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I’m several pages in when my eyes catch on the word riven.
The Temple of Tranquil Skies had dealings with a riven sorcerer? That isn’t likely to relate to Lothar’s impending festival, but I can’t help slowing my skimming to give this section a closer read.
In less than a minute, my heart is pounding as if I’ve just run up ten flights of stairs. A sickly flush creeps over my skin with each sentence I read.
Patient exhibited a magical gift that wasn’t part of his dedication sacrifice… An unearthly voice spoke in his head… Caught up in the destruction that spread out to overwhelm those practicing the most illicit sorcery…
The details collide with my memory of the ancient diary I found at the Haven, written by some long ago riven sorcerer. The one where the writer claimed the gods had torn open their soul not in punishment but to use them as a tool.
I take in all of the account before me and then hurriedly page farther into the book. There are three more cases mentioned involving riven who arrived at the temple for healing.
Each of them only expands my sense of horror.
When I’ve reached the end of the journal, I double-check the dates and then return to the shelves, yanking out volumes to check them and shoving most back into place. Finally I get my hands on a couple of other books with records of the earliest riven sorcerers, though only one each and not as detailed as the first.
I set those on my stack of reading material and clutch the original journal to my chest. This is the best evidence I have—and all I should really need.
As I stride through the library to the stairs, my pulse keeps racing. My throat has constricted.
It was so long ago—the truth of the situation must have been forgotten, lost with those who lived all those centuries before. I can’t blame any of the temple’s current staff for being unaware. But now that I’ve come across the proof…
Exposing it widely will have to wait until we’ve dealt with the scourge sorcerers, but as soon as that threat is over, all of Silana—all of the abandoned realms—ought to know how wrong they’ve been.
I head straight to Delfis’s office, though I watch for Ivy and my friends along the way. They must be off putting together plans that don’t require my academic skills.
That’s all right. Delfis should put his authority behind the first announcement. Ivy will believe me, and the other men who’ve stood with her through so much will, but for the rest of our motley resistance?
I’ve heard the uneasy whispers, seen the suspicious glances. They need to realize that Ivy’s magic isn’t any kind of crime.
It was clerics and devouts of Elox who helped the first riven sorcerers. I can’t imagine Delfis reading these accounts and seeing Ivy as a monster.
Unfortunately, I find Delfis’s office empty. He’s got his own work to see to, after all.
Stewing in my discovery, I pace through the temple’s halls—and spot Tinom sitting at a table in one of the common rooms, writing a letter.
My spirits lift. Having the magic advisor vouch for this revelation could be even better than the cleric of a single temple. And he’s already accepted Ivy as Petra’s ally and friend.
As I bustle into the room, Tinom lifts his head. Concern flashes across his face.
He gets up from his chair to meet me. “What is it?”
I hold up my free hand. “Nothing to do with the current scourge sorcerers. But incredibly important all the same. I can’t believe—the knowledge has been lost in the library clutter all this time?—”
Tinom pats my upper arm, peering at me with his deep-set eyes. He’s shorter than I am and even slimmer, but the gravity of his presence makes him feel larger all the same. “Calm yourself and tell me what’s bothering you.”
“It’s not exactly bothering…” I brandish the medical journal. “I found a book with records of patients treated here at the temple all the way back during the Great Retribution. The devout who wrote it witnessed some of the events firsthand and spoke to other witnesses. It proves that we’ve been completely mistaken about the riven.”
Tinom’s eyebrows shoot up. “How so?”
I have to fight to keep myself from babbling in my urgency. “They’re not a punishment the All-Giver inflicted on humanity for daring to attempt scourge sorcery. They were vessels chosen by the gods themselves to channel divine power! No one’s ever really explained how the gods managed to rain down all that hail and fire when standard theology states that the godlen can only encourage people and other creatures to follow their will, not act directly on the mortal world. I always assumed the All-Giver’s power allowed it under desperate circumstances.”
The magic advisor’s expression hasn’t shifted, but his stance has stiffened. “Vessels,” he repeats. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
I wave the journal. “The first riven felt their souls torn open and heard divine voices telling them their service was needed to punish those who threatened the gods. Then magic rushed through them—calling down the hail, sparking the fires, shattering the buildings… And once the Great Retribution was finished, their souls stayed open like that—like a conduit. The devouts here tried to heal them, but they had no idea what to do.”
“Perhaps it was a punishment as well then, that the gods let the effect linger.”
I frown. “That wouldn’t make sense, unless we believe the All-Giver and the godlen are purposefully cruel. Why would they punish the people who helped them the most? As far as we know, they never imposed their will on any person that strongly before… It could be that there simply was no way to reverse it.”
