The Truth about Heroes: Two Sides to Everything

By Krista Gossett

The series continues as Rienna and her friends prepare to charge against the southern forces in all-out war. Taking detours for personal reasons, they build relationships and come to terms with dying for a cause. Book 2 of a 9 book series.

This is an adult series that explores both disturbing violence and sexual themes.

Over 80K words. Check out the print version if you're a fan of the author's artwork.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krista Gossett
• Release date: Dec 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370276615

Krista Gossett

Krista Gossett is a professional graphic artist/illustrator as well as an author. Her first love was comic book art and video gaming which helped her develop an interest in creating her own worlds. Krista has two degrees in graphic design and would love to teach someday. Artists never retire. She also raises her two awesome nephews and hopes to always be a role model that encourages them to follow their own dreams as well.

Book preview

THE TRUTH ABOUT HEROES: TWO SIDES TO EVERYTHING

..................

Krista Gossett

¶

PRONOUN

Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review.

All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

Copyright © 2017 by Krista Gossett

Interior design by Pronoun

Distribution by Pronoun

ISBN: 9781537842639

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1: Broken Glass Ocean

Chapter 2: Breath of Fresh Air

Chapter 3: Nesting Dolls

Chapter 4: The Tortoise and the Hare

Chapter 5: The Undead Never Lie

Chapter 6: Unnatural Selection

Chapter 7: Alley of the Dolls

Chapter 8: Grown Woman-Sitting

Chapter 9: Hell’s Bells

Chapter 10: Fear the Reaper

Chapter 11: Truth and Consequences

Chapter 12: Hold the Fort

Chapter 13: Dominoes

Chapter 14: First March

Chapter 15: Devastation

This book is dedicated to my mom and grandma whom both passed away while writing my 8th book and still motivated me to keep going.

Don’t ever give up on your dreams.

CHAPTER 1: BROKEN GLASS OCEAN

..................

WHEN IN MORGAZE, DO AS the mages do. However, Pierait was no longer in Morgaze and he was hardly blending in. Surrounded by his eccentric friends, it had been easy enough to get around without attracting too much attention but the further southwest he traveled, the more obvious it was that he was a bit unique. Soulless were born on the Stoneweld continent like any other, but they all had a tendency to congregate in Morgaze, where the shaman Shallay could give them Purpose. Pierait knew his companions would not go after him; their war with Myceum was their priority as this journey was his. Nonetheless, he remembered once that his mother had told him that when you separate from others, it is simple courtesy to divert your path from theirs. Never let them change their minds, she said.

Pierait knew that they headed to Mythec so he had left the forest from the northwest along the outer edge of the mountain pass they’d be going through and traveled into the desert to avoid it. So many times he came close to being swallowed in the shifting sands; some as large as lakes and the deadly sands looked as solid as stone but could swallow you like pudding. Pierait had left great holes in the desert as he used the Void to devour the sands that tried to do the same to him. He was unsure on his feet and his breaths came quick as every yard he traveled felt like he had traveled twenty. The way he slipped and recalculated his balance and used his hands nearly as much as his feet, it was a wonder he was getting anywhere at all. Ability to walk on sand was not in his repertoire.

Once he was just northeast of Myceum and south of the Respite, the stares were getting too pronounced and he had run into some traveling merchants, so he traded the pale blue mage’s robes he wore for desert garb. It was pale and sandy-colored like the desert and he could cover his face with the loose cloth hanging from the headpiece when the winds kicked up the hot sands. He could hide that shock of pale blue hair and use the shadows to make his yellow, reflective eyes less noticeable. He also remembered to purchase a good stock of food, but weapons were not necessary. He never got the hang of hunting and the Void was never insufficient towards stopping threats. Whatever else was ahead, he knew drawing attention was never a good idea, so that was the priority.

From the maps the merchants had given him, he knew he was nearing the crossing at Walk of Respite and he needed to be well clear of the desert and the Walk itself, so he dipped southwest (although Myceum was southwest, we would be passing it to the north to head towards the Barren Lands) and kept his eye out for the landmarks, though few and far between. The Mycean Royal Army patrolled that area and they were stopping and detaining travelers. The merchants had warned him of that. The whole continent of Stoneweld whispered about the machinations of Myceum and their attacks on the Vieres continent; they were waiting for retaliation to occur.

Pierait had heard along the way whispers of places that had been attacked, like Hoshril in the north which was a desert town in the Western Cyryl Desert (possibly Verity’s village but a few had been hit as sympathizers against Myceum) and the Ersenais Kingdom (where Rienna was from), moving to gather together forces from survivors of other places that were attacked. The oddity most people didn’t know about was that the group that was leading the fight against Myceum was being led by one of the men who had been attacking those places to begin with. Not of his own volition, but they wouldn’t be happy to know. He did not envy Melchior if that discovery came to pass. Best to avoid it altogether.

It had taken Pierait nearly a week to make it from the Uzhuak Forest to just past the Walk and if his progress was any indication, it would be another week before he would even make it to the Wailing River, the river that marked the start of the territory unhappily called the Barren Lands.

Pierait did not have an imagination by any means but after seeing so much sand, it started to look like a strange ocean of shattered glass. It wasn’t his imagination though; sand was little more than battered bits of glass after all and he had seen it part like water in an attempt to end his journey many times already. He was ready to be rid of so much white misery and by the time he had shuffled to the City of Maharyjab, it was apparent his Purpose would need a break.

Maharyjab was a magnificent labyrinth of clay molded into arches, balconies, and stairs both straight and winding. It looked as if the city had been molded from the same colossal ball of red clay. So much of the architecture seemed frivolous to most outsiders, but Pierait was an observer and he had seen that the odd extensions from the walls could be used for hanging clothes or growing pots loaded with fruit-bearing vine plants and the holes above top windows would sometimes drop buckets so that someone on street level could fill it with well water to be raised by pulley. It was a practical city mistaken for an eccentric one, a beautiful machine.

Pierait did not stick out here, having the clothes of a desert traveler, but it was apparent that the city residents had a keen knowledge of who belonged here and who did not. He did not attempt to deceive them about that. His bags were so light that they were little more than deflated flaps of extra cloth and after exchanging a few questions with an elderly woman throwing him lecherous smiles, he knew all he needed to know about what to do here before moving on.

Restocking his dwindling supplies could wait—it was rest and a simple meal that decidedly came first. The woman had directed him to an inn called the Sea of Sand and the tavern area was mostly empty this time of day but for a few diners, the barmaid and a stern faced man that was clearly the one in charge. Pierait approached him.

Do you have a vacancy, sir? Pierait had asked. His voice had taken the past week to mature and it was even deeper than Melchior’s now though more velvet than gravel.

The stern faced man’s face grew even more austere. Pierait made to walk away but the man slapped a hand on Pierait’s shoulder.

Pay is upfront. 5 Myca to stay. Meals separate, the man stated abruptly. A desert currency, to be sure, but no place turned down raw precious stones either.

Pierait preferred directness so he was unperturbed.

I have pearls. I will give you one for every Myca you ask, Pierait stated, which was ludicrously generous. A single pearl was worth 100 Myca easy. His friend Rienna had given him a satchel full of pearls long before they split, each pearl huge, snow white and perfectly round. It wasn’t unusual for the rest of their companions to break off on supply runs and Rienna’s never-ending supply of pearls was the only currency they needed.

The man was skeptical but Pierait dropped the pearls into the man’s enormous, rough hand and watched the man inspect them. The man’s eyes widened then he narrowed them again.

One is worth twenty times what I ask, the man stated, both warily and honestly and Pierait knew then that the man could be trusted.

Then it should cover meals and your silence, Pierait explained, and the man nodded his understanding and snapped his burly fingers loudly. The little barmaid hurried over instantly, a brimming pitcher of ale at the ready.

The meal had been insignificant, hearty and filling but certainly nothing worth remembering. Once Pierait had had his fill, the young barmaid had reappeared and shyly offered to show Pierait his room. Pierait nodded and followed her wordlessly.

The hallways they walked down were cool and airy, wide passages dotted with potted ferns and draping, diaphanous curtains that reminded him of his friend Ashe’s silks. Pierait thought of his former companions more with each passing day. It wasn’t normal but he knew there must be a reason for it even if he couldn’t grasp it. As he got lost in his thoughts, he almost ran into the barmaid and she squealed a little, expecting him to knock her over. After traveling the ever-shifting sands, he was much spryer on land and was able to stop abruptly. She laid a hand on his chest apologetically and nudged him; he took the cue and stepped back from the door he was blocking. She dropped the key a couple of times trying to fit it in the keyhole and laughed nervously at the first, opting to bite her lip the second time.

Pierait watched with a sort of fascination, knowing the girl was nervous, but not entirely sure why. He wasn’t acting differently but she kept avoiding looking directly at his face. He was a stranger, he was handsome, he was a lot of things that couldn’t be helped, but he was not a mind reader; once it became obvious that her fumbling wasn’t a threat to him, he put it out of his mind.

She shuffled back from the doorframe once she loosed the door from its lock and held out the key to him, a great weighty brass thing that was warm from the nervous girl’s grip. He entered the room to look around rather than taking the key; the girl was anxious to go and shuffled around to stand in front of him. She grabbed his wrist and placed the key into his hand. Pierait watched in shock as the girl’s eyes fluttered and rolled back while a soft whimper escaped her lips and she pulled her hand away as if seared by a hot poker. She crumpled to her knees and her mouth was slack. She didn’t faint but her gaze was distant and blank.Pierait knelt in front of the girl and waved his hand in front of her face. He reached for her hand and her eyes filled with fright and she scrambled away on hands and knees, her breaths quick and frantic as she gulped for air. He saw a pitcher of water on the bedside table, cool and fresh, and he poured her a glass and made her drink it.

Sit on the bed and put your head between your knees before you pass out, Pierait commanded and she shakily obeyed. He kept his distance and sat on the couch opposite that side of the bed. He waited until she calmed.

You will explain what happened now, Pierait stated bluntly, making it clear it wasn’t a question. Pierait was never good at comforting and he was far too perturbed by what had occurred to be anything but succinct.

The girl still shook and tears hung in her eyes without falling, but she clasped her hands and straightened her back, looking directly in his eyes now. As shaken as she was, she certainly wasn’t a coward.

I’ve never… touched one of the Soulless before and I was right to avoid it, the girl admitted miserably. Her eyes widened frantically and she waved her hands apologetically. I’ve nothing against the Soulless, mind you—my own best friend’s sister is one of your kind, but she was sent off to Morgaze before her 14th birthday and kept to herself, she did!

The barmaid was wringing her hands miserably and Pierait was growing impatient. This barmaid was an earthy looking girl, pale for a desert dweller, but still no stranger to the sun. She had the odd brown hue of hair that told him she had been a blonde child and as her hair had darkened, the sun had added copper to the darker bits. It had an odd rippling effect whenever she moved even slightly. Her deep green eyes seemed sad even when she smiled and he knew there was more to it but she wasn’t in any great hurry to enlighten him. He could see that pushing would not do him any good.

I’m unique, you know, old powers, older than elemental. In my blood, not a gift. When I touch someone, I can… see into their mind. But you know, Soulless are humans but not quite, crafted as a human of course but ultimately simpler, even though most of us don’t really understand it. Something more and not a thing really planned by the old gods even, and I knew it was a bad idea to do it, but Urys insisted. I’m rambling, aren’t I? the girl fumbled, the tears she held spilling free. She pulled off the thick headband restraining her hair to wipe at them and Pierait watched her hair ripple in the strip of sunlight she sat in.

Urys is the innkeeper, then, Pierait said, if only because he knew no one else here.

The girl nodded miserably and started to braid her hair with nervous energy, avoiding his gaze again. Her fingers struggled with the task but did not give up at it.

We don’t mean any harm, sir; Urys just doesn’t want any trouble, so he always sends me to lead our customers and hand them the key, the girl explained, her voice rising in its renewing anxiety.

Your name, Pierait said, steepling his fingers over the bottom of his face and watching the dust dance in that solid strip of sunlight. It was a demand but he said it softly. She was nervous enough as it was.

L-Lyria, sir, she offered shakily, but she clamped her jaw stubbornly and tilted her chin up in an effort to be bold.

You’re not originally from here, Pierait said, in that unnerving way he had of speaking without room for doubt.

I’ve never known life outside of this city, sir, but they say I’m from one of the northern tribes of Vieres, Lyria said, surprised that he could tell but not dodging around it. It was common knowledge that the Northern tribes had been gradually wiped out and some not even so long ago. Most of the tribes were tattooed and there were places where some were superstitious and believed those survivors were cursed. Her kind was markedly different from the tattooed tribes, so much so that many had never heard of them. Pierait realized he had not offered his name yet, though.

Pierait.

Sir?

Not ‘sir’, Lyria; my name is Pierait, he said, this time smiling with wry amusement.

Oh, Pierait then, she said, trying out the name. It was an odd name, sounding like irate with a p before it, although not literally because doing so would give you pirate, which it didn’t really sound like at all.

Why did you flinch? What did you see? Pierait asked, getting back to what he wanted to know.

Lyria shivered at the memory and rubbed at her arms, even though it was hardly cold enough for that.

Sir… Pierait, sorry… I could feel the Void. It’s not something a human can really comprehend, any more than you can comprehend the full range of human emotion. When I touched you, I felt like I was falling so fast that I had to shed my body to withstand it, for lack of a better description. Like I said, I’m not a usual human myself—magic doesn’t affect me, my soul cannot be separated from my being, my blood protects me from things that a lot of humans are vulnerable to. I don’t have a ruling element, much like Soulless, because the old gods simply held Creation and Death and the elementals were born of separating their powers. The oldest souls like mine are mostly gone—old witch-hunts all but wiped us out. Only the souls born of the elements return to the Founts, after all. Much like the Soulless, again, because my kind was different from the majority. The elementals tried to wipe out the old gods too, but the old gods didn’t give up all of their secrets, and my kind still have ours as well.

Pierait was fascinated once Lyria had focused on her story. Morgaze barely had information on this at all, and what was there had been in a book of tales; Pierait knew that many of the tales were merely fiction or aggrandized stories peppered with so much exaggeration. This kind she spoke of were called Diviners; children with the subtle powers of prediction, protection, persuasion and a host of other things they had to hide. Like her, many had coppery brown hair and green eyes; their enemies homed in on those features and some very unfortunate ones that resembled them were often thrown in with them to be slaughtered. They were also considered natural witches and Morgaze, a city of elemental magics, had vilified them as abominations. Pierait did not know why the Soulless were accepted before the Diviners, but then the books had been adamant that Diviners were no longer a threat. He could not fathom how they ever were as he looked at Lyria struggling to regain her courage.

The mages of Morgaze claimed to be the only true magicians of pure blood. What are the Diviners then? Pierait asked, trying to subdue his curiosity.

Lyria’s eyes widened a bit.

Diviners… I haven’t heard that term in a long time, Lyria mused, then shook her head to focus on the question. Elemental magic is imbued on new souls, and the magicians of Morgaze think it is tied to blood but in truth it is mostly due to their proximity to the elemental founts found in magic cities and then in small part to the magic lingering in the blood of the parents. No, they are not of the pure blood by any means…

The Diviners are true children of the old gods and the first ones, as my mother told it. Before the old gods slept, they had fornicated with some of the northerners that visited them, taking advantage of their purity. Diviners do not usually bear Soulless or elemental children for that reason. The old gods are not to be underestimated. If they had not chosen sleep, they would have razed this world to destroy their wayward children, the elementals. They are said to sleep to dream of ways to preserve this world, but if they have to wake before the Dream, we are all doomed.

Pierait had been so engaged in her words that he now sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with his hands folded below his chin. When Lyria turned her gaze to meet his eyes again, she flinched at the intensity of that interest. She seemed to realize that she was sitting on the bed that would belong to him and shot to her feet to make her excuses to leave. In truth, she was more horrified that she had told him so much. Her mother had warned her against that.

If you know what you need to know, I should take my leave now. Urys doesn’t hire much help and there’s a lot to be done in a day, Lyria explained a little too quickly and dipped in an abrupt curtsy. Pierait raised a hand and frowned.

What will you tell him? Pierait asked, biting the corner of his lip.

Urys? I’m not proud of it, Pierait, but I’m not bad at glossing over the truth. I’ll tell him there’s no need to worry, that you’re just passing through.

Pierait nodded and she spun out of the room, doing her best to slow the door enough to not slam it in her haste. There was more to be done tomorrow; tonight was for rest.

Pierait had slept well; a little too well, since he had fallen asleep well before the evening sun and was waking with first light. His throat was dry and he reached for the pitcher at his bedside, surprised as it hit his throat ice-cold and then almost choked as it froze his teeth. Had Lyria come back often to refill it? He frowned deeply. Possibility. What was wrong with him that his thoughts were becoming so against his nature? It wasn’t the first time he noticed this.

Still sore from solid sleep, Pierait stretched his body out along the bed. He hadn’t used the thin blankets and had only removed his boots, shirt and hat before sleep quickly claimed him upon lying down. The one dagger he used to slice fruit or bread still hung at his belt, a shallow impression of it on his belly.

He heard the door creak and he sat up abruptly. As Lyria’s head poked around the door, he relaxed visibly.

Ah, sorry, Pierait; I was just checking on your curtains. I leave them be for the night breezes to come in, but the morning sun on the rooms of this side can get a little harsh, she explained in the hushed voice of someone who knows you aren’t quite awake yet. Are you staying another night?

Pierait shook his head. I have a long way to go; I’ll be leaving once I visit the market for more supplies this afternoon.

Lyria looked disappointed and again he was confused. She confused him a lot, but she didn’t ask questions like others did. His former companions had mostly left him be but they asked a good deal of questions and he didn’t often have the answers they sought. She was avoiding his gaze again and blushing. He scratched at his bare chest and it occurred to him that most young girls just weren’t used to addressing shirtless men on their beds. He made haste to dress and get up off the bed.

Are you escorting me out? Pierait asked, his focus shifting to what he needed as he started packing up.

If that’s no trouble… Lyria confirmed politely.

Not at all, he agreed, standing as he adjusted the pack on his shoulders. After you, Lyria.

They reached the tavern area where Urys was wiping up the counter and Lyria hurried over to the exit way as Urys walked over to meet them. Urys did not drop the rag he carried, but gripped it unconsciously as they approached him. He watched Pierait, seeing that the young man seemed to be struggling with words.

Pierait had made the decision last night to do so and reached into the small satchel at his belt and grabbed up a handful of pearls.

I’m taking Lyria with me. Just a loan and only for a handful of weeks, so she is worth this handful of pearls, to find a temporary replacement or two, if you prefer, Pierait stated and Lyria’s jaw dropped for a moment before she gathered her composure. Urys was not able to recover so quickly.

I…uh, of course, but only if it’s okay with her. I won’t have her bought into slavery either, Urys fumbled about finding his words again. Pierait surmised that their relationship was more than merely employer-employee because the worry that flitted over Urys’s features seemed distinctly paternal.

Lyria’s worried eyes locked onto Pierait’s as she studied him. Those empty eyes that gave away nothing, but she must have found something to make up her mind.

I’ll go, Lyria softly decided, and those two words seemed to echo distantly, tattooing themselves on Pierait’s brain,