Spellbound: Book 2 of the Spellwright Trilogy. Blake Charlton

“I know it creates all living things, that it is the language from which all other languages come.”

      “And the fundamentals of life, what do you know of them?”

      “Nothing really.”

      The demigoddess nodded. “Nor did I until Typhon came to our Avel.” She turned away from Deirdre and began walking toward the redwood throne. “Life can be broken into discrete units, but those units can only become so small. Most often, Language Prime can function only within these units. And each of these tiny divisions of life is like a city. Toxins must be kept out, sustenance brought in.”

      She gestured behind her in the direction of the dam. “For Avel, water must be held in, lycanthropes held out. Our civilization is imprisoned by the savanna. Without the porous dam, without the permeable walls, our small cell of a city would dry up and die. And those barriers must constantly change. When monotheism unified this realm, I had to change them.”

      Deirdre swallowed. At last, she understood what Cala was driving toward. “And now that Typhon has come, you have made yourself permeable to the Disjunction.”

      The goddess walked up the dais to the throne. “I have.” She turned and sat. “I worry that you, Regent of Spies, are a spirit dedicated to knocking down walls.”

      “My lady, I would never jeopardize the Disjunction—”

      “Deirdre,” the demigoddess interrupted, “governing the Disjunction is Typhon’s burden.” She paused, meaningfully. “To him we are both loyal.” Another pause. “But I speak to you now about the city because I am the city.”

      Deirdre bowed.

      “You must understand that a soul is no different than a city. An individual must choose what she will repel and what she will allow. If she chooses unwisely, she will perish. Do you understand?”

      Deirdre searched the demigoddess’s face and found only calm interest. “Yes, my lady, I understand about the soul,” Deirdre said, even though she did not.

      “Good,” Cala answered. “You have done an impressive job as Typhon’s Regent of Spies. Within a decade, you two have transformed the city’s leadership from that which I had assembled to one that serves the demons.”

      “My lady, I—”

      “Don’t interrupt. I am not accusing you, merely stating a fact. Typhon has kept his canonist and his Regent of Spies separated. If your power is growing, then I and this city will come to depend on you. You must advise us as to what we must permit and what we must repel.”

      Unsure of what to say, Deirdre nodded.

      “Deirdre, my lady, should I make myself permeable to you and the forces you represent?”

      The question shocked Deirdre. The title of “lady” recognized her as an equal. Was this an offer of alliance? Did she know Deirdre was struggling against Typhon, or did the canonist see her only as the demon’s new champion, replacing the Savanna Walker? She searched the canonist’s face for a clue.

      Perhaps there was a glint of secret understanding in those multicolored eyes.

      But it was too much of a risk. Deirdre couldn’t jeopardize her plans. “My lady, I pledge myself to your service. Permit me to move through your city, and you shall always have my loyalty and …” she paused before adding “… my vow to help you thrive in any environment.”

      The canonist held her gaze. Was that an expression of complicit agreement, of an unspoken purpose? Deirdre couldn’t be sure. At last, Cala nodded. “Very good. Let us talk of the knowledge you seek. First, the Savanna Walker. His name—or at least what he thinks of as his name—is Ja Ambher.”

      “Ja Ambher,” Deidre repeated. Now when she spoke or thought of that name, the Walker would be less able to influence her mind. “Where does the name come from? Spires? Verdant?”

      “I do not know. Nor, as far as I can tell, does he.”

      Deirdre bowed. Around them, the hall dimmed. Apparently the storm clouds had reached the city. Rain would be coming soon.

      “The second piece of knowledge is harder to explain. And I will admit that I do not rightly understand it.”

      “I will listen carefully.”

      Cala leaned back in her throne. “A unique Language Prime text makes up each living creature. Because the world around life is always changing, life must always change; its texts must always change. The processes by which it does this are mysterious, but I do know that Language Prime texts must copy themselves, must recombine with other texts.”

      Deirdre nodded.

      “The Silent Blight is the result of the Disjunction’s attempts to change how Language Prime and therefore how all language exists in this world.”

      “What kind of change?”

      Cala drew in a long breath. “It has to do with the differences between deities and humans. Both types of beings are language made life. But humans are made from Language Prime, deities are not.”