The Heart of Betrayal (The Remnant Chronicles 2)

And four to test the hearts of men.

Stars flung from the sky. Was it only a story, or was Gaudrel actually one of the surviving Ancients? A mere child herself when Aster hurtled a star to earth? That would explain why her story had errors. The Holy Text had been transcribed generation after generation by the best scholars in Morrighan, and it was clear that only one star brought on the devastation, not seven. But one or seven, it hardly mattered—for her, it was a storm that wouldn’t end. A storm that made the ways of old meaningless. She spoke of sharp knives and iron wills, but I stopped cold when I got to the part about scavengers. Gaudrel and this child were always running from beasts that were as hungry as they were. Were they the mythical pachegos of Infernaterr that the Vendans feared?

Each page was a glimpse of another time, and together they were a chronicle of events from long ago. Gaudrel’s history. Some passages seemed to be carefully phrased for a child’s ears, but others were brutally raw.

Aster stirred in her sleep, and I quickly skipped forward several pages. I would never get it all translated in one night. The next passage was a story about Gaudrel’s father.

Tell me again, Ama. About the warmth. Before.

The warmth came, child, from where I don’t know.

My father commanded, and it was there.

Was your father a god?

Was he a god? It seemed so.

He looked like a man.

But he was strong beyond reason,

Knowledgeable beyond possible,

Fearless beyond mortal,

Powerful as a—

Let me tell you the story, child, the story of my father.

Once upon a time, there was a man as great as the gods.…

But even the great can tremble with fear.

Even the great can fall.

I sat back, staring at the page. It was too eerily close to the Holy Text that said: They thought themselves only a step lower than the gods. Two histories swirled before my eyes, mixing like blood and water. Which history came first? The Morrighan Holy Text or the one I held in my hands? Aster rolled over, stretching, mumbling half-asleep, and wondering if I was coming to bed. “Soon,” I whispered. I rushed forward through the pages again, searching for more answers.

Where did she go, Ama?

She is gone, my child.

Stolen, like so many others.

But where?

I lift the child’s chin. Her eyes are sunken with hunger.

Come, let’s go find food together.

But the child grows older, her questions not so easily turned away.

She knew where to find food. We need her.

And that’s why she’s gone. Why they stole her.

You have the gift within you too, my child. Listen. Watch.

We’ll find food, some grass, some grain.