Shadows of Redemption: Tower of Bones, #2

By Connie J. Jasperson

What secret lies hidden within the Throne of Stone and Bone?

 

John Farmer returns to Aeoven to live with his son, Edwin, seeking forgiveness and hoping for redemption. But some secrets are too dark to share, and John's threatens to destroy everything.

 

With a new quest to raise a magic shield against the poisoned land of Mal Evol, Edwin Farmer leaves his family in his father's care. An unforeseen complication alters the quest. Burdened with a new mission, Edwin and his companions find themselves back in the perilous Shadow Castle, the last place they ever wanted to go.

 

Will John overcome his demons in time to help his son battle the Bull God?

 

The gods are at war, and Neveyah is the battlefield.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie J. Jasperson
• Release date: Jun 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9781680630091

Connie J. Jasperson

Connie J. Jasperson is a published poet and the author of nine fantasy novels. Her work has appeared in numerous anthologies. A founding member of Myrddin Publishing group, she lives in Olympia, Washington.  She and her husband share five children and a love of good food and great music. Music and food dominate her waking moments. When not writing or blogging she can be found reading avidly.

Book preview

Chapter 1 – John Farmer

Ronan's Vineyard

17 Scorpius 3237

25 Years Before Present Day

JOHN FARMER lurched through the open sewer grate half-carrying a man, followed by a woman who seemed disoriented, moving only because John forced her to. He shouted to his companions who were already deep inside, his voice sounding eerie in the hollow quiet. Garran! I found Wiley and Frannie! No one answered, but from far ahead he could hear the muted sounds of what was left of his soldiers as they raced toward the only exit.

I can't run ... should have left me. Wiley's face was a mask of pain, his breath short and gasping. A trickle of blood streaked the corner of his mouth. Frannie ... wife ... can't leave her.

Frannie stirred out of her daze and moved to Wiley's side. I'm here. Lean on me. She tried to support him with her uninjured shoulder. Her features were almost unrecognizable, covered with blood and gore.

Frannie. Love of ... my ... life. Wiley's words were barely audible. Can't go any more.

John tried to nudge them forward. We're blocking the gate. We have to get further in so I can close it. He pushed them into the culvert. With each step, Wiley sagged a little more and Frannie struggled, pain limiting her ability to move.

John murmured encouragement. Just a little more. Please. Staggering under their weight, John tried to support them both. Soon we'll be at the river. Garran took the healers there. It's my fault. I waited too long to call the retreat.

Nah. We gave 'em hell. Made 'em pay. Wiley choked and stopped, momentarily unable to breathe, pink foam trickling from the corner of his lips. At last, he said, Ain't no healing me. Leg's twisted. Can't breathe. Let me rest, please. Finally, clear of the heavy iron grating, his legs gave out.

You can rest here while I get this closed. John lowered him to the ground and turning back, he shoved the reluctant grille with all his might and then fumbled with the latch, at last getting it locked.

Deeper inside the sewer, around the curve and halfway to the river, Garran Andreson heard what sounded like John's voice, but not his words. But more importantly, he did not hear the telltale shriek of the hinges as the ironwork gate to the storm drain closed behind him. Close the grate, John! What are you waiting for? Lock the damned grate! Garran's shouts echoed in the culvert.

Garran let out his breath as he heard the noise of the grate scraping shut, echoing down the long, low tunnel. He turned back to the two healers he attempted to get to safety. He pushed the dazed woman before him. She began walking again, but the man he dragged stopped, staring blindly and shaking. Garran tugged at his arm, trying to remember what he'd been told about caring for healers suffering empathic shutdown. Forcing his voice to sound calm and confident, he said, Come along now. You have to keep walking. Unable to hear him, both healers stopped shuffling, standing stock still and trembling. He called to his other companion, Halee! I'll never get them to the river!

Halee Randsdottir raced back, taking the woman. I've got everyone waiting at the outfall. We'll have to carry these two. They over-extended their gifts. I don't know if we can save them. Her voice was muffled as she hefted the woman over her shoulder. Garran lifted the man and staggered forward, struggling toward safety. Their voices dwindled as they made their way toward the outfall.

Back at the entrance, John jammed a pipe in the handle, knowing the simple lock wouldn't withstand a determined assault. Even the pipe wouldn't hold the enemy off for long, but it was all he had.

Frannie had stopped beside Wiley, blood dripping from her shoulder where the broken shaft of an arrow was still lodged. The wound in her thigh bled, puddling at her feet. Leave us. Get to the river. I can't walk anymore. She leaned against the slimy wall, her dark skin almost pale under the gore. Gasping for each breath, she slid down beside Wiley.

John shook his head. I'm not leaving you behind. I'll be right back. I'll get Janeka to heal you. Then we'll get you to the river. He ran down the culvert, taking the turn that angled toward the river. Garran! I found them! I need a healer. They're still alive!

The crashing sounds of minotaurs breaking through the grate made John turn back. He returned in time to see Wiley and Frannie on their feet and moving again, trying to escape with four minotaurs bearing down on them.

Wiley's resigned expression said he knew he was going to die and was ready. But the fear on Frannie's gore-spattered features—

John raced toward them with his blade drawn. Run! I'll hold them off, but you have to run! Before he was halfway there, the minotaurs converged on the two. John watched in horror as the enemy swarmed the two wounded mages, gutting and then cutting them to pieces. His friends' piercing cries were cut off abruptly as their gory remains fell to the ground.

No. No. No! John's last sight of Wiley and Frannie, the enemy clambering over their bloody, unrecognizable forms, burned into his mind. Oh, goddess. No ...!

Ten more minotaurs crowded into the sewer behind the first four. John knew it was a matter of honor to them to eliminate his force to the last warrior, something he would not allow.

Time seemed to halt as his mind raced, searching for a plan. Think, fool, think—water—no—flood the culvert. Earth—don't want to collapse it. Can't raise lightning, don't have the chi for that. Where the hell is Garran? A fire-mage could hold them back until the others escape. But I'm all we have. Taking a deep breath, John drew chi through his blade, Riverbinder, and did the only thing he could think of, raising fire to hold the enemy off.

But he couldn't avoid the horrific sight of his closest friends, their remains trampled after being cut down. His grief and rage took over along with the desire for revenge. Fire was the one element John had little control over, although he could raise it with strength. The spell that should have driven the enemy back got away from him. Unaware of anything else, locked in the trance and drawing chi through Riverbinder, he poured everything he had through his ensorcelled blade.

A sudden roar like that of flames and panicked shrieks echoed down the culvert. Garran ran back to see what had happened. He arrived in time to see John with his sword raised, casting a massive fire spell, destroying all the minotaurs clear back to the grate and beyond. The heat was unbearable, rolling in waves, the reek of burning flesh gagging.

Garran tried to stop him, terrified he would incinerate everyone in the culvert, deafened by both the roar of the flames and the screeches of the minotaurs. John, for the love of Aeos, stop! He slapped John, who fell out of his trance. What the hell are you doing? That's not how we hold an enemy off!

The spell faded, and all that was left was smoke and silence and the horrible stench of charred flesh, though little remained but ashes and a few blackened bones.

When John saw what he'd done, he vomited all over himself.

What the hell? We don't use fire that way. We use it to hold them off, not incinerate them! Garran grabbed John by the shoulders, pushing him, his voice harsh. Move it, jackass. We have to get out of here. Now!

They ... murdered like dogs. Where were you? Frannie, Wiley—they needed you. Why didn't you come back? John's legs would hardly work. Where the hell were you?

The accusation in John's voice etched into Garran's soul as he shoved him toward what he prayed was safety. They arrived at the outfall, where everyone was bunched up. Garran yelled, What are you waiting for? You should be in the river. We have to go now!

From the front of the group, Halee shouted, It's a hell of a drop—fifty feet at least. I don't know how deep the river is here. It could be too shallow. And it's much closer to the waterwheels than the map said. They're practically beneath us!

Garran looked at John, waiting for an order, but his commander had been overstretching his gifts for days and now paid the price—he was in shock and incoherent. As second in command, Garran set aside the horrible realization his miscalculation was responsible for the mess they were in. He forced himself to concentrate on getting as many people away from the citadel as possible. We don't have a choice. Jump now!

Taking a deep breath, Halee leaped. The cold stole her breath, but she struggled up to the surface, gasping. All around, bodies plunged into the river, some not resurfacing, the others unable to reach them.

Finally, Garran and John stood at the outfall, the last two. What are you waiting for? Jump!

John stood transfixed.

Shit. I'm not losing you too. Garran threw him over the edge, leaping after him.

John hit the river. The shock of the chilly water brought him back to panicked awareness, but the cold was nothing compared to the impact—it was like hitting a paved surface. The wind was knocked out of him, and pain shot through his left shoulder and arm. He barely noticed it in the struggle to get up to the surface to breathe.

Gasping and choking, he surfaced in time to see Kori, an earth-mage, dragged under an immense waterwheel. John swam desperately to avoid the same fate, his left arm not working, the pain becoming more excruciating with every movement.

The river was running high, and the currents were fierce. Fighting for his life, John made it over the weir and into the main channel. He saw Garran's body slide over the dam and breathed a sigh of relief as he bobbed to the surface.

At last, they had made it far enough down the river and were out of sight of the citadel. Halee found a gravel bar where they could crawl out of the river, and now they lay on the beach, too exhausted to move. John looked up to see her standing, staring back toward the fortress known as Ronan's Vineyard. Her sopping hair hung to her knees.

She turned to him. John. I heard you shouting that you had Wiley and Frannie. Where are they?

He sat up, wanting to tell her what had happened, but the words wouldn't come. He leaned over vomiting, although he had little left in his stomach to bring up.

Chapter 2 - John

WITH the final emptying of his stomach, John's visible breakdown was over. With some semblance of calm, he said to Halee, Frannie and Wiley are gone. I couldn't save them. Gathering his will, he pulled himself together and wiped the puke from his mouth.

Halee nodded, absorbing the blow with stoicism. What are your orders?

He managed to stand, shoving aside the grim reality of what they'd just been through. We're going to get our soldiers to Braden and meet up with the rest of the militia, just like Rall planned. He looked around, picturing their location relative to the old citadel. There should be several small vineyards near here. We can make it to one of them before dark.

Halee began getting people on their feet. None of the healers had survived the plunge into the river. Suffering empathic overload from having overstretched their gifts trying to save the wounded during the siege, they hadn't surfaced. Only three mages, John, Garran, and Halee remained.

John's left shoulder had been dislocated, but once Garran put it back in place, he was mostly able to use his arm again.

John, Halee, and Garran had been trained as field-medics, but only one medical kit had emerged from the river. As was common for battle-mages, each had a minor gift for healing that helped stop bleeding and eased some pain. They did what they could, binding up lacerations and setting bones with makeshift splints. Fortunately, the injuries were survivable.

Counting heads and tallying resources, John found they had escaped with less than fifty of the four hundred Barbarian Elite he'd had at the beginning of the siege.

He had come through the whole thing with his sword still strapped to his side but didn't know why. No matter how many times he should have lost it, he never had. Both Garran and Halee had lost their blades in the river and only a few of the Elite were still armed.

They found shelter at a small grape plantation, where the landowner rearmed them as well as he could and fed them. Garran and Halee were given good quality swords, and the rest armed with whatever weaponry the old man could find. After a night of rest, they were on their way, hoping to get to Braden.

John discovered his terrible problem the first time they had to fight a pack of rat-people. The remaining Elite soldiers he led were in rough shape, and he had to spare them as much as he could. He attempted to raise his magic to knock the rats off their feet with a water-spell, but a black curtain came down, and panicking, he couldn't sense magic at all.

Even worse, his ensorcelled blade was completely dead to him. He could neither draw chi through it nor could he cast a spell, and nothing he did would rouse it. He dispatched the rats with sword work alone, earning dirty looks from Garran.

John's horror and disbelief grew as he discovered he couldn't call the elements for any purpose other than to raise shields. He couldn't call even a drop of water to his hand for drinking, and it was his main element. The same thing had happened only a month before when Pauli Oakheart had died. That time, his gifts came back by the next day. He was sure they would this time too.

Several more times John was forced to battle it out with only his sword, earning a great deal of righteous anger from Garran and resentment from Halee. He was too proud to confess his shame, that he had no magic and Riverbinder, the miracle of magic and steel that had saved the day so many times, was as dead to him as a wooden practice sword.

The disgrace of having lost his gifts paled beside the fear he'd destroyed Riverbinder.

Wrought especially for him by his father, the legendary smith, Wynn Farmer, Riverbinder was the sole magic sword in Neveyah. It had been keyed to him, a holy relic unlike any other.

The only one, and he, John Farmer, had destroyed it by abusing his gifts in the culvert.

Nothing would bring the blade to life, and standing his watch he wept, silently begging Aeos's forgiveness and wondering how he would explain to his father what he'd done.

By sunset on the third day, he understood the magnitude of his punishment. Aeos had taken his magic because of his sin. She would allow him to raise shields but barred him from using his gifts any other way. In his heart he knew it was penance for his unspeakable crime.

Instead of holding the enemy back so the others could escape, he'd used his gifts to punish those minotaurs in the cruelest way possible. He'd utterly destroyed them with the one element he feared the most—fire. The horror of what he'd done ... he couldn't stand to think about it, much less try to explain it to Garran or Halee.

But they knew. He could see it in their sideways glances. They knew what he'd done to those minotaurs, and though they said nothing, he believed he saw condemnation in their eyes.

On his knees he pleaded with the Goddess Aeos for clemency. His remorse was endless, and the knowledge he had done such a horrific thing ate at him. Desperate, he vowed he would never abuse his gifts again, swearing he would only use them for the good of Neveyah and never again exact revenge. Sobs burst from him as he prayed for the souls of his minotaur foes, despite the fact they belonged to Tauron. Surely the goddess would have mercy on them when he'd had none.

But she remained deaf to him. Each time he attempted to call his element, begged his sword to answer his pleas, nothing happened. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. Aeos was going to teach him a lesson in humility, something he deserved a hundred times over.

This time, the goddess he served was going to humble him, even if he died in the process.

The legions of Tauron gave the Temple survivors no rest. John knew some of the area well and was able to lead them around the waiting squads of minotaurs. Several times though, they were ambushed by local people who appeared to be in the grip of madness, attacking with mindless obsession.

His soldiers were injured and barely able to run, much less fight. Despite their intention to go south to Braden, they were driven west, near to the Mountains of the Moon. Soon they strayed into an area John was unfamiliar with, deep in the shadow of the Escarpment.

Trying to avoid yet another encounter with the minotaurs, they turned into what had, at first glance, seemed a normal valley. Unfortunately, it ended hard against the southern end of the Horn of the Moon. The scouts reported back, news that wasn't good.

They had been funneled into a box canyon.

John had to do something radical, but he'd run out of options. He climbed a tree, searching the area with his spyglass, trying to figure a way out, with no success. A small squad of minotaurs was camped at the entrance and blocking the way they had come. They stood guard over a group of old men and young boys who were all armed with farm implements.

The sheer rock wall of the Escarpment waited at the other end of the valley, rising more than a league to the clifftop. John had no climbing gear, even if his soldiers had the strength to attempt such a feat.

He climbed down from the tree with no idea what to tell Halee and Garran.

Garran had been distant since their escape from the citadel. He wouldn't meet John's eyes but asked, What did you see?

Other than the minotaurs, our foes are mostly old grandfathers and young boys, armed with pitchforks and scythes. The vintner who helped us and his sons are with them. They're not in control of their minds.

Shit. Garran's expletive got Halee's attention. John explained what he'd seen.

Halee rocked back. The mad priest, Stefyn Black. He's taken the throne. The only way that could happen is if the rumors are true and he really is the son of old King Dax. He has mind-magic, and he's insane enough to use the throne to flaunt his power.

Garran clenched his jaw. And he's sitting on the throne, doing just that. They're under his spell.

Bile rose, but John managed to speak calmly. That, combined with the minotaurs' lash, means they'll be berserk. Either we prevail or die.

Halee shook her head at the waste of it all. The vintner and his sons sheltered us, and this is their punishment.

We'll have to take the battle to them and try to bludgeon our way through. If we can do that, we might win our way home. If the mad priest doesn't take over our minds before then. John tried to sound confident but failed. I don't think Aeoven could stand against him if such a thing happens—and you know he's capable of it.

Halee nodded. He and his minions turned half of our mages against us in Mal Evol City. So yes, that's a possibility. But I don't know how we can stop him.

Garran's defeated thoughts were written in his expression, but he didn't voice them. Well, they won't attack until dawn. We should get some sleep.

They drew lots to see who would stand first watch, and Halee won.

John settled as well as he could, fearing he wouldn't be able to sleep, and wondering why he was even trying. He wished desperately for a way to stop the mad priest from taking over their minds en masse the way he had in Mal Evol City.

The night seemed filled with shadows and uncertainty. John's thoughts turned to his wife, Andia, and his infant son. His father would care for them and raise Edwin well, but it hurt to know he'd already missed so much of his son's life, that he would never see his family again.

He comforted himself with the fact that although he had no battle-magic, he could still raise shields. He thought about the soldiers he still had, men and women who had trusted him and who still did. They were going to die because he'd abused his gifts and lost the ability to wield magic.

He fell asleep at last and was immediately immersed in a vivid dream.

John floated above the encampment, watching a battle. He saw himself with Garran and Halee. They knelt in a circle around his sword, Riverbinder, and the battle raged around them, their soldiers protecting them from the attackers, enabling them to work some sort of spell. He watched as his dream-self held the blade before him with both hands on the pommel as if praying, tip to the ground. Garran and Halee had their swords crossed like an X, touching his, one on each side of the blade, points to the soil. From his position viewing the scene, it appeared as if they were tranced and creating a large working of some sort.

He was filled with the conviction that they were raising a shield against the mad priest's mind-magic.

A voice spoke. It could have been a man or a woman, but he couldn't see to whom it belonged. The sword knows the way. Search for the water that flows beneath the land. To water you must anchor it, by water you must power it.

As he watched, the battle raged, and the last of his soldiers fought and died, trying to give the three mages the time they needed to raise the shield. His dream-self wept, praying they could work whatever magic they were attempting and fearing it was a lost cause.

Chapter 3 – John

JOHN woke and sat up, groggy and unsure where he was

What's wrong? Go back to sleep. Halee's red-rimmed eyes betrayed her exhaustion.

Hesitantly he told her about the dream.

Halee leaped to her feet, pacing. It was a true-dream. The goddess is sending you instructions!

John shook his head, trying to tell her the truth. No. You don't understand. I can't. She's punished me for the—the— His lips couldn't form the words, but she knew what he meant.

Rage he'd never before seen Halee display flashed, turning her normally serene expression into a mask of fury. Shut up! We all make mistakes. What makes you so damned special that the goddess would single you out for punishment?

John flinched. Not special. But she's taken my gif—! Garran's fist appeared from nowhere, and John's head was rocked back. Damn it! Don't hit me! Garran's fist caught him again, making his ears ring.

Halee managed to pull him off John. Stop it! Garran, stop!

I can't sleep because this self-pitying asshole won't stop whining! He mocked John with a sing-song taunt, Ooh, the goddess is punishing me, so I'm going to refuse to use my magic, even if my friends have to die because I'm a jackass!

Grow up, Garran. You're just making matters worse. Halee glared at him, then turned to John. What was the dream, exactly? And don't give me any excuses. Tell it to me now. She badgered him, questioning him over and over again as to precisely what the dream entailed.

John, frustrated by her hounding, complied. He ended with, "So my desire for a shield came out in this dream, that's all. It was a shield, but on an unimaginable scale. My wishes, not Aeos's."

Garran immediately jumped on the idea, insisting that if he'd dreamed it, they could do it. He thrust John's sword belt at him. Riverbinder is the key. You're the only mage who can wield it or touch its magic. Shut up and do what you have to, to protect Neveyah!

John's head still ached from Garran's blows, but he tried to tell the truth. Garran, I've never been able to unleash whatever great magic it may have. It can do something, but I don't know what.

Garran grabbed him by the collar, his face just inches from John's, his voice low and deadly. I'm done with you and your spoiled attitude forever, do you hear me? But your father forged that sword for some great purpose, and this is it! Get off the pity wagon and do your job. He slapped John and blood flowed from his nose.

His arm reared back to hit John again, but Halee caught him. Stop it, Garran! What the hell is wrong with you?

John reeled, disoriented from both lack of sleep and Garran's blows. He was ready to give up, couldn't allow himself to believe he'd been sent a true-dream when Aeos had punished him so harshly. He'd tried to admit to Garran and Halee that his gifts had been taken from him, but they wouldn't listen.

Overwhelmed by the horrors and losses of the last week, he crumbled.

With his nod of reluctant agreement, Halee took charge, insisting on working out what they had to do, and by dawn they were ready.

The scouts reported a new group had arrived, drawing the noose tighter with every passing hour. John called to Sonje Larsdottir, the last remaining officer among their soldiers, asking her to confer with them. Once she understood what they wanted from her, she rallied the last of the Barbarian Elite. Hands over their hearts, every soldier swore to do what was necessary to protect the mages long enough to get the task done. In spite of their injuries, the soldiers gathered in a wall around the mages, facing outward and waiting for the battle to come to them.

The three mages knelt, opening their hearts to Aeos's will. Perhaps it was his exhaustion, but once John was actually committed to the task, he was filled with a sense of calm.

Instructions began to enter his mind. He became centered, connected to the magic. Now he was actually preparing to build the shield, his magic came easily. He was focused, and the sword ... Riverbinder seemed to want to raise the shield.

With their blades crossed on either side of Riverbinder, the way John had seen in his dream, Garran and Halee continued praying. John sent his senses down into the earth. Riverbinder seized his awareness, becoming a conduit, expanding and magnifying his senses as he searched for the large reservoir of water he knew was beneath the land.

Dimly, he heard the sounds of battle, the clash of metal and the cries of the wounded, all of which faded as he found what he was looking for. Water, a great lake deep under the earth, almost a sea.

With a sudden surge, John was in his companions' minds, and they were in his. He felt their support and understood the powerful emotions his friends struggled with—guilt, love, fear, and remorse—everything that warred within himself.

Garran had raised his element of fire and Halee her element of earth, both holding them ready for him.

Sensing their agreement, and overcome with a feeling of urgency, he drew their magic from their bodies, weaving it with all the water at his command.

Lost in the spell now, he worked as fast as he could, raising an invisible wall against the mad priest's mind-magic, weaving earth, fire, and water together, binding them with a misty grey element Riverbinder emitted.

Time seemed to halt as the spell was constructed and hung waiting to be released. Desperate, John searched for something to anchor it to, something substantial and permanent to power it. He'd found the lake to anchor it to, but now he needed flowing water to provide the power, a river.

He felt a brief flash of horror as, for a moment, he thought he'd lost his grip on the spell. The magnitude of the construct was nearly incomprehensible but more than that, the magic felt completely different, so much more slippery than the usual way shields felt.

He wanted to weep, but held on, praying, Please Aeos, please, grant me this one boon. It's for Neveyah and your people who deserve protection from the mad priest. I freely give my life if that's what you require.

His mage-senses burned, his nerves screamed, and he knew the others felt the same panic. At what seemed the last moment, Riverbinder found an underground river, brimming with the natural chi of running water, and homed in on it.

John set the final tie using the river's ambient chi to power the shield, adding two extra twists to ensure the barrier could never be taken down.

With an almighty crack that shook the ground beneath them, the shield snapped into place. As it did so, a bell tolled, ringing through every fiber of John's being, the sound so pure and alive he wanted to weep for the beauty of it.

Soothing and cool, peace flowed through the three mages. The bell tolled on and on and on, as if it would ring forever, but darkness drowned it out.

John's last thought was, So this is what it's like to die ....

Chapter 4 – John, in Braden

JOHN'S eyes opened to a blur of white and a strange buzzing sound. Gradually the white became the sunlit roof of a tent, and the buzz muted conversations, low and urgent. He had to close his eyes against the light. His head ached too much for him to make out the speakers or their words. Every inch of his body felt as if it had been flayed. He burned with thirst and an angel dribbled cool water between his lips. He tried to thank him, but the darkness returned and with it blessed relief.

He woke again, finding he was in a field hospital. An elderly healer was seated beside him. The name Duran was embellished on the healer's apron. You three have nearly burned out your gifts.

John fought to make sense of Duran's words. What happened? Why am I here? I still had fifty soldiers and two mages. Where are my troops? Are they safe?

The healer took his hand. Gerde's squad brought your team in. There were only three survivors, you, Garran, and Halee. All three of you were unconscious and near death. You're suffering from an extreme overextension of your gifts right now. We aren't sure you three will retain your abilities, or if you do, what strength they'll be.

What? All John could think was but I lost my gifts through my own folly.

Duran continued, If you want to keep the gifts that remain, you must rest them for six to eight weeks. You'll be inhibited so you can't accidentally use magic. His smile was kind, reassuring. I haven't seen you since you were a baby, but I knew your parents well and was a novice with your grandfather. I sense you've suffered a recent change, as if something is missing that was there before. This wasn't the first time in the last few days you've been forced to push yourself to the brink, is it?

John shook his head. I don't recall using them the way you're describing. We were on our way to Braden. We were trapped— He faltered.

"You may not regain the memory of what happened. But what I do know is that you, Garran, and Halee managed to raise some sort of shield that prevents Baron D'Mal from using the Throne of Stone and Bone to amplify his mind-magic against us, making a kind of magic border between our land and his. Thanks to you, the war is finally over."

The silver-haired healer's words faded as John tried to imagine what the man could be talking about. He came back to awareness as Duran said, But with complete rest, you should be fine. I want you to see a senior healer, Arne Severnsson when you get back to Aeoven. He was one of my best students, and this is one of his areas of expertise. He'll be able to help you sort out what has changed. If it's the permanent loss of an element, as sometimes happens, he'll give you some idea of how to work around it.

After Duran had left, John lay silent, desperate to avoid thinking about his missing gifts. Instead, he focused on trying to comprehend how all the soldiers of his command, his brothers- and sisters-in-arms who trusted him to bring them home, could be dead. Who could possibly have raised the kind of shield Duran was talking about? Such a thing was inconceivable.

Forced to remain in bed and too weak to escape under his own power, he feigned sleep to avoid talking to anyone. He yearned for his wife and son and needed his father. The joy that he would soon be reunited with them was diminished by the conviction his crimes had made him unworthy.

The next day John was gently loaded into a wagon and taken to Braden with three other critically injured patients. Garran and Halee were already there but were being sent home. He didn't have the chance to talk to them much, other than to discover they were as mystified about the shield as he was.

On top of his broken health, John couldn't absorb the difference between the tranquil streets of Braden compared to the hell he and his companions had been living through for months. Every day the healers wheeled him outside where John tried unsuccessfully to relax. Seated in his invalid chair with the other recovering wounded, he was unable to regain his sense of balance. The serenity of the Temple gardens made him edgy, and he became agitated. He couldn't rest until they lifted him into the safety of his bed again.

For the previous four months, quiet had been ominous, signifying a trap. But here, people went about their business as if the war had never happened. Conversations occurred in the streets just beyond the garden walls. The children of the clergy played in the Temple gardens without fear. Despite knowing they had achieved a standoff and peace of a sort with the new ruler of Mal Evol, John couldn't shake the feeling of dread that seemed to follow him everywhere.

After a week in Braden's infirmary, John was sent home to Aeoven and his family. Jules Brendsson was the Abbott of Braden Temple. You still look like hell. If you want to go home today, you're riding there in the mail coach. Otherwise, you'll wait here until Duran releases you.

Mages walk— John's demurral was cut off.

Don't argue with me. You can barely totter across the room, much less to Aeoven. I've had your kit packed. It's already loaded on the mail coach. Jules enforced his edict by assigning several soldiers to put John on the coach and see that he stayed there.

Jules was right. Just crossing the courtyard to the coach from the infirmary was almost too much for him.

The soldiers helped him up the steps and seated him, wishing him well. Shaking and exhausted from the short walk, John looked suspiciously in every dark corner of the coach, unable to stop himself from doing so. Shadowy fears and unnamed terrors had been his constant companions since he'd woken up in the field infirmary.

Once the coach began rolling down the road, he found himself jumping at the slightest noise. Just after they left Braden, a bag tipped over with a clatter. Startled, he leaped up, nearly drawing his sword against his fellow passengers.

He sat back down, embarrassed.

An old grandmother put her hand on his arm. I'm so sorry, son. But you're home, and whatever you've been through, it's over and you're safe now.

He burst into tears, unable to stop himself from sobbing.

She remained beside him, comforting him as if he were her son, and when she arrived at her destination two days later, she gave him a blue, hand-knitted scarf to remember her by.

The scarf reassured him. During the rest of the week-long journey to Aeoven, whenever he felt panic rising, he held it to his cheek and was able to calm himself.

A squad of soldiers with a wagon met him at the coach barn, driving him to his father's house. They escorted him from the curb to the front door, an honor guard treating him as if he were a hero, two of them steadying him on his walk to the door. As they handed him off to his father, John made the effort to be gracious, thanking them. Other than that, he was grim and silent, still trying to make some sense of everything, and failing.

Wynn's firm embrace comforted him, making him feel safe for the first time in months. His father understood his disorientation and gave him the time to work his way through it. I know how hard it is to reconcile your experiences with the peace of Aeoven. I've felt something akin to that myself. I swear you'll learn to live in peace again.

Seeing his wife again, John burst into tears, sobbing wordlessly in her arms. Once he'd cried himself out, he began to heal, somewhat. He couldn't bear to let his son out of his sight.

The city of Aeoven was a comparatively empty place, no longer jammed to the walls and teeming with life. More than half of the residents had been lost in the war, members of the militia and mages. Despite the decimation of the clergy, the Temple attempted to carry on doing their work among the people, but with less than a third of the healers and mages that had once been available.

The week after his arrival back in Aeoven, in a grand public ceremony John, Halee, and Garran were hailed as heroes for having raised the shield against the mad priest's mind-magic and ending the war. The walking wounded, mages and soldiers, gathered in the Temple Square with the residents of the city, pretending to mingle but really unable to celebrate.

Musicians played, and people danced, celebrating the end of the war, but it felt empty to John and the hollow-eyed survivors observing from the sidelines.

Watching the wild party, John understood the people needed to commemorate something. He knew what they had lost, that it was their loved ones who hadn't come home. But he couldn't bring himself to dance, couldn't play his fiddle.

Still under strict orders to rest their gifts for at least another month, John, Garran, and Halee went their separate ways after the celebration and tried to settle into a normal existence, never once mentioning what had happened in the culvert under the citadel at Ronan's Vineyard.

The loss of so many of his close friends, especially Pauli, who had died in Mal Evol City, and Wiley and Frannie weighed on John. That, combined with the belief he was responsible for their grisly deaths, was sometimes more than he could bear. He couldn't understand why he had survived when they hadn't.

His wife and father knew he was anxious but let him try to work things out, hoping he would eventually speak of what had happened to change him so dramatically.

Two weeks after John's return from Mal Evol, Rall Ivarsson, Abbott of Aeoven Temple, informed Mother Lera he'd been sent a true-dream telling him it was time for John to return to his family farm for the safety of his young son, Edwin. It had sat empty for fifteen years, waiting for their return. They would go to Markett through the veil between the worlds of Neveyah and Ariend, returning to a world where magic didn't exist, and Neveyah was only a legend.

Wynn had been stricken with a rare cancer caused by his intense use of lightning magic. At John's request, he left his forge and returned with them. Everyone dies, he told his old friend, Rall. I'm no different. But I want to spend what days I have left with my family.

The next morning, John Farmer loaded his family and their possessions into a wagon and departed the world of Neveyah, with no fanfare and no regrets.

The years passed. Wynn died peacefully in John's arms and was buried beside his wife and parents. When John's son, Edwin, was seven, a plague swept through Markett, taking Andia. John mourned his wife and refused all requests to return to Neveyah.

In all those years, John never mentioned Neveyah to his son, never told him about magic or his family's history, never mentioned the reason he had tattoos or knew how to wield a sword.

Despite John's efforts to shelter Edwin from his destiny, the goddess Aeos called Edwin to the portal and to Neveyah. Even then, John refused to leave the farm.

He longed to return, missed that world with all his being, but his sin stood between him and redemption. Forgiveness  ...  he had none for himself. Without it, reaching for redemption was like grasping shadows. It slipped away with the light of day.

Edwin had become a brilliant, highly respected mage and begged his father to come to Aeoven. John was convinced his sins made him unworthy of a son like Edwin. He had failed the goddess, had lost the magic, and had destroyed his father's masterpiece in the process.

Redemption was a shadow he no longer recognized.

Chapter 5 – John

The farm in Markett, World of Ariend, 07 Caprica 3262 (Present Day)

JOHN FARMER stood before the immense black wall, knowing he was dreaming again. He tried to wake himself before it got a grip on him. It was the new, confusing dream, the one that made no sense, but terrified him. He knew he only had to sit up and it would go away but couldn't make his dream-self do it.

He turned and saw the wall was made of blackest obsidian, polished to a mirror-like finish. The image of a savanna was reflected in its glossy surface, and his shadow was silhouetted against it, his hair cut short again. The scene displayed on the smooth facade fascinated him, drawing him deeper into the dream.

The ramparts stood so vast and high he thought it must be an old citadel. But if it was, it was one he was unfamiliar with. He knew of hundreds of ancient fortresses in Mal Evol, places he'd never been sent to during the war, so it could have been any of them. The deadly, black fortification meant something, but what? As he sank deeper into the dream, he touched the stonework, feeling the magic that had created it, sensing the power that dwarfed anything he'd ever known.

Hearing thunder in the distance, he raised Riverbinder, desperate to call forth the magic in his blade. But try though he might, he was unable to make it respond to even his slightest request. The ground shook beneath his feet as if from the pounding feet of thousands of minotaurs racing toward him.

Completely immersed and no longer aware he was dreaming, John's heart hammered in his chest. Terror filled him. The blade was the key, but what would unleash the magic? He looked up, seeing his father silhouetted against the wall. Wynn shouted, trying to tell him what he needed to do, but the roar of the approaching horde drowned out his father's words.

John awoke with a strangled cry, in a cold sweat, panicked and unable to get back to sleep.

What did he have to do? And why was that damned black wall so important?

Trembling, he rose and went to the kitchen, stirring the banked fire in the stove. He put a kettle of water on for tea and glanced at the clock. It was an hour before dawn but he decided to just stay up.

His son had left home six years before, called to Neveyah by the goddess his family served. There was no reason for John to remain on the old family farm other than cowardice. The world of Ariend was an exile of sorts, and he yearned to be in Neveyah. He always had, but fear and shadowy guilt had kept him from returning. Andia was gone, and he'd finally accepted her death. Edwin and his young family were all he had left.

He missed them and the loneliness was sometimes unbearable. The goddess was telling him something. Was she offering him a second chance? If he went back, he had to go on her terms and not try to manipulate things the way he wanted. He had to accept whatever role she asked of him.

He snorted softly. That man had died in the war. The man he was now was nothing special and had nothing to prove. John examined the facts as he could see them. He knew what Aeos wanted and despite his irrational fears, he had to obey.

Waiting for the water to boil, he got out his writing box and set aside the manuscript he'd worked on for so long. He took a clean sheet and began listing what he needed to do to close up his house in the most efficient way possible. This time when he left the family farm he would never return. Perhaps no one ever would. The farm had only been an escape for his grandfather, made for the family's safety.

By the time the sun had risen, John had detailed the tasks he had to do that day. If he applied himself, he could leave at dawn the next morning.

He spoke to Andia's picture, his sole companion. I'll give Evan Legg the livestock. He can figure out how to get them over to his place. Anyway, he sold most of his to get his older son into the army. I'll give him the chickens too. Then I'll set a water-shield over the place. No one will even know it's here. At least I still have the ability to do that. Maybe.

John would miss his horse, but the gelding liked Evan's daughter-in-law. Anyway, where he was going, he would either walk or ride the mail coach. If a horse was required, one would be provided.

Oddly enough, when he went out to let the sheep into the lower paddock, John kept thinking one was missing, but when he checked the numbers against his ledger, he could see it wasn't. That's the final sign—the dreams weren't pushing me hard enough, so now Aeos is resorting to the old missing sheep trick to get me out to the portal.

The sun had barely risen the next morning, but John was already at the rock outcropping that marked the portal, hesitating. He shifted his heavy pack, resting his hand on Riverbinder's hilt, feeling the power lurking there. It was as if the blade taunted him, waiting for the right command, the one he would never be able to give.

Fearing to hope, yet aching to know for sure, he wondered if the call to come home meant Aeos had forgiven his arrogance. Had she lifted his terrible punishment? He had no way of knowing unless he just took the chance.

Leaving Andia's grave was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he couldn't live forever in the past. The same old futile thoughts tried to paralyze him. What if his son didn't want him? What if he still had no magic? What if—?

John bent down and touched the stones, leaving Markett and the world of Ariend forever.

Chapter 6 – John and Garran

SECONDS later John stood in the center of a frozen prairie, on a rise beneath a black sky filled with stars hung so low he felt he could nearly touch them. His breath hung in the chill air.

A familiar, sardonic voice spoke behind him, startling him. I thought I'd have to come and drag your ass here.

Turning, John saw Garran sitting beside a low campfire. A pair of horses stood picketed nearby, both saddled and ready to ride. Like John, Garran wore his battle leathers, but his were far newer, in several shades of red, while John's were ancient, in hues of turquoise blue. John's had been stiff as boards when he pulled them out of the trunk because he rarely needed to wear them.

Garran grinned at his surprise, his expression chilly, wolfish. That's a big enough pack you're carrying, farm boy. Looks like you're leaving home.

"What are you doing here? John didn't intend to sound ungracious, surprised to see him of all people, waiting at the portal instead of the usual meeting place. The last time we talked, you'd washed your hands of me. Violently."

I couldn't take your stubbornness after Halee's husband, Bryson, died.

I did notice that. John stood warily, ready to defend himself.

Garran refused to meet John's eyes, gazing instead into the darkness. Two weeks ago, I was sent a true-dream instructing me to meet you at the portal today, with a horse. I have to be in Aeoven for the winter conclave anyway, and on horseback, this isn't that much of a side trip. So here I am. The enigmatic look he gave John was as much of an apology as he was going to offer. We have to catch the mail coach from Armat this afternoon.

John nodded. I see. He exhaled heavily. I gave the livestock to the neighbors. I won't be going back.

Well. Garran's eyebrows rose into his shaggy hair. It's about time you came to your senses.

John shrugged. What time is it here? It was just after dawn there, seventh of Capricas.

Half-past midnight, same date. While John reset his pocket watch, Garran stood up and extinguished the fire with the merest breath of magic. He laid the turf back over the now-cool coals. Take the roan. Her name, since you'll ask, is Daisy.

John walked over to the horses. Hello, girl, he said, patting Daisy's neck, making friends with her. Both horses were anxious to leave as they scented rat-people in the area, so he reassured them. Then he strapped his pack securely behind the saddle. He didn't know why, but he'd always heard horses speaking in his mind, as had his mother. They listened to him too.

Still talking to the animals, I see. Garran's dislike of John's habit was one more sign of how things had deteriorated between them.

Yep. Apparently, there's a pack of rats closing in on us, so we should get on the road.

Garran snorted. You'd think horses would choose someone other than the village idiot to talk to.

John laughed. I've always thought so too. With no further conversation, the two men mounted up and rode into the night.

Dawn had not yet broken when John and Garran cantered into the courtyard at Armat Temple. Abbott Kalen Rallsson stood waiting for them at the gates. I was about to go and see what was keeping you two. The coach will get us to Aeoven tomorrow morning, just in time for whatever it is my dad wants us to witness. In the meantime, you two have guest rooms, so you can nap until it's time to go. What kept you?

We ran into some rats. Farm boy here had his magic stuffed up his arse as usual and felt compelled to leap off his horse and beat them to death with his sword. Garran glared at John, who shrugged, not knowing how to respond. I guess using magic makes it too easy. So, what's this all about? He dismounted, leading his horse to the stable.

John did the same, as curious as Garran, though he hung back, letting the other two talk.

Kalen grinned. "My dad's planning a demonstration of some sort as the lead-off for the New Year Assembly, using a mage-duel to make his point. Friedr is one of our contestants, but that's all I know. My father specifically did not say who the other mage is; their identity is part of the lesson. I tried to pry it out of him when he and Gayla's dad, Jules, visited us for Holy Day. They left three days ago. But Jules said the next four weeks will involve a lot more than just the annual budget and usual brawl over minuscule points of law. When all of the festivities wind down and the conclave is called to order, the Abbaci will have some tough decisions to