
The rest of the tale of the falling star I knew already. It had landed near Phyreios, in the form of a lump of enchanted iron, and the Ascended had forged it into the Sword of Heaven, the tool of their own destruction. They could no more resist the will of Khalim’s god than he could, as much as they tried. It was only by Torr’s volition that the sword now lay safely among the other treasures beneath the mountain where the dragon made its home.
What could I do in the face of a destiny already preordained? Seven gods had failed even to prevent the creation of the Sword of Heaven and the arrival of their former master to the city they ruled, even carried as he was by one man crossing the wastes on foot. A sandstorm, a single arrow, a knife in the dark, or some slight injury to their forge could have sent Torr back to the nether world for another thousand years. Instead, he walked the new streets of Phyreios with an iron crown on his head, and Khalim was gone.
Taherah stared into the fire, and two burning points reflected in her eyes, but she saw nothing. It was as though she gone far away, and left her body behind to stir her copper pot and keep my sad company.
Continue reading “Journey to the Water Chapter XXVI: The House of the Weaver-Woman, Part Two”