“It’s not what I expected,” Shey whispered.
Caelan huffed a nearly silent laugh and glanced over at the other man. He’d not moved from the doors. Hadn’t even taken a step closer to the stone as if he were afraid the god would make a grab for him if he ventured too close. “Eno said the same thing once.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your concentration.”
“You didn’t. I’m just taking it all in, like you. I have a feeling you’ll know when I’m speaking to the god.”
Shey nodded. “The tingle?”
“Still there.” In fact, it had gotten significantly stronger since they’d entered the room so that it was practically crawling under the armor he’d created for himself. Now that he was so close to the stone, the tingling came with something else. Emotions.
From the God of Storms, there was a feeling of curiosity, which was more than a little surprising. And maybe even reassuring. Curiosity didn’t feel half as foreboding as anger.
Caelan slowly circled the stone, stopping only when he had his back to the double doors. The God of Storms was definitely watching him and waiting. Drawing in one final deep breath, Caelan lifted his hand and placed it against the smooth surface of the stone. It was surprisingly warm to the touch. He’d expected it to be as cool as the air in the room. The sizzle of an electric current ran through the air, and Caelan flinched but kept his hand on the stone while trying to get his thoughts in order.
What the hell was he supposed to say?
He’d spent too many hours last night lying awake in bed, trying to figure out exactly what the God of Storms might want to hear, but he’d largely come up with a blank. Why couldn’t his mother have told him more about her own bonding with the Life Stone? Maybe he’d be better prepared for this moment.
There were so many things she should have told him. Maybe he shouldn’t have waited. Maybe he should have pressed harder. Forced her to tell him what she knew. What would she have done? Banish her own son?
Like she did just before the Empire’s attack on Erya.
“You can’t spend your life looking backward. Otherwise, you’ll end up drowning in regret. Can’t forget how to swim toward your future.”
Caelan blinked at the new voice. Had he actually heard that? With his hand still on the stone, he peeked over his shoulder at Shey to find the prince staring up at the stone. Caelan then leaned to his left, peering around the massive stone to find a small old man with a bushy white mustache and a dingy tan fishing hat on his head, complete with shiny fishing lures.
How in the gods’ names did he even get in here?
There was only one door in the circular room, and Shey was standing in front of it.
“I beg your pardon?” Caelan asked. His brow furrowed at the man as his brain scrambled to figure out what was happening.
“You’re spending an awful lot of time worrying about what your mother didn’t tell you,” the man replied. He took a step closer. A soft jingle rose from him and there was a squeak of damp rubber on the marble floor. “You can make only so many plans. Eventually, a storm is going to rise up, blow all the plans aside. Then you’ll have to figure out what you’re really made of.”
“Who are you?”
The man smiled. Under his equally bushy eyebrows, his blue-gray eyes swirled like churning storm clouds. They flashed bright white like lightning, and Caelan blinked. When his vision cleared, the room, Shey, and the Godstone were gone. He was sitting in a worn old rowboat opposite the old man, bobbing on the waves.
“Name’s Kaes,” the old man said. He had a long fiberglass fishing pole gripped between his thighs as he tied a new lure to the end of the line. “We’ve never spoken before.” He paused and cackled. “Never expected to, to be honest with ya. But Tula spoke of you here and there.”
“Tula,” Caelan whispered. His brain was still swirling like dead leaves caught up in a brisk fall wind. He couldn’t hold on to anything for too long. His eyes slipped away from the old man and his fishing pole to sweep out over the deep blue water with little white caps as the waves broke. In the distance, the sky directly in front of him was a crystal blue, but a storm was approaching from behind him, turning the blue to slate gray. Clouds boiled and bubbled, black and menacing, while thunder growled low in the throat of the clouds.
“Yep.”
“Tula, Goddess of Life,” Caelan gasped, and the old man smiled. It wasn’t the same friendly grin as earlier. This was something heavier and infinitely scarier, sending a sizzle of electrical current up his arms. “And you’re Kaes, God of Storms. You’re in the Wind Stone, but…”