, the wind whipped at gale force, blasting sand in gigantic swirls. As the car engine began to hum, the same gateway that opened to allow the car into the Haven reappeared as though by magic. The car disappeared through the Storm, seemingly untouched by the sand. Lightning flashed all around, bolts striking the ground and fingerlings groping out in every direction.

Yet, in the Haven the destructive winds stayed away, as though the Good Goddess cupped her hands over the mountain to stop the air. The thunder was muffled, and the lightning stayed in the sky. A shell of peace existed here in the center of the Storm.

“Welcome, Ileanne. I am Jala.” The Prophet woman said to her, smiling kindly in hopes of easing the transition. The Prophet woman wore her light brown hair in a loose braid that looped around the back of her head. Her face was almost white, typical of all Prophets whose skin was never touched by sunslight. “Come with me. We must get you ready for tonight.”

“What's going to happen?” Ileanne questioned, her feet reluctant to move. Jala gripped her wrist and pulled just hard enough to start her feet walking.

Tonight is very special, Jala thought. Tonight you will learn the true honor of being the Protectress.

Protectress. Instead of that word giving her a sense of accomplishment, it only made the girl angry and sorrowful. All her life, Ileanne had watched her mother, the Protectress, work every hour of every day, strained by the people to the point of breaking. Many nights, she had listened to her mother and father snarling at each other bitterly. Sometimes, her mother wasn't even around, for the woman was out traveling across the countryside. Thinking of these things, Ileanne slouched on the stool where she was planted and pinched one palm with her fingers. “Oh.”

Jala proceeded to braid the child's hair in a long, simple plait down her back. She helped Ileanne changed her clothes into an unadorned gray shift reeking a metallic odor that stung the eyes.

I am so proud of you, Ileanne. You are about to embark on a most wonderful Journey like you can't even imagine.

Ileanne scowled as Jala led her down to a large room where many of the Prophets were gathered. Her tiny body began to tremble nervously. At the front of the room, the elders stood before a large stone platform. Everyone was quiet.

One of the elders directed her to the platform. Jala helped her up to sit on the edge and introduced the gray-haired man as Tyrane, their principle elder.

Ileanne looked around at the large collection of eyes focused on her and could not keep her limbs from shaking. Amidst them, she saw the man whose face felt familiar to her. She remembered dreaming about him once, and in the dream he came to her room and kissed her gently on the brow, the kindest gesture anyone had ever shown.

“Relax, child,” said another of the male elders. The voice caused her to jump.

Tyrane approached the platform with purposeful steps, a smile curving his lips upwards with a sickly sweetness that made Ileanne's heart race. “Ileanne, as your mother before you, and all of her mothers before her, you will be host to the Goddess. She will keep your path straight and guide you in times of trouble.”

Confused and terrified, Ileanne pinched her brows together. She didn't want anything in her. “What are you talking about?”

Someone entered the room carrying a small box fashioned of silver metal. The smooth surface of the box gleamed as though powered from within.

Tyrane offered the box to Ileanne and instructed her, “Open this vessel, and from it learn the purpose of your life. The Goddess lives within her chosen ones. Now, she will live within you as well.” Tyrane flashed that smile again, his eyes gleaming in the light of the glow stones.

Cringing, Ileanne shook her head. Unwillingly, she felt her hand lift from her lap. She wasn't moving, yet she could see her fingers stretching toward the flawless metal. As she reached out to touch it, she felt a buzzing in the back of her head. The closer her hand moved, the stronger the buzzing became until she thought she would be sick. Something invisible grabbed her hand when she tried to resist the tug, keeping her steady until her fingers touched the box. The surface felt hot to the touch, burning her fingers. The lid seemed to melt away and the box lay open in her hands. Inside was a small, shining mirror, and Ileanne saw her own face and green eyes.

Then something incredible happened. As she watched, her face began to glow with a purplish light. A glowing bead, like a firefly, floated up and toward her eyes, then flashed and disappeared. In the mirror, her eyes changed color, shifting from pale green to violet, like the open sky.

Her brain tickled. She giggled at the sensation. Her lips tingled, and her nose itched.

Hello, young one, came a voice inside her. It was not one of the Prophets, for it did not come from outside her mind. She wasn't sure how she knew that. The voice just felt different.

Hello, she replied in thought, her inner voice sounding soft and weak. What are you? Where are you?

I have been with your family since the Journey was finished. I come from a distant place but I now live with your mother. This is a sliver of me, so that my whole can find you when needed.

The words and phrases overlapped each other in her mind, and several moments passed before she could make sense of what the thing tried to tell her. Her brain filled with pictures of objects and places she had never seen before. She flew through space without a ship, passing stars and planets. She lived on a dirty world, colored with strange orange dust and black mold. She traveled on a ship alone, in space again. Each life was shown to her in a storm of small pieces, all crammed into her small mind.

Hands held her, keeping her from falling. Her eyes refocused on the face in the mirror.

Her eyes looked like her mother's now. She stopped smiling. She did not want to be like her mother. Her chest felt tight with fear.

I don't want to be her.

+++

6th day Unimont, 286

“She's gone?” Elora screamed, her delicate face distorted in horror. Her violet eyes spilled tears down her crimson cheeks. “You lost my only child! I trusted you with her safety, and you betrayed me!”

“We have looked everywhere, Your Honor,” Tyrane informed, his eyes appropriately downcast with apology. “We have searched for several days.”

Elora marched the length of the room, arms stiff at her sides with rage. Her breaths seethed between her teeth. She stopped and jabbed her finger at the old man. “Days? Why didn't you tell me she was gone?”

“We did not want to cause alarm if she could be found,” he explained, immediately realizing his mistake. The mother's ire flew at him from across the room, slamming into him like a physical blow.

“You—!” Elora shrieked. She stared at him with disbelief. “You liar! I don't EVER want to see you again! Any of you!”

She lifted a heavy book from a table and flung it at him. The book sailed past to his right, landing harmlessly with a thud on the rug. Then she grabbed a vase, which sailed directly at his head. He ducked while the porcelain shattered against the door with a deafening crash.

“Get out of here! Out! Don't ever come near me again!”

“Protectress, there is still time for you to have another child. Patrum can—” Tyrane began to suggest, holding his arms out as a shield against the next flying object, another book. It struck his forearms, sending a bruising sting through his elbows. “We will help you.”

“I can't!” Elora screamed, filled with rage. “I won't let any of you touch me again! Get out! Guards! Guards!”

The door rattled behind him, but he had locked it upon entry. In another moment, the guards would bust the door to get in.

“Protectress, I implore you. Let us help you have another—”

“No! I won't let you near me!”

Wood splintered against his back and he went down in a tumble of human bodies. The guards wrested Tyrane's arms behind his back, lifting him like a doll back onto his feet.

“Get him out of here!” Elora ordered, her left arm stiff in the direction of the exit. “And don't ever let him back in.”

“Yes, Madam,” a guard acknowledged.

Spinning Tyrane around, the guards roughly guided him toward the stairway, down into the main hall and out the main door where his car and his traveling companion waited. The younger man narrowed his eyes in confusion at the elder's undignified treatment.

“Home,” Tyrane stated simply, signaling he wanted no further conversation on the matter. The two Prophets drove out of the city and back into the Storm.

Nothing of Ileanne was ever found. Her parents feared she crashed the car in the Great Storm and perished, her body disintegrated by the blasting sands. After almost a year of searching the entire continent, the people resigned themselves that they would never know her fate.

+++

21st day Trimont, 307

Axandra woke when the first sun rose, still lying on the sand, the tide licking her feet. Every nerve ached. Rolling onto her side, she covered her face, blocking the bright rays that climbed skyward east of her home. She was not alone, for the Goddess rested in her mind, a quiet presence for now. Her head felt like a boulder upon her neck. She lay still and breathed against the sand. Grit coated her tongue and mouth. She could not bear to lift her body through the force of gravity.

“Axandra?” came a shout from the direction of the cottage.

Jon must have just realized she never came to bed the night before. He called again, his voice fading in volume as he turned away from her. She opened her mouth to call back to him, but only a croak came out. Her mouth and lungs felt arid. With a moan, she positioned her knees against the ground beneath her and pushed up. Each muscle trembled like jelly.

Jon dashed down the beach toward her, shouting her name over and over as he came. His knees hit the ground beside her and sand flew up, hitting her skin in a cool layer of stinging.

“Axandra, are you all right? What happened? What are you doing out here?” Jon's hands grabbed her and tried to help her as she lifted her head from the ground. A wave of darkness swept over her, and she felt her body spinning. She thrust her arms straight as braces against the beach. Her dark hair shrouded her face from the light of day. Jon's fingers gently tucked the curls behind her ears so he could see her. “You look sick. Did you get stung?”

Coughing from dryness and sand, Axandra managed a meager nod. Being stung seemed a good explanation. The throbbing felt reminiscent of a jelly sting. She could have stepped on one of those nasty critters in the dark. The blue jellies packed a heavy dose of toxin that, while not fatal, sickened a healthy man Jon's size for several days. Heaving her lungs, she tried to calm her hacking with an intake of fresh air.

Shifting his arms, Jon cradled his lover and lifted her above the sands. “Let's get you inside. I'm so sorry. I went to bed. I didn't think—”

He blamed himself for not checking on her last night. She'd been lying unconscious in the sand for hours. Resting against him, she stopped fighting the pain in her body and tried to let it flow out of her.

Jon lay her down on the bed inside. The air felt cooler and smelled of the flowers cut from a roadside yesterday. Axandra closed her eyes and lay still, listening to the sounds of the water, of the birds, and of Jon rattling around in the kitchen as he looked through the herbs to find the best one to help counteract a jelly sting. She wondered if the remedy would help with this pain.

As she lay in bed, with Jon fussing over her, Axandra had no idea how much time passed. Much time elapsed with her unaware of her present surroundings. Drifting in and out of waking, she found herself in strange places, dream-like worlds. She watched flying reptiles soaring over jungles. She stood in a city of buildings so tall, they blocked out the sky. Trees did not exist. Night skies looked hazy.

Jon washed her face with a damp towel and dribbled a tea made of the herb onto her tongue. The mixture tasted bitter and coated her teeth and gums with an oily layer. By evening, the aches in her muscles eased away and her joints loosened. Her foggy brain cleared.

Jon stayed by her side, seated on the edge of the mattress while he watched her. Opening her eyes, Axandra felt as though she woke from a bizarre dream. Jon looked worried, his bearded face scrunched and frowning. She shifted her body so that she could look up into his face.

“I should've stayed awake 'til you came back,” he scolded himself, shaking his head. “What'f something—”

“I'm fine,” she tried to assure him, though her weak voice lacked conviction in those words. Brushing her hands across her skin, she felt decidedly grimy. The idea of a warm bath popped into her head. Immediately she could smell the aromas of soaps and oils and feel the tickle of popping bubbles on her skin. Blinking rapidly, she pulled herself back to the moment.

“You looked really horrible out there on the beach. I thought you were dying,” Jon said with great distress. “I didn't want to leave you, not even to get the Healer. I couldn't find where you were stung—to put the herb on—so I made tea.”

Pursing her lips in a sour expression, she told him, “It tasted awful, but it seems to be working.” She laughed softly, amused by his concern. Reaching up, she touched her fingers to his tan cheek, stroking the soft whiskers of his full beard. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Jon jerked back from her touch, his eyes abruptly wide. Her hand hung alone in the space between them.

“What's wrong?” Axandra asked, leaving her hand there for him to nuzzle. Jon did not move toward her again, so she slowly withdrew.

“Y-you gave me a shock or—er, something. Maybe it's all the sand.” He forced a smirk, but his lips turned down again quickly. He reached out to take her hand, but stopped himself uncertainly. “I'll fill up the tub. You'll prob'ly feel a lot better after a bath.”

Her companion sensed something wasn't right. As he left the room, Axandra held her hand in front of her, staring at the bluish lines across her palm, trying to see something unusual in her veins. Only sand and dust and bitter tea.

Water splashed into the shallow metal tub in the next room. They didn't have a large tub in this cottage by the sea, but she fit inside the round basin if she bent her knees. Jon usually stood, using the hose to rinse himself with warm water. He looked awkward if he tried to sit.

Sitting up in bed, she listened and waited for Jon to return, thinking he would help her out of her clothes and use the sponge to wash her skin. He usually enjoyed shampooing her hair.

“Tub's full,” he called. He escaped past the bedroom and into the main room, not even casting a glance in her direction.

A sinking sensation weighed in her chest as she sighed. She prayed his jitters would pass soon and that they could return to normal. She made no plans to reclaim her old life. The people would simply have to make do without a Protectress.

Using her arms to push herself up from the bed, she went to take her bath.

+++

23rd Trimont

A majority of the residents in Port Gammerton assembled to hear the official news. In the meeting hall on the village square, the people sat on long wood and lacquer benches arranged in loose rows. The unofficial news already spread rampantly of the Protectress' demise in the form of chatter trickling among the townsfolk.

Still feeling ill from the prior day, Axandra leaned against Jon. She sensed tension in his embrace and a strong desire to move away from her. Though weak and desiring his comfort, she straightened her spine and tucked her cold hands between her thighs, being careful not to touch him again. She knew that Elora, the Protectress, was gone. The Goddess could only be released upon the death of the host. The arrival of the spirit delivered this news without words.

The Principal of their village addressed the people, his sun-darkened arm waving to ask for quiet. “Everyone, I have very sad news. Very sad news. The Protectress—Our Esteemed Matriarch—has passed away.” He made the announcement in somber tones, his eyes cast down toward the floor. He fidgeted uncomfortably as he listened to the gasps and bursts of sobbing that circled the room. Others sat silently, stunned by the news.

Again, the Principal raised his hands to request stillness. “This is official from the People's Council. They ask everyone to give a few moments to honor her in her passing.”

And so everyone present sat quietly for a few minutes, giving their thoughts over to thank the Protectress for all of her good deeds. Axandra could hear those thoughts, making the air too heavy to breath.

Then, people began to ask questions. “When did it happen?” asked Nellie from the far side of the room.

Axandra slouched mournfully on the bench feeling drained. All morning, she struggled with the noises in her head. The fight exhausted her. Voices spoke to her from nowhere and from everywhere. Some she recognized as neighbors. Others came from unknown distances. They weren't really speaking to her, yet she felt as though everything she heard was meant for her. The voices distracted her again.

Who will show us the way now? Someone worried. What will happen to our peace? If only her daughter was still alive. That poor girl.

Rubbing her temple, Axandra attempted to block those voices. Since the Goddess had come to her, she found herself unable to form even a simple barrier to close her sensitive mind from others.

She so wanted to lean against Jon for support, to draw strength from his presence. He had shifted several centims away from her on the bench since they sat down. He kept himself withdrawn, his hands tucked beneath his arms and his eyes forward. He wouldn't even look at her.

“She was very ill,” the Principal responded to a second question Axandra had not heard. “The Council informs us that she has been so for some months. Her passing was, unfortunately, expected.”

“Do they know who will take her place?” asked Janette, raising her age-withered hand above the heads of the crowd to be noticed.

The Principal shook his head of salt and pepper hair. “They did not say, Ms. Nariss. I suggest that we all go home and take a few minutes to honor her. The Council will let us know as soon as they have any further news.” With these words, he stepped down from the raised platform and walked away, sagging sadly as he exited the building.

The crowd split off into small groups. Some left the hall and headed for home. Others stayed, conversing about the tragedy. Axandra waited to see what Jon was going to do. He did not move immediately.

Janette, who sat to her right, bumped her shoulder. “Oh, dear. You look terrible. You're taking this quite hard.”

Did she look so grief-stricken? Janette touched her bare arm, and the woman's mind flew at hers with little effort. Axandra backed away slightly.

“Jelly sting,” Jon announced flatly. “Farenseve. Been sick ever since.”

“Oh, is that what we call it now,” Dora, Janette's life-partner, commented from the far side. “Were you that jelly, Mr. Jon. I'd say there is something else causing these shakes.”

“It isn't like that,” Axandra vehemently denied the accusation that she might be pregnant. She met Janette's eyes momentarily. “I just haven't been well the past couple of days.”

“Well, something sure feels different about you,” said Janette. Having no children of her own, she often fussed over Axandra like an overbearing mother, giving no thought to touching her so casually or blurting out every comment that came to her mind. “Did you see the Healer? Maybe she has a remedy.”

Shaking her head, Axandra assured, “It will pass.” She shivered, feeling a sudden chill across her skin.

“Well, my dear, I do hope you get better. Our garden needs tending again. You know,” Janette swiftly changed subjects, “I don't believe I have ever noticed your eyes to be so brightly colored before. I know they've always been that unusual shade of purple, but today they seem remarkably deeper.”

Axandra raised her fingers to the soft flesh around her eyes, as though she could touch the color of them. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.” Would anyone else notice?

Jeanette switched gears again. “I feel so sorry for the Protectress—having lost her daughter all those years ago—Twenty is it?”

“Twenty-one,” Axandra stated too matter-of-factly. This caused Jeanette to peer at her suspiciously. “I, uh, I believe it's been twenty-one years,” she stammered, pretending to be less knowledgeable.

“Twenty-one,” Janette echoed. She held a crooked finger to her lips thoughtfully.

Panicking that she gave away too much, Axandra tugged at Jon's sleeve. “I need to go home.”

“All right,” Jon allowed and grudgingly helped Axandra to her feet. As soon as she was up, he released her and started away.

“So, when are the two of you going to get married?” Dora asked loudly, without qualms. Other heads turned in their direction. “You've been together so long now, you might as well.”

Ignoring the old woman, Axandra followed Jon through the remnants of the crowd.

In the square, many of the villagers milled about, not quite sure if they should return to their work or go home to mourn. The only service being provided for the time being was spirits at the tavern.

“I'm going to head over to the pub to get the rest of the scuttlebutt,” said Jon, his eyes wandering in that direction. “Will you be all right to walk home by yourself?”

Axandra hadn't expected to be abandoned so quickly. She opened her mouth to say no, that she needed him. Jon's instincts urged him to run away from her. He didn't understand why, but the need to flee overpowered any other emotion. Closing it again, she nodded to him. “I should be all right. I just need to rest.”

“Thanks,” he said and quickly ditched her where she stood. She heard him call out a hello to the operator of the tavern. Jon often worked there, cooking and serving food to travelers and locals.

“Let me walk you home,” said a voice behind her. She recognized Lilsa's inflection. The friend came to a stop beside her, looking off in Jon's direction. “He's acting very strangely today,” Lilsa observed, offended that anyone treat a friend of hers in such a manner.

Axandra looked to Lilsa's freckled face. “You don't have to do that. It's out of your way.”

“Nonsense,” Lilsa dismissed lightly. “I don't mind. We haven't talked in a week. You've been hiding out at your place.”

“I wasn't feeling well,” Axandra offered as an excuse, then scowled. Saying that would only give fuel to the rumor that she might be pregnant. She didn't want everyone to think it was true. Hurriedly, she tried to clear up such suspicions. “With a bug. Fish flu or something.” She started walking toward the road that would pass her cottage about a kilom outside the village. She chose consciously not to look back at Jon. Lilsa kept pace beside her.

“Don't pay any attention to those old ladies. You're definitely not pregnant,” Lilsa told her confidently. “You know I have a knack for those things.”

“Why didn't you become a Healer?” Axandra asked her, knowing that Lilsa had been approached to join the respected profession, just as she had, a couple of years ago. They were both a little older than the typical recruits.

“Why didn't you?” Lilsa asked in return, signaling she would share if Axandra did. Each knew the other would keep her own secret.

“Well. I'm relieved to hear that,” Axandra said, skipping back to the diagnosis. “I'm not ready to have a baby.”

“I didn't think so—but you don't have the flu—and I heard your story about a jelly sting. I don't believe that either,” rejected her dearest friend. Lilsa tucked her short brown hair behind her ears, only to have the sea breeze tickle the strands loose again. “Jon isn't listening. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Not answering immediately, Axandra walked quietly with Lilsa along the narrow road. Leaving the village proper, they entered a realm thick with leatherleaf and umbrella trees. A large colorful parrot perched in a small tree nearby, watching the two ladies pass him as he clung to a narrow branch. The strong wind from the open ocean clapped the heavy leaves together overhead. The ocean waves sounded gentle, muted by the thick vegetation. They walked alone. This road was rarely traveled except by the residents of the few homes along its path.

“I'm not really certain what to tell you,” Axandra admitted, cautious of revealing anything. Her pace slowed. She felt exhausted from her exertions. If her head would quiet down, she thought she might be able to get some sleep. Even now, hints of voices echoed in the space between her ears. “I'm very tired. I don't feel like myself.”

“When did Jon start acting so strange?” Lilsa prompted. “Usually he's fawning over you, ready to respond to your every whim? Today he just abandoned you in the street.”

“A couple of nights ago,” Axandra replied honestly. She remembered it too clearly, the spooked look on his face when she laid her hand upon his cheek. “It's my fault.”

“Your fault?” Lilsa asked, abashed.

Axandra nodded. Her eyes followed the ground in front of her, concentrating on counting the dark pebbles along the way, hoping the exercise would clear her mind. “I've changed.”

“People don't change overnight,” her friend rebuked. Lilsa bent to grab a stone from the side of the road, the black surface scratched from decades of treading.

“I can't explain it, but I know Jon doesn't want to be with me anymore.”

“Sounds like he's the one who's changed,” Lilsa insisted. She was not willing to let her dear friend take the blame for the fouled relationship.

“Lilsa, you've been a very good friend to me,” Axandra said gratefully. “I hope I've been the same to you.”

Her companion stopped her, reaching for her hand and holding it tightly, a gesture reserved for the most intimate of friends. “Of course you have. And I will always be your friend, no matter what happens.”

Yet, even as Lilsa said this, the expression on her face changed. Her charming smile fell away and was replaced with a perplexed wrinkle of her high forehead. She reached out with one hand to touch Axandra's face. “You do feel different.”

Lilsa's mind seeped into hers like water through the seams. Her pink lips quivered. “You're in pain. Someone is hurting you.” Why is someone hurting you?

Lights flashed in Axandra's eyes, and she sensed the Goddess reaching out to Lilsa with hurtful intentions.

Shaking her head, Axandra shrank away from her friend's touch and stifled the Goddess, at the same time wresting her hand free. “Stop! Don't! You sh-should go.”

Axandra turned and dashed over the impacted ground, leaving Lilsa where she stood. Her friend did not follow.

First Jon. Now Lilsa. Axandra didn't want to scare anyone, but she did not have control over the power the creature possessed, nor control over the flashes in her mind of memories both hers and not. The noise in her head pained her. Stopping her ears with her fingers, she continued up the road, not looking back.

Before she realized what she was doing, she packed a travel bag with a few of her belongings—clothes, shoes, a couple of books and a necklace Jon had given her as a token of affection when they first began their romantic relationship.

The half-packed bag rested upon the mattress. She paused in her work and stared at it, confused that she felt an undeniable urge to flee her home. The compulsion was so strong, she continued packing even as she tried to restrain herself. Her body continued to act in ways her mind did not wish.

Her hands, moving independently, closed the packed bag and lifted the strap. Forcing herself to stop the progression, Axandra suddenly understood why she yearned to leave.

The Goddess wanted to return to Undun City. The creature belonged to that city, with its host standing in a position of power before the people as it had for centuries. Images of the stone city impressed upon her eyes, red granite buildings with terracotta shingles, a hill topped with a large white structure like a fortress. The spirit pulled her back there.

I don't want to go. This is my home!

Her body jerked, her resistance limiting the forced movements. The being forced her to pull the strap of the bag to her shoulder. The weight dragged her down so that her feet scooted across the floor, the soles of her sandals scraping the wooden planks. With a surge of force, her feet propelled her to the outer door. Throwing her arms out stiffly, she blocked her own exit.

No! You cannot control me! Even as she thought to it, her brain became saturated with more images. Ocean waters lapping at the hull of a ship. The wind whipping her hair and dress. Roads. Bumping over gravel and brick. The Palace, brightly lit by the afternoon suns.

Voices swelled in her ears. We must come to a resolution soon. The people are already growing restless to know who will act as Protectress. (But there is no one else.) There must be someone—

“Stop!” Axandra screamed aloud, raising her hands to her ears. Unsteady on her feet, she felt her spine meet the door frame as she stumbled. The heavy pack caught up in gravity and dropped like a stone in the sea. Please stop! You're hurting me!

The Palace stayed in her mind, as though the creature said, Go there. We belong there. The pressure of the image felt as though the building itself sat upon her chest.

With tears, Axandra conceded to go. “All right. I'll take us to Undun City. But why would they believe me?” she asked it. Worn down from the fight, she slid to the ground, her head to knees. “They think I'm dead.”

A face fixed before her eyes, an old man, very pale with a full head of silver hair cut short. He possessed a round, bulbous nose pock-marked with scars. Red patches of capillaries dotted his pasty complexion. The likeness evoked a sense of familiarity in her. He was a Prophet. She did not remember his name. She long ago banished those people and their identities from her memory.

Without conscious movement, she stepped over to the writing desk and retrieved a few sheets of paper and a pen bloated with indigo ink. Her hand scripted a letter to the Head of Council. Her eyes watched her cursive script on the paper, but she did not compose the letter herself. She didn't even know what it was going to say until she read each word that appeared. Her fingers folded the letter and sealed it with a dab of sticky from the bowl on the desk. After addressing the outside, she slipped the letter into the pocket of her dress. They would send it from the town office before they set sail on a ship to cross the Ocean.

They. Two creatures locked together. She wanted to be herself again.

Axandra insisted that they write a second letter to Jon. The words that flowed on paper this time were her words. She apologized for frightening him. She explained that it was time for her to go home, a journey that required her to go immediately and one that required she go alone. As tenderly as her crude vocabulary allowed, she reminded him how much she loved him. Usually, she did not need words to express these things. She only needed to touch him, kiss him and let her gifts open up to him. Lastly, she invited him to come to Undun City and find her. “I will be waiting for you. But I understand if you do not want to see me again,” she added. “All my love, Axandra.”

This letter she folded once and used the sticky to post it to the door where he would most certainly see it.

With the pack on her shoulder again, she left the cottage and began a long journey.

The Newcomer

30th Trimont, 307

The letter arrived in Undun City seven days after leaving Port Gammerton.

Addressed to the Head of Council, the folded parchment arrived in Nancy Morton's hands unopened. The outside bore no return address and only a single word in the upper left corner. “Ileanne.”

Pursing her eyes and mouth, Nancy cracked the sticky seal and unfolded the sheet of paper with a gentle, curious touch. She reviewed the words written in elegant swirling characters that were almost difficult to read.

“Esteemed Councilor Morton,

I have carefully considered my obligations to the citizens of our small planet and believe it necessary to reclaim an identity I long ago relinquished when I fled the Prophets and disappeared.

While I do not expect to be believed at first, I am certain you will find that my true identity is that of Ileanne, daughter of Elora and Mitchum Saugray, though I have not gone by that name since the age of six.

I expect to arrive in Undun shortly after this letter is received, and I am prepared to submit to whatever tests you may require in order to prove or disprove my claim.

Sincerely,

Axandra Korte.”

The Councilor frowned at the letter. Nancy feared that someone would attempt to lay claim to the identity of the long missing child. In fact, she anticipated many such claims as the weeks tarried forward. Her plan to deal with them consisted of politely acknowledging each claim. Then she would send a representative to explain that the enthusiasm to fill the shoes of the Esteemed was appreciated, but at the same time unwelcome. So far, this was the first such claim to be made. Unable to send a representative to the claimant, she would wait for the impending arrival.

The Council would indeed require tests to provide proof. Only a few individuals possessed the ability to confirm the identity of this mysterious visitor. And she would share this letter with no one but the few whom she needed. No use giving the people any false hope.

The audacity of anyone to pretend to be a long dead child! A distasteful grab at honor! Nancy could barely palate the thought that anyone would make such a bold and clearly false move.

Sitting at the wide desk in her office, Nancy read the letter a second time, focusing on different words of the composition, seeking out anything in the language that would indicate who this woman was or where she was from. The letter contained no regional references and no date. The family name meant nothing to her. Nor did the letter contain any details that were not publicly known. The letter represented a feeble attempt to excite her. Nancy felt no excitement. She suspected that no one would come. She dreaded her duties if the writer of this letter actually arrived. The visitor would not be welcomed kindly.

+++

5th Quadrember

Councilor Morton kept watch over the front entrance of the Palace for several days, distracted her from her other duties. The staff observed her preoccupation, and they attempted to discover what secret she kept while staying well out of her way. Nancy caught one of the kitchen staff snooping in her office one afternoon and chased the young man out with a disgusted shout.

However, on a planet inhabited by people with telepathic abilities, secrets proved difficult to keep, especially when on the forefront of one's mind. Nancy couldn't help thinking about the letter. After six days, she grew restless waiting. She was about to give up that anyone would step forward to claim the note. Her inquiries into the location of a person named Axandra Korte turned up nothing. No one could find record that such a person existed. A fictitious name on a fictitious piece of drivel.

Miri caught the first stray thoughts about a visitor coming to Undun City, an important visitor, though the reason for the importance remained indiscernible to her from a mere peek. Morton shielded the thoughts whenever Miri lingered nearby.

But Miri let slip to other staff that the Councilor anxiously anticipated a visitor. Everyone in the Palace began to keep an eye on the front entrance to catch a first glimpse of the awaited stranger.

A council aide overheard that an Heir was coming to claim the Protectresship. He babbled this to everyone in the Palace, unable to contain his excitement that soon the Protectress would be with them again.

Morton frowned realizing the news spread around the staff like a prairie fire, deepening the creases in her already dour face. She reminded herself to keep her mind more shielded.

The seventh day after the letter arrived, a visitor appeared on the front walkway. From her office window, Nancy found a woman dressed in pale pink being escorted through the front doors of the Palace. She was a petite woman with dark brown curling hair loose about her shoulders.

For days Nancy had practiced how this first meeting would proceed. She decided she must march into the room with a cool head and skeptical temperament. She would dictate the tests to be performed. She half-expected that the show would quickly fizzle, that the imposter would give up immediately. If not, the Healer stood by to gauge the woman's state of mind and truthfulness. A Prophet would arrive tomorrow to determine the identity of the stranger, one of the Prophets who had last seen Ileanne the child.

Morton waited impatiently, tapping her foot on the stone floor beneath the window ledge. Frustrated with waiting for notification, she started out the door of her office just as Miri arrived with the news.

“Councilor Morton, Miss Axandra Korte awaits you in the Library,” the young woman announced, careful not to display her own excitement that the visitor had finally arrived. The server kept her pink-painted lips in a straight line, but her pale blue eyes betrayed her hunger to hear the verdict.

“Thank you, Miri. Have tea served. I will be with her momentarily.”

“Yes, Councilor.” Miri bowed and turned from the office, leaving the door open as she left.

Alone for a moment, Nancy breathed deeply and steeled herself for the task ahead. She very much doubted that the woman could be the lost daughter. The child had undoubtedly perished under the Great Storm. To attempt to pass oneself off as the lost child displayed gross impudence.

These thoughts set Morton in a sufficiently sour mood, so she headed to the Library on the second floor of the Palace to find out just who this woman thought she was.

Stepping into the expansive room lined with bookshelves, Nancy first saw the woman's back. She observed a short woman, slender yet curved. A pink dress with one slightly tattered hem flowed over the slight frame down to her knees. Miss Korte wore only light sandals on her feet. An islander. The woman handled a book from one of the shelves and read the first page.

Looking up as she sensed someone watching her, Axandra Korte turned to the Councilor as the elder woman entered. She drew a somewhat sheepish smile on her sun-kissed face, perhaps already aware of the distrust brewing in her host.

“Greetings, Miss Korte. Welcome to Undun City,” Morton greeted flatly, making the gesture less of a welcome and more of a formality. “From where did you travel?” Nancy asked curiously.

“I came from Gammer Island,” replied the young woman without hesitation, trying to retain her smile despite the less than cheerful welcome. “From the village of Port Gammerton.”

“That is quite a distance” Nancy stated. She knew well for she too was from the Western Islands, though not from Port Gammerton. “I judge by your arrival that you are determined to see this through.”

“I am,” Axandra replied seriously, more closely matching Morton's demeanor. She replaced the book carefully on the shelf before more formally addressing the Councilor. “As I suspected, you have doubts about my claim.”

A server arrived with tea. Miss Korte waited silently with Morton while they were served. Neither moved to sit down among the lavishly upholstered furniture. Nancy watched the visitor as the woman surveyed the room from ceiling to floor.

When they were alone again, Axandra reminisced, “I loved the Library. My mother would let me hide in here from time-to-time to read picture books.”

Nancy scowled listening to such a contrived story. The books on these shelves were rarely touched and the Protectress-Past had never mentioned her daughter's love of books. Elora rarely mentioned her daughter at all in recent years, and when she did, the thoughts sent the sick woman into a fit of grief.

“Let's get down to business, shall we?” urged Nancy. “With your permission, I have arranged two identification studies to be performed to validate your claim.”

“Of course,” the young woman agreed.

At that moment, Nancy took a good look at the woman standing a meter in front of her. Though disheveled from her travels, her resemblance to the Protectress-Past was unmistakable. From her oval face to her large almond-shaped eyes, round nose and soft lips painted in a natural shade of pink. Dark tea-colored curls contrasted her ivory skin tone, tanned from time under the suns. Miss Korte must have spent much of her time outdoors. Her mother's skin had never darkened to such a shade.

And those eyes—those lavender-colored irises that seemed to swirl like clouds in a whirlwind. Only the women of the Protectress' family were ever documented to have such color of eyes. The longer Nancy looked at them the more she decided that their color was true and not a trick of the light.

“First, our staff Healer will examine you physically and mentally to determine if you are being truthful. She will compare your physical examination to notes made by the Healer who would have cared for you as a child. Any birthmarks or scars will help determine the authenticity of your claim. She may also request a blood sample for further comparisons. Secondly, a Prophet who is familiar with the child Ileanne will examine your thoughts. I believe his examination may be the most definitive.”

With that, the Councilor summoned the Healer, a middle-aged woman named Eryn Gray, who politely asked for the Councilor to wait outside while she conducted her examination. Nancy imagined the procedure to include a thorough examination from head to foot, making notes on a sheet of paper of paper, and then continuing with the entrance into the mind. For privacy, Nancy felt no concern being asked to vacate the area. When the door to the library opened, Nancy noticed Miss Korte fastening the last button of her dress and rising to her feet from where she had perched on a wall-mounted bench. Eryn slipped a vial containing a blood sample into her pack.

“I find no reason to believe that this woman is lying to us,” the Healer announced openly. “She bears a pink stain birthmark between the spine and left scapula, similar to the one described in Healer Cardra's notes. I will compare the blood sample to those records as well.”

“Very good,” Nancy bowed gratefully to the Healer. “Thank you for your assistance.” She ushered the Healer out of the Library and stood alone with Miss Korte once again. She thought she spied relief in the young woman's eyes. One obstacle overcome successfully.

“Tomorrow, the Prophet will arrive. I will summon you at that time to meet with him. I trust you're prepared to allow him to enter your mind.”

“I have nothing to hide, Councilor. I wish you to understand the truth, as improbable as you believe it to be.” Morton observed that Axandra remained calm about the situation, as though she had no doubt what they would find.

“Very well. We'll proceed. Do you have accommodations? I take it you just arrived in the city.” Nancy eyed the wrinkled dress the woman wore and the stuffed travel bag that rested to one side of the doorway.

“I came straight here,” Axandra confirmed. “This is a very urgent matter for many people. I'll find a suitable inn in the city.”

“Nonsense. You may stay here in the Palace. I will have Miri show you to a guest room.”

Nancy thought the woman about to protest, but saw her think the better of it. Miss Korte appeared tired and in need of rest.

“Thank you. That is much appreciated.”

“You're welcome,” Morton said with a snort, still putting on an air of distrust. She turned on her heels and marched from the room. She sent Miri in to see to her guest's needs and returned to her office for a final task of the day. As part of her daily ritual, she cleared her desk of all papers and arranged her personal items suitably on the dark surface. While doing so, Nancy discovered that her staunch disbelief of the young woman's claim was quickly replaced with overall acceptance. This both relieved her, as the office needed filled desperately, and disturbed her. Miss Korte's emanations emitted a pervasive pulse of persuasion.

Once the task was complete, Nancy left the Palace for her residence.

+++

Releasing a breath of great relief, Axandra allowed her shoulders slump as soon as Councilor Morton exited the room. The Head of Council, to her credit, did not allow the prospect of filling the position blindly lead her into accepting the claim. As frustrating as it was to go through the rigor of people stepping into her mind and eying her body, the ritual was also comforting. Not just anyone would be able to pose as the lost Heir.

And at least the Goddess rested quietly for now, having kept its promise to calm her mind if she came to Undun City. The creature still weighed heavily in her head, a physical weight that strained her neck. She hoped she would get used to the burden.

Soft pattering footsteps alerted her that someone else approached. Straightening her posture, she made herself ready for another round of questions.

Miri, the young blonde woman who had greeted her in the main hall, appeared in the Library again and asked that Axandra follow her. The aide moved lithely and quick, every move purposeful. They walked quietly up a flight of stairs in the center of the Palace and turned right into the south wing of the elaborate edifice, where the guest residences lay opposite the Protectress' residential suite.

Many memories from her childhood returned, things she had long ago buried in her strife to be someone else. She was never allowed in the guest wing, though she had wandered down this corridor a couple of times. She'd been just four or five then. The details were unclear, except for the feelings she remembered, a curiosity about everything and the desire to explore. She used to escape from her nanny and tutor and sneak around all over the Palace, much to their chagrin.

Antiquities and art lined the corridor, depicting a faraway world from the past. A large painting illustrated a pastoral scene, a picnic of ladies and gentlemen dressed in fine fabrics and buckled shoes. Heads nodded toward each other as though conversing. The grass lay green and the sky soared blue—not the lavender color of this planet's atmosphere.

Miri guided Axandra to a suite halfway down the corridor and on the east side of the building, where she stopped to open an ornately carved door.

“We refer to this as the Fairytale Room,” Miri explained cheerfully, her pink lips beaming a welcoming, toothy smile, “since the door is carved with fairies and nymphs. That isn't official though.” She lowered her voice to a whisper at the last remark. She went immediately to the double doors of the balcony and pushed back long silken drapes to let the sunslight filter in.

“I understand you've traveled quite a long distance, Ms. Korte. I can have your clothing laundered and bring up a meal when you're ready. The chef is preparing stuffed lettuce for supper.”

“Thank you very much,” Axandra accepted both offers, handing Miri a majority of her luggage.

“The Head of Council says you may have your run of the Palace. She only asks that the north wing of this level be regarded as off limits. That's the Residence.”

Axandra nodded in understanding. “I will respect that.”

Miri moved quickly to continue her business, heading for the door. “I am at your disposal during your stay. Just let me know if you need any assistance.”

“Oh, for the moment, I'm just going to rest. It's been a long trip.”

“Very well.” Miri disappeared, closing the wide door behind her.

Breathing in the air of the room, Axandra found it fragrant with flowers from a planter covering a small table. She went out onto the balcony and looked down at a lush garden filled with native blossoms and hedges, some so tall as to block the paths from view of each other. The grounds stood divided from a forest of broad-leaf trees by a two-and-a-half meter wall. The trees lined the banks of a shallow river that ran wide and clear. Sunslight glinted off the water.

As Axandra sat down on a lounge chair draped with a small canopy for shade, exhaustion settled in her bones. The cushions of the chair felt luxurious compared to the lodgings aboard the sailing ship and riding in a bumpy solar bus for hours.

The trip had taken sixteen days of dreaming up scenarios of how this meeting might go. She imagined any number of results, from being welcomed back with open arms to being forced back out the door without consideration. The event landed acceptably in the middle. Things could have gone much worse.

Thoughts about the day began to melt away, replaced by contentment to be lying against the soft shams, her toes kissed by the suns. The garden gave the air a sweet and moist aroma. It was Spring, and every plant glowed brightly with new growth. The suns basked the world in a warming light. A cool breeze brushed her skin and ruffled her dress. Her eyelids grew heavy.

Floating in the front of her brain, she saw her mother's face, the adoring face she remembered from childhood. The face wore a warm and inviting smile.

+++

Miri woke her when the suns were nearly set and an orange-pink glow belted the lavender sky. As the shade darkened to indigo, the stars began to shine. A subtle patch of the Milky Way melted across the middle of the skydome like a leftover cloud.

“I apologize, Ms. Korte,” Miri said at waking her. “I thought you might be ready for dinner now. It's nearly eight o'clock.”

Axandra opened her eyes to the pleasant and friendly face, then sat up slowly on the lounger.

“Yes,” she said after considering the growling of her stomach. “I am. Thank you. I was much more tired than I realized.” She quickly combed her fingers through her curls to revive them and pushed herself up to her feet.

The balcony table lay set for one with a covered plate and silverware on a cream-colored table cloth. “It's a very pleasant evening,” Miri began to chat. “Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

Axandra sensed Miri's curious questions running rampant through her mind. “I would enjoy a conversation that doesn't involve sailing or fishing,” Axandra said with a depressed laugh. “If I can make use of you for that purpose.”

Invitation accepted, Miri slid herself onto a seat across the table. “Certainly. Go ahead with your dinner. I've already eaten. Where are you from exactly?”

While Axandra nibbled at the wraps, which were stuffed with a mixture of vegetables, fruit and mushrooms glued together with a nutty sauce, Axandra explained that she had traveled from about the farthest point away from Eastland as was possible and that she had sailed across the open Ocean instead of coming by land. “I've been seasick for almost two straight weeks.” The rich food made her stomach rejoice, for she had eaten very bland meals supplied by the sailors with limited supplies. She hadn't even eaten lunch today. As soon as she made landfall, she got on the bus to come to Undun, another six hours, wasting no time on trivials such as meals.

For dessert, there were chilled berries in cream. After devouring the wraps, Axandra took to those greedily with her spoon. The cream tasted sweet with a pinch of sugar.

“You enjoyed that I see,” Miri gestured to the empty plate. “The chef will be pleased. Why is it that you've come to us, Ms. Korte, if I may ask? You've traveled a very long way when surely a letter would have sufficed.” The young woman thought she was being clever, fishing for hints.