Winds of Change: Chest of Soul Prequel, #4

By Michelle Erickson

The lace of legend is becoming frayed and Revaya doesn’t see it. 
For more than twenty thousand years, she has been the Lady of Ogdones. 
But a storm is brewing. 
Her best friend is being hunted by an assassin so fast even Veya has a hard time seeing her. 
Strange notes of warning are being left for her and the others, but who is writing them? 
Vael’s unwanted interest continues to be a thorn in her side. 
The Winds of Change are howling and no one is listening. 
The distractions keep piling up. 
Love being the most powerful distraction of all. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Erickson
• Release date: Jun 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781536551310

Book preview

Prologue

Midnight waxed cold as fog curled around the base of every tree in eastern Shara. 

The full moon blistered the clouds with her bold silver rays until they painfully parted and allowed the shafts of light to slice their way across the landscape. 

Every dark corner was clipped by the sharp light, trimming away the shadows until the world seemed to be filled with silver-white light.  The dark sulkily pulled back to the shadowy fringes that pooled beneath trees and anything else large enough to cast a shadow. 

Outside the window of a Sharian farm, Axe perched in a large tree, listening intently to the sounds that would herald the birth of her first grandchild.  Inside the modest home, her son was delivering his own child, much to the bewilderment of his Macsharian wife.   

Axe’s daughter-in-law had no idea there was no other choice.  A midwife would have no idea what was going on, if anything unusual happened. 

Maylon, her son, hadn’t told his wife his presence was necessary just in case the baby wasn’t exactly normal.  Considering his bloodline, there was a 50-50 chance it would be something...more.

The window she balanced above slid open and she dropped lightly to the ground.  Maylon silently handed her the blanket-wrapped evidence.  His sharp eyes met hers, the message clear, but his voice was no more than a whisper. Twins.

The other?

Sharian.

Impossible.  At least, that is what she’d been told.  She cradled the unusually-colored egg her daughter-in-law had given birth to. What did you tell Keela?

The egg came out with the afterbirth, so I said nothing. 

She gave Maylon a look he could not mistake and he looked away.  He was aware that she did not approve of leaving her daughter-in-law in the dark.  Keela was a powerful Air-Mac that Maylon helped escape from the Fortress in Brissa.  Axe was sure he was underestimating his wife’s inner strength.  She doubted that anything could destroy her mind.  If the Fortress hadn’t stripped her mind, nothing would.

Yes, Keela was made of stronger stuff, but Maylon was going to have to reach that conclusion.  Right now, he feared he’d lose her love.  It was unlikely Axe would get to know the other granddaughter.  It was one thing to see a baby harpy, but another to see a full-grown battled-hardened warrior of Red Aerie.  She would have to settle for watching her Sharian-looking granddaughter from a distance.

Her son watched as Axe slipped the blanket and gold-flecked egg into her left wing-pouch.

You know where to find me.

I’ll join you whenever I can, he promised.

This would be hazardous for all of them.

Be sure to explain... Maylon struggled with emotion.

She relieved him of the burden by completing the sentence, That you made a hard choice.

He grimly nodded and clamped his lips together so tight the edges turned white. 

I will protect this granddaughter or die trying, she promised.

It should be me.  His expression was pained.

Your choice to marry outside of the aerie ended that possibility.

The truth burned, but she understood more completely than most.  She had done the same thing – with worse results.

He hung his head and she pitied him for a moment.  Love should not be an offense punishable by death.  It shouldn’t.

Keela was worth it, wasn’t she?  Axe felt he needed the reminder.

He swallowed, looked her in the eyes, and then back at his sleeping wife and baby daughter.  Yes.

She knew he would say so.  He was very much like his father, who was Sharian and faced with a similar problem.  There will be other children.  Each time there is a birth I will come to the tree and wait until you know if the baby is Sharian.

His eyes were clouded with sorrow, but his voice was full of gratitude.  Thank you, memah. 

It had been centuries since she’d heard his childhood name for her.  I will see you soon, she said.  Two steps and her leather wings snapped out, catching the wind and lifting her away from the only family she had left.

*

The gold-flecked egg Axe brought home two weeks ago was now six times its original size.  The flecks on the shell had expanded over the entire surface the first week.  For the following week, the egg had been a muted gold in color.  The color had thinned over time to the point of transparency. 

In all her millennia’s of life, she’d never seen such a color on a harpy egg.  She doubted anyone had.

Axe lovingly turned the nearly-transparent egg in the blanket-nest she’d created on her bed.  They were safe here in the home her husband had provided far from civilization. 

She spoke to it, sang to it, told it stories, and recited history.  It was fulfilling to share her hard-won knowledge.  It would be more than satisfying to witness the miracle this hatching would be.

The backside of the egg was warm after its time in the sun and needed to be moved every hour to prevent warping the tender wings of the un-hatched. 

The backlit-swirl-pattern on the shell indicated the hatchling was female.  But within each backlit-swirl were three short marks that should not be there.  Stripes indicated male hatchlings.  These three marks weren’t right in a traditional sense.  They weren’t like any she’d seen over eons of living among harpies.

Already, the hatchling was a puzzle.  She enjoyed puzzles.  Somehow it will work out. Her brow furrowed.  Or not...

She turned the egg again, softly humming as she pondered the meaning of the marks, catching her own reflection on the surface of the shell.  Ignoring it, she took joy in the egg.  It was not only beautiful, it was unique. 

She sighed, inwardly acknowledging the egg was also an indication of an aberration. Inside was her grandchild.  She was sure it was female, despite the confusing markings.

She only hoped she wouldn’t have to kill her. 

The thought was appalling, but there was survival protocol to follow in every aerie.  The never-to-be-broken rule was that no one would allow the unknown to destroy an aerie.

Technically, they weren’t in an aerie.  There was just the two of them, and, occasionally, Maylon, this hatchlings half-breed father.  Once every new moon, he was a harpy from the tip of his slate-blue feathered wings to his sharper-than-razors toe talons.

Axe surmised that it was from Keela’s Macshara blood the aberration and possible danger came. 

Her son and Keela escaped what had once been a school named Hyperion, and married.  From there, they had come home to roost. 

Her love-struck boy hadn’t bothered to mention to his bride he wasn’t completely Sharian. Instead, he kept the secret.  Foolish!  Dangerous!

She’d never met her daughter-in-law, but had watched her from a distance.  Keela was graceful, very pretty, and had endured the Fortress.  Axe felt sure she wouldn’t have turned up her nose at a half-bred baby. 

She turned the egg; admiring the perfectly formed wings just beneath the thinning shell’s surface, noting that the color appeared to be dark, though that could change once air hit the wings. 

‘I can’t breeve!’

This thought came from the egg for the hundredth time that day.  This was accompanied by the sound of a panicked heart beat and the inner-scratching of the shell which meant her granddaughter thought she was ready to emerge.  It was too early by a full week. 

Axe ran her gnarled hand over the shell, smiling, tenderly saying, Soon, little one.

‘I out NOW!’

This was said with a rebellious tone. 

Just as Axe’s fingers once more stroked the egg, two small sets of sharp baby-talons on her grandchild’s small hands and feet violently pierced the shell.  With a snapping Crack! The egg shell burst apart in a shower of powder, startling Axe, who had never seen such a thing before. 

Wobbling slightly, panting with relief, her two-foot-tall granddaughter was covered with pale grey dust. 

There shouldn’t have been any dust.  It meant the egg was too ‘ripe.’  It had been too long.  Her granddaughter was right – she hadn’t been able to breathe.  She might have suffocated!

Axe pushed the uncomfortable observation aside in favor of studying the newest member of her family.

She was dusty, yes, but gorgeous!  Red wings, fully-feathered body, and a finely-featured white face; a pretty crown of short cardinal-red feathers peeked out from beneath matted ear-length tresses.  The three red clan-feathers that emerged from the arch of the wings claimed she belonged to Axe’s aerie. 

Having witnessed hatchings thousands of times over the millennia’s, Axe knew how to care for eggs.  Her vast experience proved to her that this half-breed granddaughter would be a great beauty in both worlds. 

Her granddaughter blinked pale almost silver-blue eyes and Axe held her breath at the sharp stab of emotional pain.  Her long-dead husband, Hamah, had possessed such eyes.

Axth? the baby harpy lisped, and reached for her grandmother.  Her baby talons automatically retracted as she touched Axe’s hand.  Recognition roosted in her grandbaby’s eyes at the contact and she grinned, revealing bare gums.  She sneezed and the dust mushroomed away from her too-slender form. 

With effort, Axe resisted the urge to pull the tender new wings from the sticky-dry back of her granddaughter.  They were so dry she hoped they wouldn’t tear when they first stretched. 

It was natural to stretch ones wings.  All harpies did this when first hatched.  But this, she knew, was no ordinary harpy.  All things pointed to this hatchling being even more unique than her egg.

Axe reverently gathered the pieces of egg and put them in her pouch while her granddaughter closed her pale blue eyes and stretched her whole body, her wings reaching out to a remarkable length, slowly shedding the dusty remnants of the white of the egg. 

The white part of the egg was supposed to nourish the unhatched.  It had failed toward the end, when her granddaughter had grown too big.  Axe had to assume this difference came because the hatchling’s mother was Macshara – an Air-Mac.

With wings extended, the baby harpy hunched her back as if in pain.  Her small fists were held tightly against her narrow chest and her blue eyes remained closed in concentration, face knotted with effort.  Axe reached out, her heart lurching with the fear the newly hatched half-harpy was having a fit of some sort.

Two more wings, slate-blue leather, complete with three pale-red stripes at the height of their arch, erupted from beneath the first set and stretched wide.  They matched Axe’s own markings.

Axe went to her knees, unable to remain upright.  She couldn’t even blink; the shock was too great. 

The double-set of wings guaranteed Axe would not have to kill her granddaughter.  By virtue of possessing four wings, the new hatchling would, if she survived childhood, automatically be declared a Queen. 

It would be the perfect revenge.  Red Aerie would be forced to accept the quarter-harpy granddaughter of one that had been banished for following her heart.

Her grandbaby giggled and reached up toward the window, opening and closing her hands.

A stiff breeze blew open the shuttered window, startling Axe and making her crouch in readiness, looking for danger, ready to protect. 

There was no threat.  Just...wind.  She stared at her granddaughter.  A hatchling that was half-Air-Mac.

The newborn harpy spread her double-set of wings as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Axe did not correct her or tell her she should be two weeks old before flying.  Her wings were stronger than any hatchlings Axe had ever seen. 

There was only one word in the harpy kingdom that suited this hatchling.  Revaya.

What you mean? Revaya asked.  The freshly hatched Queen looked down at her, still hovering in the air she must have called. Both sets of wings were spread to catch the draft.  She didn’t even lose her balance in the wind stream; an indication of a strong flyer. 

Axe felt pride lift her to her feet; something that had not happened for centuries.  Her voice was strong as she answered, Revaya means Winds of Change.

Chapter 1: Lady of Ogdones

With leather and feathered wings spread to catch the air current, Revaya hovered next to Sanna above the highest gold-covered pinnacle in Ogdones.  To release her wings from the confines of her body was a blessed relief after a long day at ruling the legendary city.  Flying was her personal reward for not losing her temper.  She loved gliding!

Above her beautiful red wings, a canopy of stars faded with the penetrating mist of morning light; except the smallest star of the constellation known as the Three Sisters.  The red sister would only disappear after the sun appeared and blotted her out, as if the brighter light swallowed hers against her will. 

Below her taloned feet, Revaya’s magnificent home was tucked in among the glorious city she ruled – temporarily.

She’d been told by her mentor, Utahna, she was preparing it for someone special that would claim it at an unspecified time in the future.  She was proud of her city and her people.  Any ruler would be happy to have such a beautiful place to rule.

Revaya’s harpy eyes could see in the dark.  During the day, she could see for many more miles than any human ever would.  Admittedly, what she saw made her heart swell with pleasure.  Ogdones was unique among cities and the only one outside of Utak that won recognition for its beauty.  Ogdones was the capital city and millions had flocked to Teris and filled the outlying communities with pockets of good people for many generations. 

In Ogdones, streets were clean and wide, forming blocks that were laid out in A-B-C order from east to west and 1-2-3 order from north to south.  It was the perfect layout for a city.  No one could get lost if they were paying attention. 

Here, no one was denied access to food, employment, education, or shelter.  She was pleased to be in charge!  No matter how long it lasted.  Her people even called her the Lady of Ogdones.

The most amazing building of all was the castle-like structure where she was privileged to live. Some people called it a Villa, or a Palace.  She called it home.

When she first came to the free land, she was nothing more than a refugee fleeing from the brutal Fortress in Brissa.  Through an amazing chain of events, she’d been the sole witness when this Mac-built structure ripped up through the surface of the land like a mirage springing-to-life from a perfect nest of camouflage. 

Utahna, a long-deceased Earth-Mac, had left instructions she’d only seen in vision.  Revaya had taken up that vision and been lovingly laboring on it ever since. 

In the future, Utahna had written, a mysterious powerful woman, with an eye for beauty, would come to claim the city.  Revaya’s job was to prepare it for her.  She took this very seriously and always strove to marry beauty to sensibility whenever designing a new building, park, or cistern.

Still, even now, after twenty thousand years, no one more powerful than the other four Macs she came with had arrived.  Inwardly, she rejoiced.  In her most honest moments, she admitted she didn’t want to surrender Ogdones.  She loved everything about it and everyone that lived here.

Revaya was a unique blend of three powerful races; Harpy, Sharian, and Macshara.  All three races granted her longevity.  The harpy part added great physical strength. The Macshara part allowed her to manipulate air. 

In her heart, she believed Utahna had known it would take this blend to make her city what it needed to be.  It had been a lot of work, but she felt it was worth every moment she had spent.

When night finally lifted the edges of its dark blanket from around her beloved city, she flew to the highest domed roof and adjusted the airweaves to suit her people’s needs; sending warmer air north and cooler air south. 

With a twinge of irritation, she once again tightened the airweave near the shoreline.  She wasn’t sure it would be enough.

The most powerful Water-Mac Revaya knew dwelt beneath the rocky waves that were a mere reflection of ever-changing temperament.  Soline, another refugee from the Fortress, had been moodier lately. 

Theirs was a shaky relationship and just staying out of each other’s way was often the best they could manage, no matter how hard Revaya tried to include the Sea Witch in what was going on above water.

With a practiced eye, she noted the waves were higher than usual and, just to be sure her people were safe, she double-knotted the weave that limited the amount of salty ocean air allowed into the city.  She gave a satisfied nod, holding the end of the knotted weave in her hand. 

Okay, Sanna, I’m letting go.

Her pet Ryke stopped beating his wings that forced cool air south and rose to circle above her as she released the weave.  Sanna’s unique coloring had been loosely based on a tri-colored finch, but his bold pattern was more like a Whiskered Treeswift.

He had been created just for her and she’d watched that creation with awe.  Sanna swooped in the air, his green chest puffed out with pride.  The top of his head was deep royal blue and above and below his beak were two white streaks; one stretched over the top of his eyes, the other below them.  Around his eyes, his feathers were black with a touch of red to the side. Sky-blue feathers on the top of his head appeared to be a stripe until he was annoyed, or trying to make an impression.  Then they stood up. 

For a moment, Revaya watched him show off and then made sure the knotted air would hold.  She whistled to Sanna and, together, they flew down to the Tava tree in her private garden.

Sanna perched among the top branches and Revaya landed on the soft path that surrounded the blue-green bark, resisting the impulse to indulge herself and relax among its multi-colored branches.  Soon, it would begin to bloom again.  She’d been a bit too hasty to gather the blossoms last time and had to endure an entire day without one blossom to mollify her frayed nerves.  She vowed to herself she would never do it again.

On the nearby lattice-back stone bench were her clothes and beneath it, a new pair of shoes.

Sparkles danced across both.  She looked up and smiled at Sanna.  He interpreted her look as an invitation to join her and glided to the back of the bench.  She took a moment to stroke the top of his head, down his long neck, and across his back. He made affectionate noises in the back of his throat.

Even in the blackest of nights, if any light touched his diamond-encrusted beak, it glittered.  It was an effect he loved so much that he purposefully tipped his head to one side and back to let the lights turn his beak into a work of art, casting bits of light around the garden, making it look as if a million fireflies were dancing among the lush growth.

She felt gratitude for Ammon, another former-prisoner.  He’d made Sanna, who sang for her every morning when she woke and every evening as she brushed her hair. 

There was no doubt in her mind that his morning song woke any servants that were not already awake.  She smiled.  More than one pair of bloodshot eyes had glared at her pet with a stewpot in mind.

They would have no luck.  Most of Sanna’s special gifts were a carefully guarded secret.  Like his ability to use his wings to create hurricane-force winds and a beak that could slice through anything.  None of them realized he could carry enormous amounts of weight while flying.  He was also vastly more intelligent than other birds; one of a kind.  Like her.

As she prepared for her day, she privately admitted her pet was a touch vain and a wee bit spoiled.  However, she wouldn’t trade him for any other bird in the world.  If the crushed diamonds he loved kept him happy, what did it matter?  They were only rocks.

When she finished dressing, she fondly patted the trunk of her Tava tree and walked down the stairs toward her duties.  The last of her feathers shrank back beneath her skin as she paused.

In the long narrow breezeway with its rose-bedecked marble columns, she noticed a change in the wind.  It was subtle, but there. 

Axe, her blind grandmother, was a full-blooded harpy.  It had been before she lost her sight that she’d taught Revaya that all changes in the wind meant something.  A storm...trouble...even emotions, like love or hate.

Only later, while incarcerated in the Fortress, did Revaya appreciate the sensitivity of Axe, who was not an Air-Mac. 

The gift of manipulating air was bestowed on Revaya by her Air-Mac mother just as the harpy part of her was a gift from her half-breed father.  She’d often wished for just one gift or the other, but it was not meant to be. 

To her people, she looked human, but she wasn’t.  They did not understand, these needy humans, that when they came to her court, she was the most dangerous of beasts on the free land.

If she actually chose to hunt them, as some braggarts claimed she had, blustering about their near escape from the ‘Beast of Ogdones,’ they would not have lived to tell the tale.

She hastened to the great hall where she would break her fast and begin another day of ruling the best city in the world.  Along the way, she saw her best friend’s portrait.  Maris waved and said, It took you long enough.  When are you going to invite me to update this portrait?  I’m dying to know what’s going on in Utak.

Revaya knew she really meant she wanted to know what was going on with Jaydren, her beloved husband.  I’ll talk to you later, Maris.

What’s wrong?  Maris was one of the most perceptive of all the women she’d ever known.

She paused. It’s really nothing.

No it isn’t, Maris insisted.  not when your expression says you’re upset over something.

Honestly, it isn’t anything serious.  It’s just, well, the wind feels...off.  Listen, Maris, I’ll be back later to talk.  I need to get to a meeting.

Maris nodded and smiled.

To her surprise, waiting for her inside the great hall were two figures, both wearing white Temple robes.

The older man was Zarem the prophet.  His companion looked a bit like him, though he was head and shoulders taller.

Lady Revaya.  Zarem bowed to her as morning stretched its long arms, unraveling pink and gold ribbons to beautify the white clouds that were slowly moving across the sky.

Greetings, Zarem.  I’m...surprised to see you. 

Stunned was more like it.  Though she was familiar with the rate human’s aged, the last time she’d seen him, which seemed like a week ago, he’d been a young man.  His black hair was now white and accented his tan features. 

We’ve just come from the Temple.  His eyes were filled with concern and his voice was tinged with worry as he continued, This is Joram, my grandson.  He has a message for you.

She nodded at a younger version of Zarem, trying to remember when the prophet had remarried.  She knew he had a daughter, Tahree, because Ammon had married her. 

That’s when she realized Zarem had not remarried.  Joram had to be his grandson, therefore, the boy was Ammon’s son.  The features held little of Ammon, but spoke volumes of Tahree’s more exotic bloodline. 

Joram, who looked thirty years of human age, spoke. "Lady Revaya, the winds of change are blowing.  Prepare yourself.  I have seen that you will be in the midst of the storm that cannot be stopped."

Inwardly shaken, she forced herself to smile.  I think I would have preferred you just say hello, Joram.

He half-smiled; worry still flying high in his eyes.

She looked at his grandfather.  Would the two of you like to break your fast with me?

"As always, you’re too kind."  Zarem said and put a hand on his grandson’s arm just as Joram opened his mouth to speak. 

There seemed to be a hint in those words, which missed its target unless it was to confuse her.  She was, or tried to be, kind to everyone. 

We will head west now that Joram delivered the message.

Sudden insight came to her, unwarranted, unwanted.  I’m not the first you spoke to, am I?

Zarem gave her a penetrating look.

You’ve spoken with Ammon?  Of course they would, since they were related by blood and marriage. 

And we will speak with Jaydren, Zarem confirmed.

That didn’t seem to matter as much.  What did Ammon decide to do?  A change in wind that was bringing an unstoppable storm might cause the ruler of Acha to do something they would all regret.

Joram answered proudly, My father’s building a Temple.

"Ammon?"

He isn’t a pagan, Lady Veya, no matter what people might say.  Joram’s expression told her he was offended.

He’s rather edgy to be a prophet’s companion. Before she could apologize, his grandfather joined the conversation.

"That’s Lady Revaya," Zarem gently corrected.

Revaya settled for smiling at Joram, to let him know she hadn’t taken offense at his tone.  I’ve known your father for millennia, Joram, and I’m just surprised at his building a Temple.  He always said he’d leave that up to Jaydren.

Zarem informed her, Lord Jaydren was invited to move the stone, but the rest is Ammon’s design.

Those two men always make beautiful seem easy.  I look forward to seeing it.

Joram seemed to approve of her compliment and gave his first real smile. 

As Lord Jaydren always says, Zarem said with a bit of sadness to his smile, Good life, Lady Revaya.

The two men turned to go as her mind flew down paths without any idea where they were headed.  She ignored the social proprieties and said what she felt, Zarem, your goodbye sounds final.

She had her answer when Jarom hung his head. Zarem gently took her hands.  I have always enjoyed coming to see you in Ogdones.  Even more, I’ve cherished each time we’ve been able to attend the Temple together.  If this is our last meeting, I assure you it is not by choice.  Either way, I wish you well for the long days ahead.

She definitely did not care for the farewell-tone in his voice or for the subtle warning in all his words.  That’s cryptic.

He winked.  Don’t shred the messenger.

She arched an eyebrow.  Don’t tempt me.

He spread his hands and she impulsively kissed him on the cheeks.  Good life, Zarem.  She kissed the younger man on his forehead.  Good life, Joram.

After nodding, Zarem walked away.  His grandson, who gave her a look that seemed both haunted and resigned, said, I’ll return to visit you as soon as I can. 

As she labored through her day, their words intruded upon her decisions.  She weighed each more carefully and gave more thought than was really necessary to the simplest of decisions.

Revaya chose to end the work day with a luxuriously long, candle-lit bath.  Afterward, she could smell the Tava tree blossoms used to scent the candles and soap on her skin and hair. 

These two things were a balm to the harpy and herself while she waited for new blossoms.  If Ammon ever visited again, she’d ask him to grow another two...or ten Tava trees for her garden.

She dried off and dressed, humming as Sanna began to sing.  Perched on the bannister of the overhanging balcony, he sang his favorite trill and paused.  He seemed to be listening for answers.

Her heart was heavy on his behalf.  His question was not going to be answered anytime soon.  He suffered from the same problem as she did:  lack of a mate.

Your fault, not mine. The harpy told her with a slight snarl.

At sunset, Revaya opened both double-doorways on two separate balconies that stood opposite of each other.  They allowed a breeze to blow through her room. 

She stood on the east balcony, brushing her hair as she looked out over the east side of Ogdones.  In the distance, her harpy eyes could see the trees at the edge of the border between Teris and Acha.

Ammon’s building a Temple? 

She hadn’t seen or heard from Ammon in a very long time.  She’d seen Jaydren and Maris at Sogoterra, but Ammon was a no-show.  Jaydren’s answer was short when she inquired. 

He remarried.

Thirty years have gone by? Jarom could even be older than that if he were taking the tea Ammon made.

She was relieved, but a bit hurt Ammon hadn’t brought his new bride to visit her as he had when he married Erisha.  She’d really come to love Erisha.  Tahree...well, she was a very different egg according to Maris.  Exotically beautiful, hard as rocks, and though Ammon had not known it when he married her, the Queen of her people! 

Finished with her hair, Revaya put down her brush just inside the arched doorway and closed her balcony windows.  This was Sanna’s signal to fly over to the west side balcony which overlooked her private garden.

When he landed, she gently stroked his soft feathers.  He moved his silken head into her palm and thrummed deeply in his throat, his way of telling her he loved her.  It wasn’t enough to really satisfy the longing in her own heart, but Revaya didn’t know where to find more.

Chapter 2:  Great One

True to his species, Garb was an excellent treasure hunter and had an obsessive love for shiny things.  Soline should not have been surprised he’d been unable to resist putting his tentacles on the heavy Wahka-gold framed portrait of Jaydren’s wife, but she was. 

She never would have guessed he’d be able to pull it all the way from the sight of the shipwreck and into his den!  This feat made him the strongest octopus she’d ever heard about.  If he were human or Sharian, such a feat would equal moving a house with your bare hands. 

Maris’ painted face looked vastly relieved when Soline appeared.  Soline wasn’t sure what the painted Maris thought Garb was going to do to her, but she’d looked terrified. 

The fact Maris felt terror somehow made her feel better.  She wished she dare to salt the woman for making Jaydren feel the need to appear a foot shorter than he truly was. 

He was already perfect!  It annoyed her that he would maintain the size for Maris.  Of course, she thought it equally ridiculous when Revaya made herself appear shorter at the first of her reign simply because her people were uncomfortable with her true height.  Ammon had done the same for Erisha.

Great One!  One of Garb’s tentacles snaked out and wrapped around her ankle in his usual greeting.  I found the she that belongs to the he in your den!

His statement caused another shock even less pleasant than the first.  How could Garb know about Maris?  Her mind sifted through the past, unable to find the answer. 

I came to see you Great One.  You were not there.  I saw the he you speak to in the shining gem.

The ‘shining gem’ was a mirror that when it faced you, showed your back, but once you put your hand on it, the image straightened out and showed the images of all those who had a similar mirror.  Vael even had one – the reason Soline never talked ‘by mirror’ anymore. 

Veya had given Soline one of the mirrors out of the kindness of her heart. She knew Soline hated the land and seldom came to the meetings for the rulers in the free land. Veya didn’t know a great part of that was because of Maris rather than Vael. 

Not that she’d attend either way. 

She’d been unaware that Garb had been paying such close attention to the inner workings of her life.  He was such a fixture at her grotto she barely noticed him.  She kept a cube of water attached to a tunnel of seawater that he could slither into at the edge of the grotto she lived in.  She’d only made it in the first place because she’d been lonely.

Clever Garb remembered Great One brought that he to me in warmer waters.  He was not flat then.

He was speaking of Pock Island and the time she’d taken Jaydren under the sea with her.  Garb had thanked her for providing a meal – something she’d never told Jaydren. 

Great One was so happy her eyes leaked when this she became the mate of the he you look at.

Happy?  It had been one of the most painful days of her existence.  She had fled Ogdones, leaving Finn with their daughter and plunged into the ocean, heading for her home, wailing as she became one with the current.  She’d forgotten Garb had been there and heard her weeping.

I have done well, have I not, Great One?

Garb, her devoted servant, had done the impossibly impossible for her.  She gently smiled at him, but refused to meet Maris’ eyes. She was very grateful Maris could not hear him.

Soline lightly stroked the