Daughters of Fate Book 3 | An Original Fantasy Adventure

Chapter 13 (33rd of Rumatan in the year 6199)

The source of evil lies not in the Heavens, or in The Dark, but within the souls of all men and women. Human, elf, and dwarf alike. We simply prefer to blame divine forces for our own failings.

Crovus Trunsdun, Steward of the Fourth Crimson Throne, 5814-5828 GR

Her hands wringing themselves raw, Daphney's feet simultaneously wore a path back and forth across the floor.

Sayra reiterated her previous request, made numerous times already, to the cleric. "Please, you should lie down and continue to rest."  Rolling front to back in an antique rocker, creaking with every year of its seven generations of use by members of the family once residing here, Sayra stroked the scales on the back of her pet blue dragon.  Sheetah sat curled up in her lap and on the verge of sleep as the methodical rocking mirrored Daphney's own pace.

"I can't."  Daphney abandoned the uncomfortable bed not long after fully regaining her senses.  For two days straight, she'd been caught in this constant cycle of needing to move in between brief moments of fitful sleep.  The worst migraine she ever experienced was pounding on her head like it was a drum, while her body felt as though an entire convoy of military supply wagons had run her over; twice.

The modest residence in Telga was nothing of significance.  In all, it was quite plain.  While certainly less prone to drafts than the moth hole riddled tents she's lived in since Rwan came to her village and she'd left to join the rebellion, it never really held any sense of home to her.

The owner abandoned the dwelling to the cleric when she arrived, and once her and Gwen Havarston came to an accord about how things would operate between the two of them.  The man had not relocated his family out of threat of force or even upon request, but out of servitude and reverence.  And ever since, she'd lived here while he, his wife, and their only child moved in with neighbors and into an equally small home that was most likely way too crowded at this moment.

This was someone else's home, and it would never be hers.

But the local man wouldn't take no for an answer. And not wanting to sound rude, Daphney accepted the offer.  She'd come to accept that some people were devout enough in their faith that they would not be satisfied until they'd done something they considered right.  No matter the cost to themselves.  And, for a brief moment, she thought of Trast and his sacrifice.

 "Stressing yourself out is not going to help your headache," the elven woman with silvery hair said.

The conversation presented Daphney with a reason to change the tract her mind had taken.  "I think it's getting worse." Brow furled, the cleric gripped at her head during her droning and repetitive course as it continued without interruption.

Beyond the annoying and lingering effects from her most recent encounter with Lady Noranda, Daphney's memory possessed a host of discomforting gaps.  Several whole five days of her life couldn't be accounted for during her state of incapacitation, leaving the last thing she remembered before waking as being helpless before Lord Hedric's demon queen, trapped in those black tentacles, while death riding on a single word bore down upon her.

As the might of the command encircled her it began to pull the cleric out of existence and drawn down into The Dark itself.  But when all seemed hopeless, her life ending in defeat, the word came again.  That powerful word, spoken a second time, rose out of darkness to preserve her life, not destroy it.

"What do you know about the Word of Power?" Daphney asked of the elf as the memory of every syllable from the unforgettable word lingered within her.

Sayra continued with the task of soothing her pet, sensing it still clinging to the edge of consciousness, but losing the battle against pending sleep.  "It is said to be known only to the gods themselves.  Fabled in stories of old and many of the holy texts for the raw might it contained.  A word of both creation and destruction.  A word that, once spoken, could do impossible things."

"I've heard it."  Daphney finally ceased her circuit, turning to stare into the eyes of the silver-haired elf who peered back at her with enough curiosity that she ceased petting the azure scaled creature, now fast asleep, in her lap.  "Not only have I heard it, but I know it."

"The Word of Power is not meant for mortals."

"Rumors were that mortals, at least the select few deemed worthy enough to be entrusted with it, also once possessed  the Word of Power."

"And it was purposefully forgotten, because the strength of such knowledge was too great." Sayra recalled what she had learned of history with a particularly dour note to her speech.  "Where it'd been written down, its pages were torn out, or the Word blotted out of existence with ink.  They burned other instances of the recorded Word of Power to remove them from this world.  Men and women would destroy themselves by using it, believing that they could control the might behind them like the fools we mortals often are.  Knowing that you know it?  I would never even ask you to share it with me.  The temptation to use it would be too great."

"Even for you?"

"Even for me."

"You seem to possess such an extraordinary amount of the typically fabled elven temperament."

Sayra broke her gaze away to stare off.  "I am still only elven.  As you are only human."

Daphney bowed her head.  Even just thinking the syllables in her mind, the cleric could experience the power swelling up inside her, desiring to be unleashed; almost urging her to do so.  Like it was a living thing yearning for its freedom.  It was difficult to forget any part of the word once it had been heard, and she knew it well.  As though she'd known it all her life, and it was carved into her soul from before her first breath.

If she even attempted to recite the word aloud? That power would grow exponentially, raging forth to do anything she commanded of it.

"This word? The one on my lips? It dares me to speak it.  It could turn the tide of the war if I could master it."  She realized the word was not something to be taken lightly, however, and using it would come at a cost.  For nothing of such might can be without consequences. Still, its temptation was all too real.  And in a way, she envied Sayra for showing restraint she struggled to possess.