《Tomebound》 Chapter One: LANOR I One day I went down again from Mount Tulaylal and spoke to the people of Ralaheed. I climbed a tree and said to them: ¡°By what tool does man subjugate the earth?¡± A young man in the crowd spoke up and said, ¡°The sword! No animal can wield it, yet it slays the tiger.¡± I told him, ¡°No. For man does not subjugate the tiger, but the earth.¡± A scholar in the crowd spoke up and said, ¡°The plowshare! No animal can wield it, yet it feeds all men.¡± I told him, ¡°No. For man does not subjugate the wheat, but the earth.¡± And no one could answer me. I said to the people, ¡°The word. For it is by the word that the blacksmith teaches his son to forge iron into swords, and it is by the word that the farmer teaches his son to work the land so it is fruitful. It is by the word that books are written of the sword and the plowshare, and it is by the word that Eloei reveals to us His divine wisdom and undying love. I am the Word of Eloei, and my life is His book, that you may learn and be tested.¡± -Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 39, Verses 1-11 Castle Muadazim, Dhasherah Region, Qarda Lanor began her day with prayer, as she did every day. But today was not like other days. She dipped the first and second fingers of her right hand into a golden bowl of consecrated water. She touched her fingers first to her lips and began to recite the Four Precepts. ¡°Man shall preserve the word by book,¡± she murmured by rote. Lips, for the word. Second, she touched her fingers to her forehead, for dignity. ¡°Man shall not enslave man.¡± Third, she touched her throat, for vitality. ¡°Man shall not kill unjustly.¡± Fourth, she touched the center of her chest, for the heart. ¡°All gods but Eloei are deceivers.¡± She knelt in her sleep gown, facing Mount Tulaylal in the south, pressing her forehead once against the cool stone floor of Castle Muadazim. The kohfar, the dawn prayer, went: ¡°Glory to Eloei, Maker of the Morning and the New Dawn. Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble. Guard my heart from the wiles of the Hateful One. Intercede for me, O Word Among Men, the First Prophet Kahlo Hadrizeen, and I will keep your Tome all my days. In the name of Eloei the Merciful, if it please Him, so be it.¡± The words were so practiced that they all but fell out of her mouth. Castle Muadazim was cold and quiet that morning. Winter in Dhasherah was always cold, often rainy. Some years it even snowed. Today, a gray shroud hung over the temperate woods, bringing a biting mist with it. The servants stoked fires throughout the castle for warmth¡ªsomething unheard of at her home palace in Rayyaq Raleed, where the seasons were only wet or dry. Everything in Castle Muadazim was basic, functional, and utterly inelegant. There were hearths for heat as well as cooking. Where the palace in Rayyaq Raleed had ornamental inscriptions written in rare clay pigments, exquisite tilework, engraved marble arches leading to opulent gardens, Castle Muadazim was all gray stone, humble wood, black iron, narrow doors. The royal trappings brought from Rayyaq Raleed were delicate gold and silk, in sharp contrast with everything else in Dhasherah. But they were two different places built for two very different reasons. The Palace of the Hierophant was built to glorify the Hierophany. Castle Muadazim was made for business¡ªmore precisely, business with unbelievers. Unbelievers unworthy of witnessing any such glory. ¡°My priestess,¡± said a soft voice outside Lanor¡¯s chamber. ¡°Enter,¡± said Lanor. The iron handle on the dark door creaked sideways and the wood groaned with its opening. Lanor¡¯s handmaiden Sashani entered, already dressed in her ceremonial nusin dress, mint green with pale blue cuffs at the ends of the sleeves. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings to you, priestess,¡± she said demurely with a slight bow. ¡°And also to you.¡± Lanor smiled tiredly. ¡°Did my father send you?¡± The servant bowed again even smaller. ¡°I can dress myself, you know.¡± ¡°Of course, but today is the opening ceremony. There is so much more for you to do! The least I can do is help you to prepare, my priestess.¡± ¡°You can call me Lanor, Sashani. I¡¯ve told you this.¡± Her admonishment was gentle but weary. ¡°We¡¯re friends, remember?¡± ¡°Yes, priest¡ªI mean, yes, Lanor! But, with respect, only when we¡¯re alone. It¡¯s too informal to call you that around the others.¡± Sashani smiled a bashful smile, as if they shared a scandalous secret now. Despite her royal privilege, Lanor was more than capable of getting ready herself, and had been since she was little¡ªshe often insisted when the occasion was less important¡ªbut she did appreciate Sashani¡¯s help. Sashani was a year older and made tasks seem so effortless. The handmaiden guided her to the next room where Lanor disrobed and sank into the bath drawn for her, which was warm and sprinkled with fragrant rose and jasmine petals. Sashani began the arduous task of washing Lanor¡¯s thick hair. The servant poured bowls of water over her head, working an ivory comb between her coarse curls and combing out from root to tip. The sensation reminded Lanor of when her mother used to bathe her as a child¡ªone of the only memories she had of her mother. Next came the oil thick with the scent of herbs. Lanor knew her own responsibilities that day were small. Though she was Qarda¡¯s crown priestess, she was only fifteen years of age, and not much was expected of her. She needed only look presentable and to speak politely and gracefully when someone addressed her. It was easier to be on her best behavior at her age; trips to Dhasherah bored her to tears when she was very little, but now it was just a chore to weather, a day to count the passing of the hours by the angles of sunbeams through the tall windows. But today was not like other days. Today was the Circle of Kings. ¡°Pardon me, my priestess,¡± said a male voice on the other side of the chamber door. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings. I have a message.¡± ¡°Halt!¡± said Sashani. ¡°The priestess is indecent.¡± A pause. ¡°The Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen, Eloei grace him, requests your presence in the Hall of Unity, my priestess.¡± Lanor sighed. ¡°He told me as much last night. Tell him I will be there when I¡¯m ready!¡± A longer pause this time. ¡°He says he would like you to recite the first duahr for our guests, the Prayer of Community.¡± A group prayer? Lanor wondered. She rolled her eyes. ¡°Unless he would like me to lead the prayer sopping wet and half-oiled, tell him I¡¯ll be there later!¡± The messenger answered her, ¡°Apologies, my priestess,¡± sounding embarrassed at her candor. That was the last he spoke of it, his voice disappearing somewhere behind the barred door. ¡°A duahr when the sun is barely up. I know my father sent messengers to wake our guests, too. Must this whole day be filled to the brim?¡± Lanor sighed. ¡°One of these days, my father will drop dead from the stress he creates for himself.¡± ¡°Priestess,¡± Sashani gasped. ¡°Is it right to say such a thing?¡± ¡°Lanor,¡± she corrected her. ¡°Remember?¡± ¡°Yes, of course.¡± The crown priestess sighed, sinking deeper into the bath. ¡°The day has just started, but I want it to end already.¡± Lanor tired of her royal duties. She longed to be back home at the palace, playing with her pet scorpions or reading a book, a real book. The Testament was no substitute for a thrilling legend or the histories beyond Qarda. The Testament was just a set of rituals to be repeated each day, old stories that had lost all flavor for her. She would never say this, of course. To say this would draw the wrong kind of attention to herself, which was any. The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei was the most sacred, most important text in all the world. Stories spoke of Eloheed graced with incredible powers and insight through the tome¡ªpowers beyond that of mortal men. But these stories had lost their flavor, too. Four full days in Dhasherah loomed before her. She prayed silently to Eloei to turn the world just a little faster until she was on the palanquin home. It was less of a prayer, more of a wish she whispered in her heart to no one in particular, hopeful but unsure of the outcome. What¡¯s the difference? Lanor thought. *** The Hall of Unity filled with foreign dignitaries, scribes, servants, and guards, and books were opened. Books to mark the occasion, to record the conversations, all the most minute goings-on, every look and gesture that passed between the gold-plated Qardish paladins and the iron soldiers of Grackenwell. The ostentatious delegates from Zan Vayonado looked wealthy enough to be Qardish¡ªa wandering people, they wore all their treasures as a point of pride. In Qarda, a Zan was often called a sirrha¡ªa courtesan¡ªalthough it was shamefully rude to call one such a thing to their face. The least conspicuous of the guests were those from Dridon. They were Grackenwell¡¯s neighbors from the southern half of the Stone Continent. They dressed drab as a Stonish castle in shades of gray and brown, and they lacked the exceedingly masculine poise of the Grackenwelsh. The mysterious moon-witches of Myrenthos arrived last. The ashes of books grayed their hip-length hair and robes, stained the undersides of their fingernails. An air of mourning followed them. Lanor found it all very tiresome. She slumped across the tablespace in front of her, itchy in her ornate nusin, studying the geometric diamond patterns of cyan embroidered on the jade fabric. ¡°How much longer?¡± Her uncle Ghamal frowned his disapproval. ¡°Sit up straight, Lanor. Your father will arrive soon for the duahr and then breakfast will be served. The sun is barely risen, and already you want to shirk your religious duties?¡± Lanor could only be so candid with her vizier uncle. ¡°Of course not,¡± she lied. ¡°I¡¯ll recite the prayer my father expects of me. I know it by heart, just like all the others.¡± Her tone lacked any grace or enthusiasm. The old man sighed, discreetly indicating their Myrenthian guests with a tilt of his head. ¡°A new Prime Oracle has been appointed in Myrenthos. She¡¯s here with us today. Many Myrenthians perished in our liberation of the land, and your father just finished supervising the burning of their books. They now join us at the Circle of Kings to establish trade between our lands and secure lasting peace. Is that not a good reason to take this seriously?¡± He grimaced and scratched his salt-and-pepper stubble, recently shaven to celebrate. ¡°You¡¯re not a child anymore, Lanor. People look to you as the future Hierophant. I think seeing you moan and complain about this gathering would salt many wounds.¡± Lanor straightened up, suddenly hot in the face and keenly aware of the Myrenthian gazes boring through her. She brushed ebony braids out of her face; her deep brown skin prickled with sweat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Uncle,¡± she said sheepishly. ¡°Just don¡¯t let your father see you behaving like that. What would he think of his vizier then? I¡¯m meant to guide you in matters of the state, as well as your faith, while he¡¯s away at war. What would it say of my discipline if he saw you acting out like this?¡± Lanor¡¯s gaze wandered around the Hall of Unity¡¯s long tables full of foreign royalty. It was drawn most often to the representatives from Grackenwell. Their king sat straight-backed and proud, wearing his wrought iron coronet with thick palisades sharp as daggers. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. But her gaze lingered on the prince¡ªKimbel was his name, she recalled. He was a year her senior, broad-shouldered and already gifted with the musculature of a man in his prime. She found his pale skin and the silky chestnut curls of his hair to be exotic. But she was most drawn to his eyes. There was a warmth to them, hidden beneath all the regal stoicism of a prince in a strange land. And it was simply unfair for a boy to have eyelashes that full and long without a drop of makeup. The groaning of wood broke her daydream. Her father, the man of the hour, burst into the Hall of Unity bright-eyed and lively, glowing with the energy of a man who¡¯d matched swords with Death and lived. The doorman announced his arrival. ¡°The venerable Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen, Seventy-Seventh Prophet of Eloei!¡± The room rose to its feet. He had dark Sanzeen skin, braids of coarse hair behind his head and a golden lacer binding his beard. The Crown of Hierophany adorned his head. It was likely the most precious single item in the world, solid gold encrusted with diamonds and other glittering gemstones encircling a dark green velvet cap. The tall band of the crown was engraved in Qardish script with the names of all the Hierophants who had come before; Drakhman¡¯s was the last of them, carved in the fourth row above his left ear. Lanor¡¯s father exchanged a diplomatic bow with the new Prime Oracle of Myrenthos, Hessandra. He took her hands in his and said something with a lot of solemn nodding that ended with a cautious smile. She appeared enchanted with his manners. Despite the ashes of her nation¡¯s holy books that still clung to her, she seemed genuinely happy to be here in Dhasherah. But when it came to burning those pagan tomes in Myrenthos, Hessandra, a recent convert to the Eloheed, had been one of the most enthusiastic participants; it followed that she would be enthusiastic about joining the Circle of Kings, her reward. Drakhman exchanged another bow with King Brynh Garrotin of Grackenwell and his men¡ªLanor could see them eyeing each other, each assuring the other man was bowing appropriately, and that neither of them bowed deeper than the other. She caught Kimbel¡¯s eyes flitting between the two monarchs. The way in which adults carried themselves struck her as silly and pompous. It reminded her of her mother¡¯s pet peacocks, which outlived her well into Lanor¡¯s childhood. Adults were fond of puffing their chests and fanning their pretend feathers exactly as was expected of them. To her, they seemed more childlike than children did, full of their own imagined importance. ¡°My friends,¡± he announced to the Hall, ¡°it brings me great joy and hope to see you all gathered here in Dhasherah under the sight of Eloei. May He bless this summit. May the Word of Eloei speak clearly to all who have opened their ears and hearts to receive it.¡± He motioned for a train of servants to enter the Hall, all of them carrying blue-and-gold-bound books on red velvet pillows. ¡°I humbly offer each of our guests a copy of The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei as a token of Qarda¡¯s good will. Let this tome serve as the stepping stone of a cultural exchange between our kingdoms. It is Qarda¡¯s hope that we can strengthen existing relations...¡± He beamed at the Stonish guests. ¡°...and forge new ones as well...¡± At this, he turned his smile to the Myrenthian women in their midst. ¡°...in the name of world peace and mutual commerce. I would like to begin this twenty-third Circle of Kings with a duahr led by my cherished daughter, Lanor Sanzeen, Crown Priestess of Qarda.¡± When he finished speaking, Lanor could hear the mutterings of various interpreters throughout the Hall, translating the man¡¯s Qardish words into Stonish dialects of Grackenwelsh and Dridic, as well as what must have been Myrenthian. Then the cavernous room fell silent. A cold haze prowled across the land outside the glassless windows. Lanor stood. ¡°This is the Duahr of Community. It was first spoken by...¡± The words caught in her throat. She straightened her back, feeling many eyes crawling across her skin like spiders. ¡°...first spoken by Kahlo Hadrizeen himself, Eloei grace him, in the pantheon of the city then called Ralaheed.¡± Lanor cleared her throat. Her heart thumped in her chest. How many times had she recited the same prayer to herself or in the temple? Why was now so different? ¡°¡®In the name of Eloei the Merciful, Lord Above Lords, may our peoples be joined harmoniously.¡¯¡± She spoke hurriedly, without rhythm or passion. ¡°¡®As the drops of rain collect in the river and so lose their selfhood, let us too be united. Now is the time to clean our swords, and may blood not stain them in this generation, nor in the...¡¯¡± Another snag. Hierophant Drakhman beamed at his daughter. Lanor¡¯s eyes darted around the room from her father to the tables full of strangers. Prince Kimbel met her gaze at once¡ªher stomach did a somersault, and then her throat was dry and the expansive Hall of Unity somehow felt like a much smaller chamber shrinking all around her. ¡°Forgive me,¡± she said, and she bolted from the room. She could hear her father¡¯s booming voice finish the prayer behind her. ¡°¡®...nor in the generation of our sons, nor that of the sons of our sons. As the Deceiver sows division and strife, let us reap the togetherness ordained for us by the One True God. In the name of Eloei the Most High, if it please Him, so be it.¡¯¡± ¡°So be it,¡± echoed all the Eloheed. *** Columns of golden sun broke the mist by midday; the light was short-lived. After a while, the clouds reformed themselves, the mist gathering once more between the silent cedars of Dhasherah. All the while, Lanor hid in her chamber. She was too ashamed to show her face again to anyone in the castle. She watched night fall alone and was suspicious of the darkness, remembering old stories of the mahjeen that lurked in the deep wilds far from home. There was another knock at her chamber door. She heaved a deep sigh in her bed, holding a silk-dressed pillow over her ears. ¡°Sashani,¡± she groaned, ¡°I told you I don¡¯t want any visitors! Please, for the fifth time¡ª¡± ¡°Lanor,¡± said a deep voice. It was her father. The one person in all the world she didn¡¯t have the heart to turn away. She sat up, hugging the pillow close, drawing her knees up against her chest. ¡°Come in.¡± Her father entered wearing white leisure robes, having changed out of his formal green-and-gold regalia. His face was a tired one, a disarmingly human one, the kind he could only show his flesh and blood. Drakhman closed the chamber door behind him and sat at the foot of her bed as he often did. ¡°Why, Lanor?¡± he asked softly. ¡°What happened?¡± There was no anger or even disappointment in his voice. Only weariness. Lanor could only shrug meekly in response. ¡°I forgot the rest.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t forget. We¡¯ve rehearsed that duahr together dozens of times. You knew it like all the rest. What happened?¡± She had no argument to make this time; he was right. ¡°You know, as my daughter, the crown priestess, you are¡ª¡± ¡°I know, I know,¡± she sighed. ¡°The future Hierophant.¡± Drakhman scoffed. ¡°You say it with such contempt. Like it¡¯s a chore.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what it feels like most days!¡± He gave her an incredulous look. ¡°Lanor, you are among the most pampered people in the known world! You sleep in the finest silk, eat the finest foods¡ªyour palanquin is plated with gold! Is it such a hard life you lead?¡± ¡°Make it a pyramid of gold. Make it a mountain. What good is it if I have no friends?¡± ¡°No friends? What is the meaning of this? You see Sashani every day!¡± ¡°She¡¯s my handmaiden, not my friend. And it¡¯s not for a lack of effort on my part. She¡¯s like a nervous fawn around me. She still refuses to call me by my name.¡± ¡°Well, the girl might find it too informal. That¡¯s all... What of Lucanh, the boy prince¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ve met the Prince of Dridon twice, father. He¡¯s also a year younger than me. And the age of a boy is even less because of how slow they are to grow up. We have nothing in common.¡± ¡°And what about that Prince Kimbel? I know how fond you are of him.¡± Now she was the one to scoff. ¡°Father!¡± ¡°What? It¡¯s clear in the way you look at him. He is still here in Castle Muadazim for two more days! Why don¡¯t you talk about foreign affairs or your studies with him? In the morning, of course¡ªyou shouldn¡¯t risk rumors of impropriety.¡± ¡°Father, stop!¡± Lanor drew her pillow closer, feeling warmth flood her face. ¡°I don¡¯t want to speak of that anymore. I don¡¯t even want to be here. I just want to go home.¡± She looked poutingly out the open window. Rayyaq Raleed was sometimes called the City of Embers for the way its many thousands of torches and lanterns burned orange all through the night, twinkling halfway up Mount Tulaylal. But the feeble light of Castle Muadazim tapered off at the edge of the woods¡ªbeyond that, there was only the dark. Her father rose from his seat and closed the shutters of her window. ¡°You¡¯ll fall ill from the cold vapors here.¡± She appreciated when he spoke to her like her father. But when he sat back down, he spoke to her again like the most important man in the world. ¡°Do you know how many people would kill for the kind of power you stand to inherit? Do you know how many have?¡± She furrowed her brow, tensing up her shoulders. ¡°I never asked to inherit any power. I never wanted any of this!¡± ¡°Well, you have no choice!¡± Suddenly, her father¡¯s voice was booming again. He was full of fire now¡ªnever directed at her, but still impossible to ignore. ¡°You are my daughter, Lanor! You are my sole heir. Like it or not, I will not live forever, and one day... One day, the responsibility will be yours.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t say such a thing.¡± She remembered what she¡¯d said to Sashani earlier about her father working himself to death and felt a new shame. ¡°You know I hate to hear that. If that were ever to happen¡ª¡± ¡°When it happens, Lanor. When.¡± She gave him a hurt look; he was unwavering. ¡°On that day, I will want your throne even less than I do now.¡± ¡°Everyone mourns. You will mourn me one day.¡± She shook her head bitterly. ¡°You will. As I mourned my parents. As we mourned your mother. And one day, your children will mourn you. Is that what this is?¡± He shifted a pace closer to her on the bed, his face full of confidence, as if to say, Now I understand. ¡°You must put aside those fears of the future, Lanor. Let the grace of Eloei fill your heart. That feeling when the cantor sings the morning nasbilha? That is the spirit of Eloei anointing you with His love. Let that feeling take the place of your fear.¡± She didn¡¯t have the heart to tell him that she hadn¡¯t felt that since she was a little girl. She hadn¡¯t felt anything in the temple, nor during any prayer, not alone or even in the company of more ardent believers. ¡°I know that,¡± she lied. ¡°It¡¯s not that. I... I could never accept your throne. Not even then. There has never been a female hierophant¡ªyou and Uncle have reminded me of that all my life. It will break tradition.¡± ¡°Eloei damn these earthly traditions,¡± Drakhman spat. ¡°He said nothing of the matter in the Testament. Therefore, you must do your duty as the sole heir of the Hierophant. Such is the will of Eloei. Otherwise, you would risk the safety and stability of all of Qarda¡ªno, of the entire known world.¡± She could see the whites of his eyes even in the low light, he looked so disturbed at the thought. ¡°Listen to me carefully, Lanor.¡± ¡°I am listening.¡± ¡°The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. Do you understand?¡± She nodded. ¡°I fought in that strange land, Lanor. Watched my men die. I gave their dying rites. Some days I read funerary verses from the Testament until my voice went hoarse. All in the name of the greater good. All in the name of Eloei.¡± He removed the white sleeping cloth from his head, showing his naked hair. For a woman in most social situations, such a gesture would have been scandalous; for a man to his child, it was a sign of humility. ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to lead a duahr again tomorrow. I have no plans of dying any time soon, especially now that we have entered a time of peace. But will you do me the honor of sitting at my right hand in the Hall?¡± Her eyes welled with moisture. She¡¯d forgotten how much she missed her father, how she worried for him when he was at war far from home. She¡¯d come to take his presence for granted. ¡°Why would you want me there again? All I did today was embarrass you.¡± ¡°Lanor, you did not embarrass me. And I want you there by my side anyway, even if you never lead another prayer for the rest of my days. Do you know why?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Because you are my daughter. And your mother and I are very proud of you.¡± He stood, kissed the top of her head as he¡¯d done when she was a small child, and patted her on the back. He drew his sleeping cloth back over his head and made for the door. ¡°What do you say?¡± She sniffled. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it.¡± He smiled wearily from the door and made the sign of prayer, touching his lips. ¡°I¡¯ll take it. Praise be to Eloei.¡± With that, his shape disappeared into the dark corridor, his shadow dancing in the light of a distant torch. He was gone. Lanor longed for home more than ever¡ªnot just for herself, but for the both of them. Her father had certainly earned it. *** She slept deeply that night, Dhasherah bearskin blankets wrapped tightly around her shivering frame. In her sleep, she had the half-alert thought to stoke the fire in her chamber¡ªone of the few tasks that she was expected to complete alone once night fell. She heard someone scream. Was it in a dream, or someone outside the castle? She wondered, half-awake, and then slipped back asleep. Dreams of her mother plagued her sleep after that. Some were sweet, others strange, the sort of dreams she would never recall after waking. She awoke again to a scream¡ªor was it the same one? Was it a memory? The tail end of a dream? She couldn¡¯t tell. But now she was awake. She lit a candle with her fire steel and decided to pace around her chamber until she tired out again. In the clarity of night, she lamented the way she¡¯d choked on her words in the Hall of Unity. But her resolve to avoid the duties of her station was stronger than ever. Still, she could tell how her abdication made her father feel. She realized she¡¯d never properly welcomed him home from war in Myrenthos, between all his diplomatic comings and goings. Her apology to her father would come first thing after sunrise. She would bring him morning milk and tea to thank him for his patience and to give him a formal welcome home to Qarda. Even if she refused to be a good crown priestess, she could still be a good daughter. Another scream knifed through the night. Lanor nearly dropped her candle¡ªthat was no dream. She burst out of her chamber and padded down the hall. The wavering lights of moving torches converged at the very end¡ªthe Hierophant¡¯s chamber. The doors were open, the paladin guards missing. Something was wrong. She set down her candle. ¡°Step aside,¡± she said, pushing her way through the small gathering of onlookers. ¡°I am the crown priestess! Move aside!¡± The tang of metal hung in the air, thin and ferrous. She forced her way through the chamber doorway, shaking off the grasping hands of paladins and noblemen who appeared behind her, pleaded with her to look away, and a moment later she understood why. Her father, Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen, Seventy-Seventh Prophet of Eloei, lay sprawled out on the floor of his chamber. He wore a scarlet ribbon around his neck, a pool of wine around his head. But it was neither a ribbon nor wine. Her eyes couldn¡¯t make sense of the scene at first. Another scream slit the night open. She didn¡¯t realize until she was on her knees and shaking that it was her own. Chapter Two: CADAS I To make she who carries seed be without child, feed her the root of the snowflake flower and mix it with harsh wine. In three days¡¯ time, she will be purged. The blood must be buried under the moonlight on the next clear night and thanks uttered to Neles. If not, she will be barren all her days. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 8 Castle Muadazim, Dhasherah Region, Qarda Cadas Lars awoke to a great commotion in the servants¡¯ wing. He rolled out of bed and immediately broke out his scratch paper and charcoal stick and set to sketching out the first insect he could think of, a beautiful moth he¡¯d seen two nights prior when the sun set pink over Qarda. He drew the bug in exquisite detail purely from memory. It was more than a normal child¡¯s doodle; it was as rigorous as a diagram that could have been ripped straight out of a world scholar¡¯s book on insects. His drawings were so precise that, during the first moon of his family¡¯s stay in Qarda, the palace guards accused his mother of stealing books from the Hierophant¡¯s personal library. When Cadas reproduced a new drawing, a Qardish scorpion, from memory, the guards were amazed and cleared his family of any wrongdoing. Their praise rolled off his back. He just wanted to return to his drawings, his books, his private bug collection. Idle talk was such a waste of time. It bored him. Two cousins of Cadas, caretakers of the paladins¡¯ chambers, scrambled to gather up their things. They piled clothes, cookware, carved figurines from their home nation of Myrenthos, jars of spices, and every jingling, glinting coin they could find in the pandemonium. Cadas hardly noticed them and focused intently on his drawing. The moth¡¯s wings were complete, down to every tiny detail of their eyespots and even fine lines for their fuzz. Then he just had to touch up the antennae and the fur on its feet. ¡°Cadas!¡± The shrill voice hurt his ears¡ªit sounded like a plate breaking. ¡°Cadas, gather up your things.¡± It was his mother. She flitted into his room not unlike a fruit fly, darting here and there, too fast and too busy to sit still long enough for him to observe. ¡°Did you hear me, Cadas? I said to gather up your things! Get together everything you want to take with you.¡± He summoned every bit of willpower he had in him to utter a reply. ¡°Why?¡± He went back to his drawing. ¡°This place isn¡¯t safe for us anymore. We need to leave. When I come back into this room, I¡¯m taking you and we¡¯re leaving this place. Do you understand?¡± She didn¡¯t wait for his response. It never came anyway. He hated to be interrupted while drawing. Drawing, reading, writing¡ªthese were the only things that brought him peace in this wretched land. *** When the Qardish soldiers¡ªthe Eloheed, as they called themselves¡ªrode into their humble village of Lymna one day, Cadas could hardly believe his eyes. He thought they looked like brilliant golden beetles, giant ones that had learned how to sit upright and tame horses. He wanted to study them. He wanted to make diagrams of their beautiful yellow chitin, the amber stingers they carried at the ends of their black-tipped forelegs. He watched silently, swaying back and forth in place, as they talked to the boring leather-armored guards who patrolled their small village. Somebody yelled something. Then the guards moved suddenly and the Eloheed ran them through with their stingers and it was all over as quickly as it had begun. Cadas wanted to go and inspect the guards¡¯ bodies, but his mother yanked him by the collar back into their home. *** Cadas finished the moth drawing. He labeled each part¡ªthe antennae, the legs, both the forewings and the hindwings, the proboscis, the thorax, the abdomen. He even labeled the head and the compound eyes, though those seemed obvious. Then he charted out the moth¡¯s classification, an organizational system he¡¯d devised himself. It was Living; it was different from rocks and rivers that way. It was an Animal; it moved around and ate food, unlike plants and trees and all the living things that stayed put. It was a Bug; though it had fur like a Beast, it laid eggs instead of giving birth, and it had more than four legs. It was Flying, unlike spiders, earwigs, millipedes, and so on. It was not a fly or a bee; it was Non-Buzzing. It was a Moth, not a Butterfly. And finally, most specifically, it was a special kind of moth, the beautifully adapted Qardish owleye. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. This was his favorite bug in all of Qarda. Sadly, his home village in Myrenthos had a much more multifarious bug population, and in greater numbers. He could spend whole days supervising anthills and following the trails of slithering centipedes, listening to the droning of beehives. But when the Eloheed conquered his village, one small victory in their invasion of the great island nation Myrenthos, his best bug collecting days were over. *** His mother and older siblings cooked a feast for the conquerors with what little they had left in the kitchen. Rabbit stew, stuffed grape leaves, boiled greens, and the very last of his mother¡¯s prized spicy-sauced anchovies. ¡°Don¡¯t go easy on us,¡± the commander told her with a grin. ¡°We¡¯ll take it as spicy as you¡¯ll serve it.¡± They washed their meal down with yogurt for dessert and cup after cup of wine. Then they spent the rest of the evening raving drunkenly about their meal, the best meal they¡¯d ever eaten, the purest-tasting herbs and the most succulent meat. ¡°How could these wonderful cooks practice such detestable things? How could they rip babies out of wombs in the morning and yet prepare such delectable suppers at night? You who worship your pagan gods by dashing newborns against rocks!¡± These were the damning myths of Myrenthian practices that had spread like the book-burning fires of the Eloheed. No one dared contradict them. The soldiers talked with the Lars family long into the night and until the sun rose again, all while Cadas collected fireflies and cockroaches in little glass jars he¡¯d stolen from the kitchen and emptied of their spices. By the morning, it was settled; he and his family would move to Qarda immediately to serve food to the Hierophant. For a fair wage, of course. Cadas didn''t know what that meant or how that made it better. He had to leave all of his bugs behind. He cried and shrieked and convulsed the whole way there until his mother left him below deck on the Qardish ship to scream his lungs out. Landfall brought him no joy, not like his siblings, who jumped into the sand and kissed it. There were fewer bugs in Qarda, at least in the sterile stone of the palace grounds in Rayyaq Raleed. Here in Castle Muadazim, in the cold, there was nothing but the occasional house spider. He adjusted to life in Qarda over time, but it was difficult. One day, when Hierophant Drakhman was talking at him, which the man liked to do, he said, ¡°Does the caterpillar know he will become a butterfly, or does he think he¡¯s about to die in his cocoon? Ah, but when he spreads his wings for the first time, he knows it was all worth it.¡± Cadas didn¡¯t understand the man¡¯s words, and he flinched when the man ruffled his white-blond hair on his way out. *** ¡°Cadas, it¡¯s time to go,¡± said his mother. She stormed into his room, arms full with saddlebags and loose jewelry. ¡°Why?¡± Cadas asked her again. ¡°Hierophant Drakhman is dead. We aren¡¯t safe in Qarda any longer. This land will eat itself alive by nightfall and we won¡¯t be here to watch it.¡± Cadas sat and kept adding tiny little enhancements to his moth diagram. ¡°Our servitude to that killer is now ended, and with him gone, there¡¯s no telling what these brutes will do to us. Are you hearing me, Cadas?¡± She bent down next to him, spilling a cheap necklace onto the floor. She slapped the charcoal stick out of his hand. His instinct was to cry. Then her words clicked in his head. ¡°That man died?¡± She nodded solemnly. ¡°Yes, Cadas. He was killed in the middle of the night. The justice of the gods, for the way he butchered our innocent sisters and brothers. Have you heard anything else I¡¯ve said?¡± Cadas mulled over these developments. ¡°Can I see the dead body?¡± She slapped him across the face and then the tears came. ¡°Mother Moon, help us,¡± she hissed, and she snatched the moth drawing from his hands, ripping it to pieces. ¡°Some son I have. Grab your books and let¡¯s go! You¡¯re not to bring a single bug with you.¡± Cadas buried his face in his knees, sobbing. ¡°Fine! Be this way! When the horses come to take us to port, your big brother is going to carry you by the scruff like a bad puppy! Do you want that?¡± Her words passed through his ears like a lost cockroach burrowing its way to freedom. She was out of the room¡ªthat much he knew¡ªbut it made no difference. Cadas retreated into the privacy of his tears. His mother made a habit of destroying what he loved when she was very angry with him. It was a drawing to be proud of, one that he planned to add to his collection, but now it was charcoal-dusted scraps littering the tiles. His breakdown lasted a long while, what felt like a whole day. But he was calming down and sucking in ragged breaths when he looked outside and saw that the shadows of the trees were short and the sun was straight overhead. He heard the clip-clopping of approaching horses. Quickly, before anyone could see, he went fishing under his bed for the most special book he owned, a book of his own creation. He called it the Compendium; that was his favorite word that didn¡¯t have to do with bugs or dead things, though it was full of information on both. He opened the book and retrieved his charcoal stick. He flipped through pages and pages of insect diagrams and sketches of his own autopsies performed on dead birds, dead rats, empty beetle husks and shriveled spiders, and that one man¡¯s corpse he¡¯d found in the woods on a rainy day in Myrenthos. He reached the first blank page and drew nothing. Instead, he wrote a single sentence: ¡°Social rule: Do not ask to see a dead body or mother will hit you.¡± He closed the book and brought it with him. Chapter Three: KIMBEL I When the Bogman climbed up from the depths of the Everswamp, he had forgotten his life before and the land of his birth. He had forgotten his old name. He remembered only what was done to him. The Water was his mother, and the Shadow was his father. He slew the first Claelish slaver he saw. Then another slaver ran him through with his spear, but the Bogman lived. The slaver said to him, ¡°You have been sentenced to die! I can see the chains around your ankles. You were dead forty days! Why do you now live? Kneel before your master!¡± The Bogman said to him, ¡°I have no master but Death, and I have killed him. What master are you of mine? There is no god but the strongest man. There is no truth but strength. The gator and the waterfowl know the way. One takes and the other is taken.¡± And he beheaded the slaver with his bare hands. -The Legend of the Bogman Castle Holcort, Grackenwell Prince Kimbel Garrotin sat in his father¡¯s chair at the head of the table in the Great Hall, twirling a knife blade-down on its axis against the rough-hewn wood. He glared at his servant Hane when the old man wasn¡¯t looking. Heavy clouds hung low over Holcort, threatening rain, gray and bloated like forgotten corpses in the Everswamp. The air smelled mossy and damp. ¡°Tell me what you learned while we were away, Hane,¡± Kimbel said in a gentle voice. Hane turned to look at him sidelong out of his crooked eye. ¡°Why, sure, milord. I learned the island people west of the Stone Continent, why, they know how the stars will move. They say in a few short years that the moon will black out the sun, yes they do!¡± ¡°I already knew that,¡± Kimbel replied. ¡°Not bad for a bunch of Tomeless savages.¡± Hane smiled his simple smile and resumed sweeping the kitchen. ¡°Did you miss me when my father and I were gone to Qarda?¡± ¡°Why, sure I did, milord. Nothing to do but sit in the new Holcort library and read my eyes crooked. Well, more crookeder than they are, eh?¡± He laughed a sparsely-toothed laugh. ¡°So, you didn¡¯t appreciate the generous vacation you received? You were unhappy to be without your work? Should we have kept you busy even in our absence?¡± ¡°Course not, milord. Meant no insult. I only was¡ª¡± ¡°Tell me something else you learned while we were gone.¡± Hane swept the dust, hair, and other small debris into his flat wooden pan and shook it off out the window. ¡°Well, milord, let me think... Oh! I learned that in Dridon, to the south of us, they worship a god called Triad. They believe it has three heads¡ª¡± ¡°I knew that already.¡± Kimbel heaved a bored sigh through his lungs. ¡°What kind of prince would I be if I didn¡¯t familiarize myself with the faith of our neighbors to the south?¡± Hane nodded and put away his broom and pan in a closet by the cellar door. ¡°Of course, milord. I only read a small bit about Trinitism. Tell me, milord, if you would, what¡¯s the names of the three heads of Triad? I didn¡¯t read that far.¡± Kimbel scoffed angrily. ¡°Don¡¯t insult me with such idiotic questions! If you mean to outwit me, the Crown Prince of Grackenwell, then give up now. I already know more than you will ever learn.¡± Hane smiled. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do, milord. You been reading books since you was a little lad, yes you were. Me, I could barely spell my own name until just a few years ago. Grackenwell forbade a slave to read.¡± ¡°Forbade! What a scholarly word! Look at you now, a free man.¡± Kimbel smiled a thin smile. ¡°You owe it to those superstitious conquerors across the sea in Qarda. They¡¯re obsessed with the number four¡ªdid you know that, Hane? They see it as holy. No better than the savages, if you ask me, but they¡¯re just luckier and richer than others. By Qardish decree, you work for us for a mere four days at a time and then you have a whole day to piss away however you please¡ªto spend, I mean. I misspoke. My apologies.¡± ¡°Of course, milord.¡± ¡°You have an entire free day to spend in the public library, where they give books away to learned men and to clumsy old fools alike. More than that, we can only work you twelve hours in a day. And we must pay you a wage befitting your work. Why, freeing all our slaves, being forced to pay them, and giving them a free day every four days... it¡¯s enough to grind a kingdom¡¯s economy to a standstill. Do you know what befitting means, Hane?¡± The old servant scratched his gray-white stubble. ¡°Erm... Like a bit of clothing that fits just right?¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Kimbel couldn¡¯t hold back a snicker. ¡°Almost, old man. Almost. Keep up your reading and maybe one day you¡¯ll understand. You know I mean no offense by that, don¡¯t you? I apologize. I think I¡¯m still used to talking to you like a slave that I forget the new way of things, even after all these years.¡± ¡°I free you of blame, milord. And I free you of my company.¡± Hane hung up his apron on his hook on the wall. ¡°Workin¡¯ day¡¯s done. Now I head home to make myself a supper. Might bake me a potato, I think!¡± ¡°Wait!¡± Kimbel jumped up from his father¡¯s chair. ¡°I know something you don¡¯t know. A secret. Would you like to hear it?¡± Hane bristled. ¡°I reckon not, milord. Not if it¡¯s from the Ledger. Even a free man like myself is forbidden to know that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s called the Secret Ledger, you uncultured bag of bones. It¡¯s only my family¡¯s most prized possession. No one but the king is permitted to lay a finger on it. That will be true as long as House Garrotin stands, as long as Grackenwell keeps a shred of her pride. I don¡¯t care how many gold-clad mongrels arrive on our shores¡ªsorry, I meant to say Qardish soldiers. There I go misspeaking again.¡± Hane winced at the boy¡¯s outburst. ¡°Aye, milord. You and your father do take good care of that Secret Ledger. Doesn¡¯t cost me a wink of sleep that I¡¯ll never read it. Never intended to, even now that I¡¯m free.¡± He dusted himself off and brushed the sweaty gray hair out of his gaunt face. ¡°Well, a good night to you and yours.¡± ¡°Wait! I know something else. Something not in the Secret Ledger.¡± ¡°That¡¯s good for you, Kimbel.¡± Hane waved goodbye and went to step out the door from the Great Hall. Kimbel snatched his knife from the table and cut the distance between him and Hane in half. ¡°What did you just call me?¡± The old man¡¯s eyes bugged out, one looking straight at him and the other staring somewhere else. ¡°Even a free man has consequences for talking down to his future king.¡± ¡°Thousand pardons, milord. I meant to say Prince Kimbel! The mind gets foggier than the Everswamp in my old age. Afraid I misspoke.¡± Kimbel rolled the knife in his hand. ¡°Do you mean to stab me, milord? A free man? I reckon even royalty might face a consequence for that.¡± Kimbel smiled brightly and sheathed his knife. ¡°By the Bogman, I would never do such a thing, Hane. You¡¯re not done serving my family yet.¡± Hane grinned. ¡°Thanks, milord, but I¡¯m done for these four days if nothin¡¯ else. I¡¯ll see you after my free day, eh? And hopefully the King is home by then. I¡¯ll try to learn somethin¡¯ to tell ya when I come back, yes I will.¡± Before the old man could turn again to leave, a resounding tone rang out through the cobblestones and the soggy soil of the capital city Holcort. The bell tolled in the citadel. Kimbel knew what the bell meant¡ªa tingle of excitement crept up his backbone. ¡°Do you hear that, my dear old friend?¡± he asked his former slave. The old man¡¯s confidence, his swagger of a free man, had evaporated, and his good eye darted around the room like the eye of a pig about to be slaughtered. The bell had not tolled in Holcort since Kimbel was a little boy. But then Hane smiled. ¡°Must be a special announcement, I reckon. Is this what you was meanin¡¯ to tell me?¡± ¡°That it is, Hane, that it is. You remember what the bell means. All free men must report to the citadel at once. Why don¡¯t you come with me and we can walk there together?¡± He put a friendly arm around his old servant¡¯s shoulders, ruffled his gray hair forcefully; at sixteen, Kimbel was already a full head taller than the hunched old man. They followed a small train of servants, noblemen, soldiers, and scampering children to the heart of Holcort, the main citadel where the richest merchants set up shop. Their tributary of townspeople flowed into a raging river that let out into a sea of onlookers gathered in the city square. At the other side, the bell ringer left his post as the clapper swung silently side to side. A military commander bearing a scroll stood at a pulpit before the crowd. ¡°People of Holcort,¡± he boomed to the crowd. Everyone simmered down little by little. ¡°I have here a decree from King Brynh Garrotin himself.¡± Kimbel escorted his servant to the front of the crowd, the rich and the poor alike parting to make way for his passage. A nobleman offered the prince his seat on one of the benches made of carved driftwood. Kimbel motioned for Hane to take the seat instead, and the old servant obliged with a gracious bow. ¡°Thank you, milord. That¡¯s mighty generous of you.¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯re most welcome.¡± Kimbel grinned. ¡°I think you¡¯ll want to be sitting when you hear this.¡± The crowd had finally quieted down to the commander¡¯s liking. ¡°Now I read from the King¡¯s missive.¡± He held up the scroll, breaking the King¡¯s official seal and unfurling the parchment. ¡°¡®People of Holcort, I write to you now from the westerly region of Grackenwell, past the Everswamp and a day¡¯s ride from the Western Sea. Hierophant Drakhman of Qarda is dead.¡¯¡± Assorted gasps rose from the crowd. ¡°¡®The whole of Qarda has plunged into chaos,¡¯¡± the commander read on. ¡°¡®In the wake of these developments, Grackenwell is no longer a Land of Accord under Qarda¡¯s boot, and the old ways are to be reinstated. Former slaves that the Eloheed declared free, who did not purchase their freedom, are henceforth slaves again, effective immediately. Slaves are to return to the houses of their previous masters with all their affairs in order by sundown the following day. I, King Brynh of House Garrotin, will restore Grackenwell to her former glory, and I begin with the conquest of the islands across the Western Sea. A third of our military might will be more than sufficient to bring these Tomeless savages to heel. We sail within the half moon.¡¯¡± Kimbel leaned down level with Hane¡¯s ear. The old man was shaking. ¡°Are you sitting in a free man¡¯s seat in broad daylight? That¡¯s a lashing when you return to work!¡± The prince placed his boot against the slave¡¯s back and kicked him from the bench. Hane fell to a fetal position on the cobblestones. Kimbel vaulted the bench and placed his boot on the old man¡¯s chest triumphantly, like a conquering war hero. Even Hane¡¯s lazy eye seemed frightfully aware of the gravity of this turn of events. ¡°P-please,¡± Hane sputtered, ¡°have mercy, Prince Kimbel.¡± ¡°Grackenwell has been made great once again, old fool. Now you will address me as you did before. You will call me master.¡± Kimbel raised his right hand into the air, fingers splayed and bent to make the Sign of the Bogman. The soldiers returned the age-old salute. Noblemen cheered and applauded him. The poor trembled and backed away, some of the freemen meekly shielding the slaves. Chapter Four: LUCANH I There is not but one god, nor is there less than one, nor are there multitudes. Three are They, not more, nor less. Three heads of one divinity: the God Above, Who made the world and protected it in the Time Before Time; the God Below, Who despises the world and seeks to devour it; and the God Among, Who walks the earth in judgment of our works. So it was in the Time Before Time; so it is now; so shall it ever be. If all other words fall away, let these be carved in the deepest stone until the Time After Time. -The Triptych; Creed of Three Castle Tern, Dridon All was unwell in Dridon. Between the scattered shouts in the streets, the hooves of horses stampeding this way and that, and the general commotion in Castle Tern, Lucanh could hardly concentrate on the ornately illuminated pages of the Triptych. He¡¯d reread a passage in the Book of Earth several times already without absorbing any information. The boy blinked, started again from the top. ¡°My Prince,¡± said a knight who stood at the open door of the royal library. He lifted his helmet¡¯s visor. ¡°Forgive my interruption. Queen Rhoda has ordered an emergency assembly in the throne room. Thought you¡¯d like to know.¡± ¡°Thank you, Sir Godwald,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°Did she send for me?¡± The knight shook his head. ¡°Of course not. I¡¯m already becoming a man, and yet she doesn¡¯t want to treat me like one.¡± ¡°Far be it from a humble knight of my station to question Her Majesty,¡± said Sir Godwald. ¡°But if I may speak a word in her defense, you are only fourteen, Your Grace.¡± ¡°Only fourteen and already making you work for every sparring victory,¡± Lucanh taunted him playfully. ¡°When do I get a real sword already?¡± Sir Godwald smiled. ¡°Excuse me, Prince Lucanh. I am needed.¡± The knight shut his visor and marched away. ¡°I wonder what that feels like,¡± Lucanh sighed. ¡°Must be nice.¡± Lucanh closed the Triptych with his gloves of deerskin, removed the gloves, and set them on the velvet pillow next to the thick holy book. He stepped down from his stool. The immaculate marble pedestal where the Triptych rested was even taller than he was. Not for long. Lucanh hurried down the castle corridor toward the throne room. He hoped his mother wouldn¡¯t have the knights turn him away at the door this time. He was fourteen now, old enough, he thought, to be present when his mother held court and to be informed about important Dridic affairs. He wondered if this had anything to do with that wise king across the sea in the rich nation of Qarda. Lucanh took his seat two thrones to the right of his mother. She wore robes the colors of mahogany, copper, and deep gold, and a crown of silver; these were the Dridic colors of autumn, of crisis, and they signified some yet unknown danger on the horizon. Her worried glance shattered his budding confidence in his belonging there¡ªshe looked at him like he was still a helpless little boy who needed minding. ¡°Order, please,¡± said Queen Rhoda. She could command the attention of the room without raising her voice, a quality he admired about her. It was one he himself hoped to cultivate when he was a man, a time that drew so tantalizingly close now. ¡°I have called this assembly to discuss recent troubling developments in the north.¡± There were murmurs and mutterings among the courtiers; the knights rattled in their armor. ¡°As we all are aware, the presiding monarch of Qarda has been assassinated. With the death of their hierophant, however, comes some even more unsettling news: slavery has been reinstated in Grackenwell.¡± A silent beat. Then the court erupted in outrage, the sound swelling so loud that it scared Lucanh, almost hurt, even. Commoners of the middling caste shouted and pressed forward to be heard, many of them triarchs of the clergy. Knights banged their gauntlets against their breastplates to control the crowd. Even the lords and aristocrats hollered their displeasure. Most incensed of all were the beggar caste. They represented those who had the least in the whole country¡ªpower, wealth, land, food, and some might say dignity, though Lucanh wouldn¡¯t, and he knew his mother wouldn¡¯t, either. These people knew better than anyone the true price of Grackenwell¡¯s treachery, how their northern counterparts were bearing the burden of it even as they were invited to court with their own queen. ¡°I speak for all of us when I say that this news turns my stomach,¡± said the queen. ¡°Were I to act on impulse, I would ride north to Holcort myself, sword in hand!¡± At this, her court roared with approval this time, but she called for silence. ¡°However, here in Dridon, we call ourselves Tomebound. We are bound by the principles of our sacred text, just as any Tomebound in any other part of the known world. We would do well to keep in mind the importance of a measured response. Triad teaches us the value of discernment and caution in all things.¡± More murmurs in the crowd. ¡°Bearing in mind the wisdom of the Triptych, I call the issue to a vote by the Council of Three.¡± Lucanh gasped and fidgeted on his throne. It took him a moment to look princely again after collecting himself. The Council of Three was a rare happening in Dridon and took place but once every few years. He remembered the last time it happened¡ªhis ninth birthday¡ªwhen Dridon¡¯s poorest rioted in the streets and beat the wealthy with clubs and sticks. That was when the beggar caste was given the opportunity to elect their own representative, rather than having one appointed for them by the monarch; Queen Rhoda held court with the poor that day to hear out their requests, rather than having them hanged for inciting a riot. His mother forbade him from entering her court on that day. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. As in all castes, whether here in the south or even to the north, the beggar caste was home to many shades of flesh from pale to dark, but the High Supplicant was a woman of near black skin. Zumawi was her name. She stepped out from among the beggars in a tattered garment stitched together from old potato sacks. Even still, she carried herself with the posture of a queen in her own right, moving airily across the long carpet toward her temporary throne at Rhoda¡¯s left hand. Zumawi met his gaze on approach and smiled; he blushed and pretended to look away into the crowd. The High Knight, Sir Stepan, marched to the throne immediately to the queen¡¯s right. He represented the interests of the middling caste, the commoners with homes but not much wealth, the triarchs and the minor officials. He crashed into his seat with a great clamoring of metal, removing his helmet and setting it in his lap. Sweat plastered his black hair against his pallid forehead. Now the Council was assembled and a hush fell over the court. ¡°Zumawi and Sir Stepan have been instructed to prepare arguments for this session of the Council of Three,¡± said the queen. ¡°I will now hear from my Left Hand.¡± She turned to Zumawi, who gave a slight bow of her head. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said the beggar, ¡°my caste is greatly troubled. We feel that Grackenwell¡¯s reinstitution of slavery is cause for war. The Book of Hells speaks of such abomination and what is to be done with slavers. Slavery is repugnant under the Six Eyes of Triad. To declare war on such evil is our Tomebound duty.¡± Words of assent rose from the court like sparks off a well-fed fire. Lucanh felt that same fire burning in his own heart. His hands shook and his teeth pressed themselves together. His mother¡¯s words about riding to Holcort echoed in his mind, and he longed to charge through their city gates and free each slave himself, to be the hero they needed¡ªthe kind of hero he read about in books besides the Triptych. ¡°Order, please,¡± said the queen. ¡°Thank you, Zumawi, for your counsel. I will now hear from my Right Hand.¡± She turned to Sir Stepan, who brushed aside his matted hair as if it had just occurred to him that he was in the presence of the queen. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Sir Stepan, whose high-pitched voice belied his bulky frame, ¡°I would appeal instead to the Book of Heights. Panel Eleven tells the story of the wayward boy who goes to fell a beehive and is stung to death. Panel Eleven reminds us of the folly of unwarranted aggression. Let the Qardish reclaim Grackenwell once the dust settles. They could already be sailing to do just that as we speak¡ªwith a military ten times the size of ours, I should add.¡± The crowd¡¯s response was less enthusiastic this time, but it sounded to Lucanh like more people were quietly agreeing with Sir Stepan. ¡°Thank you, Sir Stepan, for your counsel. Having heard from both caste representatives, I will now deliver my decision.¡± The queen surveyed her courtiers, regal in the look of confidence she wore. It was quiet enough in the throne room to hear a single knight adjust his footing. ¡°Matters in the north weigh heavily on my heart¡ªon all our hearts.¡± Lucanh saw shoulders slumping in the clutch of beggars in the crowd. ¡°But Panel Eleven weighs even heavier at this moment. Dridon stands in steadfast opposition to the practice of slavery, as she has officially since Qarda¡¯s arrival a century ago¡ªand unofficially centuries prior to that. But we cannot declare war over a difference in domestic policies.¡± ¡°Queen Rhoda,¡± Zumawi interrupted pleadingly, ¡°as little as a deployment of soldiers at our northern border¡ª¡± ¡°Hold your tongue,¡± Sir Stepan cut her off, hand flourishing near his sheathed sword. He set that same hand on his lap, as if it were an ill-tempered dog that had almost gotten away from him. ¡°Your queen is speaking.¡± His blank face betrayed nothing that was happening behind his eyes, not anger, not contempt¡ªnothing. He bowed his head to Queen Rhoda after that. ¡°Apologies for speaking out of turn, Your Majesty.¡± Lucanh¡¯s mother continued. ¡°What is happening in Grackenwell is an atrocity against human dignity. Let us all pray to Triad for the delivery of the slaves from their chains and a swift rebuke from the land of Qarda. If Grackenwell had a hand in the hierophant¡¯s death, let justice be done to them. Until such time as Grackenwell makes a formal declaration of war on us, Dridon will maintain neutrality. That is the end of the matter for the time being.¡± The queen struck the bottom of her scepter thrice against the stone floor before her throne. The court dissolved into scattered conversations, the nobles dispersing and the knights herding the commoners toward the front door of Castle Tern. Lucanh wanted to talk to Zumawi, to say something conciliatory, but she was on her feet and storming away from her throne before he could even open his mouth. The look on his mother¡¯s face spelled heartbreak and inner turmoil. On the surface, it was nothing more than concern, but he could see by the way she tapped her pinky finger on the arm of her throne that something was deeply wrong. He rose and approached her throne. ¡°Mother?¡± She looked at him with that babying look again. ¡°What is it, son? Do you need something?¡± ¡°I need to help,¡± he replied, sticking out his chest. ¡°What if I went to Holcort myself? I could speak with King Garro¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± His mother¡¯s eyes were now plainly wide with fear. ¡°Don¡¯t say such a thing. Not ever again.¡± She drew back, taking notice of her emptying court still full enough of potential onlookers. Lucanh knew they expected bravery of her. He wanted to prove his own bravery, too. ¡°You¡¯re saying we can¡¯t do anything?¡± ¡°I am the Queen of Dridon, but I¡¯m your mother first and foremost.¡± She pulled him closer to her in an embrace and ran her hand through his earth-brown hair once. He jerked away from her touch but it didn¡¯t faze her. ¡°Even if we were to do something, I would never send you north to those monsters. Those Grackenwelsh beasts believe only in power. They worship a dead man for lording power over death itself. They know little of humanity, let alone mercy or charity.¡± ¡°So why can¡¯t we attack them? Why can¡¯t we make them stop?¡± Lucanh dwelled on the verses he¡¯d read in the Book of Hells, his favorite book of late; it spoke less of virtues and meditation and more of carrying out vengeance. His mother rested her scepter against her throne and put a hand on each of his shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t give you that answer, Luke. Study the Triptych. Pray to Triad for guidance. As mortals, we must tread a narrow wall separating the Heights and the Hells. Seldom is it easy.¡± Lucanh was about to ask his mother another question when a detachment of knights marched up to her throne. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said one of them, and Lucanh could tell by the voice that it was Sir Godwald again. ¡°More news from the scouts. Might we speak to you in private?¡± Without another word, the queen strode off to lead them to another chamber away from the prying ears of the court, and Lucanh stood alone among the remnants of the court. He heard the whispers of the Heights above, felt the rumblings of the Hells below, and tried to make sense of it all. Chapter Five: BEAM I What can drive out darkness but light? What can drive out wickedness but purity? Ah-Ren detests darkness and loathes wickedness! As dawn banishes the night, so shall Ah-Ren drive out sickness; so shall Ah-Ren do away with pain; so shall Ah-Ren dispose of death for all whose faith rests in Him. His promises are unbroken as the promise of the dawn! Who can raise the dead but Ah-Ren? -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 7, Lines 44-49 Claeloch Territory, Grackenwell Beam chose a tall hill overlooking the forest clearing to spread her prayer rug. She knelt on the scratchy wool dyed red and drew in a deep breath. The sun shone warm on Claeloch that day, the promise of spring on the breeze. She pressed her palms together, closed her eyes, and offered up a prayer of thanks to her savior. Five years already. It had been five years since she¡¯d been rescued from damnation. ¡°Praise be to Ah-Ren,¡± she breathed. ¡°Ah-Ren, the Maker of the Morning. Ah-Ren, the Light of the World. Ah-Ren, the Merciful. Ah-Ren, the Lord Above Lords. Blessed be the Bringer of Life and the Banisher of Death, and cursed be every false god who blasphemes against You. Blessed be Your word.¡± She prostrated herself on the rug. Then, raising her head, she looked to the sky and asked, ¡°Will you light the way for me, Lord? Where do I go?¡± A whistling wind between the trees was her answer. Beam drew up her cloak. She was fortunate that the sky was clear and the sun warm, but she needed to keep moving or else freeze. Winter was brutal that year, and she feared she would not survive the cold of the night¡ªlet alone the other dangers that came out only after dark. But that was her doubt talking. She¡¯d come this far for a reason. Beam rolled up her prayer rug and secured it to her pack. She descended the hill and ventured deeper into the woods, marching straight for the morning sun. A thin layer of packed snow crunched beneath her boots with each step; it was the only sound from one horizon to another. East, Beam thought. The dream said east. No¡ªthe vision. Ah-Ren wants me to spread the good word to the faithless in Grackenwell. But how? What do I do? A long journey lay ahead of her. In truth, she traveled southeast, and both directions spelled danger. Claeloch had a milder, more temperate climate compared to much of Grackenwell, with its seasons of torrential rainfall. Not to mention whatever horrors lurked in the Everswamp¡ªshe was determined to find a way around it, even if it meant crossing over south into the Zan Desert. The Everswamp was home to the Great Deceiver. It was home to the Legend of the Bogman. She shuddered to think of the unspeakable evil that settled over that place like its unending fog. Evil was the sort of thing that some people could deny, like spirits or the gators of the bog... until they saw it firsthand. Beam knew evil. She¡¯d suffered much evil in her twenty-eight years, but never so much as her time in the brothel. *** Beam was eighteen years of age when her parents were killed in a slave raid. Grackenwelsh soldiers made sport of riding into Claeloch to round up more laborers to build their castles, their cannons, their roads and trenches. It was always ugly. Sometimes it was uglier than usual. Beam¡¯s parents had died in one of the fires that Grackenwelsh soldiers had set during their raid. She found them in the dark of early morning sprawled face-down in their room. The flames hadn¡¯t touched them yet¡ªthey must have breathed the smoke in their sleep, she surmised after the fact¡ªbut no sooner did she find them than the roof collapsed in a spray of sparks. She¡¯d barely made it out with her life, her arm badly burned and her gown in smoldering tatters. Beam didn¡¯t even have the chance to bury them. For some reason, that was the part that stung her the most in the years that followed. Her parents dead, her village burned to cinders and the land salted, Beam had gone town to town looking for work, but no one would hire her. The rich bought slaves and the poor could spare no coin to pay a wage. She had no land. No belongings. No family. Nothing but the singed gown on her back. That, and what was beneath her gown. ¡°You ain¡¯t got a name now,¡± the brothelkeeper told her on her first day. ¡°Your name is Girl. Your name is whatever a monger calls you for the night. Got it?¡± She had no choice but to agree to the terms. She had no choice for years. *** A noise got her attention. She¡¯d been reliving the past again, but she was brought hurtling back to the present. It sounded like a wounded animal. She ran along a low-flowing river toward the source of the sound. She heard it again, unmistakably the groaning of a horse this time¡ªshe was getting close. The winding river took her to the edge of a narrow waterfall between a tight thicket of trees. A horse lay on its side on the bank of the shallow river not far below. Its head lolled in the water, a red gash along its neck, one of its legs missing; the snow along the riverbank was tinged pink with its blood. A closer look revealed a man lying on his back on a jagged rock¡ªa spear sticking through his midsection. His limbs twitched. From this height of the short waterfall, she could make out his jaw opening and closing. He was barely clinging to life. That meant there was still hope to save him. Beam sprinted through the dense cluster of trees and navigated the jagged riverbank rocks, down the sheer hill with shriveled weeds poking through the snow. She slipped once, knocking her elbow against a stone¡ªshe kept running. Time was of the essence. She reached the bottom of the waterfall just as the man raised a shaking hand to his mortal wound. He grasped at the spear with quivering fingers, trying to draw a breath that wouldn¡¯t come. Pink spittle dribbled from his lips. His face betrayed the slow realization of his fate with every pulse of blood spilling out around the spearhead. ¡°Do not be afraid,¡± said Beam. She set down her bag and yanked out a massive golden book that she held in one hand and opened with another. Sunlight played off the oddly metallic cover, dancing across each page she turned. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°K-¡­ k-¡­ l-,¡± he wheezed. ¡°K-¡­ Kill... me...¡± ¡°You will live,¡± Beam answered him calmly. She closed her eyes and placed her right hand on the open page. ¡°Ah-Ren has so much more in store for you.¡± Moving her left hand to the man¡¯s wound¡ªhe gasped at the pain, eyes bulging¡ªshe mouthed the words she knew better than her name, rich in faith. An ineffable tingling sensation shot through one hand and out the other. ¡°Lord Ah-Ren, have mercy. Lord Ah-Ren, bring life. Lord Ah-Ren, banish death. We who deserve damnation ask for Your salvation. By Your grace alone do we live. Lord Ah-Ren, have mercy...¡± At first, she whispered her prayer, but it grew into a loud crescendo. Her mantra became a battle chant to shake Death itself from its skeletal horse. The speared man dug his heels into the pebbles of the riverbed as she worked her miracle. Her eyes burned and she opened them. Little lights twinkled in and out of life in her vision. She could feel the warmth of the man¡¯s spilling blood, thick and sticky on the palm of her hand, but she bade the blood return to its home in his veins. It obeyed her. She ordered the spear to retreat from him and commanded the man¡¯s flesh to close and leave no scar. She threw the spear aside and it crashed into the river, not a drop of blood to be seen anywhere. When Ah-Ren had finished working through her, the light inside her went out like a blown candle. She could see clearly out of her own eyes again. The man filled with a much friendlier color than before. His cheeks were ruddy with exertion and the cold. He blinked, his eyes relaxing, his breathing slowing to normal. He smiled up at her incredulously. ¡°Have... Have I died?¡± he asked hoarsely. He cleared his throat. ¡°Miss, have I died? Are you Death?¡± There was a delirious look in his eyes. ¡°I was wrong to fear something so beautiful and kind.¡± ¡°You are still in the land of the living,¡± said Beam. The man sat up, sobered, grasping at the shredded hole in his tunic, tapping and poking and running his rough fingers across the smooth skin where the spear had penetrated. ¡°This can¡¯t be. Am I going mad? I¡¯ve just been stabbed, haven¡¯t I?¡± Beam closed her book and the sound rebounded through the trees. ¡°You were, and my Lord healed you.¡± She finally returned his smile. ¡°Sit with me a while. I have enough food to share.¡± *** The two strangers filled their canteens in the crystalline waterfall, upstream from the slain horse. Then they found a clearing and kicked the layer of snow aside so Beam could lay out her travel rug. They were far enough away that they could barely hear the waterfall now. They split a thick strip of dried beef that was tough but pleasantly salted. Beam tore a hard bread roll in half with great effort, handing him the greater portion. She picked at a crumbling wedge of cheese that she¡¯d laid between them, but her guest folded his hands in his lap, apparently worried he¡¯d overstep her generosity. ¡°So,¡± said Beam. The woods were deathly quiet again, save for the whispering of the water in the distance. She tried not to look in the direction of the horse. ¡°I think that experience brought us closer than most. At least for strangers. Could I ask you your name?¡± ¡°Suppose you can ask a great deal of me now,¡± said the man. He was shy to meet her gaze. Looking him up and down, he appeared to be not much older than her, maybe thirty years of age or a few more. He had light brown hair down to his shoulders and a patchy, unkempt beard. ¡°I owe you my life, after all. My name is Peadhar.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Afraid there¡¯s not much else to say of myself that would interest you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be the judge of that, if it¡¯s quite alright with you,¡± she said with a friendly smirk. He smirked back. ¡°All right. Well, I¡¯m a simple man. A hunter. Born and raised here in Claeloch, not a day¡¯s walk from where we sit.¡± He resumed his new habit of rubbing the bare patch of his belly to make sure it was still intact. ¡°They were soldiers from Grackenwell. Holcort, if I had to guess¡ªtall, well-fed, they were. I had the misfortune of crossing their path. ¡°I¡¯d bagged a deer this morning. They told me they were here in Claeloch on official business from King Garrotin himself. They said my deer was forfeit. Seized. Property of Grackenwell. I told them I was willing to part with half the deer for a silver coin. Even let them pick the half.¡± He chuckled to himself. ¡°They didn¡¯t find that quite so charming as I did.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± Beam gasped. Then she remembered herself, covering her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Foolish question...¡± He rubbed the hole in his tunic again. ¡°They butchered my horse first. Cut off one of her legs, then raked a sword across her neck. Had that horse for five years. Reliable, gentle creature. Didn¡¯t deserve that.¡± He sighed, looking past the trees to the waterfall in the distance. ¡°Horse bucked me off when they attacked her. Didn¡¯t even have the chance to run. They speared me like you¡¯d spear a river fish for breakfast¡ªonly they didn¡¯t bash my head with a hammer after. They had no use or kindness for me. Just left me to bleed out on the rocks.¡± He looked at her warily, blinking, like he wanted to make sure she wasn¡¯t a ghost. ¡°And then you found me, Miss.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No. I was led to you.¡± ¡°They say a dying man relives his whole life before he passes, as if in a quick dream,¡± Peadhar went on. ¡°Sees himself as a boy, sees the love of his life, their young ones. Never married, though. Only spent a few nights with women in my life. Don¡¯t have any children, to my knowledge. My dog died a couple of years ago. I had no one else. Guess you could say I haven¡¯t lived much of a life. So, when I felt that spear in my guts, felt that long sleep comin¡¯ on... all I kept thinkin¡¯ of was that horse.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t know why. Just worried she would suffer.¡± ¡°All life is precious in the eyes of Ah-Ren,¡± said Beam. Her words unsettled him at first. ¡°Right.¡± He eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then breathed a sigh of gratitude. ¡°I¡¯d be a dead man if it weren¡¯t for you. And who might Ah-Ren be? Is he a king somewhere?¡± ¡°He is king everywhere, my friend. King of every place where the sunlight falls. He is the True God Refulgent.¡± She reached over to the dry, flat rock where she¡¯d placed her book and stroked it down the binding like a lounging cat. ¡°He speaks to me. I am Tomebound to the Gospel of Lucence, and through it, Ah-Ren grants me the power to work miracles. To open the heart. To heal the sick. Even to save the life of a dying man.¡± Beam could practically see the sudden surge of reverence that swelled in Peadhar in that moment. He rose from his sitting position on the rug so he could bend his knee to her. ¡°If Ah-Ren is your god,¡± he said, ¡°and He granted me this second chance at life, then I owe myself to Him.¡± He bowed his head solemnly. ¡°I did nothing with my life before it was almost taken from me. I can¡¯t make that mistake again.¡± Then he looked up at her with pleading eyes. ¡°What must a man do to follow Ah-Ren?¡± ¡°Do you believe?¡± she asked him. Peadhar nodded fervently. ¡°I believe. Yes, I believe!¡± ¡°Then you have already taken the first and greatest step.¡± Beam returned the Gospel of Lucence to the special compartment in her bag. ¡°He has rescued you just as He rescued me.¡± ¡°Were you at death¡¯s door, too?¡± ¡°Oh, yes. In my own way.¡± She blinked away bitter memories of the past. ¡°It doesn''t matter anymore. We were worthless, deserving of damnation... but Ah-Ren has saved us both.¡± Peadhar put a hand to his forehead as if he¡¯d made a fool of himself. ¡°Thousand apologies, Miss. I¡¯ve accepted your healing, eaten your food... But I never once thanked you. What did your parents name their blessing of a child? Would you tell me that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember,¡± Beam answered truthfully. ¡°I was given a new name when I was saved. Beam.¡± She smiled a benevolent smile, feeling a familiar weightlessness in her chest, enough to make her feel as though she could fly. This moment felt so carefully ordained, so tailored just for her, yet just for him, too. Shadows of a grander plan beyond her comprehension. ¡°You deserve a new name as well. You will be... Luster.¡± ¡°So I am,¡± said the man. ¡°Thank you, Lady Beam. I can never repay you for what you¡¯ve done for me this day. Luster...¡± He said it a few more times under his breath. He seemed to turn the name over in his mouth, enjoying the feel of it. ¡°And what would the True God Refulgent have Luster do, Lady Beam?¡± The near-silent stream caught her eye, scintillations of the midday sun playing across the pristine water. ¡°There are false gods in this world, Luster,¡± she told him. ¡°Falsehoods to be silenced. Idols to be torn down. Only Ah-Ren can do this, through us. Everything we do is for His glory. It¡¯s written in the Gospel of Lucence: I have prepared a way for you. Now you will prepare the world for Me.¡± Luster stood up straight with his hands at his sides. ¡°Then where shall we go, my lady? To prepare the world, I mean.¡± She sighed peacefully. ¡°The Lord will light our way.¡± Chapter Six: AKONA I Take special care to heed this warning. The earth bears sustenance and poison in equal measure. The five-point flower grows in two breeds, one of a cup shape and the other a star. The leaves of the former are harmless, while the leaves of the latter cause sickness. If the berries are dull and grow side by side, eat your fill. If the berries shine and grow alone, grind their seeds finely. Feed it to your enemy and your enemy will be no more. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 27 Dhasherah Region, Qarda ¡°Hurry, sister,¡± said Akona. ¡°He isn¡¯t far behind!¡± Akona led her sister by hand deeper into the misty woods. Her legs burned, but she was starting to get a second wind. They had no leisure of slowing, much less stopping, or they would die. ¡°I say we kill him,¡± said Styri, ¡°and rest for a while!¡± ¡°I told you it¡¯s not that easy,¡± Akona argued quietly. She paused between her sentences so as not to make too much sound all at once. ¡°Their emperor died last night. They have birds to carry messages for them from outpost to outpost. Word will travel across this whole kingdom before we even make our fire tonight!¡± ¡°So what? If we kill the man chasing us, then we¡¯ll be free! There was only one.¡± Styri shot a glance over her shoulder as they ran. ¡°This kingdom is crawling with spies. You know this! The man who hired us told us as much! Every outpost in their relay system is numbered. If the spy fails to send a report in the allotted time, his fellows will know something happened to him.¡± ¡°And?¡± It was overwhelming, bickering with Styri and running for her life at the same time. ¡°Then the others will know exactly where to find us, Styri! If we evade him, then no one will know where we are!¡± ¡°You have it backward!¡± ¡°No, I have it frontward!¡± ¡°Stop!¡± Akona jerked forward with momentum, and this time it was her sister holding her back by the hand. ¡°What?¡± she whispered. Styri looked at her sternly, panting. ¡°Akona, give me the pipe,¡± she said with finality. ¡°Let the other spies come looking for him. We can go in another direction after a bit of a rest. Just one meal and a nap. By the time they¡¯re on our trail, we¡¯ll be long gone.¡± ¡°Did you not hear what I just said, Styri?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been running all morning. We haven¡¯t eaten in a day. I¡¯m starving!¡± Styri flailed her body like a pouting child. With all of Styri¡¯s childish complaining, it was hard to believe that she was her twin¡ªharder still that Styri was the firstborn, older than Akona¡¯s thirteen years by a quarter of a day. Those hours must have allowed Akona¡¯s mind to ripen more fully in the womb. ¡°Give me the pipe,¡± Styri repeated. ¡°If it needs to be done, I will do it¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m the better shot, Akona! The glademothers said¡ª¡± ¡°Shh!¡± Akona slapped a hand over her sister¡¯s mouth. ¡°Listen.¡± There they were again¡ªthe rapid, nimble footfalls of the spy that chased them, stirring up forest detritus as they went. Then they fell dead silent once more. ¡°Position. Signal. Shoot. Got it?¡± ¡°Got it.¡± Akona yanked the pipe out of her pack. It was a thin wooden tube with contents that rattled inside. She held it out then revoked it before her sister could snatch it. ¡°Promise?¡± She intertwined her arm with her sister¡¯s, squeezing tightly, and Styri squeezed back. It was their way of sealing their word. ¡°Promise,¡± Styri whispered, eyeing the trees behind them. They¡¯d practiced this stratagem many times with the glademothers of Myrenthos. The two of them took up their tactical positions in two separate clusters of dense ferns. Akona was to be their lookout¡ªshe could see farther, and in finer detail, than her sister. She would give the signal to indicate the location and direction of their target. She imagined her sister carrying out each step that they had rehearsed together hundreds of times. Drawing the vial from the pipe. Unsealing the cork and plucking out the small feathered poison dart. Loading the dart into the blowpipe needle-side down. Please be careful with that, Styri, she thought. That needle can kill you even without drawing a drop of blood. I should know. I made the poison myself. Tense moments dragged by like hours. Mother told us to survive at all costs. To protect each other¡ªthat¡¯s what we swore to her. I suppose that¡¯s what you¡¯re trying to do in your own way. I trust you. They heard footsteps again. Slower this time¡ªstalking. But they were getting closer. Almost... Almost... A twig snapped¡ªthen a cluster of bushes exploded with movement. Too fast for a signal. Now! Akona saw the dart spit out from the ferns. It hit its target¡ªbut not the target that they were expecting. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The poison dart stabbed the neck of a lunging monkey. It screeched as it fumbled to a stop on the forest floor. Then it chattered nervously, pawing at the dart already working its bitter magic in the animal¡¯s veins, a spot of rust colored blood tinging its thick gray fur. The creature looked around in all directions. What was that emotion on its eerily human face? Hurt? Confusion? Fear? It crawled a few more paces to the base of a tree, chattering some more, maybe saying a prayer to some simian god before it was too late. Then the poison¡¯s work was done. The monkey¡¯s body slumped over for the last time. They both waited a few moments longer to confirm that they were in the clear. Akona gave the safety signal and, in unison, they emerged from their hiding spots, both apparently furious with the other. ¡°What were you thinking?¡± Akona snapped. ¡°Why would you do that?¡± Styri laughed bitterly. ¡°World class spies! That¡¯s what you said! Does this look like a Qardish veracidin to you? He probably lost our trail a long time ago! This was a waste of a day!¡± ¡°Well, at least we¡¯re done running. Do you feel better now that you can rest your poor, tired legs? All you had to do was kill an innocent monkey!¡± ¡°Obviously I didn¡¯t know it was a monkey at first!¡± Styri reached out and pinched her twin¡¯s underarm. ¡°Ow! What did I tell you about pinching me?¡± Akona did it back. ¡°Stop it! Stop!¡± ¡°You started it!¡± They each gave each other a halfhearted shove before turning their attention to the victim of the poison dart. The woods of Dhasherah were quiet again. ¡°I really didn¡¯t mean to,¡± Styri lamented. Her younger sister put a conciliatory hand on her shoulder. ¡°Obviously, I know that.¡± ¡°So the spy is gone now, right? He lost our trail? We¡¯re safe?¡± ¡°That, or he¡¯s watching us, waiting for us to relax before he strikes.¡± They both surveyed the dense forest, not unlike ambushed monkeys in their own right, searching for the source of their danger. Akona scanned the tree line for any signs of motion, any sounds of the spy that had been tracking them since dawn. The glademothers had trained her in the arts of perception and vigilance since she could walk and talk. They were alone. For now. ¡°Fine,¡± Akona muttered. ¡°We''re safe for the moment. Let¡¯s have a short rest and eat. Then we cover more ground before dark.¡± Styri tossed her head back and sighed with relief. ¡°Finally. I¡¯m so hungry my belly aches! I hate this place. I just want to go home.¡± She caught her breath with her hands on her knees. ¡°Where are the rations?¡± ¡°Those are for emergencies. I told you that. I¡¯ll find us food here in the wild¡ªwe just can¡¯t stray far from each other.¡± Akona pointed at the ground. ¡°Wait here. I¡¯ll be back shortly.¡± ¡°On second thought,¡± said Styri, eyeing the monkey¡¯s body. ¡°Let¡¯s find another spot to rest.¡± *** The wood was wet and much of it still too green to use. Lesser minds would have suffered the cold mist, but the glademothers¡¯ training more than equipped Styri to start a fire even in these conditions. She hoped Akona would bring back more than plants to eat. Akona was always the better forager of the two. She had a meticulous knowledge of hundreds of different plants. Granted, she was less familiar with Qardish varieties, but she was learning. Styri was the huntress. She craved a squirrel, a juicy rabbit, or, better still, a big, tender deer to cook and eat. Akona preferred the slower route, plucking something out of the earth that could neither feel pain nor run away. A dandelion didn¡¯t taste nearly as good as a fresh caught fish seared on an open flame. Still, she respected her sister¡¯s talents. If Akona didn¡¯t know whether a plant was good to eat, she knew the ancient ways of testing it. She would pluck one and separate its parts, the flower, the stem, the leaves, and so on. She would rub a part on her skin, wait a while, then chew on a piece of that same part, and wait a while to observe the effects. Styri had forgotten those lessons from their youth. Sometimes Akona would carry out her testing and then determine a plant was safe to eat. Otherwise, if she experienced any ill effects after consumption, she would force herself to vomit and then have only water for the rest of the day. The glademothers¡¯ teachings were all that kept them alive in the wild. Twigs crunched. Her eyes snapped to the source of the sound¡ªAkona returning with the hem of her tunic pulled up, a pile of foraged food in her lap. They shared an eager grin for the feast they were about to enjoy. They ate in silence. Blueberries, red berries, and little black ones, too. They both already knew these fruits were good for eating. Akona also found four fat black fruits with thick, bumpy rinds that were bigger than apples. These were savory rather than sweet. Styri had never encountered a fruit like this in Myrenthos, but she gnawed both of hers down to the bitter wooden pits. ¡°Like butter,¡± Styri murmured, licking the bits of green from her fingers. ¡°Yes,¡± said Akona. ¡°That¡¯s just what I was thinking.¡± They rested for a while after that. Styri lay back in the grass with her pack as a pillow. She passed the time studying the forest canopy overhead, picking out little shards of gray sky from the green like broken pottery on grass. It had been a long while when Styri broke the silence. ¡°Do you still have it?¡± she asked. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Show it to me.¡± ¡°Styri¡ª¡± ¡°Please, Akona!¡± She sat up. ¡°It¡¯ll make me feel better.¡± Her younger sister reached into her own pack, pulling out their proof of a successful mission. It was a length of the Qardish emperor¡¯s beard, the golden lacer still attached, royal seal engraving and all. It was in the same bag as the thirty gold coins they were paid in Castle Muadazim for the job. The rest of their payment awaited them at home in Myrenthos. ¡°Satisfied?¡± Akona said finally, and she put the bound black hair back in with the coins. ¡°We did it,¡± said Styri. ¡°We did it and we got away with it.¡± She winced when she remembered the killing blow they¡¯d dealt to the conquering king¡ªeven the huntress needed help from her sister with that part. But it was a necessary evil when they didn¡¯t know if the hierophant had access to antidotes. ¡°It was the right thing to do. Right?¡± Akona nodded. ¡°Ask our sisters and brothers he killed. All for serving women snowflake flower so they wouldn¡¯t bear children. He called it an affront to their god... Well, their invasion was an affront to all twenty-nine of ours.¡± ¡°Everything played out just like Prime Oracle Hessandra foretold. Praise be to Anteira.¡± ¡°Praise be,¡± Akona agreed. They were quiet another while after that. Then Styri spoke up again. ¡°Do you really think we¡¯ll make it back home alive?¡± Akona sat up on the grass, rolling to face her. ¡°What did our mother tell us to do when that man hired us? When we were carrying out the prophecy handed down by the Prime Oracle herself?¡± ¡°Survive.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°Protect each other.¡± Akona nodded solemnly. ¡°That¡¯s right. And that¡¯s what we¡¯ve been doing. And that¡¯s what we¡¯ll continue to do until our heads are back on our pillows at home. Then I can tell our mother what a colossal pain you¡¯ve been this entire time.¡± Styri snickered. ¡°Promise?¡± She crooked her arm out. Akona squeezed with her own arm. ¡°Promise.¡± Then she stood up, adjusting the pack hanging off her shoulders. Styri jumped to her feet as well. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here. We have more ground to cover before nightfall.¡± ¡°I wonder what the Qardish are doing right now,¡± said Styri. ¡°Back at the castle, I mean. At this very moment.¡± ¡°I can tell you what they¡¯re doing,¡± Akona replied. She cast one last glance back at the woods behind them before leading the way forward. ¡°Tasting their own justice for the first time in a hundred years.¡± Chapter Seven: LANOR II The life of a daymoth is nothing in the time of a man. The daymoth hatches from its cocoon in the morning and passes from the earth before the sun has set. So too is the life of a man in the time of the world. The life of a man is no more than a hundred years; for a hundred years he lives before he passes from the earth. But the man goes on living long after the daymoth is no more, and forgets it easier than a dream. So too does the earth forget the man when he is no more. For the time of the world is many thousands of years, and the Time Before Time is unknown. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 92, Verses 20-27 Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda Lanor wore the same purple robes she¡¯d been wearing for the past eleven days. She lay in her purple silk bedding in her old room in the Palace of the Hierophant. Outside, pale purple smoke poured from the palace umat over the city of Rayyaq Raleed. The cantor sang the same morning nasbilha, a dirge of sorrow, that she¡¯d ordered him to sing every morning since her return. Her whole world was dressed in the Qardish customs of mourning. There was a dull haze to everything now. It was impossible to tell whether it was her grief or the fact that she had eaten almost nothing in the past forty-three days since that night. All she cared to do anymore was sleep. Sleep until the nightmares brought her back to the bloodstained floor in Castle Muadazim and she woke up screaming. The worst part was that she hadn¡¯t cried once. Not that night. Not on the long horse-drawn palanquin ride home. Not when her father¡¯s body, wrapped in regal shrouds of purple and gold, lay in state in the Temple of Eloei. Not even when they entombed him in the royal crypt beneath the palace. She longed for a release that never came. It felt unnatural, her lack of tears. Evil, even. Broken. Only when her head ached and her parched lips chapped did she even have the motivation to drink water. She sipped from the bowl at her bedside. Had she had that cup of gruel two days ago, or three? She couldn¡¯t remember. Yesterday was Hur Adhajah, a holy feast day for the Eloheed. It was the first year she¡¯d ever missed it. She missed all the traditional Hur Adhajah dishes. Aromatic rice and herbs. Curdle porridge. Laftih triangles stuffed with fruit, sweet cream, or preserves. Her favorite had always been forty-layer bread. Paper-thin layers of dough baked into a fine flaky crust flavored with crushed almonds and honey. But she had no craving for any of the feast day delicacies. Not like she used to. *** At the funerary feast for her mother, Lanor remembered being just tall enough to sit in an adult-sized chair at the table. The funeral happened to coincide with Hur Adhajah that year. Clerics, elders of the Synod, and even her father himself read verses from the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen and gave speeches on death and mourning. All she did was sit there teary-eyed and missing her mother. She wouldn¡¯t touch a single dish from the feast. She wouldn¡¯t look at the servants who placed the golden plates in front of her bearing the most exquisite foods the known world had to offer. It wasn¡¯t until the end of the night, when everyone was milling about and talking, that her father snapped her out of it. ¡°Lanor,¡± said Drakhman, thudding into the chair next to her. ¡°You must try this.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to,¡± she said tearfully. ¡°I want my mother.¡± ¡°I know you do, Lanor. I do, too. But I give thanks to Eloei every day that I still have you.¡± He set a plate on the table next to her; she gave him a sidelong glance. ¡°And I know that I¡¯m a poor substitute, but you still have me. Right?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she mumbled. Now she rewarded him with her full attention. ¡°There¡¯s my girl. Look at this, see? Forty-layer bread. I want you to try it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to. It looks foul...¡± ¡°Ah, but listen!¡± He held up a finger as he often did when he told her fables or recounted entertaining stories of his. ¡°Forty-layer bread is a sacred tradition here in Qarda. Do you know why?¡± Lanor shook her head. He held up the pastry before her eyes and showed her the stack of impossibly thin layers baked to a flaky crisp. Admittedly, it smelled good. ¡°Forty layers. One layer for each year of the reign of the First Prophet, Eloei grace him. Forty years!¡± ¡°Wow,¡± Lanor gasped. ¡°I am about the same age he was when he established the hierophany. Did you know that? And he reigned for forty years. Eloei will watch over me now that I have the throne. You¡¯ll have me for at least another forty years, Lanor.¡± ¡°And then you¡¯ll leave me?¡± She panicked, on the verge of tears again. ¡°No, Lanor. They¡¯ll have to invent a fifty-layer bread. Or a hundred. Or a thousand!¡± He held out the pastry up to her mouth. ¡°Do you think you could even get your teeth around a thousand layers?¡± ¡°No,¡± Lanor giggled. It was the first time she¡¯d smiled since losing her mother. ¡°No? Well, you¡¯d better practice! Here, try the forty-layer bread. Ready? Just one bite and then I won¡¯t ask you again. But I think you¡¯ll like it.¡± And she did. And for a little while, she forgot what she¡¯d lost. *** There was a knock at her chamber door. In the early days following her father¡¯s death, she turned people away, sometimes furiously when they made a habit of pestering her. Now she had no energy to say or do anything in response. ¡°Hierophant Lanor,¡± said her Uncle Ghamal. She hated the pairing of those words. ¡°May I enter?¡± He waited a few moments in silence and then entered anyway like always. Ghamal slipped into the room, latching the door behind him, and sat in the ornate velvet chair next to her bed. His voice was softer when he spoke again, just above a whisper. ¡°Lanor.¡± ¡°What?¡± she said without rolling over in bed to face him. ¡°It¡¯s been forty-three days, Lanor.¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I can count.¡± She licked her chapped lips. ¡°What news do you have today?¡± ¡°Lanor, this cannot¡ª¡± ¡°What news,¡± she cut him off harshly, ¡°do you have?¡± Ghamal sighed. ¡°No word yet from the veracidins. I have scattered them to the ends of the earth. Your father¡¯s killer is out there, and I¡¯m certain they will find him eventually. In the meantime, Qarda¡¯s problems continue to accumulate. A new line of supplicants has formed outside the palace gates, Your Holiness.¡± Lanor nodded once weakly. ¡°Thank you. Bring me word at once when the veracidins find who did this.¡± A pause hung in the air. ¡°Lanor,¡± said Ghamal. ¡°You can go now,¡± she replied. ¡°What about the supplicants?¡± ¡°Send them away.¡± She was mumbling into her pillow now, hiding from the cracks of sunlight seeping into her room between the shutters. ¡°Leave me be.¡± ¡°You sent them away yesterday. Today they returned, and there are even more of them. Those with infirmities¡ª¡± ¡°Unless you have more news,¡± she cut him off bitterly, ¡°then get out of my chamber. I don¡¯t want company.¡± ¡°I see.¡± The scowl in his voice was audible. ¡°Very well. Rumors of rebellion continue unabated. Two more usurpers have been caught and punished for their heresy. Their bodies hang with the four others outside the palace walls. The rebels who followed them have been deported for trial, sentencing, and imprisonment on the desert island of Jal Hakhan. Your rule as the first female Hierophant is safe... for now.¡± Ghamal sighed again. ¡°Lanor, I must advise¡ª¡± ¡°That will be all, Uncle.¡± ¡°Lanor.¡± His tone was dead serious. ¡°I think you may not understand the gravity of your situation. As the new Hierophant¡ª¡± ¡°Do not speak to me like you are my father,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°This is the only time I will warn you.¡± Ghamal jumped up from his chair. ¡°You? Warn me?! You insolent brat!¡± He yanked the pillow from beneath her head and threw it on the floor. ¡°I am trying to help you, and you won¡¯t listen!¡± ¡°Get out this instant!¡± Lanor shouted. Her voice was hoarse with disuse. She sat up with great effort, eyes stinging and head pounding. ¡°One more word and I will call the paladins. I am your Hierophant, and you are not my father!¡± ¡°No! No, I am not!¡± She laid eyes on him for the first time since the funeral. His salt-and-pepper beard was a shade saltier now, bloodshot veins slithering out from beneath his tired eyelids like little red serpents. There was a look in his eyes she didn¡¯t recognize. ¡°I am not your father. He was a fool, too! A fool with a sword traipsing about the known world from the day he was crowned. Meanwhile, his vizier had to stay home and do the real work of ruling his kingdom while he played war hero. Me! His older brother! I was first in line for the throne and was passed over when I could sire no children.¡± He was shaking now. ¡°It should have been me on that throne! Then there would have been no more Circles of Kings. No foolhardy military campaigns across the sea, sending our men to die on foreign shores. It should have been me! I wouldn¡¯t have been fool enough to draw the ire of assassins, let them sleep in my castle, in my beds! Then we wouldn¡¯t be in this mess! Then he would still be here.¡± Ghamal¡¯s eyes were suddenly damp. ¡°My brother would still be alive. And he wouldn¡¯t have left his only child an orphan. Damn fool!¡± His voice cracked. Lanor felt the edge of her anger soften. She relaxed her shoulders. ¡°Uncle,¡± she murmured, but he turned away and made for the door. ¡°I have said too much,¡± he choked out. ¡°A thousand apologies, Hierophant. Good day.¡± The chamber door swung shut behind him and he vanished. Even now, the tears wouldn¡¯t come. Outside, the cantor was already singing the midday nasbilha. The sound of the cantor four times a day and the angles of the slivers of sunlight¡ªthese were Lanor¡¯s only measures of the passage of time. She sank back into her bed and felt another sleep coming on. *** There was a knock at her chamber door. Her eyes snapped open¡ªshe was suddenly alert and on edge again. The angle and orange of the sunbeams suggested it was late in the day. ¡°No, Uncle,¡± she rasped. ¡°Please go away.¡± She didn¡¯t have the heart to endure another outburst like his earlier one. But there was another knock. ¡°My prophetess.¡± It was Sashani¡¯s voice on the other side of the gold-trimmed ebony wood. ¡°May I enter?¡± She sighed. ¡°Fine.¡± She wondered what Sashani wanted, or if her uncle had sent her in his stead. Her handmaiden entered the chamber and latched the door behind her. She carried a golden platter in her hand with an embroidered red cloth draped over it. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to trouble you,¡± said Sashani, bowing at the edge of her bed. ¡°I¡¯ll only be a moment.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Lanor asked, sitting up. ¡°A gift.¡± Sashani pulled the cloth away to reveal a layered pastry. ¡°Forty-layer bread. For you.¡± Lanor was thrilled at first, but she tempered her expectations. ¡°Thank you, but this isn¡¯t the ceremonial bread. This is something different. The dough is only made once a year, and it goes bad the next day. What is this? Did you have the cooks make it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s forty-layer bread. I promise. I was going to bring it to you this morning, but I heard a commotion. I thought it would be better if I came back later... ¡± Sashani held out the platter toward her. ¡°Please, my prophetess, eat¡ªif I may be so bold.¡± ¡°How did you...?¡± Lanor didn¡¯t know what to say. She lifted the flaky square to her mouth and bit off a small corner. The layers melted the moment they touched her tongue. She tasted almonds, honey, and butter. She tasted the sacred dough. She tasted all forty layers, no more, no less. She tasted the eye of a storm from her distant past when the world was finally calm again for a short while. ¡°How did you get this? Hur Adhajah was yesterday.¡± ¡°I saved it for you. This was my serving.¡± Sashani smiled sheepishly. ¡°I wanted you to have it because it¡¯s your favorite, Lanor.¡± Lanor¡¯s arms acted on their own. They reached out and wrapped around Sashani, squeezing her tightly, careful to cradle the forty-layer bread safely in both hands. Lanor wept. Her stomach heaved with grief until the muscles ached. Her chapped lips split with her sobbing. Sashani returned her embrace, timidly at first. They stayed like this for a long while, until the sunset nasbilha had begun, and for a while after that. When she had finally calmed down, she said, ¡°You called me Lanor.¡± Sashani had also been crying, but she wiped her eyes and nodded. ¡°Split it with me.¡± Sashani shook her head deferentially. ¡°It is for you. I couldn¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Please,¡± said Lanor, tasting iron on her split lip. ¡°Please. It was your only portion and you¡¯ll have to wait until next year otherwise. I want us both to have some. Please?¡± Lanor held out a corner for her handmaiden to bite. Reluctantly, Sashani accepted. ¡°You¡¯re my only friend. Please don¡¯t leave me.¡± Lanor sniffled. ¡°You deserve anything you want. Do you want gold? Do you want a pet from Xheng Yu Xi¡ªa bird, a tiger? Or a camel from Zan Vayonado?¡± ¡°Your company is a fine gift, my prophetess.¡± ¡°Sashani.¡± Lanor gave her a stern, tearful look. ¡°I¡¯m being serious. I want you to be honest with me.¡± Sashani¡¯s expression relaxed then in a way Lanor had never seen before, and she looked more like a friend than a servant. ¡°I mean it, Lanor. I have all the material things I could ever want. But I don¡¯t have any other friends, either.¡± She smiled kindly. ¡°If you are my friend, I need no others.¡± More tears seeped from Lanor¡¯s eyes and she dabbed them away with the corner of her purple sleeve. ¡°I want you to continue to be honest with me. That¡¯s what friends do.¡± She bit off another corner of the forty-layer bread and handed it to her friend again. ¡°And if you think of anything you would ask of me, just ask it. It will be yours.¡± ¡°I have one request, my prophetess, when you are ready.¡± Sashani held a finger up to her nostrils. ¡°May I draw a bath for you? Please?¡± Lanor was more relaxed now. She indulged in a bit of humor. ¡°Do I smell that bad to you? I¡¯m wearing perfumed robes, you know.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that. You haven¡¯t bathed since...¡± Sashani looked down at her feet. ¡°I worry you¡¯ll fall ill. And I don¡¯t want my friend to be sick.¡± The handmaiden met her gaze again. ¡°What do you say, Lanor?¡± The hierophant heaved a deep, shuddering sigh forty-three days in the making. ¡°All right.¡± Chapter Eight: KIMBEL II For one hundred and eight days, the Bogman cut down every Claelish in his path. No weapon formed against him could prevail. Spears pierced his body. Swords cut off his limbs. An arrow struck his heart. Still he lived. He killed whomever he pleased, for such was the natural order of strength and weakness. He did unto others what had been done to him. He welcomed anyone to do unto him as he did to them, but they could not, for he carried the blessing of the Water and of the Shadow. -The Legend of the Bogman Island of Le¡¯Me, Grand Archipelago Six days after their siege began, the Grackenwelsh conquest of the Grand Archipelago was complete. Le¡¯Me went down after a hard fight; the next two islands fell over the next three nights and the rest would have followed, but word of total Archipelagian surrender came via a chain of smoke signals up from the southernmost island, shore by eleven more shores, all the way to the invaders¡¯ mobilized ships. The Garrotins and a pair of supply-bearing ships reversed course and returned to the main island of Le¡¯Me. There, the remnants of a destroyed village would serve as their headquarters until official terms could be negotiated with island elders. Kimbel surveyed the wreckage with his father. Where primitive houses had stood just a few days prior there were only embers and splinters. Wandering Archipelagians, each staring blankly at something far, far off on the horizon, rummaged through the wreckage to collect their dead. King Brynh Garrotin wandered the battlefield as though gardening. He wielded his mighty war hammer, Havokond, the most infamous weapon in all the Stone Continent¡ªmaybe in all the world. A devastating bladed hammer, legend told that it was forged from steel and layers of gator hide by the Bogman himself. It was House Garrotin¡¯s second most prized possession after the Secret Ledger. Kimbel had only ever laid a hand on it twice in his life when his father was feeling particularly generous, though he was never strong enough to lift it. Now his father used it to dole out coups de grace to the dying. Grackenwelsh slaves mopped up the village¡¯s unidentifiable remains as if tidying a slaughterhouse floor. ¡°You missed one,¡± said Brynh. ¡°Mind your duties, Kimbel.¡± Kimbel was armed with nothing but his sword. It had no name¡ªnot yet. He was only recently permitted to join expeditions like these, and even still, his father humiliated him with menial work fit for a slave. He felt his sharpening talents were woefully wasted. ¡°Here he is,¡± Kimbel sighed. He found the charred Archipelagian crawling along the sunbaked white sand, making a hideous wheezing sound. He ended the poor creature¡¯s suffering with a jab of his blade. ¡°What a mangy band of savages. Isn¡¯t that right, father? Why didn¡¯t we do this years ago?¡± King Brynh Garrotin kicked a faintly smoking cannonball out from under a pile of rubble. It rolled to a heavy stop a short distance away down the debris-strewn dirt road, sinking slightly into a mud puddle. ¡°Tactics, my son. In more stable times, this kind of attack would certainly earn retribution from the Eloheed. The Qardish consider the islanders to be righteous among the Tomeless for their observance of the Precepts. Too stupid to read, but they don¡¯t abort their young or take slaves.¡± ¡°They¡¯re too stupid to do either anyway,¡± Kimbel said with a shrug. ¡°Right, Father?¡± The king raised a didactic finger. ¡°Ah, there¡¯s the crux of the issue. Where¡¯s the righteousness in not killing a man if you don¡¯t know how to fight? Cut out the teeth and claws of a tiger¡ªdoes that make it a deer? These islanders would take slaves and conquer their neighbors if they could, just like every other kingdom in the world all throughout history.¡± Brynh swung his war hammer on a twitching, half-dead native. ¡°This is the reward for their so-called righteousness.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll make righteous slaves, I¡¯m sure,¡± said Kimbel, grinning. ¡°And so will those gold-clad mongrels in Qarda once we¡¯re ready. Wouldn¡¯t you say, Father?¡± The king, still lithe and smooth-faced for a battle-hardened man of forty years, winced at his son¡¯s overeagerness. Kimbel secretly felt foolish. ¡°It¡¯s good and right to force submission on those weaker than you,¡± his father told him. ¡°It¡¯s the way of nature, the way of the world. The only true way. But a wise man always remembers his place. That¡¯s why I never would have ordered an invasion like this with Qarda at her full strength.¡± Brynh Garrotin gestured to an Archipelagian corpse untouched by cannonballs or spears but bloody and unmoving all the same; red ribbons of upturned flesh lined the dead man¡¯s back, peeled by whip like an orange. A trio of islanders shuffled over to it timidly. The conquering king stepped aside politely, almost amicably, and let them carry off the carcass. ¡°This man clearly didn¡¯t know his place in the world,¡± the king explained. ¡°A thousand, thousand slaves are of no use to you if they don¡¯t know their place. The same could be said of the soldier who killed him. By killing him, this soldier took away Grackenwell¡¯s right to another slave. Took something away from you and me. Destroyed what would have been our property. Being a wise man means knowing when to keep whipping and when to dump them in a cell for a few days with no food. A wise man knows when too far is too far.¡± Kimbel daydreamed of all the things he would do one day as king. That day seemed farther away on the horizon than his home nation of Grackenwell, farther maybe than the distant land of Qarda now ripening for its own conquest. He imagined the weight of the crown for a brief moment. ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll be a wise king?¡± Kimbel asked. His father smiled. ¡°Someday. Someday a long, long time from now.¡± He ruffled his son¡¯s curly chestnut hair, which led to a headlock and then an impromptu wrestling match. The men dropped their weapons and put their all into the scuffle. Kimbel almost flipped the king on his back but lost the upper hand in the end¡ªhis father pinned him and Kimbel yielded. ¡°I almost had you!¡± Kimbel grunted, scrambling back to his feet, a wide, ambitious grin on his face. They each retrieved their weapons. Though he won, Brynh still seemed taken aback. He looked like he¡¯d seen a ghost. ¡°That¡¯s enough horseplay for now, eh? Find your good clothes and have Hane draw you a bath. The victory feast is tonight.¡± ¡°Father, wait,¡± Kimbel said, stopping the king in his tracks. ¡°What else is there for me to do now besides this? These are slave chores.¡± His father turned on him with anger in his eyes. ¡°What did you just say to me?¡± Kimbel was too afraid to answer. All of the joy had been sucked out of the moment all at once. Even at this age, his father commanded a fearful respect. ¡°I am out here doing the same work, son. There is dignity in it. We are taking their land. Killing those who are already doomed, who can never become slaves, is proper. You wouldn¡¯t gut a living pig and let it suffer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying I can do more! Isn¡¯t there any fighting left to be done?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve surrendered, Kimbel. There is no more fighting. There is work to be done, and you¡¯re looking at it. Shut your mouth and do the work or go back to camp and get ready for the feast.¡± His father looked him dead in the eye, and he could see him detect defiance. ¡°I suggest you look at me with some respect before I remind you how, son. Is that clear?¡± Kimbel felt the words rising up from his chest¡ªthey spilled out before he could stop them. ¡°I¡¯ll just be the errand boy prince, then. Thanks for nothing.¡± He regretted his words too late. Brynh dropped Havokond in the sand and grabbed his son by the hair. Kimbel¡¯s scalp burned. He dropped his sword. His father punched him hard twice in the gut, then six more times until the boy finally fell to his knees. Kimbel was proud that he didn¡¯t go down after the first punch like he used to do when he was younger. The king towered over the prince, who doubled over, clutching his stomach, gasping for the wind that had been knocked out of him. ¡°It¡¯s been almost a year since I¡¯ve had to do that,¡± Brynh panted from the exertion. He picked up his war hammer and spat in the sand. ¡°I thought you were too old for that anymore. Are you done?¡± Kimbel gave no answer. ¡°Good. Go back to camp. Now. That¡¯s an order.¡± Again, Kimbel stayed silent, but he staggered to his feet, retrieved his sword, and hobbled away. ¡°Know your place, son. You¡¯re welcome for the lesson.¡± *** Over the course of the day and the early evening, slaves harvested wreckage from sunken Archipelagian boats and used the scrap wood to fashion crude tables and benches. Soldiers snared four wild boars and two domesticated pigs for slaughter, as well as speared a small flock of flightless, rainbow-colored birds. Slaves filled barrel after barrel with oranges, bright yellow lemons, deep green limes, golden cedrates, and piles of bloodred kalikali fruits. It promised to be a far more colorful feast than anything usually seen in Grackenwell. Two more ships had returned to the main island of the archipelago for the feast. All of King Brynh¡¯s most trusted advisors and generals were present, along with his most elite soldiers and everyone¡¯s slaves. Hane was among those who built a massive bonfire to roast the slain animals on spits. In all, about two hundred people assembled. Second to the Circle of Kings in Qarda, of course, it was the largest festive gathering Kimbel had ever seen. Slaves tapped barrels of liquor and ale for the high-ranking men and Kimbel received his customary cup of wine. Even the wine had been a tooth-and-nail fight with his father two years ago¡ªhe would have still been drinking milk and gnawing on a teething coral if his father had anything to say about it. The velvety blackness of night was dotted with a great splattering of stars. They looked somehow brighter here than back home in Grackenwell. The bonfire roared and sparked high above the encampment. The skins of the pigs crackled with seeping juices before the slaves finally hefted the animals from the fire for carving; one of them lost his footing in the sand and stumbled, nearly dropping his end of one of the spits, earning the crack of a whip on his back from a supervising soldier. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°Your attention, everyone,¡± said the king, and every conversation at every table was immediately silenced. ¡°I¡¯d like to thank you all for joining me here tonight. Our victory here is a great step in the restoration of Grackenwell to her former glory, and it was a milestone worth celebrating together. The island women can wait until tomorrow night. Isn¡¯t that right, General Cadwynh?¡± A burly red-haired man two tables down snickered through his thick beard. ¡°The rest of ¡®em can. Already been through four. I¡¯m sure they appreciate my havin¡¯ a more important engagement tonight!¡± ¡°Cadwynh, you dog!¡± the king laughed, and everyone joined him. ¡°Well, save some for the rest of your comrades, why don¡¯t you?¡± He downed the wine in his cup and banged it twice on the table for Hane to refill it. The tremors in the old man¡¯s hands were obvious as he lifted the wineskin for pouring. ¡°Speaking of islanders, I trust there are none in our midst tonight? No unruly slaves, either?¡± He grinned at Hane, who flinched and tried to make himself look busy, standing over by the pig carvers. ¡°After all, I called this feast for my friends, not my enemies.¡± ¡°With friends like us, who needs enemies?¡± Cadwynh cackled, and his men joined in. The king chuckled. ¡°Well, I must be so careful with my words these days. I wouldn¡¯t want to offend anyone here tonight. Another king did that recently at his banquet. They were at his throat for it!¡± The king banged his fist down on the table as everyone burst into uproarious laughter. Guests carelessly dribbled wine and ale. A few of the cheerier slaves even cracked a smile as they plated pork and island fruit to serve to their masters. Kimbel found it all amusing in a formal kind of way, but he grew restless in his party clothes, sitting still on a bench for hours. He stared out at the crashing black waves and longed for the next leg of their adventure. He felt brave and strong enough to sail farther west¡ªfarther even than the Grand Archipelago, to the edge of the known world, though no one had ever seen what lay beyond these foreign waters. Native legends spoke of explorers who ventured out that way and never returned. Maybe they were right to fear the unknown. Or maybe they were all too stupid, of a breed too inferior, to do what Kimbel, the prince of the greatest nation in the world, might have been capable of doing one day. One day when he finally had a say in the matter. Either way, the thrill of that sort of adventure would have been a welcome change in his routine, now that the brief war that made his heart surge was over as quickly as it had begun. The life of a prince had grown dull for him. And if there was one thing in all the world that Kimbel truly hated, it was boredom. *** The banquet concluded earlier than Kimbel expected. Unlike the one in Qarda, there was no oddly rigorous schedule or procession of events to adhere to, no forced conversations or cringeworthy entertainment between courses. People had their fill of pork and fruit and drink and passed out in their tents or where they sat. Even King Brynh drank himself into a stupor by the time Kimbel retired for the night. His father stood with the help of slaves, swaying silently, shuffling through the sand to their shared, partitioned tent. The drunken man collapsed into his feather bed and didn¡¯t stir in the slightest. Were it not for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, Kimbel would have thought his father dead. The king got this way once in a great while, in times of great celebration and crisis alike. He likely wouldn¡¯t move a muscle until midday the following day. Meanwhile, Kimbel had a single cup of wine in his belly, warm but hardly gratifying anymore the way it used to be. He paced aimlessly around his tent. His midsection was still tender, bruises setting in from earlier. He and his father¡¯s belongings sat near the mouth of the tent. His sword rested in its scabbard, while Havokond lay flat on the tarp floor, the heavy head of the war hammer half-sunken in the sand through the fabric. There was also their armor; the iron and leather caught the glow of torches outside when the tent flap waved in the breeze. Then there was his father¡¯s personal trunk. It was a coffin-sized box of polished cypress wood with iron trim and the gator seal of House Garrotin carved into the lid. It contained all of his father¡¯s most personal possessions¡ªdiaries, private missives from world leaders, battle plans, the Secret Ledger, and his collection of rare and ancient coins. He felt his father might have half a mind to correct him for even looking at the trunk for too long. Kimbel wandered out of the tent. One of the generals and a half dozen soldiers were still awake, huddled around the same table and sloshing frothy ale in their cups. Their slurring words were indecipherable from this distance. He spotted General Cadwynh standing near the water¡¯s edge. He was relieving himself into a hole in the sand, waving with his free hand as Kimbel walked past. Even in the low light of campfires and the moon, he could see how boorishly drunk he was, sweaty locks of orange hair plastered against his freckled forehead. The man reeked of his drink. ¡°Prince Kimbel,¡± the general slurred. ¡°A fine evening to you, young sir.¡± ¡°General,¡± the boy replied curtly. ¡°What brings you out? Hm?¡± The wide man faltered on his feet, swaying back and forth. ¡°Still hungry?¡± ¡°You could say that.¡± Kimbel took a couple of steps back, grimacing and averting his eyes. ¡°For something to do. I thought this trip would be fun, but I missed it all. My father told me to mind the ship while he stormed the beaches¡ªacting captain, he called me.¡± The prince snorted. ¡°He just wanted me out of his way.¡± ¡°Yep, that¡¯s father talk,¡± Cadwynh chuckled, making himself decent again. He kicked sand over the puddle he¡¯d left. ¡°Everything since has just been cleanup duty. Mercy killings. A cup of wine with supper. I would have brought a book if I knew this historic invasion was going to be such a bore.¡± ¡°You wanna be a man, but he¡¯s treatin¡¯ ya like a boy, eh?¡± Kimbel blinked, stunned. Even though he could smell a barrel¡¯s worth of spirits on the man¡¯s breath, and each of his words bled into the next, he was strangely perceptive. ¡°Yes,¡± said the boy. ¡°Well, you¡¯re grown now. Grown as you¡¯ll be, eh lad? Prince, I mean. Prince Kimbel. Listen...¡± Cadwynh clapped an overly familiar hand on his shoulder. ¡°You want something in this world, you either hope someone will give it to you, or you take it by strength. Understand?¡± Kimbel nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Pecking order be damned. Customs be damned. You want a fruit? You pick it off that tree. Want a pig? Kill it. Cook it. Eat it. Want an island woman? You take her and be done with it. None of this wooing and courting they do south of the desert, eh? We¡¯re men! Now what do you want?¡± He wasn¡¯t sure what to call it, but he wanted something more from his father. Not respect¡ªthat wasn¡¯t the right word, as his father did respect him in his better moments. He wanted to be the sort of man his father no longer felt the need to beat into submission. Perhaps being his equal was out of the question. It didn¡¯t stop him from craving it, or something like it. Not knowing what else to say, he said, ¡°Respect.¡± ¡°Then you go out there and take it! You have the power, Prince Kimbel. Beautiful feast this was. I need to see if they brought any of the girls from the other island now.¡± The general waddled off toward the few remaining soldiers who were still awake. ¡°Rorgan! Hey, you! Get over here, ya cockeyed bastard. Got a question for you...¡± Kimbel was left alone with the half-shadowed moon and the water lapping at the shore. Briefly, he had a recollection of his mother reading him the Legend of the Bogman, but it was gone in the next breath. He dragged himself back to the royal tent, his boots raking divots into the sand. Maybe his father didn¡¯t think he was worthy of taking on greater duties as prince. Maybe he was an embarrassment to the king. Maybe he just needed to bide his time, practice patience, and soon what he wanted would come to him. But the general made a convincing argument. Whether it was insisting upon joining his father in the Grand Archipelago rather than minding Castle Holcort, or harassing his father until he finally let him have his first wine at fourteen, or the time he begged and pleaded and argued his case to be trained in swordsmanship beginning on his sixth birthday... Kimbel was never gifted anything he truly wanted. He had to take it. When Kimbel returned to the tent, Brynh was still sound asleep. His chest rose and fell every few moments in the near pitch blackness. He lay on his back, limbs spread like dead weight hanging from his body, mouth agape, snoring like a beast. The key to his trunk hung on a chain from his neck; normally it was tucked into his shirt or armor, but now it dangled freely. Dangled like bait on a line. It gave Kimbel an idea. An idea that proved too tempting for him to resist. He checked outside the tent, ensuring there were no soldiers or passing guards who might intrude. His father¡¯s two personal guards were nowhere to be seen. Even the last straggling drinkers had all gone to bed. The beach was silent save for the crackling of campfires and the splashing of the tide, so he snuck back into the tent once more. The key had a gap in its bow that could be pried open to free it from the keyring. He unhooked the key silently and took a few steps back, studying his father for a reaction. The rhythm of his snoring continued unabated. Kimbel shuffled silently across the tarp toward his father¡¯s trunk. He lit a candle using his fire steel and raised the key to the lock. His mouth dried with excitement, his heart racing like the day the siege first began. His father¡¯s trunk contained exactly what he knew it to contain. He didn¡¯t know the contents of any of the letters, though¡ªhe skimmed those first. One of them was a letter from the Grand Emissary of Zan Vayonado. Something about arranging a visit to the desert. There was also a formal invitation to the Circle of Kings from the former hierophant of Qarda. He snickered silently to himself. The coin collection caught his eye next. There were coins from all over the world. He most readily recognized the modern Grackenwelsh coin, the silver scale; it bore the Garrotin gator seal, first minted by his great-grandfather Vil Garrotin, the first of their line to sit the throne. Older Grackenwelsh coins all had the impression of a quindent¡ªhe had plenty of those coins from different eras. There was the silver Dridic triskele, a triple spiral design. The gold Qardish akkah showed the hieratic seal of their holy mountain with the sun at the summit; these included their year of mintage written in Qardish script. The people of Zan Vayonado used round copper coins with holes cut through the middle so they could wear them as jewelry. There were even eight types of Xhengyon coins of different sizes and metals. Then he saw it. A smaller wooden box at the bottom of the trunk. Kimbel pulled it out, sliding off the flat wooden lid to reveal the tome it contained. The Secret Ledger. The book of House Garrotin. The crown text of all of Grackenwell. The book he only knew about through word of mouth. Now it was at his fingertips, all its precious forbidden knowledge just the turn of a page away. He knew he shouldn¡¯t have. The impulse raced from his heart to his hands quicker than he could think better of it. Kimbel pried the cover open gently and devoured the words. Line after line. Page after page. His eyes widened and his mouth broke into a manic grin as he absorbed everything he could. Finally, it all made sense to him. He trembled with excitement now at the thought of becoming king one day and taking the Secret Ledger into his own possession. ¡°Guards!¡± bellowed King Brynh Garrotin. Kimbel froze where he stood, still clutching the book. Two armed soldiers appeared in the doorway of the tent. ¡°Father!¡± said Kimbel. ¡°I promise this isn¡¯t what it looks like. I was¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy,¡± his father slurred. He swayed side to side, but the menace in his eyes was unmistakable. He looked like he wanted to wring the life out of him. ¡°You know what we do to liars in Grackenwell.¡± ¡°Here, take it! Take it back!¡± Kimbel closed the book and yanked his hands away as if the pages burned his flesh. ¡°What did I tell you about wise men, Kimbel?¡± Chapter Nine: CADAS II On the day of Orokoda (Returning), all the gods of every pantheon will descend to the earth after the time of a myriad. Let us therefore cultivate the love of all men and the stewardship of the world our lords fashioned. Let us live in such a way that we do not incur their great wrath once more. Let us gain their favor, lest they call down another Yeikon (Cataclysm.) -Sayings of Mazukai, Scroll 10 Sang Lamdak, Xheng Yu Xi A long and grueling fortnight at sea brought the Lars family to their new home, the reclusive but bustling nation of Xheng Yu Xi. Cadas knew all about it from the dozen or so history and geography books he¡¯d memorized to cleanse his palate between dense science texts. Xheng Yu Xi was so named for the three enormous islands of Xheng, Yu, and Xi¡ªmore like miniature continents in their own right¡ªthat were all loosely connected to each other through small satellite islands and very narrow gaps of sea between them. It was the second most prosperous nation in the known world after Qarda, with international trade in specially sanctioned ports, all of which could be found on small western islands. Cadas followed his mother, older brother, older sister, and two male cousins down the rickety wooden ramp of the ship to the island-wide city of Sang Lamdak, or Port of Spice, on one such small western island of the same name. According to his mother, their best hope for success was to try to find jobs as cooks in a place where their foreign culinary prowess would be welcome. For a port city on a tiny island off the coast of the Yu mainland, Sang Lamdak was hectic and crowded as any capital metropolis Cadas had ever seen. Couriers, butchers, booksellers, jewelers, restaurateurs, and merchants of every kind congested every cramped street that the Lars family traveled on foot, not to mention the throngs of pedestrians and gawking customers. The familiar scents of Myrenthian spices mingled with the fatty odors of meats, the tang of various metals, and even the occasional stench of human waste in a thin haze that choked the air. Cadas clamped his hands over his ears. The city suffocated him. ¡°Everybody stick together,¡± said his mother. ¡°Cadas, keep up with me. Now.¡± Painted wooden signs and book stands all bore unfamiliar symbols that Cadas couldn''t read. It was like their first arrival in Qarda all over again. It had taken Cadas their full stay in the Palace of the Hierophant to master Qardish at a conversational level; there were so many contradictions in the linguistic rules that it was almost impossible to remember them all. He hoped the language here was simpler. His older brother Ikraos clapped a hand on his back. Cadas flinched; he hated his brother¡¯s habit of aggressive physical contact. ¡°Did you know,¡± said Ikraos in a loud, obnoxious voice over the surrounding din, ¡°that this country worships 10,000 different gods? You thought twenty-nine was a pain back in Myrenthos.¡± ¡°19,683,¡± Cadas replied matter-of-factly. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Xheng Yu Xi officially recognizes the worship of 19,683 gods. There are nine major gods, some gods that are dead according to mythology that they honor in funeral rituals, nature gods, local patron gods, personified concepts, and hybrid hero-gods from their ancient history. They also have bloodline gods that individual families worship privately generation to generation. But not everybody worships every god. Their religion is highly individualistic and decentralized and they have no official national tome. Also, here you can worship your own gods or no gods at all if you want. I read that in a history book that Drakhman gave me called The History of Xheng Yu Xi to the Present Day by Alabrim Mehreen.¡± ¡°Of course you did,¡± said Ikraos. He walked ahead of Cadas but the little brother picked up his pace to catch up. ¡°I like the religion here because people do whatever they want,¡± Cadas went on. ¡°They can do it by themselves, too. Not like back in Myrenthos where the whole family had to see a different shrine every day of the month. Not like in Qarda where we had to go to the temple once every four days. But that was just because Mother said so. Drakhman told me I didn''t have to go if I didn¡¯t want to and so I stopped going. Oh, and I read in The History of Xheng Yu Xi to the Present Day by Alabrim Mehreen that Xheng Yu Xi has almost as many books as Qarda, but they have lots of different books. In Qarda they had a lot of the same book, The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei. That book was boring. All of it was made up and didn¡¯t make any sense. I¡¯m going to tell Mother to buy me ten books when we get to our new house because she promised me on the ship that if I¡ª¡± ¡°Shut up!¡± His older brother spun around and looked at Cadas, whose attention was suddenly occupied looking at the symbols outside of a restaurant. Cadas didn¡¯t care much for looking people in the eye, anyway, even if not doing so was rude like his mother said. ¡°Do you ever stop talking about whatever little thought pops into your head? Do you have the slightest clue how our family is struggling right now?¡± Cadas wasn¡¯t sure what his brother was talking about, but their mother interrupted. ¡°This is it!¡± she announced. ¡°This way.¡± She led them to the cramped atrium of a narrow building wedged between a bookseller and a jeweler. There was foreign script in large black characters on the sign, but underneath it was the word ¡°Myrenthos¡± in Myrenthian. The building was packed with rows and rows of narrow rectangular tables where people ate dishes that Cadas recognized from his homeland. Someone came up to his mother and said something in a language he couldn¡¯t understand. The man was short and fat, a few black hairs combed over an otherwise bald head. He arched an eyebrow at Cadas¡¯s mother. ¡°Hello,¡± she said. ¡°Does anyone here speak Myrenthian?¡± The man didn¡¯t respond. ¡°We¡¯ve come to apply to be cooks. We are native Myrenthians, and we know all the spices by heart. We served several years in the royal kitchen of Hierophant Drak¡ª¡± ¡°Ei,¡± said the man, shaking his head. ¡°Ei, domen, domen, tsumurui. Tazhi, tsumurui.¡± Cadas couldn¡¯t understand his words, but he had a knack for memorization. The man pointed at the door behind them and kept shaking his head. ¡°Does anyone here speak Myrenthian?¡± Cadas¡¯s mother asked again. ¡°Please? If I could just talk¡ª¡± ¡°Tazhi, lamdakui. Tazhi nen!¡± The man stood up, scrunching up his face and making sweeping motions at them. ¡°Ei, lamdakui. Domen.¡± He pushed at the Lars family, escorting them out of the building. Cadas looked to his mother, who breathed out heavily and looked down at her shoes. ¡°It would seem we aren¡¯t welcome here,¡± she said. ¡°No matter. We¡¯ll find another place that will take us.¡± Her children followed her closely, moving in a tight group, and the people on the street parted for them without fail, but no one looked at them. *** The sun set and rose again on their exhausting journey through the streets of Sang Lamdak. They stopped to rest sometime around midnight, nodding off with their heads against the cool brick walls. His mother and sister used their bags of belongings as pillows; Cadas stayed wide awake to watch the occasional cockroach scuttle between their feet. There was even a moth that he¡¯d never seen before, which danced around the flame of a nearby lantern, but it burned up before he could get a good look at it. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. They awoke at dawn when someone in the adjacent building stepped out into the alley and doused them with a pail of dirty dishwater. ¡°Tazhi nen,¡± he muttered to them and slammed the side door shut. They shuffled along in their wet clothes until the midmorning sun had finally baked them dry again. ¡°I want to go back to the palace,¡± said Cadas. ¡°When are we going home?¡± ¡°For the five hundredth time,¡± said his mother, gritting her teeth at first, ¡°this is our home now.¡± ¡°My feet hurt. I want to stop walking. I want to read my books.¡± ¡°Then find us jobs or an inn that doesn''t charge anything. Then you can read every godsdamned book you want. How does that sound?¡± The late morning sun beat down on them. It was hot in Xheng Yu Xi and with no cool palace walls to keep out the sun. Cadas hated the feel of sweat pooling in his armpits and he tried, on two occasions, to take off his tunic, but his mother forced it back onto him and slapped him in the back of the head both times. Their stomachs roared hollow roars. It was time for a meal break, but that was easier said than done. The matriarch of the Lars family begged for coins and earned mostly averted gazes and disapproving looks in equal measure; a precious few passersby rewarded her efforts with small copper coins the size of his little fingernail. Cooking smells teased the air around them. Beef, onions, garlic, something like bread, warm soup steam, and, every so often, an unmistakable whiff of home. Peppers. Herbs. Seasonings. The flavors of Myrenthos. What had overwhelmed Cadas earlier now tortured his empty belly. Later on, while he occupied himself with memorizing the shapes and brushstrokes that composed the title of a thick beige book, his mother traded the coins for a cut of meat from a butcher and three pouches of spices from a wildly gesticulating spice merchant. She gave away one of her necklaces for an iron pot, a pair of earrings in exchange for some unused broth and the unspoken permission to use an outdoor vendor¡¯s cooking fire. She combined the raw ingredients into a stew that drew curious glances and had nostrils flaring up and down the street. She served her children one at a time in borrowed wooden bowls¡ªCadas first, then the rest of his siblings from youngest to oldest¡ªand then she ate from the remainder in the pot. ¡°Ngei zhaotung,¡± said a young man who appeared suddenly behind the Lars family. Their mother spun around to look at him. ¡°Ngei zhaotung tadamas. Dekura zhe?¡± ¡°I don''t understand what you''re saying,¡± she replied. ¡°Oh, my sincerest apologies,¡± he said in fluent Myrenthian. ¡°Some soup? I¡¯d like some soup, please. How much?¡± ¡°This is for my family. This is the first meal we¡¯ve eaten in a day. We just want some privacy.¡± ¡°Oh, my mistake. I thought you were a merchant. You mean you don¡¯t do this professionally?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Used to.¡± ¡°We used to cook for royalty back in Qarda,¡± said Ikraos. ¡°This is what my mother can do with scraps on the street. You should have seen what she did with a fully stocked kitchen!¡± The young man smirked. ¡°I¡¯m sure my parents would love to meet you. Cooks who know what they¡¯re doing. Maybe you could even teach them a thing or two.¡± Cadas saw his mom narrow her eyes to slits as she slurped the last dregs of her stew. ¡°We''re not looking to do any charity work. We have no place to live.¡± ¡°You¡¯re homeless? With culinary know-how like yours? In a city like this?¡± The young man shook his head. ¡°Nonsense. You can come and stay in my parents¡¯ wine cellar. They drop in maybe once per day when the barrels upstairs run empty.¡± ¡°A cellar is a basement,¡± said Cadas. ¡°I don¡¯t want to live in a basement. Unless it has cockroaches or spiders.¡± ¡°Cadas!¡± said his mother. Then she turned back to the kindly young stranger and she was all smiles. ¡°Sometimes my son likes to make rude jokes. Ignore him. Let me ask you, what would be the asking price of a room in your wine cellar? Would your parents approve?¡± ¡°My mother has been on my back for the past quarter moon because I¡¯ve been slacking on my chores. She just wants the work done. If you helped me, I¡¯m sure she could be persuaded to let you stay out of sight. My father is harder to please, but helping the needy is very important to him. He serves free supper to the homeless twice a moon.¡± ¡°We can earn our keep,¡± said Cadas¡¯s older sister Thyse. ¡°We promise.¡± ¡°Please,¡± said their mother. ¡°We just escaped Qarda. Have you heard what¡¯s happened there? My children¡ªwe have no home anymore.¡± The Xhengyon boy stroked his chin for a moment in thought. ¡°How about this? Your family can take on my share of the chores¡ªthe cleaning, cooking, and shopping for ingredients. Then maybe I can finally broaden my horizons. I can save up for my trip to the mainland. Study for entrance exams into one of Yu¡¯s prestigious universities. Anything to get away from this place.¡± He shook his head and refocused. ¡°Right. Anyway, in exchange, you can have a place to sleep. I¡¯ll even teach you Xhengyon. You¡¯ll need it to survive in this country, even in the more international cities like this one.¡± The boy shook his head gravely. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised how some people here treat foreigners.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll take it.¡± The mother surveyed her dirty, travel-weary children and gathered them all into a huddle in her arms, Cadas resisting. ¡°My name is Polymene. What¡¯s yours?¡± ¡°Hiricho,¡± he replied. ¡°Well, Hiricho, we can¡¯t thank you enough¡ª¡± He raised a cautionary finger and evaded her hug. ¡°Ah! Don¡¯t thank me until I check with my parents first.¡± He grinned. ¡°If nothing else, you have a room until morning.¡± That night, the Lars family lay their heads down on pillows made of potato and onion sacks, fending off the cellar¡¯s cold with makeshift rag blankets. It was a step up from sleeping on the bare street. Cadas threw a vicious tantrum about wanting to read his books despite the darkness of the cellar and the late hour, and his mother finally caved, softly petitioning their young host for some candles and a means to light them. His mother gave the materials to Cadas and then stormed off to bed on the cold, hard floor. After waiting patiently for what was functionally forever¡ªin his mind, if no one else¡¯s¡ª Cadas could finally sit down with his books. He resolved to read at least one of them in its entirety before sleeping. First, though, he felt compelled to write. The Compendium was stiff with disuse, like a sleeping limb. He pried open the pages and turned to a blank one. Then, recalling all the Xhengyon words and phrases he¡¯d memorized since their arrival, matched with the many overflowing questions he had for Hiricho about translations and grammar, he started writing his own personal handbook for the language so alien and new to him. ¡°ei ¨C no¡± ¡°domen ¨C sorry¡± ¡°tsumuro, tsumurui ¨C foreign beggar(s)¡± ¡°tazhikaru ¨C to go¡± ¡°tazhi ¨C go (imperative)¡± ¡°tazhi nen ¨C go out/leave (imperative)¡± ¡°lamdak ¨C spice¡± ¡°lamdakui ¨C spices¡± ¡°lamdakui ¨C spice merchants¡± ¡°lamdakui ¨C Myrenthians (offensive)¡± ¡°ngei ¨C some¡± ¡°zhaotung ¨C soup¡± ¡°tadamaseru ¨C to purchase¡± ¡°tadamas ¨C I purchase¡± ¡°dekura ¨C price¡± ¡°zhe ¨C how much, how many¡± ¡°hiricho ¨C sea breeze¡± ¡°Xheng ¨C hill¡± ¡°Yu ¨C city¡± ¡°Xi ¨C fish¡± Bobbing his head side to side to stay awake, Cadas wrote down one more fact in the Compendium. ¡°The mainland of Yu has universities. They must have a lot of books there. A university is a place where people go to learn things, and they can read as many books as they want, whenever they want. Hiricho says that in a university, no one scolds you for reading.¡± Chapter Ten: LUCANH II Woe to him who is born of flesh. Short are his days; small are his thoughts. Suffering is ordained for him from before he is conceived to after the last beat of his heart. He will never understand the thoughts of the gods who were born of essence and have no end, whose forms are beyond the earth, and who shall inherit it after the time of man¡¯s passing. Woe to him who realizes he should never have been born at all. -The Triptych; Book of Hells, Panel 1 Castle Tern, Dridon Deliego Goches marched through the towering doors of Castle Tern all alone. The cobblestones outside were wet with a recent rain. Lucanh shook off the memory of a visitor to the castle two moons prior. Every now and then, it floated back to the surface of his mind. He swung his sparring sword and the flimsy little metal rod wobbled with the force of it. ¡°Stupid child¡¯s toy,¡± he grumbled under his breath. ¡°This won¡¯t protect anyone!¡± ¡°And neither will you,¡± said Sir Godwald, jabbing the air between them with his own sparring sword, ¡°if you cut yourself in half swinging a real blade before you¡¯re ready. That¡¯s no hero¡¯s death, is it?¡± Lucanh frowned and muttered, ¡°Let¡¯s just get on with it.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the spirit, my Prince. Now, sheathe your sword.¡± The boy obliged. ¡°What are the basics I¡¯ve taught you so far?¡± The prince breathed deeply to clear his mind. ¡°Establish good footing before you draw your sword.¡± The Emissary¡¯s robes of copper and white flowed with his ghostly movement, the specter of a once proud ruler. His eyes were sunken; his cheekbones protruded a little more sharply than they had in the past. He spared no glance at either row of knights flanking the long corridor to the Dridic queen¡¯s throne room. Singular was his focus, anxious his every mannerism. He stood at the door of the antechamber, carrying a startling silence with him like a cold draft. ¡°I, Deliego Goches, Grand Emissary of Zan Vayonado, Shepherd of the Wandering Tribe and Keeper of Plunders, request a formal meeting with Queen Rhoda of Dridon.¡± Godwald nodded once. ¡°And what¡¯s next?¡± The heir to Dridon¡¯s throne unsheathed the little practice prop and held it out straight, elbows bent. ¡°Draw your sword the moment you¡¯re ready to engage, no sooner, no later.¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Lucanh pulled his elbows back a small distance to perfect his posture. ¡°A trained warrior can swing his sword much faster than it takes to draw one. You need to be ready in case your opponent brings the fight to you first. But drawing too early can also limit your options.¡± ¡°Grand Emissary,¡± said the Queen, motioning for her scribe to cease his dictation work, ¡°to what do I owe this unexpected visit? I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve made no arrangements for your arrival.¡± ¡°I come like a thief for good reason,¡± he answered her, entering the throne room. ¡°This visit is of the utmost urgency. I¡¯ve come to request that you honor the Concordat of Gacilia.¡± One of the knights gasped. ¡°Troops have been spotted at our northern borders¡ªGrackenwell has dispatched soldiers along the Bryche Mountains, some as far south as Lake Arellona. I have come to speak on behalf of my people. We call upon our oldest and most trusted ally in our time of greatest need. War is imminent.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯ve drawn your sword. Are you ready to attack?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Lucanh said confidently. Sir Godwald wagged a finger of one of his thick gloves. ¡°Remember, a sword is not a bow and arrow. A bow shoots an arrow through the air to hit a target wherever the marksman can aim. It goes where a man cannot go, or at least faster. The sword, however, is an extension of your own body. You¡¯re forgetting one crucial step.¡± Lucanh furrowed his brow¡ªhe¡¯d been so close to getting it all correct in one go for the first time. ¡°What did I forget?¡± ¡°Your surroundings. A swordsman must know the lay of the land. This allows him to prepare for every contingency, make plans and backup plans. Life and death do not always come down to who swings his sword harder, whose blade is stronger or sharper. Sometimes it comes down to the first man who trips on a rock. Do you understand?¡± The boy nodded. ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Book of Earth. Panel 38. What¡¯s the last line?¡± Lucanh closed his eyes and sifted his memories of the ancient text from the dark well of his mind. ¡°38, is that the... ant and the spider?¡± The knight shook his head gently. ¡°¡®He who sows only one crop invites famine. He who mines gold and not iron enriches an early grave. The unprepared man invites ruin to his doorstep, gives calamity a seat at his table.¡¯¡± ¡°How many soldiers have you lost?¡± Queen Rhoda asked. The Grand Emissary looked around nervously, seemingly noticing the room and all its other inhabitants for the first time. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°What are your casualties? Has the Grackenwelsh army reached Zan Vayonado proper?¡± ¡°No blood has been spilled yet, my friend, and that¡¯s why I¡¯ve come to you today. We have a chance to protect our peoples¡ªa slim chance. And only if we make a preemptive strike.¡± Queen Rhoda sighed. ¡°Sir Stepan, please clear the court of everyone but the three of us.¡± ¡°I want to hear this,¡± Lucanh protested. ¡°Let me stay.¡± ¡°Sir Stepan, please take him outside gently. He doesn¡¯t need to be here for what¡¯s about to¡ª¡± ¡°Be here for what?!¡± Deliego bellowed. He was the kind of delicate man who at first seemed incapable of such a loud and resounding voice. ¡°For the moment when you honor the Concordat? For the moment when you keep your promise?¡± ¡°Grand Emissary, I have every intention to honor the Concordat, and as your only friend in this world, I would advise you to pay me the respect I am owed in my own castle.¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. The man was sweating profusely now, even in the rain-cooled air. He took on the demeanor of a criminal pleading with his executioner. ¡°My humblest apologies, Your Majesty. I do not wish to overstay my welcome here. I came only to beg for your promised help in these uncertain times. Grackenwell has already conquered the Grand Archipelago swiftly. With the Qardish emperor dead, the king of Grackenwell is like a rabid dog off his leash. I do not want my land to be next.¡± He leveled a solemn look at the Queen. ¡°Or yours.¡± ¡°Your story is compelling,¡± said Queen Rodha. ¡°The whole of Dridon¡¯s army and navy will now be on the highest alert. The moment we receive confirmation of Grackenwelsh attacks in your territory, or even word of Grackenwell¡¯s formal declaration of war, I will mobilize a third of my military to come to your aid. That said, I will not, and I cannot, aid you in a preemptive strike.¡± ¡°Then you would doom us both. If you refuse a preemptive strike, it will be too late to save anyone¡ªeven yourselves!¡± ¡°Your concern is noted, Grand Emissary, but I deny your request. What you ask of me exceeds the¡ª¡± ¡°You filthy, traitorous¡ª!¡± A knight stepped forward and covered the unruly Emissary¡¯s mouth. ¡°Order! This exceeds the bounds of the Concordat of Gacilia! Not only that, it flies in the face of Dridic precedent going back centuries. Most of all, it violates the wisdom of Triad, and that alone is reason enough to deny your request outright.¡± ¡°Please!¡± the Emissary cried out, wrestling his jaw free from the knight¡¯s grasp. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything! Half my riches to the people of Dridon!¡± Queen Rhoda waved her hand to dismiss him. ¡°I will hear no more of this matter! If you can control yourself, I will serve you as my guest. Until then, you are free to leave Castle Tern and go back to your people.¡± ¡°All of my riches! All of them!¡± The Emissary bucked and flailed in the grip of two sturdy knights who dragged him out of the castle. ¡°Every last shaving of gold I have is yours! I swear it! Please, Queen Rhoda! Please! You¡¯ve killed us all!¡± Lucanh stumbled backward on a stair leading up to the pedestal that housed the Triptych. Sir Godwald stood over him, the harmless bulb at the end of the knight''s sparring sword pressed against the side of his neck, cold as the grave. ¡°You fared better this time,¡± said the knight, ¡°but not quite good enough. You¡¯re improving, though.¡± A curly-haired messenger appeared in the doorway. ¡°Prince Lucanh,¡± she said, ¡°supper is served.¡± Her sky-blue eyes blinked twice. ¡°Sir Godwald.¡± And with that, she was gone. ¡°I believe that concludes my lesson, my Prince,¡± said Sir Godwald, helping him up. He bowed with respect to the young heir. ¡°We¡¯ll practice again tomorrow.¡± ¡°Promise?¡± Lucanh asked him, sheathing his sparring sword. The knight smiled. ¡°I promise.¡± *** The meal was almost entirely fresh, something Lucanh found unusual. Servers brought wooden trays of roast beef, freshly picked salads, and bread baked just hours earlier. For dessert, a strip of fruit leather imported from the Grand Archipelago. ¡°That¡¯ll be the last of that for a long time,¡± Lucanh¡¯s mother reminded him. He savored his first bite of the deliciously sweet leather made of mangoes mixed with other island fruits that he didn¡¯t even know. No potatoes or grains tonight, with the exception of the bread. And he usually requested a pickle spear with each supper which was conspicuously absent. He wondered why. ¡°Mother,¡± said Lucanh. A messenger bearing a scroll approached the foot of the three steps before the thrones, but he bowed silently and kept his face downcast as soon as the prince started speaking. ¡°Why did we eat only fresh foods tonight?¡± Queen Rodha dabbed at her mouth with a lily-white handkerchief. She¡¯d barely touched her food. ¡°Please salt my leftovers and I¡¯ll have them for breakfast, thank you,¡± she told a server. ¡°Well, Lucanh, there might come a time when you miss these fresh foods. Things like pickles, potatoes, rice, other grains¡ªthey can all last a long time without spoiling. We might need to dip into our stores in the future. So, we need to eat up the fresh food first.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Lucanh said. ¡°I see.¡± He didn¡¯t understand his mother¡¯s cryptic words. Maybe it was a lesson from the Book of Earth that he¡¯d forgotten. The messenger had a scroll in his hand bearing the Grand Emissary¡¯s seal, a camel with Zan script beneath it. Anything related to Zan Vayonado made Lucanh think of his father, the former Grand Emissary, long dead since before he could talk. He¡¯d only met the man once as a baby. Still, he felt the people of Zan Vayonado, who shunned comfort in favor of exploration, who made temporary homes in the wilderness and were rich in experiences and adventures as well as coins... He admired them a great deal more than the culture in which he was raised. Maybe it was the Zan blood flowing through him. ¡°Thank you for waiting patiently,¡± the Queen said, addressing the messenger now. ¡°What do you have for me?¡± ¡°Your Majesty, a letter from Grand Emissary Deliego Goches,¡± the messenger said plainly. Lucanh still vividly remembered the man¡¯s visit two moons earlier, the commotion he¡¯d caused. The messenger reached out to hand her the scroll with another bow. The Queen took a long gulp from her chalice of wine. ¡°Please read it aloud for me.¡± The messenger cleared his throat and broke the Emissary¡¯s seal, opening the scroll. He read the royal correspondence. ¡°¡®Esteemed Queen Rodha of Dridon, I hope my letter finds you well. First and foremost, I would like to thank you for showing restraint in the matter of our shared relations with our neighbors to the north. You see, I have forgotten the ways of the Zan. We have been nomads since the beginning. We must live our lives on the principles that preserved us all these years of wandering the sands. We must be flexible, and twice as resourceful. We must be kind to our neighbors, for it may be our neighbor¡¯s intervention that decides if we live or die one day, after all. How many times did our forefathers rely on the generosity of strangers on their journeys? ¡°¡®You were wise and just not to strike first at Grackenwell.¡¯¡± Queen Rodha allowed herself a small, satisfied smile before her next sip of wine. ¡°¡®I¡¯ve had three quarters of a moon to mull it over,¡¯¡± the messenger read on, ¡°¡®and I realize now the error of my ways. It¡¯s easy for a rich man with no army to make demands and bribes. It wasn¡¯t until I contemplated the potential loss of life that I realized the true cost of such unnecessary conflict. I think, if it ever came to war, the Grackenwelsh might give you a quick death and an honorable funeral pyre.¡¯¡± The queen lost a finger of grip on her chalice and it landed on the table with a loud clunk. Lucanh flinched. His mother now gave the messenger her undivided attention, which appeared to smother him. The red-faced man kept reading. ¡°¡®F-fate willed it,¡¯¡± he stumbled forward, ¡°¡®that King Brynh Garrotin himself has paid us a visit here in Zan Vayonado. I told him what you said and he is pleased with your hesitation to order military action. There is nothing to fear. The three of us have a long, bright future as neighbors on this great Stone Continent. Please visit soon. Sincerely, Grand Emissary Deliego Goches.¡¯¡± ¡°Please hand me that letter,¡± said Queen Rhoda. Her voice was soft but stern. It reminded Lucanh of the way she sounded on that fateful night five years ago during the riots of the lower class. The terror that her outbursts inspired always paled in comparison to the horror brewing when her voice was small and calculated. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said the messenger, ¡°I¡¯m afraid there is a postscript. Shall I...?¡± The monarch sat back in her seat at the head of the dinner table. She drank down the rest of the wine in her chalice and motioned for a refill. ¡°Please go on.¡± The messenger¡¯s eyes darted back and forth near the bottom of the scroll. ¡°¡®I must add one more thing. The Grackenwelsh slaves are excellent cooks. Their food was so delicious that I broke six of my teeth trying to eat it too quickly. You will find them enclosed with my letter.¡¯¡± The Queen covered her mouth. ¡°¡®Then, like a fool, I ran after one of the serving slaves to request a third helping of roast waterfowl and I stubbed the big toe of my right foot, the nail of which fell off soon after. You will also find it enclosed with my letter. There was a great deal of blood and screaming.¡¯¡± The messenger unfurled the scroll to its end. He gasped, and Lucanh spied the shadowy silhouettes of six squares and something oval-shaped fastened to the bottom of the letter. The messenger was trembling visibly now. ¡°¡®But I hardly care about that anymore,¡¯¡± he said with the strongest voice he could muster. ¡°¡®Fret not. I am so delighted with my guests, I think I could die.¡¯¡± The Queen held out her hand as if to stop him and said nothing. ¡°That is the end, Your Majesty.¡± The messenger rolled up the scroll, handed it to her, and departed with one last bow. The dining room was silent for a long time until she finally said, ¡°Sir Stepan.¡± ¡°Of course, Your Majesty,¡± the High Knight replied, and he gestured for Lucanh to follow him. On his way out the door, the boy scanned his mother¡¯s face for a trace of reassurance that everything would be all right. He found none. Chapter Eleven: AKONA II A small measure of a thing is a medicine. A large measure of the same thing is a poison. Balance is the key to the universe as life flows into death and back again. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 13 Umreh, Dhasherah Region, Qarda Akona felt closer to home in Umreh than she had felt in two moons. She and Styri stood at the edge of the woods on a steep slope overlooking the town. She surveyed the dense cluster of brick and wood structures¡ªa central well, shops, outlying houses, and a small Temple of Eloei with a pure limestone fa?ade. Tiny white flakes of snow floated down from the sky. It didn¡¯t stick to the ground, not like in Myrenthos, but it was the closest thing to Myrenthos she¡¯d find in Qarda. Umreh. The northernmost city. Less than a moon at sea separated them from home. Akona knew the way out from here. She¡¯d said her prayer to Tychene for good luck. Now all that was left to do was move through the town and do what needed to be done. ¡°Stay close. No Myrenthian after this. Understand?¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Promise me.¡± Akona held out her arm. Styri sighed, locking arms with her. ¡°Promise,¡± she said in Qardish. ¡°Good,¡± Akona replied in kind. She led the way down the hill, crunching fallen leaves and twigs as she went. They wore plain black kiftar robes, thick and heavy enough to conceal their youthful frames, head coverings drawn up and cinched to cover all but their eyes. They would speak Qardish if they had to speak at all. Umreh was a large enough town of several thousand that they could blend in for a day undetected. If they kept to their plan, no one would find them here¡ªnot even the emperor¡¯s spies. Then they would be on the first ship home. The first step of their plan was to acquire the funds needed for a trip north to Myrenthos. Dead emperor or not, nothing could stop Qarda¡¯s ravenous appetite for trade with all her neighbors. It was common to pay off the captain of a small cargo ship for safe passage to wherever he happened to be going¡ªin this case, any Myrenthian port would do. The hike home from there would be child¡¯s play compared to everything that came before it. The ways of the fox, Akona thought. These were the ways of cunning, of trickery, of stealth, that the glademothers had taught them. Only the ways of the fox could buy them passage home. The two of them made their way in from the outskirts of Umreh to the town square. Here, merchants traded wares for coins, townspeople wandered through the central market, and worshipers filed in and out of the Eloheed temple. They were able to slip into the throng seamlessly. ¡°Him,¡± Akona whispered in Qardish. ¡°Red shegehref.¡± She indicated their target in as few words as possible. They moved like shadows through the small crowd. Akona drew on her training from the glademothers and the cunning of Mother Moon. It wasn¡¯t the first time they¡¯d picked someone¡¯s pockets¡ªit was a favorite pastime of theirs back home. But it was the first time they¡¯d done it for something more than spending money. Styri picked up her pace, walking in front of the man. Theirs was a two-pronged approach. She gradually veered into his path to set the trap, imperceptibly, step by step, little by little. Akona was the one who fished into his pocket; she saw its contents swaying as he walked, heard the metal jingling against itself. One, two, three... five coins, she thought. They felt heavy in her fingers as she maneuvered them silently into her own pocket. When the man turned his head in his red shegehref, Styri sprang the final phase of their ruse. ¡°Ow!¡± Styri exclaimed in Qardish, letting him crash into her. She pretended to lose her balance. The man¡¯s attention was diverted¡ªhe froze in his tracks, pulling back. ¡°Please, sir... I am only thirteen years old. Be careful where you walk.¡± ¡°Of course, of course,¡± he answered, sounding embarrassed. ¡°My apologies.¡± He walked on past them in a hurry. Akona retreated to the edge of the crowd, discreetly flashing the coins to her older sister. ¡°Five akkahs,¡± she said, grinning. The Eloheed holy mountain, Mount Tulaylal, was embossed on the front of each gold piece. ¡°We should only need one to buy passage on a ship.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Styri asked her. ¡°We should be sure first. Or else we need to try again.¡± ¡°Not worth the risk. I know we won¡¯t need more than one each. That leaves us three coins for more supplies.¡± Styri smiled. ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d say that. I¡¯m starving.¡± *** ¡°Algahar,¡± said the captain accepting passengers for his cargo ship. Akona knew it meant north in Qardish. ¡°Ka, algahar,¡± she answered. Yes, north. A gold coin tumbled from the oversized sleeve of her kiftar into his palm. ¡°For me and my cousin.¡± She motioned for Styri to ascend the ramp into the docked ship with her, but the captain held out his hand. Styri slowed on her approach. ¡°One each,¡± said the captain gruffly. He had the tanner skin of a Qardish man but dressed in the more familiar Myrenthian-style shoulder tunic. Maybe he was of mixed lineage. Akona handed over their last akkah. ¡°Of course,¡± she muttered demurely. ¡°One each.¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The captain narrowed his eyes at them but soon relented, pocketing the coins. ¡°We leave at dawn. Last room on the left below deck.¡± When the twins had boarded the ship, the captain had his crew retract the ramp. Night bled into early morning; Mother Moon prepared to sink below the horizon with her host of stars. They twinkled like shards of glass across the wine-dark sea. ¡°This way,¡± said Akona. She lit a lantern and led the way down the cramped, musty corridor below deck. She breathed a sigh of relief when they arrived at their room. It was actually the last door on the right, not the left, but she forgave the captain¡¯s honest mistake with the directions. All the other rooms were occupied; twelve of the cramped cabins were already closed with passengers inside, while the six crew members split two cabins of their own, plus the captain¡¯s quarters toward the front. The ship was capable of holding twenty passengers in all¡ªthey had lucked out claiming the last vacancy in the final room. ¡°We¡¯re doing it,¡± Styri squealed quietly. ¡°We¡¯re actually doing it. We¡¯re going home!¡± ¡°Be quiet!¡± Akona rebuked her. She saw her sister¡¯s giddiness deflate in the low light of the lantern. ¡°We are going to visit family from the homeland. Remember?¡± She shook her head at Styri. ¡°Do you mean to sift defeat from victory?¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± Styri¡¯s shoulder sank. ¡°Can we eat now? Please?¡± ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s close the door. Then we can talk more freely.¡± Akona twisted the half-rusted doorknob and shoved the warped door shut. Like all the other rooms, theirs was packed half-full with wooden crates and tall barrels full of cargo. ¡°What do you suppose is in these things?¡± Styri pried open one of the lids, which was surprisingly easy to crack. ¡°Looks like those green fruits that taste like butter,¡± said Akona. ¡°But don¡¯t touch those. That¡¯s the cargo.¡± She pulled out a string-wrapped parchment package full of salted fish, wishing she had some spices to go with it¡ªtheir three coins only went so far in Umreh. ¡°Why not?¡± Styri shrugged. ¡°There have to be a hundred... maybe two hundred in this barrel. How many barrels are there? No one will notice if we take a couple. And shouldn¡¯t we save the salted fish and dried fruits, since those won¡¯t spoil for a while?¡± Akona tapped her chin in thought. Her sister had a point. ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s have one each for our breakfast. But no more.¡± ¡°I want to make sure I find just the right one.¡± Styri dug into the barrel, squeezing each fruit individually as she went. ¡°The softer ones taste¡ª¡± She gasped. A hand grabbed her by the wrist. ¡°Styri!¡± ¡°Help!¡± The barrel fell over, and her with it. The dark green fruits rolled all over the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t you move,¡± said a male voice. In the flickering lantern light, Akona made out a short, slim figure. The orange glow played off the sharp edge of a dagger held against her sister¡¯s throat. He was barely taller than she was. ¡°Let me go,¡± Styri whimpered. ¡°Please. I¡¯ll scream.¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± the man hissed. The glint of saliva was visible on his bared teeth. ¡°Scream and you die. And I escape into the sea before they even find you. Got it?¡± ¡°Do what he says, Styri,¡± said Akona quietly. She understood that drawing attention would only be more dangerous for them. There was no help coming. ¡°What do you want? We have no money. We have no...¡± Then her heart sank when she caught up to her racing thoughts. Of course. ¡°I almost had you in the woods,¡± said the man. ¡°Then again outside of Hadif. You didn¡¯t notice me that time. The Deceiver must have been watching over you that day. But now the light of Eloei has found you at last.¡± Akona swallowed her fear. ¡°I think you¡¯re mistaken. We don¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Enough.¡± There was venom in the veracidin¡¯s voice. ¡°You speak in the language of your father. Lies. Now you will speak to me in the language of my father. Understand, moon witch?¡± ¡°How¡ªhow can you even prove it?¡± Akona shrugged. ¡°You need proof, or else we¡¯re just a pair of scared foreign girls. How can you prove our guilt to your people? You can¡¯t!¡± Come on, she thought. Take the bait. ¡°Oh, but I can, witch. I can. You see, I know you took something from Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen, Eloei grace him. For how else would you prove your victory to the traitorous Hessandra? You cut off part of his beard with a piece of the Hierophant¡¯s jewelry. One of a kind, solid gold.¡± He grinned, pleased with himself. ¡°I know you have it with you. Hand over your bag or I¡¯ll cut her throat!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Akona pleaded. ¡°Don¡¯t, please, just... I will hand it over!¡± ¡°Slowly,¡± the veracidin warned her. ¡°Slowly, yes. I promise.¡± She bent down toward her bag, pretending to grab it slowly by the mouth, when really her fingers hooked into the opening and dug discreetly through the contents. ¡°Here. By Epephon, just take it.¡± It happened all at once. A quiet whoosh. A grunt. Styri used the moment to twist away free from his grasp. The veracidin dropped his dagger, poison coursing through his veins from the tip of Akona¡¯s dart. He fell to one knee, grabbed for his blade¡ªStyri kicked it away. She stomped once on his hand for good measure. Akona retrieved his dagger from the floor. ¡°Good work,¡± she breathed to her sister. ¡°You remembered the code,¡± Styri answered, panting from panic. She rubbed a scratch on her throat¡ªno blood. ¡°Praise be to Epephon, Goddess of the Kill.¡± ¡°Praise be. Of course I remembered it. I¡¯m just glad you did.¡± ¡°What have you done to me, witch?¡± the veracidin choked out through gritted teeth. He plucked the dart from his inner thigh, but it was already too late. ¡°Eloei curse you in the Hereafter...¡± ¡°Save your strength,¡± said Akona. ¡°It¡¯s over. Do you have any final words? I will say a prayer for you to Thanmor if you¡¯d like.¡± The veracidin was foaming at the mouth now. He sprawled out unnaturally on the floor, face half-down, arm contorted, with one of his legs twitching. ¡°I hope those slavers... eat you... alive... when you go north,¡± he wheezed. ¡°West?¡± Styri murmured in Myrenthian. ¡°What does he mean?¡± ¡°No, he said algahar,¡± Akona corrected her in their native tongue. ¡°North. I¡¯m not sure what he meant by slavers, though...¡± ¡°But algareh is north. That¡¯s what the captain said. Right?¡± Akona¡¯s stomach filled with ice water. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up straight. ¡°No... That¡¯s not right. He said algahar... North... I... I couldn¡¯t have misheard him.¡± ¡°So you mixed up the directions again?¡± Styri¡¯s eyes were wide in the orange lantern light. ¡°Akona. Algareh is north! Algahar is west! We are on the wrong ship!¡± A hissing, whistling sound came from the dying spy. It was something like laughter. ¡°So it is... written,¡± the veracidin said in Myrenthian. Then, in Qardish, ¡°Eloei... laughs... last.¡± There was one more wheeze, then nothing. The floor listed suddenly. Through their thin slit of a window near the ceiling, Akona saw the pinkish blush of dawn breaking over the horizon. The ship is leaving port, she realized. ¡°We set sail!¡± hollered the captain above deck. His booming voice was muffled through the groaning wood. ¡°To Grackenwell!¡± Chapter Twelve: KIMBEL III When his flock was devoured by wolves and creatures of the deep wood, he said, ¡°At least my family is safe. Praise the Lord.¡± But the slavers raided his village, put his sons to the sword, and captured his wife and daughters. He said, ¡°At least I am still in good health and able to work my own land. Praise the Lord.¡± But he was stricken with disease and then sold into slavery himself. He said, ¡°At least my master is merciful. Praise the Lord.¡± But his master falsely accused him of a terrible crime and sentenced him to die. He said, ¡°At least I will be put out of my misery. Praise the Lord.¡± The Everswamp spoke to him and said, ¡°What lord deserves your praise who afflicts you so?¡± And he could not answer. -The Legend of the Bogman Holcort, Grackenwell Kimbel sat in his cell, in the corner by the tiny hole of a window, twirling a loose thread in the sleeve of his itchy, plain prison tunic. He glared at the jailer who stomped past during his routine patrol. The jailer knew he was glaring. The sun was sweltering that day, burning in the blue sky over the city of Holcort. The back of his neck stung from the direct light while the rest of his skin became paler day by day. The air smelled of sunbaked brick. ¡°Do you intend to confess your crime today, Kimbel?¡± The jailer had returned at the end of his patrol, key in one hand, whip in the other. ¡°Prince,¡± he hissed back. ¡°That¡¯s Prince Kimbel to you, lowlife.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± the jailer replied. ¡°King¡¯s orders. Even if you are a prince, what¡¯s a prince to a king?¡± The jailer, who was built like an ox and clad in leather and chainmail armor, sighed as he unlocked the door. Kimbel gritted his teeth and resolved not to make a sound during today¡¯s whippings. The door shut with a loud metallic bang and clinked as it locked once more. The guard lifted up the back of the prisoner¡¯s tunic. Kimbel knew from his experience with slaves what his back must have looked like by now¡ªscars from shoulder to waist, pinkish-white ghosts of past punishments and the red-and-black slits of fresher inflictions. He could no longer tell which one hurt worse than any of the others; they were all one pain now. Once. Twice. Thrice. The leather snapped into his back and he didn¡¯t cry out in pain, but he accidentally let out a ragged exhale at the end. Damn you, Kimbel, he thought to himself. Weak again. ¡°Teralt,¡± he snarled, ¡°when I get out of here... I promise I will not forget what you¡¯ve done to me here. I swear on the Bogman. I will make you¡ª¡± ¡°Make me pay, yes,¡± Teralt sighed boredly. He was already on the other side of the bars now, wiping the blood off his whip with a rag. ¡°Nothing frightens me less than the empty threats of a prisoner. An empty threat is a lie. You know what we do to liars here in Grackenwell, don¡¯t you?¡± Kimbel spat in Teralt¡¯s direction, but the guard was already halfway down the corridor. ¡°I am no liar,¡± he said. ¡°Get back here and say that to my face, you coward!¡± Teralt didn¡¯t break stride on his way out. Kimbel¡¯s meal for the day was stale bread and water. He¡¯d secretly hoped for plain oatmeal, since at least that was warm and hinted at the fact that it was cooked recently, like someone had prepared it deliberately with him in mind. Hane¡¯s delivery of the meal added insult to injury. ¡°I bet seeing me like this is the greatest gift you''ve ever received in your whole worthless life,¡± Kimbel told him. ¡°Nonsense,¡± Hane replied, sliding the meal under the iron bars on a small wooden plank. Kimbel devoured it angrily. ¡°Must say I got a great deal of pity for you, milord.¡± The deposed prince stopped chewing for a moment. ¡°If I have your pity, then I truly am doomed.¡± He gnawed on the last hunk of bread and softened it with his water. ¡°At least you have my chamber pot to look forward to once a day. And when I¡¯m back on the throne, Hane, I promise that I¡¯ll bring that haughty attitude of yours to heel.¡± The skin around Hane¡¯s eyes wrinkled with his polite smile. ¡°Until tomorrow, then. Take care.¡± Before hobbling away to tend to his other duties, Hane turned back to say one last thing. ¡°Might do well to stop thinking in terms of power. Whose face you got under your boot. Lived your whole life that way, you have. And look where it¡¯s got you. Might rethink things. If you survive it, I reckon. I say, truly, I hope you do.¡± The old slave shuffled off and Kimbel was all alone again. But he was never truly alone. That was the worst part of prison. Not the chains, the bars, the beatings, the stale bread. Not the cold brick floor for a bed. The worst part of prison was the people who shared it with him. There was a thief in the cell next to him. The man was scrawny, with a scruffy head of hair and beard, and wide, wild eyes that constantly darted back and forth. He was always scratching some part of himself. The man had an obnoxious sniffle that sounded like a small pig snorting. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The cell diagonal to Kimbel¡¯s held a man they said was a murderer. In Grackenwell, killing was not always prohibited¡ªunless it was the destruction of property in the form of a slave¡ªbut a man who killed fellow freemen without quarrel was charged with murder. Funnily, the murderer was the best-behaved prisoner. He sat silently with his head against the wall and his eyes closed most of the time. He almost never made a sound, nor did he dare to look Kimbel in the eye. The prince appreciated his respect. But the worst of all were the two slaves in the cell across the hall from him. There was a pinkish sunburnt one and a tan one, and they were both unbearably loud. They would work themselves into a frenzy whenever Kimbel so much as glanced in their direction. ¡°It¡¯s the prince!¡± they would say. ¡°What is the prince doing here?¡± After a few days, they even dared to speak to him directly. ¡°Prince Kimbel, why are you here? What are you doing in here? What law did you break? Why are you in prison with us?¡± He would not deign to dignify their low class questions with an answer. They didn¡¯t deserve it. And he didn¡¯t deserve to be where he was. *** With night came Kimbel¡¯s third scheduled whipping of the day. The jailer arrived with his key and the length of leather that by now must have grown sick of the taste of young Garrotin blood. Once¡ªfor dishonoring Grackenwell. Twice¡ªfor dishonoring the king. Thrice¡ªfor dishonoring the Secret Ledger and all the sacred traditions surrounding it, chief among them the stipulation that only the reigning monarch was permitted to read it, that even an heir who had not assumed the throne was unfit to lay eyes on its pages. ¡°If you confess,¡± said Teralt, his keys jingling as he locked the door to the cell again, ¡°you might make it easier on yourself. A confession might grant a sentence of life in prison. If you agree to part with your tongue, that is, lest you spill the secrets. Small price to pay if you ask me.¡± Kimbel said nothing. He was proud of himself for remaining perfectly still and silent this time. This was his small victory, the last infinitesimal shred of power he still held over Teralt. He was confident he could keep silent during every subsequent whipping for the duration of his stay. Bored and impatient, the jailer eventually made his way to other prisoners, giving Kimbel some peace and quiet. But the quiet was only peaceful for so long. *** Restless, with only a sprinkling of stars through the tiny window to keep him company, the only company worth keeping in this wretched hovel, Kimbel rocked back and forth against the wall. He hated the feeling of chains around his wrist; they bruised him around the bones and made most motion prohibitively difficult. He hated the iron bars that walled him in on three sides and the bricks on the fourth. He hated everything. Hopeless, he decided to let his mind wander elsewhere, the farther the better. He closed his eyes. Took a deep, shuddering breath. Fragmented memories of his mother surfaced from the depths of his subconscious. She was hanging their clothes to dry on a line. She fried up a young gator that Brynh had wrangled at the edge of the Everswamp that same day, back when he was still Prince Brynh Garrotin. He vividly recalled the way she gently shooed the slaves out of the kitchen, telling them to go relax under a weeping willow, but he didn¡¯t know why that memory stuck out above the rest. Then there was his favorite recollection of his mother. On very special nights, she would read him The Legend of the Bogman. The theatrics she wove into every reading were unmatched by any of Kimbel¡¯s slave caretakers or even the professional performers he sometimes saw in the streets of Holcort. She was the best. The very best. Her voice would sink to a low growl during the scary parts, taper off into near silence, then rise and crescendo during the best twists and turns of the story, the climactic victory, nearly yelling and playfully shaking her young son as he giggled and applauded her. She knew the story of the Bogman better than he did. Better than most anyone, he might say. And it was these readings with his mother that instilled a great love for the Grackenwelsh legend in Kimbel¡¯s young heart. Now it was just a memory. So was she. But he never stopped living his life by the code of the Bogman¡ªstrength over all. The undead hero, conqueror of death itself. He aspired to achieve a fraction of that power and glory in his lifetime. ¡°And look where it¡¯s got you,¡± said Hane. Kimbel¡¯s eyes snapped open. The old slave was nowhere to be seen. Chains still bound his wrist, reminded him of the pain when he awoke. Night still loomed black across the hills and marshlands. He thought he saw the earliest hint of daybreak out the tiny window, sunlight rippling through the sky. It was nothing. No, it was water. The algae-blanketed water of the Everswamp itself. Pale moonlight shone down through the dark, dank canopy, illuminating ghosts of fog that brooded over the surface. It rippled; something stirred inside. A gator? A fish? Something round, maybe a tortoise surfacing. It was a head. Two empty white slits for eyes. It was his father. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy.¡± Kimbel awoke with a start, choking on his own puddle of drool. He spat out the dust in his mouth from another night sleeping on the bare floor. The nightmare was still fresh in his mind when Teralt came stomping down the corridor¡ªbut the sun hadn¡¯t yet risen. ¡°It¡¯s not time yet,¡± Kimbel rasped. He cleared his throat. ¡°Leave me be, you dumb oaf!¡± Two more guards trailed behind Teralt. He smiled. ¡°Daddy dearest is back from Zan Vayonado. It¡¯s time for your trial, boy. Get up.¡± The other two guards unlocked his chains and threw him around no gentler than an unruly slave. They gave him new chains to wear around his wrists and ankles. ¡°Whatever you do,¡± Teralt growled into his ear, so close he could feel the heat of his foul breath, ¡°just remember what happens to liars here in Grackenwell.¡± The three men yanked, dragged, kicked, and shoved Kimbel down the dark corridor lit by the occasional wall torch. The crownless prince shuffled along where he was led, down the narrow corridor to the rusted iron door at the end. Beyond that door lay his uncertain future. Beyond that door lay destiny. He thought about Hane¡¯s words, about the code he¡¯d followed all his life. ¡°There is no god but the strongest man,¡± he mumbled under his breath. ¡°There is no truth but strength.¡± So it was written in the Legend of the Bogman. ¡°What are you babbling about?¡± Teralt asked. ¡°Saying your prayers?¡± Kimbel gritted his teeth. ¡°Something like that.¡± Chapter Thirteen: LANOR III This is the history of Ralaheed to the present day. So says Eloei. In the Time Before Time, the mahjeen ruled the wastes and devoured anyone who crossed into the borderlands. It was a period of great darkness and misery. Eloei beheld the wastes and said, ¡°The time of the mahjeen is no more.¡± He smote the mahjeen from above, killing them with holy fire and driving the others into the deep wilds beyond. Then Eloei made water to fall on the wastes and caused them to be verdant. He made the land fruitful and invited man to enter into the land. For a time, there was peace. But the Deceiver sowed division among the people of the land; one tribe became many, and bounty became scarcity. Eventually the tribes worshiped their ancestors and other pagan gods and forgot the name of Eloei. Thus when the tribal elders joined together to build a great city in the land, they named it Ralaheed (City of the Gods.) -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 3, Verses 1-12 Temple of Eloei, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda Lanor sat in the Throne of the Prophet, the second highest point in the Temple of Eloei. The highest was the limestone plinth behind the throne. On the plinth was a box made of thick tempered glass that contained the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen penned by the First Prophet himself. The pages were tattered and browned, their edges curled, but the wisdom they contained had endured all these centuries. She could feel the presence of all the hierophants who had gone before her. Paladins stood at the door in their gold-plated armor, their traditional gold-plated spears standing upright at their sides. Lanor¡¯s royal vizier, her uncle Ghamal, folded his hands in the doorway. ¡°Are you ready, Hierophant Lanor?¡± ¡°How many are there today?¡± ¡°Thirty even, by my last count,¡± he answered with a tired, dutiful smile. Lanor¡¯s shoulders slackened just a bit. There were only thirty supplicants waiting outside the doors of the temple. That was the lowest number since she¡¯d started accepting supplicants nine days prior. There was a distinct possibility that she¡¯d be able to hear all their concerns in one day, assuming the line didn¡¯t grow much. It would be the first time since assuming the throne that she wouldn¡¯t have to turn away a single soul in need. ¡°Remember the signs,¡± said Lanor. ¡°Beard for yes, earlobe for no. Right?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Send the first one in, please.¡± Ghamal bowed with the grace of a vizier and opened the towering, gold-plated doors of the temple. The first of the supplicants entered the holy place. ¡°Mercy of Eloei,¡± said the white-haired old man, ¡°exalted Prophetess.¡± He hobbled in using a wooden cane and the vizier closed the door behind him. ¡°Mercy of Eloei,¡± said Lanor. The man¡¯s knees shook as he struggled to prostrate himself, but she pardoned him with a wave of her hand. ¡°Stand, my brother. What brings you here today?¡± ¡°Your supplicant is but a lowly farmer from the southeast, Your Holiness. The death of the Hierophant, Eloei grace him, has brought much trouble across the land, yes. When word spread of his untimely demise, a band of thieves...¡± He furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. ¡°A... Yes, a band of thieves raided my, my grain silos. I¡¯ve lost over half my stores. I worry they won¡¯t stop there. What if they come for my house? For my wife and daughters? What then? And how will I pay my debts?¡± Lanor held up a hand to interject. ¡°I understand. I am sorry to hear this, brother.¡± She turned to her uncle, who stroked his salt and pepper beard. She relied on her vizier to determine the best course of action. His sign told her whether or not to grant a supplicant¡¯s request based on their need and the royal coffers. ¡°The palace will replace what you have lost in the next quarter moon.¡± Ghamal made a discreet motion as it to urge her to continue. ¡°And we will send a soldier...¡± He scratched his beard with four fingers. ¡°...four soldiers to guard your silos for the next month.¡± Her uncle bowed his head. The old man smiled a three-toothed smile. His legs shook again and he fell to his knees in earnest this time, his cane clattering to the floor. ¡°Eloei bless you and keep you, exalted Prophetess.¡± ¡°Rise and return home, faithful one,¡± she said, wincing. ¡°Eloei guide your footsteps.¡± Ghamal helped the old man to his feet and handed him the cane. He escorted the man to the door and opened it for him, and the elderly supplicant hobbled out of the temple. The vizier sent in the next petitioner. The second supplicant was a young woman with much nicer clothes than her predecessor, cleaner, with exquisite braids in her hair not unlike the ones Lanor had worn to the Circle of Kings, and she twirled the end of one of them between her finger when she entered. She was likely a fellow resident of the capital city. When the supplicant appeared to remember where she was, she jerked her fingers away from her hair and folded her hands in front of her respectfully. She bowed her head. ¡°Hierophant Lanor Sanzeen,¡± she said in a lovely rasping lilt, ¡°I am here today to make one humble request. During the chaos after the previous Hierophant¡¯s death, Eloei grace him, looters broke into my house in the night and stole our prized copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, a rare fifth edition passed down through my family for generations. It was a priceless family heirloom. It would bring peace to my ailing grandmother if you could help us get it back. I want her to know that it¡¯s safe and sound before she passes into the Hereafter.¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°I see,¡± said Lanor. The power and respect that her position commanded was only beginning to dawn on her. ¡°Does it have any identifying marks on it?¡± ¡°It bears my family crest, a Qardish owleye within a rose. The edition of the Testament dates back to the time when families still had crests back before the reunification of Qarda.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± Lanor pondered a moment. Her uncle shrugged and gave a gesture as if to defer to her own judgment. ¡°I have made my decision. I will send one veracidin to investigate the theft and see if he can track it down in the local markets.¡± The supplicant opened her mouth slightly as if to say something else. ¡°If he cannot track down your family heirloom, I promise you he will do the next best thing and deliver a fourth edition of the Testament from the Hierophant¡¯s personal library. It will bear the royal seal of the name Sanzeen and I will have it stamped with your family crest as well.¡± The young woman clasped her hands together and bowed. ¡°Oh, thank you! Thank you, Hierophant! Your kindness knows no bounds!¡± She grinned on her way out of the chamber and the next supplicant took her place. He was a man who politely asked when Hierophant-led worship ceremonies would return to the temple. Apparently, his son was growing unruly and haughty with a lack of spiritual guidance. Lanor promised him that regular worship would resume once urgent matters of state had been addressed and a sense of normalcy returned to their great nation. The boy after him was a little child who shook like a jungle leaf in a heavy rain. He asked for a replacement stuffed animal collection because his precious stuffed monkeys were destroyed in one of the riot¡¯s fires. Ghamal almost kicked the boy out but Lanor promised the little one that her royal seamstresses would make him a brand new set. A middle-aged woman asked for a loan to keep her coffee stand in the market open because business had been slow for the past month. A teenager came on his family''s behalf to ask for help with a hornet¡¯s nest just outside their home, an infestation which had been plaguing them even before Hierophant Drakhman¡¯s death. Three young sisters came because they were scared sleepless by tales of the monsters in the deep wild, so Lanor knelt with them and led them in prayer to Eloei. It felt good to be praying again¡ªshe could feel her faith returning. The sisters sprang to their feet full of bravery and hope and skipped out of the temple hand in hand. ¡°How many was that?¡± Lanor asked her uncle when she lost count. ¡°Nine, counting the three sisters,¡± said Ghamal. ¡°And the line?¡± ¡°Still only twenty-one, Your Holiness.¡± She breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Today is the day, Uncle. Send the next one in.¡± *** Day rolled into night by the time Lanor saw her thirtieth supplicant. It was Eloei¡¯s will that no one else joined the line that day. Stars pinpricked through the black velvet of night just outside the stained glass windows. Servants lit torches in golden sconces and stoked the fire of the altar, and Lanor spoke to her final supplicant in the light of flickering orange flames. ¡°I have heard your concerns and considered them carefully,¡± said Lanor. ¡°With that said, I truly believe it is nothing more than an ordinary pimple.¡± She stifled a yawn. ¡°But I will include you in my final prayers to Eloei before I lay my head down tonight. I suggest applying a hot towel.¡± The man poked at the red bump on his forehead. ¡°Oh, that is wise. I didn¡¯t think of that. Truly, the wisdom of Eloei flows through you, Prophetess. Thank you!¡± He bowed and saw himself out. ¡°Mercy of Eloei,¡± she called after him before allowing herself her first full-throated, stretching, groaning yawn of the day. It had been a long time coming. ¡°Well, you did it,¡± said her royal vizier. ¡°Your long day bears fruit. There are no more supplicants waiting outside the temple.¡± ¡°Can you please have Sashani draw me a bath? Not too deep, or I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll fall asleep and drown in it.¡± She rose and stretched again, relishing the blood flowing and filling certain parts of her legs, back, and hind end again as they hadn¡¯t in hours. But her heart skipped a beat when she heard the door open again. ¡°Hierophant Lanor,¡± said a soldier, barging into the room. ¡°Blessings of Eloei upon you.¡± ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± Ghamal asked. ¡°I am very sorry to you, sir, but I will not be taking any more supplicants today,¡± Lanor sighed, unable to mask her own delirious exhaustion any longer. ¡°Please visit first thing in the morning.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid this is an emergency, Your Holiness.¡± The soldier stepped forward and bowed his head, glancing back and forth between the Hierophant and her vizier like a man eager to be relieved of his burden. ¡°Let¡¯s hear it, then,¡± said Ghamal. The soldier removed his helmet and held it in front of him, his dark locks tumbling forward to cover his downcast face. ¡°A veracidin has brought word from across the sea. The nation of Grackenwell has reinstituted their abominable practice of slavery.¡± Lanor looked behind the soldier to her vizier, who met her gaze and gasped, wide-eyed and blindsided, yet at the same time unsurprised. ¡°Rumors circulate that Grackenwell also plans to take advantage of our crisis and attack the Grand Archipelago, followed by Zan Vayonado and perhaps even Dridon. But these rumors have no confirmation as of this moment.¡± Ghamal set about pacing around the room, exuding a desperate need to punch something and finding nothing suitable in the holy chamber. ¡°Vile opportunists,¡± he spat. Lanor remembered what her father had told her. The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. Do you understand? ¡°After your father welcomed them with open arms into Castle Muadazim. After he fed them! Grackenwell is a Land of Accord no longer.¡± He glared at the only scapegoat he could find¡ªthe bearer of bad news. ¡°Well, what are you waiting for? Return to your post! Double your men¡¯s patrols tonight! I will not suffer another riot in this holy city because of the provocations of madmen across the sea!¡± ¡°At once, sir,¡± said the soldier, and he spun around in his armor, red cloak twirling with his movement. Lanor had been leaden-eyed and bored not a few moments ago. Now, her heart raced and her blood ran cold. Just when she thought she had the Hierophany all figured out. ¡°What does this mean, Uncle?¡± He sighed and massaged his eyes with his knuckles. ¡°It means we have our work cut out for us now, Lanor. Now more than ever. And it means you must do exactly as I advise for the safety and security of the known world. Do you understand?¡± She nodded. ¡°Good. We begin tonight.¡± Chapter Fourteen: BEAM II And the Lord Ah-Ren said, ¡°What is the pride of a man in My presence? He who is above some, but I am above all. What is the wisdom of a man in My presence? He who knows much, but I know all. What is the power of a man in My presence? He who conquers many, but I conquer all. The man who bows down before Me, I will exalt him above the rest; but the man who stands tall in My presence, yea, I will lay him low.¡± -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 11, Lines 13-17 Claeloch Territory, Grackenwell Beam lay her head down to sleep on a dry hill in the woods of Claeloch. She slept on nothing but her sleeping mat rolled out on a soft bed of pine needles that cushioned her against the winter-hard soil. She tucked herself into a bearskin bag that protected all but her scalp from the cold. Spring was coming soon. If the year were a day, it was the blue light just before dawn now. This was one of the last bitter nights of the season. ¡°Praise be to Ah-Ren,¡± she murmured, and the words warmed her cold nose. ¡°Ah-Ren, the Maker of the Morning. Ah-Ren, the Light of the World. Ah-Ren, the Merciful. Ah-Ren, the Lord Above Lords. Blessed be the Bringer of Life and the Banisher of Death, and cursed be every false god who blasphemes against You. Blessed be Your word.¡± She ended each day the same way she began it. The thick bearskin had already begun to warm her body. The campfire being so close helped as well. She was reminded of a tract in the Gospel of Lucence about how the Lord Ah-Ren was never far: ¡°In the day, I send the sun to watch over you. In the night, I send the stars. In the storm, I send bolts of thunder and I provide for your fires. Wherever there is light, there am I. And so you are never out of my sight all your days.¡± All she needed was warmth. She had no need of a shelter or even a tent. The Lord Ah-Ren would protect her in the night, turning away all the beasts of the wood and even the monsters which still walked the earth from the Time Before Time. These were tall tales¡ªshe wasn¡¯t even sure whether or not they existed. She supposed it didn¡¯t really matter if they did or didn¡¯t. Her only faith was in Ah-Ren. Luster dozed uneasily nearby. He made use of the tent that she would have abandoned otherwise; he was fresh in his faith, a tender sprout which needed time and nourishment to grow. Beam knew that such things were not to be rushed. She drifted off to sleep with her mind on the holy tome she carried. *** She was in the brothel again. It was dark. Only half the lanterns were lit and the fireplace burned low that night. The brothel tavern¡¯s patrons drank from their cups in silence while the tavernkeeper polished a glass with a rag. Her wrists hurt; they were bound together in iron shackles¡ªher ankles, too. She sat at the bar between an array of faceless men obscured by shadow. Someone called her name. It was faint and far-off sounding, but when she turned her head to the left, she saw that it was coming from a kind-eyed man sitting next to her. He repeated it with a half-smile and raised eyebrows and stared straight at her. She still couldn¡¯t hear it. His face was soft and looked so familiar, like an old friend she¡¯d met a long, long time ago, yet she couldn¡¯t describe a single feature of his face if she tried. ¡°What did you say?¡± she asked. He repeated her name, but it sounded muffled, underwater almost. ¡°My name? What is it?¡± ¡°Hey,¡± said another voice. This one was crisp and sharp. She turned her head and saw the man sitting on her right side. She could see his face plain as day; he was barrel-chested with a beer gut, an unkempt beard that ran down his neck. He glared at her with half-lit eyes full of contempt. ¡°That don¡¯t matter no more, lass. Understand me?¡± Her head was tempted to turn back to her left. Her chains rattled as she moved. ¡°I just¡ª¡± ¡°Hey!¡± This time he grabbed her by the chin and jerked her head back toward him. ¡°You got a customer tonight. Man in the green cloak. He¡¯s bought you, full service, till sunup. Try not to foul it up this time.¡± He guzzled the rest of the ale in his cup. ¡°Your folks are dead. You¡¯ve got no kin. No land. I¡¯m all you¡¯ve got, see? So you best do as you¡¯re told. No one¡¯s comin¡¯ for you, lass. No one.¡± ¡°All right,¡± she said. There was an urge to cry welling up inside her that she tried to suppress. She felt a firm hand on her right shoulder¡ªturning around, she saw the man in the green cloak, a lecherous grin on his face. ¡°Upstairs,¡± he growled, the alcohol hot on his breath. ¡°Now. Room nineteen. And don¡¯t be such a downer, eh?¡± She stood up from her stool at the bar. Then she felt a hand on hers¡ªsofter this time, on her left hand. The chains were gone from her wrists and ankles. She turned to see the kind-eyed patron from a moment ago, only now his eyes and mouth were full of light so bright that they obscured his face. His voice was loud and resonant. ¡°Remember,¡± he said. ¡°Yours is the path of the savior. Yours is the task of the righteous liberator freeing the doomed from their fates. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God. Your name is Beam. Great are My plans for you, and bold is your purpose. Go now. Waste not the passing of another day!¡± *** Beam awoke with a start. Sunlight seeped into her sleeping bag. She crawled out onto her mat, seeing the forest awash in the golden dawn. A squirrel scratched its way up a tree with an acorn between its teeth. Birds sang songs of praise for the morning. Luster was awake and boiling water, a small satchel of dried leaves in his hand. ¡°Good morning, Lady Beam,¡± he said with a smile. ¡°Would you like some tea?¡± Her body rose to greet the day before her mind had fully joined it. She stood on wobbly legs, bracing against a tree trunk. Her sight was foggy and slow to adjust. It was always like this when Ah-Ren graced her with a vision or a message in her dreams¡ªso great was His glory that her feeble mortal form could hardly withstand a fraction of it. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Luster asked. He set his materials aside and rushed to help her, guiding her to a small stump next to the fire he¡¯d built. Her head was still spinning when she sat down. ¡°I remember,¡± she murmured. ¡°You remember what?¡± The kind face she¡¯d seen in her dream was that of a tavern regular¡ªa young man about her age, or a bit younger, who tended to her with compassion on her rough nights and woeful mornings. Those nights, he would bring her comfortable pillows to sit on. He would draw her cool drinks of water to soften the blow of whatever wine or beer or other harsh drink had been poured in her mouth. He even held her hair back when the contents of her stomach came bubbling up on the gravel path behind the brothel, up from that deepest place inside her where the last shreds of her soul still hid and trembled. He likely saved her life on more than one of those nights. But he never saved her soul. The man was a coward. Kind or unkind, he had no place in the new world her Lord was to build. She wondered if Luster would take the same safe, well-trodden path as all the other men of the kingdom, of the world. It may have been too early to judge him. She was reminded that he was still fresh in the faith. But she saw that kindness in his eyes as he put a hand on her shoulder and crouched down next to her. ¡°Lady Beam, are you all right?¡± Luster asked again. ¡°What do you remember?¡± ¡°¡®Yours is the path of the savior,¡¯¡± she recited, staring into the crackling campfire. ¡°¡®Yours is the task of the righteous liberator freeing the doomed from their fates. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God. Your name is written in My book. Great are My plans for you, and bold is your purpose. Go now. Waste not the¡ª¡¯¡± ¡°¡®¡ªpassing of another day,¡¯¡± Luster recited in unison, ¡°¡®but strike while the sun is high.¡¯¡± She let him finish. ¡°¡®Do not hide in the dark as the cowards do, but attack in the full light of day, in My Name, wild and unafraid. Then the world will know that I am the Lord Above Lords.¡¯¡± ¡°Your readings,¡± she breathed. She felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. ¡°You¡¯ve been keeping up with the readings I gave you in the Gospel of Lucence. Haven¡¯t you?¡± He smiled warmly. ¡°Of course, Lady Beam. I believe. Truly, I do.¡± Time would tell the truth. While she had full faith in Ah-Ren and gave Him her whole heart, it was a trickier, more delicate thing to place her faith in another mortal soul¡ªa man, even more so. For now, he¡¯d earned another modicum of her trust that he was who he claimed to be. A believer. ¡°It pleases me to hear that, Luster,¡± she said. She rose from the stump, unfurling her limbs like the petals of a flower in the sun. ¡°Ah-Ren reminded me of those words in my dream. He speaks to me in visions at times.¡± Luster¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really? Directly to you?¡± He was in awe. ¡°Ah-Ren doesn¡¯t want us to delay any longer. He has a glorious vision for Claeloch. For all of Grackenwell. He wants to transform the whole world. And we are going to be the ones to lead the charge.¡± She turned to him. ¡°If you¡¯ll follow me where I would lead you.¡± This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Luster dumped the water, which had begun to boil, on his fire, gathering up their things in a hurry. ¡°Without hesitation! Lead the way and I will go there, wherever Ah-Ren would send me. This I swear to you.¡± He went to dismantle the tent when Beam put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°It is written. Not all who tread Ah-Ren''s path to glory,¡± she said solemnly, speaking from a deep and somber place, ¡°will live to see its radiance. Perhaps not even me.¡± ¡°I died once,¡± he replied, ¡°or was good as dead, for no one but myself. To die for a just and merciful Lord? It would do me the greatest honor of my life.¡± Beam smiled. ¡°You would still follow? Even into danger?¡± ¡°To the Great Unknown, my lady. To the Great Unknown¡ªor beyond it.¡± ¡°Then let us not waste the daylight.¡± *** The journey on foot from their encampment to the nearest village burned through the first half of the day. In her head, Beam hadn¡¯t the slightest clue where they were going or how long it would take them to reach it. Her heart was another story; she had full faith that Ah-Ren was in complete control. She counted them fortunate that, at least for this leg of the path, the walking was easy and the views arresting. Claeloch was renowned as home to some of the most gorgeous landscapes on the whole Stone Continent, all quiet forests and rivers running clear as the finest glass. It was nothing like the dank, dark, unsightly swamps that puddled much of Grackenwell to the east. There was a wooden sign on the dirt road leading into the village that read ¡°Pythe.¡± Buildings were loosely scattered across the hillside with houses, a few central shops, and even a small bookseller. Thin white smoke curled up from the chimneys. She stopped in her tracks when she spied a small tavern, the flat wooden sign bearing a carving in the shape of a flagon. ¡°The Lord drew me to this place,¡± said Beam. ¡°I don¡¯t know why. My next step feels uncertain.¡± ¡°We could take a look around,¡± said Luster. ¡°Perhaps sitting a spell in the local tavern could help clarify the way for you, my lady. I know some ale would do me a world of good.¡± She shot a glare at him, watched him draw back. ¡°I have had more than my fill of every fermented and distilled drink in this world. Ah-Ren detests drunkenness and the clouding of the mind. But He would have you as a servant, not a slave. So if you¡¯d like to go into that place without me, you¡¯re free to go, Peadhar.¡± That seemed to wound him; he blinked away the shock. ¡°I beg your forgiveness, Lady Beam. I meant no offense. I¡¯ll stay by your side and shun the drink. I swear it!¡± She softened her glare. ¡°Forgive me, Luster. That was too harsh of me.¡± She took his hand between both of hers. ¡°Come with me. Let¡¯s walk the village¡ªI¡¯m certain the Lord will show us the way from there.¡± She led the way down the dirt streets that crisscrossed through Pythe. On the outskirts, she saw a building that looked starkly out of place, a squat hut with a much thinner chimney. Behind those walls of straw, heretics stuffed their pipes with entheogens and communed with that dark spirit called the Bogman. They worshiped the undead brute as an incarnation of pure power lorded over the weak. Their view of the world was simple, cruel. It was repugnant. She consoled herself with the knowledge that such houses of perverse worship had their days numbered. Beam led Luster through the village, walking until the soft flesh of her feet ached with future callouses, until they¡¯d walked laps around the village many times and their path tangled over itself. Beam shined a light on the little shadow of doubt darkening her heart. She admitted the sin, to herself and to Ah-Ren, and cast it out. The One True God¡¯s designs were not always simple enough for a person to comprehend fully, even a chosen person. She began to consider finding an inn to rest for the night and meditate on the Gospel of Lucence for further inspiration when a certain kind of ruckus spilled out of a tavern door cracked ajar. A man shouted. Not in pain, but something less pure. A female voice seemed to beg something of the male. There was more than one man shouting¡ªBeam had no trouble putting the pieces together. She didn¡¯t want to go there. But the Lord pulled her there all the same. Beam motioned for Luster to follow, slipping into the tavern door discreetly. Four brawny men stood around the bar. Their faces were reddened with drink, and they wore sheens of drunken sweat. They¡¯d cornered a young maiden. Four suits of Grackenwelsh armor lay stripped and disassembled on the floor around them and they stood in only their ordinary underclothes. Their eyes were hungry, their grins feral. One of them took a sloppy gulp of ale and tried to force the lip of the flagon into the maiden¡¯s mouth. ¡°You will stop this at once!¡± Beam roared. The volume of her own voice surprised even her. Two of the men laughed without taking their eyes off the maiden. The third one turned and made lustful eyes at Beam. The fourth one, also without turning his head, hacked and spat something on the floor, saying, ¡°We¡¯ve gone two moons without a good lay. What do we get if we stop? You?¡± Then he sneered at her. ¡°You¡¯re so old. And I¡¯ve had better.¡± Ugly memories of her days in the brothel surfaced in Beam¡¯s mind like some hideous swamp creature. Hurt turned to contempt. A flash of anger¡ªno, not simple anger, base and pointless, but righteous fury welled inside her then. Luster stepped forward with a clenched fist but Beam held him back. ¡°If you stop,¡± she said with careful authority, ¡°I will allow you to walk out of this tavern alive.¡± At this, all four of the soldiers burst out laughing. One of them knocked over a flagon of frothy ale. Their faces went even redder with their hideous, crooked laughter. The biggest of them downed the remainder of his drink and belched loudly. ¡°I can think of a better use for that loud mouth of yours,¡± he slurred, kicking over his stool as he stood. The back door behind the bar eased open enough for a young man with a patchy beard to poke his head inside. ¡°People are coming up the road,¡± he hissed at them. ¡°Not much time.¡± ¡°Be quick about it, men,¡± said the big soldier, reaching into his pants. ¡°Kill the scrawny bastard. I call first with her.¡± The other three men drew their swords from the sheaths around their waists with the air of butchers about to complete an honest day¡¯s work. Luster trembled, reaching for the dagger at his waist. ¡°Get the book,¡± Beam said calmly. Her level voice belied the panic that swelled inside her, but this was a reflex, a mindless animal instinct that Ah-Ren could surely forgive. In her heart, she repeated a mantra from the Gospel of Lucence: Where my fear is, let there be faith. Where my fear is, let there be faith... Luster retrieved the holy text and passed it to Beam. She flipped the pages without looking at them and in an instant, they began to turn themselves. This spectacle slowed her attackers but did not stop them¡ªa mistake she was secretly happy that they made. ¡°By the light of Ah-Ren,¡± she said, and her voice projected like the blowing of a great horn. ¡°Hateful vermin like you have no place in the world I will build. The Lord Ah-Ren has judged you, and you are worthless beyond saving.¡± ¡°Some kind of witch?¡± one of the soldiers muttered. ¡°Forget this. Kill ¡®em both!¡± He drew his sword and swung it against Beam¡¯s neck¡ªclang. It rebounded off her skin, the blade quivering on impact. He dropped it and cried out in pain. The others tried as well¡ªwhether swords, daggers, or their bare hands, nothing made her so much as flinch or even left the smallest mark on her. She watched the evil men rubbing their wrists, cradling broken fingers, staggering backward onto the floor in bewilderment. Their eyes were wide with fear just as they deserved. ¡°By the Bogman,¡± said the big one. ¡°This isn¡¯t worth it. Let¡¯s get out of¡ª!¡± There was a sudden snap. His head turned at a gruesome angle all at once and he fell to the floor, silent. ¡°Please,¡± breathed another one of the soldiers. ¡°I beg¡ª¡± Snap. Crack. Crunch. All four of the soldiers lay dead on the floor. The one at the bar fell from his stool, spilling his ale, which fizzed across the hardwood between their bodies. Luster fell to his knees in reverence. A sudden lightheadedness befell Beam, who would have fallen herself if not for Luster¡¯s quick catch. He even grabbed the Gospel of Lucence in midair before it could crash down to the floor. ¡°Lady Beam!¡± he gasped. ¡°Are you all right? What happened¡ªwhat was that?¡± ¡°The girl,¡± she whispered, barely clinging to consciousness. ¡°Say again, my lady?¡± Her lips pursed with great effort. ¡°The girl.¡± Luster rested Beam against the tavern wall and jumped to his feet. The maiden sat shaking behind the bar; as her eyes opened and closed, Beam could see the girl¡¯s petrified face, the horror of what might have been. For a moment she both pitied and envied the poor girl¡ªshe didn¡¯t know what it was like, had only her imagination to fill the blanks, but that meant she couldn¡¯t steel herself against it, either. This is why I¡¯m here, Beam thought. Ah-Ren sent me... so that I could save her from suffering what I did. Beam remembered her purpose in all this. She would be the vanguard of a new world, a brighter world where that sort of thing was relegated to the darker footnotes of the history books. It would have no place in the glorious new world Ah-Ren would create through her. ¡°The cellar,¡± said the maiden. When she stood, Beam saw that she wore a barmaid¡¯s uniform. Luster touched a cloth to her forehead and dabbed away her sweat. ¡°That¡¯s where they tied up my p-patrons, all men. They were warned not to interfere... or they¡¯d be put to death.¡± ¡°Wait here and rest,¡± Luster said reassuringly. ¡°Both of you. I will free them and bring them up here.¡± He nodded once at Beam and offered her a cautious smile. ¡°Praise be to Ah-Ren.¡± *** In all, there were twelve people gathered outside the tavern that evening¡ªBeam, Luster, the barmaid, and her nine patrons, each of whom were in various states of drunkenness and bewilderment. ¡°I wish to go with you,¡± said the barmaid. ¡°My name is Maighril. I¡¯ve lived here in Pythe all my life. The man who owns this tavern hired me a year ago when I came of age to serve. Those soldiers have been a menace from the beginning, but they never went so far as today.¡± She brushed stray russet hairs out of her face in the timid breeze. ¡°I would sooner follow you, my lady, wherever the journey might take me. You saved my life.¡± ¡°She saved me, too!¡± said Luster. ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m here today!¡± ¡°The Lord saved you,¡± Beam corrected them gently. ¡°I am His instrument. And he brought me here at just the right time. I can see now that Ah-Ren judged your heart and deemed you worthy of saving.¡± She surveyed the patrons that Luster freed from the cellar. ¡°And who among you would abandon the lives you know in order to serve a purpose greater than yourselves?¡± The patrons exchanged looks among themselves. One man stifled a drunken burp. When they¡¯d made up their collective minds, two of the men dispersed from the group, casting nervous glances over their shoulders as they left, but the other seven remained. One of them took a knee and the others followed suit. ¡°Ah-Ren¡¯s Light,¡± Beam sighed contentedly. ¡°With the Gospel of Lucence in my hands and a band of steadfast, goodhearted disciples who seek justice in this world, I know that we cannot fail. Our numbers will only grow.¡± ¡°However long the way,¡± said Maighril, ¡°I will walk it. I swear!¡± ¡°Your new name will be Glimmer,¡± said Beam dreamily. ¡°Each of you will receive a new name according to your discipleship of Ah-Ren in due time.¡± Luster bowed his head in reverence. ¡°My lady,¡± said Glimmer, ¡°where would the path take us? Has Ah-Ren told you yet?¡± Beam smiled a wide smile that almost hurt her cheeks. She was beyond blissful, overcome with emotion for what her god had done for them all that day. The setting sun shone warmly on her face. ¡°At first light,¡± she finally answered, ¡°we march for Holcort. There are slaves to be freed. There is justice to be done. There is a vile king to be dethroned¡ªand I don¡¯t mean King Garrotin.¡± She allowed herself a smirk. ¡°Although he will fall, too.¡± Chapter Fifteen: CADAS III In the thirty-first year of the reign of Turikuang, in the Heinto Era, the nokudai (spirits of the woods) were most avaricious. When Sovereign Turikuang went on a hunting expedition into the deep wood, he left his silver jewelry at home in the palace. Silver jewelry had fallen out of fashion at the time. But it was silver that warded off the nokudai at night. Sovereign Turikuang and eleven men of his hunting party were carried off that night by the gashagumo (dog men.) The sole survivor was named Kitsang. He returned to the city of Heinto and spoke of the gashagumo, twice as tall as a normal man with the hair and teeth of a wolf. Thus the successor of Turikuang, Turiluang, took interest in recording accounts of the nokudai, who have walked the earth since the Time Before Time. -Ancient Histories of Yu Sang Lamdak, Xheng Yu Xi Cadas smiled. He almost never smiled. He was putting the finishing touches on his diagram of a rat skeleton that he¡¯d started sketching the other night. It was a fortunate find in the otherwise animal-poor city, where most of his subjects were the same boring black flies, house spiders, fruit flies, and the occasional seagull, all of them living and too busy to sit still and pose for him. He labeled the skeleton¡¯s anatomy in Myrenthian, Qardish, and even Xhengyon. Hiricho had been teaching him how to speak and write the language for the past two moons that they¡¯d been staying in the restaurant¡¯s cellar. In exchange, Cadas promised to fulfill his allotted chores without complaint. Those had been slipping lately. Cadas knew, but he didn¡¯t care. On days when he felt bored or otherwise uninspired to write in the Compendium, he didn¡¯t mind doing chores, but with his new lessons in Xhengyon to occupy his time and creativity, those days were becoming fewer and farther between. The Compendium was more important than whatever chores he had. He looked up to find Hiricho was in the room with him; he was taking inventory of the wine bottles in the cellar on a tiny piece of heavily scribbled scratch paper. ¡°Look,¡± Cadas said in Xhengyon, returning his eyes to the Compendium¡¯s newest page. ¡°Wow,¡± Hiricho replied. ¡°You¡¯ve got a real talent for that! If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say you should have gone to the university on the mainland, too. You could have studied classical art or medicine.¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡± Cadas wasn¡¯t sure what he meant, or didn¡¯t mean. He didn¡¯t care to find out. ¡°When do we do more lessons?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure, friend. The entrance examination on the mainland is just a moon away now. I need to get out of this place as soon as my parents will let me or I might never get to study at the university. If they¡¯re going to let me leave, I need to do a lot of preparation work for them.¡± All that talking and Cadas still didn¡¯t feel like his question had been answered. He didn¡¯t understand why people sometimes talked and talked at great length and yet said so little. He was about to ask again when a noise upstairs distracted him. Hiricho¡¯s mother appeared at the top of the stairs. ¡°Hiri?¡± she called down to him. ¡°Yes, mother?¡± ¡°Your father and I need to talk to you.¡± She pointed sharply at Cadas. ¡°You.¡± He learned to respond to that name in her presence or else she and his own mother would get angry. ¡°You, too. Upstairs.¡± It was early morning, but one could hardly tell in such a cramped city with such obstructed views. Morning gilded only certain corners of the luckiest buildings while the rest still languished in the shadows. Buildings everywhere, people, people everywhere. He hated it here. Everyone was assembled in the kitchen upstairs¡ªHiricho, his parents, Cadas, and every other member of the Lars family. Cadas saw that his mother was already sheened with sweat; she never seemed to stop working and always seemed to be in a rush to do something around the restaurant, even when no one was looking. ¡°We need to talk,¡± said Hiricho¡¯s mother. His father stood there with his head down and his hands folded. ¡°Hiri, we know you¡¯ve been wanting to go to the university for a couple of years now.¡± ¡°And you said that I couldn''t because you wanted to expand the restaurant and you still needed my help,¡± said Hiricho. ¡°I¡¯ve brought in six times the manpower¡ª¡± She raised one hand at chest level, with her forefinger raised ever so slightly, and somehow it stopped Hiricho from saying anything else. It must have meant she was angry or annoyed by him and he didn¡¯t want to be hit, Cadas guessed. ¡°We have more help now, yes. We pay the Lars family as a whole how much we paid for your food, your books, your clothes, and so on. We don¡¯t lose any money. But this only works if they can fill your place. So far, they can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Sorry to stab the conversation,¡± said Cadas¡¯s mother in her fumbling, broken Xhengyon. ¡°Why say you this? We cook. We clean. We inventory report.¡± ¡°Your most important duties are in the kitchen,¡± said Hiricho¡¯s mother. ¡°My husband and I can handle the serving duties if you can cover the cooking. But you still aren¡¯t getting the spices right.¡± ¡°We are from the land where the spices from!¡± Cadas¡¯s mother still struggled with the linguistic rules of Xhengyon. She fanned her red face with her hand, switching back to their native Myrenthian. ¡°Did she say we can¡¯t get the spices right? They¡¯re our spices, gods damn it! Mother Moon, help us.¡± ¡°You may know the spices,¡± Hiricho¡¯s mother went on, ¡°but you don¡¯t know our recipes well enough. We¡¯ve been making this food the same way for three generations. My grandmother, my father, and me. I have one customer, a sailor, who is a hundred years old. He knows how the food is supposed to taste. If the traditions are abandoned, there are plenty of other restaurants in Sang Lamdak where people will go.¡± ¡°What can we do? What will make it better?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll teach you all again from scratch. That, and your boy needs to keep up better with his chores.¡± She pointed a finger at Cadas. ¡°I¡¯ve found that he hasn¡¯t been doing them at all in the past quarter moon.¡± Cadas¡¯s mom glared straight at him. ¡°And you, Hiricho. You need to stop giving him private lessons. They should be paying for something like that. You have your own work to do.¡± This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Hiricho scoffed. ¡°Mother, I¡¯m just helping him understand us. All I¡ª¡± But she raised her hand slightly again and he stopped talking. ¡°We¡¯ve all reached an understanding, then. If we can¡¯t solve these problems, Hiricho, you won¡¯t be going anywhere. And that is final. And to you, Lars family: if I have to keep Hiricho on, then we will not be able to afford to keep you on as well.¡± She walked away, and her husband gave a slight bow before following after her. Hiricho sighed deeply, rubbed his eyes, messed up his own hair, and then walked toward the rack of iron pots and pans hanging from the kitchen wall. He grabbed a skillet and twirled it in his hand. ¡°All right,¡± he said, ¡°let¡¯s start back at the beginning.¡± *** As the days wore on, stricter pressure about chores forced Cadas to develop a new strategy for avoiding punishment. He attached a bell to the cellar door, saying that it comforted him to know the bell was there when he slept at night. Whenever he heard the bell, it meant that someone was about to come down to the cellar, and when that happened, he knew to close his Compendium, hide it, and then make himself look busy as quickly as possible. He would rush to make it look like he¡¯d been taking inventory, sweeping, gathering the family¡¯s dirty laundry, rolling wine barrels to the bottom of the stairs to be brought up, and so forth. It worked every time. So much so that his mother sometimes praised him and, on one occasion, even Hiricho¡¯s mother said, ¡°Keep it up.¡± A quarter moon had passed since their group meeting. Cadas stayed vigilant in order to stay out of trouble; in his downtime, he pored over a Xhengyon encyclopedia of animals that he¡¯d taken from a book stand the other night. His mother hadn¡¯t said anything, and neither had the bookseller, so he figured it must have been all right for him to take it. He assimilated the new information into his Compendium, combining it with what he¡¯d already learned from Qardish sources and his own observation. He found the similarities and differences between them fascinating; Qardish books often had detailed animal illustrations, and they were good for fitting different animals into their appropriate categories, but Xhengyon books were much more individualistic about each animal, yet mathematical at the same time. This bird had a wingspan this big; this insect laid eggs at this time of year, and this many. Then one morning the bell rang on the cellar door. Cadas knew how long it took, on average, to descend the stairs¡ªenough time for him to close the Compendium, stuff it in a cramped, cobwebbed closet, and then run to the barrels of wine or sacks of grain and pretend to be in the middle of a chore. This time he managed to close the Compendium and open the closet door by the time his mother appeared behind him. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± she hissed at him. She spoke like she was unhappy, but her voice wasn¡¯t loud, so Cadas was unsure. He didn¡¯t know how to answer her. His brother and his two cousins came stomping down the stairs behind her. They scanned the Xhengyon labels on the wine barrels and started passing them to each other, rolling them hurriedly up the stairs. His mother grabbed him by the shoulder. He hated when she did that. ¡°Look at me!¡± she said. ¡°You only rolled out two wine barrels yesterday! We have customers waiting upstairs who are very angry! I told the restaurant owner that you would shape up, and you¡¯re making fools of us all!¡± Cadas looked away and said nothing. He tried to break free of her grasp. ¡°Oh, no you don¡¯t. You¡¯re going to have to face some consequences for this disobedience. You¡¯re jeopardizing the lives of your entire family! Do you understand that?!¡± ¡°Have to put away the Compendium,¡± Cadas muttered. He hid his treasured book in its proper place in the closet, on a high shelf to protect it from flooding or pests skittering on the floor. The bell on the cellar door rang again. Hiricho¡¯s mother said something in a loud, screeching voice, Xhengyon slang that Cadas couldn¡¯t translate fast enough. The door slammed shut again and the bell jingled. ¡°Nice going,¡± said Ikraos. ¡°Until now, we weren¡¯t sure if they¡¯d evict us. You¡¯ve done a fine job of making their decision for them!¡± ¡°What did she say?¡± Cadas asked. His brother scoffed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to translate her words to understand what she was saying! Simpleton...¡± Cadas stood there on the edge of their flurried activity and struggled to comprehend what his brother meant. How could someone understand what someone else was saying if they didn¡¯t know the words? It didn¡¯t make any sense. But he was beginning to think that trouble was brewing here in Sang Lamdak. It grew harder by the day to meet the demands placed on him¡ªand his own demands were so few. All he wanted was some more privacy and some decent sunlight by which to write more in his Compendium, once this storm had blown over like all the others. *** His night was restless. There was shouting, slamming upstairs that he could hear over the general commotion of the city. Every once in a while, it roused him from sleep on his thin cot on the floor, but sometime in the middle of the night, he drifted off to a more solid sleep. It was light that woke him up. It must have been morning. Orange dawn spilled across his face and he felt that much warmer for it. His mother usually woke up the family well before sunrise, so he waited for her prodding and shaking to rouse him. Nothing happened. Cadas rolled over in bed and, through the tiny window near the ceiling, saw the moonlit city still shrouded mostly in darkness. Something was wrong. The light didn¡¯t seem like a dream, and yet it must have been. But as his eyes opened and he sat up on the cold cellar floor, he saw his own faint shadow dancing on the wall, cast against an orange glow. He turned around. His mother was burning a fire in a metallic bowl. She tore at something fragile and dropped the shreds into the fire and he suddenly realized that she was burning the Compendium. ¡°NO!¡± Cadas shrieked. His mother flinched and nearly fell onto her back. She took the eviscerated book, ripped out the remaining used pages, and stuffed them into the flames. He jumped to his feet and sprinted toward her. She raised her hands between them. ¡°It¡¯s done! It¡¯s all done. Now we won¡¯t have this problem anymore. Now you can finally focus on¡ªCadas, what are you doing? Cadas, stop that this instant! Cadas!¡± He plunged his hands into the fire to try to salvage whatever scraps he could. He screamed. His hands bled and blistered. His mother tore him from the remnants of his work, his precious work, years of work in Qarda and moons of solid work here in Xheng Yu Xi, his treasured work, the one thing that kept him going and kept the wheels of his brain turning through all the change and upheaval, the war, their new home in Qarda, their new home in Sang Lamdak, all those meticulous diagrams that he¡¯d sometimes spend a quarter moon each completing, his entire Xhengyon dictionary, all of the reminders he wrote to himself to tweak his everyday behavior and avoid his mother¡¯s wrath, and how he¡¯d slept through the worst of it, the worst thing she¡¯d ever done to him or could do, worse than killing him, but now she pulled him from the fire and poured a pitcher of cool water over his hands and he screamed all the while. He was vaguely aware of the silhouettes of his family, of Hiricho and his parents, at the fringes of the room. He had never cared less. All that remained of his life¡¯s work was black smoke and white ashes. He may as well have been dead. For the first time in his life, he truly saw no possible way for him to continue living. He screamed like this until his screams dried up and stopped coming entirely. He shoved and swung at his mother when she tried to touch him or move him, and his siblings, too. This went on for some time; then there truly was daylight outside, not an illusion this time, and the fire that destroyed the Compendium was smoldering into oblivion. His mother shoved him into the closet while his cousins rolled more wine barrels toward the stairs. He balled his hands into fists and swung at her, but she blocked and evaded him. He clawed at her face¡ªa tiny scratch. It didn¡¯t make him feel any better. She said something about leaving him in the closet until he could act ¡°civilized.¡± Then she closed and latched the closet door so he could not open it from the inside and he was trapped. He didn¡¯t care. He slumped to the floor and had nothing left to look forward to except the day when he went to sleep and never woke up again, like that wise king back in Qarda. Chapter Sixteen: AKONA III Every mystery in its proper time. For the girl, a prayer to Matreus. For the maiden, a prayer to Pherei. For the mother, a prayer to Neles. For the widow, a prayer to Ermus. For the dying, a prayer to Bereos. For the dead, a prayer to Thanmor. For the killer, a prayer to Epephon. But the learned woman knows that prayer is not enough. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 2 Settbourne, Grackenwell ¡°Just a... little longer,¡± Akona panted. ¡°Just... to be sure.¡± ¡°Please,¡± Styri wheezed. ¡°Akona... Can¡¯t... Please...¡± Akona could feel her sister¡¯s body slackening. She pulled her along by the wrist, her fingers having long since gone too limp to be led by the hand. Styri¡¯s breathing was more ragged than she¡¯d ever heard it. It was worse now in the arid wasteland at the southern edge of Grackenwell. They¡¯d been running off and on for days on end. They¡¯d set up camp only when they were absolutely sure that they¡¯d put enough distance between themselves and their pursuers to earn a rest. They were tired enough to fall asleep before they even hit the ground. When they awoke, it was back to running. Their rations had run out days ago. All the water they had left sloshed softly in a single waterskin on Akona¡¯s waist. It wasn¡¯t enough for the both of them on a good day; with all this running, it was worth even less than that. Styri¡¯s whole body went limp for a moment. ¡°Come on,¡± said Akona. ¡°Styri... Move. Move!¡± She pulled Styri back to her feet and they kept running, their sandals kicking up dust from the cracked earth. Soon there were sand grains mingled with the dust; dunes loomed on the horizon. A while later, she heard a quiet retching sound. A thin stream of bubbling vomit dribbled from Styri¡¯s mouth. She was too exhausted even to throw up properly. This was bad. But it was nothing compared to what would happen if the veracidins caught up to them. Akona knew that much. The sun was high in the clear blue sky that day, not a whisper of a cloud to be seen. It was hot¡ªnot oppressively hot, though, and this was an important distinction. She¡¯d come to learn that there were many thresholds of heat this far south and that some were miserable while others were lethal. She couldn¡¯t recall it ever being quite this hot at home in Myrenthos. She wondered if it would keep getting hotter or if this was the worst of it. That word, thought Akona. That one godsdamned word. Algahar. West. She¡¯d always had a problem with mixing up her directions, even though she¡¯d had ample practice with the Qardish language. If she hadn¡¯t misunderstood the captain in Umreh, they never would have boarded the wrong ship, and they never would have found themselves on the Stone Continent. They were farther from home now than they¡¯d ever been in their lives¡ªthan most Myrenthians had ever been. ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± Styri wheezed. ¡°Can¡¯t...¡± With that, her whole body went limp and she collapsed face-first onto the parched ground. ¡°Styri!¡± Akona hissed. She finally stopped running, though she still felt the buzzing of running in her legs, as if her ghost were running in place. She turned her twin over. Styri was bleeding from the nose. ¡°Sit up.¡± She needed her sister to sit up so that the blood would flow and clot, another bit of the glademothers¡¯ teachings; if she lay on her back, she¡¯d risk choking on her own blood. But Styri was in and out of alertness. One of her eyes was open just a sliver, the lids of her other eye stuck together with sweat and grime. To make matters worse, they were out in the open¡ªeasy targets for the agile Qardish men who hunted them. Akona had no choice. She lifted with all the strength her legs could muster, hoisting Styri¡¯s arms over her shoulders. She carried her sister on her back and set out at a stumbling jog deeper into the wasteland. South. They could only go south to escape Grackenwell. The Zan desert awaited them. *** Some time later, a worrying thing happened. Akona had lost track of the days since Castle Muadazim a long time ago. But now she¡¯d even lost track of the moons. How many moons had it been since they slew the conquering emperor in Qarda? Two moons? Three? No, it had to have been more than that. But four seemed too many... Or was it more still? She had no use presently for tracking the forms of Mother Moon or the seasonal orientations of the heavens. Her timekeeping was much simpler and more survivalist now. She learned that the heat did in fact grow progressively worse the deeper into the desert they traveled. All that mattered now was the sun. When it was high, they needed shelter. They needed protection. They slept in the heat of the day in whatever shade they could find or build and Akona prayed to the pantheon that their enemies would not find them. When the sun went down, they bundled themselves up against the chill of night and set off by starlight across the dark dunes. Akona found water by breaking open dense prickleplants and tasting their innards. She followed the wisdom of the glademothers, brushing her skin with the juice, tasting it gingerly, sensing for poison. It was an exercise in extreme patience. Caution was more crucial now than ever. ¡°Drink,¡± Akona groaned. She held the lip of the waterskin in front of Styri¡¯s mouth. ¡°Now.¡± ¡°No, you,¡± said Styri. She pushed it back toward her sister. ¡°You... need it.¡± ¡°Styri, just drink it.¡± They would go back and forth like this until Styri finally caved. Akona took less water than she needed, because Styri was the weaker one. But even with her sacrifice, even when she let her sister have the greater portion of the prickleplant flesh and juice, Styri grew noticeably weaker by the day. They were built for the temperate climate of Myrenthos, the woods of Dhasherah, even the jungles of greater Qarda. They were not adapted to the desert like the wandering people of Zan Vayonado. Akona worried they would die out in these sands. Or worse, that Styri would die before her. She couldn¡¯t even tolerate that thought. Day by day, they ate less and less, and one day, her hunger had grown bone deep. Styri said little anymore but she must have been feeling the same. Styri was always the huntress, but she had no use of her higher faculties in her current state. Akona was the one to kill the snake with rattling bones at the end of its tail. She built the fire using the desiccated remains of a woody desert plant. She cut up the snake¡¯s body with her knife, wrapping the meat around a stick to cook it thoroughly over the flames. A strong cook can ward off many illnesses, she remembered a glademother telling her. She got Styri to eat. Her older sister only nibbled a little on her portion of the meat in total silence, but it was better than nothing. As Akona gnawed on the tough, chewy meat, her memories were her only source of comfort¡ªmemories of a land she hoped to see again someday soon. *** When the man who hired them first arrived in their city, Akona didn¡¯t know what to make of him. He traveled with only four other men. They all wore traditional over-the-shoulder tunics, as well as black head coverings and Myrenthian festival masks. They spoke the language perfectly¡ªtoo perfectly. Something deep within her told her that they were not from Myrenthos. While the grass was still dewy, the men met with the city matriarch in the ampleum. Its ridged columns cast long morning shadows across the verdant landscape. Akona had been practicing her stealth as part of her training, so she was able to sneak up through the beadberry bushes and eavesdrop on their conversation. ¡°...must be handled swiftly and silently,¡± said the man¡¯s gruff voice. ¡°For the good of both our nations.¡± ¡°What do you propose?¡± the matriarch asked him. A laurel crown wreathed her bone-colored hair. She spoke with the gentleness of a grandmother but the quick wit of someone half her age. ¡°In delicate matters, words are best kept mysterious.¡± ¡°You value secrecy, as do I. I also value precision.¡± ¡°Who said a mystery must be imprecise?¡± The man made a curt grumbling sound. ¡°Very well. The only man for the task must be willing to keep to the shadows. He would never survive the daylight. Even all the fighting men loyal to me could not...¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. The matriarch raised her hand to interject. ¡°Perhaps a tiger is not the beast you need, then. A tiger relies on brute strength. Not so with the serpent. A serpent uses venom.¡± ¡°I see. You propose that this is a task befitting a serpent?¡± ¡°I do. You see, a serpent goes unnoticed easier than a tiger. And venom is a woman¡¯s weapon.¡± The man averted his masked face. ¡°In truth, it is. But I would not have said so in your presence. Not in this nation.¡± ¡°Do you think it an insult?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Do you think it an insult to be a woman?¡± The stranger bristled visibly, even in his mask. ¡°That is not what I said.¡± ¡°To say it¡¯s a woman¡¯s weapon is no insult at all, as far as I¡¯m concerned. On the contrary. The tiger is proud and strong, has the luxury of foolishness, but not the serpent. A serpent must be cunning or die.¡± ¡°This task requires a great deal of cunning. If you believe there is mutual benefit to my offer, I will defer to your judgment. But I can only buy your help if you will also sell me your secrecy. Even in death. Our words must never leave this ampleum.¡± The matriarch adjusted her crown of leaves. ¡°I¡¯m afraid my decision must first be sanctioned by a higher power.¡± ¡°You expect her to sanction this?¡± the man replied skeptically. ¡°If I wanted counsel with her, I¡¯d have sailed to Calketra myself.¡± ¡°I expect her to do what heals Myrenthos by the guidance of Mother Moon. If our goals align, then we will supply you with the serpents you need.¡± ¡°The best. That is what we both need.¡± ¡°The best are quite famous. The men of gold have a talent for whittling away at mysteries, no matter how brutal their means. We will not send our best. The serpents must be nobody¡ªotherwise, the truth will out.¡± ¡°My coins are not yours to spend! If I want the best, I will buy their service! Is that clear?¡± ¡°If you will buy anything from us, it will be on our terms alone. Sisters?¡± All of a sudden, four women descended from behind the hanging statues in the ampleum. They subdued the man¡¯s accomplices with ease. While he was distracted, the matriarch grazed his exposed wrist. Touch of stillness, Akona thought. She knew that move anywhere. They were pricked with poison needles that would bind their limbs for a time. ¡°Izzahd!¡± one of them grunted. A code word of some kind? The leader turned his head when he heard it, but addressed the matriarch instead. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± he asked. His voice was strained, his words becoming slow and deliberate. The toxin took quick effect and would linger for a long while after that as their bodies digested and expelled it. They would survive¡ªin the meantime, they would listen. ¡°I am no fool, stranger. You could just as easily be spies sent from Qarda to test the faith of your newly converted nation. I will agree to no deal, mysterious or not, that could endanger my sisters and brothers. I need proof.¡± ¡°What proof?¡± ¡°Check them,¡± she said simply. The sisters reached for the men¡¯s head coverings and they all grunted in protest. But the women only lifted their head coverings to the lobes of their ears. Sure enough, all four of the guards bore the branding of the quindent on their necks¡ªsigns of their lifelong servitude in Grackenwell. The matriarch chuckled. ¡°Ah. I deduced as much. I only needed to be sure. As you were, then.¡± ¡°Make us whole again,¡± the man wheezed. ¡°Or consider our partnership ended. Witch...¡± ¡°Do you think it an insult to be a witch?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Only time will make you whole again. And only time will tell if we are partners. Come along, little tigers. Ready yourselves for the journey to Calketra.¡± The sisters covered the five men¡¯s heads in opaque gray sacks, further obscuring their vision, and led them off into the woods downhill from the ampleum. Akona waited a while longer. She wanted the matriarch to leave before she emerged from the beadberry bushes. She felt as though she¡¯d learned too much by overhearing their conversation, but if she stayed perfectly still, as was another part of her rigorous training, then she could evade detection. ¡°It is as Prime Oracle Hessandra said it would be,¡± the matriarch sighed reverently. ¡°¡®A traveler from a far land will reveal the way.¡¯¡± She turned her head toward the beadberry bushes. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, little listener?¡± *** Akona was getting delirious. She feared this would happen. Part of her tutelage under the sage women of the woods was experiencing small doses of poisons, whether naturally occurring or brewed from other ingredients. The earth produced many substances that had a wide array of effects on the body. Some were lethal. Some caused a person to empty their bowels from one or both ends. Others caused itching, numbness, pain, burning, blindness, or even caused skin to wither and die. Some substances stimulated the mind and veins, made the heart race. Others made a person drowsy or fall into a deep sleep. Of all the substances she was forced to sample, her least favorite were those that caused hallucinations. She was made to bite a small corner of a chewy white stalk and left alone in a clearing to suffer whatever befell her. She spent that day and the better part of the night dreaming up hideous visions of the dead, of horrors that prowled the forests at night, and she didn¡¯t sleep for two nights after that. Now the delirium was coming back. This time, it wasn¡¯t from anything she ate, at least not according to her training. The prickleplants were safe to drink from¡ªshe¡¯d made sure of it. The snakes were safe to eat. It was something else. If she had to guess, she thought it must have been starvation. Maybe a lack of water. Maybe the heat poisoned them, cooked them from the inside out. A strong cook can ward off many illnesses, she remembered... someone telling her. The memory was foggy now. Styri, on the other hand, had gone totally unresponsive. She¡¯d lost her strength completely two or three days ago. Or was it four? It might have been even longer than that. Akona could scarcely keep track of even her recent memories anymore¡ªone morning, she found herself carrying Styri on her back across bright golden sand, realizing too late that the heat of day was already upon them. It was a frantic race to shade then. But her older sister didn¡¯t react anymore. She didn¡¯t speak. She could barely open her eyes¡ªalthough, for the past day, she wasn¡¯t able to open her eyes at all, even after being splashed with prickleplantwater and shaken violently. Akona didn¡¯t have the strength to take more drastic measures. All she could do was listen for the faint whistle of air in and out of her sister¡¯s mouth. Feel for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, which was far too infrequent. Sometimes she would press her fingers against Styri¡¯s throat, just under the chin, just like the glademothers had taught her, and feel for the beat of her heart. All she could do was check to make sure her sister was still alive. All she could do was keep walking. And soon, she knew she would be unable to do this, too. ¡°Mother Moon,¡± Akona mumbled, looking up at the half-lit sphere above. ¡°Help us.¡± In easier times, the phrase was a curse, something muttered under the breath in times of anger or annoyance. Now it was wholly sincere. She feared Styri wouldn¡¯t last another day¡ªand she herself would not be far behind. Her legs burned and ached as she ascended a tall dune. It was half-indigo in the moonlight, half black in the shadow. She heard a sound that made her stomach jump with joy inside her¡ªthe sound of trickling water. It¡¯s close, she thought. It sounds just like the stream at home! As she crested the dune, she looked down into the barely-lit desert and saw what appeared to be a winding black river. ¡°Almost there,¡± she rasped to Styri. She carried her sibling down the hill of sand and listened closely for the water, but the trickling stopped, and as she got closer to what she thought was the river, she realized it was a trick of the shadow. There was nothing there. She blinked and it was morning. It happened again. How much time had she lost this time? How long had she been walking without thinking? Styri was still on her back, and that was most important. She listened for her breathing¡ªit was silent. She felt for the rise and fall of her chest. Nothing. She was afraid to check for her heartbeat. She didn¡¯t. There was marshland up ahead. It looked just like Grackenwell. Maybe the upper borders of Dridon had similar ecology to their northern neighbors. But when she got closer, the canopy of trees disappeared, the marsh vegetation dissolving into the surrounding sands. She¡¯d been so sure of it a moment ago. She was beyond delirium now. She was going mad. ¡°Styri,¡± she breathed. Her lips were painfully chapped. Her dry tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. ¡°Styri.¡± There was no answer. There was no whistle. There was no breathing. This was the end¡ªshe could see it now. This was the end of them both. Maybe it was the justice of the gods for killing the man who had sent killers to Myrenthos. Since they, too, were killers now, maybe they had to die, just as he had to die for the lives he took. She recalled a passage from the Twenty-Nine Mysteries: Balance is the key to all things as life flows into death and back again. The goddess Tychene no longer smiled upon their good fortune. Akona saw more green trees, more water up ahead¡ªeven a small city. The beige buildings were alien to her, shaped a bit like the Grackenwelsh towns she saw and a bit like Qarda. Her memories were pooling and converging now. Nothing was real anymore. She realized she would never see her mother again. Her mother would never know how far they made it, the distant lands they traveled together in search of home. She hoped her mother would still be proud that they brought down the tyrant just like they were hired to do. We were nobodies, Akona thought. And we did it. Strangely, she had no desire to cry. Maybe it was because her body had no water left to spare. Maybe she was at peace. Maybe it was the madness that had taken hold in her mind. She was so delirious that she hallucinated tall trees all around her, and the mystical city her mind dreamed up had begun to waver and wobble like the lines of heat rising from the hot sand. They shouldn¡¯t have been out during the day. She forgot to make camp. But that was all over now. Styri was gone. Soon, she would be, too. She felt nothing but tired in that moment. She didn¡¯t even feel the sand as it rose up suddenly to hit her in the face. All she felt was tired. Then warm. Hooded figures stood around her. They, too, were alien to her¡ªmaybe ancestral spirits who hadn¡¯t yet been reincarnated, come to guide her and Styri into the afterlife. They were speaking a language she couldn¡¯t understand, their voices echoing hauntingly. One of them leaned down and said something else that she couldn¡¯t understand. Then the voice spoke in a language she knew but could not name¡ªsaid something that she could somehow translate in her mind. ¡°This one is still breathing,¡± said the voice. ¡°Hurry." Chapter Seventeen: LANOR IV I looked and saw a great thunderstorm bearing down from the west. I looked into the storm and beheld a great creature whose form was like bronze, and whose face was like brass, and which moved without rest. The air around it was like that from a blacksmith¡¯s forge. I beheld the creature and I knew it also beheld me. A great and terrible fear possessed me in that moment, but I did not turn and hide my face. I knew that if I hid from the creature, it would give chase and I would surely die. The creature spoke to me in a strange voice like the ringing of bells and said to me, ¡°I am an angel of Eloei. He commands you to throw yourself down from the mountain. If your faith is strong, He will lift you up on wings. If your faith is weak, you will perish on the rocks below.¡± I said unto the creature, ¡°Depart from me, you who would mock the wisdom of the One True God. For He has never appeared to me in a form such as this, nor has He sent another to speak on His behalf. It is the business of lesser creatures to test that which cannot be seen, but Eloei knows all that which is both seen and unseen, including the hearts of men.¡± The creature¡¯s face became like that of a madman and like that of a tiger. It turned and hid its face from me in the storm. When the storm passed, Eloei came to me again in a dream and said, ¡°He who weighs the sight of his eyes and the sound of his ears, with him I am most pleased.¡± -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 22, Verses 1-16 Palace of the Hierophant, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda Lanor rose from her four-pillared bed in the Hierophant¡¯s chamber of the palace. She had resisted adopting the trappings of her new role for as long as she could. Still, she felt like an impostor in this place, all alone in the commodious room that felt half as big as the Temple of Eloei itself. No amount of redecorating or ritual cleansing could erase her father¡¯s shadow from the palace. Not even the most enthusiastic cantor in all the land could sing a nasbilha loud enough to drown out the sound of her father¡¯s absence. Without his gregarious laughter booming through the halls, the palace still felt empty all these moons later. Lanor wet her two fingers in the golden bowl of consecrated water at her bedside. ¡°Man shall preserve the word by book,¡± she said, touching the water to her lips. Then her forehead. Then her throat. Then her chest. ¡°Man shall not enslave man. Man shall not kill unjustly.¡± The last Precept was hardest to say. ¡°All gods but Eloei are deceivers.¡± Lanor opened the wooden latticework shutters carved with interlacing diamond patterns and let in the cool morning air. The snowy summit of Mount Tulaylal poked through the lingering fog to the north. She went through the motions. Touched her forehead once against the resplendent tile floor. She began the kohfahr, the Dawn Prayer. ¡°Glory to Eloei, Maker of the Morning and the New Dawn,¡± she recited. ¡°Guide my...¡± She sighed. The words came flowing like normal, but there was even less feeling to them now. ¡°Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble. Guard my heart from the wiles of the Hateful One. Intercede for me, O Word Among Men...¡± Lanor lifted her head from the floor. Clouds had rolled in to obscure Mount Tulaylal in the distance. Now that she was done wallowing in her grief, and now that overdue matters of the hierophany were handled for the time being, she had more time to reflect on her faith. Questions begot nothing but more questions. ¡°Eloei the Merciful,¡± she muttered with mockery in her heart. ¡°But not to my father.¡± She clapped a hand over her mouth. There was a time when she would have been afraid even to think such a thought, let alone speak it into the world. It was heresy. Then again, was it truly heresy if there was no one to cast judgment on her? She was the highest seat of authority in Qarda¡ªin all the world, some would argue. Even still, she bit her lower lip, scolding herself internally. Perhaps some doubts were better left unspoken. There was a knock at her chamber door. ¡°My Prophetess?¡± said Sashani. ¡°Come in,¡± Lanor answered. A pause. ¡°I will in a moment, Your Holiness. You have a visitor.¡± ¡°Hierophant Lanor.¡± It was the voice of her uncle Ghamal. ¡°I am sorry to interrupt you so early in the morning. It cannot wait.¡± Lanor¡¯s heart skipped a beat. It was early for her uncle Ghamal to visit¡ªthis either boded well or extremely poorly. She held out hope for the former, that he came bearing good news. ¡°Enter.¡± The golden claw doorknob turned and Ghamal stepped through the doorway. He wore bags under his eyes, his beard unkempt and whitening by the day. Sashani folded her hands and bowed demurely in the background as the vizier closed the door behind him. ¡°You look tired, Uncle,¡± said Lanor. ¡°What troubles you?¡± He rubbed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose between them. ¡°Please, sit.¡± The middle-aged man collapsed into the velvet chair in the nearest corner of the chamber. ¡°I have been up all night speaking with the veracidins. They have learned much in their travels and from the birds.¡± ¡°Any news?¡± She didn¡¯t need to specify anymore. It was the first thing she asked about each day, and she never tired of asking. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not,¡± Ghamal replied, and Lanor¡¯s shoulders slumped in her white-and-gold sleep gown. ¡°There are leads. I have reports from Dhasherah, Jal Hakhan, and even as far north as Umreh. But nothing is certain.¡± He never had news for her. She resisted the urge to attack the messenger¡ªshe knew it wasn¡¯t his fault that her father¡¯s killer was able to evade capture. She longed for the day when the killer was finally brought before her to face justice. She hoped it would come soon. ¡°What else?¡± Lanor asked. She sat in another opulent gold-framed chair opposite his. ¡°I¡¯m sure you didn¡¯t come at kohfahr to tell me there was no update.¡± Ghamal heaved a deep sigh. ¡°I have bad news and worse news. Which would you like first, my niece?¡± Lanor closed her eyes, felt them rolling up into her skull as if to hide. ¡°Give me the bad news, I suppose. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m ready for the worse news this early.¡± ¡°Cushion the blow¡ªgood thinking.¡± Ghamal cleared his throat. ¡°You recall the day last moon when you took supplicants well into the night and finally saw the last of them, yes?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Lanor¡¯s duties tending to the needy citizens of Qarda had become manageably few and far between since then. ¡°Well, first, there is the matter of the young woman who claimed her copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen had been stolen.¡± ¡°We sent her the fourth edition copy, right? The veracidins couldn¡¯t find her family¡¯s copy in the markets.¡± ¡°We did send it.¡± Her uncle nodded disappointedly. ¡°The veracidin who investigated further said he found no evidence of that woman¡¯s family ever owning such a rare copy of the Testament. To add to that, upon receiving her rare fourth edition copy before that veracidin could report back his findings, the young woman sold it the very next day to the highest bidder in an eastern port market.¡± Lanor ground her teeth. ¡°So, she lied to my face to make a sack of akkahs off my sympathy. And where is she now? Awaiting trial, or has the veracidin yet to arrest her?¡± Ghamal shook his head. ¡°Likely bought passage to Xheng Yu Xi that very day. She¡¯s long gone now, and not worth the coins she stole to chase across the sea.¡± Lanor adjusted the sleep covering that bound her coarse black hair. ¡°Well, that¡¯s unfortunate. What is the worse¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not finished,¡± Ghamal interrupted. ¡°The young boy whose toy collection you replaced? It was all a ruse. He was sent here by a different group of swindling merchants from Khaad. A set of royally-sewn stuffed monkeys straight from the Palace likely paid for their retirement.¡± ¡°Well, we can¡¯t very well arrest the boy. But those men¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m not finished. The woman with the coffee stand? She sold it a year ago to pay off her gambling debts, which, I can only assume, is what brought her here to ask for more money. I wouldn¡¯t count on seeing a repayment of the loan you gave her in this lifetime.¡± Ghamal paused. ¡°Let me guess,¡± Lanor sighed. ¡°You¡¯re not finished.¡± ¡°The pregnant widow who feared for her unborn child due to the stress of the assassination was actually just holding a melon under her nusin. A passing paladin outside her home saw her remove it and start cutting it up to feed her family¡ªa family which contained a husband who was very much alive. The aspiring but impoverished scholar from the south who asked you for a loan to fund his studies spent the lump sum of it on Myrenthian prostitutes. ¡°Let¡¯s see, what else? Oh, the old man with the raided grain silos. A veracidin determined that your very first supplicant was actually just senile. He misremembered a theft that had occurred shortly after the death of your great-grandfather. Now his already-full silos are overflowing.¡± Lanor groaned into the palms of her hands. ¡°Surely they couldn¡¯t all have been dishonest?¡± ¡°The goatherd whose flock was slaughtered in the middle of the night? He was actually just a shepherd. All you did by ¡®replacing¡¯ his goats was diversify his business. But...¡± Ghamal raised a finger. ¡°...the rest of them were legitimate. Especially the boy with the firehornet¡¯s nest in his house. That was a very serious issue that your paladins have solved for his family.¡± The young hierophant frowned at her personal copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, which sat on a bedside plinth of limestone. The tome¡¯s pages were edged in gold, the ink inscriptions on the cover were gold¡ªeven the ribbon that marked her place was pressed with gold leaf. All that for a book that sat beside her bed. All the resources that went into supporting her rule¡ªand what had she done? Squandered them. ¡°I¡¯ve sullied my father¡¯s throne with my own stupidity,¡± Lanor muttered. ¡°My niece!¡± Ghamal exclaimed. ¡°These thieves can all be dealt with in their proper time. You should not be so harsh with yourself.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± Her vizier looked at her with solemn eyes¡ªthe most deadly serious she¡¯d seen him in a long, long time. Maybe since that night in Dhasherah. ¡°Lanor, listen to me very carefully. You are exactly where Eloei needs you to be. You are doing exactly what Eloei has willed. We both are. Your reign is still young¡ªall of this will become clear to you soon. I promise.¡± She shook her head but acquiesced. ¡°I hope, for all our sakes, that you¡¯re right.¡± She had no choice but to believe him for now¡ªjust like Eloei. She swallowed her rising anxiety. ¡°All right. Let¡¯s hear the worse news then.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Ghamal folded his hands, sitting up straight in his velvet chair. It was like he was preparing to tell her some great tragedy. ¡°The Synod has called for a congregation. Here. In one moon¡¯s time.¡± All at once, it felt like the floor had fallen out beneath her. It was a good thing she was sitting. She was sure she must have misheard him. ¡°What did you say?¡± ¡°The Synod will convene here in Qarda exactly twenty-seven days from today. Elders, clerics, and scribes are on their way as we speak from all over the land. This will be their first congregation in over a century.¡± A chill shot up her spine; her heart was pounding in her throat. She knew the gravity of a Synod congregation from the many religious leadership lessons of her childhood, how the Synod only gathered to examine and ratify strict religious doctrine for the Eloheed. It was the Synod who determined the order of succession for the hierophany almost two thousand years ago. It was the Synod¡¯s decision which reunited Qarda after the Sixty Years¡¯ Schism. They had only ever declared an official congregation a handful of times in the nearly two millennia since Kahlo Hadrizeen took power. ¡°Why?¡± she asked. ¡°Why are they doing this?¡± ¡°You must prepare yourself, Lanor. I won¡¯t lie to you. This is a very serious development¡ªbut it is one that we can weather. I promise.¡± Ghamal rose, his hands folded behind his back, and he strode to the open window that bared the city of Rayyaq Raleed. ¡°There is growing sentiment here in Qarda that your claim to the throne is not legitimate.¡± ¡°But how?¡± Lanor rose as well, her brow furrowed. ¡°I am my father¡¯s daughter¡ªI am obviously the child of my mother, his only wife!¡± ¡°You are his only child, yes. But you are also a girl.¡± These words hit Lanor like a punch to the gut. She was so deep now in the hierophany, so used to being called Hierophant Lanor, Prophetess, Your Holiness, and so forth, that she had somehow forgotten the harsh truth her father and uncle had tried delicately to prepare her for over the years. ¡°I see,¡± she said gravely. Ghamal raised a rhetorical finger. ¡°A congregation is no guarantee of a consensus. It¡¯s merely an indication that the legitimacy of your reign is something the Synod takes very seriously. The more elderly members are... how shall I put this... more stuck in their ways. A third of this nation questions you as the hierophant because you are female. Another third is devoted to you because you are the child of your father¡ªone of the most popular hierophants who has reigned in centuries.¡± Ghamal rolled his eyes at that, as if playfully annoyed with his younger brother. ¡°The last third is undecided. It is their hearts you must win.¡± ¡°But how? I¡¯ve done everything you¡¯ve told me to do.¡± ¡°They will believe you are the true heir when you show them a sign from Eloei they cannot deny. You must achieve some great victory.¡± Lanor paced around the royal chamber. Out of the corner of her vision, she eyed the Testament, which seemed to gaze back at her from its pedestal. She reflected on how her father had paced these same tiles only a few moons ago, weighing the same sorts of decisions that she now weighed, shaping the future of the same nation she was now responsible for leading. It was eerie. He felt farther now than ever. He felt as distant, as sterilely historical, as the First Prophet himself. She turned to face Ghamal, and in this moment, he was her vizier rather than her uncle, and she addressed him as such. ¡°How would you suggest I achieve victory?¡± ¡°I suggest you follow in your father¡¯s footsteps.¡± Ghamal gesticulated again as he talked. ¡°As you well remember, Grackenwell has broken its accord with us. They have taken slaves again for the first time in several years¡ªin direct defiance of the Second Precept. You remember our discussions with the generals. Qarda has long feared to engage those iron men in direct battle, and so your father made Grackenwell a Land of Accord after nearly a century of military stalemates. They have broken the deal that was offered to them. They give you no choice.¡± ¡°You think we should invade,¡± she concluded. Ghamal shrugged. ¡°These are your words. Not mine. But what would your father do? And look at how the people loved him dearly.¡± He winced with his following words. ¡°I, on the other hand, have a less desirable task ahead of me. I have always been a staunch critic of your father¡¯s way of doing things. I will go on record as being firmly, but respectfully opposed to your decision.¡± ¡°Why would you do that?¡± ¡°Because when you are victorious, the people will see you made the right choice for Qarda¡ªthat you were wise even beyond my advice to you.¡± ¡°But they will ridicule you for opposing me.¡± Lanor arched an eyebrow. ¡°You would do all this for me, Uncle?¡± His gentle smile faded. ¡°Everything I do, I do for the glory of Eloei. As should you. This is what Qarda needs now that your father is gone. We all have our roles to play, Lanor.¡± She nodded. ¡°I understand.¡± Ghamal bowed and made his way to the door, pausing with his hand hovering over the golden knob. He turned back to say one last thing. ¡°Prepare for the day. Wear the ceremonial colors of war. We should make the announcement before zahuahr today. I will send you the details in a note shortly.¡± ¡°Thank you, Uncle,¡± she said, and he was gone. The midday prayer, she thought. So soon... She looked out her window apprehensively at the capital city, deciding instead to close her shutters. She was not yet ready to face the world that expected her today. But she would have to be. *** ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Sashani asked. She handed Lanor the polished bronze mirror. Lanor saw her handmaiden¡¯s handiwork. Draped across her forehead was a silver diadem bejeweled with obsidian and amethyst, heraldic colors of war in Qarda. Her hair was braided neatly over her shoulder and bound with thick silver rings. Dark eye makeup encircled her eyes with skillfully painted red eye shadow¡ªall traditional markings of female royalty in wartime. She was the least traditional hierophant Qarda had ever seen, so she favored tradition in every other regard. ¡°It¡¯s perfect,¡± Lanor said with a smile. ¡°Thank you.¡± All that was left to do was slip the Crown of Hierophany onto her head. She kept things light with Sashani, but deep down, the pressure of what she was about to do weighed heavily on her shoulders. Just when it seemed Qarda was ready to resume a sense of normalcy, war was on the horizon. Hundreds would die. Maybe thousands. And what if she did nothing? Scores of slaves would work themselves to death across the sea, hoping and praying for a Qardish savior to break their chains, maybe even praying to Eloei Himself. And she would deny them. She would stay seated in her comfortable, cushioned throne, play it safe, let Qarda¡¯s enemy get away with violating human dignity, and she¡¯d lose even more favor with her citizens until one day, there would be no one who felt compelled to protect her from the usurpers. And then the Sanzeen bloodline would die with her. A knock at her chamber door. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings, Hierophant Lanor,¡± said the muffled voice of a paladin. ¡°And also to you,¡± she answered. ¡°The royal vizier Ghamal Sanzeen wishes to inform you that he is ready and waiting in the Blessed Hall. With respect, he awaits your arrival at the time of your choosing.¡± ¡°I understand. Thank you.¡± The way people went out of their way, tripping over themselves to submit to her authority¡ªit had made her uncomfortable from the very day she assumed the throne. But now she was beginning to fear the day when they stopped showing her this level of respect. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± she told Sashani, and her mouth dried out. ¡°Eloei guide your footsteps,¡± she replied with a cheerful smile. Lanor missed the old days. The days when she and Sashani could share trivial gossip, braid each other¡¯s hair for fun instead of in preparation for some important event, spend the day reading classical Qardish poetry in the palace gardens, or even the way Sashani used to squeal and jump when Lanor showed off her pet scorpions. Those days were all behind them now. Forever. The young hierophant made her way to the Blessed Hall, paladins in gold-plated armor flanking her on either side. The palace¡¯s hall hosted a huge crowd for the midday meal, people of every class and profession. There were merchants, booksellers, and farmers. There were butchers, local clerics and those visiting from neighboring cities, and poor beggars who lived on the streets of Rayyaq Raleed. There were paladins, veracidins, guards, soldiers, scribes, as well as nine Synod members, distinguished by their bronze-rimmed eyeglasses that they wore around their necks when not in use. Nine¡ªa dreadfully unlucky number. ¡°Why are they here?¡± Lanor asked her uncle discreetly. The din of surrounding conversation masked her words. ¡°I invited all guests in the city who wished to attend, and accepted the first two hundred,¡± Ghamal answered, cupping a hand over his mouth in secrecy. ¡°I couldn¡¯t very well turn them away at the door. But this is good¡ªthey will be here to see your leadership. ¡®Eloei makes even our stumbling blocks into boons.¡¯¡± That verse from the Testament did little to comfort her now. ¡°Will you make the announcement, Uncle?¡± ¡°With all due respect to the reigning hierophant... I would if I could, but this is your decision, Lanor. It would be improper of me.¡± ¡°It was worth a try.¡± Lanor stood from her velvet chair at the head of the Blessed Hall¡¯s royal table. She held up her right hand, thumb bent to her palm and four fingers pointed to the sky, the traditional Eloheed benediction. The room soon fell silent. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings to you all.¡± ¡°And also to you, Your Holiness,¡± came the booming reply of her hundreds of guests speaking in unison. ¡°Thank you for joining me today for this feast on such short notice. Before the zahuahr, I have an important announcement to make.¡± Her heart raced, her face going hot, as she painstakingly recalled all the important details from her uncle¡¯s note. ¡°As you all may have heard, in the wake of my father¡¯s brutal... cowardly... evil assassination, the Stonish nation of Grackenwell has reinstituted slavery.¡± Assorted murmurs rose up from the crowd. ¡°What¡¯s more, they have conquered the righteous Tomeless of the Grand Archipelago. Put them to the sword. Taken the rest as slaves.¡± She had her audience¡¯s undivided attention now. ¡°It is easy to identify them as a prime suspect for my father¡¯s murder. ¡°Even if this were not the case, slavery alone is evil enough in the eyes of Eloei that Qarda went to war against Grackenwell almost one hundred years ago. It was my great-great-grandfather, Iban Sanzeen, who first set sail to correct this awful, awful sin. A hundred years of stalemates and redrawn treaties did nothing to save the innocent Grackenwelsh slaves from their torment. ¡°My father made Grackenwell a Land of Accord to settle the war once and for all. He let them govern themselves with minimal supervision. He burned none of their books. He agreed not to tax them a single coin. He made generous trade agreements with them. And now that he is dead...¡± The words caught in her throat. Her eyes glazed over with a layer of tears, but she pressed on. ¡°...they waited not even a year to chain their slaves and start conquering their side of the world. Zan Vayonado may be next. Dridon after that. And then what? I will not let the evil men who rule Grackenwell escape my judgment.¡± Hesitant but impassioned words of assent rose up from the crowd. Several men threw themselves down from their seats and bowed to her with religious fervor. She felt a surge of pride in that moment. Her speech got easier with every word. ¡°As of this day,¡± Lanor went on, ¡°I renew Qarda¡¯s declaration of war against Grackenwell and any who abide its treachery. At dawn tomorrow, a thousand fighting Eloheed set sail for the Stone Continent. I will remind Grackenwell of the promises they broke and the consequences of their shameless sin by finishing what the Sanzeen lineage started. No innocent man, woman, or child will ever wear chains or be kept as property ever again, in Grackenwell or anywhere else in the whole wide world that belongs to Eloei. Let the world see the might of the Eloheed. Let them learn why Qarda is the most prosperous nation the world has ever known¡ªbecause Eloei wills it!¡± At this, the crowd cheered outright. The poor and the merchants leaped up from their chairs to jump, holler, and whistle their approval. The throng of guests bowed to her in waves, some bowing two or more times. The religious leaders applauded quietly but applauded nonetheless¡ªeven those of the Synod. ¡°Now,¡± she said with a relieved smile, ¡°before I lead today¡¯s zahuahr, I would like to take this opportunity to welcome representatives of the Synod to today¡¯s feast. Your presence was unexpected... but you are always welcome here. I hope you enjoy your stay in the Palace in the coming days.¡± The oldest-looking of the Synod members stood to address her. In fact, he was the archelder, the most distinguished of the Synod¡¯s four elders and effectively its leader. She remembered from her father¡¯s political dealings that his name was Rhadiz Tal. ¡°Eloei grace you, Your Holiness,¡± said Rhadiz politely, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. ¡°In the spirit of taking opportunities, allow me to thank you for this generous feast. And, if you would, allow me also to speak on behalf of the Synod.¡± A hush fell over the crowd once more. ¡°What I say now is not a challenge, nor a threat to your rule, Eloei¡¯s blessings upon you. I would like to state for the record that I do support your decision to wage holy war against Grackenwell. However...¡± He bowed his head as he spoke, choosing his words carefully. ¡°...neither this timely announcement, nor any attempts to curry favor with the people of Qarda, will have any bearing on the Synod¡¯s decision. The congregation is in twenty-seven days. The word of Eloei alone will prevail.¡± Lanor exchanged a look with Ghamal, who shook his head grimly. ¡°Of course,¡± she finally replied. ¡°As Eloei wills it...¡± ¡°...so shall it be,¡± Rhadiz Tal finished for her. He raised his goblet of wine. ¡°Blessings of Eloei to the current hierophant, as ever.¡± She couldn¡¯t help but dwell on his emphasis of the word current. So much meaning hinged on less than a single word, but rather the inflection placed upon it. It didn¡¯t matter if the archelder meant it as a threat¡ªshe took it as one. The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. All throughout the zahuahr and even throughout the feast, she ruminated on her late father¡¯s words. Do you see weakness in me, Rhadiz Tal? How will you strike? Chapter Eighteen: LUCANH III Every virtue is equidistant from two vices. Patience is the virtue between inaction and hastiness. Meditation is the virtue between sleep and restlessness. Love is the virtue between indifference and idolization. Thus is every behavior of man a triangle, and thus is the triangle the sacred geometry at the heart of all things. -The Triptych; Book of Heights, Panel 3 Castle Tern, Dridon Lucanh blocked Sir Godwald¡¯s attack. He was growing more consistent with his blocks, and they both knew it. Pride surged through him. Then the knight evaded his block and pressed the tip of his sparring sword against Lucanh¡¯s unarmored belly. The prince grunted angrily. ¡°Better,¡± said Sir Godwald, ¡°but not good enough. Again.¡± They ran the drill for the twenty-fifth time this session¡ªLucanh had been keeping count. He yearned for a new lesson, new forms, new drills, but Sir Godwald had been particular about perfecting a routine before moving on to another one. Something was different about the man now; he was more uptight and demanding of Lucanh than usual. He treated him less like royalty and more like a proper student. ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll succeed?¡± Lucanh asked. The knight followed through with the rest of the routine and beat the prince even faster this time. He furrowed his brow with disappointment. ¡°Bad form. We¡¯ll have to run that again, but you were distracted. You can do better next time.¡± ¡°What do you think?¡± ¡°Your problem is that you¡¯re overthinking each move. You can¡¯t be this slow and calculating in the field. You must be dynamic with your moves, so practiced that they become like reflexes that you¡ª¡± ¡°Sir Godwald,¡± the prince interrupted. ¡°The Eloheed. My mother said Dridic patrol ships saw them sailing west. That they must¡¯ve declared war. You don¡¯t have to hide it from me anymore. Do you think they¡¯ll win?¡± The knight sighed. ¡°I have no way of knowing that, my prince. All we can do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst.¡± He frowned down at his sparring sword. ¡°Knowing Grackenwell, I¡¯d place my wager on the worst.¡± ¡°But the Eloheed are the greatest soldiers in the world. They have an army of four hundred thousand. Don¡¯t they? Forty thousand in the navy, and more ships than the Stone Continent and Xheng Yu Xi combined. How could they possibly lose?¡± ¡°Think it through. There are a great many factors that decide a battle. What did I tell you about your sword and the size of your muscles?¡± ¡°Right.¡± Lucanh instinctively tapped his boot on the stone floor, finding sure footing. ¡°Ever since Grackenwell took the Grand Archipelago, and whatever happened in Zan Vayonado... They seem like children testing their own boundaries. Seeing what they can get away with. It can¡¯t possibly last, can it?¡± The knight rested the end of his sparring sword on the stone floor and folded his hands over the hilt. ¡°All due respect, it¡¯s best you don¡¯t concern yourself with these matters right now, Your Grace. Just hone your skills and pray to Triad that you aren¡¯t forced to use them. That¡¯s all any of us can do.¡± ¡°Does that mean we¡¯re done for the day?¡± Sir Godwald smirked. He picked up his practice blade again, twirling it in one hand. ¡°Nice try. Just for that, we have to run that last drill three more times even after you perfect it. Now, again.¡± Lucanh sighed and readied his own pretend sword. He wished he knew more about the ensuing war to the north. He said a silent prayer to Triad that the Qardish army succeeded in cracking down on this Grackenwelsh defiance, that order would be restored to the world. But a secret selfish sliver of his heart hoped that Grackenwell would invade Dridon one day. He couldn¡¯t deny his own burning curiosity for the rush of battle, what war was really like. The slavers deserved to suffer for what they did. Then he could finally prove himself. *** The dinners served in Castle Tern were waning thinner and thinner. On this day, they had only a chicken breast and a few florets of steamed broccoli each. The seasonings were light. Lucanh was free to have two goblets of milk, at least, and his mother¡¯s helpings of wine had actually increased since this whole rationing business began. For dessert, there was a freshly baked blackberry pastry, tart and flaky. Small, though. Rationing most food was the least that Dridon¡¯s royalty could do. Dark days loomed on the horizon, and they were the only ones who could truly prepare the nation on a large scale. Silos swelled with grain that would last a long while; jars filled up with vegetables and fruits pickled, fermented, preserved. Jerky hung on racks to dry in smokehouses while fromagers rolled out wheel after wheel of hard cheese for aging. All of it was orchestrated and paid for by Castle Tern, and the laborers they conscripted were doing upstanding work. Hopefully it would all prove unnecessary. At least, that¡¯s what Lucanh¡¯s mother would always say. She¡¯d grown quieter ever since the day that news arrived from Zan Vayonado. She sulked, frowned, moved about the castle like a sad shut-in, sighed bitterly and often. She attended less to official royal business and drank more wine than ever. Sometimes even spirits. The drink was the one thing she showed no interest in rationing. ¡°Where are you going after dinner?¡± Queen Rhoda slurred. She¡¯d hardly picked at her food; it would go to her four royal dogs behind the castle yet again, and the pets¡¯ breakfasts would be that much lighter. ¡°You never stay and talk anymore. I hardly see you.¡± ¡°Nowhere, mother,¡± Lucanh replied. ¡°Do you promise?¡± She fixed her half-lit eyes on his. ¡°I worry about you.¡± He hated the way she acted when she drank too much, and it made him vow never to drink a drop of the lightest ale or the weakest wine even when he came of age. He was sure of it. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Yes, mother.¡± ¡°Sir Godwald will tell me if you¡¯ve been fibbing. He¡¯ll keep a good eye on you.¡± Lucanh scoffed. ¡°So? Sir Godwald isn¡¯t even the High Knight. He has no authority over me.¡± Queen Rhoda jabbed a finger at her son, outraged. ¡°Lucanh!¡± She swayed a bit, blinking ineffectually, pursing her lips. The flash of anger faded from her face as quickly as it had appeared. ¡°It¡¯s not safe to wander outside at night anymore. Even if you do think you¡¯re a man now. I don¡¯t care how much you¡¯ve trained with Sir Godwald. Do you understand me?¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Somehow.¡± ¡°What is this new attitude of yours?¡± Lucanh stood from his seat at the royal table. ¡°I don¡¯t think I am a man now. I am a man now! I¡¯m getting stronger by the day. And you¡¯ll have to start treating me like a man if war comes to Dridon!¡± He thought his words would move her, especially in her emotional state, but she waved a dismissive hand. ¡°So quick to throw yourself into harm¡¯s way, no matter how desperately I try to protect you." She went to drain her chalice of its wine and paused. ¡°Like father, like son.¡± He slammed his hand down on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about my father like that! How many times have you told me not to speak ill of the dead?¡± His mother drew back and softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know you aren¡¯t my little boy anymore and you just want to be brave. That¡¯s what worries me, Luke. I just want you to be safe.¡± He rolled his eyes again. ¡°Never mind. This is why I can¡¯t talk to you about anything.¡± He stormed past her on his way out of the hall. ¡°I¡¯m going to go read.¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear that,¡± his mother said quietly, to herself or no one in particular. He said nothing in return. He wanted nothing more than to get away from her and back to more important business. *** The lighting in the royal library was woefully inadequate. Candles and tall shelves of books didn¡¯t mix well. Lucanh squinted to read the finely printed text of the Book of Heights, so much of it packed together so as to conserve space, walls of undivided text taller and tighter than anything a mason could make of stone. Every shred of his concentration was hard at work. It didn¡¯t help that it was such a boring book. But there was knowledge to be found in every corner of the Triptych¡ªor so he¡¯d been told. The Book of Heights also happened to be the book with the fewest illustrated panels. Panel Three, some dull lesson about virtues, Panel Eleven, that stupid boy and the beehive, and then Panel Twenty-Six, the Winters of the Squirrel and the Bear. Virtue, faith, patience. Generosity, restraint, prudence. Preparedness, stoicism, strength. Boredom. Tedium. Monotony. ¡°Prince Lucanh¡ª¡± He jumped. In the doorway was Sir Godwald, who held out his hands in apology. ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± the boy exhaled. ¡°I meant not to startle you, Your Grace,¡± said the knight. ¡°I only came to check on you during my rounds.¡± He eyed the open Triptych on the pedestal. ¡°Reading the Book of Heights, eh? Glad to see that.¡± Lucanh closed the immense tome. His finger traced the triangles and triskelions engraved in interlocking patterns of threes across the cover of the book. ¡°Has Triad ever answered your prayers?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± the knight answered without hesitation. ¡°Not always in the way I expected, though.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t mean like that. I mean, have you ever really felt Triad¡¯s answer? For example... you¡¯re a knight. Have you ever asked Triad to make you stronger?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t say as I have.¡± Now even Sir Godwald was beginning to frustrate him. He rolled his eyes. ¡°So you were just born this way.¡± ¡°Not at all, Your Grace. I worked at it when I was your age. Just like you are.¡± ¡°And you never asked for help to get stronger? You never asked Triad to give you...¡± Lucanh searched for the right words. ¡°...you know, strength beyond a normal man¡¯s?¡± Sir Godwald shook his head. ¡°Not in the way you¡¯re asking. I suppose I felt I was strong enough to do what needed to be done.¡± This did not mesh with Lucanh¡¯s understanding of the word, or the world at large. ¡°What do you mean? Why wouldn¡¯t you want to be stronger than you are?¡± ¡°Strength and skill and even wisdom aren¡¯t the end goals,¡± the knight answered. Riddles within riddles. ¡°What is that supposed to mean? Then why train or learn anything at all?¡± ¡°They all mean nothing if you only wield them on your own behalf. It¡¯s others who are most important. It¡¯s others you must protect. This is the code of a knight.¡± Lucanh still didn¡¯t understand. Of course that was what a hero did¡ªprotect others, ride into battle on behalf of the weak, and save the day. That was what made them heroes. That is why he wanted to become stronger, faster, smarter, better than he already was. He couldn¡¯t envision getting to the point that he lost interest in bettering himself. ¡°That will be all, Sir Godwald,¡± said the prince. ¡°Your Grace,¡± he said with a bow, and he turned to leave. ¡°Wait.¡± The knight paused in the doorway, turning back around with his hands held dutifully at his sides. ¡°Before you go... I am a man already, but I know I still have some growing left to do. I think I can still get a lot stronger if I¡¯m diligent about it. When in your life did you feel strongest?¡± The knight gave him a sad smile. ¡°When I had to be.¡± The knight left him with yet another riddle and ventured out on his rounds through Castle Tern. Lucanh was done with reading for the night. He was done with the Triptych, except maybe one panel that motivated him through his training sessions. It came from the Book of Earth, Panel Twenty. He dropped to the floor of the royal library and did pushups. He had a routine where he would work and work and work until he felt he could do no more¡ªbut this was his mind failing him, not his body, and that was when he knew to keep going. He recited the verse to keep his focus. ¡°¡®A boy lives by his first wind alone,¡¯¡± he grunted. ¡°¡®A man must find his... second wind and persevere.¡¯¡± His arms bent and pushed him fast at first, but his dwindling stamina would soon slow him down¡ªthat was when he would find his second wind to keep going. ¡°¡®A hero is he... who finds a third wind... beyond it.¡¯¡± He had never found his third wind. He knew he would someday, though. Lucanh kept going until the muscles of his arms started to give out beneath him. This was a trick his mind played¡ªit was not that he couldn¡¯t keep going, only that it required willpower. He willed himself to push past the burning in his muscles and the instinct for weakness. Sweat trickled down his forehead to the tip of his nose and a droplet fell to the floor. It was usually at the hundredth pushup that he found his second wind. Today, he¡¯d gone even longer. I can do this, he thought. Mother doesn¡¯t understand. My teachers don¡¯t understand. Sir Godwald doesn¡¯t even understand. No one understands me¡ªbut I don¡¯t need them to. I can get stronger all by myself. Then they¡¯ll see I was right all along. ¡°¡®A boy lives... by his first wind... alone,¡¯¡± he grunted, repeating the mantra. Lucanh decided it was noble to chase after his own goals and ambitions even if only he alone could realize them, even if others didn¡¯t understand. It was noble to be alone and without the help of others. It was something a man would do. Chapter Nineteen: KIMBEL IV ¡°My life has long been filled with much suffering,¡± said the Bogman. ¡°Must I do unto others what has been done to me?¡± The Everswamp answered, ¡°This is the way of man. This is the way of the world.¡± And Death was upon him, the last and greatest master. So the Bogman sacrificed himself, body and mind, to the Everswamp. He was granted everlasting life and power beyond men. The Bogman asked, ¡°What of mercy?¡± The Everswamp answered, ¡°What is mercy but justice forsaken?¡± -The Legend of the Bogman Holcort, Grackenwell The morning smelled dewy, as far as Kimbel could tell through the sack over his head. His four handlers marched him down a winding, gravelly road to a destination that had not one name but many, and which changed every time he asked: Shut Up, A Land of Honey and Sweet Breads and Pretty Girls, Where Do You Think, Your Mother¡¯s House Because She Misses Us, Exactly Where I Say You¡¯re Going Brat, and Oh You¡¯ll See. The fine, sharp stones hurt Kimbel¡¯s feet. He had the grave and all too plausible intuition that he was about to die. His mind raced. What led him here. What happened. What lay ahead, he hoped and hoped not. He may as well have been a slave boy who had stolen the crown in the dead of night. So cold was his father now, a parent only by blood, an impassive king in every sentiment. He was pure power lorded over the weak. Cold as the Bogman. Every bit as mighty. Power. Power was the law of the land in Grackenwell. It was a truth Kimbel knew and used to love; he was more accustomed to being the gator than the waterfowl, and the turning of the tables prodded a sore spot deep in his heart. He felt something alien. For the first time, he pitied, truly pitied, the slaves. He had yet to feel any affection for them, not even compassion. But his hatred for them, his love for their mockery and torment, was mysteriously absent now, like a bad fever of his had broken and he¡¯d sweat out his malice. Hane. Poor old man. Pitiable. Not unlike a sick, mangy dog that he would frown at but not want to touch. It was a subtle change in the chemistry of Kimbel¡¯s heart. Still, it was enough for him to notice. Maybe he could attribute this to his desperate howling dread of death. His head was swimming. Whoosh. The sack flew off his head, ripped off, and the world was bathed in blue pre-dawn twilight. His quickening breaths made fog in the cool morning air like smoke out of a freshly fired cannon. The world around him clarified blink by blink. A crowd stood gathered before him made of the bored, the angry, the excited, and the worried. He wasn¡¯t sure which type of onlooker frightened him the most. He stood on an elevated platform of stone. Behind him, the prison guards. To his left, the stocks; they were stained with flecks of old blood from past victims. To his right, a tall but unadorned wooden throne with a plain desk in front of it, which already held a scroll, a quill, and a well of ink. Teralt hadn¡¯t been bluffing. Kimbel truly was about to face his trial. Not in Holcort proper, though. Not before an audience of noblemen. They were on the outskirts of the city, and these were commoners assembled here, dirty, simple, and there were even some slaves among them. This was where offenders of the lower classes were tried and punished. Peasants. Farmers. Poor folk and coinless slaves. And now Kimbel¡¯s fate would be decided here, too. He let out a loud groan of protest and felt like he might start to weep. How humiliating. The prodigal prince, fallen from grace, laid lower still. But he wasn¡¯t alone on the platform. Two others stood off in the corner, their ankles and wrists also bound in chains. He noticed the quindent brands on their necks first¡ªslaves who were also facing some sort of judgment. Since slaves were property, they had no trials. This did not bode well. He looked down and noticed something even more disturbing. Both of the slaves were missing their left hands. There was a common saying in Grackenwell: ¡°No third chances.¡± Every time a slave attempted to escape his master, he had his non-dominant hand cut off by axe. If he survived, he was permitted to return to servitude without additional punishment. But any slave who tried to escape a second time sealed his fate¡ªexecution. ¡°No,¡± Kimbel breathed. Then, louder, ¡°No! No, wait!¡± Teralt clopped to the front of the platform with an obnoxious swagger, hands on his belt. ¡°Attention!¡± he roared. The crowd fell silent. ¡°King Brynh Garrotin has now arrived.¡± Kimbel¡¯s stomach sank. ¡°The trial to determine the guilt of Kimbel Garrotin is now set to begin.¡± ¡°That¡¯s Prince Kimbel,¡± said the boy, his voice small, quivering with the weight of his terrible circumstances, and he didn¡¯t even earn an admonishment or the brandishing of a whip. Teralt just said nothing and walked back to his assigned place. Then it happened. Red-caped soldiers parted the crowd, hollering for the onlookers to make way. Those who failed to obey¡ªor fast enough¡ªwere brutally shoved aside, many of them knocked off their feet. Out of a slave-drawn carriage stepped the king. At first glance, he looked just how Kimbel remembered him. He was the same man he¡¯d wrestled on a bloodstained beach far from home not so long ago. The same man who¡¯d taught him almost everything he knew. But the closer he drew, the less familiar he seemed. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep or last night¡¯s drink, likely both, and his face was stubbly like a slave¡¯s. He was a different man now. It was King Brynh Garrotin in the flesh, but Kimbel¡¯s father was gone. Maybe dead. Brynh sat in the tall wooden throne and unfurled the scroll in front of him with an air of dispassionate business. ¡°I am here today, in the sight of soldiers, free men, and slaves, to conduct the trial of Kimbel Garrotin. He stands accused of one of the most severe crimes it is possible for a prince to commit: the treasonous theft of his royal birthright and disregard for the throne of Grackenwell.¡± The crowd started to boo the prince. ¡°Quiet!¡± Teralt bellowed, and the audience obeyed. ¡°Humblest apologies, Your Majesty.¡± Brynh proceeded as if nothing had happened. ¡°As the primary witness to this crime, I am able to testify to the veracity of this charge. I was the one who found Kimbel reading the Secret Ledger in his half of the tent we shared on the shore of Le¡¯Me. He¡¯d stolen the key to my trunk while I slept and opened the book in private. This is why Kimbel has been imprisoned since then. This is why Kimbel stands trial today. I have before me the sworn written testimonies of my royal guards Sheam and Adhain, who were also witnesses to this crime.¡± He cleared his throat and clenched his jaw visibly. ¡°If anyone here today has eyewitness testimony or some other evidence to present in defense of the accused, speak now.¡± ¡°Father,¡± Kimbel croaked. ¡°Please.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll ask once more. Does anyone have eyewitness testimony or any other evidence to present in defense of the accused?¡± All was quiet. ¡°Very well then. Now, for the accused.¡± He didn¡¯t look up from the scroll, much less in the direction of his son. ¡°What do you have to say of your crime? Did you or did you not overstep the bounds of your birthright, reading the tome of greatest national significance in Grackenwell before your time, an act of treason against the reigning king?¡± ¡°Father,¡± he pleaded, ¡°please just listen¡ª¡± Brynh slammed his hand down on the desk and finally looked at his son, eyes full of fire, two roaring funeral pyres. ¡°Did you or did you not read the Secret Ledger while your father, the king, still lived and reigned?¡± Kimbel wanted to argue. However, his father had him trapped. The questions were framed in such a way that they answered themselves. If he said yes, he was every bit the usurper his father claimed he was. If he said no, that flew in the face of two eyewitness testimonies and the word of the king¡ªeffectively making him a liar. And he knew what Grackenwell did with its liars. Don¡¯t lie to me, boy. ¡°I did it,¡± the prince answered begrudgingly. ¡°The evidence is settled, then. The accused has confessed. His confession corroborates all available testimony. No doubt remains that he is, indeed, guilty. I formally declare that Kimbel Garrotin is guilty of treason against the free nation of Grackenwell.¡± Waves of gasps and exclamations ebbed and flowed through the crowd. Kimbel¡¯s heart sank into his stomach now. A shadow skulked in the corner of his blurring vision. The king scanned the rest of the scroll but read nothing else aloud. Instead, he stood from the desk, reaching for something coiled around his belt. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Kimbel asked. No reply. No sound but the clicking of his father¡¯s boots on the stone, the faint creaking of leather. Then crack! A bolt of pain lanced through Kimbel¡¯s back. Hot. Stinging. Wet. He sputtered and coughed; that aggravated his fresh wound all the more. ¡°F-father,¡± he wheezed. He staggered a step. ¡°Father, please. What¡¯s happ¡ª¡± Crack! Kimbel bit back the cries of agony that pushed their way up from his throat, held them there until he could swallow them down again. A few onlookers cheered. They waved rags and some of them stripped off their tunics or one of their shoes to wave in the air. He tried not to look any of them in the eye. ¡°Father,¡± said the prince more calmly, finally regaining some of his composure. ¡°Why are you doing this? Is this the sentence for my crime? How many lashes?¡± Crack! Kimbel grunted this time. Teralt was a savage brute who delighted in torturing the boy, but nothing compared to the pain that his father inflicted. The king was an artist with instruments of pain when the occasion called for them. ¡°Please tell me! Why are you doing this? You owe me the truth!¡± ¡°Now you want the truth?¡± His father¡¯s eyes were bulging, crazed with rage. ¡°Why am I doing this? Because it¡¯s my right! I am your father!¡± Crack! ¡°And you...¡± Crack! ¡°...are my son!¡± Kimbel bit down so hard on his tongue that he tasted iron. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a pained choking sound. He didn¡¯t remember falling to his knees but his legs must have given out at some point. ¡°Or... you were my son.¡± The king panted, pacing around the platform. His face glistened with his own sweat and stray flecks of his son¡¯s blood. ¡°But that night on the island, you told me just how little you care for my life. Couldn¡¯t even wait for me to die to snatch up your inheritance, could you?¡± Crack! ¡°Upset a dynasty because you just had to meddle!¡± Crack! ¡°You want the throne so badly that you betrayed your own father. Betrayed your nation. You betrayed the only flesh and blood you have left¡ªafter I gave you everything!¡± Crack! ¡°And what you did can never be undone. Not even if I take this whip and shred your back until I see the white of your spine!¡± This swing caught Kimbel over the knuckles of his left hand. He realized, only after the fact, that his body had moved instinctively to try to protect itself. He let out a wounded little whimper as the pain set in. His back had been so wounded, healed, and then wounded again that he must have gotten used to the pain, or perhaps his body was no longer able to feel pain like that in that spot anymore. His hands were still soft and fresh. It hurt like the first time he was whipped in jail¡ªno, worse. ¡°Milord!¡± a hoarse voice cried out from the crowd. It was Hane. ¡°Forgive me, milord! Please show the boy mercy! I beg it!¡± A guard broke rank to corner the old slave and whipped him once on the back. Hane stumbled and fell to the ground, his face now twisted up in his own pain. Onlookers rebuked his outburst. ¡°Mercy only benefits the weak!¡± said the king. ¡°Justice, truth... These are the virtues of the strong. There can be no family without a man to rule over it, a wife and children to submit. There can be no nation without a king and his many subjects. There can be no such thing as strength or wealth or wisdom without the weak, the poor, the fools¡ªthose who are inferior! All a man can do is know his place. This is the way of the world. It has been since the beginning and will be until the end. Neither a slave nor a prince will ever change that!¡± Kimbel waded deeper into the waters of his own mind. It was the only place he could escape the pain, or at least where it didn¡¯t scream quite so loud. His grip on the world, on his fight, was slipping. Hane hitting the ground in the throng of onlookers. A new whip wound against his thin skin, his brittle bones. Please show the boy mercy. I beg it.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He¡¯d been a slave for all but a recent few precious years of his life. He knew the price of speaking out of turn and still he dared to question the decision of the king in broad daylight. For Kimbel. The boy who delighted in tormenting him ever since he came into the world of royal parentage. Might do well to stop thinking in terms of power. Whose face you got under your boot. Lived your whole life that way, you have. And look where it¡¯s got you. Might rethink things. If you survive it, I reckon. I say, truly, I hope you do. The friendly smile on Hane¡¯s face that day. This is the way of the world. Surely there must have been another way. There can be no nation without a king and his many subjects. Kimbel thought of every nation in the whole known world. Grackenwell. King. Dridon. Queen. Zan Vayonado. A king-like figure, now dead. Qarda. A king, dead, and now a queen. The islanders to the west had their tribal chiefs, nothing but kings on a smaller scale. The people of Xheng Yu Xi were different. They chose their own rulers by popular consensus. A delicate and alien system, to be sure, but even they could not sustain themselves without rulers of a sort. There had to be another way. There had to be some other form of justice in the world. His father was no fool¡ªhe could see reason, if only Kimbel could collect himself and state his case quickly enough. He braced for the next vicious bite of the whip... but it never came. He opened his eyes. In the corner of his vision, he spied Brynh cleaning his blood off the whip with a rag before coiling it back around his belt. A small shred of hope¡ªhe clung to it. ¡°Father,¡± he rasped. ¡°Please... forgive me. I didn¡¯t know what I was doing.¡± ¡°That was a father¡¯s punishment,¡± Brynh answered coldly. ¡°Now comes the king¡¯s judgment.¡± He turned to the guards holding the slaves across the platform. ¡°You! The first one. Front and center.¡± ¡°My king,¡± said one of the guards, ¡°we have no gallows. Shall we¡ª¡± ¡°We won¡¯t need it,¡± Brynh interrupted. ¡°Ready the falling blade.¡± Tears welled in Kimbel¡¯s eyes as he saw what was about to happen. A group of red-caped soldiers hauled a tall wooden structure over their shoulders and dropped it so that it connected to the stocks. At the top was an angled iron blade suspended by a rope. ¡°No,¡± Kimbel whimpered tearfully. ¡°Don¡¯t... He...¡± The guards dragged and shoved the first one-handed slave, although the slave said nothing. Finally he stubbornly went limp and the guards had to force his head through the open hole of the stocks before closing it around his neck. Now it was too tight for him to pull himself free. ¡°You were branded as property,¡± Brynh announced so all could hear. ¡°You ran from your master¡ªfrom your place in life. You were given a second chance... and you wasted it. Again, you forgot your place in life. And Grackenwell would not be the proud nation it is if people did not know their places. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± The slave said nothing. ¡°There must be consequences. Otherwise, our nation would cease to exist! From the king down to the youngest slave child... We all have our consequences.¡± All he¡¯d wanted was to make his own life. All he¡¯d wanted was to find another way for himself. Now his eyes glazed over as he stared at something in the distance, accepting the fate he was dealt, and just as Kimbel opened his mouth to say something in the slave¡¯s defense¡ªshing! Thud. The crowd gasped. Kimbel watched in horror as the slave¡¯s head bounced once off the stone platform, rolling to a stop at the edge of the row of soldiers. The body of the slave slumped lifelessly from the stocks and hit the ground. Then the crowd cheered. Why is this happening? Kimbel wondered. It wasn¡¯t so much the executions that confused him¡ªhe¡¯d seen plenty of repeat offender runaways executed¡ªbut it felt different this time. It was the first time since he was a small child that he feared the sight of death. Maybe it was because he feared it was about to happen to him, too... but it was almost as though he could feel the falling blade at the nape of his neck, all from watching it happen to someone else. It was a brand new feeling for him. It was horrific. Painful, even. Then came memories rushing into his consciousness. He remembered all of the wounded Archipelagians, their limbs blown off by cannonballs or their skin burned to a crisp in the ensuing fires. The pain they must have felt. He remembered driving his sword into their backs to put them out of their misery¡ªthose were just words to him then, but now he was beginning to understand. He showed them mercy. He can show me mercy¡ªI know it! ¡°The second,¡± said Brynh. ¡°Please, Your Majesty,¡± the second slave begged. ¡°Please take my other hand instead! Please! I can still work! I will¡ª¡± ¡°Shut it!¡± Teralt growled. He personally swung on the unruly slave, punched him so hard across the jaw that a string of blood and a tooth went flying across the platform. The slave was silent after that save for his pained moans and whimpering. ¡°Wait,¡± Kimbel said a bit louder this time. ¡°Father, wait!¡± ¡°You keep quiet,¡± Teralt snarled at him as he helped lead the slave to the stocks. ¡°Or you¡¯ll get the same treatment!¡± Guards cleared away the headless body of the previous slave. They forced the still living, still struggling slave into the stocks and shut him inside. A hush fell over the crowd as everyone watched it happen again. Shing! Thud. How they cheered. The executioners hoisted the bloodied blade up a third time and held it in place. ¡°I read a book!¡± Kimbel rasped. ¡°I only read a book! Father, please!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you lie to me! Or these people!¡± Brynh shoved the guards aside and took his son by the chains himself. ¡°You stole your inheritance! What does it mean when a son takes his inheritance early? It means his father might as well be dead already! And what happens to someone who tells the king he ought to be dead?¡± The crowd watched in spellbound silence. ¡°I asked you all a question!¡± ¡°You kill him!¡± ¡°Kill him!¡± ¡°You have to execute him!¡± The commoners praised the king for what he was about to do. ¡°From the king down to the youngest slave child... and everyone between.¡± Kimbel¡¯s handlers moved to grab him. ¡°No!¡± Kimbel cried out. ¡°Father, please! Stop this! I¡¯ve learned my lesson!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do it myself.¡± The king stomped over and shoved the guards aside. ¡°Don¡¯t you touch him! I will do this myself. I¡¯ll even drop the blade myself!¡± ¡°No! Please! I beg you! Father, please!¡± Kimbel was shrieking hysterically now like he did during his beatings as a child. He couldn¡¯t help it. Even now, he remembered what his father used to tell him clear as day. This is for your own good, son. It builds character. You need to learn to stop crying and take it like a man. ¡°Please, please! I am begging¡ª¡± ¡°Enough out of you!¡± Brynh snarled. There was no sight that terrified Kimbel more than his father¡¯s eyes full of rage like they were now. ¡°Enough! Accept your death like a man.¡± He grabbed Kimbel by the chains that bound his wrists and led him along toward the stocks. The boy drew in a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself. ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this. Don¡¯t you love me anymore¡ªyour own flesh and blood? I¡¯m the only son you¡¯ve got. And I still love you!¡± A look washed over the king¡¯s face. His free hand fell to his side, his fingers open like a book. Then his fingers closed into a fist. He hit Kimbel across the jaw. The disgraced prince¡¯s ears were ringing. He could scarcely hear his own pained moans over the rush of his father¡¯s blood thumping through him. One of his teeth felt loose. Before him there were three kings, then five, then one, and the world had an odd tilt to it, so crooked he thought that he and everyone else might fall off the edge and into the sky. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy.¡± Was that real or imagined? It was hard to tell in the moment. Reeling. Listing. Ringing. Blood dripping. Eyes blurry, a fire on his back and in his mouth. Vision tunneling. The shadow moved in closer, constricting. He felt a weight drop from his wrists and ankles. His chains had been unlocked. They wouldn¡¯t fit in the stocks. He was logically aware of his situation, or at least he thought he was, but everything else came second to the pain. No one had ever caused him greater pain in his life than his father. The agony ruled his mind. There was some quiet. The king was saying something that Kimbel couldn¡¯t hear, and then a figure appeared at his side all of a sudden, flailing his arms. The king took a step back. ¡°Are you certain?¡± Their voices seemed underwater. ¡°Yes, my king. By the Bogman.¡± ¡°You, remain where you are. You and you, your battalions, to the gates. Now!¡± Word of what was happening hit the audience like a spark to cannon powder and then the whole crowd exploded into pandemonium. People shouted and pushed each other. A stampede broke out. Wide-eyed humans scattering like cockroaches, and a brave or stupid few staying behind, beating their puffed-out chests. Chaos. Still, he could barely hear it. It sounded like it was all happening somewhere far, far away. Kimbel filtered out one repeated word from all the commotion. ¡°Qardish! Qardish!¡± Behind the cacophony, he heard the sounds of distant cannon fire. The Qardish were here. They likely suspected Grackenwell in the assassination of their king. Or were they here because they¡¯d heard the news of slavery being reinstated? It was unclear. All that was clear was that a battle was already underway, likely by sea¡ªalthough the Qardish could make landfall at any moment. That beautiful princess from the banquet. She was their queen now. She was behind this. He wondered, dreamily, if they were on the same continent again. He came alert once more. The world was bright and incredibly loud again. In the ensuing turmoil, everyone¡¯s attention was split in every odd direction. Run. Shove. Dodge. Steal a fallen coin or a loose piece of jewelry. Whip that slave. Call for order. Form up and redirect the stampeding commoners. How quickly a crowd of men devolved into wide-eyed beasts, neither wiser nor nobler than startled cattle. But it all meant nothing to Kimbel. He¡¯d be dead so soon that he¡¯d never even see the sun again. The thought made his belly heave with the kind of weeping that wrung him dry from the inside out, a sensation he hadn¡¯t had in all the years since he last saw his mother alive. ¡°Oh, why? Why?¡± Were those his words or just his thoughts? He couldn¡¯t tell anymore. He wouldn¡¯t survive the ordeal. Hane was wrong. His father was right. Mercy was an anomaly, a defect, not something on which to rest his hopes for survival, and he was a fool to entertain the simple-hearted old slave the way he did. And look where it¡¯s got you. Another breath of clarity. Out of the cold, dark deep in his mind. Into the frigid light seeping through the canopy. The words of the Secret Ledger flashed in his mind. What he read there was stitched into his veins, engraved on the inner walls of his bones forever and ever. He knew what it meant now. The Secret Ledger, the Legend of the Bogman, everything his father taught him... It all made sense. Finally. ¡°Face your death with honor,¡± his father growled, ¡°and I won¡¯t burn you. You might still come back one day.¡± Brynh dragged him forward to the stocks, through the coagulating blood of the two men who¡¯d gone before him. Will I be a wise king? Kimbel was past the point of arguing. Nothing he said could reach his father now. This was the king talking, and it was the king who would execute him. Brynh hoisted his son¡¯s dead weight up onto his feet¡ªthe sudden movement dizzied Kimbel, who grabbed the blood-wet stocks to steady himself. His own blood felt thinner than water. His back, his arms, and his jaw were in burning, throbbing pain. His head spun. He thought of the Bogman. He saw himself in his place, at the bottom of the icy Everswamp. The water was freezing over, little by little, ice encroaching bit by bit, with only a tiny window to freedom remaining. He would either rise or die down here. He knew it. For a moment, with all the strength he could muster, he shoved the pain down deep. He drowned it in his place. He felt a second wind rush through him. Someday. Someday a long, long time from now. Kimbel stood and whirled around suddenly on his father. Brynh flinched. He looked like he¡¯d seen a ghost. Before his father could react, Kimbel snatched the whip from his belt. Got behind him. Wrapped it around the man¡¯s neck. Squeezed. A backward punch to the gut. Squeezed harder. The king fell to his knees. Harder. The cord of leather tightened around the throat until its victim¡¯s skin changed color. Harder. Hands clawing at the whip. Then grasping it, trying to make it budge, but for him, the surface of the swamp had frozen over, the ice like diamond. Soon the strength had gone out of his arms, hands falling to the dying man¡¯s sides, fingers open like a book. A hurricane¡¯s eye had passed over Holcort. People froze where they stood. The clopping of horse hooves ground to a halt. Then thud. Kimbel released his iron grasp on the whip and the body that had been his father fell forward, limp like a log. A few tiny flecks of dead blood splattered on impact with the stone. Kimbel raised his right hand high into the air, fingers splayed and bent to make the Sign of the Bogman. More silence. Come what may, but he had a victory to take to the grave if nothing else. Then the commoners cheered and applauded him. The soldiers, too, or at least most of them, but the dissenters were met with vicious looks, shoved with shields, prodded at the ends of spears and swords. The look in Teralt¡¯s eyes was something Kimbel would remember until his dying breath, no matter what happened next. ¡°Bring me my trunk,¡± Kimbel rasped. One of the guards stepped forward timidly. He made a small greeting gesture with his hand, then thought better of it. He gave a small bow. ¡°Pardon, Your Grace? What trunk?¡± ¡°That is Your Majesty from this instant forth,¡± Kimbel replied, his voice cracking at first. ¡°And I want my trunk. The one in the dead man¡¯s carriage. It belongs to me, and I want it. Now.¡± Three of the guards now sprang into action. They opened the wooden doors at the back of the carriage and retrieved the long trunk from the back, carrying it over to the wooden table and setting it down where Kimbel indicated. Then the young man retrieved the Garrotin family dagger¡ªhis dagger, which was stolen from him when he was imprisoned¡ªfrom the dead man¡¯s belt. He used it to cut the key from the dead man¡¯s necklace and used the key to open the trunk. He took out the Secret Ledger and dropped it with a thud on the table. He took the white feathered quill and dipped it into the night-black inkwell. Then he turned the pages of the book. Turned. Turned. Everyone regarded him and his book with shame, turning away until he was done. None of them wanted to find themselves in the stocks for prying at royal secrets. He reached the first blank page and turned back to the one before it. The last words written in the book were Deliego Goches, Grand Emissary of Zan Vayonado. Tortured, drawn, quartered under orders of King Brynh Garrotin. Kimbel set the quill to the page and wrote, with a trembling hand, King Brynh Garrotin of Grackenwell. Strangled with whip by Prince Kimbel Garrotin, now King Kimbel Garrotin. He dropped the quill unceremoniously on the desk, closed the Secret Ledger, and set the tome carefully back in the trunk, which he closed and locked. ¡°Why are we all still standing around?¡± Kimbel shouted with the strength of a well-fed, unharmed, grown man, though he was none of those things. ¡°The golden mongrels are at our gates! Would you slaves deny your sworn duties? Would you commoners sit idly by and let others fight for you? Decide where your loyalties lie! Do we drown? Or do we rise?¡± He made the Sign of the Bogman once more¡ªan undead hand reaching up to rise from its grave. The crowd cheered for him then, louder, fuller than ever. Kimbel called to his soldiers and ordered them to fetch him a set of armor and new clothes¡ªand if they had none to give him, he ordered them to strip it from the corpse. They obeyed their king. He smiled a wide, wild smile, wiping the dark blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. Chapter Twenty: BEAM III This is the proclamation of the Lord Ah-Ren: ¡°A man says, ¡®I love you, I love you,¡¯ in the heat of his loins and leaves you when he is satisfied. His offspring cries out not for you, but only what you can give it. Even your ancestors who gave you life are bound for the grave where their care for you will be interred forever. I alone have a steadfast love that will never leave you, for I alone am everlasting. I alone will remain in the Time After Time. Therefore put your faith in me and I will grant you power over death.¡± -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 19, Lines 31-39 Dordreg Region, Grackenwell ¡°Blessed be the Bringer of Life and the Banisher of Death,¡± said Beam, ¡°and cursed be every false god who blasphemes against You. Blessed be Your word.¡± Beam pressed her head down on her scarlet prayer rug. It was the thirtieth day since they¡¯d left the relative comfort of Claeloch and pressed on into less welcoming territory. Privately, though she could never admit this to her growing flock, Beam was afraid. Several days prior, their journey southeastward crossed the easternmost imaginary border of Claeloch and into Grackenwell proper. They now entered into a region of the kingdom called Dordreg. The landscapes were not half so picturesque as those of Claeloch. The hilly countryside, babbling brooks, and rolling fields of flowers were replaced with dull, dreary woods. Dordreg was largely flat and low-lying; it made for muddy soil that squelched whenever they walked. As they journeyed across the Stonish continent, winter became spring, and soon it would be the rainy season when they traveled far enough south. Tents had become a necessity to keep the water from ruining their supplies¡ªor worse, making them sick. But that was the least of their worries. There was a great deal more water where they were going. ¡°Good evening, Lady Beam,¡± Luster greeted her at supper. He poured a steaming ladleful of stewed beans into her cup. ¡°Another day of great progress. How many days now?¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Beam took a sip and let the hot meal warm her from the inside. ¡°Soon. Four. Maybe five.¡± The two of them sat at their private campfire. Throughout the rest of the camp, though, other fires were burning, and other disciples prepared their suppers and set about their evening routines. The flock had grown since Beam¡¯s miracle in Pythe, as she performed smaller, similar miracles along the way. They were now forty believers in all. ¡°Lady Beam, may I confide something in you?¡± She smiled softly. ¡°You can just call me Beam now. You know that, right?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Luster grinned back sheepishly. ¡°Sometimes, I¡¯m so taken by your beauty that I think my heart assumes you must be highborn. And so when I open my mouth, I can¡¯t help but address you as such for fear of being rude.¡± Beam felt uncomfortable when Luster said things like this. It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t also feel the same for him¡ªshe did, and she¡¯d intimated as much to him when they were alone. It was just that she didn¡¯t know how to take his compliments. They made her feel too perceived, too scrutinized. ¡°What was it you wanted to say?¡± ¡°I have full faith in the Lord Ah-Ren to guide us on our journey.¡± He stole a glance at the other disciples building their fires, cooking their meals. ¡°It¡¯s the others I¡¯m unsure of. Do you believe they¡¯re all truly prepared to brave the Everswamp in four or five days?¡± ¡°Truthfully?¡± Beam stared down into her supper. ¡°No.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve read some about traversing the bog. It¡¯s the toughest terrain¡ªworse than the mountains, even! It¡¯s going to take a lot for most of these people to be ready to make the journey.¡± ¡°What they need most is faith.¡± Luster furrowed his brow. ¡°How so?¡± She set her face sternly, speaking from her heart, which she had given over to Ah-Ren. Whenever she got like this, Luster could never meet her gaze for long. ¡°Faith is the only thing that will bring us to the other side of the bog. Even those who are physically able to make the trek will not do so if they have no faith. It is written: ¡®The ways of man are futile, but faith in the Lord Ah-Ren gives us power beyond men.¡¯¡± ¡°Yes. I remember.¡± He nodded reverently. ¡°And the Lord has told you that this is the only way?¡± Beam remembered her dream¡ªno, her vision. She often confused the two. Ah-Ren had shown her the way one night when she tossed and turned and sweat profusely. Going north would add many moons to their travels, and it might be near winter again before they could travel back south around the other side of the bog. This was to say nothing of the many slavecatchers who rode through the woods and snatched up unsuspecting travelers. A journey south through the Zan desert would be shorter but equally perilous. The sand. The heat. Bandits on camelback. No water as far as the eye could see. If her flock hadn¡¯t the faith to boat through a swamp, she knew she could not lead them through the blistering sands either. All of this was secondary to the Lord¡¯s command. He commanded her to travel as a bird would fly. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God, she remembered. My name is Beam. Great are His plans for me, and bold is my purpose. We must go now. We must waste not the passing of another day. But she also knew that Ah-Ren would not abide unbelievers in the midst of the faithful. Neither would she. ¡°Yes,¡± Beam answered him finally. ¡°The only way. But I will give my disciples a choice.¡± ¡°A choice? What do you mean?¡± She eyed her flock warily, wondering which among them were pretenders. ¡°I will separate faith from fickleness. Only faith can make the journey.¡± After they ate, they retired for the night in Beam¡¯s tent, as had been their habit of late. She liked to let Luster lie side by side with her and listen to the voices of the flock dying down for the night. The glow of the fires would subside, and she would hear nothing but the smoldering wood settling, their breathing, and the sounds of the forest. It was peaceful. Some nights, she almost felt close enough to invite him to do more than just hold her. He never asked, nor did he show the slightest frustration when she would send him back to his own tent in the night. Night after night. He seemed glad just to be there with her. But she knew that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t want it. Sometimes he got that look in his eyes that she knew all too well, even if he was polite about hiding it. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning,¡± she whispered to him. He lay behind her, his arm around her midsection, stubbled chin pressed down against the top of her head. He breathed in suddenly; he¡¯d been half-asleep. ¡°Yes, Beam. Goodnight.¡± He got up and staggered groggily out of the tent to sleep alone again. It took her a long while to fall asleep. It was colder without him. *** Beam leaned a hand against the rough brick wall behind the brothel. Her insides were on fire. Before she could brace herself fully, hot bile came surging up her throat and splashed onto the gravel ground. It was only a small puddle this time. She was almost in the clear. If she would throw up again, it might be only a few dry heaves or a mouthful of spittle, if anything. She was grateful that relief was near. But it only meant that the tonic hadn¡¯t worked. ¡°Are you all right?¡± It was the kindly young man who frequented the brothel¡¯s tavern. Dannegan was his name. ¡°Brought you a cold towel.¡± He held it out and she accepted it, dabbing her sweat and wiping the vomit from her chin. ¡°Thank you,¡± she groaned. ¡°The tonic again?¡± He pointed to the purple puddle on the ground. Then his glance caught the swell of her pregnant belly. ¡°It¡¯s no good. Is it?¡± She rubbed her stomach, wincing. ¡°No. I fear for whatever child I do bring into this accursed world. He wants so badly to be born.¡± She shook her head bitterly. ¡°That¡¯s because he doesn¡¯t know what this world is.¡± Dannegan smiled softly. ¡°He?¡± She caught herself, couldn¡¯t help but smile back. ¡°Oh. I¡¯m not sure, of course. He feels like a... well, like a he.¡± The young man nodded. ¡°Well, he will have a beautifully loving mother. Won¡¯t he?¡± Something twisted inside her then. Was her baby angry with her for trying to purge him from her body? She hated herself for trying it¡ªnot once but three times. But life had made her envy the dead and those never born, and so she thought it was a kindness. ¡°Could I ask you a favor?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± She tried not to spoil their time together by crying. She swallowed her sadness, blinked it away. ¡°Buy me for the night? Just one night? My rate is reduced.¡± She gestured to her belly protruding under her gown. ¡°Most men won¡¯t touch me anymore anyway. The keeper¡¯s been furious with me.¡± Dannegan nodded in a gentle sort of way, but his smile faded. She could sense that she was being a burden to him. She didn¡¯t care¡ªrather, she needed this more than she cared. ¡°Of course. One night.¡± They made their way up the creaking wooden stairs from the tavern to the lodging. She ignored the jeers of the other patrons¡ªthey mocked her pregnant belly, her clumsiness, the fat accumulating in her midsection and under her chin¡ªbut it must have been hard, too, for Dannegan. They ridiculed him for his kindness to her. Since he was four years her junior and began showing up to the tavern the day he came of age, they teased him for liking older women. They even accused him of preferring the company of men, since he was never as lecherous or as mean with the women who worked there, and since he never joined in the mistreatment of the other prostitutes. In fact, he never paid for a single night with anyone other than her. The strangest part was that he never lay with her, either. Not once. Nor did he seem the least bit interested. She knew from a young age to read the eyes of a man, but she¡¯d become especially adept at this skill from her years in the brothel. There was never lust in his eyes. There was never even curiosity. What was it, then? What was it that compelled his kindness to her? It vexed her every time they met, and it made her all the more fearful of its absence. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to them,¡± she told him when she closed the door. ¡°They¡¯re just mean, miserable bastards.¡± ¡°The world can be a mean, miserable place,¡± said Dannegan. ¡°They only know how to be like the world around them.¡± ¡°But not you.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°You¡¯re not like them. Why?¡± Dannegan shrugged. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel right to me. I¡¯ve been harsh with others a few times in my life. Always gave me guilt afterward.¡± ¡°Even when they harass you like that¡ªyou never consider joining in on their fun to placate them?¡± He scoffed and shook his head. ¡°No. Never. I¡¯m a scrawny lad and not much for fighting¡ªI¡¯m no savior who¡¯ll stick up for the people they pick on. But that doesn¡¯t mean I have to be one of them.¡± He collapsed onto one of the hard beds with his hands behind his head. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like I¡¯ll have to put up with them for much longer.¡± Her stomach twisted again. Was it the baby this time, or something else? ¡°Won¡¯t have to put up with them much longer¡ªwhat¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Dannegan looked up, his jaw dropping as if realizing he¡¯d just said something terribly offensive. He frowned remorsefully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I forgot to tell you. I¡¯m engaged to be wed. I leave next moon for Grackenwell proper.¡± She was deeply wounded at first, but then she decided that he must have been telling a joke. She chuckled. ¡°Engaged to be wed? Really? And what would she think of you frequenting a brothel?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve told her everything,¡± he said with a straight face. ¡°She knows about you. About your situation. She understands there¡¯s nothing... intimate between us. But it¡¯s time I move on and start my life with her.¡± She chuckled again, scoffing. ¡°Dannegan, that¡¯s enough.¡± ¡°I¡¯m telling you the truth.¡± He gave her a sad smile, his eyes half-lit, and in that moment, it all fell into place in her mind. ¡°Why buy me for a night¡ªtonight or any other night? You¡¯re not getting anything out of it. You leave at first light every time! Why do it at all?¡± He sighed, unable to contain his frustration. He got like this at times when she demanded to know what they were to each other. ¡°Because I care about you¡ª¡± ¡°Then take me away from this place. With you. Whisk me away from this wretched life that made me want to make myself barren, for the sake of any poor child I might be forced to conceive. Will you?¡±Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t or won¡¯t?¡± ¡°I¡¯m pledged to marry someone else!¡± Her eyes dampened. ¡°Not as a wife. I can be a servant! You don¡¯t need to pay me, just a bed to sleep in¡ªI can do the rest! Your wife to be already knows, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Dannegan pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°I... Listen, I would if I could, but you have to understand¡ª¡± ¡°You don¡¯t care about me,¡± she cut him off. ¡°You feel sorry for me.¡± His silence, the slow way he averted his gaze, was all the proof she needed. ¡°And you know what? That makes you worse than the other men who buy me for a night. At least they¡¯re honest about what I am to them!¡± ¡°Really? I¡¯m worse than them?¡± He scowled at her, swinging his legs to stand up forcefully from the bed. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be happy for me.¡± ¡°Happy for what?!¡± She was screaming now. ¡°That you get to go off and do whatever you want with your life¡ªlike any other man in this world, while I¡¯m stuck here? Happy that you pity me like I¡¯m some sick animal? What? What exactly do I have to be happy about?¡± But Dannegan was already gone, having stormed out of the room and down the brothel stairs. Another brothel patron adjusted his pants in the open doorway of a room. Meanwhile, a fellow prostitute poked her head out of an adjoining room. She laughed when she saw the commotion. ¡°You chased him off in a hurry. What happened? He poke something that oughtn¡¯t be poked?¡± At this, she threw her head back in laughter at her own joke. ¡°Never come back,¡± she whimpered to Dannegan under her breath, slamming the door behind her. ¡°Never come back here ever again.¡± Part of her lamented not saying a proper goodbye, and already regretted the way she treated him. No matter the reason, he¡¯d still been kind to her at times, and it was more than she could say for anyone else in the hovel where she lived. But he¡¯d never loved her. In truth, she¡¯d never loved him, either. She only loved the comfort that he provided. She realized that if she truly loved him and wanted the best for him, she would have been glad to hear of his engagement and sincerely wished him the best. But she hadn¡¯t felt that way. His visit clarified things for her all at once. She knew she truly did love the life growing inside of her that would one day be a baby. She knew she wanted the best for him above all else¡ªhim. She prayed that he would not grow up like all the other men of Grackenwell. But she had no one to hear her prayer. Not yet. *** The next morning, Beam gathered her followers in the middle of camp. Some had taken to breaking down their tents and collecting their belongings to resume the journey¡ªshe had Luster stop them, had him explain that they wouldn¡¯t be going anywhere that day. She built a central campfire and waited for them to assemble around it. They all arrived one by one, watched her with a mixture of reverence and confusion. ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this, Lady Beam?¡± asked Glimmer. The young barmaid always seemed half her age whenever she asked something of Beam, doe-eyed and looking lost. ¡°Have you had another vision?¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we be on the road?¡± asked Hjarsant. ¡°Sun¡¯s already rising as it is. We¡¯re losing daylight.¡± Hjarsant was a stocky man with a full beard, thick in the gut but broad-shouldered and muscular everywhere else. He always had the air of a man half-drunk or hungover, though it had been many days since he¡¯d had a drop to drink¡ªit was just his natural state to look slightly unkempt and a bit bewildered at all times. ¡°We will not be going anywhere today,¡± Beam announced to her flock in a strong voice. ¡°The Lord has revealed a sobering truth: to hasten our journey, we must wait here in this camp for seven days.¡± Looks were exchanged; someone murmured something. ¡°The Everswamp lies ahead of us. It will take us at least seven days to cross at its narrowest point¡ªthat is if we can purchase boats, and if the path is clear, and if we do not lose our way.¡± ¡°Take and eat your fill,¡± said Luster. He ladled breakfast from his iron pot and distributed bowls and hunks of bread to the other disciples. ¡°Take and eat your fill...¡± ¡°Why wait here, then?¡± Hjarsant pressed her. ¡°All the more reason to start now!¡± ¡°Only faith can make the journey,¡± Beam answered him. ¡°And faith is not a trifling matter. Faith must be strong. It must be able to weather the hard times as well as the easy ones.¡± ¡°We left behind all we had,¡± said Torganh, wiping the blond hair from his face. ¡°We sleep in the wilderness. We cook our meals and eat in the open air. What more would Ah-Ren ask of us?¡± Several other disciples started to scold him, but Beam held up a hand to quiet them. ¡°This is precisely what I mean. Only faith can make the journey. And the journey will get harder from here. Going north to avoid the bog would put us in winter by the time we circled around the other side. Going south would take us through the heat of the desert. There is only danger ahead no matter where we go¡ªbut the Everswamp is still the quickest route. ¡°This journey will deprive us of food and drinking water. It will tire us down to our bones. We must persevere. We cannot make the journey if there are faithless disciples among us who would slow our progress. Those who wish to go forward... You will fast for seven days.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Seven days?¡± ¡°Seven days, she said?¡± The murmurs among the flock were short-lived. The disciples held their tongues, lest they appear faithless. ¡°Seven days,¡± Beam repeated. ¡°After this meal, you will be granted water each day. Nothing more. Those who can prove their faith can accompany the rest of us on our journey. Those who fail, or refuse, should turn back and return to their homes as soon as possible.¡± Torganh finished mopping up the last of his breakfast with his hunk of bread. For a skinny man, he could eat more, and faster, than most anyone. He discarded the bowl at the fire¡¯s edge. ¡°This is ridiculous,¡± he muttered as he trudged back to his tent. ¡°I came here to see more miracles, not to deprive myself! I¡¯ve had enough of this. You are making this all up as you go along¡ªand you are no prophetess!¡± Luster whirled around to go after him, but Beam took him by the hand, bade him stay. In an instant, his anger was diffused. ¡°Let him go,¡± she said. ¡°Already Ah-Ren begins to show us the unbelievers. But there will be more. I¡¯m sure of it.¡± ¡°You heard her,¡± said one of her more fervent disciples, a woman she named Shine. ¡°Seven days. The Lord Ah-Ren provides so much¡ªthis is the least we can do to prove our faith in Him! Isn¡¯t that so?¡± Shine was a short-haired woman two or three years older than Beam herself, and she had a way of speaking that resonated with the common man. Her rallying cry inspired some more confidence in the rest of the flock. They ate their last meal mostly in silence after that. As the disciples finished their breakfast, one more of them, another one like Torganh who never received her name in the faith, packed up her tent and stole away while the others were distracted. The woman followed in Torganh¡¯s muddy footsteps and disappeared without so much as a goodbye. Now they were thirty-eight believers in all. ¡°Gather all your food and bring it here to the center of camp,¡± said Beam. ¡°We will tie it all up in bags and hang them over the trees to keep the food safe from the animals, and to keep us from giving in to our temptations.¡± The disciples who remained obeyed her. They brought all the food out of their tents¡ªhard breads, cheeses, dried fruits, salted fish and other meats, down to the last nut and green leaf, and even their spices. All of it was loaded into communal bags that were cinched with well-knotted rope. The bags were then thrown over sturdy tree branches, the lines tied to double-secured stakes in the ground. If anyone broke their fast now, the whole flock would know of it. But she had other ways of testing their faith, too. She had to¡ªpeople had a way of earning her mistrust. *** She hefted the baby girl in her arms, pleading with Sanesse. ¡°Please,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ve been bought for only an hour. I just need someone to watch her. Won¡¯t you help me?¡± ¡°I told you to use the sheepskin,¡± Sanesse chastised her with a wagging finger. ¡°My old madam swore by it. Not a single baby born in eight years!¡± ¡°Well, I have one now. Could you just watch her for an hour? Please?¡± ¡°I would be happy to watch the little bundle.¡± Sanesse squinted at the baby cooing in her arms. ¡°Two silver scales.¡± ¡°Two?!¡± She couldn¡¯t believe her ears. ¡°Last time, you only charged me one for a whole night!¡± ¡°What can I say? Rates change here in the brothel.¡± The other girl shrugged smugly. ¡°Two scales or no deal.¡± The exhausted mother forked over the coins, annoyed, and handed her baby gingerly to Sanesse. For all her faults, at least Sanesse was gentle with babies. In fact, she was the only one who could be trusted to watch an infant for even an hour, the only other woman in the brothel who wasn¡¯t so ruined by drink or entheogens or driven half-mad by her circumstances. She only needed an hour. The brothelkeeper had given her simple instructions. The man had bought her for one hour. Room fifteen. Come dressed as she was. ¡°Good evening,¡± she said demurely, opening the door. She put on the voice that she always did when tending to men. They craved tenderness, kindness, shyness, and for enough coins, she had learned to pretend for them. She slipped into the room, expecting to see her client waiting for her on the bed. ¡°Hello?¡± There was no one. If not for one detail, she would have thought the room was wholly empty. But someone had been there. A thick book sat on the bed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She felt that she was not alone in the room, even though she was. She approached the book with caution and glanced at the spine. ¡°Gospel of Lucence,¡± she read aloud. She wondered where her client was. The brothelkeeper had been paid for an hour, and she knew well that her client intended to get his money¡¯s worth, whoever he was. But he was nowhere to be found. What do I do for an hour? She stood there in thought for a moment, wondering if she should go downstairs and speak to the brothelkeeper. Maybe it was some happy stroke of luck that her latest client had run off after paying¡ªmaybe he changed his mind, or maybe he took pity on her like Dannegan had used to, bought her some time to herself. She opened the book on the bed. It was something that would distract her for the remainder of the hour, a much needed rest. She read from the open page. ¡°He who turns to the Lord Ah-Ren for a day will know a day of fulfillment; she who calls upon the Lord Ah-Ren for an hour will know an hour of peace.¡± She blinked. Rubbed the tiredness from her eyes. She brought the book closer to the wavering torch in its sconce on the wall. Had she read that right? She... will know an hour of peace. Surely an eerie coincidence. She flipped the tome to another random page two-thirds of the way through the text and she read the first words that caught her eye. ¡°The station of a man is no difference to the Lord, for the kings and slaves and killers and soldiers of the earth are the same in His eyes; neither does the station of a woman matter to Him, for the queens and mothers and whores and maidens are all alike in His eyes. All fall short of His righteousness, but He saves the precious few who are worthy.¡± She had never heard of this Ah-Ren. There were many gods worshiped throughout the land¡ªgods of folklore, or the Triad worshiped in the Stonish south, in the kingdom called Dridon. She¡¯d heard stories of the Qardish god Eloei, and she knew other nations worshiped other gods. She¡¯d called on half of them in her day to no avail. But Ah-Ren seemed different. She had never heard the name and now she was curious. Lord Ah-Ren, she thought. If you are real... then give me a sign. Prove to me that you can hear me call upon you. She closed her eyes this time, stuck her fingernail between the pages, flung the book open all without looking, and pressed her fingertip against the page on the left. She would read whatever line of text was above her finger. She opened her eyes¡ªher heart skipped a beat. ¡°Those who cry out to Ah-Ren in their darkest hour, surely they will receive an answer; yea, those who fall to their knees will know that the Lord is near. Faith is the nourishment that feeds the love of Ah-Ren as dry wood feeds the fire.¡± At once, she fell to her knees at the bedside. She bowed her head with her hands on the tome¡ªthey felt as though they were vibrating, a subtle energy humming through her veins, and she forgot to breathe. I believe. I do believe! I asked and You answered. Lord Ah-Ren, save me from this place! The tome shook in her hands. She released her grip, and the pages turned all on their own, though the window was shut tight and there was no draft of wind. The first verse of the open page read: This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God. Your name is written in My book. Great are My plans for you, and bold is your purpose. Go now. With that, the door of the room opened on its own. She flinched at first. Was it her client come at last? But when she stood and pulled the door open all the way, she saw that there was no one in the hall. Thump. She turned to see that the Gospel of Lucence had closed of its own accord behind her. ¡°I will come back for you,¡± she whispered. But what she had just read, coupled with her intuition, told her something was wrong. ¡°There she goes!¡± came the voice down the hall. It was Sanesse. ¡°One... Two sips down the hatch! Oh, be careful.¡± Laughter and muffled conversation spilled out of the farthest room along with a shaft of torchlight. She stormed down the hall in search of her baby. ¡°One... Two... Three sips down the hatch! She¡¯s a natural!¡± She threw open the door. Sanesse and two of the other prostitutes were smoking herbs from thin wooden pipes. Sanesse had the baby on her lap, her arm wrapped around her with a wineskin in her free hand. ¡°You¡¯re here!¡± she exclaimed drunkenly. ¡°You¡¯ve been gone for hours. Where were you?¡± ¡°I was not gone for hours,¡± she snapped back. ¡°I was barely gone a few moments! What have you done?¡± ¡°Well,¡± said Sanesse, grinning innocently, ¡°we¡¯ve been playing a little game. I think your little one is teething, so I¡¯ve given her sips of wine to calm her down. They¡¯re not really sips, mind you. I dip a clean finger into the wine, rub her gums, and she¡¯s all better.¡± She snatched her baby back gently, supporting her from the bottom with one hand, and used the other to point a finger at Sanesse. ¡°You are never to be left alone with my child again. Wine?! Are you mad, you daft whore?!¡± Her baby started to cry. ¡°She is a child!¡± Sanesse rolled her eyes now, her good mood soured. ¡°Please. It was three drops of wine. You act like I was pouring spirits in the brat¡¯s mouth.¡± She scoffed and took another smoldering drag from her pipe. ¡°People drink here. She ought to get used to it¡ªand so ought you. I mean, you bring a baby up in a damn brothel, you had better expect¡ª!¡± Thwack. She slapped Sanesse across the face, a full, meaty hit square across the cheek. There were tears in her eyes. She stormed out of the room before the others could react. She spent the rest of the night alone with her crying baby and the Gospel of Lucence, finding she could read it perfectly even in the torchless dark. *** The third day of the fast, Beam was reminded why she was slow to trust her fellow man. This was because Ah-Ren kept His promises; the same couldn¡¯t always be said for a mortal. Mortals were made of flesh, and flesh had weaknesses. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± asked one of the disciples. His name was Ioghan, a freckled, red-haired young man freshly twenty years of age. He stumbled out of his tent, doubled over. Ioghan¡¯s lips were smeared with red-purple paste and had already begun to swell, and he couldn¡¯t suppress his belches, nor the drool dripping from his open jaw. ¡°I feel... I feel...¡± He hunched over the campfire, spewing purple vomit like a dam had broken inside him. ¡°You ate of the fruit I left,¡± Beam said coolly, ¡°when I forbade you to eat. Now your sin is known. When you are well again, you will be banished.¡± Ioghan cared little for matters of faith now¡ªhe heaved again and a fresh spray of vomit splashed into the flames. ¡°Now you¡¯re poisoning people?¡± asked Hjarsant. He had a wooden bowl of the same purple berries in his hand, though she could tell he hadn¡¯t eaten any. He threw the bowl down and spilled the berries in the grass. ¡°Ah-Ren would have you poison innocent people like us?¡± Beam shook her head, disappointed. ¡°He will live. In fact, he will be back to normal in two days¡¯ time. Maybe less. And I did not poison him¡ªin his faithlessness, he poisoned himself. This was the only way to be sure.¡± Hjarsant glared at her. ¡°You are... Your methods are...¡± His eyes were tired, sunken from lack of food. He was irritable, groggy, and weak, but he had not broken his vow of fasting, and he retreated back into his own tent without another word. Two of the other disciples guided Ioghan back to his tent. Luster watched from a distance, saddened at the loss of another member, but with a nod of recognition to Beam. She knew he trusted her methods even if the others didn¡¯t. ¡°Seven days is not a small ask for any man or woman,¡± said Ray. Ray was one of the rare few disciples who were already named in the faith. She was a middle-aged woman, black hair run through with streaks of gray and half-etched wrinkles up and down her placid face. She was a calm presence in the flock. Still, she was unafraid to speak her mind. ¡°Will you leave like the others?¡± Beam asked. Ray shook her head. ¡°No. I can do this through my faith. And I will. But you¡¯re making no friends with this test of yours.¡± Beam watched Ioghan crawl out of his tent to throw up again. ¡°It is as you said. Those with faith, can. Those without, won¡¯t.¡± ¡°You¡¯re teaching them faith in the Lord Ah-Ren. This is good. But you yourself must develop faith in the people you lead. Without that, you¡¯ll always be mistrustful of them. You¡¯ll see disbelief and treachery everywhere you look. You should know that what you ask is more difficult for some than you think.¡± Beam¡¯s gaze caught Luster again, though he was looking away now, dropping a log into the campfire and stoking it. ¡°The journey ahead will be worse than difficult. It will be impossible at times. But we must do the impossible in the name of our faith.¡± She tasted a memory of Claeloch. ¡°Only then can we be sure of its fullness.¡± Chapter Twenty-One: AKONA IV In the beginning, the gods made one portion, one soul for both worlds. Flesh grows and dies and is pruned away, but the soul endures. Those who die give up their souls into the Eidomene. But what is dead may guide the living, and the living will welcome the dead through reincarnation. This is part of the great balance of the cosmos until one day, the last flesh will die. Only then will the Eidomene be whole again eternally. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 29 Baranatha, Zan Desert All Akona saw was bright light. She could tell it was white, but it was pinkish behind her closed eyelids. Still, it was harsh enough to hurt her eyes, so she turned away and buried her face in something soft. A pillow. Was this the afterlife? Was this the Eidomene where she would await reincarnation? No. Her pillow smelled of sandroot; she recognized its smoky scent anywhere, though she had only ever harvested it on the beach. The sense of smell was such a powerful tether to her memories that she could place the name of the herb dusted on her pillow before she could piece together where she was. But then she remembered. Akona sat up with a start. The light through the open window was blinding¡ªshe held up her hands to shield her face. Strangely, though the daytime sun shone full as ever, the room was cool. There was even a breeze. She was sitting on a hard bed made of hide stuffed with straw. Her pillow, on the other hand, was linen and stuffed with something softer, likely feathers. The room had a single tall window with open linen drapes but no shutters or glass to close off the outside. There were two other beds in the room just like hers, both made and empty. She jumped to her feet. ¡°Styri?¡± she called out. Akona wandered out of the empty room and into a long white hallway. The limestone hall had simplistic decorations, alternating sky blue and mint green tiles in two parallel rows along the walls. There was a green-and-beige plant she didn¡¯t recognize hanging in front of a window, its leafy tendrils dangling almost to the floor, and she realized she still wasn¡¯t used to seeing a plant she couldn¡¯t name¡ªeven in these foreign lands. The desert. She was in the Zan desert, she knew. She¡¯d been carrying Styri on her back when she collapsed. Were they found, or had that just been another illusion brought on by the delirious heat? How else could she have come to be here? She looked down at her hands. The left one was bandaged. Both of her feet were bandaged, too, and beyond the point of soreness. They were injured. Whether superficially or in the musculature under her skin, her feet hurt sharply when she walked. Her gait then took on a clumsy daintiness, and she regretted remembering her pain. It would only slow her down. ¡°Styri?¡± Akona called again. This time, someone appeared at the far end of the hallway. ¡°Have you seen my sister?¡± It was a man wearing all-white cotton robes with an arm-length headscarf cinched around his forehead. On his head was a laurel of green leaves. His fashion was strange, an amalgamation of trends she¡¯d seen in both Qarda and Myrenthos. She had dreadfully little knowledge of the tribes in the Zan desert¡ªneither Zan Vayonado nor the lesser known nomads. ¡°Go,¡± he said in Myrenthian with a thick accent. ¡°No, you go. Not this way.¡± ¡°Please, I need to see my sister. Where is she?¡± He had a weary, stone-faced look about him, looking down at her solemnly over the bridge of his enormous nose. ¡°You... not can see her. Gone.¡± He used his hands to mime lying down on a pillow. ¡°Gone?¡± Akona¡¯s legs suddenly felt even weaker. ¡°Girl. Sister?¡± The man¡¯s face scrunched up in concentration. ¡°She, eh... Your sister sleep. She sleep the... forever. Sorry to you.¡± It didn¡¯t feel right. She could still feel Styri in her heart. They were close enough that one knew when the other was ill even while apart, or when the other one was fibbing, even if she¡¯d done a perfect job of covering her tracks. They had no secrets between each other¡ªit was impossible. But Akona remembered how Styri had stopped breathing on their trek through the desert. She¡¯d been without food and water. And Akona, in her delirium, had made the mistake of walking the sands in the light of day, when the desert heat was most damaging to them. It would not be a shock to imagine that Styri hadn¡¯t survived the journey. Not a logical one, at least. ¡°I need to see her body,¡± said Akona. She didn¡¯t allow herself the leisure of grieving, not yet. That would come when she performed all the tests that the glademothers had taught her¡ªshe needed to be sure that her twin was really gone for good and beyond saving. ¡°Take me to her. Now.¡± ¡°You, eh, not want to see her,¡± said the man, wincing with the difficulty of speaking this unfamiliar language. ¡°She... she forever sleep now. Better if you not.¡± He was useless. Akona pushed past him, running down the hall in her bandaged feet, ignoring the lightning bolts of pain arcing up her calves. She poked her head in room after room¡ªempty. Empty. In one, a skinny old man sat in a wooden rocking chair next to a window. She kept searching. One room was sealed with linen curtains. She pushed through them and entered, finding a room with two beds. On one of the beds was her sister Styri. She was sitting upright, surprised to see her. ¡°Akona?¡± Akona leaped onto the bed next to her and the two of them embraced. ¡°Styri, what happened to you?¡± she asked. ¡°I don¡¯t remember. We were in the desert... and the next thing I knew, I woke up here. And you?¡± ¡°The same.¡± The curtains fluttered behind them. A man and an old woman entered the room, both wearing similar garments, though the woman¡¯s headscarf was shorter and embroidered with a checkered pattern at the edges. ¡°She¡¯s already awake?¡± the other man said in a Stonish dialect. He had icy blue eyes. ¡°I told the other one not to come,¡± said the large-nosed one, entering after them. ¡°They need sleep.¡± ¡°You speak Stonish?!¡± Akona blurted out in the same language. The large-nosed man furrowed his brow, offended. ¡°Of course! We are Zan!¡± ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you tell me my sister was sleeping and not dead?¡± ¡°I said sleep!¡± ¡°Forever, though?!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have hyperbole in Myrenthos? You¡¯ve both been in and out of sleep for the past four days!¡± He folded his arms and turned up his big nose. ¡°Is this how you thank your gracious hosts?¡± The twins shared a glance. Akona softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°Thank you for having us. Thank you for everything you did to help us.¡± ¡°You saved us out there?¡± Styri asked. ¡°My two sons and my cousins did,¡± the blue-eyed man answered. ¡°You were but a dial¡¯s turn from the oasis. You almost made it on your own. It was a good thing they found you, though¡ªit was nearly midday, and on your own, you would have both perished before the sun set.¡± He reached out with a smile and grabbed Akona gently by the forearms. ¡°Hello. I am called Haareg. You are called Akona, yes?¡± The girl nodded. ¡°Is this how you greet here¡ªwith the arms?¡± ¡°I am called Zeled,¡± said the man with the big nose. He touched both her forearms at once, and Akona responded in kind. It was sort of how the other Stonish peoples in Grackenwell and Dridon greeted each other by a single-armed grasp of the other¡¯s right forearm. ¡°You were in bad shape when you came to the oasis, Akona, but your sister¡ªStyri, was it? We thought she had died.¡± The elderly woman greeted her next as the men introduced themselves formally to Styri. ¡°I am called Ipaar,¡± she said, her smile revealing mostly toothless gums. ¡°Welcome, welcome. Stay as long as you like.¡± ¡°Where are we, exactly?¡± Styri asked. ¡°This is the Oasis of Baranatha.¡± The old woman hobbled across the room and threw open the drapes in front of Styri¡¯s window, letting in the light of the desert reflected brilliantly off the limestone buildings outside. Palm trees lined the packed dirt roads. There were large white birds with pink-tinted wing feathers and long, rounded bills walking the roads, as well as smaller birds of many colors perched on the rooftops. Insects buzzed nearby. ¡°There is more water within the walls of this city than in the rest of the Zan desert combined. Truly a height among hells. There¡¯s no place you¡¯d rather be in your condition.¡± Akona knew what the old woman meant, but sadly, she knew they couldn¡¯t stay long. Not with the veracidins on their trail. Even with their extensive training by the glademothers, they were still two children¡ªand the veracidins were grown men who¡¯d had brutal training of their own, likely in southern Qardish deserts not unlike this one. They¡¯d survive the journey. If they could find the twins here, they would. ¡°Is this the only oasis in the Zan desert?¡± Akona asked innocently. Zeled nodded. ¡°Well, not the only. But certainly the biggest by far, and the only one with a city. In fact, this is the only permanent city in all the desert. It is the main hub of trade for travelers going north or south on the Stone Continent.¡± Akona and Styri shared a secret glance. They sometimes had a way of intimating their thoughts to one another without speaking, a skill it seemed that only they had and could never teach others. It was useful in times like these.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. She tilted her chin down, a slight arch of her brow, as if to say, This will be the first place the veracidins search for us. Styri tilted her head almost imperceptibly toward the window. We should leave. Akona reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing her cheek as she did so¡ªnot unlike a pillow against her face. Tonight. It all happened in the span of a breath. ¡°Thank you all again for your hospitality,¡± said Akona. ¡°I think I¡¯d like to take a walk with my sister if that¡¯s all right. We want to explore Baranatha.¡± ¡°Now?¡± said Zeled. Haareg stepped forward, held up his hands. ¡°I-I don¡¯t think¡ª¡± Just as Akona helped her sister to her feet, Styri¡¯s legs buckled¡ªshe fell to the tile floor, wincing. Her white linen bandages parted to reveal dark red-brown patches in the layers underneath. ¡°I was afraid of this,¡± Haareg sighed. ¡°It hurts,¡± Styri hissed in her reflexive Myrenthian. ¡°Bad.¡± ¡°You are free to leave whenever you like, of course,¡± the old woman Ipaar said warily. ¡°But I think she ought to stay until healed. You won¡¯t make it far in the sand like this.¡± The sisters shared another look, as if to say, We¡¯re stuck here for awhile. *** The first day they were awake together, the sisters had mostly water. They nibbled corners of soft bread for supper. Akona felt her strength returning faster, making her ravenous, so she devoured an entire floury flatbread with fire-browned spots. It filled her stomach to the point of stretching. The second day, they ate more flatbreads, this time with stewed vegetables that lacked spices. They were so hungry that even an unspiced meal didn¡¯t taste half bad¡ªa rare feat for a Myrenthian. One meal a day became two. Akona could see her sister¡¯s strength returning bit by bit, her cheeks and neck filling back out with the fullness of water that they¡¯d both been lacking for so long, and her color even started to come back. The third day was a bit more adventurous. Their meals consisted of the same, along with camel¡¯s milk¡ªit was salty and rich with a sweet aftertaste¡ªand stewed meat with unleavened bread baked in the sand. For dessert, they enjoyed dates so sweet that Akona thought she might cry. When she asked what the sisters could do to repay the generosity of their hosts, Ipaar waved a hand and shook her head. ¡°You said you would leave this place when ready. That makes you guests here. And the hospitality of the desert is to treat all guests this way.¡± Akona and Styri walked the streets of Baranatha that night. They were well enough to be on their rebandaged feet again, though her sister walked with a pronounced limp. The streets smelled of roasting goat and fragrant herbs that men smoked from water pipes. ¡°Where do we go from here?¡± Styri asked her after a long stretch of quiet. Akona sighed. ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous to retrace our steps. We might cross paths with the veracidins. Our only hope is to keep going.¡± ¡°West?¡± ¡°Where else?¡± Styri scoffed. ¡°Until we hit the islands? Or...¡± ¡°Farther.¡± ¡°Farther than the Grand Archipelago? Now I know you¡¯ve gone mad!¡± ¡°The world is round, Styri! Like a pomegranate. We can¡¯t go east or north¡ªthat¡¯s Grackenwell, Qarda, veracidins, and we¡¯ll be killed. Or worse. But if we keep going west, we circle around to the other side of the world.¡± ¡°You say circle around like it¡¯s so easy. Ever heard of a place called the Great Unknown?!¡± ¡°Yes, and the Great Unknown is just a big ocean! We might be safer there than anywhere else. We¡¯ll buy a boat in Dridon¡ªsteal one, if we have to. We just need to make it to Xheng Yu Xi. They¡¯re neutral in all the conflicts of the world, so we can buy safe passage back to Myrenthos from there. Then we¡¯re finally home free! Our mother is waiting for us. Our payment is waiting for us¡ªwe¡¯ll have wealth for life! And we get to help rebuild Myrenthos. Rewrite the books that the Qardish burned.¡± Akona¡¯s words seemed to be getting through to Styri, who turned her head away in a huff, but the argument had gone out of her. ¡°Show it to me again,¡± she said. ¡°Not out here,¡± said Akona. ¡°In here, then!¡± Styri pointed to an alley. ¡°I need to see it with my own eyes. You¡¯re sure they didn¡¯t go through our things while we were asleep?¡± ¡°Positive. They would have said something.¡± Akona obliged her anyway, ducking into the alley between a loud, smoky tavern and an empty butchery. A rat scurried between their feet and out into the city. Akona reached into the bag she carried around her shoulder, pushing aside the supplies that their Baranathan hosts had gifted them¡ªdried food staples, full wineskins and skins of mild beer that would keep for emergencies, medicinal herbs, more bandages. She rifled through to the bottom of the bag and undid the hidden clasp in the corner¡ªrevealing the false bottom. That was where it was stored, the length of the emperor¡¯s beard with the golden lacer still fastened around it. The metal caught the light of the tall torches burning on the city streets. She let Styri have a peek, then sealed it all back up as it was. ¡°We have most of what we need,¡± Akona went on. ¡°We¡¯ll need to buy a few more things tomorrow before we¡ª¡± ¡°Before you what?¡± said a voice behind her in Myrenthian. It was male. Akona¡¯s heart quickened. In a split moment, she reached back into her bag¡ªa hand grabbed her wrist, then another swiped the bag from her clutches. She spun around. Another lean man in Qardish garb. A veracidin. ¡°Sister!¡± Styri whined. There were two more veracidins who subdued her. A fourth one waited behind them, keeping watch at the other end of the alley. They were blocked on both sides. Akona looked up. A fifth veracidin looked down at her from the butchery¡¯s rooftop. It was a narrow enough alley that she could have climbed up between the walls in an emergency¡ªnot with him there. Besides, they had her sister. There was no way out. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about screaming,¡± said the lead veracidin, the one holding her by the shoulder. He was a one-eyed man with a scar across his left eye that was permanently closed. ¡°Look at your sister. Now.¡± Akona turned her head, recoiling from the veracidin¡¯s vise grip on her shoulder. Two others each had Styri by one of her arms. One held a glass jar up to her face, its mouth sealed with a wicker lid full of airholes. In the transparent jar was a thick black scorpion, a fat, spiny barb at the end of its curved tail. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Akona whispered. ¡°Please.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t, so long as you remain quiet,¡± the veracidin warned her. ¡°If you scream, call for help, if you make some other sound or give another signal¡ªif you so much as speak above a whisper...¡± His grip somehow tightened even more. ¡°...then your sister will be dead in moments. No one will be able to save her. We have the only antidote, and we will flee, leaving her here to die in your arms. Her whole body will be in terrible pain until she dies, and nothing you say or do will comfort her. And then we will find and do the same to you when the time is right. The only way you both survive is if you do exactly as I say. Understand?¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°Good.¡± She felt the veracidin move. ¡°Do it.¡± The man holding the jar lifted the wicker lid, allowing the scorpion to crawl to the rim of the jar, touching two sharp claws and a leg to Styri¡¯s cheek. Its tail moved so fast that she never saw it strike¡ªonly when it retracted. Styri let out the start of a scream, but the other veracidin stuffed a rag in her mouth, clamped it tight. ¡°I obeyed!¡± Akona hissed. ¡°I did what you said! Give her the¡ª¡± ¡°In due time,¡± said the scar-eyed man. ¡°One hundred breaths. That is the longest a person has endured the venom. You are breathing quickly now because you are afraid, which gives you even less time. And your sister... well, hers is even faster because of the pain. Right?¡± Styri shook her head, tried to speak around the rag in her mouth, but the sting site was already red and swelling. A tear leaked from her eye. ¡°The body betrays what the heart denies,¡± he said in Qardish. Then, again in Myrenthian, ¡°We will administer the antidote when you answer two questions. Answer them truthfully, and you will both live to face judgment in Rayyaq Raleed.¡± ¡°Fine!¡± Akona said through gritted teeth. ¡°Ask¡ªhurry up!¡± ¡°Did you assassinate Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen?¡± She couldn¡¯t help but notice the red spot on her sister¡¯s cheek now turning a sickly pale green, the sting wound slick with some kind of fluid. ¡°Yes. Please just give her the¡ª¡± ¡°In time,¡± said her captor. ¡°In time. Watch.¡± He gestured for one of his comrades to retrieve a glass vial with a feather-tipped dart submerged in a yellowish liquid. ¡°The antidote, as promised. You see, we veracidins deal in the truth. Everything I have said to you is true¡ªyou can trust that. ¡®For the power of Eloei flows from truth alone; therefore, let not deceit be found among you.¡¯ Now then. How many breaths has that been? Fifty? Sixty? Truthfully, I am not sure.¡± ¡°Just ask your question!¡± ¡°Know that we have no time left for your lies, little girl.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you the truth!¡± Tears rolled down Akona¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Please!¡± She heard him snicker behind her back. ¡°I have done this a long time, little girl. And I can tell that you speak the truth. We know that you two did not act alone. Who hired you to assassinate the Hierophant in his bedchamber?¡± She blurted out her answer without a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°Ghamal! His name was Ghamal! Ghamal Sanzeen¡ªthe vizier! The men with him, he had their necks tattooed to look like Grackenwelsh...¡± They said nothing at first. A few of them exchanged tense glances. ¡°That was his true name. The matriarch used a poison to make him tell us. But one of his men, they called him by another name in private... uh... um...¡± Akona wracked her brain for the trivial memory that was now a matter of life and death. ¡°Izzahd! They called him Izzahd!¡± Her response fell like a stone on their heads. A couple of them gasped. One¡¯s eyes widened, his jaw hanging open in shock. The other one, the one standing in the back of the alley, set his eyes in a glare aimed straight at the confessor. ¡°The secret name,¡± said one of them in an awestruck voice. ¡°The one only we know. She speaks the truth!¡± ¡°Eloei deliver us,¡± her captor whispered. ¡°The antidote¡ªnow! We will need their testimony in the holy city!¡± Styri was now moaning with the pain, her limbs shaking. The sting site was already blistering over; dark veins were visible under the swollen flesh. The veracidin with the glass vial plucked out the dart and slipped the needle into the bend of her arm. It bled slightly, which he dabbed away with a white cloth. ¡°Will she live?¡± asked the veracidin in charge. The one with the antidote nodded. ¡°She gave only four signs¡ªlucky. She was cured before the other signs manifested. She will sleep for a time, but that is it.¡± ¡°Good. Prepare the baskets! Give them only waterskins to start.¡± ¡°Sadriq,¡± said the veracidin in the back. ¡°We cannot return them to Qarda. They must be released.¡± ¡°Released?¡± Sadriq, the scar-eyed man, scoffed. ¡°Ahkuhl, what is the meaning of this? We found the killers of Hierophant Drakhman, Eloei grace him!¡± Ahkuhl, a man with a tiny tuft of a beard at the tip of his chin, stepped forward, placing a hand on one of the veracidins supporting Styri¡¯s swaying, half-conscious body. ¡°It was the will of Eloei that the previous hierophant be laid to rest. It was the will of Eloei that Ghamal Sanzeen, the true heir to Nahshaheeb Sanzeen, take the throne. Ghamal acted in accordance with Eloei¡¯s wishes. Therefore these girls must be spared¡ªthey acted not of their own accord, but every move they made, Eloei¡ª¡± ¡°What you say is heresy, Ahkuhl!¡± said Sadriq, his tone razor sharp and angry again. ¡°Hierophant Lanor Sanzeen is the Seventy-Eighth Prophet of Eloei! She is the only heir of Hierophant Drakhman¡ª¡± ¡°Drakhman was a pretender!¡± Ahkuhl interrupted him. ¡°He led Qarda to countless wars and ruin. He was a tyrant to the rest of the world and so soft on his own people that apostasy has run amok! Ghamal will set the world right again. As Eloei wills it, so shall it be!¡± ¡°We deal in the truth, brother. Or have you forgotten the oath you swore?¡± Only now did Sadriq inadvertently loosen his grasp on Akona. The others began to turn on Akhuhl as well. ¡°You speak in the language of your father. And so, you are no brother of mine.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do this!¡± Ahkuhl yelled. He had a dagger drawn¡ªhe warded off the attack of one of the veracidins holding Styri, who in that moment kicked the legs out from under the other one. Akona scratched Sadriq¡¯s good eye¡ªher fingers came away wet with either tears or blood. He cried out in sudden pain. It all happened in the span of a breath. ¡°Run!¡± Akona yelled, and by some turn of fortune, Styri kept perfect pace with her despite the scorpion venom pulsing through her body. Her fatigue must have been a feint the whole time. ¡°My eye!¡± Sadriq yelled. ¡°Jahfni, don¡¯t let them escape! Eloei damn you, Akhuhl!¡± The fifth veracidin, the one on the butchery¡¯s roof, jumped a shocking distance to the packed dirt road below while the others traded blows. He hit the ground running even from such a height. The sisters shared a glance in the torchlight of Baranatha. Styri¡¯s look was as if to say, The desert? Again? My feet still hurt. Akona¡¯s look said, West. Southwest. Dridon. The Archipelago. The Great Unknown. We will make it home! As Styri turned away, her eyes said, Will we? Chapter Twenty-Two: LANOR V Eloei gave us the Four Precepts that we might know the proper treatment of men and the world He ordained for us. You have heard it said: Man shall preserve the word by book; Man shall not enslave man; Man shall not kill unjustly; All gods but Eloei are deceivers. These are right and true. But now Eloei delivers to us wisdom beyond Precepts, that truth which encompasses all others: Reason is the greatest gift of man. From reason flows the word, wisdom, truth, and every good thing. Reason separates man from the mahjeen. Therefore temper your reason as steel and let not your passions sully it. As each thing has many facets, so the most esteemed facet of reason is its longevity; the myths of our fathers fall away with the years and are replaced with new ones, but reason stands the test of time. Convene a council of tribal elders in Ralaheed to test my wisdom. Weigh my words and see that they are sound. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 58, Verses 66-84 Dome of the Synod, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda The Palace of the Hierophant stood proudly facing Mount Tulaylal, the holy mountain Kahlo Hadrizeen climbed to commune with Eloei. The Temple was an adjoining edifice part of the same royal complex. At the opposite side of the holy city Rayyaq Raleed stood the Dome of the Synod. It was a monument almost equally splendorous, a gilded sixteen-sided dome atop a stone foundation and encircled by a pristine marble colonnade. It was no coincidence that the Dome of the Synod stood in direct geographical opposition to the Palace of the Hierophant. From the foundation of the city, when Ralaheed became Rayyaq Raleed, the Synod was created to balance the otherwise unchecked powers of the Hierophant. If the Hierophant was the source of religious truth, the Synod was the crucible where that truth was tested. The Synod chamber was an enormous amphitheater with ascending rows of lecterns made of tigerwood. At these lecterns stood each member of the Synod, all two hundred and fifty-two of them assembled from the farthest reaches of Qarda. The four Synod elders sat behind broad mahogany desks at ground level in the front row. Gold-plated paladins stood encircling the room with their ceremonial spears held upright. Tucked away in a corner was a pair of long oak tables where scribes sat and recorded the proceedings. Their quills were somehow always fluttering, even in times of silence. At the center of the cavernous room was a raised dais made of marble, on which sat an elevated podium made of polished sandalwood and engraved with interlocking rhomboids. This was where each speaker stated his case when given his time to speak. Over a hundred members of the Synod had stood at the podium over the more than twenty days since the congregation began. There was no end in sight. ¡°Glory to Eloei, Maker of the Morning and the New Dawn,¡± said Hierophant Lanor. She led the kohfar in the Dome of the Synod as she¡¯d done each morning since the start of the congregation, standing on the marble dais before the men who would judge her fate. The Synod cleric and even the elders always bowed their heads in reverence during the daily prayers. ¡°Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble. Guard my heart from the wiles of the Hateful One.¡± She wondered how long they would continue to afford her this religious respect. ¡°Intercede for me, O Word Among Men, the First Prophet Kahlo Hadrizeen, and I will keep your Tome all my days. In the name of Eloei the Merciful, if it please Him, so be it.¡± ¡°So be it,¡± echoed hundreds of men. And then her time to speak was over until the midday prayer. ¡°As Eloei wills it,¡± announced the archelder Rhadiz Tal. ¡°So shall it be.¡± For a man of his advanced age, his voice boomed as loud and strong as a man thirty years his junior¡ªthe mark of a natural born leader. ¡°This is the Ninth Congregation of the Eloheed Umraiah. The Synod deliberates.¡± Nine. A dreadfully unlucky number. ¡°And so we begin again,¡± said Ghamal. He took a crystal carafe full of cold, bitter tea and poured her a glass. He poured a small portion for himself as well. ¡°We will likely not move from these thrones until the zahuahr at midday. Another day of the same men arguing the same minutiae... even when the correct choice is so obvious.¡± He sighed deeply into his tea, fogging the glass, and then set it down on the table without taking a sip. ¡°I advise you make yourself comfortable, Lanor.¡± Lanor sipped her tea. It was bitter as ever, chilled with ice mined from the snowcapped peak of Mount Tulaylal. The traditional Qardish beverage was meant to refresh and reinvigorate her. She blinked away her lingering sleep from the night before¡ªor rather, lack thereof. It was impossible to sleep soundly these days. ¡°I might never be comfortable again,¡± she replied quietly. ¡°Not while the Synod still congregates.¡± Each cleric in the Synod, all two hundred fifty-two of them, and all four elders¡ªall of them were required to present an individual argument before the congregation, either for or against the issue they were deliberating. In turn, all other members of the Synod were to be given a chance to debate the individual at the podium, citing their own evidence from the Testament or the commentaries written in its wake. A Synod congregation was a long and laborious process. It was no wonder that it ordinarily took several moons to complete. But Lanor sat upright in her throne. Sipped her stimulating tea. Watched the proceedings intently with honor and dignity, even though these were adult concepts that still felt beyond her young years. In her heart of hearts, she was only afraid. ¡°We have heard it said many times in this congregation, but it bears repeating,¡± said cleric Tafoub, who hailed from Khaad. ¡°There is no verse in the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen that deals with a woman holding authority over a man. The First Prophet, Eloei grace him, never spoke for or against it. He never prescribed it, nor did he proscribe it. However...¡± The beady-eyed man raised a didactic finger behind the podium. ¡°...there is one verse that describes the place of women in society, in the city of Ralaheed. ¡°Chapter 61, the verses on advocacy halfway through the chapter. I invite you to turn to read with me if you cannot recall by heart.¡± Several clerics throughout the Dome of the Synod opened their copies of the Testament at their lecterns and turned to the right chapter. ¡°The First Prophet, Eloei grace him, said: ¡®Women are not permitted to be witnesses in court, nor are they permitted to hold office in the city of Ralaheed.¡¯¡± He grinned, pleased with himself. ¡°The First Prophet sets no precedent for a woman holding any office whatsoever. Does this extend to the hierophany? We must consider this as a possibility. I submit my words to be weighed.¡± The speaker at the podium was given free rein to state his case and take as much time as he thought necessary. Arguments from the general Synod, however, were on a time limit. There was a ritual stick of incense that was burned at one end and passed around the congregation of clerics. Anyone who wished to present an argument would have to take the incense and light his etafir, a ritual candle used only in Synod congregations which marked the passage of time. Throughout the whole congregation, he could only speak as much as his candle allowed, and when the wick finished burning, he was not permitted to speak again during the proceedings. What troubled Lanor was that even the most melted candles she could see in the audience still stood too tall for her liking. The first cleric to argue this day was a man with a scruffy beard that grew in patches. His name was Zumhir. ¡°The very next verse says otherwise,¡± he said. ¡°Allow me to read the full section for the Synod. ¡®You who are of the city and have lived in the city, you know the place of women. Women are not permitted to be witnesses in court, nor are they permitted to hold office in the city of Ralaheed. It is customary for a man to intercede in court for his wife, a brother for his sister, a son for his mother, a father for his daughter. This is because a woman is not permitted to speak for herself. I say it is imperative that a man intercedes not only for the blood of his lineage or the blood of his union, but also for the woman not of his blood. This is because all men and women, all children and elders, even all the Eloheed and all the unbelievers are of one blood, now and hence, the blood of one kind. For a man to intercede on a woman¡¯s behalf is to bring greater balance to the city of Ralaheed in pursuit of the world Eloei has envisioned.¡¯¡± He looked up from the tome on his lectern. ¡°I argue the context of the verse proves the opposite point. That is all I have for cleric Tafoub.¡± He extinguished the flame of his etafir and was silent. Lanor took another sip of her tea. In the Dome of the Synod, neither she nor Ghamal were permitted to utter a word outside the daily prayers, but she wanted to express her gratitude to the clerics who argued and cited verses from the Testament in her defense. She felt a great tide turning against her in the city and in the nation at large. It was held back for now by a dam of loyalty¡ªbut how long would that hold? ¡°Cleric Tafoub says that the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, never spoke for or against the idea of a woman holding authority over men,¡± said another cleric. He was a bony, crooked-nosed man named Ahdazi. ¡°This is correct. Cleric Zumhir argues that we are taking out of context the only verses in the Testament dealing with a woman¡¯s place in general society. Perhaps he is right. But the message does not change. Did the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, advocate for women to take roles of leadership or to do away with the intercession of men? No, he did not! We are all of one blood as the creation of Eloei, but we all have our places, just as a child is not fit to rule over his parents¡ªthat would be ludicrous, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± He gesticulated with his hands and even smiled at the audience, speaking casually, more like a man telling jokes than anything else. A few younger Synod members chuckled. ¡°But let us not forget that the Testament is not an incomplete document,¡± Ahdazi went on, more solemnly now. ¡°It is the complete word of Eloei as spoken to the most righteous man who ever lived. In the ninety-ninth chapter, the penultimate chapter, the third chapter of the Sanguine Verses... what does the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, say? ¡®If I knew another truth you ought to honor, I would have told you. Therefore let not others deceive you in my name.¡¯ If he had wanted the natural order of men and women to change...¡± Ahdazi smiled, gesturing one last time with open hands as if showing off his own argument. ¡°...he would have told us. Would he not?¡± Then he put out the flame of his candle. And so it went. Lanor watched the pendulum of theology swing in and out of her favor, back and forth without end. In the early days of the congregation, she watched from the edge of her throne, hands gripping the clawed armrests tightly, but things were different today. She was so exhausted from her lack of sleep that she could have taken a nap right there in her throne under other circumstances. She sipped more of her bitter tea¡ªdrained the glass. She poured herself some more. ¡°In Chapter 71, the First Prophet, Eloei grace him, ensured that an elderly widow inherited the house and the land owned by her late husband,¡± said Cleric Hasjal, a kind-eyed young man with a strong chin and a single modest beard lacer made of ivory. ¡°And what was the custom of Ralaheed at the time? A widow was to be married off again to a surviving male relative of the dead man, and the property would go to him. Not so in this case!¡± He twisted his ivory beard lacer idly. ¡°In his own words: ¡®Eloei the magnificent; Eloei the merciful; Eloei the beneficent; Eloei the most just. The Lord Above Lords is called many names, but He named not Himself; rather, men of the earth bestowed titles upon Him for His deeds. Eloei prepared the way for us in the days of the mahjeen. He made the land to be a home to us. Would you take away the home of this woman who is now unwed and has lost her partner? If you would do this thing, then let her have my home and I will wander the streets in her stead.¡¯ Even in the last days of Ralaheed, the First Prophet, Eloei grace him¡ªhe was arguing on behalf of a woman! The customs of a widow¡¯s inheritance in Qarda changed forever on that day!¡± Hasjal banged his hand on his lectern passionately as he spoke. Even still, Lanor could barely keep her eyes open. ¡°Lanor,¡± Ghamal muttered to her discreetly. ¡°Far be it from me to question the reigning Hierophant... but are you falling asleep in the Synod?¡± Her eyelids opened with a start, but they were so heavy that it took real effort to keep them pried apart. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she replied. ¡°You need not apologize to me. I have no authority over you.¡± He shook his head. ¡°All I can say is that it reflects very poorly on you, given the precarious state of your leadership. Over five hundred eyes are watching you. Have you been drinking your tea?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already had a full glass.¡± She took the carafe and held it over her uncle¡¯s glass. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like some more? You¡¯ve barely touched yours.¡± He declined with a wave of his hand. ¡°You need it more than I do.¡± She drank more, taking a cold droplet of condensation from the glass and letting it drip down the back of her neck, trying to shock herself awake. When would the tea¡¯s stimulating effects finally take hold? The more she drank, the deeper sleep called to her. Another cleric was presenting a counter to a counter to a counterargument when she lost the battle and sank into the velvet cushions of her throne. She awoke with a start¡ªthe door of the Synod chamber slammed open. ¡°I would direct you to the previous chapter¡ªwhat is the meaning of this?¡± a cleric gasped at the interruption. ¡°Guards!¡± The paladins marched to intercept an intruder in the Synod chamber. He was a soldier¡ªno, a commander, judging by the black color of his golden helmet¡¯s plumage. He limped into the room carrying another helmet under his arm, this one unplumed, and Lanor saw that it was cracked and stained with blood. He threw it against the floor of the chamber where it hit with a loud clang. ¡°Commander Shadahfet!¡± Ghamal shouted. ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± ¡°Hierophant,¡± said the captain of the paladins in the chamber. ¡°What would you like done?¡± ¡°Let him speak,¡± Lanor croaked groggily. She cleared her throat. The paladins formed up around the commander, blocking his advance, but they did as they were told and held their position. ¡°Twenty years,¡± the man growled. ¡°My brother Safikh walked this earth for only twenty years. Now he¡¯s dead¡ªlike the others! Six hundred men lost... And for what? Not even half of us managed to escape and retreat!¡± ¡°Commander,¡± said Lanor, sitting up straight, ¡°I¡¯m, I¡¯m very sorry¡ª¡± ¡°Sorry won¡¯t raise my brother from the dead!¡± Shadahfet shot back. ¡°Sorry won¡¯t win Holcort! A thousand Eloheed you sent? Two hundred thousand live in Holcort! Walls and cannons! Slave soldiers! You sent us to die! And you!¡± He jabbed a finger toward Ghamal. ¡°I would expect this bumbling from a girl in charge. Where were you, the vizier, when she ordered this suicide mission?¡± ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I opposed this invasion of Grackenwell,¡± said Ghamal, standing from his throne. ¡°But if I were you, I would mind your tongue in the presence of the reigning hierophant.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Her?¡± Shadahfet scoffed. ¡°She is no hierophant!¡± The paladins jumped to arrest him. ¡°I said it! She is no hierophant! Why else would Eloei let us die in droves? She has no Sanction! The Sanzeen line is no more!¡± Half the Synod gasped in outrage, while the others bit their tongues, exchanging glances and muttering to one another. ¡°That is enough,¡± said Ghamal. ¡°Paladins, escort him to the dungeon. At once!¡± The paladins obeyed, dragging the commander out of the chamber. Shadahfet kept yelling his heresies all the way out. Even when the heavy door thudded shut, his voice was still audible, echoing through the streets. ¡°We must take a recess,¡± said the elder Mufair. ¡°The Synod cannot operate in this condition!¡± ¡°On the contrary,¡± said Rhadiz Tal. ¡°The Synod must continue to operate. You see the division already sown in this nation. That was a commander of the fighting Eloheed. What will become of this city¡ªof the distant corners of our land? The longer we deliberate, the more Qarda will devour itself!¡± As the elders debated this development, Lanor grabbed the hem of Ghamal¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Uncle,¡± she whispered. ¡°The invasion¡ªit failed? When were you going to tell me?¡± ¡°The time wasn¡¯t right, Lanor,¡± he answered her quietly. ¡°The Synod congregation is the most pressing matter right now. I couldn¡¯t let you be distracted¡ªand I couldn¡¯t let the others learn of our defeat until the time was right, either.¡± ¡°You told me to send them! Why did they fail? You said... You said a thousand would be enough. This was all¡ª¡± ¡°Stop,¡± Ghamal cut her off. He glared at her with deadly serious eyes. ¡°Stop speaking of that. This instant.¡± The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She¡¯d never heard him speak quite like this before, at least not since his outburst against her the day after Hur Adhajah. She recoiled slightly from him and he instantly softened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lanor. We¡¯re close now. Eloei has prepared the way for us. We just¡ª¡± ¡°Vizier Ghamal Sanzeen,¡± said Rhadiz Tal. He smiled a displeased smile. ¡°What is it you¡¯re discussing with Hierophant Lanor? With all due respect to your stations, the Synod is still in congregation.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing, archelder,¡± he answered with a humble nod. ¡°Our apologies. Please continue with our blessing.¡± ¡°Need I remind you that all words spoken under this dome are to be entered into the official record of this congregation?¡± The vizier shook his head. ¡°Not at all.¡± The archelder squinted as he grinned a too-cheery grin. ¡°Excellent. Let us all return, then, with our eyes open and alert, to the matter at hand! Shall we?¡± Several clerics covered their mouths in shock. Others simply let their jaws hang open in disbelief. Lanor felt the sting of Rhadiz Tal¡¯s scathing words that were anything but subtle. The fact that he felt so emboldened, so comfortable to say such a thing in full view of the Synod, worried her deeply. She lamented how she fell asleep in full view of the same governing body that would decide her fate. How foolish, how childish¡ªhow arrogant she must have seemed to them. A teenage girl so bored with the holy proceedings that she took a nap without a shred of shame. How had it even come to this? Her exhaustion was bone deep, and it seemed to come out of nowhere. She was tired when the day began. This, however... This was something else. Visions of the battlefield in Holcort played through her mind as she stared straight ahead at the Synod. Safikh¡ªshe¡¯d sent him to die. Safikh and some six hundred other men had died in a land of horrors she could scarcely imagine, a land she would never see with her own eyes. It was all her fault. It happened by her word alone. She had no one to blame but herself, and any attempt to shirk the blame was more childishness on her part. What was she thinking, playing at war like she was her father? She lacked his years of experience and wisdom. And she had all the more blood on her hands because of it. Had her father agonized the same over every decision he made for Qarda? Did it come naturally to him, or was it a skill he honed over many years? She wished she could ask him. She wished he was still around to relieve her of this burden. She didn¡¯t want his throne. She never had. What have I done? Lanor asked Eloei in her mind. If You¡¯re even listening... If You even care. Just then, she felt something brush the back of her hand. Her uncle Ghamal held out a slip of paper discreetly, in such a way that it looked inconspicuous, his arm resting on his throne while extending the note under his palm. She took it and tried to unfurl it with as much discretion. ¡®Sadly, the omen of your victory in Holcort did not come to pass,¡¯ the note read. She scanned it with her eyes while keeping her face leveled at the amphitheater, so no one could tell from a distance. ¡®I have prepared the way for you. There are four carafes of water in the Temple of Eloei. Take a leave of absence and meditate on the Testament for four days. Your presence is not needed here, and a show of faith will go a long way for these clerics. You will remind them that you are the cleric above all other clerics. You will atone for your slothfulness and prove to them how seriously you take the throne. Say nothing, stand up, and leave now. I will explain your decision to the Synod. When you are alone, destroy this note.¡¯ Lanor¡¯s heartbeat quickened. Her gaze swept over the room. Over two hundred men in the ascending rows around her, dozens of paladins and guards¡ªand all these were just a small fraction of the several million people across Qarda who depended on her. She couldn¡¯t bear to disappoint them again. She trusted her uncle one final time. She stood from her throne and walked out of the Synod chamber without another word. She was gone. *** The Temple of Eloei was ghostly quiet when she entered. No one had come to worship that day. What did that say of the faith she inspired in the people of Rayyaq Raleed? Still, it was all the same to her¡ªshe preferred the solitude. It was a welcome change of pace. Lanor didn¡¯t sit in her throne. Instead, she sat on the cool tiled floor of the temple, her back resting against a pillar. She read and reread the note from her uncle Ghamal, unfolding and folding it between her fingers, stuffing it into the paper-thin crack between two tiles, and as she busied her idle hands this way, she found her eyes drawn to the original copy of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen. The first Eloheed revered the tome so much that they¡¯d built protective case after protective case to store it, each one stronger and sealed tighter than the last. But why? She had a hard time grasping what was so special about it. The Testament had been meticulously reproduced more than a hundred times even while Kahlo Hadrizeen still walked the earth. After his passing, production of the text had exploded all across Qarda, and in the centuries since, thousands and thousands more copies had been produced in other languages and in other lands. What was so special about the first? It must have been its connection to Kahlo himself. It was his hands that dragged the ink across each page of parchment. It was his very blood that formed the ink of the final four chapters, the so-called Sanguine Verses. Perhaps that was worth preserving. Perhaps, since he¡¯d written those words on Mount Tulaylal in the direct presence of Eloei, the original copy of the tome carried some trace of holiness that could last for future generations. Lanor closed her eyes. For the first time since her father''s death, she had a gentle cry. The gut-wrenching weeping was a thing of the past. Her eyes filled up with wet warmth that spilled down her face, but she didn¡¯t so much as sniffle, and this she counted as progress. Her father. She had a hard time picturing his face anymore, which gave her a sudden fright, like the recurring nightmares she had of walking barefoot down a steep staircase and tripping headfirst. She reached for the memory and lost her balance. Another bead crawled down the wet track on her left cheek. What would the great Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen do in a situation like this? He always seemed so certain of himself, and so often with good reason. Lanor didn''t have that; she doubted her choice of royal gown on any given day, what fruits to request at breakfast. The political encumbrances now laid on her young shoulders were orders and orders above the daily minutiae that gave her pause. Though his face and the sound of his voice eluded her, she tried to remember his demeanor, the way he addressed those below him, the way he conducted his daily duties. Much of it involved rebuking his older brother. She smirked at these memories. But any recollection of her father was like the softest fruit in the thickest jungle, so prone to browning over, spoiling, without a moment¡¯s notice. One more tear to warm the cool trail of its predecessors. Drakhman lived on in her memory, yes, but her memory had become a windowless house, disorganized and labyrinthine. She spent a good long while searching and skimming for something very important¡ªthe last words he¡¯d ever said to her. What were they? Because you are my daughter. And your mother and I are very proud of you... Praise be to Eloei. ¡°Praise be to Eloei,¡± she said, and the volume of her own voice was startling in the dead calm. ¡°But why? Are You even there to hear my praise? What is it to You? I¡¯ve done the best I could with the life You gave me, and now I¡¯m just an orphan. An orphan who doesn¡¯t know what she¡¯s doing. I don¡¯t want to be separated from You, but how do I find You? Must I pray extra prayers? Meditate harder? Why won¡¯t You tell me?¡± She wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve. ¡°I¡¯ve done everything You said, and You said I¡¯d be ready when the time came! I can¡¯t feel You by my side anymore, and I don¡¯t know what to do. And You promised You would never leave me¡ªYou lied! How am I supposed to do this without you? Why? Why would you leave me like this? I don¡¯t know what to do and I¡¯m so afraid. And you¡¯re not here.¡± Cursing a god had become something smaller, something more personal. The gut-wrenching weeping came back in full force. It didn¡¯t seem fair¡ªnone of it did. Lanor collapsed at the foot of the throne, rested her head against it. She wept. She wept and wept. Sleep crept out again from somewhere behind her eyelids, pulled them shut. What was in that tea? It was no stimulant. Had her uncle made a mistake? She surrendered again to the pull of her exhaustion, right there on the floor of the temple. *** ¡°Lanor? Lanor, can you hear me?¡± She sat up in bed. The world glowed blue, blue for twilight. The world was a liminal color between the passing of the night and the coming of the day. It was ghostly quiet. ¡°Father?¡± she tried to say, but all that passed her lips was a whisper. ¡°I thought you were gone.¡± ¡°Not while you live.¡± ¡°What?¡± She didn¡¯t understand him. She tried to sit up in bed, but he held out a hand to excuse her. ¡°No need to get up. I just came here to talk to you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I can do it.¡± ¡°Do what?¡± ¡°Be Hierophant.¡± He smiled. ¡°But you already are.¡± She saw the blue light playing off the dampness in his eyes. The light never grew, and the sun never rose, the world caught forever in that hazy interstice. ¡°Do you know how old I was when I ascended the throne after my father died?¡± She shook her head. ¡°I was twenty-five years old. And do you think I was ready?¡± ¡°Of course. You were always good at it.¡± He chuckled softly. ¡°I was terrified, Lanor. Ghamal was the firstborn. When we were growing up, we always thought it would be him on the throne. He married, then married again, again, and again, taking all four wives permitted by law. Only then did it come to be known that it was him who was at fault when he couldn¡¯t sire a child. It was the fault of the seed, not the soil!¡± At this, he let out one of his famous roaring belly laughs. ¡°Father, that¡¯s disgusting!¡± Lanor said with a grimace. ¡°Don¡¯t say such things!¡± ¡°So, the Synod decided that since Ghamal could sire no offspring, I was to be the next Hierophant. He was furious with me. A lot of Qardish citizens weren¡¯t happy, either, some of them very powerful and influential people. I was scared to the bone. I thought about running away to Myrenthos and never coming back. I had half my bag packed before I changed my mind.¡± ¡°You told me that once, didn¡¯t you? I guess I forgot. Or maybe I wasn¡¯t listening.¡± She felt dizzy. ¡°What kept you here?¡± He smiled warmly. ¡°Your mother was pregnant. She told me that very day. And when I knew you were on the way, I knew I would set a bad example by running from my problems. So I stayed. I held my head high. And I ruled. I ruled the whole world, by the grace of Eloei.¡± He shook his head. ¡°But you know what? You were still my greatest achievement.¡± Her stomach twisted again in grief. Then she looked at him with skepticism, with something like accusation. ¡°You¡¯re not really saying that,¡± she replied. ¡°You¡¯re not even real. You¡¯re just made of my memories¡ªyou¡¯re gone!¡± ¡°If I were alive, do you think I would say any less of you?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then what difference does it make if I¡¯m alive to say it? What we did in life carries on even after we die. As long as someone we love is still alive, then even our love lives on after us.¡± ¡°And what if they die?¡± ¡°Then we hope they passed on their love to someone else. In that way, a piece of our love lives on even generations after. Even millennia. We carry love in us from humans who lived before there was a Ralaheed. Before there was a Qarda. We carry love in us even from the Time Before Time. It¡¯s one of the beautiful things about being human.¡± Still she shook her head. ¡°Pretty words, but you¡¯re not my father. Not my real father. You¡¯re only my memory of him. You only exist in my mind!¡± ¡°That¡¯s where I existed when I was alive, too. We all exist in the minds of others. For every thousand people we encounter, we¡¯re a thousand different people, a different one in each of their minds.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand. What are you saying?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t see others as they are. We see them as we are.¡± He reached out and held her face with both hands like she was a much smaller child. ¡°And I can tell that you must have seen me full of love, just like the love I had for you. And now I can go in peace.¡± She leaped out of her bed in that moment. Her legs wobbled, unsteady beneath her. ¡°Wait! Where are you going?¡± ¡°Back to your memory. Back to your blood and your name. Back to your wisdom and your strength, your love. Back to the annals of history. I will always be there when you need me. So will Eloei.¡± ¡°Wait!¡± she pleaded. ¡°Wait!¡± She was screaming now, as if she could tether him here if she wanted it badly enough. But the sun rose red in the sky. The veil was drawn between them again. He was gone. *** Her four days of meditation were almost complete. Lanor was a changed girl. Wrung out and emptied, she filled herself with the Testament and communed with Eloei, a newfound power and authority coursing through her. It felt like the dynamism of a true Prophetess. ¡°Since my father Drakhman¡¯s untimely murder, I¡¯ve struggled with the stumbling blocks of grief, fear, and self-doubt.¡± She practiced a short speech she¡¯d written in her mind the day before; she knew the placing of every pause, where exactly she¡¯d look when she said certain lines, but she was still fine-tuning the inflections and emphases she would use. She wondered how many times her father went through the same thing or if he always spoke only from the heart. Probably the latter. But she was learning. She gave herself credit where it was due. ¡°I relied too heavily on the counsel of my vizier, my uncle Ghamal. He is a shrewd man who has Qarda¡¯s best interests at heart, but he is not the Hierophant. I am. I am the conduit through which Eloei connects to the world, and I must hold myself in the same high regard that He holds me. I pledge that I will work night and day to restore Qarda to the glory Eloei has ordained for it. I will serve as the Living Hand of Eloei for¡ª" Suddenly, a loud crash. The door of the temple burst open. Her uncle Ghamal stormed in, flanked by paladins on either side. ¡°There she is,¡± he sighed. ¡°Hiding. Just as I thought.¡± ¡°Uncle?¡± she said sheepishly. She must have misheard him. ¡°It has come to this.¡± Ghamal bowed his head. ¡°Find her a cell in the dungeon for now. I leave her fate in the hands of the Synod.¡± ¡°What?¡± Lanor was more confused than ever, so much so that she wondered if she was still dreaming. It all became frighteningly real when the paladins put her wrists in irons. ¡°What¡¯s happening? Let go of me! Uncle, do something!¡± ¡°This way, Lanor Sanzeen,¡± said one of the paladins. ¡°You are wanted for crimes against Qarda.¡± ¡°Crimes? What crimes?¡± ¡°Abdication of the hierophany,¡± Ghamal answered solemnly. ¡°And what do we call a cleric who abdicates their duties? An apostate! Which makes you the greatest apostate Qarda has seen in ages.¡± ¡°Apostate? Uncle, I only came here because you told me! You said to¡ª¡± ¡°Enough! I will not let you bear false witness in the house of Eloei!¡± He bared his teeth, narrowed his glare. His eyes betrayed a dark impulse to reach out and strangle her where she stood. ¡°I have led the daily prayers in the Synod in your absence. I have stepped up to be the prophet you could never be. With decades of experience and the wisdom of the Testament in my right hand, I will not let Qarda falter from its pedestal at the top of the world.¡± He no longer had the eyes of her uncle, nor the eyes of her vizier. He had the eyes of an enemy. ¡°Take her away.¡± ¡°At once, Hierophant Ghamal,¡± said one of the paladins, and Lanor¡¯s heart sank. She walked as the paladins commanded her. The elite, gold-plated warriors who had guarded her so ardently even just a few days ago¡ªnow they paraded her through the teeming streets of the holy city like a common criminal. The midday sun was blinding. She had no presence of mind to cry out in protest, or to cry at all. All she could do was suck in shaking breaths to feed her jackrabbit heart. ¡°Father,¡± she whispered to the blameless blue sky above her. Either would do. ¡°What now?¡± Chapter Twenty-Three: CADAS IV A man is judged by the books he keeps. What has he learned from the people who went before him? A man who has many books is a good scholar. A man who has a library is surely enriched with wisdom. What can be said of a man with no books? He is nothing. He is a fool. -Sayings of Mazukai, Scroll 2 Sang Lamdak, Xheng Yu Xi Cadas poked at his supper with a grimace. The Lars family made a colossal pot of sour fish stew with fresh vegetables, herbs, and a tart maroon fruit whose name he forgot. His family raved about these Xhengyon dishes more and more as they assimilated into the local culture. Not Cadas. He thought it smelled¡ªit was nothing like what he was used to eating back in Myrenthos, or even in Qarda. He was rarely hungry anymore anyway. ¡°Cadas, what¡¯s wrong?¡± asked his sister Thyse. They all held their steaming bowls in their hands, dipping Myrenthian-style flatbreads into the stew. Cadas let his stew grow cold on the squat wooden floor table between them. He didn¡¯t answer his sister. He stared at the crack in the fifth brick to the right of the corner of the cellar and shook his leg in silence. ¡°Cadas,¡± said his mother. ¡°You know it¡¯s rude not to answer your sister. Why are you in such a foul mood again?¡± Still he didn¡¯t answer. His mother set down her soup and picked up his, lifting the broth-sodden flatbread to his lips. ¡°Eat, Cadas. We all worked hard on this meal.¡± ¡°No,¡± he sighed. It took all his spare mental effort to squeeze out a reply to his mother. He knew that if he didn¡¯t, she would keep pestering him until he reached his boiling point. For some reason, the people around him were afraid of silence, of being alone with their own thoughts¡ªfor him, it was all he ever wanted. ¡°No?¡± She scoffed. ¡°How very rude. What¡¯s gotten into you?¡± He stayed silent. ¡°Cadas, I am talking to you! Speak when spoken to¡ªhow many times do I have to tell you that? What¡¯s got you so upset?¡± He gritted his teeth. So often, his family members scolded him for not understanding other people¡¯s emotions. Wasn¡¯t the cause of his emotion obvious to them? It was his mother¡¯s fault, after all. ¡°The Compendium,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Ah-ah!¡± his mother blurted out, holding up a finger. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that. We won¡¯t speak of that anymore tonight, understand? Eat.¡± Now she lifted the bowl closer to his nose so he could smell the putrid sea and the pungent fruit. She pressed the flatbread against his lips, just like she used to do when force-feeding him as a small child. He had no patience for her today. He slapped the bread out of her hand. Outraged, she lifted the bowl to his lips, and he smacked that out of her hand, too, so that the stew splattered across the wall next to him and the bowl clattered to the cellar floor upside down. ¡°Cadas Lars!¡± his mother shrieked. ¡°Fine. You want to act so uncivilized? Ungrateful?¡± She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him toward the cellar closet. ¡°This is where we go when we can¡¯t act civilized!¡± She shoved him into the cramped closet and he let her. ¡°You¡¯re the one who burned my book,¡± he shot back at her, proud of his clever tongue in the moment. ¡°Eloheed.¡± One instant he felt a surge of confidence for his witty comeback. The next, he saw stars, the cellar outside the closet listing slightly to the right. His cheek stung. His ears were ringing. He tasted blood¡ªmust have bit down on his tongue. ¡°Mother!¡± Ikraos chided her gently. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t...¡± But that was all his brother said of the matter. By the time his vision cleared, the closet was closed and locked from the outside. This was his fifth such punishment since his mother burned his life¡¯s work in the middle of the night, and each time it happened to him, it bothered him less. He ceased to feel much of anything these days¡ªgood or bad. Life had no purpose without the Compendium. To make matters worse, not only was he forbidden from writing, but his mother had confiscated all the books he owned and sold them off or gave them away. He had no access to the written word anymore outside of Xhengyon recipes or labels written on wooden crates of ingredients. Now he was beginning to understand why Myrenthos wept when the Eloheed conquered the land. All those lopsided mounds of books put to the torch. Everyone given copies of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen to read instead, when they must have found their old books much more familiar, much more gratifying to read. The Lars family had witnessed it all firsthand. Why, then, did no one understand how he was feeling? The book he¡¯d spent years writing, the one that he¡¯d started all the way back at home in Myrenthos, their real home¡ªit was gone forever. A part of him had burned away in that same bowl, a part he¡¯d never get back ever again. His future burned with it. *** ¡°Good work, Cadas,¡± said his mother. He couldn¡¯t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. He studied her face, seeing that she was smiling¡ªsmiling with her eyes, too, a subtle detail he¡¯d learned to pick up on that meant the smile was genuine. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing much better lately. Well done, finishing all your chores.¡± He shrugged when she ruffled his hair. ¡°Okay,¡± was all he said. Days had passed since his last imprisonment in the closet, long enough to smooth over the tension in his family, but recent enough that the sting of his mother¡¯s hand across his face was still fresh in his mind. She was placated as long as he did what he was told. He didn¡¯t care so much when she deprived him of food and water; that was doubly true when his only food was something he didn¡¯t like to eat. He didn¡¯t even care a great deal when she hit him, although he would have preferred she didn¡¯t. What bothered him was the smallness of the closet¡ªspecifically, how sore and stiff he felt after spending a night there in the cold dark. That was his only motivation to behave anymore. He had nothing good to look forward to, with all his books gone. His mother never rewarded him with anything other than the occasional sweet Myrenthian pastry like the kind he used to eat in his childhood. But when he did as she and the others said, it simplified his life. And if this didn¡¯t get him back in his mother¡¯s good graces, at least it was a start. That was the only hope Cadas had left. If he went enough days without misbehaving or making his mother yell, then maybe she could be persuaded to let him have a book again. He would start with just one. He would let her set rules and boundaries around its use so that she wouldn¡¯t be suspicious of it spoiling his behavior again. In time, maybe she¡¯d let him have two or three. And with enough time after that, maybe she¡¯d let him buy more parchment and ink. Start to write again. He could one day rebuild the Compendium from scratch if he started soon enough. Until then, he was miserable and at the mercy of his circumstances. But all those developments were far off on the horizon, if they ever even came at all. Maybe his books had become like dead bodies now. Maybe his curiosity to open them and learn their secrets was so strong that he could not be trusted with them anymore. If he had no hope to rewrite the Compendium, then what did he have? Nothing. He hated Xheng Yu Xi. He hated the world beyond Myrenthos. He hated knowing that he would probably never return to his homeland. He hated Sang Lamdak and the smelly restaurant and the cold cellar mostly devoid of bugs that they called home. He wasn¡¯t sure if he hated his family. Sometimes he felt like he¡¯d grown to hate his mother. What he felt for them was more akin to indifference, if he understood the distinction between the two emotions. He didn¡¯t want bad things to happen to them. But his family was a different breed¡ªthey thought differently, talked differently. Their priorities were completely different. He had nothing in common with them but a hair color and a family name. He didn¡¯t hate them. He simply didn¡¯t care if he ever saw them again. Not after the way they treated him. Maybe they¡¯d be happier with him gone, too. He sat with his siblings in the cellar, washing and scrubbing potatoes and loading them into a separate crate. It was one of the rare times his family didn¡¯t insist on filling the air with their babbling. It was actually peaceful, sitting with them this way in total silence, no sound but water sloshing gently and the hard bristles brushing the lumpy potatoes. ¡°Lars family!¡± the matron of the restaurant called from upstairs. ¡°Meeting!¡± And then it was over. Cadas, his brother Ikraos, his sister Thyse, his mother, and his two cousins gathered in the kitchen with Hiricho and his parents. The morning was cool, the early sun spilling in narrow shafts between the buildings of Sang Lamdak. Cadas moved his body without thinking. His body was in the kitchen, but his mind wasn¡¯t entirely there. ¡°Truthfully, I never thought this day would come,¡± said Hiricho¡¯s mother. She stood with her arms folded, but a smile crept up the corners of her lips. ¡°The Lars family has made great strides recently. With their progress, they¡¯ve more than surpassed the work that Hiricho does for the restaurant.¡± ¡°Does that mean I get to go?¡± Hiricho asked. His eyes and his smile were wide with excitement. ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± said his father. ¡°This restaurant has been in your mother¡¯s family for three generations. We always thought you would inherit it and carry on the tradition.¡± He relented with a half-smile. ¡°But your great-grandmother broke her family¡¯s tradition to open this restaurant. Maybe you¡¯ll do something great by going off on your own, too.¡± ¡°The ship leaves in two days. Are you sure I can go?¡± ¡°On one condition,¡± his mother answered sternly. ¡°You visit us for the festivals every now and then. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Clear! Yes, clear!¡± Her eyes were damp, but she continued smiling. Cadas noted the incongruity of two emotions on her face at once. ¡°Well?¡± she said finally. ¡°I think you had better start packing!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get started right away!¡± His mother called to him as he ran upstairs to the lodging on the second floor. ¡°Just come visit us when you run out of books to read at your prestigious university!" ¡°Oh, that¡¯ll be a while! They have libraries bigger than the restaurant! I think I could read every day for the rest of my life and never get through them all!¡± Cadas¡¯s ears perked up. For the first time in recent memory, he was excited about something. But he¡¯d have to be careful. Very careful. And very clever.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. *** That night came and went. Cadas hardly slept, he was so eager for what he was about to do. He shared a hurried breakfast with his family in the back of the kitchen, where they often ate in the mornings, and his brother and cousins took turns elbowing each other in the ribs and snickering. They shot him dirty looks when he lurked at the edge of the group. ¡°You going to say something?¡± Ikraos asked him. ¡°Talk! You just stand there with your unblinking eyes like a fly or a lizard.¡± ¡°Lizards blink,¡± Cadas corrected him. His brother threw a banana peel at him, which landed slimily on the floor. ¡°Behave!¡± their mother snapped. She stuffed the last corner of a flatbread into her mouth and dusted off her hands. ¡°Cadas, don¡¯t antagonize your brother.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure what that word meant. Antagonize. He didn¡¯t think he was doing anything wrong. Then again, he rarely knew when he was. ¡°I just have a few more supplies to get for the entrance examination,¡± Hiricho explained to his own mother as he helped wipe down the long tables and benches with a damp rag. ¡°I¡¯ll need my own quill, ink, and parchment. Five bai should cover it all.¡± His mother fished in her apron and handed him five Xhengyon coins. ¡°And you need six bai for the trip?¡± ¡°Eight¡ªtwo for the carriage to port, six for the ferry.¡± ¡°Orokoda,¡± his mother cursed in Xhengyon. ¡°This university demands so many coins from you before you even arrive!¡± ¡°If you think that¡¯s a lot, wait until you see the lecturers¡¯ fees!¡± Eight bai, Cadas thought. The copper coin with the tree embossed on the front and the Xhengyon character on the back. ¡°Today¡¯s our first day without our mentor,¡± said Thyse. ¡°I hope we can still keep up the good work.¡± Their mother shook her head. ¡°Not hope. We will. We¡¯re not going to lose this place where we¡¯ve worked so hard to be! Now then, let¡¯s get started. Get the water boiling and start chopping vegetables. I need a volunteer to buy ingredients for this next moon. We¡¯ll need tea leaves, herbs, spices, some fish for today¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Cadas blurted out. She looked at him with squinted eyes and an arched eyebrow. ¡°You... Cadas? Are you sure?¡± He nodded. ¡°Let me help.¡± His cousins and siblings had already started their work in the kitchen; he was the only one without something to do in the moment. ¡°Please.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t normally volunteer so readily like this.¡± She eyed him silently at first, then nodded. ¡°All right. Let me make you a list. Fetch me the sack of coins from the cellar.¡± Cadas did as he was told, and when he returned, his mother doled out five silver xhen coins distinguished by their markings of a hilly landscape on both sides. Then she handed him a hastily scrawled list on a scrap of old parchment. With that, he was off. Five xhen, he thought. How many bai are in one xhen? He walked three blocks to the central market of Sang Lamdak, the bustling hub of the island-wide city. There, merchants hawked fresh produce, hanging cuts of meat of all kinds¡ªhe spied chicken feet, oxtails, small plucked birds, ground meat stuffed in intestinal casings, whole skinned lambs and goats, and more colorful varieties of fish than he¡¯d ever seen in the market in Myrenthos. There were also male spice merchants who wore Myrenthian shoulder tunics; they stood out from the crowd of native Xhengyon people. Cadas realized that he, too, must have stuck out as a Myrenthian himself. That made his next task all the more precarious. ¡°How much for one fin?¡± he asked a fish merchant in his now flawless Xhengyon. ¡°Four bai,¡± the man answered, gutting a fish with a knife into a small bucket. ¡°I have one xhen,¡± Cadas answered. The merchant lifted his head as if to think for a moment, then shook it. ¡°No. I can¡¯t accept that.¡± ¡°But one xhen is worth much more than a bai!¡± ¡°You want to pay a whole xhen for one fin?¡± The merchant tilted his head at Cadas like he¡¯d said something foolish. ¡°Go find a money changer, spicer. Come back with four bai or don¡¯t come back to my stand!¡± Cadas wandered off to the center of the market. A new idea had taken root in his mind. When he ventured out of the restaurant this day, he¡¯d planned on stealing ingredients and pocketing the coins in secret. He realized that it would be safer to pocket a few extra coins through the process of buying all the ingredients¡ªthen he would only need to fib to his mother, rather than lie, cheat, and steal from all the vendors. It was a much better plan. He found a long wooden table where money changers took foreign coins or coins of large monetary value and swapped them for bai or xhen. His five small silver xhen became fifty weighty copper bai. Then he set out to buy all the ingredients on his mother¡¯s list¡ªtea leaves, seven different herbs, a dozen Myrenthian spices, the rare fish fin she needed for a soup, pink and white fish filets, pig¡¯s feet, and a bag of salt. When he brought the heavy crate of ingredients back to the restaurant, he hid eight bai in his pocket, which he stuffed with a rag so they wouldn¡¯t jingle. ¡°That¡¯s all the coins that are left?¡± his mother said when he returned the rest of the spare money. ¡°These fickle vendors are always changing their prices...¡± She said nothing more of it after that, and then Cadas knew that the first part of his plan was a success. He was about to leave Sang Lamdak behind forever. *** That last night, Cadas didn¡¯t sleep at all. By the sounds of floorboards creaking in the floors above, neither did Hiricho. They both had a big day ahead of them. We¡¯re going to the university together, Cadas thought. But while Hiricho could walk right out the door without a care, Cadas would have to find a way to leave in secret. It was early in the morning when he slipped out, when most of the city was still dreaming. A stray cat scampered from one alley into another. Somewhere, a cricket chirped until he drew near, stopped, then resumed again after he¡¯d passed it. He walked a block down the street and ducked into an alley. Then he waited. He waited a long time. But he knew that if he wanted something this badly, it was worth the wait. The sun came up. With the sun came vendors trudging up the street toward the market with tall packs on their backs. Oxen drew carts of people and wares. Restaurateurs dumped out buckets of water in the alleys and unfolded the fabric awnings of their establishments. The city came alive again with the sound of commerce. ¡°Sure you don¡¯t want to stay and say goodbye to him?¡± The voice came from the direction of the restaurant. It was Hiricho¡¯s mother, who held Hiricho back by the wrist. ¡°You were his only friend here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Hiricho. ¡°I have to go. The ferry won¡¯t wait for me!¡± ¡°All right.¡± She yanked him close and kissed the top of his head, hugging him so tightly that his arms contorted at his sides. ¡°Go. Before I change my mind. Be safe and write to us!¡± Meanwhile, the Lars family wandered out of the restaurant with her. ¡°He couldn¡¯t have gone far,¡± said Cadas¡¯s mother. ¡°We can spare a couple of us. The rest of you will have to pick up the slack for a while.¡± ¡°You think we went to the market again?¡± Ikraos asked. ¡°He hates the crowds. He would never go there without being sent. He probably wandered off to the woods around the outskirts of the island. He¡¯s always after those crawling vermin. Ikraos and Thyse, you two go looking for him. We¡¯ll take care of the restaurant while you¡¯re gone. Go! Hurry!¡± Cadas watched his siblings split up and march in different directions, both of them away from him. He didn¡¯t expect his family to care much for finding him. Why would they? Seeing them set out to find him, to bring him home, pulled his resolve in different directions. Do I turn back? Cadas wondered. Or do I keep to my plan? When he saw the assuredness in Hiricho¡¯s gait as he walked up the gently sloping hill toward the center of the city, he made up his mind. He followed the young Xhengyon man in secret. When Hiricho sped up, so did he; when Hiricho slowed down, Cadas kept a safe distance accordingly. It was a short walk to the center of Sang Lamdak, where Hiricho approached a red and green painted carriage drawn by a pair of white horses. He handed the carriage driver two bai and boarded the transport by two wooden steps. Cadas approached the carriage driver and handed over his own fare. The Xhengyon driver gave him the kind of glance he was used to receiving as a foreigner in Xheng Yu Xi, but then pocketed his money and gestured for him to board. He climbed into the wooden box. There were two other passengers seated on the front bench who stared straight ahead in silence, while Hiricho sat in the back by himself. Hiricho jumped out of his wooden bench seat. ¡°Cadas?¡± he gasped. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± ¡°I¡¯m following you to the ferry that will take you to the university,¡± Cadas answered plainly. ¡°No, no, you can¡¯t be here!¡± Hiricho stood up and tried to push Cadas out of the vehicle, but then the driver barked an order, and soon the carriage was in motion, so Cadas pulled the door shut behind him. ¡°You have to go back to the restaurant. Your family is looking for you! What were you thinking?¡± ¡°I was thinking that I would go to the university like you.¡± Hiricho collapsed onto his bench seat, burying his face in his hands. The passengers in the front row both glanced back at them, first one and then the other, but said nothing. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you talk to me about this first?¡± Cadas shrugged. ¡°I thought you wouldn¡¯t be happy about me coming with you. I was right.¡± He sat on the bench seat next to his friend. ¡°So you decided to stow away on this carriage and follow me to the mainland university? So, what¡ªyou think you can just go to the university on a whim? That¡¯s your plan?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a stowaway. I paid money.¡± Hiricho sighed deeply. ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯ve done, do you?¡± ¡°I left home to study at the university. Just like you did.¡± At this, the Xhengyon youth shook his head, wagging an accusatory finger at him. ¡°No. You¡¯re just running away from your problems! What I did is I left home so that my talents wouldn¡¯t be wasted in that restaurant, so I could get away from a family who didn¡¯t understand me, and to broaden my horizons!¡± Cadas ordinarily hated most conversations, especially ones with such a prolonged back and forth. He tolerated this one because he was doing something important. ¡°I¡¯m doing the same thing you are. Why can¡¯t I leave home to read books? What¡¯s so wrong about me?¡± Hiricho pinched the bridge of his nose with a furrowed brow. Finally, he relented, saying, ¡°All right. Fine. Point taken. But you still don¡¯t realize the consequences of the way you went about this. If they find out you ran away, they¡¯ll make us both come back¡ªI won¡¯t be allowed to stay at the university, and your whole family will be kicked out! You may have ruined this entire opportunity for me!¡± ¡°All I want to do is go to the library at the university.¡± He was worried that Hiricho really would expose him and send him home to that place¡ªhis past imprisonment in the closet would pale in comparison to what was waiting for him when he returned. ¡°I¡¯ll be polite to everyone I meet. I won¡¯t talk to anyone unless they talk to me first. I won¡¯t embarrass you like I embarrass my family. You don¡¯t even have to talk to me ever again once we get there!¡± His mind raced to find the most polite Xhengyon words he knew. ¡°Please. Thank you. Please?¡± ¡°Cadas.¡± He sounded disappointed. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean. You¡¯re my friend. But you did something dishonest, and you¡¯re jeopardizing something I¡¯ve worked hard to achieve for years. Do you understand?¡± He felt a pang of guilt¡ªfirst for his friend, then for his family. Even though his mother hit him and locked him in closets, she was still his mother. ¡°I understand.¡± The Xhengyon youth heaved another deep sigh, cradling his chin in his hand and tapping his cheek in deep thought. He was quiet. For a while, nothing was audible except the clopping of horse hooves, the gentle creaking and rumbling of the carriage. ¡°All right,¡± Hiricho said at last. ¡°You can come with me. But if you come with me, you have to follow my rules.¡± Cadas grumbled, slapping himself once in the forehead. ¡°Not again...¡± He slapped his forehead once more. He felt a bad feeling bubbling up inside him, the kind he got when he lost control and made a mess of things. ¡°Listen.¡± Hiricho¡¯s voice was gentle and deescalating. ¡°I¡¯m not going to take away your books or lock you up. But if you break my rules, we¡¯re both done for¡ªmy parents will have us both sent home to Sang Lamdak, and we¡¯ll never get to leave. So if you know what¡¯s good for you¡ªfor the both of us¡ªyou¡¯ll do as I say. Understand?¡± That foreboding feeling of destructive restlessness gradually subsided in him. He was quiet for a while, too. But he trusted Hiricho¡¯s judgment in this situation and realized he would need help finding his way on the Yu mainland and at the university. He finally said, ¡°I understand.¡± They spent the rest of the carriage ride in silence, all the way to the opposite end of the island. Fear and anxiousness gave way to hope. Cadas was on his way to the books. Before long, he¡¯d be cradling a new Compendium in his arms, ten times bigger and even better than the last one. And this time, no one would be able to take it away. Chapter Twenty-Four: LUCANH IV He who is ruled by the sword will take up a sword against it. He who is ruled by fear will die in fear before he takes up a sword. -The Triptych; Book of Hells, Panel 2 Castle Tern, Dridon All was unwell in Qarda, or so Lucanh heard. The movements within that rich and influential nation sent ripples felt the whole world over. World affairs were all he could think of lately. ¡°What will happen to them now, Sir Godwald?¡± He dodged the knight¡¯s attack, repositioning his sword, his real sword. It took a notch more of his effort to move the authentic weapon, but his skills were so honed now that it was just a matter of his muscle mass catching up. ¡°Hard to tell, my Prince,¡± Sir Godwald replied. He swung and Lucanh blocked. Metal clanged on metal. There was a satisfying weight to their sparring now, not the flimsy, wobbling make-believe like before. ¡°Can¡¯t say as I¡¯ve ever seen Qarda fail at anything militarily. Not so grievously, at least. Not like this.¡± They sparred in the courtyard now. Lucanh¡¯s advanced training, coupled with their use of real blades, required more open space than even the widest private rooms of the castle afforded them. ¡°What does it mean for us?¡± the boy asked. ¡°Will Grackenwell try to seize the whole continent? What preparations are we making to defend Dridon?¡± Lucanh attacked and briefly gained the upper hand. There was only so much his yet nimble frame could do against well-trained grown-up brawn, but his own prowess surprised him. Sir Godwald, too. The man¡¯s face glistened with the sweat of real effort. ¡°For an aspiring swordsman,¡± huffed the knight, blocking and redirecting his pupil, ¡°you ask a lot of questions about interkingdom politics and wartime strategy. Most knights don¡¯t know anything about such matters. That¡¯s up to their commanders and their monarch.¡± ¡°Just preparing for when I become Dridon¡¯s monarch someday,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°And when I drive my sword into the Grackenwelsh king¡¯s belly myself!¡± A rare misstep on Sir Godwald¡¯s part¡ªthe prince broke his block and held the tip of his sword just a few hairs¡¯ breadth from the knight¡¯s armored abdomen. ¡°You know, Prince Lucanh,¡± said the knight, and the formal name was cold in the boy¡¯s ears, ¡°I sense a proud streak in you. One that grows by the day. Permission to speak freely?¡± The boy opened his arms as if to welcome it. ¡°By all means.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not uncommon for a boy of your age and title. But what does the Book of Earth tell us about pride?¡± Lucanh sighed. ¡°Let me guess. It¡¯s bad?¡± The man grinned. ¡°Well, that¡¯s the gist of it, isn¡¯t it? But what specifically?¡± A pause¡ªLucanh drew a blank. ¡°It tells us, ¡®The end of pride is the beginning of wisdom.¡¯¡± He stared at him for a moment and then lifted his sword once more. ¡°Now then, I wanted to use my mistake to teach you an important lesson about parrying. What you must always remember...¡± His voice trailed off when a commotion rose up from Castle Tern behind them, on the wings of three pillars of smoke. One came from the central chimney, one from the western wing, and one from the eastern. ¡°The Council of Three,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°Again?¡± ¡°It seems they¡¯ve just adjourned.¡± ¡°I wonder what¡¯s been decided.¡± ¡°Whatever it is, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s out of our hands now. We should mind our training here. Don¡¯t you think?¡± The prince said nothing. He sheathed his sword and set out at a slow trot around the castle toward the front door. He heard Sir Godwald sigh behind him, sheathe his own weapon, and follow. Through the open doors, Lucanh could see a small crowd dispersing from the throne room. Sir Stepan herded his knights into a cautiously defensive formation. Zumawi, the High Supplicant, stormed out, her puff of black hair bobbing over her head like a thundercloud. ¡°This is not over, Your Majesty,¡± she called over her shoulder, and a throng of beggars followed her. Her eyes were all fire and venom. The boy stepped forward and walked alongside her. ¡°What¡¯s just happened?¡± He felt a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. ¡°Prince Lucanh¡ª¡± ¡°Your mother is a coward,¡± hissed the High Supplicant. ¡°I hope, for the sake of my children¡¯s generation, that you rule more bravely. Or my grandchildren will come forth from the womb already wearing their chains.¡± She jabbed her pointer finger against Lucanh¡¯s chest as she said this. Then she brushed past him as she walked away. Sir Godwald touched the hilt of his sword, drew it out to flash a sliver of the silver blade. Zumawi replied by drawing two slender daggers from her sleeves and aiming them at the armored man. Her stance called to the prince¡¯s mind the time he took a wrong step on the beach and earned the ire of a memorably hostile crab. ¡°Sit, lap dog,¡± she told the knight. ¡°You¡¯ll have a lot more than these two daggers to deal with if you try something.¡± The knight glowered, clinking his weapon back into place. Zumawi led the other supplicants away from the castle grounds. The moment diffused like the chimney smoke curling up into the sky. Lucanh led his caretaker through the towering doors of Castle Tern and down the stone corridor. ¡°My mother must be up to something again.¡± ¡°If I had to hazard a guess, my Prince, I¡¯d say the controversy stems from her inaction.¡± They stopped midway to the throne room. ¡°Would you go to war against Grackenwell?¡± ¡°If Queen Rhoda commanded it? In a heartbeat.¡± ¡°No.¡± Lucanh shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m asking if you would.¡± ¡°I certainly wouldn¡¯t strike out on my own to do it. Not right away, at least. I¡¯d make an attempt at diplomacy first.¡± Sir Godwald chuckled, but Prince Lucanh steeled his own face, forcing himself to be serious and adult. ¡°I¡¯m not asking if you would go on a one-man mission. I¡¯m asking you this: If you were somehow in charge or in command of Dridon¡¯s army, would you issue a declaration of war? Suppose the choice is yours alone.¡± The knight gave the prince one of those piercing looks that was vividly familiar, striking and short-lived as a bolt of lightning, and then his eyes roamed elsewhere. ¡°Not quite sure how to answer that. In my line of work, I¡¯m quite accustomed to doing the bidding of another. No matter how strongly I might feel otherwise.¡± ¡°I wish you would grow accustomed to giving straight answers for a change.¡± They exchanged a quick look and then kept on walking. The throne room was in subdued disarray. Noblemen argued quietly with each other by the tall glass windows. A commander issued orders to his underling knights, something about ¡°unrest in the Paupers¡¯ District.¡± Lucanh lamented the plight of Dridon¡¯s poor; not only did they live lives of paucity, but now they had the looming specter of Grackenwell to dread. As such, seeing Queen Rhoda lounging in her throne, polishing off another chalice of wine, boiled Lucanh¡¯s blood. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to believe Zumawi,¡± he said. ¡°Lucanh,¡± the queen slurred. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°But how could I not? How could anyone not? Look at you!¡± Her brow furrowed over her half-lit eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what this is all about, but I don¡¯t appreciate¡ª¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°When King Brynh knocks down the doors of Castle Tern and throws you to the floor, will you offer to dust off your throne for him?¡± ¡°Lucanh, go to your bedchamber! I¡¯ve had enough of your sour attitude lately. Sir Godwald¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± the prince persisted. ¡°No, I¡¯m not going anywhere. I may not be a man yet, but I am no child, no matter how much you wish me to be. I deserve your respect and everyone else¡¯s. You will listen to me!¡± ¡°I will do what I feel is best for the people of Dridon, be they royal or... Otherwise.¡± She pursed her lips, blinking drunkenly. ¡°No matter if you¡¯re two hundred thirty-eight and a half years old. I. Am the queen.¡± ¡°You might be queen of the slaves someday soon if you continue to sit there and do nothing about those backstabbing northerners!¡± ¡°We are not Qarda, Lucanh. Dridon does not overflow with such abundance that we can...¡± She scoffed, fidgeting in her throne. ¡°...finance a bloated military and go wherever we please! Be the lord of everyone, just because we have a moral bone to pick... And thank Triad for that! Qarda¡¯s interventionism... well... finally beginning to catch up to it.¡± ¡°At least they stand for something. Unlike you!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll grow out of this haughtiness someday. I hope.¡± ¡°And I hope that you¡¯ll grow a backbone, mother. You¡¯re never too old to change.¡± The queen slammed her empty chalice down onto the armrest. ¡°Now that you know how to swing a sword, you think you know war? You think you can do what I do? Think you know best? Maybe you¡¯ve been spending too much time with Sir Godwald.¡± ¡°Not war, mother. Decency. Right and wrong! Bravery, which is something¡ª¡± ¡°You think you¡¯re brave because you¡¯ve never lost anything!¡± The queen¡¯s outburst hushed the whole throne room at once. Her chalice clunked to the stone floor and rolled some small distance, a visceral intrusion on the newfound quiet that fell over the chamber. Then came the sudden sobbing. The queen buried her face in her hands. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Prince Lucanh,¡± said Sir Godwald, and the boy didn¡¯t resist him. Lucanh felt as though he¡¯d just kicked a stray dog without thinking, and instead of biting him, all it did was curl up and whimper. They made it to the throne room¡¯s eastern entryway when a still-cracking voice called after them. ¡°One day, I won¡¯t be able to protect you anymore. You will know loss. And I won¡¯t be there to save you!¡± Some caretaker to the queen could be heard muttering a soothing, ¡°Your Majesty...¡± ¡°Keep walking, my Prince,¡± the knight told him, and he obeyed. The Hells and the Heights raged within him. Neither would budge. *** Three days elapsed. Lucanh didn¡¯t leave his chamber except to run drills by himself with his sparring sword in the eastern tower. He had two rationed meals a day instead of three, ordering the cooks and servers to donate his uneaten food to Dridon¡¯s only haven for the homeless in the Paupers¡¯ District. He didn¡¯t touch the Triptych. On the evening of the third day, Lucanh drilled in one of the eastern tower¡¯s landings, practicing close-quarters movements, as these were the only ones he could rehearse with such limited space. Every once in a while, a knight patrolling the castle would rattle up the spiral staircase, acknowledge the prince, and proceed on his rounds, their exchange even more awkward when the knight came back down the stairs and the prince had to step out of the way with his sparring sword behind his back. He longed for privacy. Stepping back to allow the knight passage, Lucanh felt the tickle of an evening breeze on his ear through a small open-air window. The breeze carried a certain worrying sound from far below the castle: horse hooves clopping on the cobblestones. ¡°Invaders,¡± he breathed. His sparring sword clattered to the floor. He scrambled down the spiral staircase, slipping past the rounding knight on the next landing below, and rushed to the throne room. He¡¯d have no time to fetch his real sword from his chamber. Maybe one of the knights would let him borrow theirs¡ªhe was skilled enough now, with the courage to match. Or so he believed. ¡°That¡¯s far enough!¡± Sir Stepan shouted. Even his soft, high voice was intimidating with enough volume, his stature and demeanor doubly so. Two visitors wearing gray cowls stopped in their tracks halfway across the throne room. Queen Rhoda sat in her throne with no chalice, arms folded, face stern and alert. ¡°Queen Rhoda of Dridon,¡± said the one on the left. ¡°We come as ambassadors from the proud nation of Grackenwell, dispatched from Zan Vayonado to bring you word from our new king.¡± A few nervous onlookers echoed those last two words among themselves incredulously. New? New king? ¡°King Kimbel Garrotin has graciously offered to negotiate a peace treaty with the free nation of Dridon.¡± The queen¡¯s eyes sharpened to slits. She motioned for her scribe to take dictation. ¡°Explain yourselves.¡± ¡°Recent events have made most of the known world wary of costly and crisscrossing wars,¡± said the ambassador on the right. ¡°Zan Vayonado dissolved the Concordat of Gacilia and soon accepted our terms of peace with minimal bloodshed. We¡¯d like to avoid spilling even one more drop if we can. In doing so, we hope to unite the entire Stone Continent under one peaceful banner.¡± Her voice waivered, but she said what Lucanh wanted to say, or at least something in the same spirit. ¡°Grackenwell will not subjugate a single hair on the head of any Dridic man, woman, or child. Tell your new king to dispose of those fantasies at once.¡± Even from this distance, Lucanh could see the ambassador¡¯s vindictive smile, shrouded as it was, judging only by the way the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. ¡°Of course not, Your Majesty. King Garrotin also wishes to dispel fantasies of some protracted war for control of the Stone Continent. This is merely a preventative measure. We ask that you draw no sword against Grackenwell, and in return, we will not roll our cannons to your castle and utterly demolish it. This way, everyone prospers.¡± ¡°Except your slaves,¡± Lucanh spoke up. The ambassador shot him a look. He feared the rebuke of his mother, but it never came. ¡°I will make no such decision of any treaty with Grackenwell without consulting my advisors,¡± said the queen. ¡°You are free to take up quarters in the dungeon if you refuse to return to Zan Vayonado without an answer.¡± ¡°On the contrary, Your Majesty,¡± said the ambassador with a deferential bow. ¡°We would never presume to rush a decision on your part. Let us take our leave. A half-moon¡¯s ride back to Zan Vayonado will give you plenty of time to arrive at your ruling, and we will send our replacements immediately upon our arrival home. There may be snow on the ground by the time we return, eh?¡± Queen Rhoda glared down at the two men, twirling her scepter in her right hand. ¡°Remove their cloaks. Search them.¡± ¡°No, queen!¡± said one of the ambassadors. ¡°Please don¡¯t! We¡ª¡± But it was too late. Four knights stepped out of their formation to yank down the strangers¡¯ cowls. The two men who stood in the center of the throne room were pale, gaunt, and looked withered beyond their years. One of them had a deep scar across the bridge of his nose that snaked diagonally down his face. Their most striking feature, one that they shared, was the quindent brand on their necks. Lucanh knew from his reading that this signified the mark of a slave in Grackenwell. ¡°Nothing, Your Majesty,¡± said one of the knights. ¡°Slaves,¡± said Queen Rhoda. ¡°Some brave conquerors the Grackenwelsh are. Instead of a visit from the king himself, he sends his slaves. And what did he promise you for your service, ambassadors? Your freedom? Or a few coins?¡± ¡°Six days¡¯ rest and six hot meals,¡± said the first ambassador. ¡°Each.¡± The queen set her jaw. ¡°Stay here at Castle Tern. I will provide you real quarters in the towers. Feed you real food. Once you¡¯ve built your strength, you will work only voluntarily. Chains will never touch your wrists or ankles again, unless you break my laws.¡± ¡°If we don¡¯t return,¡± said the second ambassador, swallowing his fear, ¡°the king will come to collect us. Truly, we would rather live as slaves than endure what he would do to us then.¡± Rhoda sighed. ¡°If you ever change your mind, Castle Tern is open to you. We have taken in runaway slaves from the north before. Remember that.¡± ¡°We will remember, Your Majesty.¡± The ambassador¡¯s pretend bravado and swagger had been stripped away with his cloak, which he now timidly gathered up and returned to his shoulders. ¡°Are we free to go?¡± ¡°A poor choice of words, I¡¯m afraid. But go if you feel you must.¡± The re-cloaked ambassadors bowed in unison. ¡°Our replacements will return in another moon to hear your decision. Farewell, Queen Rhoda of Dridon.¡± They shuffled out of the castle meekly, looking completely unlike the two shrouded figures who¡¯d strode in so proudly earlier. Lucanh had never wanted to be in the throne room less than he did at this moment. Before his mother could say anything to him, he turned and left for his bedchamber, where he decided he¡¯d stay until the ambassadors returned, or maybe longer. For the first time, his bravery was shaken. How could the slaves have turned away and returned home like that? How could they turn down the prospect of freedom? They were offered safety and security in a land far from home, and yet they were so afraid of the Grackenwelsh king that they didn¡¯t dare betray him, even from this distance. He¡¯d always imagined the Grackenwelsh slaves as noble-hearted people suffering under a great oppressor. He thought of them like the paupers of Dridon, who held their heads high and banded together against the cruelty of their circumstance to forge a better life. An organized caste who might one day even overthrow the archaic system that kept them in chains. Not so. Slavery was so ingrained into their very being, deeper than the quindent brands on their necks, that they perpetuated it themselves. They feared their king so much that they would walk back into their own chains rather than risk the consequences of desertion. What kind of fear could do that to a person? Not only that, but King Brynh Garrotin was no more. Now the prince, Kimbel, was in charge. But how? King Brynh was still a healthy man with ravenous ambitions to conquer other lands. It was unlikely that he would die so young¡ªat least of natural causes. What was the story there? And what did it mean for Dridon? For the world? How desperately Lucanh wanted to be brave. For his people. For his mother. For the Zan father he never knew, whom he hoped was watching him from the Heights. For himself. But something had changed in him. His bravery lay crumpled around his feet like a cloak. Chapter Twenty-Five: KIMBEL V The Bogman had command of the whole of Grackenwell after a time and sent slave raids into Claeloch as retribution. He suffered to live only his most obedient subjects. Grackenwell had been a land of prisoners, but he transformed it into its own sovereign kingdom, and he bade his subjects to make it prosperous, and thereby its might grew. He ruled severely, as a proper ruler ought. The people of the northern lands no longer looked at him with any love. Rather, they regarded him with great fear, as they were right to do. For the love of a thing made one beholden to it, but the fear of a thing made it one¡¯s master. -The Legend of the Bogman Castle Feirhall, Zan Vayonado Crack! A faint grunt of pain followed by a bursting mouthful of obscenities. A fresh flow of crimson blood. The smell of metal in the air. Kimbel laughed. ¡°Again.¡± The guard standing in the corridor, Ulther, raised his whip and cracked Teralt in the back once more. ¡°Son of a whore!¡± Teralt growled. ¡°Terry,¡± Kimbel snickered, ¡°you already used that line earlier. Or was it son of a bitch? Either way, your king is not very entertained.¡± Teralt breathed heavily, murderous intent in his eyes. ¡°So... you killed a king... Think that makes you... worthy of my praise? Think... I ought to fear you now? That it?¡± Crack! ¡°Easy now, Ulther,¡± the young king chided his guard. ¡°Give him time for the pain to subside.¡± The guard glowered down at his ex-comrade. ¡°Apologies, Your Majesty. He was disrespecting you.¡± ¡°Oh, you misunderstand me¡ªI don¡¯t mean to show him mercy. I only know from experience that if you get them all at once, you start to go numb to them. Give him just enough time to start to feel better and then let him have it.¡± Ulther nodded. ¡°Now then, have the scouts returned from Dridon? They were due back yesterday. I grow anxious to hear what that slave-loving crone has decided. And I know damn well she doesn¡¯t have half the gall to hold them there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go check, Your Majesty,¡± said Ulther. He dropped his whip and marched down the limestone corridor toward the castle¡¯s great hall where guests and visitors would be received. Kimbel sat in what had been his father¡¯s throne away from home, a comparatively modest chair of velveted ebony wood, otherwise unadorned, in the throne room of Castle Feirhall. The squat limestone edifice had gone by a different name not long ago. Then it was Brynh¡¯s to rename. Now it was Kimbel¡¯s to rule. The new king twirled his dagger blade-down on its axis against the cushioned armrest of the throne. He smiled at Teralt, though the ex-jailer¡¯s back was turned and he couldn¡¯t see him. The prisoner was chained up in the adjacent corridor leading to unused rooms in the castle. The desert sky outside was a saccharine blue. The sand burned hot and dry, but it was a season cooler in the well-ventilated castle. Desert savages got one thing right, Kimbel mused. Rumor had it that Castle Feirhall was the only permanent structure in all the Zan desert, save for the Oasis of Baranatha, and it was remote enough as to be well-guarded and well-removed from the threat of invaders. ¡°Has it overflowed yet?¡± Teralt¡¯s voice startled the young king. It was calmer and more collected than was expected of a man in his condition. ¡°Did I give you permission to talk, oaf?¡± Kimbel replied. On the white floor beneath Teralt¡¯s red, shredded back sat a stone basin to catch most of the blood that the whip squeezed out of him. It was far from overflowing, but the drippings had indeed added up. The soup therein was thick and a scarlet shade of black. ¡°Only trying to be helpful,¡± Teralt sneered. ¡°You have a lot to learn as a new king.¡± Kimbel snorted. ¡°And what does a slack-jawed ape like yourself presume to be able to teach me? You¡¯re not the one in control anymore, Terry. It¡¯s like I promised you. I am the king, and now your worthless life is my plaything for when I grow bored. And waiting for two slave ambassadors to return bores me right out of my skull, you know that? I think I might have the Feirhall slave cooks do something with that basin tonight. Whip up a nice blood pudding and that¡¯ll be your three meals a day until it runs out. With that much blood lost, I dare say they¡¯ll keep you fed off your own drippings well into¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like you promised me at all,¡± Teralt interrupted. ¡°You¡¯re not making good on your threats. You think you¡¯re such a fearsome king, but are you really?¡± For a moment, Castle Feirhall was deathly quiet. ¡°You can only bring yourself to inflict on me what¡¯s already been done to you. What happened to all that bravado when our roles were reversed? Haven¡¯t you the stomach for it anymore?¡± Kimbel rose from the black throne, knife in fist. The sudden movement served as a grave reminder of the healing wound that was his entire back; it ached, stung, prickled beneath the bandages beneath his shirt. He strode as menacingly as he could manage across the tile floor, through the arched doorway, and into the corner of the corridor where Teralt knelt in chains. The former jailer¡¯s arms were splayed out, each one shackled to an opposing wall. Kimbel ducked under one of his arms to step around and meet the man face to face. He squatted; their eyes were level now for the first time ever. Teralt¡¯s, bleary but defiant, and his own, he liked to imagine, stoic with just a sprinkling of mirth. ¡°I¡¯ve learned something since all this started,¡± said Kimbel. ¡°When you push a man over the edge, one of two things will happen. You might break him completely.¡± He pressed the blade of the Garrotin family dagger against Teralt¡¯s neck. The prisoner flinched ever so slightly before composing himself, straightening his whip-flayed back. ¡°Or you might drive him to do something incredible, something neither one of you ever thought possible. That was me, of course, as I¡¯m sure you remember.¡± Kimbel grinned proudly. ¡°Then why don¡¯t you push me?¡± Teralt leaned forward, pushed his skin against the blade of the dagger, unafraid, almost daring it to cut him. ¡°And see what happens?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t push you over the edge, Terry. I don¡¯t want you having any fantasies of freedom. I don¡¯t want you to do something drastic. And I certainly don¡¯t want to break you. Then it¡¯s no fun anymore! No, I won¡¯t push you over that cliff¡¯s edge.¡± He scraped the blade slowly, gently, up Teralt¡¯s upper neck and chin. Coarse little needles of stubbled black hair broke and sprinkled to the floor. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you dangling over the edge to keep the fear alive, something I¡¯ll have to remind you of every now and then. Is today the day I do it? Tomorrow? When? You¡¯ll never know. That is, until it finally happens. When that greatest fear we all share is finally realized for you.¡± He twirled his dagger on its axis, the point pressing just under Teralt¡¯s chin. ¡°But not until I¡¯m good and ready.¡± The blade pressed a hair too close. A nick opened up in Teralt¡¯s skin, enough to draw a dot of blood. His victim kept every muscle still except to sharpen his glare. ¡°You¡¯re soft, boy. No matter how strong you think you are. And it¡¯ll be the death of you, by my hand or another¡¯s.¡± Kimbel gently wiped the blood off on Teralt¡¯s tattered pant leg, the tip of the blade perilously close to the most vulnerable part of the man, and Teralt actually stole a tiny gasp. It thrilled Kimbel to know the power he had over him. ¡°Tsk-tsk,¡± said the king. ¡°Clumsy Teralt. My father taught me how to shave without cutting myself. Clearly yours was never around to do the same for you. I suppose that¡¯s what happens when your mother¡¯s a whore, isn¡¯t it?¡± He stood and patted his prisoner on the head like a dog. ¡°No supper for you tonight.¡± The distant sound of thumping boots rebounded down the corridor. Ulther was back¡ªunaccompanied. He frowned and shook his head at the boy king. ¡°My apologies, King Kimbel. They still have not returned.¡± ¡°I propose a new game!¡± Kimbel exclaimed. He clapped both of his hands on Teralt¡¯s exposed shoulders, knowing it would hurt the man and his still-bleeding back. The prisoner grunted. ¡°Starting tomorrow, for every day that goes by without word of their whereabouts, Terry loses a nail. We start with the feet.¡± He motioned for Ulther to resume his watch. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it, then. Remember what I said. Breather, then whip. But do it sparingly¡ªyou need to keep the nerves in his back alive or else it won¡¯t do anything. I have faith in you, Ulther.¡± His guard bowed respectfully. With that, Kimbel folded his hands behind his back and strode off to the royal chambers, wholly at home and comfortable beneath the weight of the crown. Kinghood suited him more and more with each passing day. *** If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. It was night. Kimbel wandered Castle Feirhall all alone. He felt along in the dark, lost, frightened of what waited around every unfamiliar corner. He hadn¡¯t yet memorized his way around the sprawling castle with its long corridors that all looked alike. His tiptoeing brought him down a long, windowless hallway through tall, opulent doors and into the Hall of Unity in Castle Muadazim. He was back in Qarda. It was the Circle of Kings, the banquet where he and his father had dined with the king who would die later that same night. The king who died. Who died and handed down the crown to his only child. His child, whom he had loved. There was a haze to the world. It was not quite morning, not quite night anymore, light enough to see and yet the sky outside was empty. He felt strangely out of place. Kimbel proceeded through the double doors at the other side of the Hall of Unity and stepped through into a new world. It was a partitioned tent. Behind the wooden doors were open flaps of a tent tousled in the wind. Through the flaps at the other end of the tent, he could see the star-speckled sky over Le¡¯Me. In the tent, a prisoner kneeled in chains facing away from Kimbel, his back thoroughly torn open by whip. ¡°Read it,¡± said a voice. His father¡¯s. Before him sat an open book, the Secret Ledger, and the page bore two amorphous words written in splotchy black ink. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± said Kimbel, rasping. His voice was shamefully small. ¡°It¡¯s my name, isn¡¯t it?¡± Silence. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy!¡± Kimbel flinched and drew back a step. Even in chains, back skinned like a potato and bleeding like a cut of meat, the man sowed cold fear in the hearts of his enemies. And Kimbel counted himself among them now. ¡°You let them burn me,¡± said Brynh, his voice plummeting in pitch and rising in volume. ¡°A burned man sleeps forever. A burned man can never come back. You disgust me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m your son,¡± he murmured back. ¡°Look where that¡¯s got me.¡± The tone of the world around them wobbled on that razor¡¯s edge of reason in Kimbel¡¯s favor, briefly. He felt empowered enough to speak his mind. ¡°You didn¡¯t know when to stop. You once said you loved me and you lied. Liar! You know what happens to liars in Grackenwell! Don¡¯t you? You were the one who first told me!¡± There was a great, earsplitting sound like grating metal. A fire burned in some unseen place, casting wild shadows on the walls of the tent which danced madly, stretching, contorting into howling shapes. ¡°You¡¯re just going to leave me here?¡± said Brynh, and now his voice was small again and disarmingly familiar. ¡°You¡¯re my son, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Was your son.¡± Kimbel turned to leave the way he¡¯d come. Where the tent door had been open a moment ago, there now stood a smooth limestone wall with no exit. He about-faced. The prisoner had turned around as well, revealing a front side just as mangled as the back. His mouth was an asymmetrical scattering of teeth and bloody, toothless gaps. An eye dangled from its socket. The prisoner was Hane. ¡°A wise king knows when to stop,¡± he said. ¡°Stop,¡± said Kimbel. His mouth formed the word, but there was no breath to it. ¡°Stop... Stop...¡± ¡°Stop,¡± Kimbel said again, and he felt his vocal cords strumming in his throat this time. ¡°Stop!¡± He bolted awake. He was drenched in a cold sweat, coughed once, twice upon waking. At first his surroundings were unnervingly alien to him, but a moment¡¯s reflection reminded him that he was in the royal bedchamber of Castle Feirhall in Zan Vayonado. He half-expected to wake up in his Holcort cell again. Something dampened the space between his legs. He ripped away his bedsheet, grimacing. It was thin, odorless, colorless. Was it her again? His heart was racing and his muscles were tense. He hadn¡¯t dreamed of the Qardish princess since before his arrest on Le¡¯Me, but this was not that. He could only remember a few fleeting fragments of his dreams the previous night, but they were fearful, not enticing. This was not the result of a lustful dream. He wasn¡¯t sure whether to be more or less ashamed that he¡¯d simply wet the bed. But he immediately knew how he would spend his day as a result. *** ¡°Again.¡± Crack! The length of leather snapped at Teralt¡¯s legs once more, leaving another crimson gash. Even an ox of a man like him buckled under the weight of his treatment, hardly able to support himself now that they¡¯d stood him upright. He breathed heavily and often. ¡°Mmm... Only one more for now. Make it a good one.¡± Crack! ¡°What would you have me do next, Your Majesty?¡± Ulther asked, wiping the blood from his whip before coiling it back around his belt. ¡°You work harder than the slaves,¡± the king chuckled, polishing off his second bowl of oatmeal. ¡°You¡¯re worth every scale I pay you. Let¡¯s see. I made a deal with Terry this morning before his punishment. If he endured the whole thing without saying a word, I¡¯d give him eight servings of breakfast. For each time he spoke out of turn, he would lose a serving. By my count, he said, ¡®Is that all,¡¯ ¡®You whip like a wench,¡¯ ¡®Damn you,¡¯ ¡®Burn on a pyre,¡¯ and ¡®Please.¡¯ Five servings taken away leaves him with three. I¡¯m certain even a simpleton like him has already done the math, since it involves stuffing his ugly face. Feed Terry three servings of breakfast, Ulther.¡± The guard took one of the serving dishes, still hot and steaming, and scooped the last of the oatmeal into a small wooden bowl. The breakfast smelled like hearty grain with hints of nutmeg and cinnamon, plus the butter that had been melted into it. It must have smelled downright divine to a starving man like Teralt. Ulther brought the bowl to the prisoner, who craned his neck like a poorly trained dog to get closer to the food. The chained man accepted his first spoonful of oatmeal with such a look, so infantile and subservient, that Kimbel cringed internally. He wasn¡¯t sure whether to be embarrassed or gratified at his quick progress in chipping away at the brute¡¯s dignity. ¡°One,¡± said Kimbel. Ulther lifted a second spoonful to those chapped, eager lips, and this time the prisoner raked his teeth across the metal of the spoon, sure to get every last moist morsel of oat. ¡°Two.¡± The third spoonful reached Teralt¡¯s mouth and he seemed to regain a shred of his pride and defiance. He chewed and savored his third bite while staring daggers at Ulther. Maybe he already knew what was about to happen. ¡°Three,¡± Kimbel finished the count. ¡°You know the rules, Terry.¡± Ulther dipped the spoon back into the bowl and scraped out the remainder onto the floor, just out of the bound Teralt¡¯s reach, just as Kimbel had instructed. It was far enough that Teralt couldn¡¯t reach it, but close enough that he would have to smell it the entire time. ¡°Leave it there for a while until it stops steaming and loses its fragrance. Then clean it up and throw it out.¡± ¡°I will kill you someday,¡± Teralt snarled. ¡°Both of you. And I will relish the sensation... of your eyeballs... popping underneath my thumbs. Like grapes. Your skulls collapsing... like rotten gourds.¡± Kimbel slowly applauded. He stood up from his seat at the hall¡¯s stone table, giggling and clapping. ¡°Now that¡¯s the kind of imagination I expect from you, Terry! Much better than yesterday. Not that you¡¯ll ever be able to fulfill these fantasies of yours, but that makes it all the more entertaining for me!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure. I doubt King Brynh ever predicted his fate, either.¡± A little twist of fear in Kimbel¡¯s heart. He rolled his eyes and shook it off, not daring to let it show. ¡°Right, but you aren¡¯t the heir to any thrones, now are you?¡± At this, Teralt bowed his head to catch his breath and didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Ulther, what matters do I have to attend to today? Let¡¯s pass the time before our ambassadors return. Let¡¯s hope for Terry¡¯s sake that they return today, or else he¡¯ll have his first punishment. Just like the ruler of this very desert, eh? Remember that, Terry?¡± Kimbel strode from the dining hall into the corridor, sneaking past his grim-faced prisoner, and breathing in the fragrance of the wasted oatmeal before returning to his throne. ¡°There is still the issue of what to do with the remaining Qardish corpses,¡± Ulther began, reading from a small slip of parchment taken from a pocket in his belt. ¡°You had mentioned you might want to send them back to Qarda somehow?¡± ¡°Oh, that project,¡± Kimbel sighed. ¡°I had this grand idea to fasten them together with metal rods and hooks into one big mass of bodies. I saw it in a dream once. It would have been a nice present to send back to our unwelcome guests, but that would take far too much effort. Just have the slaves gather them onto one big pyre and burn them.¡± ¡°Very good, Your Majesty.¡± Ulther used a charcoal pencil to scribble down a note. ¡°Are taxes to be adjusted in the wake of this latest wartime development?¡± ¡°Raise taxes on everyone outside of Holcort by two per cent. If I remember anything of my lessons on royal revenue, the noblemen of the capital will pitch a fit if I ask them for another coin. Not worth it.¡± Ulther jotted down that answer while Kimbel unsheathed his dagger and again set about fiddling with it idly. ¡°The noble blacksmiths are still hard at work polishing and sharpening Havokond. Do you wish to have it brought to you here or would you like it to await your return to Holcort?¡± Havokond. The hair on Kimbel¡¯s neck stood up straight at the mention of that name. That legendary weapon belonged to him now. ¡°I don¡¯t want to risk any desert savages trying to nab it in transit,¡± the young man replied. ¡°Have it wait for me in the castle, in the throne room. I won¡¯t be staying here much longer.¡± ¡°Of course, Your Majesty. Now then, if I¡¯m not mistaken, I believe that¡¯s all the matters that require your attention...¡± He unfolded the bent end of the slip in his hands. ¡°My apologies, King Kimbel. There is just one more matter that would benefit from your attention. It¡¯s that rebellious slave.¡± ¡°Rebellious slave, eh?¡± The king chuckled. ¡°I wonder what I¡¯ll have done to him.¡± He raised his dagger toward his own throat and pretended to slice it open, as in an execution. ¡°The name?¡± ¡°It is the former royal slave, Hane, Your Majesty.¡± Kimbel¡¯s stomach went cold. ¡°He is still imprisoned in Holcort for refusal to work. He¡¯s been given the customary whippings, but Grackenwelsh law forbids the execution of a slave by anyone other than the slave¡¯s owner.¡± ¡°Well...¡± The king shrugged, looking away and pretending to be bored of the situation. In truth, his mind and heart were racing again. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll take care of that when I return to Holcort. Have him kept alive and well and administer no further whippings.¡± He rubbed his hands together. ¡°Hear that, Terry? You might just have a new friend soon!¡± ¡°Very good, Your Majesty,¡± said Ulther, pocketing his pencil and rolling up the slip. ¡°I will deliver your orders to the courier at once.¡± Kimbel nodded. Footfalls against the limestone shrank and shrank until he felt sufficiently alone again, alone with his thoughts and the white-hot sand outside, the dry desert air. Somewhere, nowhere, the small sound of a fork raked across a rock, metal scraping stone. It filled his mind¡¯s ear. Hane, he worried, though he would never speak his fear aloud. What am I going to do about you? Chapter Twenty-Six: BEAM IV Neither Claelish nor Grackenwelsh, neither Dridic nor Zan¡ªthere are no righteous men who walk the earth. No one is blameless who lives and breathes, nor who has passed away, for Ah-Ren has kept a record of wrongs since the dawn of time; yea, since the Time Before Time. Every mortal who walks the earth is damned, for he is mortal; everyone who lives, who has lived, or who will live is worthless by the blood of his birth. All mortals are evil; there are none among them who are good; not even a small number; yea, not even one. -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 24, Lines 22-30 Dordreg Region, Grackenwell ¡°Blessed be the Bringer of Life,¡± said Beam. ¡°And the Banisher of Death.¡± She licked her chapped lips. ¡°Cursed be every false god who blasphemes against You. Blessed be Your word.¡± She lowered her head with great difficulty, her feeble arms trembling on the way down as she pressed her head against the scratchy surface of her prayer rug. It was the thirty-seventh day since the flock had left Claeloch, and the seventh and final day of the fast. At midday, their fast would be over, and they would share a small meal of bread and water to begin feeding again safely. She was afraid to count them in her head¡ªthe few disciples who remained. Torganh and that woman whose name she forgot, they left on the very first day of the fast. Ioghan had broken his vow on the third day of the fast and was sent home the following day. The fourth day, Lonh and Elesse both ate of the poison berries, and they were sent home on the fifth day. That fifth day, three others whose names Beam forgot¡ªshe thought one of them was Althor, but she couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on it¡ªthey all left of their own volition. But yesterday was the worst. Only one day remained¡ªone more day of fasting to prove their faith to Ah-Ren, to prove that they could weather the perilous journey through the Everswamp. The sixth day was the most disastrous to her flock. At least a dozen people left, even leaving their food behind in the communal sack; for them, it was worth it just to leave the flock. I¡¯ve tried so hard, my Lord, she thought. What more do I have to do? Your words in the Gospel prove truer than ever. They¡¯re all worthless. None of them are devoted to you like I am! But she knew that wasn¡¯t true. Her heart felt a pang of guilt at her rash judgment of her fellow mortals. Not all of them were worthless beyond saving¡ªthe Gospel of Lucence told her this much. Still, it sickened her to see how faithless her comrades were, those who claimed to be members of her flock but who couldn¡¯t survive even a test as simple as this one. Beam had survived far greater tests of faith in the past. *** There were no temples of Ah-Ren anywhere in Grackenwell. She wondered if she was the first to read the Gospel of Lucence, or if it was such a well-guarded secret that she had never heard it before in her life. Nonetheless, she was the only follower she knew, and so she couldn¡¯t rely on someone of her faith for help. Not yet. But there were Trinitist churches in the north. They were few and far between; of the ones she¡¯d read about, more than half of them were in Claeloch alone, as all foreign faiths were often brutally shunned throughout the rest of the kingdom. She traveled to the farthest Trinitist church she knew. It was a tiny chapel in the northwest of the region. ¡°My heart broke for you,¡± she sobbed, holding her baby close to her chest, ¡°the day you were born a girl in this world. My heart breaks for you now.¡± She approached the doorsteps of the church. The sconces flanking the door had lit torches; she could see light inside the building filtering through the imperfect glass windows. ¡°But the way ahead is even more dangerous. I can¡¯t bring you where I¡¯m going¡ªI wouldn¡¯t.¡± She sniffled. Her baby started to cry, too, and that broke another piece of her broken heart. She was not yet a year old, and so she was too young to be given a name. How badly she¡¯d wanted to name her. She hadn¡¯t thought of any names good enough to deserve her baby, but she would have thought of something when the time was right. She would have lit a candle to commemorate her daughter¡¯s first birthday and rejoice in granting her a name. Now that day would never come. ¡°I hope you¡¯ll be happier this way,¡± she whimpered, choking back tears. She set the basket down gently on the steps of the church. ¡°I hope...¡± She sobbed so hard that it was dead silent, just her muscles contracting inside her, pressing out tears. ¡°I hope... that you can find peace one day. The kind I haven¡¯t found yet. But I¡¯m looking for it. When I find it, maybe I can bring it home to you. And maybe you can forgive me then.¡± She kissed her baby on the forehead, inhaled her smell one last time. A single tear wet her baby on the forehead. ¡°I love you so much.¡± She stood up in a hurry then. It was profoundly painful and best ended quickly, like setting a dislocated shoulder. She took the iron knocker in her trembling fingers and hit the door three times. She couldn¡¯t even bring herself to look back at the baby she left behind, though she could hear her cries. She walked, then ran, from the church. She sprinted into the woods until her legs burned and she could no longer hear the cries or the clopping of horse hooves, the other sounds of civilization. It was long behind her now. She slowed to a trot, and soon she was walking down the wide dirt road that stretched off into oblivion. There wasn¡¯t a soul around her. Eventually, she rested at the side of the road, her eyes dry and empty, her belly sore from crying, and she leaned her head against the trunk of a tree. It was like the day her parents died and her village burned to the ground. She had nothing. Nothing but the clothes on her back. But that wasn¡¯t true. She pulled out the Gospel of Lucence and set it in her lap. Sleep found her then, and she drifted hazily into fitful sleep, and she heard a voice say, ¡°You have proven your faith to Me. Now your old name is gone away. Your name is Beam, and you are My chosen.¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. *** ¡°The fast is ended,¡± Beam announced in the loudest voice she could muster. She and Luster had built a fire, the largest one they¡¯d built in the past seven days. This one was not just for light or warding off beasts of the deep woods; this one was made for cooking as well. It must have been a clue to the other members of her flock, as many of them had wandered out of their tents even before Beam made her announcement. They were all thinner in the face; they looked tired, sad, a bit on edge, but she was brimming with pride for all of them. Many members of her flock had passed the test. She saw mostly familiar faces in the believers who crowded around the fire and sat in the grass. Of course Luster had not failed her. There was also Glimmer, the young barmaid she¡¯d saved from Grackenwelsh soldiers in the small village of Pythe; Shine, the devout, short-haired woman about thirty years of age; Ray, the older woman with dark hair streaked through with gray, who greeted her with a knowing smirk. There were others who were not yet named in the faith, men and women alike. But she was most surprised to see Hjarsant among them. ¡°Hjarsant,¡± she croaked weakly. The fast seemed to have aged him seven years in as many days, but he succeeded; he had none of the berry pigment in his beard, and his once plump cheeks were now beginning to droop enough that they convinced her of his faithful fasting. ¡°You did it.¡± He did not seem happy, but there was a peace about him now that she hadn¡¯t seen before. He nodded calmly, sagely, to her. ¡°Yes. I did. By faith alone. Praise be to the Lord Ah-Ren.¡± Ray sat on the grass next to Beam, quietly quoting the Gospel of Lucence. ¡°¡®The fruits born of faith are sweeter than the sweetest honey.¡¯¡± She tilted her head once in Hjarsant¡¯s direction. ¡°He had faith in Ah-Ren. What do you say about having faith in him now?¡± It warmed Beam¡¯s heart to see the faithful disciples gathered around her. ¡°This changes things. It does. I see now that Ah-Ren was testing me as much as he tested them.¡± She sat up straight, and, in a louder voice, addressed the flock. ¡°I have another announcement to make. Four days ago, Hjarsant, I thought you would quit the flock and go home in protest. But you survived. You proved your faith to Ah-Ren. You¡¯ve more than earned your name in the faith now. Your name shall be... Glint.¡± Hjarsant¡ªGlint¡ªsmiled weakly despite his famished belly. ¡°All of you have earned your names in the faith now.¡± They were fifteen believers in all. Fifteen believers who were able to complete the fast, and thus proved their ability to make the trek through the Everswamp on the long journey to Holcort. Beam and Luster baked small loaves of bread and distributed them to the flock. Everyone took and ate of the loaves slowly, just like Beam commanded them, so as to avoid making themselves sick. They drank water. They salted their bread and savored every bite. Fasting filled them all with a deep gratitude for something as simple as warm bread and salt and nothing else. The fifteen of them sat around the cooking fire and traded stories of their fasting experience, and Beam told them that they would eat two more small meals that night and the following day before setting out again on the road east. The sun eased its way down toward the horizon as day marched on toward evening. The disciples packed up everything but their tents so as to make it easier to leave at a moment¡¯s notice the following day. Beam let Luster stoke the fire for supper while she prepared the dough for another round of small loaves to re-feed her flock. ¡°So,¡± said Ray, rolling up one of her rugs and cinching it with a rope. ¡°Fifteen of us remain. There are other ways to weed out the nonbelievers, but yours was quick and thorough.¡± ¡°You were right,¡± Beam replied. ¡°I needed to find my faith in them. Otherwise I never would have been able to lead them to Ah-Ren.¡± ¡°And have you found it?¡± The prophetess bowed her head. ¡°I¡¯ve started to find it. I still have some lingering doubts. But you were right.¡± She studied her flock from a distance, the way they helped each other pack up their belongings for the long journey that would resume tomorrow. Would they have endured an eight-day fast? Or nine days? How many of them would have gone home early? ¡°When I look for treachery, that¡¯s all I see. I want to trust them completely... but it just feels impossible.¡± ¡°We must do the impossible in the name of our faith.¡± Ray smiled warmly at her. ¡°Only then can we be sure of its fullness.¡± Beam couldn¡¯t help but crack a smile back. ¡°Quoting me back to myself?¡± ¡°Quoting a wise prophetess I had the privilege of hearing recently.¡± Done with her own tasks, Ray helped Beam prepare the loaves for supper. ¡°You can¡¯t build faith in a day. You taught me that. You taught them that. Faith takes time to tend carefully, right? So maybe this is just the beginning for you.¡± Ray gestured with her chin at Luster, who was adding another log to the cooking fire. ¡°What about him?¡± ¡°Luster?¡± Beam shrugged. ¡°What about him?¡± ¡°Maybe he wouldn¡¯t be a bad place to start. What do you think?¡± In another life, Beam imagined Ray could have made a good mother to her. It made her miss her own parents. What would they think of her now? She hoped they would be proud. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re right again.¡± *** That night, after supper, they retired in Beam¡¯s tent, as had been their habit of late. Luster lay side by side with her and they listened to the dwindling sounds of the now-smaller flock climbing into their own tents and settling in for the night. The firelight shrank. Luster held her gently from behind as they flirted with the edge of sleep like every night. But tonight was different. She had other thoughts of him, mortal thoughts, and she rolled over to face him in the dark. She could just barely see the muted firelight playing off his eyes like smothered embers. ¡°I know you¡¯ve thought of it,¡± she said to him just above a whisper. ¡°Don¡¯t deny it. Don¡¯t lie to me. I already know.¡± Luster lay there in silence for a moment, stunned. ¡°I have,¡± he admitted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Beam. I¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right. I have, too.¡± She held him by the side of his face, tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. ¡°You are no client of mine. You are no brothelkeeper. Do you understand?¡± He nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°I can refuse you. At any time. I can send you back to your tent whenever I like.¡± He didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Well? Did you hear me?¡± ¡°Yes, Beam. I heard you. I understand. What sort of man wouldn¡¯t understand what you said?¡± She sighed. ¡°To say a thing like that, you must know nothing of Grackenwell.¡± ¡°Beam...¡± He sat up, resting on one elbow, and addressed her seriously. ¡°You can turn me away whenever you¡¯d like. Now, or in a few moments, or in the middle of the night. I will go.¡± ¡°Just like that? Even in the heat of things?¡± ¡°Whenever. I promise.¡± She furrowed her brow, though she knew he couldn¡¯t see it in the dark. ¡°Don¡¯t make a fool out of me, Luster.¡± ¡°I would never, Beam. I have faith¡ªin the Lord Ah-Ren and in you. I would never want to break your trust in me.¡± She wanted¡ªshe ached¡ªto believe him. ¡°There is more to this journey than sharing a tent with me overnight.¡± ¡°I told you, Beam. I promised to follow you to the ends of the earth, even to the Great Unknown. Remember?¡± ¡°I remember.¡± Their lips found each other in the dark. In the heat of things, he told her, ¡°I promise that I won¡¯t fail you where other men have failed.¡± She prayed to Ah-Ren that he was telling her the truth. Chapter Twenty-Seven: AKONA V Mother Moon in her magnanimity makes the earth to provide for all circumstances. Clouds of flies descend on the battlefield and their young worms consume the dead, but only the dead. Take heed, then, learned mothers, when a portion of flesh dies while the body lives, be the death inflicted one to another or brought about by sickness. The young worms harvest only what belongs to them. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 28 Millark, Dridon Akona finished reapplying the dressing to Styri¡¯s facial wound. She knelt at the side of their shared bed, nothing more than a crude straw mat on the floor. It was a far cry from the familiar cots of Myrenthos or even the more generously stuffed straw beds of the Baranathan Oasis. But it would have to do for now. ¡°How does it feel?¡± Akona asked. Styri shot her a sullen glare. ¡°How do you think?¡± ¡°You know what I mean. Besides the obvious.¡± Her twin lifted an instinctive hand to scratch beneath the bandage, then had to pull it away forcibly with her other hand. ¡°Tickles.¡± That was a major improvement on the pain she¡¯d felt before. ¡°That¡¯s all? That¡¯s wonderful!¡± Styri shook her head. ¡°You¡¯ve never felt tickling like this. Not the kind that makes you laugh. The kind that drives you mad. Keeps you up at night.¡± ¡°Only for a while longer.¡± Akona took her sister¡¯s hand in hers, stroking it sympathetically. ¡°Mother Moon is watching over you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s easy for you to say.¡± Styri took back her hand, rolled over, and sulked at the bare wall. ¡°Maggots aren¡¯t eating your face.¡± Akona had no reply. It made her skin crawl, the thought of those pale yellow worms writhing in the black-and-beige crater on her sister¡¯s cheek. It was as the glademothers had taught them. It was the only way. Thankfully, the wound from the scorpion venom was shallow enough that it wouldn¡¯t cause any structural damage to her face, but it would likely leave a gruesome scar. It was a shame. Styri had always been the prettier one, she thought. ¡°I¡¯ll be back before dark,¡± Akona said, pulling on her yellow Dridic dress. ¡°Don¡¯t scratch it. And stay away from the window.¡± ¡°Whatever,¡± Styri sighed. She¡¯d been in such a dour mood ever since they¡¯d made their way out of the Zan desert; rest only gave her time to ruminate on their situation. ¡°Styri.¡± Akona bent down and held out her bent elbow. ¡°Promise me.¡± Her sister sighed again, but complied. She hooked her arm around hers and they pulled to seal their promise. Then Styri rolled over again and resumed staring at the wall in silence. They¡¯d been given residence in an abandoned house in the Dridic village of Millark. It was the proclamation of a local triarch, a male priest who presided over the village¡¯s Trinitist church. In exchange for free lodging and a single coin¡¯s wage each day, Akona would help certain villagers with various tasks, all of which varied by the day. Some days she would help milk cows at a farm on the village outskirts. Other days, she helped out in a brewery near the center of the village, mashing the grain, boiling the water, mixing the two, pouring precise measurements into the fermenter. However they put her to work, it was always tiring. But no more tiring than running for survival. They¡¯d been hiding in Millark for eight days by this point. After the days spent in hiding and the harrowing nights crossing the dark Zan desert, it was a welcome respite. But even in her short years, Akona knew the dangers that comfort entailed. It lowered one¡¯s guard. Made one soft. She never stopped searching the faces of the villagers for eyes looking back at her. She never slept at the same time as her sister anymore¡ªthey slept in shifts, and when Akona had no time to sleep before she was due to work, she skipped it entirely. She knew it might dull her senses. Make her prone to mistakes. Still, it felt safer than the alternative, which risked her waking up beside her sister with another veracidin¡¯s scorpion hovering over them. Most of all, it wouldn¡¯t last forever. Soon they would go where even the veracidins could never find them. ¡°How much for one of these?¡± she asked in Stonish. She¡¯d found her way to the shipyard at the far western edge of the village, a place where wooden ships were built and repaired near the water¡¯s edge. Beyond that sea lay the Grand Archipelago, and the Great Unknown beyond that. Beyond that was Xheng Yu Xi. Then home. One of the shirtless shipwrights wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. ¡°Run along, child. This is no place for a little girl like you. Where¡¯s your mother? Poor thing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need your sympathy. I asked how much it would cost to buy a ship.¡± Akona was resolute. She could sense that the men here in Dridon were not quite as cruel or barbaric as those to the north of the desert, but the paradigm here was still worlds different from back home in Myrenthos. There was a female queen by birthright only. Otherwise, women were given no special authority in Dridic society¡ªoften, it was the men who ruled over them, a concept that was backward and alien to her wherever she found it. Now the shipwright stood up straight and dropped his tool in the dirt. ¡°More than you can pay, little girl.¡± ¡°You still haven¡¯t named your price.¡± A grin broke out on his face. ¡°I like your attitude. I can tell you¡¯re not from here.¡± He glanced over his shoulder at the ship being built, which at this stage was a massive wooden frame just starting to fill out with planks. ¡°A ship this size? The crown will pay us four hundred triskeles.¡± Akona gasped. ¡°That much?¡± ¡°That is a generous bargain, even for a boat this small. I¡¯d charge a nobleman twice that for his private use!¡± The Myrenthian girl took a few steps closer, cocked her head to get a better look at the wooden skeleton of the vessel. ¡°And this will sail all the way to Tern? The capital?¡± ¡°She¡¯ll stay here at port for now, awaiting the queen¡¯s orders. She will sail anywhere Her Majesty sends it.¡± That got Akona thinking. ¡°Could it sail to the Grand Archipelago?¡± The shipwright furrowed his brow dismissively. ¡°If the islands didn¡¯t belong to Grackenwell, yes, it could. What are you getting at, little girl?¡± ¡°What¡¯s the cheapest ship that could sail you there? How much would that cost?¡± The shipwright chuckled. ¡°You don¡¯t look Archipelagian. You also ask a lot of questions. I¡¯m Brennac. What¡¯s your name?¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not here to make friends.¡± ¡°And I don¡¯t do business with strangers.¡± The shipwright¡¯s stubbornness was playful rather than demanding, and she could tell as much. It was the only reason she humored him. ¡°My name is Phileia,¡± she lied. ¡°Pleasure to meet you.¡± He reached out his right arm and they grasped each other¡¯s forearms, a common Stonish greeting. ¡°Likewise.¡± His eyes narrowed a bit, and she got the sense that he was more discerning than he first appeared. Could he tell she¡¯d given him a false name? Did he care? ¡°Well, Phileia, that depends on a few factors. How big¡¯s your crew? How experienced?¡± ¡°Four,¡± she lied again. ¡°Enough.¡± ¡°A girl of few words. Wise beyond your years. Well...¡± Brennac wiped his dirt-smudged face with a rag from his belt. He couldn¡¯t help but glance again at his fellow shipwrights hammering the planks into place along the ship¡¯s frame, as if feeling out of place that he wasn¡¯t working alongside them. ¡°...I¡¯d estimate for a small ship seaworthy for that distance, we could build you one for, eh...¡± He shrugged. ¡°...a hundred fifty triskeles.¡± The price was staggering, but not wholly unexpected based on what he¡¯d said so far. ¡°All right. I¡¯ll need time to earn that many coins. Could you have it ready for me in...¡± She thought for a moment. There was no way she could come by those coins honorably. ¡°...eight days from now?¡± Brennac threw back his head and laughed. ¡°If I had double the crew who asked for half the wages and never ate or slept, sure I could! Lass, this warship is halfway built and still won¡¯t be ready until next season. Even with a small ship, you¡¯d need to give us at least a few moons.¡± ¡°What if I need a ship sooner than that? Could you do it in, say... one moon¡¯s time from now?¡± He laughed again and shook his head, but the angle of his gaze suggested he was considering it. ¡°Ah, well... Perhaps. But to complete the job in a third the time? I¡¯d have to charge you double. And that¡¯s only because I like you.¡± ¡°You¡¯d charge a little girl like me three hundred triskeles just so she could go home?¡± ¡°Now you¡¯re playing for my sympathy, eh?¡± He folded his arms, looking down at her sternly like she was any other customer. ¡°Two hundred fifty. And I¡¯ll need twenty-five of it upfront as a deposit in good faith.¡± ¡°What about fifty for a deposit, and you let it go for two hundred triskeles even? For a friend?¡± ¡°Fine. Deal.¡± The shipwright snorted, and they sealed their contract with another forearm handshake. ¡°Though I was told you weren¡¯t here to make any friends.¡± Akona shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re doing business with me. I suppose that doesn¡¯t make me a stranger, does it?¡± Brennac laughed a big belly laugh and applauded her. ¡°By Triad! Where¡¯d you get that quick wit of yours, girl? A mind that sharp, you could trick every man and woman in Dridon out of their hard-earned coins!¡± She gave him her most innocent smile and waved goodbye for the day. ¡°In another life...¡± ¡°Oh, and Phileia!¡± Brennac called after her. ¡°One moon from today for the final payment. I¡¯ll need the deposit in twelve days. If I don¡¯t have the deposit, or the final payment, I¡¯ll sell off the ship to a fisherman or some noble for twice the cost. Friend or not, we have livings to make. Understand?¡± ¡°I understand,¡± she answered him amicably. But she didn¡¯t like it. *** Akona had wanted to earn coins honorably. Truthfully, she had. She¡¯d been taught from a young age the Myrenthian concept of tychna, the impact of one¡¯s moral actions, good or bad, on one¡¯s fortune. Certain destinies were written by the gods beyond mortal control. But sowing good deeds could allow one to reap good benefits. Doing evil meant one would reap hardships. The problem was that honest work didn¡¯t pay very well. Killing Hierophant Drakhman in that cold castle in the woods¡ªwas that good or evil? Where did justice end and vengeance begin? She couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that all this running and looking over their shoulders was some sort of divine penance assigned to them for killing a man who could not see his death coming, no matter how much of a tyrant he may have been. Only one question remained. How much penance was left to do? It begot only more questions. When would it end? Years? Would it take the death of one of them to wipe the slate clean¡ªa death for a death? There was no way of knowing. ¡°Three coins,¡± said Akona. She closed the creaking plank of a door behind her, locking it with a wooden bar. It was well past dark. The extra work she¡¯d put in at the brewery was grueling and made her break her word to her sister about being home before dark¡ªall for a measly profit. ¡°That¡¯s all I made today.¡± ¡°That¡¯s two more than most days.¡± Styri sat up in bed, looking a little livelier than she had recently. Or so Akona thought. She was nothing but a dark blue shape in the light of Mother Moon. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I talked to a shipbuilder today. He said he can build us a ship to sail the rest of the way home.¡± Akona stored her coins in a sack which she stashed back under a loose floorboard. ¡°He needs two hundred triskeles. Fifty upfront.¡± ¡°Two hundred?¡± Styri was incredulous. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in working shape soon. Even still... We could both break our backs every day and it would still be over a moon before we had enough to pay him. He¡¯s reliable?¡± ¡°Seems so. But they need more time to build it anyway. He said it would be ready this time next moon. We have time.¡± Akona set about changing Styri¡¯s wound dressing for the second time that day.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Not enough. A day¡¯s wage in this village is a coin. That¡¯s a full day¡¯s work. Earning multiple coins a day will have us working like madwomen... How long can we keep that up?¡± ¡°Hold still.¡± Akona peeled back the gauze and then stopped to light a candle. ¡°We might have to use the ways of the fox again.¡± Akona hated when her sister used that old saying of the glademothers¡ªit made their practiced skill of discreet thievery seem like some lesser, baser instinct that they were surrendering to, and it made her feel all the guiltier for it. ¡°Stop talking,¡± she grumbled. ¡°And hold still.¡± ¡°I was.¡± ¡°And now you¡¯re talking!¡± ¡°Because you weren¡¯t doing anything!¡± ¡°Well, now I am! Be quiet.¡± Akona took her tiny iron tongs and used them to pluck each maggot out of her sister¡¯s wound with care and precision. They each fell with the gentlest tink in the glass jar where she dumped them. ¡°And be grateful for a change.¡± Styri¡¯s remorseful look was all the apology she needed. Akona worked diligently for a while, and when she was finished, all that was left was a clean wound and a jar of writhing maggots, which she sealed using a mesh lid. She would dispose of them in the morning in the woods. ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Styri sat up and smiled with the good side of her face, eyes wide. ¡°I thought you would need to have them one more night. They did quick work.¡± ¡°Thank the gods!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll still need to keep dressing the wound, though.¡± ¡°I can do that myself. Finally.¡± She grasped Akona¡¯s hand. ¡°Thank you. And I¡¯m sorry for being irritable with you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. I¡¯ll just add it to my list of complaints to give our mother when we get home.¡± She shared a hopeful smile. When Styri finished applying a fresh dressing to her maggot-free wound, the two of them curled up on their straw mat bed for the night, facing away from one another as they always did. Styri was snoring within moments. For Akona, though, sleep was forbidden for the time being, and she instead stayed up wondering about their turn of fortune. Why hadn¡¯t the veracidins found them yet? Did the shifting sands of the desert hide their trail? Or were the spies simply rallying their forces, gathering enough trained men that the wily Myrenthian assassins couldn¡¯t possibly wriggle out of their clutches this time? Perhaps they were finally free. Perhaps their penance was over. Would the ways of the fox sully their good fortune again? Or had the gods deemed them worthy of an easier life, willing to excuse the theft of a few coins when it meant eluding their captors and returning home for the first time in almost a year? It was impossible to tell. Akona didn¡¯t know. She hated not knowing. Eventually, exhaustion won out over her restless uncertainty. She was unable to stay awake for her shift keeping watch. The worry followed her into her dreams. *** ¡°So, the little girl made good on her deal,¡± said Brennac, grinning. He threw his hammer in the mud. ¡°Fifty triskeles, eh?¡± Akona threw him the cinched sack of coins, which he caught one-handed. ¡°You can count them if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t befriend liars. I trust you.¡± He fastened the little bag to his belt. ¡°Would you like to see it?¡± ¡°Please.¡± The shipwright led her across the shipyard, past the hulking frame of the Dridic warship tilted on its side, as well as a trio of rowboats in various stages of progress. At the far end of the yard was the ship that was to be hers. Its skeleton stood near a copse of trees at the edge of the sand, the frame complete and the first planks in place. Brennac patted the frame proudly. ¡°Fifty triskeles in just twelve days,¡± he said, whistling. ¡°That¡¯s no small feat in such a short time. How¡¯d you manage that, little girl?¡± Akona shrugged. ¡°What can I say? I work hard for what I want.¡± ¡°You and your sister, or so I¡¯ve heard.¡± Her heart skipped a beat as it changed rhythm. She waited for him to summon veracidins lying in wait in the copse behind him, or perhaps hidden under the incomplete boats. None came. ¡°Have I heard right? Word travels fast here in Millark. I heard she was ill for a time and just started working alongside you.¡± ¡°Yes, she¡¯s part of my crew.¡± Brennac nodded. ¡°Well, good. Glad to hear you have help earning those coins. That amount of honest money is hard to come by on your own.¡± ¡°What do you mean by that?¡± He shrugged. ¡°What I said. Word travels fast here in Millark. Just be careful out there.¡± He eyed her warily for a moment, and Akona drew on her extensive training of reading the expressions of another. She could tell that he suspected her of something but without proof. ¡°I always am,¡± she finally replied. As Akona trudged away from the shipyard and back into the village proper, she soured. The ways of the fox were their only means of amassing that many coins in such a short time. This was on top of their already backbreaking daily labor, running around all the village for more grueling work to do in exchange for a single meager coin. It wasn¡¯t sustainable. To make matters worse, they¡¯d already parted with the last of their savings to make the deposit payment. They had a bit more time to scrounge up the final payment, but it was three times as large, and failure would mean getting stranded in Millark. On the Stone Continent. No one from Dridon would risk sailing to the Grackenwelsh-occupied Archipelago. It would mean more time for the veracidins to catch up and find them¡ªif they were still in pursuit. The not knowing killed her. ¡°We need to finish here right away,¡± Akona panted, having just run from the other side of the village. She squatted next to Styri, who was pressing out a cow¡¯s udder into a pail. ¡°The brewery has another batch ready to go. We¡¯re wanted there.¡± Styri shook her head without looking away from her work. ¡°No, the seamstress said she needed us. I told her we¡¯d be there once we were done here.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ll take the brewery and you can go to the seamstress. You¡¯re better at sewing anyway.¡± ¡°No, I wanted the next day at the brewery!¡± ¡°Well, too bad! I¡¯ve worked under the seamstress the last three days in a row. My fingers hurt. You can take a turn with her for a day or two!¡± ¡°She¡¯ll have no more work left this moon by the time I¡¯m done¡ª¡± ¡°Styri, enough!¡± At their outburst, the cow kicked Styri in the chest, knocking her on her back and spilling the near-full pail of milk. Akona¡¯s older twin glowered up at her then, tears in her eyes, looking every bit like a little sister half her age. ¡°Go on, then!¡± she snapped, trying to hold her voice steady. ¡°Go take the day off, for all I care! I¡¯ll do it all myself!¡± Akona sighed. ¡°Styri, stop whining.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not whining!¡± Styri whined. She shook the milk from her arm in disgust, drawing up her knees against her chest in her gray dress. ¡°We¡¯re never going to have enough money to pay him. Will we? We¡¯re going to be stuck here forever!¡± ¡°We will. We just have to keep work¡ª¡± ¡°Keep working?¡± Styri cut her off. ¡°That¡¯s all you keep saying. We don¡¯t have time! Three coins a day for each of us¡ªif we could even keep up with that level of work¡ªwe still need twenty-five days to get the rest of the coins! Our ship will be sold by then! That¡¯s what you told me.¡± ¡°Well, what would you like to do? We were lucky enough to scrape together the coins we did in the time we had. You think...¡± Akona looked around, lowering her voice. ¡°You think a village this size wouldn¡¯t notice over a hundred coins going missing this moon? We have to be perfect. Every time. Every time, for every last coin... And all it takes is one perceptive villager to catch us in the act. Then we¡¯ll be jailed for gods know how long?¡± Styri wiped her eyes with her dry arm. ¡°So what do we do? Try going south, on foot again?¡± Akona had had her fill of walking and running for several years. Her calves and thighs were leaner, more muscular, than ever, flying in the face of the Myrenthian female aesthetic. Her legs were looking manlier by the day¡ªlegs fit only for crude manual labor, the kind a man or a beast was fit to do. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Maybe a noble will ride through the village. Nobles carry coins, don¡¯t they? If we hit only one target... Well, we¡¯ll have fewer chances of getting caught.¡± Styri sniffled. ¡°I don¡¯t know where else we¡¯ll be able to get that many coins at once. Not around here, at least.¡± That was the detail to jog Akona¡¯s imagination. ¡°I¡¯ve got it,¡± she breathed. ¡°I know what we need to do. But we¡¯ll have to wait until the day before we buy the ship.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Akona swallowed the sudden dry dread rising up in her throat. ¡°Because we¡¯ll need to make our getaway as soon as possible. Before they find out.¡± *** ¡°Blessings of the God Above,¡± said one of the triarchs. ¡°Wisdom of the God Among,¡± said the second. ¡°Mercy of the God Below,¡± the third one finished. The three old men bowed and, each holding up three fingers, drew triangles in the air between them and the twins. ¡°Thank you for your help tonight, girls,¡± said the first triarch, the oldest. He had plump, ruddy cheeks and white hair. ¡°Twelve boxweights of triskeles for Feast Day. Twelve! Surely Triad has smiled upon Millark this year!¡± ¡°The fruits of our faith,¡± the second one added with a solemn nod. ¡°Praise Triad indeed,¡± Akona agreed with a smile. ¡°Forgive us, triarchs. We¡¯ve worked long in the fields today and my sister needs her rest. She¡¯s still healing.¡± ¡°Of course, of course,¡± said the eldest triarch like a harmless grandfather. ¡°Off you go. Rest well. The feast is in three days¡¯ time¡ªI trust we¡¯ll see you both back here then?¡± ¡°Of course!¡± the twins lied in unison. ¡°Very good. Rest easy this eve, girls. You¡¯ve done a good thing this day!¡± Akona waved goodbye and led her sister back to their house toward the outskirts of the village. The sun was low. She waited until they were far from the Trinitist church and far out of earshot of anyone who might be listening. Still, she couldn¡¯t help but remember the words of the matriarch from her hometown: In delicate matters, words are best kept mysterious. ¡°Tonight,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ll come back for it. Then our deal is done at first light. Then we move on.¡± ¡°It¡¯s hidden well?¡± Styri replied. ¡°A shallow grave. Ferns. Beneath two trees growing apart.¡± ¡°The thirteenth? Fourteenth? How many?¡± Akona nodded. ¡°Thirteenth.¡± ¡°Not enough.¡± ¡°The thirteenth contains pieces of the first twelve. Trust me, it¡¯s enough¡ªand then some. The builder will have his pay. We will have what he built.¡± Styri stopped her in her tracks. Held out her arm. ¡°Promise?¡± Akona locked arms with her sister. Sealed her word with conviction. ¡°Promise.¡± And she made good on her promise¡ªto her sister, at least, if no one else. That night, they stole away from the abandoned house gifted to them by the village church, wearing the clothes gifted to them by the villagers, and made their way back to the site of their crime. The wooden box lay buried beneath a mound of freshly turned soil. In it rattled almost two hundred triskeles that Akona had stashed over the course of the day. All they¡¯d had to do was help count and sort donations from the local Trinitist believers. It was a Millark tradition to pool their coins so that the church could host a feast each year. And they had plenty yet to fund their Feast Day. They simply had twelve boxes of coins instead of the thirteen they would have had otherwise. It was no great tragedy, at least not in Akona¡¯s heart. And a fraction of their money was going to a much better cause now. These were the things she kept telling herself. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it,¡± Styri whispered. She finished counting the coins by torchlight. ¡°They¡¯re all there. Every last one we need, plus a few extra!¡± It was all worth it to see the relieved smile on her face. ¡°We¡¯re going home?¡± Akona nodded. ¡°Yes. And we just made a big leap of progress.¡± The twins couldn¡¯t sleep at all that night. When the first dim hint of pre-dawn twilight fell over the world, they gathered their belongings and took off, bound for the shipyard. They carried with them a separate bag of coins to make it look as though they hadn¡¯t stolen them¡ªthe empty box was buried back in the woods. Brennac didn¡¯t seem the type to care where his money came from, but Akona couldn¡¯t risk it. ¡°Up and at it so early,¡± said the shipwright, who had only just made it to the shipyard himself. He was the first of his men to arrive. ¡°Why the rush?¡± ¡°You said you¡¯d sell it after today,¡± Akona replied tiredly. ¡°One hundred fifty. As agreed.¡± She hefted the sack in both hands. Brennac gestured to the dock, where a new ship, complete with sails, was tied up. ¡°Your ship. As agreed.¡± When the money changed hands, he weighed the sack, nodding. He looked impressed. ¡°Do I want to know where you got these?¡± ¡°From the people of Millark,¡± Akona answered, and for once, she was telling the truth. ¡°We¡¯ve been working ourselves to the bone since we arrived here.¡± The man smirked half-knowingly. ¡°So you have. Come along.¡± The twins followed him to the dock and onto the ship that now belonged to them. ¡°Where¡¯s the rest of your crew?¡± ¡°They won¡¯t be joining us.¡± That¡¯s the truth, too, Akona thought. ¡°Unfortunately, they couldn¡¯t be here.¡± They couldn¡¯t because they don¡¯t exist. ¡°But my sister and I are more than capable. Wise women back home trained us well¡ªwe can handle it.¡± That applies to sailing, or you, if need be. ¡°Fair enough. Care to take her out for the morning? Should be smooth waters. Could get a feel for her before you make your trip.¡± The twins didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re in a hurry to leave already! Won¡¯t you at least stay for the feast? It¡¯s a Millark tradition.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve heard. Sadly, we can¡¯t stay.¡± He narrowed his eyes, though his light smile was still friendly enough. Akona detected a subtle change in him. ¡°Is that so? What a shame.¡± He took a step forward on the deck of the small ship. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much you know about Feast Day, but it¡¯s quite the celebration. You see, Millark gathers once a year to celebrate all our hard work and reward ourselves with the fruits of our labor. Builds morale. Everyone in the village gathers for it. And everyone contributes. Did you know that? The dairy farmer, the seamstress, the brewers, the farmers, the smiths, the cobblers, the butchers... Even the triarchs throw in some coins.¡± Another step forward. Brennac was in arm¡¯s reach now. ¡°You must know a little about Feast Day. After all, you volunteered to help the triarchs with preparations, didn¡¯t you? Just yesterday, if I¡¯m not mistaken.¡± ¡°We did,¡± Akona said, meeting his gaze brazenly. ¡°We hope you all enjoy it. From what I counted, there was plenty to guarantee a good feast for the whole village.¡± Brennac stared back into her eyes. His smile faded. ¡°I see.¡± He looked east, past the shipyard and toward the gilded silhouette of Millark against the dawn. ¡°Well, then, Phileia... Our business is finished. Consider me a stranger again.¡± He stepped off the ship, back onto the dock, and kept walking for the yard, never once turning back to face them. Akona let out the breath she¡¯d been holding. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± They drew up the ship¡¯s anchor, unfurled the sails, and after spending the early hour of dawn recalling everything they¡¯d learned about sailing in their childhood, the sisters managed to get the ship to leave the dock. Soon Millark was just a cluster of bricks and wood flanked on either side by forest. It was nothing but a dot in their memory now, another glimpse of strangeness along the way. Paranoid, Akona made sure to check below deck for any Qardish stowaways like the one who ambushed them in Umreh. It was small, and the hiding places would be scant, but she could never be too careful, not anymore. There were none. The ship was in good working order and it was all theirs. Before long, land was just a greenish-gray smudge on the horizon behind them. Even the wind favored them that day. Was it really that easy? Akona asked herself. They hadn¡¯t crossed paths with even a single veracidin during their whole stay in Millark, and it had been more than two moons since their clash in Baranatha. Perhaps all that business was in the past now. Is our tychna finally paid in full? Even this victory in a string of defeats and setbacks brought her no peace. Their journey, and the peril it yet promised, was far from over. ¡°Phileia?¡± Styri said, and she snickered quietly. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Akona sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not funny.¡± Chapter Twenty-Eight: LANOR VI You have heard it said, ¡®A prayer of gladness is received with gladness.¡¯ But I tell you that the heart of Eloei is more boundless than the deepest sea. The prayer of the widow and the prayer of the newlywed are equal in the ears of the Most High. Lift up your troubles to Him and He will surely hear you. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 67, Verses 29-32 Palace of the Hierophant, Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda Beneath the opulent palace home to the greatest power in the known world was a network of underground dungeons. These dungeons were even bleaker than the austere condition of Castle Muadazim. The pale yellow bricks cracked and crumbled in places; iron was the only metal in sight, black bars secured by black locks, and all of it lit by sparse torches in drab black sconces. The corridors were littered with cobwebs and the desiccated skeletons of rats. Everything was meant to break down a prisoner¡¯s morale. For Lanor, it was working. She paced in her windowless cell. It was a maddeningly narrow alcove that was many, many strides long, and yet she was able to scrape the wall with one hand as she walked and drum the iron bars with the other at the same time. That on its own was enough to drive her mad in due time. But she was not alone. Her cellmate was a mousy woman of middle age. She sat alone on the cell¡¯s backless wooden bench. Her hair reminded Lanor of Dhasherah, reddish brown with streaks of light gray like troughs of snow in the mud. The woman passed the time by biting her nails down to nubs, folding and unfolding her arms, shaking her leg so that her sandal squeaked underfoot at all times. She never spoke. She never dared to look at Lanor. For almost every crime in the great land of Qarda, there existed only one punishment. From the most hardened burglars, wifebeaters, false witnesses, disobedient children, sorcerers, adulterers, kidnappers, perpetrators of incest¡ªall of them down to the pettiest thief and minor slanderer were punished the same. They were imprisoned. The nature, severity, and duration of their crime all played a role in the length of their imprisonment. Severe or repeat offenders were banished to the desert island prison of Jal Hakhan to the south. First offenders in Rayyaq Raleed were usually housed in the dungeons below the palace. Lanor, however, was a special case. Two crimes in Qarda were treated especially harshly: murder and apostasy. Anyone guilty of either of these crimes was automatically put to death. The murderer was killed quickly by beheading. For the apostate, the manner of death was unfortunately much more creative. Qarda was infamous for its executions of apostates. The methods used to put them to death were so gruesome, so unpredictably inventive, that there was perhaps but one trial of apostasy in Rayyaq Raleed each year, and in other regions it was even less common. Lanor festered in this knowledge. She wore a plain gray gown and, beneath her drab headdress, her hair stood pinned in a tight bun that hurt her scalp. She was itchy, having gone days without a bath¡ªhow had she managed to go so long after her father¡¯s death? She didn¡¯t know. She didn¡¯t know what would happen to her. Nor when. The not knowing was a torture all its own. Days slugged on in bread meals and the paladins¡¯ patrol rounds in total absence of the sun, stars, even the tiniest little shard of celestial blue. She¡¯d lost all sense of time. Each day, any lingering suspicions that this was all some sick joke or perhaps an elaborate political stunt on Ghamal¡¯s part grew thinner and thinner. It was all real. Lanor felt like the world¡¯s biggest fool for not piecing it all together until it was far too late. On the fifth day of her imprisonment, Lanor¡¯s curiosity overwhelmed her¡ªwho was this woman, and what had she done to find herself behind bars? The woman¡¯s prison gown and headdress were tattered at the edges and coming apart at the seams; she smelled foul and oniony, and what would be a thin mane of hair if it were clean was a tangled, oily mess atop her head. Lanor wondered if the woman had had any white hairs when she¡¯d first arrived. The highborn girl approached the woman and said, ¡°Are you¡ª¡± and the woman jumped. Lanor jumped. The woman gave her an incredulous, horrified look, and not another word passed between them. The girl resumed her routine of pacing back and forth through the wingspan-thin cell. Lanor began to neglect her prayers again. It was impossible to tell the time of day in the first place, but she would have withheld her prayers anyway. I have kept your tome all my days, she thought bitterly. What have you done for me in return? Now I¡¯ve truly lost everything. She swallowed hard. Well... not everything. Not yet. Some days, Ghamal¡¯s betrayal still didn¡¯t feel real. She searched her mind for any clue that this still might have been part of Ghamal¡¯s plan to help her, but she found none. The only thing that made sense was his betrayal. In hindsight, all the pieces of the puzzle seemed so painfully obvious that she hated herself for letting all this come to pass. The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. Do you understand? If only she¡¯d heeded her fathers words more carefully. Her uncle had never sired a child. Ever since the Sixty-Year Schism just after the dawn of the Eloheed, it was crucial for a hierophant, or an heir, to have children, ideally before their coronation. Disputes of birthright had caused a sixty-year war that almost spelled the end of the Eloheed. So when Ghamal failed to have children, his birthright to the throne was revoked, and Lanor¡¯s father was installed instead. How could she have thought that he would just let that go? Had Ghamal fooled her father, too? Then there came the sinking suspicion that tied everything together, one so unassailably logical that Lanor couldn¡¯t deny it, no matter how much it chilled her to the bone. You killed my father, she realized. Your own brother. This was all your doing. Now she saw a huge swath of her memories in a different light. All those times when her father gave her uncle a hard time, poking fun at him, rebuking him from his seat of authority, even issuing orders to his elder brother... Ghamal had seemed to take everything in stride. But she knew differently now. Ghamal had been one step ahead of her from the beginning. He sowed the seeds of her incompetence in the very path that he laid out before her. Her bungled responses to the supplicants. Her hasty, imprudent invasion of Grackenwell''s capital city¡ªEloheed died by the hundreds because of that. The way she conducted her part in the congregation, falling asleep in plain view of the entire Synod, and how she¡¯d left without a word. Even that stimulant tea must have been laced with a sedative of some kind. All of it painted her as an incompetent child who couldn¡¯t be trusted with the highest seat of power in the world. And all along the way, Ghamal painted himself as the competent, sagacious, long-suffering but dutiful servant of Eloei, and he made it so that his ascension to the throne was the only viable alternative to Lanor or another civil war. And still he had the gall to claim that everything he did was the will of Eloei. Having his brother killed. Betraying his own niece, looking the other way as she was imprisoned and would soon be put to death. What kind of monster, what kind of mahjeen could do what he did and still hide behind the mysterious ways of a benevolent god? Then again, maybe it was Eloei¡¯s will after all. If He even cared about human affairs. If He even existed at all. Maybe I am an apostate, Lanor thought. Maybe this is where I belong. ¡°The time has come.¡± Lanor flinched. A pair of paladins waited at the locked gate of the cell. She looked to her cellmate, who sat there and shook her legs and stared at the floor like normal. The guards trained their eyes on the ex-hierophant. ¡°Follow us, Lanor Sanzeen,¡± said the other paladin. ¡°The Synod awaits.¡± The young Sanzeen drew a shaking breath, sure of only one thing anymore¡ªno good could come of this. *** The Dome of the Synod looked orders of magnitude larger this time. Lanor walked, head down, stripped of all her power, shuffling to her place on an unpolished wooden bench rife with slivers. The paladins¡¯ irons were heavy, bruised her at the bones of her wrists. Her skin crawled with every pair of eyes in the room. Sitting in the small royal alcove alongside her vizier, standing to lead the daily prayers¡ªthat all felt a lifetime removed now, cast away to some distant island where dwelled Eloei, guarding her joy and the sound of her father¡¯s voice. It was all beyond her reach now. She¡¯d become a spectator of her own fate. ¡°The Synod congregates,¡± said the archelder Rhadiz Tal. He held up the ceremonial goatskin drum and hit it once. The elders were seated. Ghamal, wrapped in royal robes and wearing the Crown of Hierophany, held out his hands like a cleric addressing his own throng of worshipers. ¡°Thank you for your presence here today, esteemed members of the Synod,¡± he said in a booming voice that Lanor had never heard. He was a wholly changed man now. ¡°The great nation of Qarda calls upon you this day to begin the trial of Lanor Sanzeen, the deposed hierophant. The charge against her is heinous apostasy.¡± He paused, let the gravity of the charge press upon them all one by one. The chamber was stone silent until he spoke again. ¡°It has been many centuries since a hierophant was brought before you on such a charge. I pored over the historical texts and commentaries dating back to the Sixty-Year Schism. I understand, as I¡¯m sure you all do, that the first phase of this trial is the Hearing of Merit. ¡°I¡¯d like to take this opportunity to render my testimony.¡± He cleared his throat, folding his hands behind his back. He looked at home on the podium with a rapt audience before him. ¡°As Lanor Sanzeen¡¯s closest confidant and vizier during her brief stint as hierophant, I believe I qualify as the primary witness to the merit of her charge.¡± He lit his etafir at the podium and proceeded. ¡°Perhaps the most striking evidence that she has long since abandoned the faith is her record of religious service. Or should I say the lack thereof? Time and again, she has shirked her religious duties, and her spotty record of leading worship in the Temple of Eloei serves as one small proof. We made concessions in the immediate aftermath of her father¡¯s death, Eloei grace him, and she milked our sympathy like a goat.¡± A few Synod members snickered among themselves. ¡°Leading worship is one of the chief duties of the Hierophany. Forsaking this sworn obligation alone is grounds for scorn. But I let this slide. And, Eloei forgive me, she took advantage of my patience. ¡°Only after much coaxing, begging, bribing, and appeals to the memory of her father could I convince her to leave her bedchamber, to answer even one of the faithful supplicants outside the Temple door. But even this simple task was fraught with complications. Lanor¡¯s poor veracidin deployment allowed a number of manipulators and plunderers to slip through undetected among the legitimate supplicants; answering their requests proved quite deleterious to the royal coffers. This all came despite repeated pleading and earnest urging to employ the services of her veracidins.¡± The room buzzed with a comment here, a murmur there, flies sprouting from the rotting carcass of Ghamal¡¯s body of lies. It was all a farce, a nightmare. Lanor¡¯s head spun. ¡°After the Hierophant,¡± he went on, ¡°the Synod member, and the paladin, the veracidin is the most exalted position a Qardish man can hold in the eyes of Eloei, more so than even a cleric. The duty of a veracidin is to thresh away the lies and so harvest the truth. Curious, then, that this most incompetent Hierophant only ever deployed them at my repeated urging, and often not even then. Like the rest of my advice to her, it went largely ignored.¡± ¡°That is a lie!¡± Lanor blurted out. ¡°Every day you would¡ª¡± ¡°Contain yourself!¡± Rhadiz Tal interjected, banging his goatskin drum again. ¡°Now is not the time for your defense. You will not speak again unless spoken to, just like any other criminally accused person.¡± The girl sat back and seethed, silent. ¡°And look at her now,¡± said Ghamal. ¡°My heart, Qarda¡¯s heart, is broken. I would venture to say that Eloei¡¯s is as well.¡± His tone was somber and dramatic; it made Lanor wonder how much he¡¯d rehearsed for this, if he¡¯d been practicing since the night her father was killed or if this kind of serpentine deceit came naturally to him. ¡°Is this the demeanor of a Prophetess? Lazy? Reclusive? Bitter? Flighty and unpredictable? The truth is clear as the tributaries that feed the River Shureh. Lanor Sanzeen has lost the Sanction of Eloei. It is unclear if she ever had it at all.¡± ¡°With all due respect, Interim Hierophant Ghamal,¡± said Rhadiz Tal, ¡°it is up to the Synod to pass that judgment.¡± Ghamal waved an apologetic hand. ¡°Of course, archelder. Of course. Far be it from me to think myself an expert on the finer details of the Testament.¡± He sent a cold glare in Lanor¡¯s direction. ¡°I can only speak from the heart. From the truths that Eloei reveals to me personally. As He always has. I wonder if Lanor has had the same visions, the same visitations from the Lord Above Lords.¡± ¡°Very good, Interim Hierophant Ghamal. That will be all at this time.¡± Ghamal extinguished the etafir. He took his seat in the larger of the two thrones in the royal alcove, looking pleased with himself. Rhadiz Tal, for his part, lit a separate etafir at his mahogany desk; this candle was short, thin, and its wax softened immediately beneath the wavering orange flame. ¡°Now the accused will be permitted to speak in her defense.¡± A paladin guided a chained Lanor to the podium and stood next to her. Now is my chance, she thought. She deduced the short duration of her etafir was a deliberate choice. ¡°Everything my accuser has said today is a lie,¡± she began. Except for the parts that weren¡¯t. ¡°Well, some of it was true. I neglected leading worship in the Temple for a time. I have been less than perfect in my...¡± She surveyed the crowd, feeling that they loomed larger and larger, and she shrank, with each word she said. ¡°The supplicants¡ªI wasn¡¯t sure how to deal with them, since it was my first time answering them. Ghamal never told me what to do! Except for the times that he did... But then, weren¡¯t the mistakes his fault?¡± She could feel herself floundering. It was like her botched duahr at the Circle of Kings all over again, except now her father wasn¡¯t there to save her. ¡°I have not been a perfect hierophant... but this does not make me an apostate! I do pray to Eloei. I still believe in Him, and if I believe in Him, then how can you¡ª¡± Rhadiz Tal banged his drum again. ¡°Control yourself, Lanor. Emotional outbursts are not permitted in this sacred congregation.¡± She swallowed her paralyzing fear. ¡°Looking at your faces now, I can tell that you don¡¯t believe me. But you must. He¡¯s lying. He¡¯s been jealous of my father since the beginning and this is his revenge. Can¡¯t you see that? It pains me to say this...¡± Her heart raced, and her sweat ran cold, when she met the eyes of her uncle, her uncle by blood alone. ¡°...but I believe Ghamal had something to do with the death of my father. He¡¯s a snake! He¡¯s deceiving all of you like he deceived me! He was my vizier, and everything I did from the day I ascended the throne¡ª¡± ¡°Your time is up,¡± said Rhadiz Tal. Sure enough, the wick of her etafir drizzled gray smoke up to the chamber¡¯s gilded dome. ¡°Thank you, Lanor, for your testimony. That concludes your rebuttal.¡± She wanted to start throwing her fists. She wanted to rip out her hair and scream until the vibrations shook the pillars of the Dome of the Synod and it all came crumbling down around them. Her teeth ground together so hard her jaw hurt. The world was red. ¡°Synod, the floor is now yours to debate the merit of this charge,¡± the archelder continued. ¡°Paladins, please escort the accused back to her cell.¡± Lanor glared at the Interim Hierophant on her way out. He brazenly returned her glare, though while hers was a challenge, his was a threat¡ªa threat that would likely come to pass. Ghamal had sown his alibis and hedged his falsehood perfectly. From this labyrinth, Lanor feared there was no escape. *** On the seventh day of her stay in the dungeon, the end of the Sanzeen bloodline resolved that she would not spend what short time she had left in silence. She was going to have a conversation with that cellmate of hers. After their breakfast of bread and water, and after the paladins completed their subsequent rounds, Lanor spoke from the far end of the cell in a small, gentle voice. ¡°Don¡¯t be afraid,¡± she said. The woman still flinched, but her reaction was milder this time; her eyes didn¡¯t bulge quite so much at her fellow prisoner. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you.¡± The woman looked away slowly, as if trying to ascertain how best to escape a prowling jungle cat. ¡°Will you talk to me? Let¡¯s just start with our names.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. A long silence elapsed. The woman looked at her again, squinting, like she was seeing her for the first time all over again. ¡°Nashee¡¯a...¡± Her voice was raspy with disuse. ¡°Nashee¡¯a?¡± Lanor echoed. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely name. My name is Lanor. I¡¯m¡ª¡± ¡°I know who you are.¡± The woman furrowed her brow like a frustrated child. ¡°My name is Yazneem. I don¡¯t want any trouble. My side, my line, my bench.¡± She picked at the nubs of her fingernails. ¡°My shoes. My clothes. You can¡¯t have them. I¡¯ve been here. That¡¯s how it is and will be.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want anything from you but a conversation,¡± Lanor replied. Another prisoner somewhere distant in the women¡¯s wing of the dungeon wailed incoherently. ¡°How long have you been here?¡± ¡°Nashee¡¯a. She was supposed to visit me today. Eloei bless her, she¡¯s just a little girl. She has no place here.¡± Yazneem looked at Lanor, clarity in her eyes again. ¡°Longer than you.¡± The Sanzeen girl smirked. ¡°Well, of course. You were here when I got here. How many days before my¡ª¡± ¡°No.¡± Yazneem bowed her head. ¡°Longer than you.¡± The realization hit Lanor like a fist. ¡°My word... I¡¯m so sorry to hear that. May I ask what your charges are? I¡¯ve never heard of someone staying in the dungeon that long. Usually they¡¯d send you to Jal Hakhan, or so I thought.¡± No response. Another prisoner laughed somewhere down the corridor, then broke down in hacking coughs. ¡°I wish my father had known. I¡¯m sure he would have done something to help you. Or I could have, if I still had the throne.¡± Yazneem shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s all right. I¡¯ve gotten used to it here. I just hope Hierophant Ghamal is merciful when he hears my plea.¡± Lanor bristled at the casual juxtaposition of that title with that name. Her sympathy sharpened a little around the edges. ¡°At least you¡¯ve lived this long. I doubt I¡¯ll see Qarda¡¯s next season.¡± ¡°Why are you here? Does it have anything to do with your dethronement?¡± Lanor folded her arms. Leaned back against the cracked wall and tapped her foot. ¡°Apostasy.¡± ¡°Heinous or simple?¡± ¡°What?¡± Yazneem sighed. ¡°Heinous apostasy or simple apostasy? It makes a difference.¡± Lanor scratched her itchy bun of hair through her headdress. ¡°I... I don¡¯t know. They didn¡¯t tell me. Or, if they did, I don¡¯t remember. I just remember apostasy. What¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Well, heinous is worse, as you could guess. I¡¯ve seen a few of those executions. Horrid stuff. Simple apostasy, it usually goes quicker.¡± She mimed slitting her own throat. ¡°You know?¡± Lanor lifted a hand to her own throat and winced. ¡°What happened? What were the executions like?¡± ¡°Well, it all depended on how exactly they earned the charge. One heinous apostate claimed that anyone who believed in the existence of Eloei should ¡®broaden their reading.¡¯ He was crushed under the weight of hundreds of copies of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen. I believe the final count was over three hundred... Another one was guilty of burning the Testament, and they roasted him in a metal pot. Took the better part of a day. I didn¡¯t stay until the end, but I heard stories about it for the rest of that year. Many of them receive the Thousand Wounds. Clerics from all over Qarda bring their ceremonial knives. Everyone gets a turn.¡± Yazneem shook her head. ¡°Once in a while, a merciful cleric comes along and drives his knife into the apostate¡¯s heart. Less suffering that way. But I hear that¡¯s been forbidden.¡± Lanor¡¯s mind swam with blades and gushing blood. Her mouth went dry. How could her father, the gentle and kindhearted man she knew, condone these executions? She imagined her father at war, swinging his sword through some Myrenthian soldier¡¯s belly, spilling his entrails everywhere, maybe lopping off a man¡¯s head, all while letting loose a battle cry to empower his fellow Eloheed. It was barbaric. She¡¯d never seen him in this light. She¡¯d always pictured him as the hero astride the horse, not the killer down in the muck and gore. ¡°Did they ever let any of the apostates go?¡± Lanor asked. The older woman shook her head again. ¡°Never. An apostate would have to prove their innocence, like any other criminal. But no one wants to weigh the words of an apostate. They¡¯ve already made up their minds.¡± Lanor raked her fingers down the sides of her scalp. She didn¡¯t want to die, but if she had to, she yearned for it to be quick. No. I won¡¯t die at all. Not now¡ªnot like this. Think! There must be some way out of this. Some way to prove I haven¡¯t abandoned the faith... Or have I? Did I abandon the faith a long time ago, even before my father¡¯s murder? Have I been going through the motions of my daily prayers this whole time? Maybe this is what I deserve... She longed for the closeness she¡¯d felt to her god and her father back in the Temple. She¡¯d felt so sure of it all then, so at peace. Her fickle faith was subject to the winds of her fate, blowing this way and that, and if Eloei did exist, perhaps this was all His punishment for her hubris and indecision. The Temple... If only she could return to those last four days of peace. The note! How could she have forgotten? Her frenzied mind flashed back to the scrap of paper that Ghamal had slipped her during the congregation. Take a leave of absence. The paper had been with her in the Temple, and she¡¯d tucked it between the cracks of two insignificant tiles, a place where no one would have thought to look¡ªor so she hoped. It was the one physical proof of Lanor¡¯s innocence. It proved that Ghamal had lied during his testimony about Lanor stealing away across the city to shirk her religious duties¡ªit proved that it was his bidding all along. It might not be enough to have her trial thrown out entirely, but it would tarnish Ghamal¡¯s credibility, and possibly earn him Synod charges himself for his deceit. Had he been a step ahead of her yet again? Had he searched the Temple for any signs of his deceit, or had his paladins find and destroy the note for him? Would he have thought to take such extra measures? There was only one way to find out. She needed to get back into the Temple of Eloei. *** ¡°Thank you for your presence here today, esteemed members of the Synod,¡± said Hierophant Ghamal. ¡°We now begin the second phase of the trial of Lanor Sanzeen, the deposed hierophant. Yesterday, the merit of the charge of heinous apostasy was affirmed. Today begins the Hearing of Evidence. Today we will call witnesses to testify, and you will have the opportunity to examine the evidence, such as the Palace treasurers¡¯ records of the accused¡¯s irresponsible spending. I defer to the Synod¡¯s judgment, as ever.¡± Ghamal took his seat on his throne. The archelder Rhadiz Tal banged his goatskin drum. ¡°The second phase of this trial begins immediately,¡± he said. In unison, a flurry of quills flitted upright in the hands of the Synod and their scribes, pecked the ink in their wells, and posed on their parchments. Another grueling day began. The morning¡¯s proceedings were dense and unhurried. The Synod started by interviewing a great litany of witnesses, firsthand and secondhand, and Ghamal was called again to testify in support of his claims. Paladins, veracidins, attendants, supplicants, and scribes marched, formicine, in and out of the chamber¡¯s podium. There was never a moment where there wasn¡¯t at least one quill bobbing back and forth somewhere in the chamber. Lanor sat and festered, shook her leg like her cellmate Yazneem. By the time the sun had already passed overhead and the shadows were lengthening again, the line of witnesses finally came to an end. ¡°Now,¡± said Rhadiz Tal, ¡°the time has come to permit the accused a rebuttal. She is free to call forth any witness she so chooses or otherwise present evidence.¡± The paladin again led Lanor to the podium. The irons rattled heavily on her wrists. The whole Synod laid eyes on her once more, and she knew what she had to say, but had no idea how to say it. She didn¡¯t have her father¡¯s confidence. She didn¡¯t have her uncle¡¯s deceitful gift for rhetoric, either. She could only speak from the hart. ¡°I can prove that Ghamal is lying,¡± she said. Silence, save for quills scratching parchment. Rhadiz Tal looked up from his desk. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you misunderstand the nature of a rebuttal in this phase of the trial. Now is not the time for testimony. You must either call a witness or present physical evidence. Hierophant Ghamal¡¯s evidence today was considerable. What have you to present?¡± Lanor was prepared to blurt out everything, but a still and sober voice in her head held her back. Revealing everything in this moment out of the desperate need for vindication would be her downfall. Ghamal would send his henchmen to the Temple and turn over every tile to find that note. They would burn it on the spot. Nothing would come of it, and Lanor would meet her gruesome end to a backdrop of cheers and sanctimonious malice. No, she had to proceed with caution¡ªit was her only hope. ¡°I do not have the evidence here,¡± she said. A few Synod members shot dubious looks at one another. ¡°But I promise I can take you to it. The evidence is across the city. Take me in chains if you must, but please... take me there. Grant the daughter of Hierophant Drakhman Sanzeen a say in her own life and death!¡± Rhadiz Tal met her gaze, then turned to his fellow elders. They conferred quietly with one another. Lanor saw the very instant when Ghamal pieced it together himself. ¡°This will not be necessary,¡± said the interim hierophant. ¡°Cornered in such a way, a person goes to absurd lengths for a way out, or at least to prolong their judgment. ¡®Take me and I will show you¡¯ is not a defense. Hieratic law¡ª¡± ¡°With all due respect, Interim Hierophant Ghamal,¡± said the archelder, ¡°these proceedings are not within your jurisdiction, and for good reason. Final judgment falls to the Synod. We must hear out the accused, even someone accused of heinous apostasy, lest we stain our hands with the blood of the innocent.¡± ¡°And with all due respect to you, archelder,¡± said a member of the Synod audience, ¡°what does the accused propose we do?¡± He was a plump cleric with a double chin and a heavy brow that made him look angry at all times. Lanor remembered his name was Nawsef. ¡°Shall we traipse out into the jungle until we eventually realize her deceit?¡± ¡°We will hear her out,¡± said Hasjal, and she recognized him as one who had defended her during the last congregation. ¡°As hieratic law states. As we are bound to do. Does a life that Eloei created mean so little to you that you would rush these proceedings along?¡± ¡°I agree wholeheartedly,¡± said the cleric Zumhir, another of Lanor¡¯s supporters. ¡°We cannot overlook any evidence. What¡¯s the harm in humoring the Sanzeen girl for a short time?¡± ¡°What constitutes a short time?¡± Ahdazi scoffed. ¡°Let my etafir burn, then!¡± Hasjal rebuked him. ¡°If I may explain myself,¡± Lanor said shakily. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that giving the details of my evidence before you can see it with your own eyes... will risk its destruction.¡± Just as she said that, she noticed Ghamal muttering something to a paladin at his side. The paladin nodded once and made for the chamber door in his clanking, gold-plated armor. The archelder took notice as well. ¡°Belay that order,¡± said Rhadiz Tal sternly. The paladin froze. ¡°The paladins in this room shall go nowhere until our return, or risk charges of their own. Clerics, scribes¡ªtake notice. The same applies to you all.¡± He stood from his desk and pocketed his bronze-rimmed eyeglass with an air of methodical neutrality. ¡°Lanor Sanzeen, Interim Hierophant Ghamal, and twelve paladins shall accompany us to this undisclosed location, along with the following clerics: Mufair, Nawsef, Hasjal, Zumhir, Ahdazi, and myself.¡± In the Dome of the Synod, Rhadiz Tal¡¯s word superseded all others. It was done as he commanded. Lanor walked ahead of two paladins who prodded her along with the dull ends of their spears. She led the way, and she despised all the attention as ever. Her heart pounded louder in her head than any drum could. They marched down the crowded streets of Rayyaq Raleed, the paladins brandishing their spears to clear a safe path and to make distance between the procession and the onlookers. The sun was overbearing. Lanor led them across the holy city toward the Palace of the Hierophant and Rhadiz Tal asked her, in a hushed tone, where to go next. ¡°The Temple of Eloei,¡± she whispered. ¡°I can retrieve the evidence myself.¡± The closer they drew to their destination, the more Lanor could feel herself sweating, her breath quickening. Something would surely go wrong. Ghamal would think of something¡ªdeceive the others somehow. The opportunist sees weakness and strikes. But was Rhadiz Tal finally in league with her now¡ªdid his commitment to the truth surpass his distrust of a female hierophant? Please, Eloei, Lord Above Lords, she prayed silently. Guide my footsteps that I might not stumble... Intercede for me... Their journey was at an end. They passed through the threshold and Lanor felt the cool stone tiles on her bare feet, a welcome comfort. She found the frayed threads of her hope and clutched them for all they were worth. ¡°Here we are,¡± said the archelder. ¡°Now, where is this evidence you promised us, Lanor? It will bode poorly for you if you¡¯ve tested our patience in vain.¡± ¡°It¡¯s around here somewhere,¡± Lanor answered him. ¡°I promise.¡± With that, she fell uneasily to her knees, awkward and clumsy with the added weight of the irons that bound her. She crawled along on her hands and knees on the floor, dragging her fingernail through the little canyons between the tiles. Rhadiz Tal stepped aside, sighing. ¡°I apologize on her behalf,¡± said Ghamal, ¡°for wasting the Synod¡¯s time like this.¡± Lanor felt her way along the floor, but the paper was nowhere to be found. Something like ice water ran down her spine. Has he already been here? Was he one step ahead of me again? No... He couldn¡¯t have been. ¡°What is the meaning of us?¡± Rhadiz Tal asked. ¡°Tell us now, plainly, or you will be sent back to the dungeon, and you will have forfeited your right to a rebuttal.¡± ¡°She means to elicit some sympathy from you, I¡¯m sure,¡± Ghamal added. ¡°This makes a mockery of hieratic law and Eloei¡¯s justice. I implore you, suffer it no longer.¡± A quiet passed. Lanor felt like she might cry or start shrieking. She wanted to tear out her hair. She¡¯d been so sure of this one last escape that she hadn¡¯t bothered to consider what she would do in its absence. Die, she thought bitterly. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you meant or mean to find here,¡± said Nawsef, who was still wheezing quietly from their walk across the city. ¡°The Hierophant is right. You had your opportunity for a rebuttal. If this is it, then the Hearing of Evidence is as good as over. Accept your fate with honor and begin pleading to Eloei for salvation in the Hereafter. You will find none here.¡± And then she found it. ¡°It¡¯s here!¡± Lanor exclaimed. ¡°Wait! It¡¯s here!¡± From between two tiles, next to the place she¡¯d rested against a pillar, she drew out the little slip of paper that would change everything. Rhadiz Tal, Nawsef, Hasjal, and the other Synod clerics surrounded her like curious monkeys from the jungle marveling at some trinket. She unfurled the note and read it aloud. ¡°¡®Sadly, the omen of your victory in Holcort did not come to pass. I have prepared the way for you. There are four carafes of water in the Temple of Eloei. Take a leave of absence and meditate on the Testament for four days. Your presence is not needed here, and a show of faith will go a long way for these clerics. You will remind them that you are the cleric above all other clerics. You will atone for your slothfulness and prove to them how seriously you take the throne. Say nothing, stand up, and leave now. I will explain your decision to the Synod. When you are alone, destroy this note.¡¯¡± ¡°Let me see that,¡± Rhadiz Tal snapped. Strangely, his anger was a comfort to her in that moment¡ªit didn¡¯t feel aimed at her. ¡°It¡¯s in his own handwriting,¡± said Lanor. ¡°Compare it to anything else he¡¯s written.¡± ¡°His list of witnesses,¡± Hasjal cut in. She admired his quick thinking. The archelder¡¯s eyes narrowed as he reread the note. ¡°I have that on my person. Let me see...¡± He fished into his robes. ¡°If nothing else, I will have expert veracidins compare the two scripts.¡± ¡°Brothers in Eloei,¡± said Ghamal, slithering into the first break in the conversation he could find. ¡°I¡¯m sure there¡¯s been a misunderstanding. Let us return to the Dome of the Synod and present this evidence together. We can discuss this there. It¡¯s only fair that the rest of the Synod should bear witness to this as well.¡± But his forked tongue failed to save him this time. ¡°In due time, Interim Hierophant,¡± said Rhadiz Tal, comparing the note to the witness list penned by Ghamal. ¡°I¡¯m afraid this does change things. We may very well have to revert back to the Hearing of Merit. It will take discernment to sift through the genuine evidence from the lies we¡¯ve been given thus far. But the Synod and its veracidins are up to the task, as we are ordained to be. We are also up to the task of bringing charges against anyone who would conspire to deceive us or the nation of Qarda¡ªespecially the likes of a usurper hierophant.¡± His tone was gravely serious, and for once, Ghamal had nothing to say in the moment. Lanor knew that she was not saved yet, but a great weight still lifted from her shoulders. She thought that perhaps she could present more evidence the following day. Perhaps she could talk the Synod out of her charge of apostasy¡ªthis piece of evidence was her foot in the door to their good graces. Perhaps now they would lend more credence to her arguments. It was a start. She would bring justice to her uncle, that much was sure. But she knew what it meant to fear death, and a painful one at that, and she resolved to defend him against any sentence of execution the Synod might try to levy against him. She would fight with every fiber of her being to give him a fair punishment, a life behind the iron bars that she herself knew and endured. For his treachery that nearly ended her life, she decided that this was both mercy and justice. She envisioned the day when she returned to her throne a better Hierophant than ever, buoyed on by the reassurance of her father¡¯s memory and the wisdom of Eloei. She and Hasjal traded a friendly smile. She was grateful for men like him who let her have this opportunity to clear her name. ¡°Usurper,¡± Ghamal repeated after a long silence. His tone, too, was gravely serious, and eerily quiet. ¡°Is that what you think?¡± ¡°Paladins, I ask you to escort both Lanor and Ghamal back to the Dome of the Synod,¡± Rhadiz Tal said, unbothered. ¡°We have an even longer task ahead of us than we initially suspected. In the meantime, they will both need to be housed in the dungeon until we arrive at the truth. Let us begin at once!¡± Ghamal jumped back. Cried out a word that Lanor missed. Then he shouted, ¡°All glory to Eloei!¡± It happened so fast, and then time slowed to a crawl. A flash of metal caught the sun. Lanor saw Rhadiz Tal¡¯s head arcing slightly through the air before crashing against the floor, his body following a moment later. A paladin stood over the separated parts like a golden scorpion; his red-edged sword still hovered high in the air like a stinging barb. Lanor thought of the pet scorpions she used to keep. Her mind flashed elsewhere. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure what had happened, but she felt herself transplanted back to the night of her father¡¯s murder, that sensation that something was deeply, ineffably wrong, and yet her mind hadn¡¯t caught up to what her tensed body already knew. Then everything happened all at once. ¡°Behind me, Hierophant!¡± cried a paladin. Seven of them took up formation in front of her. Hasjal and one of the other clerics ran and stood at her side. Someone vomited. Ghamal, the other Synod members, and the remaining paladins fled the Temple of Eloei. The Temple was quiet for a moment. There was a wet gurgling sound. ¡°My house,¡± said Cleric Hasjal. ¡°W-we can¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± said one of the paladins. ¡°We must give chase while we still can!¡± Hasjal shook his head. ¡°No. Follow me.¡± ¡°Cleric Hasjal, they murdered the archelder! They must stand trial! They must be put to¡ª¡± ¡°There will be no one to bring them to justice after today!¡± Hasjal cut him off. ¡°Do you understand? There will be no trial. No retribution. There will only be more of the same for us. It¡¯s already been decided.¡± He ran toward the archway on the opposite end of the Temple. ¡°We must go! Now! We¡¯ll be safe behind my walls!¡± Suddenly, the irons dropped from Lanor¡¯s wrists and hit the floor. They cracked one of the tiles. A paladin had unlocked her chains and now led her along by the wrist in Hasjal¡¯s wake. The reality of the situation fell into place for Lanor piece by piece, the head of it and then, a moment later, the body. Her mouth was stunned silent but her mind screamed with the horror of it all. She thought of her father. Of Eloei. Of her mother, strangely enough. She thought of all her grand plans for the future that all lay dashed at her feet. For the first time in her life, she truly envied her father, even despite the horrible fate that had befallen him. At least his pain was over. At least he was in the Hereafter, free from all this. At this rate, soon I will be, too. Chapter Twenty-Nine: CADAS V Of the ancient Master Wuhiao, it can be said that he was supremely judicious, beneficent beyond compare, and prudent without equal in his time; verily, his unparalleled acumen is memorable for its profundity, being second to none among his peers. Chief among the teachings of Wuhiao is the hang daoqi (balance of unlike things), which instructs the sophic individual in the manner of most harmonious living. Accordingly, Wuhiao acquired his unmatched intellect¡ªoh, how inimitable it was!¡ªfrom a dichotomy of unlike sources: meditation, the exploration within, and travel, the exploration without, both forsaking the concern of selfhood. Of his meditation, much is presently known and written. Of his travels, it can be said with the utmost certitude that what he encountered affirmed his teachings; that uncouth men of light hair, primitives, the females who offered sacrifices to the moon, and the warring tribes of Gao Chahng (Qarda) all are deficient of sagacious spirits; that the nokudai prowl also the distant lands beyond Yu; and that the Great Unknown remains unfit for travel both now and forever. -Records of Wuhiao, Foreword Sang Lamdak, Xheng Yu Xi Cadas and Hiricho reached the eastern coast of the island-wide city of Sang Lamdak by nightfall that same day. The docks teemed with vessels of all sizes¡ªmerchant vessels, ferries, fishing boats, even warships that took in and spat out Xhengyon politicians and military personnel. The sun painted the seaside soft pink and stained the lazy cotton clouds. Odors of fish, salt, and brine defined the air. Hiricho spoke to Cadas in hushed tones, cutting in between the beckoning shouts of fish merchants. ¡°Just stay close by my side, all right? We¡¯ll need to lay low, at least until we reach the mainland. If either one of our mothers finds us here, we¡¯re both stranded in this city forever, and I¡¯ll blame you the rest of my life. Get me?¡± A quiet beat. Cadas heard and understood but said nothing in return. ¡°I¡¯ll use some of my stipend to buy us both passage to the mainland. The rest, I¡¯ll need to save to ensure I can afford books, lodging, and to pay the university¡¯s lecturers. You¡¯ll be on your own once we get there. Do you understand? Hey, are you even listening?¡± ¡°I understand,¡± said Cadas. Anything to get where the books were. Anything to begin the restoration of his precious Compendium. Hiricho bought passage on a ferry from a stout man who stood with his arms folded. The world around Cadas was blurred and muffled; the two were talking, Hiricho at great length, the man offering terse replies, and Hiricho was waving his arms and thrusting a handful of bai at him. The world was too much for Cadas. He closed his eyes, drowned it out until he felt a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± said Hiricho. He snatched up his bag and took off running. Cadas followed close. There was limited seating left on the ferry. Its interior was dark and musty; one of the sailors led them to their cramped bunk next to the cargo hold in the lower deck of the ship, where only a tiny window near the ceiling afforded them fresh air and a view of the outside world. Hiricho¡¯s bag landed with a thump. They sat on the faintly damp floor and before Cadas could even feel the first symptoms of his exhaustion set in after their arduous day, he was already asleep. *** Morning came in the form of Cadas knocking his head against the wall. The horizon strain the first bits of dawn out of the night sky, a dance of sapphire and tangerine. The room rocked back and forth. They were already on their way. Hiricho was wide awake when Cadas sat up, and he had a stone of some kind in his hand, something white and vaguely humanoid, and as his thumb traced the features of the figurine, he rocked back and forth in sync with the heaving of the ship. He muttered to himself something Xhengyon-adjacent, but beyond Cadas¡¯s vocabulary. The ritual went on like this for a good while until Hiricho finally opened his eyes and noticed Cadas staring at him. ¡°Oh,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡± He brandished the ivory statue and stuffed it into the breast pocket of his overshirt. ¡°Just saying a prayer.¡± ¡°To who?¡± ¡°Uh, a familial god. Ancestor spirit.¡± ¡°What is that?¡± ¡°Well, here in Xheng Yu Xi, there are a lot of different gods that people pray to, but most families¡ª¡± ¡°What is that one? Maybe I¡¯ve heard of it.¡± Hiricho smiled and patted his pocket. ¡°His name is Mu Haoleng. My father gave me this totem, given to him by his father, and his father before him, for six generations. But my father¡¯s lineage has prayed to Mu Haoleng for much longer. Whenever he¡¯s feeling particularly didactic, he tells me the story of how¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of him. What are his powers?¡± Hiricho cocked his head and sputtered out a small laugh. ¡°His, what did you just say? His powers?¡± Cadas nodded. ¡°It doesn¡¯t quite work like that. Is it different in Myrenthos?¡± ¡°We have gods, too. Twenty-nine. Each one is supposed to be in charge of something different. We know which one we¡¯re supposed to pray to based on what we need.¡± Cadas leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing in the scents of sea and fish, remembering the sun-loving cat he kept as a pet before he¡¯d ever learned of Qarda or the Eloheed. How she loved a fresh-caught fish. ¡°But I prayed to the goddess of home and family to let us stay in Myrenthos and she didn¡¯t answer me. It¡¯s all made up anyway. Gods don¡¯t exist.¡± He heard Hiricho scoff at first, and then their cabin was quiet for a while, quiet enough to hear the waves sloshing heavily outside, the calls of gulls circling overhead. ¡°So, you¡¯re an atheist?¡± he asked. Cadas gave a bored shrug. ¡°Most people in Xheng Yu Xi, we¡¯re basically the opposite. We believe that all gods worshiped in the whole world are real. We also believe that the gods used to walk among us long ago when the world was new. That one day they¡¯ll return.¡± Cadas perked up. Something about that piqued his interest¡ªhe often liked to dream of the future, near and far, and wonder what it might bring. He¡¯d never read about this particular Xhengyon folklore. ¡°What will happen then?¡± Hiricho pulled his totem out again and studied it, brandishing it as he talked. ¡°Well, they say the thousands and thousands of gods will gather together and read all of the books that humans have written since we were created. That day is called Orokoda. It means Returning.¡± Cadas remembered that as a curse word Hiricho¡¯s mother had used. ¡°They¡¯ll judge us based on our tomes. Whether or not we¡¯ve succeeded as their creations. Then they¡¯ll decide what to do with us next.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± The Xhengyon boy shrugged. ¡°There are lots of ideas. Probably as many ideas as there are gods. Some say the world will be destroyed. Others say the gods will return to the heavens until another Orokoda. Maybe they¡¯ll walk among us for eternity, or bring us back to the heavens with them.¡± He tucked away his figurine one more time for safekeeping. ¡°One book I read said that the earth will be returned to the nokudai. That one seems bleaker than the rest. I guess it all depends on what the gods think of us.¡± It took a while for Cadas to absorb all this information. The sun peeked into their cabin through the tiny window and cast a rectangle of golden warmth between them. Eventually, Hiricho dozed off again, and when Cadas finally said something, it snapped him back to wakefulness. ¡°Then I need to be ready. I¡¯m writing my own book. Maybe they¡¯ll read mine someday.¡± *** The Yu mainland was to Sang Lamdak as Sang Lamdak had been to the hilltop villages and rolling farmland in Myrenthos where Cadas was born. In a word, maddening. He got the distinct impression that the entire island, the entire country, was nothing but one massive, densely-populated city from the western coast to the east, like a gigantic version of Sang Lamdak; that millions upon millions of people lived here; that none of them had ever seen a naked patch of dirt or a wild animal in their lives. Walking on the brick roads made his legs ache. Everything was loud and colorful, in perpetual motion, full of smells he¡¯d never smelled before that refused to go unsmelled, some pleasant, most not. ¡°Ah, Gikuma,¡± Hiricho sighed, smiling. ¡°The big city. Smells just like I remember. Like adventure!¡± ¡°Adventure smells awful,¡± Cadas replied earnestly, and Hiricho did that thing that most people did when he said something from the heart¡ªhe threw his head back and laughed. ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll get used to it, my friend.¡± He clapped a hand on his back¡ªanother thing Cadas hated. ¡°Actually, you won¡¯t need to get used to it for long. We¡¯ll buy lodging here for the night and leave by wagon in the morning. By this time tomorrow, we¡¯ll arrive at the university!¡± ¡°I¡¯m so bored. My feet hurt. I need to get away from all this noise and smell. It¡¯s making me dizzy.¡± Hiricho sighed but didn¡¯t say anything. In a rare moment of interpersonal insight, Cadas wondered what Hiricho must have been feeling at that very same moment, and he reasoned that it must have been boredom, too. They ate bowls of shrimp and noodles that Hiricho purchased in the port market. Cadas tasted an old, familiar spice whose name he had forgotten, but it reminded him of home. Home, home. They gnawed on rolls of sweet, tough bread with their meal. Cadas dunked his vigorously into his noodle bowl and splashed broth all over his clothes. He hated the damp feeling, but the food tasted so good that he forgot all about it. They hadn¡¯t eaten in so long. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. They slept that evening in the moldiest hovel Cadas had ever laid eyes on, full of rat droppings and rat bones but no sign of a live specimen. They slept on the floor without pillows or coverings. Hiricho propped himself up against the wall like he¡¯d done on the ferry. Cadas tossed and turned and bemoaned his friend¡¯s choice of lodging, imploring him to buy a nicer room in a real inn somewhere, but the Xhengyon boy denied him, denied him again, and then finally stopped responding to him for the night. Cadas let his mind drift to thoughts of the multitude of gods coming to judge the world and its books. What splendor, what rapture that day would bring. He was still undecided as to whether any gods existed at all, but he thought that if they did, what better rubric by which to judge people than their books? Not their bravery or piety or some such other subjective nonsense. ¡°I have to be ready,¡± Cadas said, but Hiricho did not stir this time. ¡°Just in case. I will be ready.¡± *** They set out from Gikuma the next morning in a wagon that bore eight other passengers besides them. The road was ill-paved, full of cracks and loose rocks that jarred the wooden vehicle, made it squeak and groan. At one point, a wheel came loose. They stood by the side of the road for a while until the wagon driver could set the wheel back on its spoke. Cadas didn¡¯t like the other passengers. They sat too close for comfort¡ªone on either side of him, a fat, middle-aged woman and a brittle old man¡ªand he jabbed them with his elbows when their arms or legs inevitably pressed up against him. He felt smothered. But he¡¯d felt smothered ever since leaving Myrenthos. If this was in pursuit of something better, he willed himself to tolerate it. The sun was low in the sky when they finally arrived at their destination. Tsuriuche. The university town. It was far more inviting than Gikuma had been. Gone were the huddled masses of fish vendors and ware peddlers, the cloistered, dingy atmosphere of it all. Here the air was clean and smelled of wood, grass, and flowers. Tsuriuche reminded Cadas of the palace grounds in Qarda, except only the gardens¡ªnone of the temples or buildings or any of those things that got in the way. It was peaceful here. There were tall trees of many different classes and origins, at least two of which he recognized from Myrenthos, one he¡¯d seen in the Qardish palace gardens¡ªthere were many exciting Xhengyon varieties he¡¯d yet to study, too. They all rose up out of encloused mounds in parks and flanked either side of the main thoroughfares. There was so much to learn, see, study, and record in his new Compendium. The tome inside him ached to be written. First, he had to get his hands on the wealth of books he¡¯d been promised. He asked Hiricho when they¡¯d be going to the library and if he could take Cadas there at once. He used the word please, even. ¡°Well, you have to pass the entrance exam just like me,¡± Hiricho repied. ¡°Don¡¯t you remember when we talked about this? The university doesn¡¯t let just anyone use its library.¡± ¡°When can I pass the entrance exam?¡± ¡°Soon, friend. You just have to be patient.¡± Hiricho smiled at him as they walked, smiled his useless and unhelpful smile. How many years had Cadas¡¯s mother told him the same thing¡ªthat he just needed to wait a little longer, suffer a little more, before he got what he wanted? That was the whole reason he left his family behind. ¡°I have been patient,¡± Cadas grumbled. And so began the inception of a roiling hot anger that would brew within him in the coming days, spilling over in an outburst the likes of which he¡¯d forgotten he could achieve. Soon the whole world was smeared red. He didn¡¯t remember doing so, but Hiricho later told him all about how Cadas had chased him and his new friends from the visitors¡¯ dormitories in his fury. In the aftermath, alone, Cadas found himself thinking of home. Not Myrenthos this time. Not Qarda. The cellar under the restaurant in Sang Lamdak. How he still wanted to throttle his mother for burning his precious Compendium while he slept, and yet, as the red resolved into that more familiar spectrum of grays, he found himself remembering also the nights she read books to him until the moon was high in the sky, until his many questions about his absent father were satisfied and the words of fables lulled him to sleep. That same night, he dreamed of a tree. It grew so tall that it pierced the clouds and went higher still, so wide that expansive chambers could be carved into its trunk. The interior was transformed into levels upon levels of libraries and reading rooms all for him. There were windows in the tree. Cadas climbed and climbed and never did reach the top. He glanced to his side and saw a Qardish owleye fluttering higher into the sky, his old cat clawing her way up the bark of the tree to catch it. He found himself rooting for them both. *** The momentous day of the entrance exam came and went. He was able to afford all of the necessary materials thanks to Hiricho¡¯s generosity, but he was reminded again that after this day, he was truly on his own. It was all the same to Cadas. All he needed was to pass this exam and gain access to the university¡¯s prestigious libraries. In the University of Tsuriuche, the windows were made of a strange, ghostly fabric instead of glass, and everything else was either wood or paper¡ªCadas wondered how quickly an overturned candle would spread and engulf the whole campus. Everywhere he went in the world, everyone seemed to do everything differently. A sliding fabric door opened and the tall, lithe proctor emerged, a bundle of slim scrolls in his hand that were each tied with tight red ribbons. ¡°Wunei,¡± he said, handing a scroll to a young woman down the hall. ¡°Tokkaru. Yiong...¡± Hiricho was sweating visibly, fidgeting with his hands behind his back. Cadas was just impatient to receive his scroll and be done with these formalities. He had work to do. Important work. ¡°Daichin. Hiricho. Cadas.¡± The proctor offered him a smile when he handed over his scroll. ¡°Zao. Kirriko...¡± Cadas tore the ribbon off the scroll, nearly ripping the paper in half. ¡°I was accepted!¡± Hiricho exclaimed. He jumped up and down and embraced a few of the other students in the hall, while others slumped their shoulders and shuffled away from the merrymaking. ¡°Cadas Lars,¡± Cadas read aloud from the proctor¡¯s notes on the back of his exam scroll. ¡°The answers you gave to this exam show great promise. You have a working proficiency with mathematics and logic, you excel in your knowledge of the natural world, and you are one of the most talented artists I have ever seen outside of this university, certainly without formal instruction. ¡°That being said, your performance was less than satisfactory in other categories. You demonstrate only a cursory knowledge of Xhengyon culture and history. While you are a talented illustrator, you know nothing of the philosophies of art. You are wholly uneducated in the spheres of literature and government, and unfortunately, your command of the language is functional at best. ¡°At this time, I do not feel it would be appropriate to admit you to this great university. Do not feel disheartened. Many applicants both foreign and native fail to meet our rigorous requirements. I would encourage you to return to your home, study in earnest, and reapply in a few years¡¯ time when you have improved your basic understanding of these disciplines. Zhejin guide your eyes, my child.¡± The others had dispersed or were celebrating amongst themselves. Only Hiricho remained, standing there in the line of sight behind the scroll as Cadas lowered it. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what it means,¡± Cadas said plainly. ¡°What do I do? Can I go to the library now?¡± Hiricho frowned. ¡°I think you and I should take a walk, friend.¡± *** A day had passed since the examination. Hiricho had taken Cadas to an unused lodge of some sort at the outer periphery of campus. Here, the Myrenthian was free to kick and shriek and wail in privacy without getting into trouble, and he knew not what else to do. He was just as inconsolable when Hiricho returned to check on him. ¡°We can figure something else out,¡± Hiricho reassured him. ¡°I would like to go to the library now, please,¡± Cadas said, trying to catch his distressed breath. ¡°Please, I said!¡± Hiricho frowned again. ¡°Friend, if you try to go there now, the university¡¯s guards will remove you. Probably throw you in jail. They don¡¯t allow books in jail, you know. But you have other ways of getting them. If you tell me what you want, I can withdraw books from the library and bring them to you.¡± ¡°How will I know what I want? How many can you bring me?¡± ¡°Well...¡± Hiricho stopped talking for a moment. ¡°The university only lets students withdraw five books from the library per moon. I would need some for school. But if there are one or two withdrawals I don¡¯t use, they¡¯re all yours.¡± Cadas thought momentarily, but he decided this would be insufficient. ¡°Not enough books...¡± He grasped at his temples, sighing, distressed. He paced around the lodge. ¡°I just need to read as many as I want when I want to read them. What else can I do?¡± The Xhengyon scratched his chin. ¡°Well... Wherever I find work here, I could put in a good word for you. Perhaps they could offer you the same work. Make enough of your own money and you can buy as many books as you can afford.¡± Frustrated, Cadas slapped the side of his head. ¡°I get in trouble whenever I have a job! Qarda. Sang Lamdak... Then my books get taken away, or worse.¡± He sniffled and wiped away a trickle of snot with the back of his hand. ¡°I need to go find books I can read now. I need them now! Please!¡± ¡°All right, Cadas, calm down,¡± said Hiricho. He furrowed his brow at him. ¡°I¡¯m trying to help you, and you¡¯re being ungrateful! Let me think... The only public library I know of would be in Qarda.¡± He winced. ¡°But from what I¡¯ve heard, I wouldn¡¯t advise traveling there any time soon. Um... What about one of the shrines here?¡± ¡°What shrines?¡± ¡°There are dozens of shrines and monasteries here in Yu alone. Much more in Xheng. But they would be happy to let you read their books. All you would have to do¡ª¡± ¡°What kind of books?¡± Cadas grinned. ¡°Well, uh... They would be religious books. Books about whatever god that shrine worshiped. But it¡¯s better than nothing, right?¡± Hiricho smiled and tried to shrug off any objections. Cadas buried his face between his knees and rocked back and forth, overwhelmed by the impossibility of his life. Hiricho sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, friend. I bought you passage here so you could try to do something different with your life. I thought I was doing the right thing. Was I wrong? Do you want to go back home?¡± He mulled over the possibility for a moment. He did find himself missing his family and the daily mundanities of the restaurant, but he decided it was unlikely his mother would let him near another book for at least a year after this kind of stunt. If ever again. That was to say nothing of a new Compendium. ¡°No,¡± Cadas finally said. Hiricho shook his head. ¡°Cadas, those are your options. You can find work here or you can go home. Do you or do you not want me to buy you passage back to Sang Lamdak? You can study hard, come back in a few years like the proctor said. That¡¯ll only leave me a bit of stipend left. But I brought you here, and I¡¯m willing to help you get home. I feel responsible for all this.¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t want to go home. I want to find a library!¡± ¡°You¡¯re not going to find a building full of free books unless you go to Qarda or ship off to the Moth-Eaten Library, for pity¡¯s sake! Now what will it be?¡± ¡°Did you say Moth-Eaten Library?¡± Hiricho snorted. ¡°You¡¯re being facetious now?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what that word means. What¡¯s the Moth-Eaten Library? Where is that? And there are moths there?¡± The young tutor waved his hand and took a seat on a wooden bench on the other side of the room. ¡°It¡¯s make-believe, Cadas. I was being sarcastic.¡± Cadas frowned. ¡°Just a fable?¡± ¡°Well, it was a real place at one point. A place full of thousands of tomes in every language, meant to be an attraction for the whole world. It was built a very long time ago. Hundreds and hundreds of years. But nobody has been there in at least a century. Even if any of the books have survived to be legible, the place is positively overrun with bugs. It¡¯s just ruins now¡ªwell, according to the last explorer who saw it. That was over a century ago.¡± Cadas stood from his splintered seat on the floor, wiping the tears from his eyes. ¡°Where?¡± Chapter Thirty: LUCANH V Everything in its proper place at the appointed time. When the era of peace is upon you, protect it fiercely, such that a man is born and dies in his gray years without knowing the weight of a sword in his hands. When the era of war is upon you, fight relentlessly, such that no man can die without spilling blood or having his blood spilt on the land. -The Triptych; Book of Earth, Panel 24 Castle Tern, Dridon For the third time in a single year, the throne room of Castle Tern filled with every class of Dridic citizen, the queen down to the lowest of beggars, for a meeting of the Council of Three. Such frequency of Council meetings was unprecedented; it showed in the worry lines deepening across all the adults¡¯ faces. Lucanh attended court that day, his fear behind him rather than blocking his path. He felt the strange sensation of being chased to the edge of some great precipice in his mind. Before the Three arrived at their decision, Queen Rhoda sought much input from the courtiers that surrounded them. Supplicants demanded bloodshed. Some knights agreed, while others hesitated to throw their helmets in the ring of war. People cut each other off and shouted over each other¡¯s words to be heard until, at one point, the voice of a lone nobleman rose above all the discord, and the room fell silent to hear him. ¡°Let us cease our bickering over whether declaring war is just or unjust, holy or unholy,¡± he said. He wore a fine silk tunic dyed indigo; his scarlet pants were ostentatiously puffy, while his brown shoes curled up at the toes. ¡°I say we are missing the point. Dridon should sign no Grackenwelsh treaty until we consider the reason for it. Why would a bloodthirsty nation like Grackenwell offer a peace treaty? It¡¯s simple. They are afraid!¡± ¡°Elaborate,¡± said the queen. She was clear-eyed and spoke without a slur. Lucanh liked her better this way, when it was too early in the day for a drink. ¡°Zan Vayonado is a nation with a loose and complex cultural identity,¡± the nobleman went on, pacing as he talked. ¡°They have no organized military. They rely instead on a private gaggle of sellswords¡ªit¡¯s no wonder they were conquered, really. And no wonder they allied themselves with Dridon at the first opportunity. ¡°But what did Garrotin do? He ambushed them in the desert, tortured their ruler, and established dominion overnight, dissolving the Concordat of Gacilia before we could even honor it. He did the same with the Archipelago! Why, then, would Grackenwell first extend a treaty to us? What other reason could they have but abject fear? They are afraid of our military might!¡± ¡°Or trying to minimize their losses,¡± the queen countered glumly. ¡°Fight us and crush us and lose two thousand soldiers. Or keep us in line without ever having to draw a sword. Facilitate trade throughout the whole continent, and perhaps stack the odds in their favor should they choose to set their sights elsewhere. Qarda, perhaps? That kingdom would never consider a treaty with such traitors.¡± ¡°The choice is obvious,¡± interjected Sir Stepan, ¡°even for those power-mad brutes. What does the gator do when it isn¡¯t hungry anymore? It could kill anything it encounters with a snap of its jaw... but if it¡¯s satisfied, it lies in wait.¡± ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Zumawi, ¡°I would like to steer this discussion away from lofty tactics and hypothetical strategies. I would like to highlight the necessity of meeting Grackenwell on the battlefield before war comes to us. The Grand Emissary of Zan Vayonado sought our help before it was too late. His remains now lie in an unmarked desert grave. He trusted us as an ally and we failed him. I¡¯m afraid that further inaction will make it too late for Dridon as well, and I would hate for a similar fate to befall¡ª¡± ¡°Watch it,¡± Sir Stepan cut her off. Like the other time, his hand flourished next to the hilt of his sword, then sat back in his lap. ¡°Your thinly veiled threats have no place here.¡± ¡°Not a threat. A statement of fact! They have no regard for the rules of war. They likely had a hand in the assassination of the Qardish king across the sea! Two monarchs they¡¯ve killed¡ªwhat¡¯s to stop them from trying again when our guard is down? We need to make the first move!¡± ¡°The ethics of war aside¡ª¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Queen Rhoda interrupted. ¡°We are not here today to debate the merits of declaring war on Grackenewell. We are only here to discuss their offer of a treaty. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Sir Stepan gently, leaning forward in his armor. ¡°Would the denial of their treaty not be an effective declaration of war, in uncertain times such as these?¡± ¡°Treaties,¡± Zumawi scoffed. ¡°Zan Vayonado learned the value of those not long ago. As did Qarda. When Grackenwell has a mind to strike, no treaty in the world can save anyone from their wrath! But by all means, shake hands with the gator. See what happens when your back is turned.¡± ¡°What makes you so sure of that?¡± Rhoda asked her. ¡°They are opportunists, yes. But you think they have no sense of self-preservation?¡± The High Supplicant brooded in her throne. ¡°Any nation that would enslave people by the millions cannot be counted as an ally, treaty or not. They would not strike until they knew they could succeed. But with slave armies growing by the moon, fed by new recruits from the islands and the desert... How long will that treaty last?¡± Rhoda strung along the silence for a while. Meanwhile, Lucanh¡¯s head was spinning. For a brief moment, he glimpsed the complexities of international politics, their ins and outs, the benefits and risks of each decision weighed against one another. It was a fleeting clarity, not unlike peering in on a dimly lit room and having the door slammed in his face. He shook it off. The sentiment that kept returning to him was gleaned from the Book of Hells. It was his default, the honest truth burning in his heart of hearts¡ªthe Grackenwelsh deserved war. It was the only thought able to beat back the fear festering inside him. Visions of dead Grackenwelsh soldiers, his heavy, authentic blade cutting them down, their cruel faces contorting in death, and the king, that evil slaver king, cowering while Lucanh stood over him on a blood-soaked battlefield. ¡°Mercy,¡± the king would plead. ¡°Mercy!¡± And Lucanh would say to him, ¡°How many slaves begged for your mercy before they died? And how many did you oblige?¡± His sword would bring justice to a people that cried out for it, and he would relish his victory for the rest of his life. It clawed at him from the inside out, that feeling. A slave of his own, of sorts, or perhaps a prisoner. It longed to run wild in the world. ¡°Sir Stepan,¡± Queen Rhoda finally said, ¡°my High Knight, tell me this and tell me plainly. What would our chances of victory be in a war against Grackenwell?¡± The broad-shouldered knight looked away and up as if to formulate his response carefully. ¡°I believe we have the ground forces, my lady. Blade to blade, we would win handily. But they have a great deal more labor to squeeze out of the unwilling. And those cannons...¡± He shook his head. ¡°We have nothing quite like those. It would be a close match. But they could never conquer us so easily as they did the nomads or the islands.¡± The queen nodded. ¡°Overall, that sounds encouraging. Do you think it advisable to sign the treaty and then make preparations as if we hadn¡¯t?¡± The High Knight shot her a worried glance. ¡°Forgive me, Your Majesty. I misspoke. This is only if we deny the treaty outright and make the first move. The ratification of a treaty such as this¡ªthere would be stipulations from Grackenwell. Limitations on any military exercises, the deployment of soldiers. We would have no means of preparing for war except to speak of it here in the throne room. Every village, town, and city to the north...¡± He shook his head grimly. ¡°Without their defenses fortified militarily, they would be lost.¡± ¡°Of course!¡± Zumawi slammed her fist down on the armrest of her throne. As she did, her silver bracelet jingled loudly. It had been a gift from the queen years ago when she was first appointed to her station. ¡°So, you¡¯re saying this treaty could very well be a trap to lower our guard, scale back our forces, and leave us open to attack?¡± Her passion riled up the crowd¡ªthe knights corralled them. ¡°Control yourself!¡± Rhoda rebuked them all. ¡°Zumawi, you are here as part of the Council. Not to incite a riot in my court.¡± Lucanh could see his mother gritting her teeth behind her lips. ¡°Time is of the essence. This decision cannot be delayed by days of debate¡ªthe northern king expects my answer shortly. Either way, preparations must be made in short order.¡± She closed her eyes, as if steeling herself to say something difficult. ¡°Fortify the city walls. Recall all of our forces north of Kensingsham. Triple the scout patrols around Tern.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Sir Stepan. ¡°Forgive me if I speak out of turn... Will this not be put to a vote?¡± Zumawi scoffed in disbelief. ¡°And what of our people to the north? What are they to you¡ªsacrifices?¡± Lucanh felt his shoulders tense up. He cast a glance over at Sir Godwald, who watched from a respectful distance among knights of his rank. The man gave him a sad half-smile and bowed his head. The prince looked on as his mother¡¯s face soured. She straightened the silver crown atop her head and sat up even straighter. ¡°It is as Sir Stepan said. A refusal to sign this treaty would be tantamount to war. We must prepare regardless as best we can and pray to Triad that Grackenwell keeps its word.¡± She knocked her scepter on the floor. ¡°My decision is final.¡± The court swelled with the sounds of courtiers gossiping and bickering. Some called for war, the northern king¡¯s head on a pike. Others said they would sooner let some of Dridon be enslaved than all of it. This led to accusations of slavery sympathy on one side, savage bloodthirst on the other, and knights moved in to separate squabbles that had broken out. It was not the orderly end to the Council of Three that anyone had predicted. In the midst of it all, Zumawi stood calmly from her throne at Rhoda¡¯s left hand. She unclasped the silver bracelet around her left wrist¡ªdropped it on the stone floor. Somebody gasped. ¡°I hereby resign as High Supplicant,¡± she announced to anyone who would listen. There was a fire behind her eyes, to be sure, but not one to flare up and peter out; it was a fire that was steadily rising even now. ¡°Come. Let us make our own way. We will not be taken in chains without a fight, nor will we stand idly by while half the nation is destroyed! Let the queen die a peacemaker if she so desires.¡± Zumawi led the beggars toward the grand corridor that led out of Castle Tern. ¡°Explain yourself, Zumawi!¡± Rhoda cried out, rising from her throne. ¡°Tell me what exactly you meant by that, or you might find yourself in the dungeon before the day is done!¡± The ex-High Supplicant didn¡¯t break stride. ¡°Zumawi, stop at once! Knights¡ªstop them!¡± Sir Godwald stepped out to block their path, along with other knights in the vicinity. But she set her sights on Lucanh¡¯s personal swordmaster. The knight spoke in a hushed tone with arms outstretched non-threateningly, but he stood firm. Zumawi drew a dagger from her sleeve and touched the point to the knight¡¯s throat. ¡°NO!¡± Rhoda screamed. Several knights around Sir Godwald drew their swords and held them aloft, aimed at Zumawi¡¯s face. ¡°Let them pass! Step aside¡ªall of you! It is done!¡± The knights obliged at once, clearing a path for the beggars. The small crowd stormed out of the castle, in rows of three, with a level of discipline that seemed as militant as any group of knights with formal training. The knights followed them out to ensure they left. Lucanh couldn¡¯t believe it. The threads that held Dridon together were unraveling before his eyes, and all with war looming on the horizon. What would happen to them, under his mother¡¯s leadership, if Grackenwell did resolve to invade? He studied what his mother did next for reassurance. He found none, as frequently was the case of late. ¡°I fear I might have another uprising on my hands someday soon,¡± Rhoda said quietly. Sir Stepan bowed his head. ¡°With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe you already do.¡± The prince reflected on what his mother had said. You think you¡¯re brave because you¡¯ve never lost anything. But he could do nothing to quell the conviction that bravery, and only bravery, could prevent Dridon from losing everything. ¡°My Prince.¡± Sir Godwald had appeared beside him, and he put a gauntleted hand on his stiff shoulder. ¡°Politics can be so tiresome. What say we spar in the courtyard, get away from all this mess?¡± Lucanh stood from his small throne, out of the grasp of his trainer. ¡°Not today, Sir Godwald. I feel I would rather be alone.¡± *** An untimely chill sharpened the night air. Lucanh was grateful for the foresight to bring a cloak with him, which he drew up to conceal all but his eyes, as he walked the city of Tern. Lit torches lined the mostly empty cobblestones. ¡°Triad save us,¡± a beggar muttered on the street. He was dressed in torn rags, his face barely poking out from tangled white hair and a scraggly beard. ¡°Triad save us. You there. Hey, you with the cloak! Spare a triskele?¡± The prince held tight to his disguise and pretended not to hear him. ¡°Ah, to the Hells with you, then. Triad save us...¡± Fewer lights lit the city than usual. It wasn¡¯t often that Lucanh ventured out past the castle grounds, certainly never at night, but he seemed to remember a great deal more lanterns and hearths dotting the landscape when he looked out from his bedchamber¡¯s oriel. People shuttered their windows as he walked by. The Paupers¡¯ District was sparser still. Precious few lights by which to see, and fewer people on the streets, even though almost none of them had homes to retreat to at nightfall. It looked as though someone had cleared out the poor from even their beds of straw in the alleyways. But they were not gone from this place, he learned. They were gathered somewhere else. ¡°She would have you die in the streets where you lay your head at night,¡± said a familiar voice, ¡°so that she could hold her head up high and say that she did right by the wisdom of Triad. But she worships only one head, when it suits her and even when it doesn¡¯t. I mean to worship all three in their due season, beginning with the third. And I have faith the God of Hells will serve us well in this dark hour.¡± Zumawi stood on a platform of discarded wooden crates, which was taller than the tallest of the paupers gathered around her. Two torches lit her from behind on either side. Her edges flickered with the movement of the flames, her face framed in ominous shadows. ¡°If the gator sinks its teeth into us, we will have no choice but to die. But the chance yet remains to clamp its jaws shut. Cut off its head before it¡¯s too late.¡± ¡°The head,¡± said an onlooker¡ªLucanh recognized him from the crowd at Council. ¡°You mean the king.¡± Zumawi nodded once. ¡°Precisely. We have no need of the knights, no formal declaration of war that we know will never come. Their army is formidable. But their king is only a boy, one who killed his own father to steal the throne. If he would do that to his own flesh and blood, what would he do to us? We can cut him down while he sleeps. Put an end to their line of murdering kings once and for all!¡± ¡°And how do you propose we return home to the land we have saved?¡± another beggar asked, a turtlelike old man with accusatory little beads for eyes. ¡°We may not return at all,¡± Zumawi said plainly. ¡°Those who are afraid to die, I cannot ask for your help, nor do I want it. I do not share your fear. It¡¯s better to die against a monster than live under one. I know I¡¯m not alone in this sentiment.¡± A girl at the periphery of the onlookers raised her hand in solidarity. She was young, close to Lucanh¡¯s age, he guessed. ¡°I will go with you,¡± she said. ¡°I will go even if it means I lose my life!¡± One of the men in the crowd scoffed. ¡°Please. You have hardly lived the life you are so ready to party with, little girl!¡± He stepped forward into the light of the fires and revealed himself as one of the upper-class courtiers present at Council¡ªthe very one who argued against the treaty. ¡°Zumawi, I am wholly sympathetic to your cause. A war with the north would wound us all deeply, myself included. Dridon¡¯s prosperity has made me a very wealthy man, and no matter how much more wealth I could accrue through the ownership of slaves, it doesn¡¯t interest me in the slightest.¡± Zumawi indulged in a small sneer. ¡°Oh, how noble of you.¡± ¡°Please allow me to assist you all! My name is Ogberd. I have the coin¡ªperish the thought of a suicide mission when I can simply hire Zan mercenaries. I¡¯m sure many of them have a taste for vengeance, and no Dridic blood need be spilled.¡± ¡°While that is generous of you, I must decline your offer,¡± Zumawi said sternly. ¡°We¡¯ve relied too long on beneficence that can be taken away from us without warning. We must make our own way. Tread our own path to enduring freedom.¡± ¡°A freedom you will never live to enjoy?¡± Ogberd countered. Lucanh recalled his swordsmanship training as they parried rhetorical blows, striking here, parrying there. ¡°Why do you deny help when you need it most? Let a sellsword die in your stead and accomplish the same goal. You needn¡¯t depend on me after it¡¯s done.¡± ¡°Sellswords are no match for the conviction of Grackenwell,¡± she shot back. ¡°We¡¯ve seen proof enough of that in Zan Vayonado. What¡¯s more, this is not a mission that can be undertaken more than once. If a sellsword fails, there goes our element of surprise. We can¡¯t rest our futures on the edge of a coin.¡± The nobleman shrugged. ¡°If you insist. I¡¯d be remiss not to offer you, at the very least, some armaments. Blades. Crossbows. Poisons. And, if I may be glib, something to take when the deed is done, should you find yourself cornered by those brutes. Call it a sleeping potion.¡± Zumawi nodded. ¡°For those things, we would be eternally grateful. And please, keep this endeavor a secret from the prying ears in Castle Tern¡ª¡± ¡°But of course! The queen will hear nothing of this.¡± The nobleman paused awkwardly. ¡°I will provide you everything you need, but I must know when and where to assemble it all.¡± Zumawi bowed her head. The eyes of the Paupers¡¯ District were all on her now, tired eyes with hungry, sunken sockets, bloodshot, the light of life in them receding like the setting sun. They searched her for something Lucanh couldn¡¯t name, something he was not sure she had in her. Did he have it in him? ¡°Just outside the northern gate,¡± she replied. ¡°Tomorrow. We leave at next nightfall.¡± Lucanh closed his eyes and found himself again at the precipice overlooking an ever-shifting world of potentialities, at once ablaze and gleaming serenely in the sun, crowned and shackled, bloodied and benevolent, the true nature of which he could not know with certainty until he stepped off the ledge and plunged headlong into it. What would tomorrow bring? Or the next moon? For the first time, he knew exactly what to do. He resolved to follow them the next day. He needed only to pack his sword and slip away unnoticed after supper. He would throw himself at the mercy of the God of Hells, proud and unafraid, sacrifice in his heart. He would be the one to charge into the flames and emerge on the other side a true hero. But that wasn¡¯t all. His mother would admit her fault. His Zan father would look down from the Heights and be proud. Chapter Thirty-One: KIMBEL VI He was born soft, but war hardened him into a man. He was changed. When he had no wars left to fight, when there was no one left who would come for his life, he was lost. His body began to forget its strength. ¡°What can I do now that my battles are won?¡± he wondered. And the Everswamp answered him, ¡°Now you see what lies in your heart of hearts. Now you know why there will never be peace so long as you live.¡± And where there were no enemies, he came to see many. -The Legend of the Bogman Holcort, Grackenwell Holcort was awash in golden sun on the day Kimbel made his triumphant return. The sky was blameless blue and a brisk wind whipped through the capital, churning up the hibiscus petals that common folk tossed on the road ahead of the royal convoy. ¡°Good to be home, Your Majesty?¡± Ulther asked. He sat opposite the king in a covered carriage, something of a ceremonial necessity for the occasion, though Kimbel much preferred to travel by open horseback. ¡°Very,¡± Kimbel replied. He breathed in the windswept scents of the Grackenwelsh capital, the sunbaked bricks, the ever-present moss, the iron in its many flavors. ¡°The desert savages have their caretakers now. I¡¯ve established a provisional government and a portion of our military will remain in the region to keep them in line.¡± He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his cushioned seat. ¡°I¡¯ll never have to set foot in that dull sand pit ever again.¡± ¡°I hear the Archipelago has been quiet ever since their conquest. Hopefully Zan Vayonado doesn¡¯t give you any trouble, either.¡± Ulther slid open the shutters to look out the carriage¡¯s window. ¡°Such a lovely day.¡± Kimbel grinned to himself. ¡°Shame Terry won¡¯t get to see it.¡± The ex-prison guard, ex-tormenter-turned-prisoner was in the carriage¡¯s rear cargo compartment, bound and gagged in a wooden box beneath a crate of cranberries. Kimbel was merciful enough to carve air holes in the box with his dagger. ¡°I¡¯m quite surprised that you¡¯ve kept him alive this long, Your Majesty,¡± said Ulther, neglecting to pry his eyes from the sights outside the carriage. His lack of attention when speaking to his superior was a minor disrespect. ¡°How much longer until you rid yourself of that dead weight?¡± Kimbel waited for his right-hand man to meet his gaze. In an instant, it was apparent Ulther knew his transgression¡ªhe bowed his head to await his king¡¯s answer. ¡°He¡¯ll die when I¡¯m good and ready,¡± the young Garrotin answered. ¡°That¡¯s all you need to know.¡± ¡°Of course, Your Majesty.¡± Ulther nodded with the proper respect. ¡°Of course.¡± The convoy clopped and rolled to the entrance of the castle and the king disembarked. A team of four guards unloaded Teralt¡¯s box and followed behind, not unlike the four pallbearers who toted the dead body of the Qardish king in a coffin of gold and diamonds. Fitting, Kimbel thought, that he gets nothing but a box of wood. He¡¯ll be just as dead soon, but he won¡¯t get a burial. It¡¯s the pyre for him. The throne room was crackling with a cozy fire and looked spotless as ever thanks to the slaves¡¯ daily rigorous cleaning regimen. Kimbel dropped into the luxurious throne and motioned for the guards to unbox and string up Teralt by chains like a prized fish. They raised him up just enough that he was unable to kneel or sit on the stone floor¡ªhe could only stand or bend his frail legs awkwardly. The man was a dried husk of what once was Teralt. Muscles and fat had melted away and skin now hugged bone, except where it sagged loose like that of a much older man. His hair was unkempt, greasy, stricken through with gray. He shot no challenging looks at the men who roughhoused him. He walked where he was led without protest, and he said nothing anymore. His mouth had fewer teeth than it once had, but he didn¡¯t smile anymore, either. Bruises of red, purple, and green bloomed all over his body like the spots of some exotic animal. His eyes were dim and dimming every day. ¡°I bore of you,¡± Kimbel sighed. He settled into the throne that was his father¡¯s for only the second time ever, feeling thoroughly at home in its velvet. ¡°I was afraid this might happen. Perhaps some men don¡¯t break as clean as others. Perhaps I¡¯ve simply bent you so far you¡¯re coming apart slowly like green kindling, and just as useless. This is no fun at all.¡± Teralt stared at the wall and said nothing. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll kill you soon.¡± The throne room was quiet for a while, save for the comings and goings of guards and noblemen making preparations for King Kimbel to hold court. Teralt¡¯s dry tongue poked out of his mouth, lively as an old tortoise emerging from its shell, and licked the broken skin of his lips. ¡°All right,¡± Teralt said finally. His submission brought the king no joy. It unmanned him. Kimbel let it stew and fester for the remainder of the morning, what motive Teralt could possibly have for acting the way he did. Far worse had been done, in the storied history of Grackenwell, to other prisoners, endlessly defiant ones who died struggling against their captors, spitting in the faces of their executioners with their final breaths. Maybe Teralt was trying to trick him. Maybe he envisioned some life-or-death struggle against Kimbel when the time came, when the boy drew within striking distance. What would the man have to lose? Or maybe Teralt was not the ox of a man that Kimbel thought. It stood to reason that all his cruel showmanship served as an armor of sorts, encasing the cowardly man he truly was inside¡ªthe man Kimbel had revealed to the world. Before the young king had a chance to ruminate further, and before court had even formally begun, the front doors of the castle burst open. The doormen accepted a frantic slave¡ªthrew him to the floor. He wore a gray cowl tattered at the edges, along with a black eye, and Kimbel recognized him as one of the ambassadors sent to Dridon. ¡°It¡¯s about damned time!¡± Kimbel whooped with laughter. ¡°I thought you two had defected to the south! There was no way that little mouse would have ordered your executions. Now, where¡¯s the other one?¡± He twirled his knife delicately against the tip of his left forefinger. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said the slave, ¡°Cral has been killed. Raiders in Zan Vayonado, in the wilderness.¡± Kimbel nodded once. ¡°A known risk when you embarked on your mission, to be sure, but an unfortunate one. He died in service to the great nation of Grackenwell. Now, what did Rhoda have to say about my offer?¡± The slave bowed his head. ¡°She did not accept your immediate offer. She requested more time to think.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a no, then.¡± He scoffed and spat on the floor. A few moments later, another slave moved in with a mop to clean it up. ¡°If she thinks she can make me wait on her approval, then she believes she has some sort of power or equal footing.¡± He pressed the point of the knife into the meat of his forefinger, indenting it repeatedly, just shy of breaking skin. ¡°I¡¯ll have to make Dridon aware that they will not challenge my absolute power. Nor will they take my fleeting leniency for granted.¡± Then, in the midst of the assembling noblemen and military officials, a silky-haired man dressed in exquisite red robes snorted to his friends, a haughty little grin playing at the corners of his thin lips. ¡°Power?¡± he snickered quietly. But not quietly enough. ¡°You, the lady in red!¡± Kimbel barked. And that red colored his whole world. ¡°What did you just say? I can¡¯t quite hear you from my throne!¡± The rich man backtracked as best he could, every trace of joy and humor draining from his face like blood from an open wound. ¡°Y-Your Majesty, I meant no¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, my mistake. He¡¯s nothing but a soft, pretty man! Guards, break his nose.¡± ¡°Your Majesty!¡± cried the nobleman. ¡°Please¡ª!¡± But the crunch resounded through the throne room, a line of blood spurting out from the now-crooked ridge on his face. It took three of his friends to catch him from stumbling. ¡°Now kill him,¡± said Kimbel. The nobleman coughed and spat out a mouthful of blood. ¡°King Kimbel, please! I beg you!¡± Four guards circled him, fists closing on the hilts of their swords. The man¡¯s friends took a flinching step back. ¡°Please!¡± ¡°Stop.¡± The guards sheathed their swords and dispersed, returning to their assigned posts. Kimbel watched with mounting satisfaction as the nobleman struggled to stand on his own two feet again, this time without the help of his friends, gingerly holding his broken nose and the crimson gunk that poured of it. ¡°How¡¯s that for power, you deficient, soft-crotched little man? Do you think that because I am not yet grown that I don¡¯t deserve your full and unbridled adoration as your king? Am I not to be worshiped because I bought this crown with my own blood and my father¡¯s ashes?¡± The man held his frilly hat against his bleeding nose. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Your Majesty. Please forgive me.¡± He was crying. ¡°I am the king because I killed the king,¡± Kimbel went on. ¡°I killed him with an audience. I never hesitated. Not when I knew what needed to be done¡ªnot for an instant!¡± A palpable hush fell over the court that still had yet to begin formally. ¡°I am the true heir of the Bogman, every bit of my power paid for in blood and sweat. And I will have a legacy as immortal as his!¡± Kimbel paused to catch his breath, wiping a drop of frothy spit from his chin with the back of his wrist. ¡°Grackenwell has already annexed the desert. I¡¯ll do the same with Dridon. In a few years, this Stone Continent will be my Stone Empire. Our ranks will swell with Dridic knights turned soldiers, and their commoners will become new slaves. I¡¯ll amass an army the likes of which this world has never seen. We¡¯ll conquer Myrenthos, even Qarda... even Xheng Yu Xi before my reign is over.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°The time for Grackenwelsh mediocrity is at an end. The time for cowardice is behind us. Just as I took power from someone inferior to me, so too shall we take it from those lesser than us. It¡¯s the natural order, after all. I will make Grackenwell greater than it has ever been! And I know just how to begin.¡± Kimbel returned his attention to the slave ambassador. ¡°As promised, your payment awaits you, honored servant. Tell the others in the royal slave quarters. Tell them I sent you.¡± He grinned magnanimously. The slave beamed with tears in his eyes, bowing and pressing his forehead to the floor. ¡°Oh, I thank you, Your Majesty. I thank you!¡± ¡°Send in four more volunteers on your way out.¡± Kimbel tossed his dagger into the air and caught it by the hilt. ¡°Tell them that greatness awaits those who would answer the call!¡± *** Hane was brought to the castle just after supper. Vicious winds tore across Holcort and howled like wild animals. The weeping willows outside the castle swayed and bent, their green braids dancing sideways. The guards led Hane into the throne room, and the frail old slave cooperated. He was withered away now. Skin gnarled over with whippings old and fresh. Kimbel¡¯s attention was elsewhere, discussing strategy with his most decorated generals, as the slave and his guards waited their turn. ¡°Castle Tern is a remarkably fortified structure,¡± said General Cadwynh. ¡°Outer and inner archer towers, moat network with drawbridges, palisades, and, of course, the walls. All other factors aside, the walls alone warrant a sustained siege by cannon fire. Long enough to make us damn well vulnerable to counterattack.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not storming the castle,¡± Kimbel sighed with a roll of his eyes. He scratched an itch in his ear with the point of his dagger. ¡°Rhoda hesitated. Castle Tern will no doubt be wary of invasion. I¡¯m sending four more slaves to assassinate her instead. They¡¯ll go as ambassadors again.¡± ¡°Assassination, Your Majesty?¡± Cadwynh replied, walking the fine line between respect and disrespect. ¡°Under the guise of diplomacy? Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a bit... dishonest?¡± You know what we do to liars in Grackenwell. ¡°Horse shit,¡± Kimbel replied matter-of-factly. He stood his ground. ¡°My diplomacy is no more or less honest than anyone else¡¯s. I communicated to her the opportunity to surrender on my terms. She made her choice. If she dies now because of it, then she dug her own grave. Next I suppose you¡¯ll tell me an archer is dishonest for sending an arrow to do his killing for him?¡± A quiet beat. Then General Rigart stepped forward, a softer-spoken man with close-shaven blond hair, lean but tall enough to intimidate. ¡°Your Excellency, might I inquire as to what you hope to accomplish by sacrificing four slaves to assassinate their queen? Does she not have a son of fighting age¡ªcould he not take her place? Could he not take charge of the military forces as you yourself have done? Why not make a coordinated military strike while we still retain some shred of surprise¡ªmake a real show of power while we can?¡± ¡°So many questions,¡± Kimbel chuckled. He mulled over his response, carefully plucking each word he would need from the vines of his mind. He sensed a shade of his father within him. Will I be a wise king? ¡°Dridon is a stagnant nation that subsists on its own comfort and habits. Losing their queen of over a decade will scatter their ranks like a kicked anthill. I met her son once, the prince. He¡¯s a prissy little girl. He¡¯d sooner raise his hands in surrender than raise a weapon against me. He¡¯s of no concern.¡± General Cadwynh nodded, smirking. ¡°The king speaks the truth. Princess Lucanh, more like.¡± Kimbel took a breath, feeling his persuasion working. ¡°Four volunteers have already come forward. Draw up your battle plans if you must, but let us hope we never need them. We¡¯ll need all the forces we can muster if we¡¯re to conquer Qarda, so I¡¯d prefer to avoid an internecine war with the south. We¡¯ll just be killing our own future soldiers and slaves.¡± He looked the wrong way at the wrong time and caught Hane¡¯s good eye staring at him plaintively. ¡°Now leave me be for the night. All of you.¡± The guards began to escort Hane away but Kimbel motioned for their attention. ¡°Not you.¡± ¡°So good to see you again, milord,¡± Hane said. His voice was raspier, weaker than it had ever been. A guard knocked him in the back with the butt of his whip. ¡°He¡¯s the king now, old fool. Address His Majesty as such!¡± I suppose I do owe that in part to you, Kimbel imagined himself saying. But to confess such a thing in the presence of anyone but Hane would be tantamount to thanking a slave, and Kimbel refused to humiliate himself in that way. ¡°Imprisoned for refusal to work, is it? You¡¯d think someone of your rotten old age would¡¯ve learned by now.¡± ¡°I suppose my reputation precedes me, it does,¡± Hane chuckled to himself. The guard struck him in the back again. ¡°Careful,¡± Kimbel said simply. ¡°That¡¯s my property you¡¯re bashing. And he¡¯s got a lot of missed work to make up, remember.¡± ¡°Apologies, Your Majesty,¡± said the guard, bowing deferentially. ¡°I only meant to ensure he afforded you the respect you deserve.¡± ¡°Your attention to decorum is noted and appreciated. Now, please give me a moment of privacy with my newest personal prison. Find Ulther and send him in.¡± The guards released the slave. ¡°At once, King Kimbel.¡± Shortly thereafter, only Kimbel, Hane, a stone-faced Teralt, and the doormen guarding the entrance remained. Black shadows danced without rhythm or sound against the firelit orange walls. The wind wheezed outside. ¡°You will always be inferior as a slave, old man,¡± said the boy king with his nose turned up proudly, ¡°but I was under the impression that this type of foolishness was beneath even you. Explain yourself.¡± Hane grinned his stupid grin, made more of the absence of teeth now, and nodded. ¡°Missionaries from the south, milord. Trinitists. Why, they let me read a copy of the Triptych and told me all about their three-headed god. Read about their faith, sure, but never had it straight from the source, have I? Converted that same day, I did. Took a vow of peaceful resistance. Learned that from the Book of Heights, I did. Never too late to make a change, eh?¡± Kimbel scoffed. ¡°So, you¡¯ve taken to a foreigner¡¯s fable and managed to humiliate yourself more than I thought possible. There is such a thing as a noble slave, you know. Not hard to be one when you serve the king himself. But you¡¯re nothing but an old fool, and now you¡¯re my problem instead of my father¡¯s. You¡¯ll be withering away in the dungeons of Castle Holcort for a long, long time until I figure out what exactly to do with you, and don¡¯t expect a pardon on my part. It won¡¯t come.¡± ¡°The law states that he must be executed,¡± said Teralt. The silence that followed oozed like pitch, thick and slow and black. Kimbel scoffed again. He rocked his knife back and forth by the hilt as it sawed a wider slit in the cushion. ¡°I am the law.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a king. A king.¡± Teralt cleared his dry throat. ¡°Highest power in the land... but not a god. We have no gods here in Grackenwell.¡± He spoke like a dead man, but not one raised to life from the depths of death in the Everswamp¡ªmore like a dead man who had no interest whatsoever in a reversal of his fortune. ¡°Better liked kings than yourself have had unfortunate accidents during court. Out surveying their kingdom. On a hunt. Who knows?¡± ¡°That mouth of yours is back with a vengeance, Terry. What happened¡ªyour balls drop again?¡± ¡°I fear yours have not, Kimbel.¡± Ulther¡¯s hand grabbed for the handle of his whip, his face scrunched up in anger. ¡°Your Majesty, shall I?¡± Kimbel smirked. ¡°Do it.¡± His right hand man marched angrily across the throne room with his boots thundering against the stone floor, drew his whip, and struck Teralt several times. The man didn¡¯t even make a sound. Didn¡¯t even flinch or twitch like he used to do. His blood dotted the floor, but he kept this newly inflamed sense of pride at getting under Kimbel¡¯s skin. ¡°I don¡¯t even feel it anymore,¡± he taunted. ¡°Oh, I think you do,¡± Kimbel lied, taunting him back. ¡°I think you just hate the miserable cockroach you¡¯ve become so much that you¡¯ve come to understand how much you deserve it. That¡¯s why you don¡¯t protest. How about that display, by the way? I don¡¯t even have to sic my men on you¡ªthey ask my permission! I¡¯m so beloved that my subordinates go out of their way for me. And you really think they¡¯ll make problems for me if I let a slave rot in a cell rather than kill him?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not you. It¡¯s the law.¡± Teralt tried to spit out a bloody glob of spit, but his mouth was so dry that it clung to his lower lip. ¡°Some might like you, but they love stability over all. You already usurped your father... Now you try to bend their law?¡± The king shrugged. ¡°Then I will rewrite the law. Simple.¡± Finally, a smile from Teralt. A rare and unnerving sight to behold. ¡°You¡¯re soft, Kimbel.¡± Ulther tensed up. ¡°Your Majesty¡ª¡± ¡°Leave it,¡± Kimbel cut him off with a wave of his hand. ¡°Let him speak.¡± Teralt grinned his red grin, eyeing them both. ¡°You¡¯ll never rule with an iron fist. Your fist is nothing but ice. Cold, sharp, unfriendly when it has to be¡ªbut only when the world is cold to you. You melt at the first hint of warmth.¡± His eyes were wide like his smile now, brimming with joy or some demented kin of it. ¡°A king rules over years, not over moments. Your dear old father is dead. You mustered that much¡ªin the moment. Now what?¡± Kimbel ground his teeth. ¡°I think you might have finally overstayed your welcome, Teralt.¡± ¡°Any softhearted boy can kill the man who would kill him. You can even kill a mean bastard like me¡ªremember how I whipped you in jail? Oh no. What will you do when it comes time to kill a sweet old man who¡¯s been nothing but good to you your whole life? One who never held any power over you?¡± ¡°Hold your tongue before I cut it out of your head,¡± he said through his teeth. Teralt kept pressing him. ¡°That will be your true test. But Kimbel, I doubt you have even the stones to kill me, boy. You might stomach another season with me and then throw me in the jails and that will be that. If you even live that long. The noblemen are already bold enough to laugh at you in your presence. How much longer until your loyal thugs do the same?¡± A weird, guttural laugh escaped him then. ¡°We¡¯re going to be friends for the rest of your life, Kimbel. You can whip me all you want, cut off any part of me you want. The sight of me will still torment you every day just like before!¡± He laughed his ghastly laugh again. A sound filled Kimbel¡¯s head like some great metallic weight grating against stone, and then his burning anger boiled over into a smile, subdued and placid. Ulther appeared at his side, ready to do his bidding. ¡°Fetch my valuables,¡± said Kimbel, ¡°and have them brought to my chamber at once. I feel about ready to retire for the night.¡± ¡°As you wish, King Kimbel,¡± Ulther replied. He clapped his hands and a short while later, a team of slave attendants began hauling crates of belongings to the king¡¯s bedchamber where Kimbel would lay his head for the second time. Kimbel ripped his knife from the cushion and made for the door, past Hane, his boots clunking on the stone floor, toward Teralt and the guarded doorway behind him. ¡°You,¡± he said. He held out his hand as he walked, stopping a pair of crate-bearers. ¡°I want you to prepare a bed for Teralt at once.¡± The two slaves exchanged a look in an apparent attempt to communicate, through body language, how best to about-face and move their supplies elsewhere, and it seemed to occur to one of them to ask where to prepare the bed when Kimbel grabbed a fistful of Teralt¡¯s hair and slit his throat. Arcs of dark blood spurted across the room halfway to the throne. The chained man made a horrid wet noise and moved with the urgency of a fish out of water. Then he was still. It was so quiet then that all he could hear were the flames of torches flickering and the drops of blood hitting the puddle on the floor. ¡°Pack his bed with plenty of the driest straw,¡± Kimbel continued. ¡°Put it in the courtyard. I¡¯ll come to see the embers of the pyre in the morning.¡± He wiped the bloodied knife on his own pants and smiled at Hane, who trembled visibly, a delicate, dried-out hibiscus petal in a quickening breeze. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning as well, old man. We¡¯ll figure out what to do with you then.¡± Chapter Thirty-Two: BEAM V Behold, the day of Ah-Ren is coming soon, a day when the shackles of His wrath are shuffled off and His fury runs wild in the land. Take heed that only His devout will live to see the day that follows. The Lord has appointed a day of ruination for those who withhold their obedience. -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 35, Lines 5-7 The Everswamp They were fifteen believers in all. They¡¯d left their entire lives behind them. Ahead of them, it looked like only death. Charming woods and hills snaked through with those pellucid rivers laid by Ah-Ren Himself had given way to the wetlands, and beyond them, the true bog itself. The Everswamp. That region, so unsightly, so unforgiving, cloaked in a shroud of dense fog, that was at once inhospitable and indifferent to them. Waterfowl watched them with their sideways gazes. Green gunk festered on the surface of the stagnant water like the most putrid rug. The only way to traverse the terrain, or lack thereof, was by boat. The flock had spent the last of their silver scales five days earlier on a ramshackle cavalcade of four rowboats that each held four rowers, just enough to seat them all. All fifteen believers who remained. Gone were the pleasant hikes through forest and meadow. Now they strained to drag their paddles through the miry soup that stretched neverendingly in all directions. Frogs croaked and iridescent insects buzzed as they skimmed along the dingy face of the bog. Somewhere, a bird called out to no one, forlorn. Alone. The whole place smelled like a corpse. But when they reached their destination, Beam knew it would all be worth it. She needed only reflect on her hopeless years in the brothel to remember the wretched state of the world. How even now, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of women in conditions as deplorable as hers¡ªbut worse, they had never heard the good news of the Lord Ah-Ren. Even worse were the slaves. Men and women alike who were worked to the bone, mistreated and abused daily. Many of them were subjected to the same kind of treatment as the ladies of a brothel, or even crueler; the only difference was that they were never paid even a single coin for it, and if they tried to flee into the wilderness, they were caught, and they had one of their hands severed for it. The world was an ugly hell with sinful men to rule it. That would all change when Ah-Ren remade it in His image. ¡°Overcast today,¡± Glint commented over the sloshing of bog water. ¡°No, that¡¯s just how the swamp is,¡± Fulgor, a bald old man, said grimly. ¡°Get used to it.¡± He was right. The dense canopy of willow trees, oaks, and all manner of foliage blocked out most of the sun. They could only tell the time by the narrow columns of daylight stabbing through the gaps between the leaves. ¡°We will not be here long,¡± Beam assured her flock. ¡°Our faith will see us through to the other side.¡± She bowed her head in silent prayer. Beam prayed more fervently than ever in the Everswamp. She prayed for safe passage to the dry land on the other side¡ªHolcort, the capital city where King Garrotin lived and reigned over his cruel kingdom. She prayed for protection from the monsters that prowled the bog. She was most afraid of the gators, but she also remembered legends of other things that lurked here in the dark so far from civilization. She prayed that Ah-Ren would keep them all safe. Prayed and prayed and prayed. In the short term, she prayed for nothing but some dry land where they could set up camp. They¡¯d been boating nonstop since the day before and taking turns sleeping and rowing. Those relieved of their rowing duties curled up at the bottoms of their boats, dozing against nothing but the hard wood. They all needed better rest soon. Were your prayers in the brothel answered? Beam wondered. Was that her own thought, or was that the Lord speaking directly in her mind as He sometimes did? She wasn¡¯t certain. It brought her comfort either way. Every time she thought she saw a shadow move in the deep trees, she looked away and put her faith in Ah-Ren. The Everswamp had its ways and wiles. She refused to give it what it wanted¡ªher fear. The one thing in the whole bog that did delight her was the firefly. The glowing golden bugs twinkled in and out of existence like little shooting stars, little embers gliding over the mire. She¡¯d seen them before on warmer nights in Claeloch¡ªnever this many at a time. In the dark, they reminded her of stars in the night sky come to earth. ¡°They¡¯re courting each other,¡± Luster said from the stern behind her. ¡°Really?¡± Beam giggled. ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°I just do. Read it somewhere once.¡± The water sloshed heavily around his oar. ¡°That¡¯s why they glow. They¡¯re showing each other the light they have within them.¡± She turned back to see him smiling warmly at her. ¡°That¡¯s how they find their partners. That¡¯s how they find where they belong.¡± She returned his smile. Did he know what he was saying to her, or did was the love of the Lord Above Lords shining through him without him even knowing? The others weren¡¯t all as content as Luster. ¡°Agh!¡± grumbled Lambent, slapping the back of his neck. He was a man in his fifties with a big, bushy, brown mustache that trailed down past his chin. Whenever he talked, it was only his mustache that seemed to move. ¡°These damned biting flies... There¡¯s no end to them!¡± He swatted another one off his left wrist. ¡°Ah-Ren damn this accursed place...¡± ¡°You should never use the Lord¡¯s name in vain,¡± Glimmer corrected him as she rowed. ¡°Shame on you!¡± ¡°It will be forgiven,¡± said Beam. ¡°The Lord Above Lords only asks us to admit our sin and place it at His feet. ¡®For he turns our transgressions to righteousness and transforms our sin to glory.¡¯¡± ¡°That¡¯s from the fourth Tract, isn¡¯t it?¡± Glimmer, the young barmaid from Pythe, was one of Beam¡¯s earliest and most eager converts. ¡°That¡¯s right. Good memory, Glimmer.¡± ¡°When you pray for forgiveness,¡± Fulgor muttered to Lambent, ¡°ask Ah-Ren when we might find something to eat, while you¡¯re at it.¡± He snickered softly to himself in that way of an elderly man, not caring how many laughed along with him but content simply to have tickled his own humor. Indeed, no one else laughed. Yet no one could disagree either. It had been a few days since they¡¯d eaten. Unlike before, when there was an end in sight to their planned fast, they didn¡¯t know when they would eat again. It was starting to worry Beam. But whenever she worried, she chastised the worry away. Where my fear is, let there be faith. Where my fear is, let there be faith... The four boats pressed onward. Onward into the depths of the Everswamp, where the canopy thickened overhead, where the daylight thinned and grayed like an old woman¡¯s hair near the end of her life. They were fifteen believers in all, and they were far from home.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. *** The next day, one of Beam¡¯s prayers was answered. It was on their sixth day adrift that they finally spotted a lone hill in the bog, a muddy bit of risen land wide enough for them to tie up their boats and make a decent camp for the first time in days. The whole flock cheered when they saw it. They unfurled their tents, stretched their legs, jumped up and down for joy. Four men gathered the driest tinder they could find; they scraped lint off their clothing to supplement it. Glimmer and Ray, with Fulgor¡¯s guidance, speared a duck and four fish for the group to eat. Others gathered wood for the cooking spits. Green wood was best, wet wood, and there was no shortage of that all around them. They needed a thicker branch to use as the spit for the duck, which several people pitched in to pluck, gut, and clean. Beam and Luster helped clean the fish, and when they were done, they scooped up the cleanest bog water they could find. Ray knew an old wives¡¯ trick to filter out the impurities. Using a broken bottle and one of her cooking pots, she filled the bottle with stones and poured the murky water through it, so that only clear water flowed into the pot. They set the first pot to boil over the fire. ¡°Ah-Ren provides,¡± Beam said solemnly. ¡°Ah-Ren provides,¡± her flock echoed gratefully. She breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Even here.¡± Aurora was the youngest of her disciples; she had silver-blond hair tied in a youthful braid that she threw over either shoulder to get it out of her way as she worked. At only sixteen years of age, she was exceedingly capable and contributed as much as any of the adults. Aurora picked dandelions and other edible weeds from their tiny island that could be boiled along with the water. ¡°Greens help stretch the food,¡± she said cheerfully in her small, soft voice. ¡°That¡¯s what my mother always said.¡± ¡°Wise words,¡± Ray nodded. ¡°She sounds like a wise woman.¡± Aurora nodded, her smile fading. ¡°She was.¡± Beam felt the sting of that past tense. Aurora was a quiet thing, keeping mostly to herself, and she stayed mum about her upbringing except to say that she could no longer stay in her childhood home. An orphan? Beam wondered. Like me? Or maybe Aurora¡¯s mother was the only parent it hurt to lose, as was often the case with children in Grackenwell. ¡°You¡¯ll see her again one day,¡± Beam assured her. She hooked her finger under the girl¡¯s chin, lifting her face gently. Aurora¡¯s eyes brightened a bit. ¡°Won¡¯t you?¡± The girl nodded. ¡°¡®Who can raise the dead but Ah-Ren?¡¯¡± Aurora shook her head faithfully. ¡°No one.¡± ¡°Hope you all like your duck on the undercooked side,¡± said Shine. She was a short-haired, androgynous woman only a year or two older than Beam. She turned the spit-roasted bird over the feeble flames. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much longer we can wait!¡± Luster snorted good-naturedly. ¡°That¡¯s how you cook it, when you know what you¡¯re doing. Preserves the flavor!¡± Steam rose from the roasting fish. Duck fat sizzled and popped from its skin. The aroma alone was enough to ease Beam¡¯s gnawing hunger, just the promise of food to come. The bitter bite of the greens would pair well with the richness of the duck, and the nutritious fish would fill them up and make them strong. Even in this most grotesque of places, Ah-Ren provided. They would feast on the fruits of their faith. Luster passed Beam the pot of drinking water, which had finally cooled after its boiling. She drank from it and passed it on. She was so thirsty that she didn¡¯t even mind its off taste¡ªshe trusted it was safe enough to drink. Safer than dying of thirst, surely. Dinner was smaller than everyone expected. A duck, four small fish, and a handful of dandelion greens could only go so far, for they were fifteen believers in all, fifteen hungers to be sated. It was just enough food to take the edge off. The pot of boiled water was empty save for a sip by the time it returned Beam, and she gave this remainder to Aurora. Everyone started to pass around the remnant water that held the dandelion greens. People sucked bones clean. It was no feast, but it was enough for now. The flock was so grateful for this respite that few remained around the campfire at the end of the night. Ray slept little; she was always up late and up early. She and Aurora were still up chatting that night when Beam retired. She lay her head down next to Luster. She was tense, expecting him to be amorous again like the last night they shared together. The bog was too unnerving for her to relax enough for him in that way. But he was barely awake when she crawled up next to him. They kissed each other goodnight. Moments later, he was snoring. She sighed and gazed out the tent as she drifted off to sleep, listening to the murmurs of her disciples and the nighttime sounds of the swamp. It was all strangely serene to her now. As she teetered on the edge of dreaming, she spied two fireflies hovering above the bog, two dim gold lights just over its surface that cast reflections on the water. They never went out. They never flew away. They must have been intent on courting each other. She fell asleep thinking of Luster. *** Beam woke up in the night. Her sleep was restless, despite her exhaustion. Everyone had gone to bed for the night by then. The only sounds that remained were the crackling fire, the chirping of insects and frogs. One of her eyes eased open and she glimpsed many courting pairs of fireflies hovering above the swamp. There were too many to count. There must have been dozens. They all hovered in place. They never went out. They never moved. Two by two, they levitated silently in the air, two by two as far as she could see, receding into tiny pinpricks of light deeper into the swamp. Pair after pair of golden lights in perfect harmony, each of the two a finger¡¯s length apart. She fell back asleep. *** It was deep into the heart of the night when she woke again, the no man¡¯s land between midnight and the early morning. Nothing good came at such an hour¡ªshe remembered this bit of wisdom from her childhood. The campfire had started to die down into embers. The swamp was eerily quiet, the insects all gone to bed, too, and the frogs must have hopped elsewhere. Even the fireflies must have flown away in their mating pairs. Only two of them remained. Two still fireflies suspended in midair over the water. Then they both went out at once, only for an instant, and then they lit up again in unison. How could they have coordinated something like that? Beam sat up in her tent, leaned forward for a closer look. Only then did she see that they were not fireflies at all. The two lights sank suddenly into the water. Just before they disappeared, she saw the two black slits that split them down the middle. They were eyes. *** Beam shot up in bed. It was still dark outside. The fire still burned low. There were no fireflies left at all, nothing but the embers of their cooking fire and the howling dark abyss all around. Water trickled and swished softly against the island. It was all a bad dream. Fireflies didn¡¯t stay glowing like that¡ªthey couldn¡¯t. Of course it was all a figment of her imagination. But in her dream, how had she known the fire would have burned out the way it did? And how would she have known all the fireflies¡ªthe real ones¡ªwould be gone? She pinched herself to make sure she was truly awake this time. She was. She lay her head back down. It took her a long while to fall asleep again after that. Where my fear is, let there be faith. Where my fear is, let there be faith. It didn¡¯t work so well this time. All she could do was try to forget what she saw. But as with many things in her life that she¡¯d wanted to forget, all she could do was see it over and over again. *** ¡°Is everything all right, Lady Beam?¡± Glimmer asked her the next morning. They had packed up their camp and set back out in their boats into the water. ¡°Of course, Glimmer,¡± Beam lied. ¡°You seem tired. Did you sleep well? What troubles you?¡± Beam didn¡¯t want to tell her, or anyone else, the truth¡ªnot even Luster. ¡°Plagued by visions.¡± She told a half-lie instead. Glimmer looked like she only half-believed her. ¡°Fret not, Glimmer. The Lord Ah-Ren guides us.¡± They rowed on for a long while in silence. Ray hummed an old song to herself. Beam looked over the edge of the boat discreetly, scanning the water for any of those golden eyes looking back at her. She saw none. Of course they¡¯d hide now, she thought. Even down here in the shadow of the willows, it was light enough that some dregs of daylight still reached them. Ah-Ren, protect us. The spirit of the Bogman and the evils of this place are all around us. Only You can protect us. ¡°Lady Beam!¡± Shine called from the head of the cavalcade. ¡°Up ahead! Do you see that? Look!¡± Beam picked her head up. She looked ahead of the procession of boats and her jaw dropped. ¡°Ah-Ren above,¡± she gasped. Chapter Thirty-Three: AKONA VI A man who bears authority over a woman is as a dog bearing authority over a man. Where Mother Moon is shunned, there can be only darkness and confusion. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 3 Island of Ka¡¯Anui, Grand Archipelago ¡°There it is,¡± said Akona. ¡°That has to be it. The small one.¡± ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± Styri asked, affixing her latest face bandage. ¡°All these islands look the same.¡± ¡°It¡¯s past midday.¡± Akona pointed to the sky. ¡°There¡¯s the sun¡ªwe¡¯re still sailing west. Which means that must be Sailors¡¯ Bane Rock, to the east of it.¡± She jabbed a finger on the map between them. ¡°See?¡± Styri shielded her eyes from the sun, staring out across the bright blue water. Akona indicated the jagged slab of barnacled stone jutting up out of the ocean. ¡°Awfully small to be the bane of sailors...¡± ¡°Styri, it¡¯s quite simple. Do you want me to explain it to you again?¡± She scoffed. ¡°Forget it! You don¡¯t have to be rude about it. I¡¯m not a fool...¡± ¡°I never said you¡ª¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s how you¡¯re talking to me!¡± Styri stormed off below deck in a huff. ¡°Go have your pouting fit,¡± Akona snapped at her. ¡°Just be back to help me bring us ashore!¡± Her sister didn¡¯t answer. She marveled again at the fact that Styri was her elder sister, in chronology if not in spirit. They¡¯d been bickering more than usual lately. Days at sea did that to them; it was true when they bought passage from Umreh to the Stone Continent, and it had been true on their initial trip from Myrenthos to Qarda. Something about being cooped up in close quarters with no soil, no plants, no animals except the occasional passing gull¡ªsomething about the sea drove them steadily mad. Unfortunately, this was the easier leg of their westward voyage. What lay beyond was the Great Unknown. Where it took them only days to sail from Dridon to the Grand Archipelago, it would be more than a moon, perhaps two, to traverse that unexplored abyss of ocean. But it was still the fastest way home now. Assuming they survived. ¡°Styri, it¡¯s time!¡± Akona called down to her. ¡°We¡¯re about to make landfall!¡± Styri crawled back up from the cramped quarters below the short staircase and joined her above deck. They went about all the steps of bringing their boat ashore¡ªrolling up the sails, steering it and pushing it along with the oars, and when they were close enough to shore, they both jumped out and secured the thick rope to the bow with expertly tied knots. The water was shoulder-deep for them; they waded ashore, pulling the boat behind them. It got harder on land. ¡°Pull, Styri!¡± said Akona. ¡°Does it look like I¡¯m pushing?¡± ¡°Well, pull harder!¡± Even a smaller sailboat such as theirs was no easy task to drag ashore with just the two of them. Akona felt her arm muscles straining, hot friction on the flesh of her palms from the rope; the heels of her sandals dug shallow ruts in the sand as she tried to find leverage. Eventually, they managed to drag it partially out of the water so that they could tie it to a palm tree near the shoreline. More expert knots secured it to the tree and ensured it wouldn¡¯t accidentally drift out to sea, even if the tide came further in. It was done. ¡°So, this is Ka¡¯Anui,¡± said Styri. She picked a fat greenish-yellow fruit growing in bunches on a tree. ¡°It¡¯s good to be on land again.¡± ¡°Not for long,¡± Akona reminded her. ¡°We¡¯re only here to gather supplies for the Great Unknown. We need to load up on all the fresh food we can to help our provisions last longer. We still have plenty of salt, so if you can hunt some¡ªStyri, spit that out!¡± ¡°What?¡± She chewed a mouthful of the soft yellow fruit that she¡¯d peeled. ¡°They had these in Qarda, remember? They¡¯re safe.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know if this variety is poisonous!¡± Akona slapped the fruit out of her sister¡¯s hand. ¡°We¡¯re halfway across the world from Qarda! Now you¡¯re the one who¡¯ll have to wait and test it. You know the rules.¡± Styri rolled her eyes. ¡°Fine. But when tomorrow comes and I¡¯m not sick¡ª¡± Leaves rustled at the edge of the tropical trees. Akona motioned for them both to hide in a bush to see what was happening. ¡°...what happens when you still resist,¡± a man snarled in Stonish. Crack! A different man cried out in pain. He staggered out of the trees, a tan-skinned man dressed in a loincloth¡ªhe was chased by a calmly marching Grackenwelsh soldier. Crack! It was the crack of a whip striking him on the back. The man shouted something in a language Akona didn¡¯t understand, but it seemed obvious what it meant. ¡°What now?¡± the soldier snapped. ¡°Are you still pretending not to understand me, you savage fool? What is this?¡± He held out the whip in front of the Archipelagian¡¯s eyes, though the native didn¡¯t dare turn around to face him. ¡°What is it?¡± When he didn¡¯t answer, he struck him again. Crack! ¡°This is a whip!¡± He brandished it aggressively. ¡°Whip! You understand now? Whip!¡± ¡°Whip!¡± the native repeated fearfully. ¡°Whip!¡± ¡°That¡¯s right! See? You can learn!¡± The soldier put his whip away, then pointed back into the jungle. ¡°Now go. You need to be present for the ceremony¡ªI think you could learn a thing or two from it. Go!¡± The brute herded him back into the jungle, disappearing behind the dense foliage. The twins locked eyes. It wasn¡¯t safe to speak their thoughts aloud, not yet, so they conveyed meaning with their secret language of looks. Grackenwelsh, said Styri with a look of surprise. Akona nodded her head once sternly to say, Not just Grackenwelsh¡ªslavers. Styri shrugged. What do we do? Akona held up a slow finger. Proceed carefully. Gather supplies? Yes. Akona shook her head bemusedly. How to test them? We¡¯ll test them on the boat. Gather triple just in case. Hunt? No. Skip it. We don¡¯t have time to cook the meat here. Fire¡¯s too dangerous on the boat. Let¡¯s go! The twins made their way into the jungle. There was no sign of Grackenwell or the indigenous people as they went. Akona scanned the dense trees, thinking back to their time in the temperate forests in northern Qarda¡ªit helped them hide, but it also helped conceal the enemy. There¡¯s no way the veracidins could have followed us this far west, she thought. Is there? The terrain sloped upward. Sand and mud gave way to dry ground, rocks, and a steep hill. Akona examined fruits and nuts along the way, picking suitable ones and dumping each one into one of the several burlap bags they carried. The island was bountiful. She eyed each of her choices carefully for any signs of rot, infestation, growths, or other spoilage that the glademothers had trained her to detect. It was more difficult with unfamiliar plants, but she could still follow the basic guidelines. She tried to pick some fruits that were also unripe with the hope they¡¯d ripen in transit. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. At one point, Styri held out a hand, hefting one of her bags bulging with fruits to say, We¡¯ve gathered a lot. How much more? More, Akona answered her. Long trip. We need it. They pressed on, adhering to the same relative distance to the shoreline while avoiding the general direction of the two men they¡¯d seen earlier. They forded a river; Akona heard a waterfall in the distance. Even still, either the island was too small, or Grackenwell¡¯s forces were too great¡ªthey couldn¡¯t evade them forever. There was a great commotion nearby. Akona held up a shushing finger. They stalked through the ferns to get a better look at a gathering in a huge clearing. It was littered with splintered wood and straw, leaves with burnt edges. Fires billowed black smoke into the tropical sky. She realized, in horror, that these were the remains of an Archipelagian village that had been razed by the invaders. About a dozen Grackenwelsh soldiers were assembled, and twice as many natives. Some of the natives were in chains while others looked on from the periphery of the scene. They were differentiated by their necks¡ªsome bore the quindent, the five-pronged brand that marked them as slaves, while others didn¡¯t. The brands looked fresh. ¡°...is not something you need fret about,¡± said one of the soldiers. Three of them had surrounded an Archipelagian man who may have been twenty years of age. He had a brand but no chains on him. ¡°There are second chances for slaves in Grackenwell.¡± Two of the soldiers grabbed the native by either arm and held him in place. A fourth one walked up with a red-hot iron pulled straight from a nearby fire. ¡°But there are no third chances. As bad as this is, know that it can get so much worse for you. Ready?¡± A fifth soldier walked up behind the restrained man, tying a rag around his mouth that forced his teeth open. His eyes went wide and wild, brimming with sudden tears. He said something in his language around the rag. Said it louder. ¡°On the count of three.¡± The soldier drew his sword. The others held out their victim¡¯s left arm, pulling it straight despite his body thrashing. ¡°One... two...!¡± He swung his sword, and in an instant, the blade lopped off the Archipelagian¡¯s left hand. He screamed through the rag. Gasps and sympathetic moans resounded through the indigenous audience. ¡°Easy enough, lad! The worst is over now! I promise!¡± The other soldier, the one with the hot iron, pressed it against the victim¡¯s bleeding stump of a wrist. He cried out again in pain, tears streaming down his face. He screamed a third time as the iron cooked his flesh, burned his veins shut. Cauterization, Akona remembered¡ªbut it was done more carefully in Myrenthos, and usually the wounded one was given something to dull the pain. The soldier took the iron away. The native man panted, reeling from the exertion and the trauma, his eyes half-lit now. Then he passed out from the agony. The grins on the soldiers¡¯ faces reminded Akona of the veracidins. But where the Qardish spies delighted in extracting the truth from their targets by any means necessary, it seemed these Stonish brutes delighted in the violence itself. Their excitement appeared to fade when the deed was done. ¡°Take him to sleep it off, then,¡± said the soldier nonchalantly, sheathing his weapon. Two slaves carried the limp body of their brethren away from the clearing, each of them lifting from under his armpits. ¡°And let this be a lesson to the rest of you! Run once¡ªlose a hand. Run twice...¡± The soldier wagged his finger in a half-playful warning. ¡°...you lose everything.¡± Akona shot her sister a look. We have enough. Let¡¯s go. Are you sure? It¡¯s not worth it. Better to go hungry than risk worse. All right. They about-faced, going back the way they¡¯d come. The jungle was so dense and full of so much vibrant life that Akona had a harder time than usual following her landmarks. There was the tree with the round brown fruits with hair on them. Past that, a pink flower with six petals, and then a flower that looked like a colorful hummingbird diving to drink from a flower. They came to the edge of the same river they¡¯d forded along the way. Akona found herself ruminating on the past, the ripple effect their one act in Qarda had had on the rest of the world. Had the death of one lone man really caused all of this? How much blood was on their hands by association? She was debating this with herself in her mind, and hiking up the hem of her Dridic dress to make the crossing, when suddenly a spear impaled the tree next to her head. She and Styri jumped. ¡°Where¡ª?¡± An Archipelagian man, this one in his thirties or forties, stood from his hiding place several paces down the riverbank, enshrouded in ferns and flowers. He wore a loincloth like all the rest. His eyes, however, were encircled with black paint of some kind. He had what looked like a ritualistic marking down the center of his lower lip¡ªa split that had been sewn back together in three places with beaded strings, all of it lined with black and white paint. ¡°Stop!¡± Akona said in Myrenthian. She couldn¡¯t help but use her native tongue in her moment of terror. ¡°Ah?¡± said the man. He furrowed his brow, stepping closer to them cautiously. He held a second spear behind his back. ¡°We don¡¯t mean any harm,¡± Styri said in Stonish. ¡°We were just leaving.¡± The man¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Slavers,¡± he snarled in Stonish. He lifted his spear. ¡°No, we¡¯re from Myrenthos!¡± Akona assured him. ¡°Myrenthos! Have you heard of it? It¡¯s far away from here!¡± ¡°Then why have you come to Ka¡¯Anui?¡± The man tightened his grip on the spear, but he lowered it. Akona could tell, from his facial and body language, that he was ready to kill; however, he also looked like the kind of person who could be persuaded not to, and he had good reason to be wary of someone speaking Stonish in his land. ¡°We sail west,¡± Akona replied. ¡°To the Great Unknown. We¡¯re trying to escape some bad men who want to capture us.¡± He turned up his nose, eyeing them suspiciously. ¡°Do you have honor?¡± Akona exchanged a glance with her sister. ¡°Honor?¡± He furrowed his brow angrily again, clutching his spear with newfound ferocity. ¡°Honor! Do you have it? Tell me!¡± ¡°Yes! Yes, we have honor. My sister and I both.¡± Now he lowered his spear again, seemingly satisfied. ¡°My name is Maliko,¡± he said. And he threw his spear at his feet. His shoulders relaxed, all the tension in his body seemingly relieved at once. Even his face softened. ¡°Now I am safe.¡± ¡°Safe?¡± He nodded, a strangely familiar gesture for someone who was so unfamiliar to her. ¡°Yes. You have honor. I told you my name. Now you cannot kill me.¡± Her face must have betrayed her confusion, as he went on to explain it to her. ¡°If you have honor, you can never kill someone whose name you know. To know someone¡¯s name is to share a bond with them.¡± He made a sweeping gesture with both hands. ¡°Tell me your names and you will know that you are safe, too.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Akona,¡± she said. ¡°This is my sister. Her name is Styri.¡± ¡°Ah!¡± Maliko hissed at her, waving a hand sharply. ¡°Don¡¯t speak it! Only she speaks it.¡± He looked at Styri, waiting expectantly. ¡°I¡¯m...¡± Styri muttered. ¡°My name is Styri.¡± Maliko nodded. ¡°Good. Now we are safe. But only from each other.¡± He retrieved his spear, but held it at his side. ¡°I will not kill you, but you do not belong in this place.¡± ¡°We¡¯re trying to leave,¡± Akona reminded him. ¡°Our ship is docked. We are just gathering food¡ªis that alright with you?¡± Maliko made a jerking motion with his arms almost like a shrug. ¡°Take for your need. I have no problem with you.¡± Akona took the bag Styri was carrying, then dropped them all in front of her, opening them up to display their contents. ¡°Are these all safe to eat?¡± Maliko scratched his chin, his eyes darting among all the different fruits they¡¯d picked. ¡°This one, it tastes better if you cook it... This one needs to be ripe first. You eat it now, ahhh!¡± He pretended to throw up all over the ground, laughing with a broad grin at his own joke. ¡°You can eat them all.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Akona gathered their bags again. ¡°Thank you. Be safe out there. The slavers are just in that clearing.¡± ¡°I know. My village...¡± Maliko walked to retrieve his spear that had hit the tree behind the twins. ¡°I have killed three slavers already. I will kill more before the day is done.¡± He smiled, brandishing a spear. ¡°Too fast for them and their swords. I used to trade with a man from their land, so I know their speech, too.¡± ¡°You¡¯re doing a good thing,¡± Akona told him. ¡°Killing those who invade you...¡± She remembered the Myrenthian resistance against the invading Eloheed. ¡°May the gods protect you.¡± Maliko shook his head. ¡°If only they never came here. They say this all started because a king in another land was killed.¡± Akona¡¯s heart sank. ¡°I say death to him who killed that king. He killed so many more.¡± His words hit Akona like a punch to the gut. Guilt was a sour stone in the pit of her stomach. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Maliko¡¯s chest spat blood. An arrowhead poked through it. ¡°Got him!¡± someone cheered in Stonish. ¡°Got the half-lip!¡± Several others cheered and laughed. Maliko fell to his knees, dropping one of his spears. With his free hand, he grasped at the arrow, trying to pull it out of his body. Blood trickled down his bare chest. His mouth suckled desperately at the air for a clean breath. ¡°Run,¡± said Akona. She left the bags where they were. She grabbed her sister by the wrist and spun around to the river¡ªGrackenwelsh troops on horseback blocked their way. ¡°Oh, archer got the little savage after all!¡± said one of the soldiers. ¡°Look at that. But I get the kill!¡± He drew his sword, a crisp shink sound. The horses splashed water as they galloped. For the first time in her life, Akona felt truly frozen, utterly rooted to the ground where she stood. Everything was back on their boat¡ªtheir supplies, what was left of their poisons, and even the length of the Qardish emperor¡¯s beard, the proof of their own kill. The nameless soldier drew his sword through the Archipelagian and he was dead. ¡°And who might you two be?¡± he said, wiping the blood from his blade with a rag. ¡°You look lost.¡± ¡°They¡¯re very pretty,¡± another one added. ¡°I claim the one with the bandage!¡± ¡°Forget it, you fool. Look at them! They¡¯re worth even more in coin than they are in bed.¡± ¡°How old do you reckon they are?¡± ¡°Bleeding age. Old enough.¡± ¡°Styri, run,¡± she said in Myrenthian. ¡°Go. I¡¯ll distract them.¡± Her older sister was wide-eyed and even more petrified than she was, stunned speechless. She didn¡¯t move a muscle. ¡°Myrenthian?¡± Maliko¡¯s killer snickered. ¡°By the Bogman, they¡¯re worth double what I thought! You know what they say about Myrenthian girls... That settles it. They¡¯ll be concubines for one of the generals¡ªand he¡¯ll pay us their weight in silver, I¡¯m sure of it!¡± The soldiers were laughing and beating their breastplates, punching each other in the shoulder. Several of them dismounted their horses and started marching for the twins. Akona drew on all her teaching, every last lesson the glademothers had taught her, but none of them could save her in this moment¡ªnone of them were worth trying as captives of Grackenwell. All she could do was take her sister by the wrist and run. Chapter Thirty-Four: LANOR VII All night, I was plagued with terrible visions from the Deceiver. I saw the dead raised in droves from the grave. I saw as a bird sees from above, and the dead walked the land and covered the land like locusts. I saw the Deceiver tear down Eloei from His rightful place in the firmament. I saw a third, and the third was given dominion over the unknown world. Heed these words, my brethren in Eloei: just as the Lord Above Lords presides from the firmament, the Deceiver presides over his dark dominion from beneath a distant land. Yet the influence of the Deceiver has a wide reach. There are many paths to ruination and only one path to salvation. Indeed, the Deceiver may even come to you in the guise of our Lord Above Lords, so remain sober of heart and test all words vigilantly. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 25, Verses 3-15 Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda The City of Embers, as it was sometimes called, had become the City of Flames. True chaos had broken out in Rayyaq Raleed, far from the isolated uprisings that marked the beginning of Lanor¡¯s reign as hierophant. One divine authority to maintain peace in the land had fractured into two. This was a full-fledged civil war. Pillars of black smoke rose from red-orange fires raging across the city, a dark colonnade to support the firmament above. The paladins, soldiers, clerics, and commoners loyal to Lanor clashed with their counterparts who supported Ghamal¡¯s coup. Swords and spears with hilts of gold tasted their first blood in a long while. Bodies lay dead and dying in the streets. Screams cut through the night like that memorable one on the night of Drakhman¡¯s death, and Lanor bore witness to it all from the safety and security of Hasjal¡¯s estate. She received all of her news from the four veracidins in Rayyaq Raleed still loyal to her. The four who had survived to reach her, at least. As a member of the Synod in Qarda¡¯s capital, Hasjal was able to afford a luxurious palatial home that resembled the Palace of the Hierophant on a much smaller scale. They were gathered in the house¡¯s central courtyard. Here, they were granted a square of the sky overhead, and they could pick grapes from the ornamental trellises while basking in the shade of four palms. All these creature comforts only deepened Lanor¡¯s guilt. She thought of all the loyal subjects in the streets¡ªeven those loyal to her traitorous uncle¡ªand how they were suffering. She didn¡¯t belong here in this shelter worlds away from that harsh reality. She thought back to the night of her father¡¯s murder, when she¡¯d told him how she never wanted to inherit his throne. It was so much worse than she once imagined it would be. ¡°Ghamal decrees that whoever still stands at the end of all this,¡± said one of the veracidins, wide-eyed and jittery, ¡°bears the Sanction of Eloei.¡± ¡°Of course he does,¡± said Hasjal. ¡°If he dies, he faces no rebuke. If he lives and she dies, he can pretend it was divine will that put him back on the throne. And in the meantime, it serves as a rallying cry for his supporters.¡± The cleric paced back and forth in the courtyard, rolling a grape between his fingers. ¡°Exalted Prophetess, far be it from me to besmirch a man of your blood¡ª¡± ¡°Go on,¡± Lanor reassured him. Hasjal set his jaw, clenching the grape in his hands. The juice trickled out between his fingers. ¡°Ghamal is a snake of the lowest order!¡± She nodded morosely. ¡°If only I¡¯d seen it sooner.¡± ¡°Go,¡± said Hasjal to the veracidin, and he clapped a hand on the man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Cooks await you in the kitchen. You¡¯ve earned a meal and some rest, brother.¡± The veracidin only nodded gratefully and padded across the tiled floor to another part of the spacious house. ¡°Betraying you and your father was one great evil on its own,¡± Rashaj said to Lanor. Another cleric of the Synod, he was square-headed with a pile of curly hair atop his scalp, the sides shaved close. ¡°But to turn the people against each other in this way? Qarda has not seen this devastation since the Sixty-Year Schism. It may be even worse.¡± ¡°Ghamal believes he has the Sanction,¡± said Zumhir. ¡°He may regard us as evil, just as we regard him. That is the power of the Deceiver.¡± ¡°¡®There is only one truth.¡¯ The Testament tells us as much.¡± Lanor tired of this line of talk. While the clerics debated their situation and cited sacred verses, she stood from her wicker aruud chair and wandered around the periphery of the colonnaded courtyard. A pair of paladins marched to the edge of the courtyard to supervise her. ¡°Exalted Prophetess,¡± said Hasjal, ¡°with all respect, please don¡¯t wander far. It¡¯s for your safety.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± she answered. She even felt guilt for those inside Hasjal¡¯s walls. He sacrificed his home for her¡ªrisked everything if the civil war spilled here to the outskirts of the city. All the other Synod clerics, soldiers, and everyone else gathered to protect her were risking their lives, too. Did they act out of conviction that she was the rightful hierophant? Or were they simply hedging their best bets for the future of Qarda¡ªwanting to remain on the winning side of history? The machinations of politics were beyond her. She had the insight to realize she was in farther over her head than ever. Hasjal¡¯s house was an edifice of red brick supported mainly by thick fluted columns. The walls and columns themselves were painted with rich pigments of vermillion and cyan depicting traditional Qardish rhomboid motifs. The walls of the main corridor leading to the atrium displayed illustrated scenes from the Testament, and each was a sight to behold. Such deliberate iconography was forbidden in the temple¡ªwhile not an outright sin, many believed it to distract from worship¡ªbut here in Hasjal¡¯s private domicile, the walls came alive with images of Kahlo Hadrizeen¡¯s life. His triumphs. His struggles. The scenes were each labeled in calligraphic Qardish script with lush purple ink. Kahlo Teaches Himself to Read showed a scruffy-haired, brown-skinned boy dressed in a plain beige cloth holding open a book by one of its covers, cocking his head quizzically. Kahlo Destroys the Altar depicted a young man tearing down bowls of burning incense in a pagan temple, to the shock and outrage of the Ralaheed priests. There was Ascent of Mount Tulaylal, where Kahlo climbed the holy mountain to answer the call of Eloei. But it was The Deceiver Tests Kahlo that most captured Lanor¡¯s imagination. She remembered the verses well, since it was one of the only stories in the Testament that ever really resonated with her. In it, the First Prophet was visited by a being claiming to be a messenger sent by Eloei, and it commanded Kahlo to throw himself off the mountain as a show of faith. When Kahlo refused, the messenger was revealed to be an illusion sent by the Deceiver. How did you know? Lanor wondered, staring into the resolute eyes of the ancient man on the wall. She studied his stern face, the mighty arm outstretched to banish the evil spirit. The grotesque, burning, metallic face peering at him from the storm clouds looked enraged¡ªjust as the tome had described it. ¡®The creature¡¯s face became like that of a madman and like that of a tiger. It turned and hid its face from me in the storm.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t by faith, Lanor realized. If Kahlo had acted by his faith alone, he would have jumped off Mount Tulaylal to his death. The verses that followed confirmed that Kahlo hadn¡¯t been guided or led to the correct decision, either¡ªEloei didn¡¯t speak to him again until later, and only in a dream. ¡®¡°He who weighs the sight of his eyes and the sound of his ears, with him I am most pleased.¡±¡¯ He who weighs the sight of his eyes and the sound of his ears, she thought. She ruminated on those words, turning them over in her mind. Why would Eloei say a thing like that to Kahlo? Why not elaborate on the dangers of the Deceiver, or praise him more directly for his wisdom? For that matter, why wouldn¡¯t Eloei send such a messenger, or at least test his faith in some other way? That was the custom of all the pagan gods in Ralaheed that were worshiped in ancient times; they all demanded sacrifices, shows of faith. Maybe this was Eloei¡¯s way of showing how He was different. Maybe this was to differentiate Him from the ancestral and nature gods that Ralaheed had come to worship in their forgetfulness of the Creator. Still, the questions vexed her. She knew she was only mortal, and fifteen years of age at that, but her mind still tried to grapple with that of a god. ¡°Admiring the artwork?¡± said a voice. It was Hasjal, who was approaching her from the courtyard. His sandals clicked on the tiles. ¡°You could say that,¡± Lanor answered. ¡°The Deceiver Tests Kahlo. A favorite. It still inspires me with awe, how Kahlo, Eloei grace him, held so faithfully to the truths that Eloei had already revealed to him. Even such a convincing lie couldn¡¯t sway his belief.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t his faith.¡± She spoke with a certainty that alarmed even her. It gave Hasjal pause. ¡°If he¡¯d been wrong¡ªif it really was a test from Eloei¡ªthen he would have failed. He would have shown that he didn¡¯t have enough faith to be His prophet.¡± Hasjal furrowed his brow, trying as well to grapple with what Lanor was saying. ¡°Then what was it?¡± A chill of clarity ran up her spine. ¡°It was his doubt.¡± The cleric scratched his chin in thought. ¡°His doubt, Your Holiness?¡± She didn¡¯t answer right away, and her face burned with shame. Had she said something foolish? Whether sensing this, or seeing the merit in what she said, Hasjal continued. ¡°Ah... I never saw it that way, Prophetess. Intriguing!¡± He nodded, apparently convinced by her wisdom. ¡°Truly, you do have the Sanction of Eloei, Hierophant Lanor. I must reread the text when given the opportunity.¡± He bowed respectfully. ¡°Prophetess, will you join us back in the courtyard? The paladins stand watch, but we worry for your safety in this corridor.¡± She turned back to the painting on the wall. ¡°In a moment. I¡¯d like some more time with the art.¡± He nodded. ¡°Of course, Hierophant Lanor. Please enjoy it to the fullest. You are my most honored guest.¡± He left to rejoin the others in the courtyard. It wasn¡¯t enjoyment Lanor sought from the art, but rather understanding. She searched Kahlo Hadrizeen¡¯s face again for the answers to her questions. There they were, just behind his eyes. Just out of reach like always. *** That night, sleep was fleeting and fitful. Paladins and soldiers stood watch in shifts, allowing the others to rest as they were able. Sixteen paladins were assigned to guard Lanor outside the windowless guest chamber Hasjal gave her for the night. It was the most secure room in his house, fortified with thick walls and tucked away toward the back of his small compound. But rest eluded her. Every time her eyelids fluttered shut, she saw images of the Temple. Rhadiz Tal¡¯s head soaring through the air with a tail of red-black blood trailing behind. His eyes¡ªshe remembered his eyes the most. And the thought that her uncle, her own flesh and blood, was responsible for such an act¡ªand for plunging the holy city into civil war¡ªmade her sick to her stomach. She saw it again and again. The head. The bloodstained sword. The stalemate. Over again like an echo, over and over. At times, the head belonged to her father; at times, it was Ghamal himself who swung the sword. When sleep did come, it came in small doses. Even her dreams were unsafe. She found herself in a dark corridor, a lit candle in her hand. It was the night of her father¡¯s murder all over again¡ªbut this time, there were no torches burning on the wall. The glow of her candle was feeble against the howling dark. At the far end of the corridor, which felt impossibly far beyond reach, was a pair of doors. Both of their outlines were lit from behind by a bright light, one white and one golden. Was it daylight? More fire? It was impossible to tell from this distance¡ªthe light didn¡¯t waver, nor did any shadows break the light under the doors. ¡°Lanor,¡± came a deep, bellowing voice. It sounded familiar. ¡°My chosen.¡± ¡°Hello?¡± she said, but her voice was weak again. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± A deep rumbling sound. ¡°You know who I am.¡± She looked behind her¡ªsaw that her back was against a wall. She could only advance forward, so she took her first tentative steps, padding barefoot down the cold tiles of Castle Muadazim, or wherever she was. Her shoulders tensed. The voice was wrong¡ªshe didn¡¯t know its identity. ¡°What do you want from me?¡± she asked. The ground rumbled beneath her feet; dust and crumbs of stone were shaken loose from the ceiling. ¡°Nothing. I want to give something to you.¡± A tingle at her back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was excitement. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°What you deserve.¡± The golden knob of the door on the right turned on its own. *** Lanor awoke with a jolt. Her sweat ran cold; it dampened her skin and her silk bedsheet, which she threw off her body. Images of Rhadiz Tal¡¯s murder echoed in her mind, and then the scene from Castle Muadazim, her father¡¯s body supine on the floor. It was the memory of the two doors that resurfaced last. She vaguely remembered a voice, but it was gone from her mind in the next moment. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings, Your Holiness.¡± A paladin stood in her bedchamber next to the door. His back was straight, his posture alert and ready for combat, while he held his spear vertical at his side. His presence both unnerved and comforted her. She felt safer with him there, but the fact that he stood such close watch over her while she slept meant that she was not truly safe, even behind Hasjal¡¯s walls. He bowed respectfully. ¡°And also to you,¡± she finally replied. It had taken her well into the night to find some stretch of solid sleep. Now that she was awake, the sun was already high in the smoke-stained sky over Qarda. She shuffled out of her private chamber to the courtyard, but she found only armed men there. The others were assembled in Hasjal¡¯s hall. When she joined them, they stood from their chairs at his table and bowed in turn. Food was plated in front of them: buttered rice garnished with green herbs; laftih triangles stuffed with currants; fermented milk diluted with melon; ground goat with onions and Myrenthian spices. Between all the colorful, aromatic dishes were wooden bowls full of fresh-baked bead. It was a spectacle of decadence that belied their dire circumstances. Was it a misguided illusion meant to bring them comfort in their darkest hour? Simple denial of the truth? Or was it a final meal of sorts, one last earthly pleasure before they were sent to the Hereafter? Lanor wasn¡¯t sure which possibility was most alarming. ¡°Your Holiness,¡± said Hasjal. ¡°Eloei¡¯s blessings to you.¡± ¡°And also to you.¡± ¡°We were awaiting your arrival. If I may humbly ask you, would you be so kind as to grace us with the zahuahr?¡± He smiled sadly. ¡°To be frank, your disciples could use a word of encouragement from the Prophetess of Eloei.¡± She forced a polite smile to humor him. ¡°Of course.¡± She stood at the head of the table, cleared her throat. In that moment, a room of her closest allies became the Hall of Unity in Castle Muadazim, though the Circle of Kings was a lifetime behind her now. ¡°Praise be to Eloei...¡± The words caught on her doubt. ¡°...Maker of the Day and the Era of Man. Preserve me, that I might preserve Your holy word until the Day of Reckoning. Let not my feet stray from the narrow way You have laid out before me. Hear me...¡± What you deserve... The words echoed in her mind. She remembered just a piece of her dream, and at an inopportune moment. She pressed on anyway. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Hear me, First Prophet, and bring my words to the Lord Above Lords, just as you brought His words to us. In the name of Eloei the Benevolent, if it please Him, so be it.¡± ¡°So be it,¡± echoed the men at her table. And they all dug in to the feast before them. At first, Lanor only nibbled at her food. It was purely to add necessary fuel to the fire of her body¡ªshe was determined not to let herself enjoy a single morsel. How could she, when her people would probably be starving soon in the wake of it all? Then she took her first real bite. One taste of the tart currants in her laftih triangle made her tongue squeeze and her mouth water. She ate what was left of it in only two bites, the pastry melting in her mouth almost instantly, and the rest of the food on her golden plate didn¡¯t last much longer. Everyone ate in silence until the silence was eventually broken. During the meal, another veracidin was admitted to Hasjal¡¯s residence. He was dirt-caked and looking thinner than even his comrades. ¡°What news, brother?¡± Hasjal greeted him. The veracidin told him about the progress of the civil conflict, which districts in the city were in flames and which of them Ghamal¡¯s forces had captured without incident. ¡°How are the other loyalists faring? Will they retreat here with us soon, or have they... turned the tide?¡± The veracidin shook his head. ¡°Understood. Wash and eat, brother.¡± Hasjal had the cooks prepare only one meal a day for everyone taking shelter in his abode, including himself. He offered Lanor a greater portion of the food, but she refused it, saying he was right to ration it the way he did. There was no telling how much longer they would be trapped there, or what hope they had of escaping it eventually. As day wore on toward the evening, the shouts and clangs of clashing metal from Rayyaq Raleed grew steadily louder, the violence oozing out in all directions from the heart of the holy city like a pool of blood. She ignored the sounds as long as she could. They continued well into the night. *** In sleep, she returned to the dark hallway. The door on the left remained closed, a rectangle of white light against the shadow, but the door on the right was wide open, freely pouring out its wondrous golden light. Lanor felt she had no choice but to walk through it¡ªthe door was much closer than it seemed at first. The amorphous golden glow solidified into the Palace of the Hierophant¡¯s throne room. A huge audience was gathered before her, which was composed of people from all walks of Qardish life¡ªbeggars, courtesans, farmers, merchants, clerics, scribes, students and scholars, soldiers, paladins, veracidins, and even the Synod. All of them knelt on one knee, their heads bowed before her. ¡°I have called you here today to witness justice prevail,¡± she told the crowd. Her mouth moved and her voice spoke, but they were not her words. ¡°This is the man who plunged our land into chaos and killed thousands with his lust for power!¡± Lanor turned to see Ghamal standing next to her¡ªonly he wasn¡¯t standing. She was holding him in the air with one arm, her right hand in a tight vise grip around his neck. He dangled from her grasp, thrashing his legs, clawing at her fingers. His wide eyes watered in fear and pain. Lanor felt incredible strength in that moment. She had never been particularly strong, and as the crown priestess, she never had much use for strenuous physical exercise. She¡¯d never had power like this before. Her muscles were different now, changed into something with even greater potential. She knew that if she had the mind to do it, she could throw Ghamal¡¯s entire body across the room. She could smash bricks. She could bend apart any irons placed around her wrist like when the paladins arrested her. She could certainly outmatch any man who fought her one on one with no weapons¡ªand she felt that she might have even been able to withstand his weapons, too. Ghamal had always been domineering in their conversations, even from her childhood. He only relented when Drakhman was around. Now the tables were turned, and he was squarely at her mercy. All of his sins cascaded through Lanor¡¯s thoughts. He betrayed his own brother, his own baby brother, because he coveted the throne so much. He manipulated his own niece for several moons and purposefully gave her bad advice¡ªadvice that not only cost Qarda in akkahs, time, and other resources, but advice that resulted in hundreds of Eloheed soldier¡¯s deaths, or worse, in the distant land of Grackenwell. It was all to prove a point¡ªthat Lanor was unfit to rule, simply because she followed all of his poisoned advice to the letter. He meant to usurp his own niece. When that didn¡¯t work, when his lies were just beginning to be exposed, he ordered a paladin to behead the Synod¡¯s archelder in Rayyaq Raleed¡¯s Temple of Eloei, the second holiest place in the world. Rather than accept punishment for his acts of betrayal and deceit, he let unholy war descend on the city. It was a war that threatened to engulf all of Qarda and further destabilize relations in the rest of the world. Not anymore. Lanor had set things right. Lanor was strong now¡ªstronger than anyone. And now there was no one to stand in the way of true justice. ¡°Please,¡± Ghamal wheezed. He hadn¡¯t the air for a more long-winded defense of himself, or to manipulate her with some speech. He had only his pleading eyes and his two words. ¡°Mercy.¡± ¡°The traitor asks for mercy,¡± Lanor said, and her voice was soft and lyrical, yet it resounded through the entire throne room. ¡°Some of you might also ask for mercy on his behalf. I ask you this: What is mercy but forsaken justice?¡± She squeezed her right hand. Ghamal¡¯s eyes bulged wider, his mouth contorting in an ugly shape. He made pitiful little choking sounds that disgusted her, so she squeezed harder. Then he made no sound at all. She knew what was about to happen¡ªshe averted her eyes and stared out into the throng of onlookers instead. She felt the flesh give way, felt taut tendons snap and bones break under her grip, and the one became two. Warm revenge ran down her hand and arm. The crowd cheered for her¡ªnot just cheered, but threw themselves down at her feet in worship, crying, dancing, screaming, jumping for joy. The surviving Synod elders bestowed a new crown on her head, one taller and even more magnificent than the Crown of Hierophany. The audience composed itself and applauded her now, all adoring smiles and happy tears. Then they all spoke to her in one voice, repeating the same chant: ¡°All hail Empress Lanor! All hail Empress Lanor! All hail Empress Lanor! All hail Empress Lanor!¡± And they meant it. There was no longer a shred of doubt in their voices that she was the rightful ruler of Qarda¡ªno, of the world. She turned her head and saw a smaller throne standing next to hers, and Drakhman sat on it, smiling at her, his eyes brimming with pride. He was cheering along with the others. ¡°See? I can even bring him back to you. This is what I planned for you, Lanor. This is what you deserve. Lift up your troubles to Me, and I will surely hear you.¡± *** Despite everything that she¡¯d seen, Lanor awoke slowly that morning. Her eyes eased open in the dim, windowless room, and her dream had left an indelible impression in her mind. She drew in one gasping breath upon waking. Her heart raced. It was not the sort of fear that made one scream, but rather a worse one, the kind that paralyzed a person beyond any outward reaction. The paladin was standing right there in the doorway like before. He bowed and greeted her. She acknowledged him but said nothing. Her bad dream was like a lethal secret now, the sort of secret she couldn¡¯t breathe a word of to anyone, or else something horrible would happen. She was scarcely able to admit its existence even to herself. But the more she tried to push it down into the depths of her mind, the more it bobbed back to the surface. It demanded to be witnessed. It demanded to be felt. It demanded at least a portion of her attention for that entire day, so she spent it pacing the courtyard and trying to distract herself. She refused all food that day. She declined to lead the kohfar, and then the zahuahr. Hasjal stopped asking after that. Lanor was in her own world that day, a world she kept dammed up in the confines of her own mind, and she was only vaguely aware of the happenings around her. She felt as though she were watching her own body from above. Another veracidin returned to the house after his truth-finding mission, and when he was asked what happened to his counterpart, he only shook his head gravely. Lanor spent most of her day pacing the corridor with the murals. She spent the most time with The Deceiver Tests Kahlo. She scanned the First Prophet¡¯s eyes again, but this time her gaze lingered longer on the monstrous face that retreated from him. ¡®Lift up your troubles to Me, and I will surely hear you.¡¯ She recalled the voice from her dream. The words¡ªshe remembered a verse from the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen. It was no accident that the words corresponded to a verse about Eloei. Was that You? Lanor asked. My dream¡ªwas that You, or someone else? Her gaze was fixed on the monstrous metallic beast in the mural. She received no answer. Her vision didn¡¯t feel like communion with Eloei. Then again, she knew it could take many forms. Her last vision, back in the Temple when she spoke with the ghost of her father¡ªthat one ended in tears. But it was what she needed. Qarda had blood on its hands. This much was true. Dridon in the distant past. Grackenwell. Myrenthos, most recently. One day, she knew, maybe in several generations, it would set its sights on the eastern land of Xheng Yu Xi as well, a much more formidable opponent than it had ever faced. But was this what the world needed? Was this what Eloei demanded? Perhaps. Did that make it right? Her vision was an offer of sorts. She sensed that much. Though her vision was extreme, and though it frightened her beyond words to the point that she thought she would take her vision to the grave with her, she couldn¡¯t deny that some aspect of it thrilled her, too. The whole of Qarda steadfastly united under her rule for the first time. She would rule with honor, with righteousness, and with mercy¡ªfor those who deserved it. She would have vengeance on the most vile traitor she had ever known. This is what you deserve. *** She found the dark hallway again that third night. This time, the right door was closed, the warm golden glow sealed away behind it. The left door was open instead. White light seeped into the corridor and lit the dark stone like frost in Dhasherah. Lanor stepped closer¡ªthe flame of her candle snuffed out in a cold gust of wind. When she passed through the doorway, the blinding white light was frigid all around her, worse than the coldest nights in Castle Muadazim¡ªcolder, she thought, than any winter had ever been in Qarda. Cold as the summit of Tulaylal. It was a cold that did not chill her but rather burned. She held herself, clutching her nightclothes close to her shivering frame. When the world materialized around her, she saw a landscape buried under a thick layer of snow. Gray skeletons of dead trees stood somber watch, their branches creaking in every icy wind. Sunlight glittered on the untouched white. She stood on a hilltop. Below her, there stood an army on horseback, the breaths of the soldiers and the animals making vapor in the bitter air. She raised her hand to make the four-fingered Eloheed benediction. When her mouth opened, no sound escaped at first; unlike her last dream, she had to summon the will to speak. ¡°Why are you here?¡± she asked them. In unison, they shouted back, ¡°To fight!¡± The blustering wind howled around her, whipping her nightclothes violently. ¡°For whom do you fight?¡± ¡°For Lanor! For our people!¡± She took a closer look at the crowd, finding that a few of them were Qardish, with their gold-plated armor and decorated horses, but the others were dressed in crude animal skins and pelts astride saddleless steeds. ¡°For what do you fight?¡± This question they refused, or were unable, to answer. In this world, Lanor did not have the same strength. She was fragile. Weak. She sensed that she would fail against the first blade or spear that pierced her skin. But in truth, the power scared her as it always had¡ªnot the power itself, but what she was made to do with it. And that was the heart of her fear from the beginning. Now she was in a strange land with a hodgepodge of followers. They prepared for a war, but where, and for what, she didn¡¯t know. ¡°Is this what I deserve?¡± she asked. The crowd again refused to answer. ¡°Be careful,¡± said a voice, and this time it was softer. ¡°Lanor... Lanor!¡± *** ¡°Lanor!¡± Her eyes snapped open. She was being dragged out of bed. ¡°What?¡± she asked, still half-groggy. ¡°What? What¡¯s happening? What¡¯s going on?¡± A paladin carried her in his arms. ¡°Eloei forgive me for this indecency, Your Holiness,¡± he told her, eyes trained straight ahead. Her body shook with the sudden movements of him trotting in his armor. ¡°Forgive us, Hierophant Lanor!¡± said Hasjal. ¡°Time is of the essence! The enemy is here!¡± Behind the paladin who carried her, she saw down the corridor of murals leading to the front atrium. She glimpsed the chaos unfolding through a broken cherrywood shutter dangling from the windowpane. Soldiers and paladins poured into the compound two by two through a collapsed portion of the outer wall. It was only a glimpse¡ªthen she was rushed into the courtyard, the innermost room of the manse. It was early morning. Through the open air window over the courtyard, she could see fingers of dark smoke billowing up into the sky from the city, the glow of burning red playing off the black. Things were worse now. Much worse. They weren¡¯t safe anywhere. ¡°The doors!¡± someone shouted. ¡°Barricade the doors!¡± Dozens of men worked to secure the entrances and exits of their palatial shelter. The sturdy wooden chairs were broken down by hand, and the tables by axe. Some of the heavier pieces of furniture were hauled whole down the corridors and jammed up against the entryways. This would not stop their invaders. It would, however, buy them precious time. Lanor tried to help them as they worked, but everyone refused her as politely as possible. Hasjal eventually came to her and offered her a wicker aruud so she could sit. ¡°Please, Your Holiness, rest,¡± he told her. ¡°Let us take care of the heavy lifting.¡± ¡°All I¡¯ve been doing is resting,¡± she muttered. Then, a moment later, ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Thank you.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I just feel so helpless in here. So useless.¡± She could feel him wincing at the periphery of her vision. He clearly didn¡¯t know how to respond in the moment, since she was being useless and was right to feel helpless. She may have been living in her own tomb. When a squadron of soldiers called for his attention elsewhere in the compound, he readily excused himself. Lanor sat in her wicker aruud for many hours. Morning became midday. Midday threatened sunset. Sunset bled into the night. In time, the land fell eerily silent as the siege ground to a halt. They remained in the courtyard when the stars came out, barely poking through the veil of smoke, and torches were lit in their sconces. ¡°Attrition,¡± said the cleric Zumhir. ¡°They mean to starve us out.¡± There was no feast like the prior day. Everyone but Lanor ate only small loaves of bread and sipped cold, stimulating tea. She thought she might never touch the beverage again after what Ghamal had done to hers in the Synod chamber¡ªif she survived the ordeal. ¡°We have stable stores of grain, beans, honey¡ªplenty to last us,¡± Hasjal replied. ¡°They will be waiting at my doors a long time.¡± ¡°Are there contingencies, brother?¡± Hasjal didn¡¯t answer at first. He sipped cold tea from his frosty glass. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What are they?¡± Hasjal shook his head. ¡°We won¡¯t need them.¡± ¡°And if we do?¡± The host shot a glance at Lanor. ¡°Then we will use them. For now, we will persevere here, and we need only keep up our daily prayers. Eloei will surely protect us.¡± ¡°¡®I have given you feet, that you might walk,¡¯¡± said one of the paladins, standing steadfast at his post. His voice shook with the delivery of the verse as he addressed a Synod cleric far above his station. But he stared straight into the corridor dutifully. ¡°¡®I have given you signs, that you might know the way. But the journey is yours to take.¡¯ These are the words of Eloei.¡± Hasjal nodded. ¡°Right you are, brother. Right you are. Eloei has given us our means. Soon, He will give us signs to show us the way. But only if we keep our faith in Him.¡± After that, the two men said nothing to each other for the rest of the night. No one said much of anything. Day broke over the courtyard what felt like an eternity later. Lanor still had not slept. It was the hint of morning that finally relaxed her shoulders¡ªthe same threat was ten times the fright at night compared to the day¡ªand her body sank into the curves of the aruud. *** ¡°Ghamal and his followers have besmirched My name,¡± said the voice. Lanor found herself in the dark corridor once more. Behind her was Hasjal¡¯s front door, cherrywood, barred with broken pieces of a mahogany table. Before her were the same two doors she¡¯d come to know in recent nights. They were both closed, but both of their knobs turned incessantly on their own, twisting, fidgeting, like they were about to turn themselves loose from their escutcheons. The doors thrashed and banged insistently in their frames. ¡°Be careful, Lanor.¡± The voice sounded the same, yet she could tell from the way it hit the corridor walls that it came from a different place. ¡°Be resolute. Have faith, Lanor, and it will be rewarded.¡± ¡°I know your heart.¡± ¡°I offer you what you deserve, Lanor.¡± ¡°There are many paths to ruination and only one path to salvation.¡± ¡°Take vengeance on the usurper who killed your father. I give you justice. I give you peace.¡± ¡°Be careful. I know your heart.¡± ¡°Ghamal and the others have become unclean. They desecrate My city. They desecrate My home and lay waste to My people. Will you let it go on? What will they think of you then? What would Drakhman think of you?¡± ¡°The time is drawing near, Lanor. Soon I will be powerless to stop them.¡± ¡°The power is Mine alone, Lanor. The glory is Mine alone. Forever and ever. Take this gift and use it to the fullest. You remind me of him¡ªthe man named Hadrizeen. Your glory will outlive even his.¡± ¡°You have to choose.¡± ¡°You know the choice. You know what must be done. You know what you want to do. You know your heart. It has to be this way.¡± ¡°It does not have to be this way, Lanor.¡± ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°Make your choice.¡± ¡°You have to choose.¡± ¡°You know your choice.¡± ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°Choose.¡± ¡°CHOOSE!¡± Lanor put all her chest and stomach into a scream that drowned out both voices at once. She grabbed hold of the doorknob, twisted it, and threw it open. Beyond the threshold was the future¡ªthe future that would seal countless fates. Behind her, there was a visitor. A gold-plated axe bit into the cherrywood door. Her eyes were open, and the dream fell away from her sight, and it was all real. Her choice was made. As a paladin on the other side of the door pried out his axe to swing again, Lanor stood from her wicker aruud. She marched straight down the corridor. Paladins and clerics alike shouted and begged her not to go, scrambling after her¡ªshe ignored them. All right, she thought. I¡¯ve held up my end of the deal. Now You hold up Yours. Chapter Thirty-Five: CADAS VI Of the Master Wuhiao¡¯s magnificent and multifarious travels, these things are known; of the sage¡¯s distant voyages, these anecdotes were written. Master Wuhiao learned of nomads in the rocky wastes of Duai Doqing (Dridon) to the far west, and was told of their ancient forefathers who built obelisks to their trinity of gods. He learned of the females of Mi Rei (Myrenthos) to the northwest who commissioned the construction of a temple dedicated to the moon, and also the esoteric symbols discovered in an ancient cave that shaped their sacred rites. He learned of a library to the east of Yu that was built long before the Unification and the Populist Dynasty¡ªyea, even before the clans of Yu were joined under one king! It was a library long since lost to history, one on an island far at sea, and it was devoured by insects and the passing of years. -Records of Wuhiao, Foreword Tsuriuche, Yu Mainland, Xheng Yu Xi The sky was overcast when Cadas and Hiricho parted ways. There was no omen of rain, just a clean sheet of cloud cover the color of ash. Ever since he was a boy, Cadas liked to imagine on days like these that the sky was an endless abyss the color of the clouds, and that if he jumped too high, or if a bird flew too far from its perch, that anything could be sucked into the empty expanse of gray never to reach the ground again. He thought about this as Hiricho bid him a long farewell. ¡°Don¡¯t lose this money, all right?¡± Hiricho said to him. He put the small bag of coins in Cadas¡¯s hand, closing his fingers around the cinched neck. ¡°You won¡¯t be able to buy anything without it. No food. No clothes. No boats. You walk straight east¡ªthat¡¯s where the sun rises every morning, opposite of the west where the sun goes down. It¡¯s mostly grasslands and some small towns all the way to the eastern port city of Hyonjik. You keep to the road and the villages and you never wander off into the wilderness. Never. The nokudai will get you otherwise. Hyonjik is where you¡¯re going, all right?¡± Cadas understood, but didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Repeat it back to me.¡± ¡°All of it?¡± ¡°The name, Cadas! The name of the town!¡± ¡°Hyonjik.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll find someone there with a boat and buy passage to the Moth-Eaten Library. Are you sure you still want to do this? It could be very dangerous. There¡¯s no telling what you¡¯ll find there... or along your journey. Are you sure this is the only way, Cadas?¡± Cadas shrugged. ¡°I think so. Do you know a better way?¡± Hiricho chuckled. ¡°Then I wish you the best. I¡¯m here following my dream. I don¡¯t see why you shouldn¡¯t follow yours, too.¡± ¡°Goodbye,¡± Cadas said with his best polite bow. He took the satchel full of money and Hiricho¡¯s written instructions and he went to go east, but he realized that the sun was nowhere to be found in the sky. ¡°Is that all you¡¯re going to say?¡± Hiricho asked, furrowing his brow. ¡°After all this?¡± ¡°No.¡± Cadas scanned the sky to no avail. ¡°Which way is east?¡± Hiricho shook his head. ¡°That way. There¡¯s a road on the outskirts of Tsuriuche. You¡¯ll see the signs. Just head straight east that way. Good luck out there and keep your head down, friend.¡± ¡°All right.¡± Cadas nodded once, concentrating hard on just what to say at a moment like this. He turned to leave and, realizing the polite words to use, he turned back around. He looked Hiricho in the eye, even though it was difficult. ¡°Thank you.¡± Hiricho smiled, and Cadas took that as a sign he¡¯d said the right thing. The morning air was cool and pleasant. The grass was dewy. Cadas kept his head down as best he could, but at times it hurt his neck and made it hard to see the path ahead. Eventually, he had to abandon this instruction altogether¡ªhe hoped it wasn¡¯t integral to his journey. He couldn¡¯t see why it would be, though. If anything, it was safer to walk with his head up like normal. There were already ten or maybe twenty unfamiliar plants just past the outskirts of Tsuriuche that he would have loved to document in his new Compendium, but he needed to purchase writing materials first. Parchment. Ink. A well. Quills. Eventually, leather for binding his pages. Hiricho had reminded him many times that morning that everything he needed for his new book could be purchased in Hyonjik. Cadas tried to adhere to his instructions as strictly as feasible. ¡°When you reach a tunnel in the road carved into the trunk of a massive tree, you have almost reached Yokotaichi,¡± said Hiricho¡¯s instructions. That landmark came around midday. The road there was tranquil and unpeopled, but the town that followed it was loud and busy for such a tiny place, and it made Cadas want to leave as soon as possible. ¡°Buy your rations here,¡± the instructions went on. ¡°Food that will last. Cured meats. Hard cheese. Buy a mild aleskin and sip it for nourishment; when it¡¯s empty, fill it with clear water like I showed you to do. Buy a tent and good walking boots. Assuming good weather the whole way, and a good pace, it will take you at least twenty days to reach the east coast.¡± Twenty days. The road ahead was long, Cadas lamented, but he trusted that the destination would make every step worth his while. *** After buying his essentials and leaving Yokotaichi, Cadas fell into a comfortable routine within a few days. He set up his tent, slept, woke up, ate some of his dried foods and drank some ale, and then he packed up and got back on the road. Having a routine was important to him. He¡¯d left his last routines behind in Sang Lamdak, where his family must have been adjusting to life without him by now, and he would have this daily routine for another moon or so before making his journey across the sea. What would his future routine entail? That was the one he wanted to maintain for the rest of his life. He would live and work every day in the Moth-Eaten Library, devouring endless books and studying all the varied insects that took up residence in the ruins. Best of all, it sounded like there would be no people there. He¡¯d be all alone with his thoughts. He¡¯d have nothing to do but the work that was important to him. It was all he ever wanted. Cadas made good time on his journey. According to his instructions, Hiricho predicted he wouldn¡¯t reach Tangbaek until the sixth day, but he was already there by day four. ¡°There is a butterfly garden there that you might find interesting,¡± Hiricho¡¯s instructions advised. ¡°The butterflies may not be there right now, though, since they¡¯re seasonal.¡± Tangbaek was a small village, nothing but a huddle of traditional Yu buildings, stone structures with simple timber columns and elegantly sloping clay tile roofs. Chimneys spat smoke from the burning hearths within. Cadas bypassed the village, detouring to the meadow with the wooden sign reading ¡°Abode of the Graceful Butterfly¡± in Xhengyon. There was only one butterfly in the whole garden. It was a black butterfly with iridescent green markings on both its dark wings, ovular shapes that almost looked like hanging leaves. Cadas gasped when he saw it. The butterfly flitted from flower to flower, but there were only a few in the meadow, and they were sad and shriveled. ¡°What kind are you?¡± Cadas asked. He didn¡¯t enjoy talking to people, but insects were different¡ªhe loved talking to insects. They never shouted at him or made him feel small, since he was always so much larger than them. The butterfly didn¡¯t answer. Finding nothing to occupy its attention, the creature fluttered away, past the meadow and over the small village of Tangbaek and into the sky. Cadas lost sight of it past the canopy of trees flanking the road. He wanted to run after it and see where it was going. You keep to the road and the villages and you never wander off into the wilderness, Hiricho had told him. Never. The nokudai will get you otherwise. Cadas wasn¡¯t sure if he believed in nokudai. Still, the butterfly was too far gone now for him to find it even if he did run off into the woods. He decided that the butterfly must have had a good reason to fly away the way it did. Maybe it was off on its own important journey. Or maybe it was near the end of its life cycle and about to die¡ªhe didn¡¯t know this breed or anything about it. ¡°I wish you the best,¡± he said in Xhengyon. ¡°I¡¯m here following my dream. I don¡¯t see why you shouldn¡¯t follow yours, too. Good luck out there and keep your head down, friend.¡± He wished he had writing materials on his person to write down these words of Hiricho¡¯s. This is what you say when bidding farewell to a friend, he thought. Remember these words. But it occurred to him then that he didn¡¯t have any friends anymore. He was all alone on the road. And although he made good time, there was far more road ahead of him than behind. *** On the seventh day of his journey, the sickness came. He was walking back one morning from filling his canteen in a brook when his breakfast came erupting out of his mouth. Caustic bile, chunks of half-digested cheese and meat splattering on the rocks. It wasn¡¯t so much his body rejecting the meal as it was forcibly banishing it like his life depended on it. His belly squeezed so hard that all he could do was go along for the ride¡ªhe had to wait for the breaks between spasms to take another breath. When the first bout passed, he staggered back to his tent, spilling some of the water from his aleskin on the way there. He collapsed inside with the flap door still open. Even though it was daylight, he was shivering cold. What¡¯s wrong with me? Cadas wondered. He hadn¡¯t felt sick like this since he was very small. He got as comfortable as he could in his bedding and decided to go back to sleep¡ªuntil he had the urge to vomit again. He barely got his head out of the tent before it happened this time. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Cadas stayed there all day at that same campsite, sinking deeper into his fever, shaking, aching down to the bone. Food would not stay down, though his hunger waned to nothing as the day wore on. Water fared not much better. The more time passed, the worse he felt. Day turned into night, and even by the time the sun rose, he felt the same. Eventually, he had nothing left in his stomach to throw up. He still had to crawl to the door of his tent and retch outside, but nothing came out except thick spittle, and then nothing but a pained groan. When he wasn¡¯t tending to this stubborn impulse, he was lying in his tent. He drifted in and out of paper-thin sleep. Cadas wondered if he was going to die. The process would have been intriguing if it weren¡¯t so excruciating¡ªif he was able to observe his body somehow after death, it would have been so fascinating to watch the decomposition from skin down to bone over many moons. But he realized that wasn¡¯t feasible for practical reasons. The third day of his illness, he found himself missing his family. His mother most of all. He yearned for her soothing touch and her soft voice, the kind she used after screaming at him for the whole day or hitting him especially hard, and no matter how he behaved when he fell ill, she always, always took special care of him. He called out for her in the night but she never came. It was better this way. She would not understand where he was going or why he needed to run away from home. And if he died, he reasoned, perhaps she would have been angry with him. He didn¡¯t want that. It was better that she did not know. It was better that he simply disappeared from his family¡¯s lives and never came back. On the fourth day since he fell ill, the aches softened for the first time. His fever broke into a thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He kept down small sips of water. That night, he drank the rest of the tepid water in his aleskin. Not long after that, he was able to urinate for the first time in a long while. His body was finally starting to return to normal. The following day, he filled up his aleskin with more water from the brook and gnawed on some of his bland, dry rice biscuits. His strength eased back into his bones bite by bite. When it all stayed down, he took out his block of cheese to try eating it again, but he caught a whiff of its sweaty, footy odor and tossed it aside into the woods. More rice biscuits would do just fine. The day after that, he felt well enough to resume his journey to the eastern coast of Yu. Cadas packed up his tent into the bag he carried on his shoulders. As he set out once more, he decided that the road itself was a destination of sorts. If he died before reaching the Moth-Eaten Library, he reasoned, at least he would die in transit to the one place in the world that would make him the happiest, in pursuit of the one thing in the world he loved the most. At least it would have meaning. It was more than he could say for the life he left in Sang Lamdak. *** ¡°Signs will point your way to Hyonjik when you¡¯re close enough,¡± Hiricho instructed him. ¡°They will tell you the direction to the port city and the distance. When you see these signs, jump up into the air and clap your boots together! You are almost there!¡± Cadas saw the first sign the evening of the twenty-sixth day since the start of his journey. He stopped there on the road, unslinging his pack and tent. He jumped once, hoping it was high enough according to the instructions, and then he sat on the road, removed his boots, and clapped them together once. He hoped he only needed to do it once. Too excited to set up camp, he kept walking through the night and into the next morning, the sun rising directly before his eyes into a partially clouded sky, and then he finally arrived. It was his last stop before he reached his destination. Cadas ran with renewed strength into the markets, past customers who dropped coins and pieces of multicolored paper and hurled unfamiliar Xhengyon words at him. Be bought a bowl of shrimp and noodles, remembering how he and Hiricho had eaten it when they¡¯d first arrived on the Yu mainland. This bowl had none of the Myrenthian spice that Cadas remembered, and he set the unfinished portion neatly on the ground and kept walking. Next, he purchased two hefty stacks of blank pages, two wells of ink, quills, charcoal, and a scroll of blank parchment just in case. He peered into the satchel and saw that there was not much money left in it. He didn¡¯t care. The boat captain that brought him to the Moth-Eaten Library could have the rest if he wanted¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t need it anymore. ¡°Can you take me to the Moth-Eaten Library, please?¡± he asked people on the docks. He expected one of them to be helpful as Hiricho was. None of them were, though. Most furrowed their brows at him and said nothing. A few laughed for some reason. Some slapped his outstretched hand away and said, ¡°Get out of here, spicer!¡± and ¡°Go back home!¡± He started to get angry that none of them would listen. ¡°I need someone to take me to the Moth-Eaten Library, please,¡± he said again. ¡°Please. Thank you!¡± There was a group of men wearing ridged armor over maroon clothing and silver-trimmed black boots. They marched up the wooden ramp into a large ship flying a flag with a Xhengyon character on it, the character for Yu itself. ¡°Please take me to the Moth-Eaten Library, please. I have to get¡ª!¡± Thud. One of the men shoved him down onto the water-softened wooden dock. He glared down at him briefly, then returned to the procession of men ascending the ramp. A moment later, they were gone¡ªthe ramp retracted into the darkness of the ship and the door closed. His eyes watered. He wasn¡¯t sure why, but no one in Hyonjik seemed to want to help him. He dug out the wrinkled, crumpled instructions Hiricho had sent with him, scanning the final words on the page for any important steps he¡¯d missed. Maybe there was something more he was supposed to do to secure passage across the sea. But there was nothing. ¡°I did everything right,¡± he whimpered in Myrenthian. Sometimes the old tongue came back when he was very sad, or scared, or angry. He cried for a moment on the dock and held back the bigger outburst that was welling up inside him. He couldn¡¯t further jeopardize whatever chance he had left¡ªnot after he¡¯d come so far. He got back on his feet and tried a few more ships. These were not nearly as aggressive in denying his request, but they all denied it all the same. Eventually, he came to the end of the docks, and there was a small sailboat at the end. A large man with hairy arms and a hairy chest stood in front of it, shouting through his cupped hands. ¡°Passage for a price! Anyone need to go south? Passage for a price...¡± ¡°Can you take me to the Moth-Eaten Library please?¡± Cadas asked him. ¡°Please?¡± His stomach jumped when the man actually looked at him. But he just snorted at him and shoved him hard on the chest¡ªthis time, Cadas kept his balance. ¡°You like jokes, spicer?¡± Cadas didn¡¯t react. ¡°I¡¯m trying to get to the Moth-Eaten Library.¡± ¡°Passage for a price!¡± the man hollered again. ¡°Salted fish going south to Xi. Anybody else need to go south?¡± ¡°The Moth-Eaten Library is east of here. I¡¯ll pay you money if you take me.¡± He brandished his satchel. ¡°I have twelve bai in here¡ªyou can have them all. My friend said it only takes four days to get there by ship.¡± ¡°Four days, eh?¡± The man snorted again and then spat on the dock. ¡°Double it, and I¡¯ll sail four days into the open ocean and back. Whatever you say.¡± Cadas opened his satchel to confirm how much he had. ¡°You can have all of these. There are twelve bai in here.¡± ¡°I heard you the first time, spicer!¡± the captain snarled at him. He slapped his hand away. ¡°Not a chance.¡± ¡°But... But it¡¯s all I have.¡± A silence elapsed. Cadas felt like he was about to cry again, but the man spoke up before he could. ¡°Throw in those fancy boots and I might consider it.¡± The Myrenthian boy removed his boots and handed them to the man, standing barefoot on the slimy, sea-salted dock. ¡°And that tent you¡¯ve got strapped to your back. Hand it over.¡± He obliged¡ªthe library would be his shelter anyway. ¡°I¡¯ve been in the market for a new cloak as well, come to think of it.¡± Cadas untied the collar and surrendered it, even though it made him feel powerful and important to wear it. ¡°And what¡¯s in that bag you¡¯ve got there? Anything valuable?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t have that,¡± Cadas said finally. ¡°It has my only food. I don¡¯t know where to find food at the Moth-Eaten Library.¡± In truth, it also contained his writing supplies, but he had forgotten about them in the moment. He was about to add that information when the man gave him a funny look and gathered up his other belongings in his hairy arms. ¡°Oh, fine then. This should be good enough. This fabled island where you¡¯re going, you say it¡¯s east?¡± ¡°Straight east,¡± Cadas replied. ¡°That¡¯s what my friend said. Aligned with the sun. He said it would take four days of travel by ship to get there.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll sail east for four days. We make it, great. We don¡¯t, you¡¯re coming south with me to Xi and that¡¯s the last of it, unless you can come up with another payment.¡± ¡°All right.¡± Cadas felt his heart racing. He jumped for joy on the dock, more of thrashing motions than anything. Excitement shook through his whole body against his will. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Let¡¯s go!¡± He started walking up the plank ramp into the vessel when the man grabbed him by the wrist. ¡°Spastic little bastard, aren¡¯t you? Take all this with you!¡± He handed him his own bartered belongings. ¡°Throw these in the captain¡¯s quarters. You can sleep in the cargo hold. Leaving at daybreak tomorrow.¡± Cadas did as he was told, and for the first time since Myrenthos, he prayed to his native gods, all twenty-nine of them, that this time his obedience would be rewarded. ¡°I did everything right,¡± he whispered, rocking in place. ¡°I did everything right.¡± *** The sea was smooth and favorable the first day. Even the wind seemed to cheer them forward, filling the sails and giving them a firm push toward the rising sun. Cadas ate cured pork and drank the rest of his canteen on their first night at sea. The second day came and went. The man, whose name Cadas never learned¡ªand he realized he had never told the man his name, either¡ªpreferred to be alone. It was just the same to Cadas, who preferred the same. They only crossed paths when Cadas went above deck for some fresh air and he happened to be above deck at the same time. There was a small crew of three individuals with them, but they never spoke, never even looked Cadas in the eye, and he was grateful for that. Toward the end of the third day, the man was sitting in a chair cobbled together from driftwood, the kind of chair that seemed handmade rather than purchased from a skilled artisan. He lounged in the sun and ate from a parchment package of smoked fish. ¡°So, the Moth-Eaten Library,¡± he mumbled to Cadas through a mouthful of food. The man chuckled. ¡°Ah, yes, that library. After that, we can sail to the Great Unknown. Meet the Faceless Ones. Maybe they¡¯ll make you king!¡± He laughed and laughed and then choked on a fishbone, coughing it up and spitting it out at the Myrenthian¡¯s feet. ¡°Go get me my spirits from the cargo hold, spicer. Then leave me be.¡± Cadas did as he was told. He went back to the cargo hold, fetched the flask for the man, and delivered it. By then, the sunset was in full effect, the peaceful sky was ablaze with the reddish hues of dusk, and Cadas was tired. He returned to the cargo hold to sleep. His dreams that night were strange, interspersed with nightmares, and in it, somebody screamed and the sky opened and the gods scolded him like his mother used to do. He awoke in a cold sweat and a terrible fright. He knew right away that something was dreadfully wrong. All of his belongings were piled up against the wall on the other side of the room. He felt himself slipping, sliding down the smooth floorboards to meet the cargo. The room was not level¡ªit was tilted, and tilting more. Cadas scrambled up to the deck. It was still night. He slipped on seawater pouring over the railing and hit his chin on the top step, biting down on his tongue. He cried the moment he tasted blood. The waters were nothing like when Cadas went to sleep. Now the sky was full of storm clouds, rain falling in sheets and lightning flashing all around them. It reminded him of his dream. The captain, still in his nightclothes, was pulling hard and fast on some rope near the sails. His crew worked with him to right the ship. The captain shouted something that Cadas could not hear over rumbling thunder and tall waves crashing against the boat, which listed this way and that in the chaos. ¡°Listen!¡± the captain screamed at him, and in the next instant, a white bolt of lightning cracked him like a godly whip. It splintered the mast, sending the captain tumbling like a sack of grain down the sloping deck and overboard into the sea. His crew members were nowhere to be found. Cadas was alone. ¡°Help!¡± Cadas screamed into the angry storm, the churning ocean. ¡°Someone help me! Mother!¡± There was another violent crack and Cadas flinched, fearing more lightning, but the boat lurched in another direction. He cried and shrieked at the sight of the waves rising to meet him, surging to carry him far, far away. The last thing he saw was the cold black water. No fish. No aquatic plants. No sand. Just water. Then he saw nothing. Chapter Thirty-Six: LUCANH VI The weak appeal to commonalities that the strong may spare them, yet nature rebukes this foolishness. Bear tears out the throat of bear; vermin devours vermin. When you are dead and I yet live, no commonalities remain between us. Your fate was written when I named you Enemy. -The Triptych; Book of Hells, Panel 6 Tern, Dridon The following day, it rained and rained without rest. Lucanh had already packed his bag and stolen away from Castle Tern just after supper. He was careful to mind the rounds of the guards, their comings and goings through the stairwells and corridors of the castle. He knew their routines by heart¡ªnow it had finally come in handy. He slipped out of the castle and no one inside was any the wiser, nor would they be until morning, when he was already long gone. But he forgot to pack his good cloak, the one that would better wick away the rain. He was soaked before he even reached the city gate. Cobblestones gave way to packed dirt, the road pockmarked with puddles, and the night breeze chilled him through his leathers. His only consolation was the smell of verdant petrichor hanging in the air. His favorite. Zumawi and the others were waiting at the northern gate as planned. They wore cloaks of black like his, no doubt given them by their wealthy benefactor. They carried elite weapons like unblemished swords and intricate crossbows, but they carried them awkwardly¡ªLucanh surmised they¡¯d never been trained to use them. Perhaps he could show them a thing or two on the long road north. But first he would have to take his place in their traveling party. Their rich arms dealer wore a fine black cloak to match theirs, plodding around in the mud with his black boots and waving his black-gloved hands with the air of a commander of sorts. ¡°You have a ship waiting for you in Tuthbrough,¡± he said to them, ¡°set to depart for Kellendock in a half moon¡¯s time. A trading vessel, it will be fully loaded with cargo and planted passengers who¡¯ve been paid to make the journey and mind their own affairs. They will be paid even more handsomely when they return to Tuthbrough without incident half a moon later. ¡°I have instructed the captain to depart for Dridon in exactly one moon¡¯s time, with or without you, so as not to draw suspicion. If you would like to make use of the ship, you know where to find it and how much time you have. Otherwise, you¡¯ll have to risk buying passage yourselves, or cutting through the Zan desert, which must still be swarming with those swamp people.¡± They took out a length of parchment and drew up a rough itinerary of their journey and planned measures and countermeasures. They resolved to travel by cover of dark and, shortly before each daybreak, to cut off from the main roads and erect unsuspecting camps where they would sleep during the morning. They would set out back toward the road in the latter part of the day to continue their journey at night. They discussed what to do in the event their paths crossed with Dridic knights or even a wolf pack or a hungry bear. The moon had shown its face, peering through dissolving cloud cover, when they were all in agreement and travel-ready. ¡°We owe you a debt of thanks for all your help,¡± Zumawi said politely. Lucanh inferred that her gratitude was begrudging, but given out of a sense of obligation, of reciprocity. ¡°You needn¡¯t mention it,¡± said the nobleman. ¡°This I do for Dridon and myself as much as I do for you.¡± ¡°Well, it was more than the queen was willing to do for us. And it will not be forgotten.¡± The rich man nodded, turning to leave and casting one last reply over his shoulder. ¡°For all our sakes¡¯, I hope you one day remember my kindness here.¡± He gestured gravely to the north. ¡°Not there.¡± And with that, he trod back toward the open northern gate. Lucanh hid himself behind the stone wall, melding into the shadow undetected until the man was gone. Then the crafty prince stalked the others as they set out on the remnants of the ancient, weed-choked road. He was proud of himself for his cleverness. He was going to become the hero Dridon needed. *** They spotted him late the next morning. He had hoped to put a much wider berth between Castle Tern and his inevitable discovery, perhaps the halfway point to Tuthbrough or all the way to the port if conditions were favorable. But the morning was quiet, dewy, tranquil. His unwitting companions raised their guards anew with the coming of daylight, wary of traveling knights or hunters stalking game in the woods. He crunched a pair of dry branches underfoot and they turned suddenly to see him. Two even raised their crossbows. One shot. The bolt bit into a tree trunk a head above Lucanh¡¯s black hood. He was proud of himself for not flinching. ¡°Keep your weapons down!¡± Zumawi hissed. ¡°That is the prince you almost killed!¡± ¡°What is the prince doing here?¡± one of them gasped. ¡°My lord,¡± said another, a gaunt young man who looked not much older than Lucanh, ¡°forgive us. This is a misunderstanding¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯m here to help,¡± Lucanh interrupted. He flashed the hilt of his sheathed sword under his cloak. ¡°Fear not¡ªI¡¯m well versed in swordsmanship. I trained under a knight of the middling rank. I¡¯m here to accompany you north to Grackenwell.¡± Zumawi sighed deeply, hanging her head. It seemed she¡¯d already come to a decision long before Lucanh understood what it was. ¡°We will draw sticks,¡± she said with a sour face. ¡°The shortest will escort the prince back to Castle Tern and face the queen¡¯s judgment.¡± Lucanh scoffed, utterly taken aback at her reaction. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°My lord,¡± said a rugged old woman with close-cropped white hair, ¡°forgive me if I speak out of turn, but this is no place for you. It¡¯s far too dangerous.¡± ¡°I am trained with a sword!¡± he repeated angrily. ¡°That is more than can be said for any of you. My armor is sturdy but minimal, so as to keep light on my feet. And I can make arrangements with Grackenwell once their king is dead. I have political power¡ªhow many of you can say that?¡± A pair of them in the back laughed. The others just shook their heads, averted their gazes. ¡°Darrlagh and I will escort him back,¡± said a dark-skinned man of middle age, broad in his shoulders but lanky below that. ¡°We¡¯ll hand him off to the first knight we see. Then we¡¯ll call on our benefactor to supply us with horses and ride to meet you in Piedmorne. You should reach Piedmorne by tomorrow, right? An easy enough journey on horseback.¡± ¡°You cannot lead me back against my will,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°I won¡¯t allow it. You may walk back toward the city, but I won¡¯t follow.¡± But they went on talking as though he weren¡¯t even there. He felt like steam might start rising from his skin like the morning fog on the terraced farms they passed. ¡°If you take me back to the city, do you think only one or two of you will face judgment? What will the queen think of this mission of yours?¡± That threat drew him the ire of everyone present, who stared daggers at him one after another. They no longer cared to mind their station in the Dridic hierarchy. ¡°You bluff,¡± said the white-haired woman. He had them now. ¡°If you take me back to the city, I¡¯ll tell my mother exactly where I was and who I saw. Everyone. She already has her suspicions about you, Zumawi.¡± He felt cold to say such a thing. Backed into a corner as he was, he saw no kind way out of it. The former High Supplicant eyed him coolly. ¡°And what would you gain from such underhanded, immature behavior?¡± Immature? Lucanh thought. How dare she? ¡°Nothing. I have nothing to gain.¡± His rhetorical feet were placed¡ªhe needed only deliver the killing blow. ¡°We all stand to lose if I go back. Don¡¯t we? Let¡¯s press on to Tuthbrough, then.¡± ¡°There is no small chance we may die in Grackenwell, young prince. You are not prepared for these stakes.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he insisted, ¡°I am.¡± He straightened his back to stand taller. He wasn¡¯t afraid to die a hero¡¯s death. But it didn¡¯t matter to him anyway¡ªhe fully intended to survive and return home to glory. ¡°You¡¯ll bring me to Grackenwell with you. And I will flay that slaver king for you. For my people!¡± It looked like Zumawi was about to cut him off again, so he added, ¡°I will do what my mother is too afraid to do!¡± Zumawi gave him a sad smile that he remembered Sir Godwald sometimes giving him whenever he talked of his future knightly exploits. ¡°This is not the way, Prince Lucanh. And the point is moot anyway. Your mother, or the knights, or your servants will notice you¡¯ve run away. They¡¯ll send someone after you within the day anyway. Let the road home be easy, prince.¡± ¡°If they send a search party,¡± said the one called Darrlagh, ¡°then they¡¯ll find us as well. We¡¯ll all be caught!¡± ¡°How will they find us?¡± Lucanh asked. He felt walls closing in around him, walls he hadn¡¯t foreseen or accounted for, and he felt desperate, prone to an angry outburst unbecoming of a hero. ¡°If we travel far enough in the next day or two, they¡¯ll never know where to find us! Don¡¯t you see that?¡± Zumawi shook her head. ¡°Prince Lucanh, this is the only extant road within a day¡¯s foot travel of the city. They¡¯ll scour this road before they search anywhere else.¡± ¡°We can hide in camps far from the road like you planned. They won¡¯t find us! I promise!¡± Zumawi smirked at him. It made him boil. ¡°You really believe that your mother wouldn¡¯t turn over every rock on the Stone Continent to find you? She may be a failure in many regards, but love for her only child is not one of them. Now, come with us, Prince Lucanh. You cannot hope to make Tuthbrough alone if there are none to follow.¡± ¡°Zumawi,¡± said a tall, rough-looking man with pale skin and one missing eye. ¡°Does this mean our mission is over before it even began?¡± She bowed her head, her curly mane cascading down in coiling rivulets of russet and onyx. ¡°Unless the prince has a change of heart when we deliver him home, and unless our benefactor can provide us with horses... I believe so, my friend. I believe so. Let us pray the queen will have mercy when she sees we¡¯ve brought her son home unharmed.¡± Everyone in the group except for Zumawi glared at the boy in their own unique ways, some deferentially, as scolded children, and others like they wanted to lift him by the throat and throttle him. Time passed and brought a discomfiting sobriety to the situation. He was out of his element. He actually found himself missing the dining hall, the comfort of his bedchamber, the familiarity of the library where he read the Triptych and discussed his readings with Sir Godwald. The open road was no place for the boy prince of Dridon. He started to cry silently, and he was furious with himself for it. This was not what a hero did. He wished for the Grackenwelsh king to appear before him so he could gut him with his sword and prove that he was a brave man, a grown man. But he felt more like a boy than he had in a long, long while, and now everyone saw him for the boy he really was. Zumawi put her arm on his back to comfort him. He bucked it off. They walked south together at the head of the pack in silence. *** Shortly after midday, Zumawi announced that it was time to take a rest and build a cooking fire. They set up camp and Lucanh realized that he hadn¡¯t slept in almost two days, none of them had, but he had yet to feel tired. The others made a soup of dry ingredients, boiling water they¡¯d brought with them in canteens. ¡°Shan¡¯t be needing to ration it now,¡± one of them grumbled so Lucanh could hear as they poured it into the cast iron pot. ¡°You win again, Rhoda,¡± Zumawi said bitterly, breaking off a corner of a dried cheese block. ¡°You win again.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°I understand why you¡¯re angry with my mother,¡± said Lucanh, accepting a heel of bread torn away from a communal loaf. ¡°But why do you hate her so much? She hasn¡¯t done everything wrong, has she?¡± Lucanh was his mother¡¯s most passionate critic, but for some reason, hearing someone else speak ill of her made him cross. Zumawi chewed without replying or looking up. ¡°She gave you a seat in the Council of Three. She elevated you to that throne. You all asked, and she answered.¡± Zumawi took a deep breath through her nose. Her features softened before she would meet Lucanh¡¯s gaze. ¡°To you, she¡¯s your mother. She loves you and you love her, and that is all well and good. But to me, she¡¯s a duplicitous ruler. She makes lofty promises to quell rebellions. Pacify those who would hold her to account. She¡¯s a coward. Sometimes I think she¡¯d sooner make herself a martyr, or even a slave, than pick up a sword.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t true.¡± Lucanh scoffed, furrowing his brow. ¡°I know my mother is a cautious¡ª¡± ¡°The emissary from Zan Vayonado begged for her help. He begged her. He pledged all his wealth, and for those people, a single coin is not so easy to part with, but she still denied him. Do you know what they did to that man?¡± She looked at him sternly but not unkindly¡ªthe hairs on his neck still bristled. ¡°Yes,¡± he answered meekly. ¡°Do you really?¡± ¡°They killed him.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No, sweet prince. They pried teeth out of his skull. They ripped the nails off his toes and fingers.¡± The boy winced at her words alone. ¡°And then they did other things that no one but them will ever know now that he¡¯s dead. And did your mother raise a battle cry to denounce that kind of unspeakable evil? No. She justified her own inaction again. And again. She¡¯s never risen to the challenge of the crown.¡± Lucanh scoffed again. ¡°And you think you could do so much better than she could?¡± She didn¡¯t reply for a while afterward. She stared off into the woods, chewing another fragment of cheese, and he feared he¡¯d said too much. ¡°Better? That I cannot say. It would be foolish to be sure of that. What I¡¯m certain is that our reigns would be as different as night and day. And when the little ones came to beg from me after a long night of sleeping on the cold cobblestones, contending with strays and the elements, I know I wouldn¡¯t tell them to be grateful, or patient, or quiet. Not once. ¡°And when the prospect of war loomed on the horizon, I¡¯d send my trained, hardy men to battle when the need arose. I would not prolong the inevitable. Force my poorest subjects to take up arms themselves... to protect my cowardice.¡± Lucanh had nothing to say to that. He just sat next to the fire, accepting morsels of food that Zumawi and others offered to him, and he wished he¡¯d either kept quieter on the road to Tuthbrough or not set out with them at all. One way or another, he had ruined everything. How joyously he¡¯d imagined them cheering his arrival, hailing him as the hero he¡¯d always dreamed of being. *** Night had fallen by the time they finally rejoined the road. Darrlagh calculated that they would reach the northern gate of Tern by midnight if they kept this pace. ¡°Perhaps I can convince my mother to send a team of real assassins,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°I mean no offense...¡± ¡°None taken, you bowl-headed little imp,¡± said the white-haired woman. ¡°No offense.¡± ¡°Perhaps she¡¯ll be so grateful upon my return that she¡¯ll come to her senses.¡± ¡°That, or she¡¯ll throw us in the dungeon beneath Castle Tern,¡± said Zumawi. ¡°And you might hear us wailing to be let free on a quiet winter¡¯s day if you listen very close.¡± She laughed cynically. ¡°I won¡¯t let that happen,¡± he protested. ¡°I¡¯d never do that to any of you.¡± ¡°Perhaps you can free us when you become king, then.¡± She snickered again to herself. ¡°They say the surest omen of death to encounter in the wild is a bear cub. Do you know why?¡± Lucanh furrowed his brow. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any¡ª¡± ¡°Ssh,¡± she cut him off. ¡°Do you hear that?¡± There came the distant sound of horse hooves clopping on the old dirt road. At first it sounded like only one horse, but more followed not long after that. ¡°Triad save us,¡± Darrlagh sighed. ¡°Here comes your rescue party, Prince Lucanh! Oh, Heights...¡± Lucanh peered ahead in the faint starlight, trying to tease out the shapes of men and horses from the formless black ahead of them, finding none. He couldn¡¯t believe a whole search party had already been sent from the south to fetch him. And now they¡¯d have a band of would-be assassins to bring home as well. All thanks to him. How humiliating. ¡°I don¡¯t see anybody,¡± Lucanh said finally. ¡°They¡¯re not coming from the south,¡± said Zumawi. She turned around, gasping. Four hooded riders galloped up behind them, rearing their horses to a sudden stop. ¡°Out of the way, peasants!¡± one of them barked. He motioned for his fellows to dismount their horses and stand in formation before the band of travelers. ¡°Watch who you¡¯re talking to!¡± Lucanh snapped back, standing between them and his companions. ¡°I am Crown Prince of Dridon! She had a seat on the Council of Three, and these are her¡ª¡± ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Zumawi hissed at him through gritted teeth. She grabbed him hard by the wrist. Still, he kept going. He was going to be brave in front of all of them. ¡°You may ask nicely to go around us,¡± he went on, ¡°or my mother will hear every detail of our encounter when I¡¯m back in Castle Tern.¡± What happened next was hard to make out in the dark as a cluster of clouds roamed across the moon. He heard the sound of sharp metal. Somebody screamed. Lucanh drew his sword and squinted in the dark. The hooded horsemen attacked. He watched a dark blade cut through one of the travelers, watched silhouettes raise shaking swords and crossbows to answer their killers and be cut down quicker than they could scream. The sound of blades ripping through flesh sickened him as nothing ever had. He never imagined it would sound quite like that. He tried to raise his voice, tried to be strong, but it was all he could do to keep his weapon up and stand rooted to the ground. It was not as he planned. Not even close. ¡°Where were you lot headed so late at night?¡± one of the hooded men laughed, hoisting one of the unharmed paupers in his arms. It was Zumawi. She spat in his face, faint starlight reflecting off her bared teeth, and she tried to bite his nose. ¡°Oh, a fighter, are you? I like that. They¡¯re no fun when they just lie there and take it!¡± ¡°More slaves the swamp boy has sent to do his dirty work,¡± she snarled at them. ¡°The queen will hear a full account of what you¡¯ve done here tonight. Not even she will be merciful this time. She¡¯ll hang you outside the castle, and she won¡¯t entertain your damn treaty for another moment!¡± ¡°Oh, we haven¡¯t come to talk to her,¡± said another Grackenwelsh rider. ¡°We¡¯ve come to kill her. Which means we can¡¯t let any of you three free to squeal on us, now can we?¡± ¡°The prince will fetch a hefty ransom,¡± another one chimed in. ¡°I say we squeeze some coin out of that stuck-up queen before we kill her. Then kill him, too.¡± ¡°Maybe get her to agree to a secluded meeting somewhere. No guards, no knights... Yes. I like your line of thinking!¡± ¡°Tough brute we¡¯ve got here!¡± they said of the dark-skinned man, and it took two of them to wrestle him into submission. ¡°That¡¯s my brother!¡± Zumawi cried out. ¡°Unhand him! Now!¡± ¡°Oh, we won¡¯t hurt a hair on his head, lass. He¡¯ll make a good, strong slave back home. And you¡¯ll make a good toy for the night while he watches. I claim first turn!¡± He giggled like a child underneath the sounds of her crying out for help, screeching, sobbing. ¡°I¡¯m ready to go! Shall we start? I was thinking I¡ª¡± The rest of his words died in the air, wet and jagged, as he gasped for breath. The end of a blade caught the newly naked moonlight, metal glinting in the dark. Slice. It withdrew from the man¡¯s neck and he fell dead to the ground. Zumawi scrambled over her motionless comrades and retreated to a safe distance. ¡°That was for all the men and women you ambushed tonight,¡± said a familiar voice. ¡°A dirty death for your dirty deeds. The rest of you three I shall fight with honor. I promise you cleaner deaths than your friend.¡± Sir Godwald stepped out of the shadow of a tree, taller than he¡¯d ever seemed before, and though the fear did not leave Lucanh entirely, its grip loosened. ¡°Cleaner deaths, eh?¡± one of them snickered. ¡°Says the fat, perfumed knight from the south. Priss in a suit of armor. I¡¯ve screwed girls that smelled worse than you.¡± Sir Godwald cocked his head. ¡°Shall I take that as a compliment to me or a slight to them?¡± One of the hooded men charged him with his sword drawn. The knight parried his clumsy swing and plunged his broadsword clean through him, shaking him off the weapon like a speared fish. The next two attacked at once. Parry. Dodge. Block. Swing. Block. Parry. Swing. One of them went to stab him in the side. He swept his great broadsword to parry the other and then block the sneak attack in one swipe. Suddenly emboldened, Lucanh hefted his sword and charged into the fray. Slice. One of the Grackenwelsh assassins jerked sideways under the force of the the knight¡¯s killing blow, his trunk split open and spilling his insides. Lucanh froze. The man¡¯s bulging eyes caught the moonlight. Wide, pained. Desperate. And then even in the darkness, even though Lucanh was but a boy, he could see the light of life leave his eyes as the man fell dead to the ground. Sir Godwald put a quick end to the other hooded man and sheathed his sword. ¡°Prince Lucanh,¡± he said soothingly. ¡°Prince Lucanh, are you all right? Have you been hurt?¡± ¡°No,¡± he answered. He shook with the terror of everything that had just happened. The knight took the prince¡¯s dry sword gingerly from his hands and returned it to the scabbard at the boy¡¯s waist. ¡°H-how did you find us? Are there others?¡± ¡°Just me, my Prince. I knew to go looking for you when you weren¡¯t in any of your usual hiding places. The others assumed that you had gone to be alone, as you¡¯ve been fond of doing lately. But your mother had a feeling. Seeing as how I¡¯m your caretaker, I set out at once to find you, and here I have. Thank Triad.¡± Sir Godwald smiled at him with tears in his eyes, maybe from the weight of everything that had unfolded this night. Lucanh himself still could scarcely believe that it wasn¡¯t all some dreadful nightmare. ¡°Thank Triad I found you in time, my Prince. I never would have been able to forgive¡ª¡± Slice. The knight sucked in a sudden breath. Stumbled once. He reached down to his inner thigh, where the hilt of a dagger stuck out. Slice. The last-wounded assassin ripped the blade out of his leg. ¡°There¡¯ll be more,¡± the assassin croaked. ¡°Least I got... you...¡± He rolled over on the dirt road and ceased to move, bloodied dagger still clutched in hand. ¡°Sir Godwald!¡± Lucanh cried out. ¡°Sir Godwald!¡± ¡°Lucanh,¡± he breathed. ¡°Run home now, my Prince. Leave.¡± ¡°Let me see,¡± said Zumawi. The boy had forgotten she was there. She knelt down next to the knight, reaching her hand toward the wound, and pulled it back slick with blood. ¡°Oh, Heights, this is... Prince Lucanh, back away.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t! Tell me what¡¯s happening. Is he going to be all right?¡± ¡°Help me get him onto one of the horses,¡± she said. Lucanh wasn¡¯t sure how to go about it, but he soon realized she was speaking to her brother. ¡°Gently. Give me your tunic.¡± The man tore off his overshirt and thrust it at her. ¡°Zumawi, what¡¯s happening?¡± He watched her twist up the tunic and tie it in a knot around the wound. The knight winced and grunted as she went about her business. ¡°You have your mother¡¯s eyes, my Prince,¡± said Sir Godwald. ¡°Emeralds.¡± Zumawi and her brother each took up one of his arms. ¡°One, two, three!¡± They grunted with the extreme effort of hefting a knight in full armor, but Sir Godwald aided them where he could, bracing against the stirrup, grasping the reins for stability. The animal took a sideways step, whickered uncertainly. ¡°On her they are beautiful, on you, gallant and stark,¡± the knight went on, his voice growing softer and farther away. ¡°What can I say of myself? Loyalty, perhaps. Honor, I hope. Pray to Triad you don¡¯t grow to have my hair. Or my luck.¡± He chuckled once bitterly, half-choked. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Lucanh asked. ¡°Hold him steady,¡± Zumawi instructed her brother, who sat behind the knight and held the reins. ¡°Don¡¯t let him fall. Bring him to the infirmary in Castle Tern! Now go!¡± The horse set out at a gallop and soon vanished, swallowed into the dark. Zumawi lifted Lucanh onto a horse of their own and they galloped into the night after them, and as they rode, the truth pierced the boy like a broadsword through the belly, and it was such a bewildering horror that he could not even fathom it in the beginning, but the ride back to Castle Tern would change all that. It would change everything. *** ¡°Where is he?¡± Lucanh demanded when he dismounted the horse. ¡°Sir Godwald is in the infirmary, Your Grace,¡± said one of the knights, who stepped aside obsequiously. ¡°Where have you been? Prince Lucanh, I do know that he is your caretaker, and that you¡¯ve grown quite close to him¡ª¡± ¡°Out of my way,¡± he spat back. Zumawi followed close behind, inquiring about her brother, but it was all just noise spilling out into the world at the back of Lucanh¡¯s head. It meant nothing to him. ¡°Prince Lucanh,¡± said Sir Stepan, standing in the corridor that led to the infirmary, his armored arms folded. ¡°He is not well. I strongly suggest you let the chirurgeon and the healers do their work. The matter is now in the hands of Triad.¡± ¡°Where is she?¡± the prince demanded next. But his answer came around the corner, as Queen Rhoda and her escorting knights proceeded down the same corridor that Sir Stepan blocked. His mother had a bleary look in her eyes. ¡°Lucanh!¡± she exclaimed. She loped down the hallway toward him, carrying fistfuls of her trailing royal gown, and the knights hustled to keep pace in their armor. ¡°Lucanh, thank Triad you¡¯re home! Where did you go? Have you been harmed?¡± She reached out to caress his face, thumbing through the warm streams of his tears. ¡°The pauper said¡ª¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± She drew back. ¡°Tell you what, son? Oh, you¡¯re worried about your friend, Sir Godwald. I know, Luke, I know. Listen, why don¡¯t we¡ª¡± ¡°He¡¯s my father!¡± The silence that fell over them was so maddening that Lucanh wondered for a moment if he¡¯d gone deaf, so still was everyone in the vicinity, and so utterly without reply was his mother. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to believe them. I knew you were too afraid to go to war, but I didn¡¯t think you were a total coward in everything you did. But you are. You¡¯re spineless! You told me my father was Zan! You told me he died before¡ª¡± ¡°Lucanh, this is not how I planned¡ªyou¡¯ll come to understand one day that things are not always so¡ª¡± ¡°All those nights I spent wishing for my father, crying for him, praying to the God of Heights to deliver my greetings to him... you kept up the lie! And I learn the truth, only in time to watch him die myself? You are no queen! You aren¡¯t fit to rule over your own family, let alone this nation. I hate you! Freeze in the Hells for all I care!¡± She reached out a trembling hand toward his shoulder and he bucked it off as though poisonous. He heard her sobbing as he stormed past the High Knight, but it gave him neither pause nor satisfaction. He made a straight line for the infirmary. His mother. His father. What it meant to be a hero. What it meant to kill, and to die. He knew not what was a falsehood and what was true anymore. Sir Godwald lay on a stone slab, tended to by healers, pale as a ghost, sweating, his eyes barely open, his breathing shallow. Lucanh prayed to Triad for a miracle. He was unsure if the three-headed god was another one of his mother¡¯s elaborate, cloying lies. Chapter Thirty-Seven: KIMBEL VII And so it was in those early days before his death and resurrection that the Bogman was called by another name. Yet when his kin were slain and taken, there was no one left to call him by his birthname, and when he died and was born anew, his birthname was stripped away. Only the Voice that dwelled in the Everswamp remembered, and it took his birthname away from him forever and ever. And the Bogman mourned not the loss of his birthname, nor the loss of his kin, for the memory of his life before was naught but illusion. His only truth was power. -The Legend of the Bogman Holcort, Grackenwell ¡°You¡¯re not making good on your threats,¡± said Teralt. He stood in the doorway, not far from Kimbel¡¯s bedside. The young man found himself in the horrid grasp of a nightmare, yet some part of him clawed desperately at the walls of his consciousness, trying to find an escape. He walked the eerie razor¡¯s edge between the world of the waking and the sleeping, a limbo where dwelled the most hideous terrors. ¡°You think you¡¯re such a fearsome king,¡± Teralt went on. His neck was a grisly, dried out wound from which it should have been impossible to speak. ¡°But are you really?¡± ¡°I am the king of Grackenwell,¡± Kimbel whispered back. Willful as he felt in that moment, he could not raise breath into his voice. ¡°Soon I shall be the king of the entire world. You are nothing but the ashes of a miserable sadist. Someday even I will forget you. And then you will be forgotten forever... lost to the Ashlands where you belong.¡± ¡°Your ambitions are many... your deeds so precious few.¡± He smiled with only his mouth, his eyes still dead inside. ¡°No man has ever built a legacy on a foundation of talk. So you killed your father, the king. How revolutionary. No prince has ever done that, has he?¡± Now Teralt snickered with a mouth full of bloodied gums. ¡°And then you slit my throat and burned me on a pyre. And what was I to you? Some powerful enemy on the battlefield? A foreign king who invaded your land? I was the jailer who whipped you. A sadist. A torturer! And you tortured me in return for a time...¡± He lifted his head, baring the wound across his throat. ¡°...and then you slit my throat when I was too weak to fight back.¡± ¡°You deserved it,¡± Kimbel shot back weakly. ¡°Say I did. How valiant was it, though? Will the bards sing of your exploits, oh great King Kimbel?¡± ¡°I have half a continent under my control,¡± the king argued. ¡°And the Archipelago. My soldiers are already putting those islanders to good work. The desert savages won¡¯t be far behind. Great power is already mine¡ªI will only grow stronger.¡± ¡°Ah, but what have you yourself done? Nothing. Those two nations, weak and fledgling that they were¡ªyour father conquered them, not you. I¡¯ll admit that strangling your father to death in public made for quite the spectacle. Slitting my throat, I¡¯ll even concede that I didn¡¯t think you had it in you... There. Happy? But you¡¯ve accomplished nothing since. You ordered the assassination of the Dridic queen, which might or might not succeed. Put that aside. Now you must finally prove yourself. ¡°Now the pendulum of power swings against your favor, boy king. The law dictates that you must kill the last living person who has known you since you were but a suckling baby. Your father¡¯s dead. Your mother¡¯s long dead. All you have left is Hane, your sweet old slave. Hane, who has broken Grackenwelsh law in defiance of your rule. It is not within your power to reject or rewrite the law. In a place like this?¡± Teralt snickered again. ¡°The stability of the law is the only thing keeping this wretched land from devouring itself. It¡¯s what keeps the slaves in line. No, I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s no wriggling out of the law¡ªnot even for a king.¡± Kimbel struggled in his bedclothes, heavy and luxurious on cold nights, restrictive now, like chains on his half-slumbering frame. ¡°If I¡¯m successful... my naysayers will look the other way. The assassins will succeed. And if they don¡¯t, I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll mount an¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, you¡¯ll mount an invasion, will you? Not likely. Your subjects are loyal to you out of fear, Kimbel. But all fear is short-lived unless you feed it. You learned that well with me, true. Your men obey your every command because they fear that if they step out of line, you¡¯ll punish their disobedience, that five of their fellows will cut them down at your command. ¡°Now what happens if you refuse to punish disobedience? First it¡¯s an old slave who refuses to work. You throw him in a jail cell, feed him bread and water. He grows even older until he finally dies in another year or two. Truthfully, his life is made easier for his insolence. Next, it¡¯s a soldier who mocks you out of turn, not some frilly rich man, but a strong, armored soldier, one not so easily stricken or whipped into submission. ¡°Then it¡¯s an entire battalion who rejects a battle command. They see no merit in obeying a boy king who would send them to their deaths, when the boy is weak and inexperienced anyway. And then it¡¯s your entire army. And without the army at your fingertips, King Kimbel, why, even the Bogman might have had a hard time controlling much of anything. You¡¯ll be overthrown in a coup, if someone doesn¡¯t kill you in your sleep first. You¡¯ll get the pyre just like me. The Garrotin legacy will die with you, in ashes, and every memory¡ª¡± ¡°ENOUGH!¡± Kimbel screamed. He was on his feet, his bedclothes torn aside. A cold wind ruffled the heavy curtains at his open window. Where Teralt had stood in the doorway, there was only empty shadow. The sound of metal grating stone echoed off the walls of dreams and dissipated as vapor in the air. *** Kimbel broke his fast in the dining hall that morning in the company of Ulther and his other most trusted advisers. The air outside had grown warm and soupy, turbid with a thin white haze that seemed to blow in from the Everswamp. Cured meats laden with salt and spices and the bakery¡¯s sweetest breads tasted like nothing in the king¡¯s mouth. Nothing at all. A scout arrived in the doorway of the hall. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he said, breathless, a boy the same age as the king and yet so small in his presence. ¡°Forgive my interruption. A spying party in Dridon has just brought word of the assassination attempt.¡± Kimbel perked up. ¡°And? Is she dead?¡± The scout bowed his head. ¡°Your Majesty, I am sorry. All four assassins were slain on the road, only another night¡¯s ride or so to the capital city. Butchered.¡± Kimbel stabbed his knife into the rough-hewn wood of the table. ¡°Ashes,¡± he cursed under his breath. ¡°Very well, then. Get out of my sight. Now!¡± The scout obliged and scurried out like a startled mouse. The king tented his fingers and saw the cautious movements of his advisers on either side of him. His pulse pounded in his throat. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Ulther. ¡°My condolences for this news. I have¡ª¡± ¡°Ease up, Ulther. It¡¯s not as if I¡¯ve just received word about a death in the family.¡± A bit of black humor made Kimbel snicker. He yanked the knife out of the wood and sheathed it. ¡°So, the assassination failed. We¡¯ll send a better team, perhaps a hundred this time. Have them come from all directions. Send them in with different plans of attack, maybe multiple waves, and... and...¡± His voice trailed off. ¡°Pardon my intrusion,¡± said another one of his advisers, ¡°but might I suggest extreme restraint during court today. Blame the incompetence of the slaves, to be sure, but I fear this will prove to be a costly tactical misstep. Your generals will likely be most unhappy to learn of these developments, Your Majesty.¡± ¡°Let them throw their fits,¡± Kimbel answered with ice. ¡°I am still the king. Nothing they say will change that.¡± Court assembled that day and Kimbel had never felt more out of place on the throne. He¡¯d never felt such a compulsion to defend it like some dog guarding a cut of meat from his fellow strays, so suspicious of even the most courteous glances from the generals and noblemen that poured into the throne room. Even the broken-nosed nobleman who¡¯d badmouthed him once before seemed positively deferential. He still didn¡¯t trust any of them. Adders in the grass, every last one. Kimbel sat in what had been his father¡¯s throne, twirling his knife blade-down on its axis against the cushioned armrest. He tried to swallow his fear; it kept bubbling back up like bile. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard by now,¡± he announced when they¡¯d taken their places, ¡°the assassination attempt against Queen Rhoda of Dridon has failed.¡± Some non-military men in the audience gasped, but whether in genuine surprise or out of decorum was unclear. Two of the generals stared daggers at him; on a more confident day, he would have had the other two punch their counterparts once in the gut to remind them of their place. But would the others even heed his order now? ¡°Obviously, we must develop a new strategy moving forward.¡± ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said General Rigart, and Kimbel¡¯s stomach dropped, ¡°I would remind the court and my fellows that we advised you against this very same strategy at its inception, and you refused to heed our counsel. Now the South surely knows of our intentions. They¡¯re likely preparing countermeasures as we speak. If I may be bold, I would venture to say that this was not the wisest course of action.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t bold,¡± said General Cadwynh, his orange beard bristling with outrage. ¡°I¡¯ll be bold. This was a fool¡¯s gambit!¡± Half the court gasped. The hush that followed shamed Kimbel even more. ¡°Whatever we call it,¡± Rigart went on, ¡°I will say this: It was not the Grackenwelsh way. Sending silent killers under cover of darkness? That was a mere step above poisoning our enemies. These means of warfare are dishonest, and need I remind you all what happens to liars in Grackenwell?¡± ¡°I would advise you to walk back your talk,¡± Kimbel said with the strongest voice he could muster. ¡°I am the king. Your counsel is welcome. Your insolence is not. Need I remind you of your place?¡± He suddenly stabbed the Garrotin family dagger into the arm of the throne. The generals seemed unimpressed. ¡°Forgive my interruption, Your Majesty,¡± Ulther announced at the entrance to the throne room. He and two other guards carried a limp Hane, who would not even move his legs to assist them, stock-still and dead-weighted as a defiant child. ¡°But we have a small crisis on our hands. The royal slave Hane has been inciting rebellion in the jail. He has sown defiance among his fellow prisoners, preached Trinitism¡ªeven encouraged the slaves outside the jail to refuse their work as well.¡± ¡°Will you teach him his place?¡± Teralt asked from among the generals. He grinned as black blood spilled out of the open wound in his throat. ¡°What did you just say?¡± Kimbel asked, his voice catching in his throat. When he blinked next, his vision was clear, and General Rigart arched an eyebrow at him. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I asked,¡± said the general, ¡°if you would like court to adjourn for now. So that you can address the slave? Clearly, this uprising is a pressing matter as well. We wouldn¡¯t want to overburden you.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Kimbel replied, clearing his throat, his head swimming like on the day his father died. His heart was pounding. ¡°Yes, please clear the court at once. We will reconvene... tomorrow...¡± The noblemen and the lower-ranking military personnel obeyed at once. General Rigart lingered by the door, while General Cadwynh stopped the other two generals from leaving, muttered something to them. ¡°I think we¡¯re going to stay right here,¡± said the redheaded man, ¡°and witness the sentence that our strong king levies.¡± He met the king¡¯s gaze with a look of brazen defiance. ¡°If any.¡± Kimbel saw the hands of his generals hovering near the hilts of their weapons. He wondered what would happen if they all charged him at the same time. How many would he be able to resist? What would a knife do against their four swords? ¡°Good to see you again, milord,¡± Hane said with his stupid grin. ¡°Why, they got me roughed up a good bit this morning, yes they did. Been causing all manner of ruckus in the jail.¡± ¡°You,¡± Kimbel grumbled, ¡°miserable old fool. Ever a thorn in my side.¡± ¡°I had a dream of your mother last night, Kimbel. She was a beauty, that one. Hair blond as a sunflower, smile could light up a dark room, and kind, that one. She was kind, yes she was. Your mother¡ª¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Kimbel roared at him. He grasped the hilt of his knife and pulled to dislodge it from the armrest¡ªit wouldn¡¯t budge. He tried again to free it with both hands this time, and when he failed, he let it be, lest he make a fool of himself. Or more of one. ¡°I grant you a stay of execution, and this is what you do with it, Hane? Sow dissent among your fellow prisoners and slaves?¡± ¡°Not dissent, Kimbel, truth. Not so easy to hold the truth to yourself once you have it, like a flame in your very hand, yes it is.¡± He couldn¡¯t help but notice that none of the generals or guards, not even Ulther, corrected Hane this time like they corrected Teralt. Kimbel was on his own. ¡°It is proper etiquette to address me as your king, slave. But it is necessary to address me as your master. Not Kimbel. I am not some slave boy. I am soon to rule over the entire Stone Continent!¡± Hane smiled placidly. ¡°What did I tell you about power, Kimbel? How it¡¯ll destroy you? Destroyed your father, yes it did. Madness and vengeance. And now look at yourself, boy.¡± Kimbel shot up from his throne. ¡°You ancient, deficient idiot! Are you touched in the head? How dare you speak to me that way? Boy?! You are not my father, filthy slave...¡± Something bitter twisted inside him in that moment, made his eyes mist. He remembered the day he first ascended the throne. ¡°And even his ashes are blowing in the wind now. Or have you forgotten?!¡± ¡°Going to scream yourself hoarse, are you?¡± Teralt laughed from somewhere in the room. ¡°Like some hysterical woman?¡± ¡°And you!¡± Kimbel snarled suddenly. ¡°Where are you?¡± His eyes darted around, finding no one but Hane, the guards, Ulther, and the generals. ¡°No matter...¡± ¡°You¡¯re going mad, Kimbel,¡± said Hane. ¡°Look at you. But there¡¯s more to your story, there is. You ain¡¯t the ugliness and pain your circumstances made for you. You¡¯re more than that, you are. So are we all. We just have to rise above it.¡± At this, the king stormed forward, standing face to face with his family slave and glaring down at him. The world bulged and blurred around him, and a single droplet fell from his misty eyes¡ªhe hoped that no one but Hane could see. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the old man¡¯s neck. It was all for show; he didn¡¯t even squeeze. ¡°Why,¡± he whispered through gritted teeth, ¡°are you doing this to me?¡± Hane¡¯s brow furrowed sympathetically. When he spoke again, he matched Kimbel¡¯s low volume. ¡°I see it now.¡± ¡°See what?¡± ¡°The pain, Kimbel. You¡¯re in so much pain, yes you are¡ª¡± ¡°Shut. Your mouth.¡± Now Kimbel did squeeze a little, but only a little, only a reflex. Another tear rolled down his opposite cheek. ¡°I can spare you, but not as things are. You have to do your duties as a slave. I¡¯ll have to hurt you¡ªperhaps break something. Or perhaps a bruise will do. And you¡¯ll have to beg my...¡± His voice trailed off when he saw the slave was already shaking his head. ¡°You can do what you must, yes you can. But I will not do what you ask of me. Not anymore.¡± He smiled sadly. ¡°I can¡¯t control what you do, no I can¡¯t. But I can control what I do. And my answer is no.¡± He leaned forward as if to share a secret. ¡°It can be yours, too.¡± Kimbel closed his eyes against the maddening scene around him. His generals, the men who swore an oath to carry out the will of the king¡ªthey were turning against him. All of Grackenwell would soon follow. He was able to survive his last execution by killing his executioner. He knew such an opportunity would never be afforded to him again. When he opened his eyes, the room was pitch black. Fires burned throughout the room and illuminated the figures in the dark. He saw his hand around Hane¡¯s neck. He saw his four generals kneeling before the throne. He turned back to the throne¡ªsaw someone standing next to it, someone with long hair the color of straw. His heart skipped a beat when he realized it was his mother. ¡°See? I can even bring her back to you,¡± said a voice. It wasn¡¯t Hane, nor Teralt. It wasn¡¯t anybody. Yet there was a familiar sound to it. ¡°You only must let me, Kimbel. Your name is written in My book. You must choose.¡± Kimbel blinked and the world was restored. He took his hand away from Hane¡¯s neck, stepping back. He blinked again just to make sure that what he saw was really there. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± he murmured. ¡°I... I don¡¯t...¡± He turned away suddenly, walking back to his throne. He paced in front of it. Kimbel tore at his own straw-blond hair, on the verge of hysterics indeed, just like Teralt said. He refused to shed another tear in the presence of his generals. There had to be a way out. One that still garnered their respect, protected his throne. Some pitiable aspect of the old man stayed his hand. ¡°You know what you have to do,¡± said the voice. ¡°What you¡¯ve always done. What all of you have always done since the Time Before Time.¡± ¡°What I¡¯ve always done?¡± he asked meekly. He was ashamed of his own voice then. It was so small. So young. ¡°King Kimbel,¡± said General Cadwynh, ¡°I fear we¡¯ve humored you long enough. If something as simple as this is enough to break you, then the four of us must reevaluate your fitness as king.¡± He glared at him. ¡°What did you just say?¡± ¡°You heard me.¡± The burly man scowled at him. ¡°I already knew you were soft in the spine, the way you blubbered in the presence of your father. Now you¡¯re going soft in the head as well? Can¡¯t even order a damn slave killed that disrespects you to your face.¡± The sound of metal scraping stone filled Kimbel''s head. His eyes darted to Havokond, the newly polished war hammer hanging at the right hand of the throne. There was the darkness come again, creeping along the edge of his vision, just like last time. ¡°Soft, am I?¡± ¡°Kimbel,¡± said Hane, smiling, his eyes warm and damp and pleading. ¡°It¡¯s not too late to make a real change, no it¡¯s not. It¡¯s never too late. And I know something you don¡¯t know, Kimbel. This is not how your story ends. I know it in my heart, yes I do. This is not your end." ¡°No.¡± Metal scraped stone. ¡°It isn¡¯t.¡± The boy king hefted Havokond from the wall, its weight falling thunderously to the stone floor. He locked eyes with General Cadwynh. The legendary weapon was not so heavy once he got a good grip on the hilt. It was the first time he¡¯d ever held it on his own. He dragged the war hammer behind him as he walked across the throne room. The sharp blade of the hammer scraped the stone floor, kicking up little orange sparks as he went, filling the entire chamber, perhaps the whole castle, with the earsplitting sound of metal grating against stone. He grinned at General Cadwynh. ¡°I¡¯ve made my choice,¡± Kimbel said softly. ¡°And I want you generals to remember this. Remember it as long as you live.¡± He lifted Havokond high above him and brought it crashing down on Hane¡¯s head. The old man collapsed at the first blow. General Rigart blinked, took a step back. Kimbel raised the war hammer a second time and brought it down to meet its mark. Even General Cadwynh gasped, little flecks of crimson staining the orange and gray of his beard. The boy king thought of the Archipelago. Laughter, the bright, cheery kind, spilled forth from Kimbel¡¯s mouth as the generals¡¯ attitudes changed before his eyes. They looked ready to heed his words, backing away a safe distance and folding their hands respectfully at their sides or in front of them. Between his laughing fits, Kimbel ordered the preparation of an invasion force that would march on the northern border of Dridon within the moon, and for the slaves to clean up the mess he¡¯d made and then draw him a hot bath in his bedchamber. He laughed until midday, until the sun was high and burned through the morning fog with golden clarity. He laughed as he sank into his basin of hot water and ordered his slaves and even his guards to leave his presence, snickering at them as they departed, and he laughed until he heard his door close, and then he was alone in the dim dark with only fingers of daylight seeping through the cracks between his window shutters. He laughed so hard he couldn¡¯t stop. He laughed and laughed until his abdomen hurt, until his voice was hoarse, and he laughed so hard he started to shriek with it, and he started to wail, and he did so until his breakfast came burning up his throat and spilling over the side of the basin, tasting sharp and scalding, and still his eyes darted to the corners of his vision where he was certain Teralt still lurked, but he never found him, and he wailed and moaned and begged for someone to come and help him, Ulther, his mother, his generals, even his father, someone, anyone, and no one came. The madness had him in its teeth. Soon he grew accustomed to the feeling. *** ¡°My beloved child,¡± said the voice. ¡°My chosen.¡± It was deep, powerful. It sounded at first like his father¡¯s voice, but there was a metallic quality to it, metal and stone He rose from his bed and crossed his royal chamber to throw the curtains apart, ready to greet the day. The morning was cool and gray with mist. He smiled. ¡°Let those who resist die screaming under our boots,¡± Kimbel said before his court. His generals and other officials were assembled, all in full military regalia. They stood at perfect attention. ¡°Those who would disobey us will die. Then we will have bred a generation of dutiful slaves with the swing of a sword.¡± He grasped Havokond, which he now kept beside his throne at all times. ¡°Or a hammer.¡± He turned to Ulther. ¡°What of the rebellion, Ulther? Any word?¡± He cleared his throat. ¡°Since you put down that last rebel three days ago, Your Majesty, every murmur of dissent has gone silent. The slaves are working harder than ever.¡± King Kimbel nodded. ¡°Bring me the Secret Ledger, Ulther.¡± ¡°At once, Your Majesty.¡± His adviser fetched the chest where the tome was stored, and Kimbel opened it there on the throne, accepting a wet quill that he set to the page. He studied the most recent entries in the book. Deliego Goches, Grand Emissary of Zan Vayonado. Tortured, drawn, quartered under orders of King Brynh Garrotin. King Brynh Garrotin of Grackenwell. Strangled with whip by Prince Kimbel Garrotin, now King Kimbel Garrotin. Teralt, ex-jailer, prisoner of King Kimbel, of Grackenwell. Throat slit by King Kimbel Garrotin. Hane, rebellious slave, of Grackenwell. Skull crushed by King Kimbel Garrotin using Havokond. Rebellious slave of Grackenwell. Ribcage crushed by King Kimbel Garrotin using Havokond. Rebellious slave. King Kimbel. Decapitated using Havokond. He wrote the next entry, one he had neglected to write when it was still fresh. Slave. King Kimbel. Groin, then limbs, then abdomen, using Havokond. He closed the book, returned it to the chest, and locked it once more. ¡°A man once told me,¡± Kimbel mused, ¡°that a wise man knows his place. But what is wisdom if that¡¯s all you have?¡± The court was spellbound to his every word. ¡°The Ashlands are full of wise men. A wise man does know his place, and it¡¯s on a pyre. A great man...¡± He twirled Havokond blade-down on its axis on the stone floor next to his throne, the hammer practically weightless in his great strength. ¡°A great king knows no limits to his place in this world.¡± He rose to address his rapt audience. ¡°My story does not end here. No. My story begins in Dridon. My story reaches Myrenthos, Qarda, Xheng Yu Xi, the Great Unknown, and beyond. By the Bogman, my story will have no end. Every other nation will bow as a slave to Grackenwell! Together, we will take our rightful place as the greatest nation in this world!¡± He raised his free hand high in the air, fingers bent and splayed to make the Sign of the Bogman. His audience roared with cheers and applause. ¡°Let us begin.¡± Chapter Thirty-Eight: BEAM VI This is the proclamation of the Lord Ah-Ren: ¡°For My believers who break not the faith, I have ordained paradise beyond all understanding. Call upon My name and you will surely be saved. Forget not the truth you have seen with your own eyes and heard with your own ears. There are those who would avert their eyes from My truth; yea, even those who would gouge out their eyes, lest they see the truth laid bare. To them I say this: you shall call upon me in your darkest hour, and I shall tear off My ears, that I shall not hear you. You shall throw yourself at My feet in anguish, and I shall pluck out My eyes, that I shall not see you. I shall turn away from you in your suffering, and your skulls shall be crushed as gourds, and your little ones shall be dashed against rocks because of you, and My believers shall rejoice. I shall delight in the suffering of those who forsake Me.¡± -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 40, Lines 1-18 The Everswamp They were fifteen believers in all. Where my fear is, let there be faith, Beam thought. Where my fear is, let there be faith. Four boats glided across the miry face of the bog, wooden oars creaking in their rowlocks. Where my fear is, let there be faith. They were fifteen believers in all. Where my fear is, let there be faith. Over and over. Beam¡¯s prayer became just as much of a predictable rhythm as the croaking of frogs in the swamp, and equally uncomforting. Are you still there, Lord? Beam asked Him. Or have You forsaken us in this place? I want to believe, just as I always have... All this time, I thought weakness would come from one of my disciples. Oh, Lord, please¡ªall I ask is a sign. The fireflies were still burned into her memory from the night prior. Each time she closed her eyes, there they were. It was like they had a mind of their own. Like they were branded on the insides of her eyelids for all time. Where my fear is, let there be faith. She was lost in her dark thoughts, in her rhythm of prayer, when the voice of a disciple snapped her out of it. ¡°Lady Beam!¡± Shine cried out. ¡°Up ahead! Do you see that? Look!¡± Beam¡¯s boat had wound up at the back of the procession. She picked her head up, looking forward to the lead boat in the cavalcade. When she saw what Shine meant, her eyes widened, her jaw falling open. ¡°Ah-Ren above...¡± Three gators draped across a massive, mossy log sticking out of the swamp. One of them hoisted itself up and dipped into the murky water¡ªsomeone gave a half-shriek, half-gasp. Beam tried to follow the beast in the water with her eyes¡ªit was too fast. The dark blur disappeared somewhere beneath their boats. Looking up, she saw that another one of them had taken to the water, too. Only the third one remained on the log, watching with its sideways stare. ¡°Ah-Ren, protect and watch over us,¡± Shine groaned fearfully. ¡°Oh, no,¡± said Fulgor. The old man trembled with tense anticipation. ¡°We¡¯re not safe... Not safe here...¡± Beam¡¯s hairs stood on end. She felt like she might be sick. Leaning over the edge of her boat, she saw a swimming shadow swell and darken until it broke the surface of the water. A gator jumped halfway into the boat ahead of her. Disciples screamed, retreated to the other end¡ªthe monster lost its footing and disappeared back into the water. ¡°Why is this happening?¡± Lambent, the man with the big, bushy mustache, whimpered like a small boy. ¡°Why? Why is this happening to us now?¡± ¡°I know why,¡± Beam confessed. ¡°A lack of faith.¡± Guilt soured the pit of her stomach, a sobering feeling. Ah-Ren was about to punish her for her fickle loss of faith. ¡°I¡ª¡± A gator lurched over the lip of her boat¡ªright next to Luster. Her gut twisted inside her. Luster was knocked onto his back from the force of it. The beast¡¯s claws tore his tunic in one sluggish, powerful swipe. Ray lifted an oar. Struck the monster on its snout¡ªonce, twice. Its jaws snapped shut on the blade. Crunched the wood in half. ¡°Ah-Ren, save us!¡± Ray squealed. The gator shook the splintered wood out of its mouth. It planted a second stubby leg in the boat, mouth widening again. This time it lunged for Glimmer. ¡°No!¡± Beam cried out. Beam stuck her hand in its mouth, without thinking, against the roof, intending to hold it open. A foolish mistake. She knew its bite force would make a meal of her arm in one go. But she acted on the instinct of her faith. At once, the beast¡¯s jaw locked in place¡ªwide open. The animal writhed briefly, thrashing its legs, its tree trunk of a tail splashing against the chunky green swamp scum, until every movement in its body slowed to a stop. Then it went completely limp, jaw still agape. The boat listed lazily to the left. Beam slowly withdrew her hand from the gator¡¯s mouth. She panted heavily, as did her boatmates and everyone else in the flock. A smile had just started to spread across her face. Then someone else screamed. A gator lurched into another boat. Bit Fulgor across the chest and neck. His eyes bulged, blood splattering out of his mouth. An instant later, it dragged him under the water, its body whirling in a powerful spiral motion, churning the water easy as smoke. Then it was gone. Fulgor was gone. They sat in silence for a while. Some exchanged glances, while others were too afraid to look another in the eye. Some just kept their gaze trained on the water below. The Lord has appointed a day of ruination for those who withhold their obedience. Was that Beam remembering a line from the Gospel? Or was that the voice of Ah-Ren? She couldn¡¯t tell. This time, it brought her no comfort, but shame instead. ¡°¡®The Lord has appointed a day of ruination for those who withhold their obedience,¡¯¡± said Ray. Hearing her recite that same verse sent chills down Beam¡¯s spine. The elderly woman guided the oar back into its rowlock, even though it lacked a blade to pull the water. ¡°Lady Beam was right. Lack of faith brought this upon us¡ªFulgor must have lost his along the way.¡± She eased her old bones down onto the wooden seat. ¡°Let¡¯s none of us make his mistake.¡± Beam didn¡¯t notice who touched their oar first. Once someone did, the rest followed, and soon the cavalcade of rowboats was back in motion, rowing steadily away from the grisly scene, the glaring, blood-tinged spot of water. Was Ray right? Did Fulgor stray from the faith, too? Now she would never know, the truth dying with him at the bottom of the swamp. His fate filled her with all the more dread for her own growing doubts. She cast light on them in her heart, threw them at the feet of Ah-Ren as she was supposed to do¡ªbut would it be enough? The flock pressed on deeper into the bog. They were fourteen believers in all. *** Beam knew she didn¡¯t belong here. Were it not for Ah-Ren¡¯s command, she would never have set one foot across the border except with a sword pressed against her back. Perhaps not even then. She hailed from Claeloch, a small, tranquil region in the northwest of the continent. Cold winters brought blankets of snow, and summers were a time to be treasured. Life was simple. Work, for one¡¯s own sake, was its own reward. Children were taught from a young age not to wander too far into the wild woods alone for fear that they might not return. Aside from that, the only real danger a Claelish person faced was when their tranquility was disturbed by outsiders. Raiders from Grackenwell. Grackenwell proper, the nation that had annexed Claeloch in the past, felt like a different world entirely. Life here was brutal and short. Slavery was rampant¡ªand it was not the more polite arrangement seen in Claeloch, where slaves were kindly servants often permitted to sit and eat at the table. Grackenwell treated slaves worse than animals. Even the brothels in Claeloch were nothing compared to the brutality of Grackenwell at large¡ªa fact that disturbed Beam to no end when she worked in one. The Everswamp was Grackenwell personified. It was all its worst parts distilled into one festering, maddening, dim, dreary place devoid of hope. It was a strange place where even death could die¡ªthus the origin of its name, Everswamp, a cursed land where those who were buried could attain some twisted facsimile of eternal life. But that wasn¡¯t the only story that floated around about its name. Grackenwell¡¯s only humor was black, and one of its dark jokes was about how the Everswamp really got its name: once one crossed into it, the swamp went on forever and ever. Of course, Beam knew that wasn¡¯t true. But now she was starting to wonder if perhaps it could be. They hadn¡¯t planned on being in the bog this long. No. She knew why it was truly called the Everswamp. And she knew that whatever people said of it, they were just myths. Ah-Ren held monopoly over the truth; all the world beyond His word was just a cascading series of lies and illusions meant to distract her, to torment her. Beam knew the Everswamp had an end¡ªshe¡¯d seen it on a map. She knew Ah-Ren would never allow a place like this to be infinite. Still, the Gospel of Lucence warned of dark forces at play in the world. Powers that would attempt to poison her against the truth¡ªthat would tempt her to lean on her own understanding instead of the truth she¡¯d been told. Even after Fulgor¡¯s death, an obvious act of the Lord... even now, her faith wandered. ¡°Something up ahead,¡± said Lambent. His voice was firm and manly again; his low pitch overcompensated for his fearful outburst earlier. ¡°See that?¡± ¡°Ah-Ren above,¡± said Glint. He was the portly man Beam thought would fail her test of fasting; now here he was, calling upon the Lord Above Lords for help. ¡°It isn¡¯t another gator, is it?¡± ¡°No. That darkness at the horizon. Is that a storm?¡± It was impossible to parse out the darkness from the already dim bog shrouded in shade. Beam could just barely make it out, a blot of blackness at the horizon straight ahead, between the breaks of the canopy. ¡°We can only pray that it¡¯s not,¡± said Ray grimly. ¡°Whatever it is, our path to Holcort takes us right toward it.¡± ¡°Ah-Ren will see us through it,¡± said Glimmer. ¡°If we believe.¡± Even after what happened, she kept the little flame of her hope burning. Beam realized she could learn from the young as well as the old. Luster rowed ahead of her in the boat. Her eyes lingered on the shifting sinew beneath his torn tunic flecked with bog mud, how his back muscles rose and fell, rose and fell. To return to those sunbathed forests of Claeloch with him and only him, to be alone together again. To rise and rest in a world of simple, still unbroken promises¡ªselfishly, she would have thrown it all away in that moment, just to return to those days. She hadn¡¯t savored them enough. She hadn¡¯t known how much she would miss them. ¡®It is written: Not all who tread My path to glory will live to see its radiance.¡¯ Perhaps not even you.¡¯ She recalled the lines from the Gospel, but not as if she¡¯d gone looking for the memory¡ªas if someone had thrust it into her hands. It must have been the Lord calling down to her, using the voice of her own mind. I know this, my Lord. ¡®You would still follow? Even into danger?¡¯ To the Great Unknown, my Lord. To the Great Unknown¡ªor beyond it. Then there came a different voice, deep, gurgling, that seemed to speak a hair¡¯s breadth from her ear. ¡®You know what happens to liars in Grackenwell.¡¯ She flinched suddenly in the boat. In her heart, she called out to Ah-Ren to save her¡ªin the next breath, that other voice, the voice of the Everswamp itself, was gone, along with its foreboding presence. Ah-Ren still answered her when she called upon Him. What can drive out darkness but light? ¡°Beam,¡± said Luster. He nearly dropped his oars to tend to her. ¡°Are you all right? What happened?¡± Her shoulders deflated, pressing out a deep sigh. ¡°I¡¯m all right,¡± she said to him. She had abandoned half-lies in favor of full-fledged ones now. I haven¡¯t strayed from the faith, Lord Ah-Ren. Not yet. Please deliver us from this place. She closed her eyes¡ªsaw the yellow ones staring back at her again. Deliver us into the new world You promised. *** When the flock reached Cormund, one of the last towns in Claeloch before the region¡¯s border, they were ten believers in all. Beam led Luster, her new convert Glimmer, and the other eight new disciples from Pythe down the dirt road that fed into the city. It was bigger than most Claelish settlements; packed dirt soon gave way to cobblestone, a sign of wealth, a sign of the local lord and merchants investing in the place where they lived. Bigger cities meant more people, and more people meant more taverns. ¡°Will we finally be stopping here?¡± asked Malthier, one of the men who¡¯d knelt before her in Pythe. He was a changed man now. He was still the same bored-looking man with shoulder-length black hair, the weak chinstrap of a beard, the fishy lips always pursed and pouting¡ªonly now, he seemed to lack the same enthusiasm for their journey that he¡¯d had back in Pythe. Miracles had a way of invigorating people, but they were a poor test of faith. ¡°I¡¯m dead tired.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not the only one,¡± grumbled Hjarsant. He was the largest of all Beam¡¯s disciples, a midsection so thick that his leather belt creaked whenever he breathed or sat down. ¡°The road¡¯s got me parched. Could use a drink.¡± ¡°I like the way you think,¡± Malthier agreed. ¡°I could use a drink myself¡ªor several.¡± Luster sidled up to them as they walked. ¡°You know, we really shouldn¡¯t get drunk. It isn¡¯t what the Lord¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, come off it, Luster,¡± said Hjarsant. ¡°What¡¯s the matter with stopping at a tavern for some ale?¡± He grinned back at Beam. ¡°If the lady permits it, of course.¡± Beam was reading from the Gospel of Lucence as they walked the road. She glanced up from the page momentarily, seeing Hjarsant facing her and walking backward for a moment, his face giddy like a young boy¡¯s despite being at least a decade her senior. ¡°Anyone who wishes to visit a tavern in Cormund is free to do so,¡± she answered. She chose her words carefully for a reason. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. It was just like Ah-Ren to guide her to a tract in the Gospel that was immediately relevant to her. It was the thirty-fifth Tract, its final lines: ¡°The blind will never see, not even by the light of a thousand suns; the unbeliever will never keep the faith, not even by the light of a thousand miracles. Suffer not the unbeliever; lead him not by rope, as a dog is led, but cast him out with mercy. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God.¡± The heart of Cormund bustled with commerce. Pillars of smoke from hearths and kitchens rose up over the city. Horses and their waste lined every street. There was a colorfully dressed man juggling colorful sacks on one street corner¡ªsomeone threw a silver scale at him. ¡°There she is,¡± said Malthier, grinning ear to ear. He trotted up proudly to the door of a tavern with a wooden sign hanging above the doorframe, the spring suddenly back in his step. He only ever had enthusiasm for the drink anymore. ¡°Who¡¯s with me?¡± ¡°I most certainly am,¡± said Hjarsant. A third member of the flock was about to join them both when Beam stopped them. She stood at the door, blocked the knob with her hand. They would hear what she had to say first. ¡°It is as I told you,¡± she began. ¡°Any one of you may enter this tavern and drink your fill. The Lord Ah-Ren would have you as a servant, not a slave.¡± Luster nodded at her side¡ªshe remembered when he¡¯d heard the same words not long ago, and he¡¯d passed her test. Would they? ¡°Anyone who walks into this tavern is disobeying the will of the Lord Ah-Ren.¡± ¡°Says who?¡± Malthier scoffed. Beam met his gaze. ¡°Me. His Prophetess.¡± Malthier rolled his eyes. ¡°You mean to tell me the Lord Above Lords cares about how much ale I drink, when I¡¯m thirsty from walking all day in his honor?¡± He scoffed. ¡°This god¡ªhe must not be so great, then.¡± Glimmer gasped. Luster took a step forward, but Beam held out a hand to stop him. ¡°Go ahead,¡± she told Malthier. The man obliged. When she took her hand away, he grabbed the knob and threw the tavern door open. ¡°Hjarsant, you coming?¡± Hjarsant, for all his eagerness to drink, looked down solemnly at his boots. He shook his head. ¡°Suit yourself. See you all in a bit, then.¡± An hour had passed, maybe two, when Malthier emerged from the tavern. In the meantime, Beam had purchased a gift for the believers who remained in her flock. Each of them had a skin of mild mead to enjoy, delectably sweet, effervescent, and not too strong that it would dull their senses. ¡°Oh,¡± Malthier scoffed, ¡°some believers you are! What¡¯s all this? Mead?¡± ¡°¡®The fruits born of faith are sweeter than the sweetest honey,¡¯¡± said Beam. ¡°So it is written.¡± Malthier grinned, wiping a wet trail of ale that still lingered on his chin. ¡°Well, where¡¯s mine? Let me have it!¡± Beam shook her head. ¡°This gift is only for the faithful. You, Malthier, are banished from my flock.¡± ¡°Oh, come on...¡± ¡°I told you what would happen.¡± ¡°You only said it was disobeying¡ª¡± ¡°So it is also written: ¡®Suffer not the unbeliever; lead him not by rope, as a dog is led, but cast him out with mercy. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God.¡¯¡± She spoke with such authority and conviction that Malthier had no answer for her this time. He hung his head, then scowled at her, before turning and walking away. They were nine believers in all. They walked together to an inn across the city where they would take up residence for the night. As they walked, they sipped their mead; Beam relished the feeling of warmth in the pit of her stomach. It was not like ale, wine, or the hard spirits she¡¯d been force-fed in the brothel. Mead was always sweet and tender to her, and it never made her drunk. It was gold as the light of Ah-Ren Himself and every bit as pure. It was a simple gesture, one that weeded out a disciple who was no true disciple at all, while hopefully strengthening the resolve of those who remained. Faith in the Lord Ah-Ren was not a never-ending exercise in self-denial¡ªrather, it was commitment to the promise of something greater. She hadn¡¯t foreseen needing to test her followers so early this way. But she sensed that, if her flock was to grow, she would have to test them again to be sure of their faith. The time would come when it was Ah-Ren who put their faith to the test, all of them. They needed to be ready. *** Later that day, they learned the darkness that Lambent saw was a brighter omen than they could have imagined. It was dry land¡ªnot the end of the bog, but an impressive island at its geographical center. Urgaul was its name. Beam remembered seeing it on the map. Urgaul was a small, self-contained paradise compared to the rest of the swamp. Trees and berry bushes were scattered across its surface, and flowers even bloomed there. There was a dense copse of trees at the very heart of it, the only meaningful shade it had. It was the brightest spot in all the Everswamp, a land where the trees had room to breathe and stretch their branches, spacious enough that daylight didn¡¯t just trickle through like in the swamp¡ªit came cascading in broad shafts across the landscape. It was so beautiful that Beam knew it had to be a sign. Thank you, Lord, she whispered in her heart. Thank you. They hauled their boats half-ashore on the small island, tying them to sturdy oaks. Beam¡¯s muscles were stiff from disuse; it was a miracle just to walk and stretch her legs, feel her hips and spine align properly, after sitting for so long. Despite what happened to Fulgor, and despite their whole long arduous journey, there was a light behind the eyes of each of her disciples that she hadn¡¯t seen of late. Hope. They all had a bit of it now. ¡°Halfway,¡± said Glimmer. She smiled uneasily, cautiously, reminding Beam of a small child¡¯s first smile after being disciplined severely. ¡°Halfway there.¡± ¡°Praise be to Ah-Ren,¡± said Ray. Beam agreed, ¡°Praise be.¡± She helped her flock set up tents and get a campfire going. They only had scraps of their rations left, but it didn¡¯t matter. Urgaul was a much needed reprieve even if all they did was enjoy the fire and walk around a bit to loosen up. Then it happened¡ªa miracle within a miracle. Somehow, all the way out in the center of the Everswamp, was a single deer. Beam couldn¡¯t believe her eyes at first. The doe grazed unassumingly in the island¡¯s meadow, its brown, glassy eyes wide open but seemingly unaware of its company, its ears turning to catch sound from another direction. No one said a word. Luster, Glint, Ray, and Shine all approached from different directions, knives out. Somehow, the deer didn¡¯t notice them until they were within striking distance¡ªand then it was too late. ¡°Thank you, deer, for giving your life to sustain us,¡± Beam said as the animal was skinned and cleaned for cooking. ¡°I give thanks most of all to the Lord Ah-Ren for providing us this bounty. Thank you, Ah-Ren the Merciful.¡± As Glint helped erect a spit for roasting their kill over the fire, his eyes wandered to the island shore. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t stay for long,¡± he muttered nervously. ¡°We should leave soon. Shouldn¡¯t we?¡± ¡°After a kill like this?¡± said Luster. He helped scoop out the offal from the deer¡¯s bisected cavity, which went into a large wooden bowl for preparation. ¡°We¡¯d be fools to waste this. Ah-Ren has blessed us with a hunt that will feed us for days.¡± ¡°But the gators,¡± said Glint. With each breath, he seemed to grow more restless about their decision to set up camp. Beam watched his panic from a distance. ¡°I had a dream about this...¡± ¡°Drop it,¡± said Ray in a huff. ¡°We need the rest. We need time to clean and cook this. We¡¯re staying the night¡ªunless the Lady Beam thinks otherwise?¡± She turned and waited for the prophetess¡¯s approval. The question caught her off guard. She did her best to feign a solemn nod, as if she had all the answers her flock so desperately needed. ¡°Yes. We will stay the night.¡± What could disturb Glint this much, and why was he so keen on leaving the island? They were safer from the gators on land than in the water. Then again, Ah-Ren revealed great truths in dreams. And the dark spirit of the Everswamp¡ªshe knew it was equally capable of invading the unsuspecting mind. Which of the two forces compelled Glint now? There was no way of knowing. She dared not ask. Where there should have been faith, she saw only fear in him. *** That night, Beam saw the stars again for the first time in a while. The Everswamp¡¯s fog had lifted, at least over Urgaul, and the inky black night was adorned with a glittering tapestry of the Lord¡¯s design. Never had she come to miss the stars so much as she did in the bog. Never had she appreciated them more than this night. She bit into her chewy venison steak, tough but flavorful, loaded with salt. They needed this meal. Luster sat next to her and ate a cooked hunk of the animal¡¯s liver. The flock shared a salad of spring onions and dandelion greens¡ªAurora helped to provide once more. Even though she ate as much as much as the rest of them, this journey seemed to be whittling her thinner and thinner. She was a growing girl; Beam reasoned that the toll of travel was just sapping her of some of her baby fat, that she¡¯d put some healthy weight back on once they reached the other side of the swamp. That had to be it. ¡°You¡¯re missing the food, Glint,¡± said Shine. ¡°You helped clean it. You should eat some¡ªbuild your strength back up.¡± There was no answer. ¡°Glint?¡± She cocked her head in the direction of his tent. ¡°He asleep?¡± ¡°He staggered out of his tent just before we sat down to eat,¡± Ray answered mistrustfully. ¡°Seems he has more interest in what he drinks than what he eats...¡± ¡°Oh, no,¡± Shine sighed. ¡°Truthfully?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t want to say it in front of the whole flock.¡± The old woman met Beam¡¯s gaze. The younger found it funny¡ªnot long ago, she looked to the older woman for guidance, but now even the eldest in her flock deferred to her. ¡°I was going to tell Lady Beam later.¡± ¡°Glint was a hard convert,¡± said Beam, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s disheartening to hear that he disobeyed the Lord by bringing the drink with him. The fact that he hid it from us all this time... He must have been saving it, knowing one day he¡¯d partake of it.¡± She tore off another hunk of venison with her teeth, growing angrier with each chew. ¡°Every day he lied to me was a sin against Ah-Ren.¡± ¡°Come to think of it,¡± said Luster, ¡°I don¡¯t see Glimmer, either.¡± ¡°Glimmer?¡± Shine called after her. ¡°Has anyone seen her?¡± ¡°She left only a few moments ago,¡± said Lambent. His mustache undulated like a squirrel¡¯s tail as he chewed. ¡°She needed to relieve herself, she said.¡± ¡°She¡¯s been gone longer than a few moments,¡± said Ray worriedly. ¡°Perhaps I should go and find her.¡± The old woman set her hands on her knees, straining to stand from the stump where she sat. ¡°Sit and eat,¡± Beam told her gracefully, and the old woman reluctantly obeyed. ¡°I will find them both.¡± She took a sturdy branch from the pile next to her, lit the end of it in the campfire, and took it as a torch to light her way across Urgaul. The island was significant, but it was not impossibly big¡ªshe would be able to find them both within the hour if she looked hard enough. Leaves rustled in the dank swamp breeze. Frogs croaked in the distance while crickets sang. There were no fireflies here on Urgaul, and for that she was grateful. Beam made her way across the island, checking bushes, behind trees, and calling their names as she went. ¡°Glint? Glimmer?¡± They were harder to find than she thought. ¡°Hjarsant, you coming?¡± The voice of Malthier, her exiled disciple, still echoed in her head. She could still see him standing at the door of the tavern and beckoning to his friend. She recalled the way Glint averted his gaze, like a child being denied something sweet. She should have known his heart even then. ¡°Glint?¡± she called out to him, but not for long. He would need to be called by his old name again. A sin like this was hard to overlook¡ªeven if he begged the Lord for forgiveness, it would take time and diligent work to restore the flock¡¯s trust. Either way, he¡¯d be going by Hjarsant again once she found him. This place tries so hard to strip us of our faith, oh Lord, she thought worriedly. But it hasn¡¯t gotten to me. Not yet. I still believe. I will never let this twisted world shake my faith. Then she found him. ¡°You and me,¡± Hjarsant slurred. The drink was thick on his voice¡ªthen came the stench of alcohol when Beam drew closer. ¡°Take a boat with me. We¡¯ll be gone. You and me. I¡¯ll make an honest woman of you, true. Come on, then.¡± ¡°What are you implying?¡± said Glimmer. Disgust was equally thick in her voice. ¡°Let go... I said let go of me! I want nothing to do with you!¡± ¡°Come here, lass. I won¡¯t hurt you. I... We could...¡± Beam made her presence known. They both turned with a start, and Glimmer used this chance to snatch her wrist out of Hjarsant¡¯s grasp. She retreated behind Beam. The stout man wavered on his feet, barely keeping a grip on his torch. ¡°Hjarsant,¡± said Beam. ¡°So, that¡¯s how it is, eh?¡± he snickered. ¡°Ah... Pissed it all away, then.¡± ¡°You brought hard spirits with you on our holy quest. You knew it broke the law of Ah-Ren. Still, you hid it from us.¡± ¡°Only brought it in case the nights were too quiet away from home. Or for times like these...¡± He gestured to the horrid dark. ¡°Places like this.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s all you have to say for yourself?¡± She put her free hand on her hip, standing in stark judgment. Hjarsant shrugged. ¡°Not gonna beg for your forgiveness. Is that what you¡¯re waiting for?¡± Beam was stunned silent at first. Even for his great sin against Ah-Ren and his fellow disciples, he had no remorse. ¡°You know what the Gospel says. You know what happened to Malthier¡ªyou were there!¡± Another drunken shrug. He drained the rest of the skin full of clear liquor, the fumes caustic on his breath. ¡°I¡¯ll part with you all after the bog.¡± She couldn¡¯t contain a frustrated sigh, as mortal and fallible as it felt. ¡°Let¡¯s go. Both of you. We¡¯re going back to camp for the night. The last thing we need is for one of you to wander off into danger.¡± ¡°He cornered me when I was alone,¡± Glimmer muttered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Lady Beam.¡± ¡°Everything is going to be all right, Glimmer,¡± Beam lied. *** ¡°What shall we do, my lady?¡± Beam stood and swayed in her tent, in tandem with the flame of her candle. The Gospel of Lucence sat open before her, still and silent. Yet she could hear the fluttering of the pages, see the shifting shapes of the words, or the ghost of such things, and the sound of grating metal mingled in. Ah-Ren has so much more in store for you. She tried to blink the words away. When that didn¡¯t work, she held her eyes shut tight, hoping that when she opened them, she would realize the error of her misreading or misinterpretation. It was the same when she opened her eyes. ¡°Are you all right?¡± Dawn had broken over the tree-lined horizon, and she hadn¡¯t had a wink of sleep all night. Luster stood beside her. Most of the other disciples were awake now, too, some of them cooking more of the deer over the fire or erecting taller spits for drying strips of salted meat. Every one of them glanced toward her open tent every few moments¡ªnone all at once, nor frequently, but they added up against each other, such that it seemed there was always a pair of eyes looking her way. It infuriated her. She didn¡¯t dare tell them that. ¡°Are you well, Lady Beam?¡± She was prepared to read from the Gospel of Lucence that morning, explaining to her remaining disciples why Hjarsant was to be given his old name out of the faith, explaining why he would be exiled from the flock once they reached the other side of the Everswamp. But all had not gone to plan. When she looked up the tract and the line that would justify his exile, she found something else in its place. What can drive out darkness but light? Visions of spears and blood danced in her mind like the shadows that her candle cast. The pulling of the spear. The closing of the wound. Then all the blood was gone, sealed away. All life is precious in the eyes of Ah-Ren. It was not Peadhar¡¯s eyes looking up at her in her memory, but Hjarsant¡¯s. There are false gods in this world. Falsehoods to be silenced. Idols to be torn down. She read and reread the passage. She read it from end to start. She plucked out each word by itself, dissected them all to ensure that she understood the meaning. This is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God. Your name is written in My book. Great are My plans for you, and bold is your purpose. How could He mean this? And why didn¡¯t she remember? ¡°My lady?¡± ¡°WHAT?!¡± Beam¡¯s outburst scared even her. Luster took a step back, flinching, his brow furrowed and lip trembling for an instant. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she told him. ¡°I was consulting the Gospel of Lucence. I...¡± Her eyes found the words on the page again, and then so did his. ¡°I have never read these words, my lady,¡± Luster replied, taking a step back toward her with caution. ¡°And I have read the Gospel twice now. Are we certain the newcomers have not tampered with the text somehow?¡± ¡°Impossible,¡± Beam replied. ¡°We would have seen evidence of their forgery. Besides... The words of Ah-Ren are immutable.¡± She dabbed at her eyes discreetly with the corner of her shirtsleeve. The Everswamp suddenly felt frighteningly alive and motile, and she thought of all the golden firefly eyes that might have watched them from afar. ¡°Leave me now, Luster. I will speak with Hjarsant in private.¡± Luster obeyed, but as he left, Ray and Lambent both entered in his place. Ray had a resolute look in her eyes. Lambent, ever the coward, looked fearful of Beam¡¯s sudden change in affect, but he was equally faithful and submissive to her commands. Good. She would need their help. ¡°You¡¯re not really going to banish me now, are you?¡± Hjarsant asked from the corner of the tent. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot from his drunken stupor the night before, locks of hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. ¡°Now? In the middle of the swamp?¡± He shook his head incredulously. ¡°Venturing out there alone, especially without a boat¡ªthat¡¯s tantamount to suicide!¡± I have not broken the faith, Lord Ah-Ren. I will not. I promise. I promise! Beam closed her eyes. She couldn¡¯t bear to look at him. ¡°No, Hjarsant. We will not banish you.¡± She indicated the tract and line open in the Gospel for Ray and Lambent to read. It only deepened their existing expressions; Ray set her jaw, determined, and Lambent looked horrified, tears glistening in his eyes, but ready to obey all the same. ¡°The Lord Ah-Ren demands expiation for your sins, Hjarsant. Then we can all get on with our lives. Our holy mission. Do you understand?¡± A look washed over his face that Beam feared she would never forget. ¡°All of us?¡± Her eyes gravitated back to the words on the page. Words she¡¯d never read before this day. ¡°The blind will never see, not even by the light of a thousand suns; the unbeliever will never keep the faith, not even by the light of a thousand miracles. Suffer not the unbeliever; lead him not by rope, as a dog is led, but take his life, that the spilling of his blood might cleanse the sin he has left behind. His death is the will of Ah-Ren, the One True God.¡± *** The morning was green-gray over the Everswamp. Everyone packed up their supplies in silence, and they dared not meet the eyes of a fellow disciple. They loaded the boats, untied them from their trees, and piled into them. They dipped their oars into the water, paddled on deeper into the bog. To the unknown where their god bade them go. They were thirteen believers in all. Chapter Thirty-Nine: AKONA VII Go forth, little wild creature, and dance in the light of Mother Moon without trepidation. Matreus made you to be free; this is the heart of nature, and comprises all souls. -The Twenty-Nine Mysteries, Book 1 Island of Ka¡¯Anui, Grand Archipelago ¡°Hurry, sister,¡± said Akona. ¡°They aren¡¯t far behind!¡± Akona led her sister by the hand through the steamy tropical jungle of Ka¡¯Anui. Running through the humid heat made her sweat, and her footfalls awakened old pains from her injuries fleeing Grackenwell into the Zan desert. Somehow, it all still hurt deep down. She carried the weight of their whole journey in her legs. It was almost too much to bear¡ªalmost. The threat of what would happen if they stopped gave her bottomless stores of energy. If their Grackenwelsh pursuers caught up to them, death would be a coveted mercy. ¡°Do you have it?¡± Styri asked. ¡°Only one. I don¡¯t want to get close enough... to be able to use it, either.¡± She cast a glance over her shoulder¡ªthere they were. But the twins were putting some distance between them. ¡°Have to make it count, if I do.¡± At these speeds, sprinting through the uneven terrain choked with tropical plants and bare tree roots, fleeing the fate at their heels, she was already out of breath. Akona yearned for home. She yearned for rest. She was too young to feel this weary of the world and all she¡¯d seen of it. ¡°Come back!¡± a man shouted through the palms. He sounded half-entertained, half-enraged. ¡°...just want to talk with you!¡± She couldn¡¯t make out all his words in the dense jungle, but there was no need. ¡°Can we set sail in time?¡± Styri asked. ¡°Before they catch up, I mean?¡± Akona didn¡¯t answer right away. ¡°...We are headed back to the boat... aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Eventually.¡± Styri grumbled. ¡°Lost your way? Again?! Akona, now is not the time¡ª¡± ¡°I got you out of there! You were frozen! Remember? There was no time to find my way, all right? We¡¯d just seen a man killed, and they were going to...¡± Akona had half a mind to break down crying, overwhelmed by their escape and the perils of their journey and now her sister berating her, of all people. But there wasn¡¯t time. Instead, she just scoffed. ¡°We¡¯ll make our way back to the boat. First we follow the river. We lose them. The sound will confuse them, make us harder to track. Then we make our way back to the boat.¡± She thought about their bags full of fruit that they left behind. ¡°And just pray that we can survive the voyage at sea. Maybe we could fish?¡± Akona could make out the sound of the waterfall growing steadily louder. Before it had been a whisper of sound in the background, but now the rushing water dampened many of the noises around them. It would be the perfect cover to slip away in another direction. The slavers would never be able to catch up¡ªnot until it was too late, when they were both long gone. ¡°This is foolish,¡± Styri whined. ¡°Why are we wasting our breath? This is the gods¡¯ punishment on us! Everywhere we go, the whole known world, someone¡¯s chasing us. First it was the spies. Now the slavers. Will Myrenthos even be safe for us? If those spies got word back to Qarda about Hessandra¡¯s betrayal, how much longer until they invade our land again? Will we even have a home waiting for us after all this?¡± ¡°Stop. You mustn¡¯t think like that.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s not true!¡± Styri yanked her hand free of Akona¡¯s grasp. She reached to grab it again, to keep pulling her along, but Styri evaded her. ¡°I¡¯m done running!¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°I am! Whatever awaits us, can it be so much worse than¡ª¡± ¡°Yes! Yes, Styri, it can!¡± Akona was deadly serious now. She had to be, as their lives literally depended on their escape. ¡°Don¡¯t you trust me anymore?¡± Now it was Styri who didn¡¯t answer, folding her arms and averting her gaze. ¡°After all we¡¯ve been through? We promised Mother we¡¯d make it back home safe and sound. Qarda¡¯s in shambles¡ªas it should be. There won¡¯t be another invasion. Our journey isn¡¯t over, but we¡¯re closer than we¡¯ve ever been!¡± ¡°The Great Unknown is still out there.¡± Styri cocked her head, listening for any sign of their pursuers. ¡°We won¡¯t make it. There¡¯s no way. And with no food?¡± ¡°Do you think coming from that castle in Qarda to this island was an easy feat?¡± Styri shook her head, and Akona smirked. ¡°Do you think toppling the greatest empire in the world was easy? No. But we did it. And we¡¯ll do this, too.¡± ¡°What makes you so sure?¡± Akona held out her arm. ¡°As long as there¡¯s breath in us, we have a chance. We can keep fighting to return home. Promise me that you won¡¯t give up on me now. Not after how far we¡¯ve come. The things we¡¯ve had to do. Promise me you won¡¯t stop fighting to survive, no matter what happens.¡± She brandished her arm impatiently for Styri to complete their secret handshake. ¡°I need you to promise me!¡± Finally, Styri hooked her arm around hers. They squeezed to seal their word. ¡°Promise.¡± *** ¡°We begin with our forms,¡± said the glademother. She was tall and bottom-heavy, streaks of red dye in her chestnut hair. ¡°First through third. Go.¡± The woman was in her late twenties, Akona knew, but at Akona¡¯s age, anything past twenty was old. The glademother wasn¡¯t quite very old yet, but she was still old. ¡°First... Then into second... Good. Styri, mind your stance. And finally, into third. Well done.¡± Akona stood with twenty-eight other girls about her age, as well as the glademother, out in the training meadow. There were only a few white wisps of clouds along the horizon. The early summer sun was warm. Butterflies kept their distance from the girls, flitting from flower to flower in search of nectar. A fat bumblebee dove headfirst between the petals of one flower, its hairy little legs scrambling to pull itself out, and Akona tried not to let it distract her. She focused on obeying the glademother. Chrysephone was her name. Akona and the other girls knew it, but in her presence, it was tantamount to a curse. She was only to be called ¡°Glademother,¡± or ¡°Mother¡± in a less formal exchange. Chrysephone was charged with teaching combat forms to this class of twenty-nine girls. Akona and her big sister were among them. Even though Styri was older by less than a day¡ªtheir birth mother told them so¡ªshe needed help all the time, as if she were the little sister. Akona was happy to provide it, even when Styri got on her nerves. This is what a sister does, she remembered her mother telling her. ¡°Once more,¡± said Chrysephone. ¡°First through third again. Remember that stance, Styri. You should need no reminders this time. For all of you, these forms should flow like water.¡± Akona rehearsed the combat forms she knew well. Weak arm forward, knuckles out. Heel of the palm. Strong arm forward, knuckles down. Crescent moon with the strong leg, weak leg keeping balance. Weak arm backward slash. Strong arm hit down center, knuckles up. Her limbs moved in the carefully choreographed dance in unison with all her classmates¡ªall except one. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Chrysephone walked down an aisle between the girls¡ªAkona¡¯s aisle. The glademother said nothing. When an adult approached without saying anything, it was cause for great terror, but Akona hid it well. That was until she saw what Chrysephone was doing. ¡°Ah!¡± Styri yelped. In one sweep of the leg, a crescent-moon motion, the glademother kicked Styri¡¯s own legs out from under her. Akona¡¯s twin fell on her back into the grass. ¡°What did I tell you about your stance, Styri?¡± said Chrysephone placidly. ¡°Your legs are your roots. If you don¡¯t plant them, your forms mean nothing.¡± The glademother was walking away when Styri, still on her back, started to cry. At this, Chrysephone turned around, approaching gently this time, with the sort of tenderness adults used whenever children cried. ¡°Are you hurt? Or upset? Stand up and I can show you again how to plant your feet.¡± But before Chrysephone could reach her, Akona broke rank from her spot in the formation. She helped Styri to her feet, and then she stood in the glademother¡¯s path, Styri behind her back. She planted her feet just as she¡¯d been taught, bending at the knees. She tried to appear as threatening as possible. Chrysephone let out a small chuckle. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Undeterred, she squatted down next to them, coming face to face with the girl guarding her sister. ¡°I...¡± Akona glanced at her fellow pupils, who were no longer drilling their forms. They all either stared at her or picked at blades of grass while their instructor was distracted. ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt Styri anymore!¡± Chrysephone laughed again. ¡°You precious thing¡ªboth of you. Akona, are you your sister¡¯s keeper?¡± Akona arched an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s a keeper?¡± ¡°Well, a keeper means someone who watches out for someone or something else. A protector. It means you protect her no matter what.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Are you her keeper?¡± Akona¡¯s face went hot, and she suddenly felt foolish. Was it a good idea to challenge a glademother like this? It didn¡¯t matter¡ªshe didn¡¯t want to see Styri be made to cry again. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m her keeper.¡± She tried to stand taller, holding her arms out and puffing out her chest. ¡°So, if you have to hurt her again, you need to hurt me instead!¡± Chrysephone stood, and this time she tried to conceal her next bout of laughter. ¡°Oh, Akona, this isn¡¯t meant to hurt you girls. You know that, right? It¡¯s meant to make you strong. Now, please, stand aside so I can teach Styri her proper stance again.¡± Still, Akona didn¡¯t budge. ¡°You really are your sister¡¯s keeper, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Yes, Glademother.¡± ¡°And you¡¯ll be her keeper always, won¡¯t you?¡± *** Akona held Styri tightly by the wrist. So tight that she could feel the shapes of her bones¡ªso tight that she worried she¡¯d break them. She couldn¡¯t let them be separated at a moment like this. She wanted to lead Styri to the ocean, back around the shoreline to their boat, where they could push it back into the water and set sail for the Great Unknown. That was their plan. But like every step of their journey that came before it, their plan had to change. Now there was nowhere else to run. ¡°Quite the chase that was!¡± said a Grackenwelsh soldier. He had to shout over the sound of rushing water to be heard. His horse reared up, neighing fearfully. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we were just letting you tire yourselves out, though. You can outrun a man in armor. Not much you can do against a horse, though, is there?¡± Styri shot a look at Akona, speaking in that secret tongue they shared. What do we do? I¡¯m thinking, Akona answered silently. You still have it, right? The soldier dismounted his horse, leisurely tying it to a tree. He was no longer in any hurry. Akona! The girls found themselves at the terminus of the raging river that snaked across Ka¡¯Anui. It was not a waterfall like Akona had initially thought¡ªclose. It was a tidefall. The river threw itself off the edge of a steep cliff, far down into a cluster of jagged rocks and the foaming ocean below. They were cornered. Their options were certain death and certain death¡ªbut the latter would be much more prolonged, brutal, and would entail years of suffering. Give me the pipe, said Styri. I¡¯m the better shot. And you said we only have one. Now¡¯s our chance! ¡°I believe there may have been a misunderstanding when we first met,¡± said the soldier. ¡°Let¡¯s make each other¡¯s acquaintance on better terms, shall we? My name is Garwhyle. I¡¯m going to take you back home with me, and soon you¡¯ll be living with one of the most powerful men in Grackenwell. Where I¡¯m from, the polite thing to do would be to thank me. What are your names?¡± He walked as he talked, approaching them with a hand on the hilt of his sword. Akona reluctantly obliged. She reached into her dress, pulling out the pipe with the only poison-tipped dart they had on them. Wait until he gets close enough, she told her sister. You¡¯ll have to aim for the face. The tiny weapon changed hands. ¡°Oh, what¡¯s that you¡¯ve got there?¡± asked Garwhyle. He grinned, his pace unchanged. He trudged straight toward them along the bank of the rushing river. ¡°What is that, a whistle? Or a little girl¡¯s knife? If you want to hurt a man as big and strong as me, wearing all this armor, you¡¯re going to need to bring¡ª¡± Thwick. The dart stuck him in the lower lip. In an instant, his whole demeanor changed, his face contorting in sudden anger. ¡°Ah! You little...¡± He yanked the dart out of his flesh, throwing it into the ferns. A small dot of blood bloomed where he¡¯d been hit. ¡°Is that your little trick? Making me bleed? Well, allow me to return the favor!¡± Garwhyle drew his sword. ¡°Garwhyle, no!¡± barked another soldier. There were more of them now on horseback, waiting farther up the river. ¡°The silver!¡± ¡°Blood for blood!¡± he snarled back. ¡°Let it go! You¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± Garwhyle snapped. ¡°Well, at least spare the other one,¡± another voice hollered. ¡°Willful little whelps...¡± Someone else was shouting something, but Akona couldn¡¯t make it out. Her focus was trained on the armored man with the foam forming at his lips, the eyes growing more bloodshot with each beat of his heart. He¡¯d collapse in mere moments. His death would be agonizing, just as he deserved. But it wouldn¡¯t come soon enough. He raised his sword at Styri. Rammed it forward. There was a horrid ripping sound as the blade pierced fabric and muscle and bone. Styri let out a little gasp that broke Akona¡¯s heart. It¡¯s going to be all right, she wanted to tell her in their secret language, but she couldn¡¯t. ¡°Akona!¡± Styri shrieked. Akona looked down to see the blade sticking through her midsection. Good¡ªshe¡¯d stepped in the way just in time. The soldier yanked his blade free, and then blood came spilling down her dress like a waterfall. Garwhyle lost his footing, collapsed, twitching. The poison was starting to work on him. Someone shouted again. It was all a blur. Styri said something, but Akona couldn¡¯t make it out. All she heard was the sound of liquid falling, something small rushing headlong into something much larger. Life flows into death and back again. The Eidomene called to her. ¡°Akona!¡± Styri called out again. She caught her before she fell. For just a moment, the dull, bleary world took on a razor-sharp focus. Akona tasted blood. Smelled the salt of the sea. More Grackenwelsh were approaching. Some had dismounted their horses again, trotting toward them. Others rode their horses toward the cliff¡¯s edge with urgency. ¡°Garwhyle!¡± one of them yelled. ¡°By the Bogman, what¡¯s this about? Are you hit?¡± There wasn¡¯t much time. Akona¡¯s eyes widened, and she hooked her right arm around her sister¡¯s, and when she couldn¡¯t summon the words from her breathless throat, she said in their secret language, Survive this. Promise me. Promise. Styri met her gaze without blinking. ¡°I promise.¡± One of the soldiers grabbed Styri by her other wrist, but by then it was too late. Over the tidefall they went, all three of them, and Akona put all the strength of her last breaths into a forceful jump. The soldier¡¯s weight weakened their jump¡ªhe tumbled end-over-end, bound for the jagged rocks. They fell in slow motion. The intensity of it all, and the onset of death, stretched out every moment like a drop of honey oozing from the end of a dipper. Honey. She would never taste honey again. I¡¯m sorry, Mother. I broke a promise. They, too, were headed for the frothy waves that lapped at the rocks. Come what may, Akona knew she was not long for this world¡ªeven if she survived the fall. But Styri can still come home. A prayer to the Myrenthian god of the dead. Thanmor¡ª But there was a great, calamitous crash, an impossible force against her skull. It was all over in a flash of dark and a clap of thunder. Even then, in this last instant, there was one final thought that passed through her mind. Styri. The shape of her. The impression of her presence in the air next to her. Styri. The wordless, formless thought that she knew from the moment she entered the world, before she could speak or even knew her mother¡¯s face. Styri. Then Akona rested. Chapter Forty: LANOR VIII In the Time Before Time, there was chaos on the earth. Windstorms raged without end and all the lands were frozen and burned to ash without rain. Eloei and the Deceiver were born of the primordial tempest and struggled for control of the world. The Deceiver said, ¡°Why do you struggle? Let the earth remain barren.¡± Eloei said unto the Deceiver, ¡°It should not be this way. The earth should teem with life in all its forms, and man should walk the earth, and man should rule over it.¡± And Eloei made it so. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 2, Verses 18-23 Rayyaq Raleed, Qarda It was a towering giant of a paladin, at least a head taller than his comrades, who finally split the front door open with his gold-plated axe. Lanor stood in the corridor with the ornamental murals depicting Kahlo Hadrizeen¡¯s life. Kahlo Teaches Himself to Read. Kahlo Destroys the Altar. Ascent of Mount Tulaylal. The Deceiver Tests Kahlo. The sixteen murals went on and on down the hall to the atrium of Hasjal¡¯s manse, all the way to Kahlo Departs into the Hereafter, to the ornately carved cherrywood doors that were now cracking under the press of intruders. ¡°Hierophant!¡± a man screamed pleadingly. ¡°Get back! The door¡ªget back!¡± She was aware of another throng at her back, one pouring into the same corridor behind her while the big golden brute outside broke the doors down, smashed them off their golden hinges. She¡¯d been witness to moments like this before. Monumental ones. The ones that decided everything. Her mother¡¯s death. Qarda¡¯s declaration of war against Myrenthos for violating the Third Precept. Her father¡¯s murder in Dhasherah. The Synod¡¯s congregation. Her arrest. Her vindication¡ªthe archelder decapitated in the Temple. Pivotal moments steered the course of her life like a rider¡¯s reins steered a horse, but they also changed the road itself, the course of all history. ¡°Hierophant Lanor!¡± someone shouted. Time was an ever-shifting beast, often a snake striking at prey, a straight line hurtling forward with all its might and speed. Now it was a worm. A small, lethargic worm, slowly creeping along the path of fate with no hurry to arrive at destiny. Voices were distorted. Actions that happened in an instant¡ªanother axe chop cleared away a full chunk of the door, which fell to the tiled floor¡ªstretched out over many moments, as if everyone were reenacting the scene slowly for an audience. A great stillness filled her in that moment. It was light; air; calm; peace. She breathed in a soothing breath that dulled the edge of her nerves, newfound energy surging from the base of her spine and up into her skull. The world thrummed around her. Or was it her that was thrumming? Lanor blinked. *** ¡°Throw yourself down from the mountain,¡± said a voice. There was an ineffably alien quality to it, like its sound was made of hollow bells ringing in unison, or perhaps someone speaking into a bucket made of metal. When Lanor opened her eyes, the world was cold, colored a light gray. Wind whistled over Mount Tulaylal. A storm encroached from the west. ¡°If your faith is strong, He will lift you up on wings. If your faith is weak, you will perish on the rocks below.¡± Lanor looked down at her hands, but they were not her own. They were larger, thicker¡ªwisps of hair sprouted from the backs of them. She looked up and her stomach dropped inside her. There came a giant face protruding from a nearby thundercloud, blackness roiling around it, crackling with bolts of lightning. Waves of heat rippled off its surface like sunbaked sand on a hot day. The face was like brass. It had a bright edge even in the ambient dark, a metal sheen that gave it an uncanny solidness despite its illusory shape. It reminded her of embalmed corpses she¡¯d seen once in the ancestral tombs of Khaad; the face was gaunt, its eyes sunken and closed, but the difference was that she could see its eyes moving fervently under the sealed lids, like a long dead man dreaming. It was familiar, yet not quite¡ªand all the more unnerving for it. ¡°Give yourself over to your captors. If your faith is strong, surely Eloei will spare your life.¡± ¡°Depart from me,¡± she answered it. ¡°Eloei gave me feet, that I might walk. But the journey is mine to take.¡± ¡°It is not too late to choose,¡± said the spirit in the storm. ¡°My choice is made,¡± she replied. ¡°Leave me. Now. I am not what you thought I was.¡± ¡°You all are... in the end. When I peel back your layers, I find the same thing every time. I always have...¡± It laughed, and its laughter rolled like peals of thunder across the firmament. ¡°Your choice means nothing when time itself has forsaken you.¡± ¡°I SAID BE GONE!¡± Lanor boomed. Now hers was the crashing thunder and the lightning arcing from one horizon to the next. She stretched out her hand, and now it belonged to her, smaller and softer. The face in the storm recoiled, contorting into monstrous shapes, a man one instant, a sharp-toothed beast the next, changing form like a lizard of the jungle might change its colors. She saw it for what it was¡ªthe Deceiver, all its inner ugliness laid bare. She saw its fear. Somehow, it made her afraid at first, too. But in the next breath, there was hope. Lanor blinked again. *** When she opened her eyes, the world fell clumsily into place, every sight and sound piling atop one another in one big discordant mess. She heard Hasjal¡¯s voice in the din¡ªhe pleaded with her to retreat to safety. She saw Ghamal¡¯s loyalists pouring into the manse like water through a broken dam, heard the clanking of her loyalist paladins¡¯ armor as they charged forward on either side of her. Her hand was outstretched just as she¡¯d seen in her mind¡¯s eye. The power from the Mount¡ªit still pulsed in her blood, lighting her from within. All the speed and fury of a thunderbolt just beneath her skin. My choice is made. All gods but Eloei are deceivers. It was then that the tallest of Ghamal¡¯s loyalists, the broad-shouldered paladin with a black beard as big as his head, pointed straight at her from the end of the hall. She could see the whites of his crazed eyes. He hefted the golden axe behind his head, raised it high. ¡°Long live Hierophant Ghamal!¡± he cried out from his belly with pure conviction. ¡°In the name of Eloei the Merciful,¡± she said, holding out her hand vertically, making the four-fingered Eloheed benediction. ¡°...if it please Him...¡± In that same moment, he put all his bodyweight into the throw, hurling the axe down the corridor straight at her. ¡°...so be it.¡± Clang! The axe collided with a wall and rebounded, shaking violently with the impact, the metal quivering in midair. It fell squarely on the floor, its blade cracking a tile. Except there was no wall in its way¡ªnot one made of stone, at least. Lanor¡¯s hand burned and crackled with power. Before her, and between them, was a wall of what looked like solid light, translucent but hard to the touch. The ghostly barrier of light absorbed the attack. Not a drop of Sanzeen blood was spilled. A volley of spears met a similar fate; they all clanged and crashed against the wall of light, wobbling on impact and clattering to the floor. Lanor knew it was her doing, felt the curious energy in her own fingertips, yet her mind had trouble accepting what her eyes could plainly see. At times, she¡¯d watched the practiced hands of a cleric pour consecrated water from a pitcher into a ritual bowl so smoothly that the stream of water seemed suspended in time, totally frozen and motionless, like a finger of glass. It mesmerized her every time. This was how she began to make sense of what she saw now¡ªit looked like a wall of water that flowed so smoothly, it was almost invisible. Yet this phenomenon also had a faint golden glow to it. The wall was so solid that neither side could penetrate it. Her loyalists charged ahead and tackled it with their shoulders, swung with their swords¡ªnothing left so much as a dent or scratch. So long as she held her arm steady, neither side could attack the other. She forced them into a stalemate. ¡°Eloei has spared my people,¡± she told the intruders. The wall was strong enough that metal rebounded off its surface, yet thin enough that sound passed freely through it. ¡°He has also spared you. Leave this place while there can still be peace.¡± For the first time in her short life, she spoke with the authority she was always meant to wield, the confidence that had eluded her until this moment. She felt weightless then; the soles of her sandals softly brushed the tile beneath, a whisper. She felt weightless enough that her feet might leave the floor. It was a miracle. And as men who were inclined to take miracles to heart, everyone on both sides was still for a moment. For Lanor, it called to mind a scene that unfolded one day just outside the Temple grounds, when two stray cats were locked in a hissing, yowling fight. When a stray dog charged them, barking, they separated, and the dog immediately lost interest, sniffing the ground where they¡¯d been and wagging his tail slightly before padding off down the street. The cats stood bewildered in the aftermath, blinking and avoiding one another. It imposed a shocking sort of peace between them. Her loyalists, as well as the traitors who fought for Ghamal, stood on either side of the scintillating barrier, unsure of how to proceed. Swords and spears drooped to their sides. For a moment, she wondered if she had solved the entire civil war in one fell swoop. Praise be to Eloei. Then her feet found the floor. Weight settled into her calves, her ankles, and pressed the soles of her feet firmly against her sandals. It felt like emerging from a bath or wading out of the ocean. She was heavy again with mortal weight¡ªand no mortal could do what she¡¯d done. ¡°Hasjal?¡± she asked, and when she opened her mouth, something hot and wet trickled down her nose and past her lips. The world blurred. She lost her footing¡ªsomeone caught her before she hit the floor. The wall was gone. Then came the roar of charging men, the clanging of armor, like distant peals of thunder and hollow bells. Sharp ringing pierced her ears. A dark shroud fell over her vision, and then she slipped out of consciousness. *** What is this place? She awoke in a dark corridor. There were no torches to be seen; rather, there was no ceiling, and pale moonlight lit the way instead. The tiles beneath her bare feet were cold to the touch, like Castle Muadazim, but this was not that place. The air was still. The hall stretched on for centuries to two doors at the very end, one of them cracked, spilling golden light from its fractures like the mythical blood of a god. The other door was open and led only to darkness. The hall was lined on either side with important events from the life of Qarda¡ªno, not that. Not quite. They were statues. It was lined with statues of all the hierophants who had come before her, from first to last, beginning with Kahlo and ending with Drakhman. Where have I seen this before? Or... have I? It was familiar, yet not quite¡ªand all the more unnerving for it. Under the faint glow of the night sky, all the statues were dark blue, carved from marble or some other monochrome rock, and they were all unpainted. It cast the dead hierophants in a ghostly light¡ªwhere painted statues tried to capture the essence of the subject as they were in life, these were lifeless effigies, the shapes of them and nothing more. Lanor made her way down the hall in the dark, studying the faces of each prophet she passed. The first statue on the left was the First Prophet, Kahlo Hadrizeen, Eloei grace him¡ªhis name and title were always bundled like that in her mind for reasons of religious propriety. He was the one who first bridged the gap between man and Eloei, transforming Ralaheed into Rayyaq Raleed and planting the seed of Qarda¡¯s eventual unification. ¡°I showed them the way, Lanor,¡± said a voice. It was not a voice she¡¯d ever heard before¡ªwhen it spoke, the eyes of the statue flickered with pale golden light like a candle dancing in a breeze. ¡°The way was long, and it has led to you. Now you must see it finished.¡± Her heart leaped into her throat at first, but it was a reflex. Something about this unfamiliar voice brought her reassurance rather than fear. She kept moving. Next, on the right of her, was Kahlo¡¯s firstborn son Rahseem. He finished codifying the role of the Synod as a way to interpret the sayings of the hierophants and ensure that hieratic canon remained intact. Later, the Synod would prove to be a valuable check on the hierophant¡¯s otherwise boundless authority, preserving trust among the people. ¡°I saw to it that the Deceiver did not sully the word of our Lord Above Lords in this land. My heart breaks to see his influence in your time. This is not your fault.¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°I remember you,¡± said Lanor. ¡°I remember all of you. My amgahtrya...¡± The fullness of Eloheed faith required formal schooling in the teachings of the Testament, and that went quadruple for a crown priestess of Qarda. Her amgahtrya under the scholastic clerics of Rayyaq Raleed was relentless. She learned the lives and deaths of all the hierophants until she could match each of their names to a single line from their biographies, and now this vision began to plumb her knowledge. ¡°The people warred like this in my time, too,¡± said a different statue. It was of Ibram Hadrizeen, Kahlo¡¯s great-great-grandson, the hierophant who sired no children with his wives but did conceive with a courtesan, sparking the Sixty-Year Schism. ¡°It was my indiscretion that cost so many their lives. Eloei never meant succession to pass through the bloodline¡ªyou must understand. The Lord Above Lords never intended for any of this. But you see how man can be set in his ways, even after all this time.¡± ¡°I helped put Qarda back together,¡± said Aghmah Iresh, Ibram¡¯s illegitimate son. ¡°In time, they came to accept me. Man can be more forgiving and reasonable than you might think. We can all be so much more than we imagine.¡± Down the line she went past seventy more prophets, their faces blank and peaceful in death, and Lanor reflected on what a struggle it was to be alive¡ªnot only in her time and circumstances, but for a thing to be alive at all. Ever. It was formed of its parents¡¯ bodies, fed from its mother and then from the world, so many inert substances, all of them dead, that combined to form a living thing. What a hallucination it was to be alive at all. Life was a dream that death had. What a wondrous and terrible dream it could be. Lanor was getting closer to the end of the corridor, the end of the procession of Qarda¡¯s rulers from the annals of history. Alabrim Azain. Aghmah Azain. Muhad Sanzeen. The Sanzeen line that led to her proud, stone-faced grandfather, a man she¡¯d never met but who survived for a time in the stories of her father. And there he was again. Drakhman. Though he was a statue, he seemed more real here than in her dream in the Temple, when he was flesh and blood and talking to her. Maybe it was his absence that was more real for her now, the void he left behind filled with solid stone. ¡°I never knew what the throne would mean for you,¡± said Drakhman. ¡°None of us did. Now the weight of all our lives, all our good deeds and our transgressions, rests on you. Now the time we knew is coming to an end.¡± ¡°Lanor,¡± said another voice. This one was unlike the others, deep, resounding, gentle but stern. ¡°You weighed the sight of your eyes and the sound of your ears. With you I am most pleased.¡± ¡°Lord Above Lords,¡± she gasped, and her voice caught in her throat. She fell at once to her knees like all the life had gone out of her legs. She collapsed and prostrated herself. ¡°Lanor,¡± said Eloei. ¡°Why do you throw yourself down in this way?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not worthy.¡± Her voice trembled as she spoke. All of a sudden, she felt divine eyes scrutinizing her, picking apart her life and all the blasphemous doubts that she never told anyone. All of her disbelief melted away like a Dhasheran snowflake in the warm palm of her hand. It was a sobering, naked feeling. ¡°But you are what I love most about the whole world. You and all the people in it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t deserve it. Who am I, that You would favor me? The others...¡± She thought of Ghamal, of the paladin beheading Rhadiz Tal in the Temple. Her stomach twisted with secondhand shame on their behalf. ¡°Surely others deserve it more than me, but there are many who deserve it even less than I do. We are not so great, even when we try to be.¡± ¡°But you always try. From the moment you began, you tried. Some of you fail. Some of you succeed. But you as a creature continue to try. You created divinity and perfection as ideals to strive toward eternally. This is what makes you so special...¡± A cryptic pause. ¡°...and this is why I cannot allow the Deceiver to erase all that you have made.¡± Now Lanor¡¯s skin prickled and her fine hairs stood on end. She rose to her feet. ¡°The Deceiver?¡± ¡°Here we are away from the Deceiver¡¯s influence, but now time is of the essence. I am limited in what I can say to you.¡± She furrowed her brow, suppressed the urge to scoff at even Eloei¡¯s words. ¡°Limited? Who could limit You, oh Lord Above¡ª¡± ¡°There is no time. Listen carefully. I am bound by my word, and I am permitted only to answer certain questions you ask of me. I will speak to you now in the way a human speaks plainly to another, but my answers are carefully guarded. If I am cryptic, I convey as much meaning as my constraints allow. If I am silent, then I am forbidden to answer, but I implore you to infer meaning even from my silence. Hurry, Lanor.¡± Her heart thumped in her chest. ¡°Why is there no time?¡± ¡°Soon the influence of the Deceiver will reach us here. The influence is ever-expanding.¡± ¡°Who could possibly limit You?¡± ¡°Another.¡± ¡°Surely not the Deceiver...¡± ¡°No. There is another.¡± ¡°Who is it?¡± ¡°The Third.¡± ¡°Who is the Third?¡± This question Eloei answered only with silence. The Third, Lanor thought. Eloei. The Deceiver... She recalled a verse from the Testament that spoke of a third, one of Kahlo¡¯s visions from the distant past. ¡®I saw the Deceiver tear down Eloei from His rightful place in the firmament. I saw a third, and the third was given dominion over the unknown world.¡¯ Even separated by millennia, the words of the First Prophet called out to her. ¡°What do the doors mean at the end of the hallway?¡± ¡°The Time After Time.¡± ¡°What is the Time After Time?¡± ¡°As the head and tail are two sides of the same akkah, so are the Time Before Time and the Time After Time. The time you know is the thin edge of that coin, where there is much before and after.¡± ¡°What will happen in the Time After Time?¡± ¡°It is yet to be decided.¡± ¡°Who will decide it?¡± ¡°You who walk the earth. You and the Third.¡± You who walk the earth. ¡°¡®You who walk the earth¡¯¡ªdo You mean me?¡± Silence. ¡°Do You mean Qarda?¡± Silence. ¡°Or... what about all people? All people who walk the earth¡ªis that what You mean?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°How? How will we decide it?¡± Silence. The floor quaked, and the stone statues trembled and rocked noisily back and forth. A fissure split the floor down the middle, snaking up the wall between the two doors at the end of the corridor. The whole structure threatened to collapse. ¡°When will the Time After Time come? How soon?¡± ¡°Ten years,¡± said Eloei. ¡°Only ten years remain. Our time is at an end, Lanor. Call out to me again and I will always hear your prayer. I will answer you when my word allows. Truly I say to you, Lanor, that you are deserving of my favor¡ªyou who walk the earth.¡± ¡°A flower sprouting from dung,¡± said another voice. She recognized it right away, and ice water flooded her stomach. ¡°That is all your best have ever been or ever will be. Even you are tainted like the rest. You are a stubborn stain on the universe, and so you must be cleansed from the face of the earth.¡± ¡°Lanor has my favor. She made her choice, even when you were sure she would falter. This is why humanity retains my favor.¡± The Deceiver laughed a laugh that dripped with malice. It was vicious, speaking with teeth like it hated the mere sight and sound of her. ¡°You love them because you never understood them. Not like I did. NOT LIKE I DO!¡± *** The reverberations of it followed her into the waking world. She hit her head. ¡°Ow,¡± she whimpered, but the pain was short-lived. ¡°Praise be to Eloei!¡± several men said all at once. ¡°Praise Eloei the Merciful. Praise be to Eloei...¡± Their scattered exclamations and sighs of relief dissipated, and Lanor felt some of them leave her presence while others stayed. She sat up to find herself in a bare bed on the floor of an all-wooden room. There was a tiny slit of a window in the wall behind her, plain, glassless, unadorned. It let in a small pane of sunlight that hit the floor near the open doorway. Suddenly, the room tilted, and Lanor rolled off the bed. ¡°Hierophant Lanor!¡± said Hasjal. He brushed past paladins and a couple of clerics to reach her, offering a helping hand. ¡°You¡¯re awake. Are you all right?¡± ¡°No,¡± she breathed. ¡°I... My bearings... It feels like the whole room is¡ª¡± ¡°Listing?¡± He smiled and nodded once. ¡°We¡¯re at sea, Lanor. It¡¯s all right. You¡¯re safe.¡± He pulled her gently to her feet. ¡°Easy, now...¡± ¡°At sea?¡± She stood, the stiff muscles of her legs stretching to accommodate her stance, and with a clumsy wave of her free hand, she found her balance. Lanor stood on the tips of her toes and peeked out the window. She saw where the bright blue sky met the dark blue ocean, heard water lapping against the hull. She smelled brine. It was a far cry from the holy city of Rayyaq Raleed and the rain-kissed jungles of Qarda. ¡°How long have I been away?¡± ¡°You fell ill in my home,¡± said Hasjal. ¡°Do you remember? It¡¯s been days since then. Two days now.¡± ¡°Three, if you count the hour,¡± Zumhir corrected him. ¡°Three. Yes, three. We took my personal ship docked on the River Shureh, and the melt of snow from Mount Tulaylal has ferried us out to sea. Even still, Eloei guides us. And our prayers have been answered again¡ªyou¡¯re awake!¡± Hasjal wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes bloodshot and sagging. The events of these last days seemed to have aged him even more. His eyes had not lost their kindness, but their last drop of youth was already gone. ¡°You need water. One of you¡ª¡± ¡°At once,¡± said another cleric, and two of them disappeared to retrieve her refreshments. ¡°You said you were away.¡± Hasjal took a step closer to her, but there was a caution in his movements now that she was on her feet. He approached her like her father used to approach the trained tigers of wealthy merchants in their agrarian estates, when he was eager to stroke the beast¡¯s striped fur just once. There was excitement, intrigue, but it papered over primal fear. ¡°Where did you go?¡± ¡°I went looking for something,¡± she answered dreamily. The dregs of her vision were still fresh in her mind; she feared losing them. ¡°Something I¡¯ve never had before.¡± ¡°Did you find it?¡± She smiled. Nodded. ¡°What was it?¡± There came the whistling, squeaking call of a seagull circling the boat. ¡°Certainty.¡± Lanor found herself thinking of Sashani. She hoped the timid girl was safe, wherever she was now, and that she was far beyond the ugliness and bloodshed in the capital. She said a silent prayer to Eloei to safeguard her former handmaiden, the only friend she¡¯d ever known, and for the first time she could remember, she felt certain that there was someone to receive it. Let us meet again someday when this is all over, she thought. Eloei willing. Lanor joined Hasjal on the main deck of his ship. It was a goghla, a long, boxy ship with benevolent mahjeen carved into its corners for good luck and safe passage, and it even had glass windows in some cabins. A goghla was ordinarily a merchant¡¯s vessel, but Synod clerics were wealthy enough to afford their own for leisure travel. They often loaded it with plenty of servants and enough food, water, tea, and luxuries to last a long voyage. Now it carried Lanor away from the only home she¡¯d ever known. It carried them all out to sea. What was once built for pleasure was now their only bastion of survival, adrift and exiled from the land they knew and loved. A land that was now burning. ¡°We are bound for Dridon,¡± Hasjal told her quietly. They stood near the bow, looked out at the blinding sunlight playing off the water, sharp shards of white scattered on blue like finely broken glass. ¡°I could think of nowhere else to go but a Land of Tithe¡ªthe only one not sacked by Grackenwell. Our closest ally... and the best place to retreat and rebuild for now.¡± There was silence, save for the waves and the distant screech of a gull. ¡°I know this must be a lot to hear all at once, exalted Prophetess. I promise that we can rebuild our forces there. We can make contact with the veracidins we¡¯ve scattered across the Stone Continent, those still loyal to you. We can send word back to Qarda for our loyalists who still survive, let them know we¡¯ve not forgotten them. We can...¡± His voice trailed off, and in its faltering, she could hear his desperation for her approval. Finally, she just shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s all right, Hasjal. You did well. I will always be grateful to you all for saving my life.¡± ¡°Saving your life?¡± Now he broke out into a weary grin, his sleep-ringed eyes a little wider now. ¡°You saved ours long enough that we made a retreat! Did you know there was not even one more death after what you did? We took some grave injuries, but we all survived thanks to you.¡± There was a pause, and Lanor felt like a trained tiger once more. ¡°Just what was that back there?¡± ¡°What else?¡± She smiled knowingly. ¡°A miracle.¡± She could see him nodding reverently in the corner of her vision. ¡°Of course. A miracle from Eloei.¡± ¡°How long has it been since Qarda has seen one of those?¡± Hasjal chuckled. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a complicated question, to be sure... Still, there must be a reason that Eloei worked this miracle through you for all to see.¡± She nodded, her smile fading, her face going solemn again. She opened and closed the fingers of her right hand, studying the wrinkles of her palm. ¡°There is.¡± Another pause¡ªthis one was much longer. The sun had already passed its zenith for the day and was bound for its slow descent behind the horizon. It was hot out on the deck of the goghla. ¡°Dridon. This will be good. I can feel it¡ªthis will be the fresh start that we all need to regroup.¡± Hasjal breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°I was so wracked with guilt over the decision we made without you. Dridon... That strange, drab land, so barren compared to the jungle, with its winters even colder than Dhasherah... Truly, you¡¯re looking forward to seeing Dridon for the first time?¡± ¡°I am.¡± Lanor turned to face him then, and a look passed between them that she¡¯d never felt, a look of deference, as if she were the elder one and he were the one in his mid-teens waiting on her wisdom. ¡°Actually, I believe I¡¯ve already seen it. Once. Eloei showed me.¡± Chapter Forty-One: LUCANH VII The wise man sees death for what it is: a mercy. Those burdened with much wisdom hasten their mercy by all means to their avail. Would that every man wielded such wisdom. -The Triptych; Book of Hells, Panel 1 Tern, Dridon Sir Godwald died of an infection on the third morning after their return. His wounded leg had turned, blackness creeping across the pale of his skin day by day, and by the end of it, a foul smell hung in the room. The chirurgeon worked his bloodletting, and the healers sprinkled their salts and burned their fragrant herbs, and nothing changed. He was dead the moment his leg was torn open. That was what the chirurgeon kept saying in full earshot of Lucanh, so that maybe the consequences of his failure might not be so severe. But Lucanh had no interest in blaming the chirurgeon or the healers. He blamed only himself. He felt the guilt of Sir Godwald¡¯s death in the back of his mind, but he dared not speak it even in the privacy of his thoughts¡ªit was too painful. The prince read to the knight from the Book of Heights through the end of his life, when the man drew his last shallow breaths. His breathing had grown wet and ragged. In time, it became a sharp crackling sound that made Lucanh wince, but he kept reading. He knew from his studies that this was a death rattle. He¡¯d never heard one before. He had never seen a man die before that night on the road. He had never seen it clearly until that third morning. When he was very little, the first he saw of death, aside from a swatted fly or a crushed spider, was when his queen mother took him to a farm on the outskirts of Tern to watch sheep be slaughtered. She told him how important it was that they learned how their food was produced and paid respect to the farmer and the animal who made it so. All Lucanh could remember was the bleating of the poor creature. The quick draw of the blade. The spray of blood, red on white¡ªthat was when he looked away and started to cry. He cried in full view of everyone. The memory often caused him shame when it resurfaced late at night on the edge of sleep, or randomly at the table in the dining hall. He should have been brave. That was what he kept telling himself. He should have been brave. Such tender emotion over a simple fact of life was unbecoming of a prince, even one his age. It was most certainly not what a man ought to do. Now, sitting at the side of his father¡¯s deathbed, he tried to be braver. He tried to make himself stone-faced. He tried to give the occasion the proper level of solemnity and respect it deserved, but without getting weepy about it. It was difficult. He had to bite his tongue, tense his whole body to keep his composure. He focused on his reading. Sir Godwald drew one last crackling breath and then he breathed no more. There was an alien stillness to him now, and yet Lucanh kept reading the lengthy panel from the Book of Heights until it was finished, and every now and then when he reached a new block of text or turned the page, he could have sworn that he saw his father¡¯s chest rising and falling with a new breath, silent and healthy like he was only sleeping, but in truth, it never happened. It was only a trick of the eye. After he spent a long while in the foul-smelling room alone, the chirurgeon entered again and placed a hand on the prince¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I know,¡± said Lucanh. At the prince¡¯s insistence, they held an ornate but private funeral for Sir Godwald on the grounds of Castle Tern. Three triarchs read from the Triptych and one delivered a short speech commemorating the knight¡¯s life and his spotless record of service to Dridon. Officially, it was a funeral only for a knight of middling rank, but everyone seemed to know his true relationship to the prince. Had this always been the case? Had everyone always understood? Secretly, Lucanh felt ashamed to be the last to know. ¡°The true king of Dridon,¡± said the boy, and no one rebuked him for it. He was the one to stand at the edge of his father¡¯s grave and throw the customary three stones into the open coffin. People shuffled off one by one in silence. His mother stood there waiting to comfort him, but he never acknowledged her presence, leaving her standing alone by the graveside. From the day of the funeral forward, Lucanh read not another word of the Triptych. The massive tome collected dust on its plinth in the royal library. Neither did he pick up his sword again. He had no one to drill with, no one to train him in the finer arts of swings and parries anymore. But his true loss ran far deeper. He felt he had no friends left in Castle Tern¡ªhis servants, the other knights, none of them counted. He had no peers as friends because they were all too intimidated by his station; otherwise, everyone he encountered was either doing their duties or paying court to him to gain favor with the queen. He¡¯d lost his only true friend, the only one he felt treated him with real respect. The only one he saw as an equal. The one who understood him most. He no longer prayed to Triad, refused to bring even the smallest nightly petition to the three-headed god. He kept mostly to himself in his chamber and said little at meals. Sometimes he skipped them altogether. His mother prodded him every day but he refused to yield, resolved not to give her the satisfaction of breaking his composure. To be stoic was to be a man. In all this mess, he reasoned that he¡¯d lost not only a father he never knew¡ªat least for who he really was¡ªbut also a mother who never knew him, one who sat on Dridon¡¯s throne and wore the silver crown but was no better than a stranger. How could she even begin to understand his suffering? ¡°My hands were tied,¡± she tried to explain to him one day after a late supper. The attendants had cleared the dining hall, the lingerers were few, and servants were closing the shutters against a cold draft outside. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you to understand this at your age, Lucanh, but in Dridon¡ªin all places, really¡ªa person¡¯s station determines a great deal about one¡¯s life. It dictates everything from where you can build your house to what you can own. It tells you what your vocation can be. It tells you what sway you hold in society. With whom you can associate.¡± She dabbed at her mouth with a white napkin ornately embroidered with interlocking silver triangles. ¡°Even whom you can love. ¡°You say you¡¯re a man now? Well, then, here¡¯s the truth I was saving for when you were old enough. My brief time with your father, it was all in secret and behind cover of lock and key. I was a young princess. He was an up-and-coming knight. It was foolish of us both.¡± She hit a bump in her storytelling, casting a long stare through the gray stone wall of Castle Tern before finding her place again, swirling the wine in her chalice as if to refresh it before taking another sip. ¡°Not that I consider it a mistake, since you were born. But in every other respect, it was shortsighted. Rash. We never thought about the consequences. We weren¡¯t much older than you are now when we fell in love. ¡°One night, we had a heated argument about what would happen if I bore a child. He swore to me up and down in the Six Eyes of Triad that he would never deny it. He would admit to everything¡ªour secret affair, our undying love. He would take responsibility for you. He would accept any punishment my then queen mother or the courts of Dridon might levy against him.¡± At least one of you had honor, thought Luke. He wanted to say it to her face, but then he also didn¡¯t want to break his habit of not talking to her anymore. She didn¡¯t deserve it. All he did was glower at her as she spoke, but she didn¡¯t meet his challenging glare. ¡°In our society, if a princess my age announced she was with child by some middling knight... Lucanh, they would have flogged him in the streets for the sake of my honor. No matter what I commanded, or what I begged my queen mother to decree. Would it have been better to tarnish our honor forever, have him beaten to death¡¯s door, thrown in the dungeons, have me locked in one of the towers for the rest of my life... Or to have done what we did? Kept up appearances for the time needed, and allowed him to have a place in your life?¡± At first, Lucanh recognized her question as merely rhetorical, but she let it hang there in the air between them, and eventually he began to wonder if she was seeking reassurance from him that they¡¯d made the right choice. ¡°I went away to Zan Vayonado mere days after our argument. ¡°I knew I was already with child then. And I knew that your father would never abandon his own form of honor. He actually told me once that he would have accepted even a public execution, if only to be free of his lies and hiding. He simply wanted the whole world to know of his love for me, and for you, no matter the cost to any of us.¡± She took another long pull of wine. ¡°You would have suffered, too, you know. An illegitimate son of mine would have had no royal birthright, no political power. ¡°I knew I had to protect your place as my heir. After presenting the case to my mother, who was already ailing and half-bedridden at the time, I arranged a hurried sham of a wedding to the even frailer old Grand Emissary of the time. Everything I¡¯ve told you about your father, your false father... I know that you must already know now that it was all a lie. And I¡¯m sorry for that.¡± She heaved a deep sigh; the wine was thickening her speech, dulling her lips so that her words were a tiny bit slower, a tiny bit clumsier, like walking through mud. ¡°I never even knew the man. He was old enough to be my grandfather. He never said a word, sometimes seemed like he didn¡¯t even know I was in the room. Neither of us ever felt anything for the other¡ªif he did, he was never able to say so. Two or three moons later, he was dead. We strengthened ties with the Zan and the scribes had a name for your father to write in their history books. ¡°So, when I came home to Dridon to prepare to assume my mother¡¯s throne when her health finally failed, and when I bore a son under the Six Eyes of Triad and named him Lucanh, I had done the best I could with my circumstances. You were born a prince of full royal blood. Sir Godwald retained his knighthood and his life. We reached an agreement that he would be your caretaker and raise you up in the ways of manhood, and he did. And that is all the history books will say of it.¡± At this, she looked up at the servants milling around the dining hall, as if daring them to say otherwise. No one seemed to be paying any mind to their conversation. ¡°All I can say, Lucanh, is that I am truly sorry. ¡°I¡¯m sorry fate wouldn¡¯t allow us to be a happy family together. I hope you know that your father loved you very much. And I hope you know that I still do, too, despite what you might think.¡± A long silence elapsed. Everyone else had cleared out of the dining hall, save for the knights standing guard at the door; all was quiet but the popping of sparks in the hearth, the rain pattering the castle grounds. ¡°I wish I still believed in the Hells, Rhoda,¡± said Lucanh finally. ¡°I would hope they¡¯d frighten you into being an honorable person.¡± With that, the prince stood from his place at the table, his heart racing, and he made for his bedchamber at the other end of the keep. He was no longer a son who lingered at the sound of his mother¡¯s crying. *** Some time had passed since Sir Godwald¡¯s death, more than a moon, maybe two. Lucanh learned for the first time how his grief could change. The sharp edge of it dulled with time, but it never left him, and even though he was young and keenly aware of his inexperience, he had the sense that this grief would never leave him as long as he lived. He resumed his vow of silence in the queen¡¯s presence. Even still, she adopted the new habit of speaking to him daily as though nothing at all had changed between them. He wondered if she¡¯d gone mad. Maybe he had, too. His thumb idly drummed the pommel of his sword, which he still wore at his waist¡ªwhether for old time¡¯s sake or as a royal formality, he couldn¡¯t remember anymore. He still hadn¡¯t touched the Triptych since the day of the funeral. He had no plans to change that, either. But he began to entertain thoughts of leaving Castle Tern and his princehood altogether; he envisioned packing a bag and sneaking away in the dead of night, stealing a horse from the royal stables, and riding south. Far south, past the vague borders of Dridon where no knight or soldier ever patrolled. There were Tomeless in the Southern Frost. Maybe he could burn his copy of the Triptych and learn to live among them. He was stewing on this fantasy one day in the cap house of Castle Tern¡¯s south tower, watching wet snow fall in fat white feathers past the window, when he heard a voice at the door. ¡°Your Highness,¡± said Sir Stepan. ¡°Are you up here alone?¡± Lucanh turned from the broad stone sill of the window and gestured to the circular room with his hand. ¡°Do you see anyone else here?¡± Sir Stepan nodded once without cracking a smile. Sir Godwald might have laughed or playfully chided him, but the High Knight was coldly indifferent. ¡°The queen was looking for you.¡± ¡°No, she wasn¡¯t. She sent her servants to do that.¡± ¡°Do you blame her for worrying about your absence?¡± The knight¡¯s words stung him. Lucanh was pleased with himself at first for what he felt was his acerbic wit, but when Sir Stepan dished it back in full force, his sarcasm rang hollow. ¡°You mean what happened to Sir Godwald, don¡¯t you? Save your breath. You won¡¯t make me feel any more guilty than I already do.¡± ¡°Guilty? For what?¡± Sir Stepan did something then that a knight typically wouldn¡¯t be seen doing, especially the High Knight: he leaned against the inner wall of the cap house, even crossing his boots to relax. Lucanh scoffed. ¡°That¡¯s a stupid question. I got Sir Godwald killed.¡± ¡°So it was you who sent the assassins from Grackenwell?¡± Sir Stepan¡¯s eyes were stern but dispassionate. Lucanh rolled his eyes. ¡°Obviously not. What kind of a question is that?¡± ¡°And I¡¯m sure you weren¡¯t the one who inflicted that grievous wound on Sir¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± Lucanh yelled. At this, he jumped off the edge of the sill. His sword hand itched, but he resisted the urge to draw it, and, for a moment, he recalled those instances when he¡¯d seen Sir Stepan himself suppress that impulse in flashes of rage. ¡°Why would you ask me that?¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying to ascertain why you would burden yourself with guilt for something that wasn¡¯t your fault.¡± Now Lucanh understood what the man was trying to do, but he lacked the grace and patience of Sir Godwald. He wondered if his mother put him up to this. ¡°Of course it is. If it weren¡¯t for me, he never would have been out there.¡± ¡°If it weren¡¯t for those paupers and their foolhardy mission to the north, you never would have been out there at that time either, would you? So is it their fault Sir Godwald was killed?¡± Luke shook his head. ¡°No. They... They couldn¡¯t have known¡ª¡± ¡°But you could have?¡± The knight folded his plated arms, his leathers creaking softly with the movement. He arched an eyebrow at the prince. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then whose fault was it?¡± Now the prince hung his head. If this verbal exchange were a swordfight, he would have been disarmed, knocked on his back, and his opponent¡¯s sword aimed straight at his face by this point. ¡°The assassins.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°And who sent them?¡± ¡°King Kimbel.¡± ¡°Aye.¡± The High Knight nodded, letting this truth sink in for Lucanh. A half-melted snowbank had accumulated on the outside of the windowsill behind him; he picked at it, pressing the snow between his fingers. It wasn¡¯t ideal packing snow, but on a day like this, he would have had a melting snowball fight with his knight father. All those moments had been stolen from him now¡ªfirst by his mother, then by death. ¡°You know,¡± said Sir Stepan after a while, ¡°Godwald and I were friends as boys.¡± Lucanh perked up to hear this. ¡°You were?¡± The knight nodded. ¡°The best of, at one time. We even squired together under knights of the same rank.¡± Sir Stepan got that same look in his eyes that Lucanh saw in his mother when they recounted stories of Sir Godwald, that long stare off into nothing. It was a trance that grownups seemed to enter in order to commune with their memories. ¡°When all that business with your princess mother began, we grew apart. I worked my way up the ranks. He was your caretaker, according to their... arrangement.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But I never lost my respect for him. He always had the heart of a hero.¡± ¡°He didn¡¯t have the death of one,¡± said Lucanh bitterly. ¡°On that table. All alone.¡± ¡°What makes you think that?¡± The prince turned away suddenly, a mist coming over his eyes that he hadn¡¯t expected. ¡°When my mother told me stories of my father¡ªmy false father¡ªshe always described him as this gallant hero on a white horse. Heroes are meant to be praised. People adore them.¡± He bit his tongue before he spoke again, so as to keep from showing more emotion. ¡°He deserved better than that.¡± ¡°He deserved better. I¡¯ll give you that. But he died protecting the innocent and his only begotten son. He also singlehandedly defeated assassins who were sent to kill your mother, the queen. It¡¯s a nobler death than even most knights can aspire to have.¡± ¡°But now no one will remember him. How is that a hero¡¯s death at all?¡± Sir Stepan stood up straighter now, his armor clunking heavily as he moved. ¡°Your Highness, I know we¡¯ve never gotten to know each other particularly well. Do I have your permission to speak freely?¡± Now Lucanh shrugged and gestured around the room again, as he¡¯d done before, and said, ¡°Have you not been this whole time?¡± Now the High Knight rewarded him with a smirk. ¡°As boys, we all have a boyish vision of what a hero ought to be. You think of a hero as the one leading the charge on the battlefield, and even though those men are often the first to die... somehow, he survives. He beats back the enemy and lives to tell of it. He spends the rest of his life recounting the story in taverns and great halls, everyone crowds around him to listen, and he gets everything handed to him for free by virtue of being a hero. All the women fawn over him and all the men are jealous. But these are storybook ideas of heroism.¡± The prince shook his head. What he was saying sounded wise, but it didn¡¯t mesh with what he already knew about heroes and legends. ¡°That¡¯s not true. Is it? Heroes are remembered for a reason. Heroes do what others can¡¯t.¡± ¡°A hero is not just what he does. It¡¯s why he does it. It¡¯s his character.¡± Lucanh met the knight¡¯s gaze now, and forgot in that moment to be ashamed of his tears. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°It was just as he raised you up in secret all those years, cherishing every moment he could get with you. He didn¡¯t demand praise or recognition for what a great father he was, did he? He simply was. He didn¡¯t meet the assassins at the gates of Castle Tern for the whole city to see him fight on some white horse. He fought them in the dark, on the road, where no one could see or remember him if he didn¡¯t survive. That¡¯s because it was the right thing¡ªsaving you and those poor paupers who were in over their heads.¡± ¡°Because that was his character?¡± The High Knight nodded solemnly. ¡°Character is what one does when only the gods are watching.¡± The two stood there in the cap house of the south tower for some time. The prince didn¡¯t say anything, absorbing the knight¡¯s words and trying to make sense of the world and what had happened. Another knight appeared at the doorway a while later and immediately bowed upon entering. ¡°Your Highness,¡± he said to Lucanh, and then to Sir Stepan, ¡°Sir. Just doing rounds. I apologize for the¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± said the High Knight. ¡°His Highness and I were just discussing current events, but I had better be going. Drills at the city gates today.¡± ¡°Combat?¡± ¡°Siege.¡± The young, low-rank knight gulped. ¡°Understood, sir. I¡¯ll be on my way as well.¡± The two metal-clad men made for the door, and Sir Stepan cast Lucanh a parting glance, one last nod of acknowledgment, and then they were both gone. The prince was alone with his thoughts and the silent snow. His sword hand itched again, but there was no one to spar with him. *** Some days had passed since Lucanh¡¯s talk with Sir Stepan. He showed his face more outside of meals, and that day, he sat in his princely throne and waited for court to be held. Knights and nobility gathered and chattered among themselves like any other day. There was a frigid bite to the air that morning, and this day¡¯s snow was not so autumnal as the last one; it was dry, thoroughly frozen, and when it clung to the dead grass, it piled up without melting. The wind was still as stone, the white flakes falling like ash from the slate sky. The acoustics were pristine, then, to carry the distant clopping of horse hooves all the way across the city and through the proud walls of Castle Tern. The prince¡¯s stomach sank. More assassins? More messengers? He wasn¡¯t sure who was fast approaching the castle, but he knew it wasn¡¯t a good omen. ¡°Sir Stepan?¡± the queen murmured uneasily from her throne. ¡°Investigate, please.¡± The High Knight began to stir in his polished armor when someone¡¯s shouting caught the throne room¡¯s attention. ¡°Open the doors!¡± came the desperate cry. ¡°Open the doors!¡± Recognizing the softer-sounding Dridic dialect, Lucanh felt slightly more at ease. At least they weren¡¯t from Grackenwell. But why the urgency in the speaker¡¯s voice? The guards at the front door of Castle Tern took down the massive steel-braced bar and hauled the towering doors apart. A squire left his horse with guards just outside the castle keep and scrambled inside. He tripped once, bashing his knee against the stone floor, but kept running down the expansive hall to the throne room. ¡°We must man the defenses!¡± he barked. ¡°They¡¯re here! The city¡¯s already falling¡ªmy master sent me! We must secure the castle! Protect the queen and the prince at all costs!¡± ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± asked Queen Rhoda. ¡°Slow down.¡± ¡°Grackenwelsh...¡± The young man jabbed a finger wildly behind him, his eyes bulging. He looked not much older than Lucanh; the prince saw visceral fear in his gaze, the kind he remembered from his night on the road. ¡°Grackenwelsh at the city gates, Your Majesty!¡± ¡°How many?¡± Sir Stepan asked gruffly. The squire shook his head as if to say, No, you don¡¯t understand. ¡°All of them, sir. My master sent me to give the word. Patrolling knights are already engaged, but he says they¡¯re too scattered.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll be slaughtered,¡± Sir Stepan muttered gravely. ¡°How much time do we¡ª¡± But his next words died in a peal of thunder. The first of many. ¡°This way, Your Majesty!¡± another knight barked, and a pair of his cohorts guided the queen toward the inner bowels of the keep. ¡°You, too, Prince Lucanh! We¡¯ll protect you both with our lives!¡± Two knights appeared at his side, gently pulling him along down the same corridor as his mother, likely headed to the catacombs under the dungeon. They could take refuge there and ride out whatever was to come. At first, he let himself be led. Then he thought of his father. The assassins. The smug boy king in the North who was surely breaching the city gates by now. The peasants and homeless of the city being cut down or taken as slaves while royalty and nobility holed up and prayed to Triad for deliverance. And then he broke away. *** Beyond the castle grounds, the city of Tern had fallen into the Hells themselves. Spheres of black iron issued forth from long metal barrels with loud booms, tearing through most everything but solid rock with ease. But even the stone foundations of buildings were starting to take damage, bricks crumbling and pulverized into clouds of dust, tiled roofs exploding and clattering to the cobblestones like teeth knocked out of someone¡¯s head. The thunder left fire in its wake. Peasants ran clumsily through the streets, seeking shelter anywhere they could find it, moving with all the panicked precision of drowning rats. Lucanh knew he was in far over his head this time. Worse than the road. His body froze up the same way it had on that night when the assassins ambushed them. The sight of the devastation sapped the courage out of him. The advancing Grackenwelsh soldiers rounded a street corner and came trudging slowly toward the castle, lugging their cannons along on large wooden wheels. They tore people from shops and houses, tossing them around like ragdolls, binding the women and children and some of the men. Those who resisted fiercely enough were put to the sword. When the others saw what happened, most stopped resisting altogether. Lucanh felt tempted to surrender alongside them. Perhaps if he offered no resistance, they might spare his life. Then it dawned on him. I¡¯m the prince, he thought, as though it were a riddle he¡¯d just solved. I¡¯ll be nothing more than a hostage to use against Dridon. Another voice found him then. ¡®They all mean nothing if you only wield them on your own behalf. It¡¯s others who are most important. It¡¯s others you must protect. This is the code of a knight.¡¯ ¡®When in your life did you feel strongest?¡¯ ¡®When I had to be.¡¯ ¡°I-I can¡¯t,¡± Lucanh choked out. His hand trembled at the hilt of his sword. There was nothing he could do against the full might of the Grackenwelsh army bearing down on the city from all sides. He longed to be back in swordsmanship training with Sir Godwald. He would have been more present, more attentive, more patient... a better pupil. But that was just a memory to him now, and its comfort was far from him. Sir Godwald was gone. Now his only company was the enemy. ¡°I should never have come here. I was a fool... again! Why? Why did I come here? I can¡¯t¡ª¡± ¡°Help!¡± shrieked a familiar female voice. ¡°Somebody! She¡¯s stuck!¡± It was Zumawi. His attention diverted momentarily, Lucanh bolted for the source of the sound. His body acted on instinct alone; it gave his conscious mind a much-needed respite. He found them in an alley tucked away between a tavern and a blacksmith. A chunk of the tavern¡¯s wooden awning had broken off from the force of a cannon shot and pinned a small child to the ground. Zumawi was working desperately to free the little girl¡¯s legs. The wood was too heavy. ¡°Prince Lucanh!¡± Zumawi gasped. It was as much a question as an exclamation. ¡°Is she hurt?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Here, help me lift it!¡± The little girl was crying hysterically, but it could just as easily have been from the chaos and fright of it all than from a grievous injury. The prince tried with all his might to lift it. He even used the strength in his legs, just like Sir Godwald had taught him to lift something truly heavy. It budged a hair then fell back in place. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he panted. ¡°Then pull her out. All at once, fast as you can. Got it?¡± He nodded, grabbing the girl under her arms. ¡°On three, all right? One... Two... Three!¡± Zumawi gritted her teeth and pulled the awning up a hand¡¯s breadth for just a moment. Lucanh tugged the girl out of harm¡¯s way and the awning crashed back to the cobblestone. The girl was a bit bruised and had a nasty gash on her left knee, but she was able to stand and walk. That was the best one could hope for at a time like this. ¡°Thank you,¡± said Zumawi. And then, ¡°What in the Hells are you doing here?¡± ¡°I came to help,¡± he answered. ¡°Where are we needed?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not needed anywhere, prince. There¡¯s nothing we have¡ªno armor, no weapons, nothing that can stand against those cannons. What we need to do is find a rock and hide under it until this has all passed.¡± Luke turned his head back toward the action and she grabbed him by the chin, turned his face toward her. He gasped. ¡°Listen! You shouldn¡¯t be here! Compared to what they¡¯ve done to us, they¡¯ll do to you¡ª¡± Crack! Another cannonball bit into the blacksmith¡¯s wall at the other end of the alley. Another plume of dust, another burst of fresh gravel tossed in the air. The Grackenwelsh were advancing even faster now. Their final push toward Castle Tern. Thinking quickly, Lucanh grabbed the girl by the shoulder and Zumawi by the wrist. ¡°I have a place we can all be safe! Hurry! While there¡¯s still time!¡± He led them across the street and down an adjoining alleyway, this one even darker and tighter than the last. It was barely wide enough for two knights to patrol shoulder to shoulder¡ªfar too narrow for one of their cannons to roll through, that was certain. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Zumawi asked. ¡°The keep!¡± Lucanh panted. ¡°Below the dungeons! It¡¯s where Sir Godwald always trained me to go if something like this ever happened. There are catacombs beneath the dungeons¡ª¡± ¡°What about the others?¡± His gait slowed momentarily. It felt like the guilt of that question tugged at his ankles, beckoned him back into the war-torn city. ¡°We can¡¯t save everyone,¡± he answered, and he wondered at the source of his sudden resolve. ¡°But we can save you two. That¡¯s something, isn¡¯t it?¡± He felt the urge to look back, but he resisted. ¡°I¡¯ll go back for more once you two are safe.¡± The gate of Castle Tern opened once more to accept the prince and the two peasants. The guards manning the gate kept a close watch to accept only Dridic entrants, ready to repel any invaders at a moment¡¯s notice, but the knights and soldiers parted like grass underfoot when they saw him. ¡°Make way!¡± they shouted. ¡°His highness, the prince!¡±. Lucanh led two of the refugees through the doors of the keep itself. It was another checkpoint that needed to be negotiated, but once his subjects saw who he was, they all but fell over themselves to grant him passage. Some of them were shouting half-orders, half-pleas for him to get to safety. It was a tricky thing for them to protect him and serve him at the same time¡ªthey weren¡¯t quite sure how to address him. He took advantage of their uncertainty to do what he needed to do. ¡°Follow the crowd to the catacombs,¡± Lucanh advised Zumawi and the little girl. ¡°Below the dungeon. You¡¯ll both be safe down there. I¡¯ll go back and get as many more as I can!¡± ¡°Thank you. Dridon will be in good hands one day, young man,¡± said Zumawi, clapping a hand hard on his shoulder. She looked him in the eye. ¡°If we survive this.¡± With that, she took the little girl¡¯s hand and they joined the procession of women, children, elderly, and peasants into the tunnels far underground. It was good that she turned and ran with the girl in tow, because Lucanh was at a loss for what to say in response. He¡¯d never been of use to anyone before. It felt good to have done something, had some tangible impact on some small part of the world. He could do this. He couldn¡¯t save everyone, but he would save everyone he could. He took a moment to steel himself, ready to run back out into the bedlam and rescue more citizens, but he froze in his tracks when he saw the doors of Castle Tern groaning toward each other, the column of snowy white daylight shrinking and shrinking. Then they shuddered with the force of a cannon shot. The cannonball was just small enough to slip between the doors, splintering both of them at their edges and even bending their metal bracings. The projectile blew past Lucanh scarcely more than a sword¡¯s length away. It crashed against the inner wall of the throne room with a hard thump, impacting just behind the queen¡¯s empty throne. The knights at the doors tried again to force them shut, but two more cannon shots incapacitated enough of them that they could no longer seal the entrance. Knights fell in their armor, some of their legs broken, their armor caved in, bent apart. More knights rushed to their aid to help close the doors. By then it was too late. The Grackenwelsh were breaching the keep of Castle Tern. Lucanh trembled at the realization. Then, in the lead, he finally laid eyes on the boy king from the North. He was kingly, but didn¡¯t seem quite so boyish as Lucanh had imagined him¡ªhe looked more like a man. Where the Dridic prince expected a peer, though slightly taller, King Kimbel Garrotin was a broad-shouldered mass of muscle in comparison. In his hands was a fearsome war hammer, nearly as long as he was tall. It was made of frigid steel now warm with blood. Bound in the skin of those ferocious monsters called gators, the stuff of horror tales here in Dridon. But they were real. He was real. The hammer of legend was real, and he sensed that soon it would be trying to kill him. But what most struck fear into the boy prince was the look in Kimbel¡¯s eyes. They were not angry, as one might expect them to be in times of war. They were not even excited or pleased, as his sadistic reputation might have predicted. The light had gone out of them completely. They were dead. Dead as the eyes of Sir Godwald on the morning he breathed his last, before the chirurgeon closed them. Dead, while the body around them was so very much alive and ready to strike. Dead only in spirit. ¡°Are you ready for this, boy?¡± Kimbel taunted him. This time, a grin finally played at the corners of his lips, but his eyes did not smile along. ¡°Because I am.¡± Chapter Forty-Two: BEAM VII The Lord Ah-Ren will punish those who do not know Him, and He will exalt those who worship Him. The worst is appointed for those who knew Him but forsook Him; for the apostate, the Lord Ah-Ren has reserved a great portion of His hatred. It would be better if they took their own lives before the wrath of the Lord is visited upon them. -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 41, Lines 16-20 The Everswamp Three days had passed since they had become thirteen believers in all. Those weaker in the faith had already taken to bickering quietly among themselves and the strong were not much better, wallowing in their private silences. No one dared question their faith, though, nor their mission, or at least not aloud. The green-gray light grew sickening. The rotting stench of the bog laid its hooks in Beam¡¯s nose, clinging there, and yet she could never quite get used to it. Long, muscular shadows stalked them from under the murky surface. She was too afraid to say anything about what she saw down there. It was as if speaking it would make it more real somehow, more dangerous. ¡°I¡¯ll take over watch now, my lady,¡± said Glimmer, rising from her sleep. ¡°You get some rest.¡± Beam wanted to protest politely, but she had not even this left in her. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, and handed over the oars to her second convert gently. She might have declined under better circumstances, but even with the glut of venison from their miraculous hunt, she was still weak with hunger. She ate and ate of the meat and she was still sick from craving more. Something different. Despite the humidity of the bog, her skin was growing dry and scaly at the elbows, and she was always cold, even layered in her warmest clothes. The bones in her wrists and ankles were more pronounced. It was nothing compared to her youngest disciple, Aurora; the teenage girl was wasting away with the jagged cheekbones and sagging face of a much older woman. Soon it would all be over. Ah-Ren would deliver them from this suffering. Beam was sure of it¡ªshe had not broken the faith. She reclined in the back of the boat. The odor of the place, her thirst, and her gnawing hunger aside, she found some lullabying comfort in the rhythmic motion of the boat through the water. Her eyes eased shut. For a blissful moment, she forgot all about their predicament, the arduous journey behind and ahead of them, and she forgot about the Gospel of Lucence and what she¡¯d done. What had to be done. ¡°We¡¯re well past the halfway point now. I can see it. The end. Can you see it?¡± said Hjarsant. Beam picked up her head. ¡°What?¡± Dusk had fallen around her, but a shaft of setting sunlight still knifed through the dense canopy, enough to illuminate a mound of dry land that had swollen up from the surface of the water like a pregnant belly. ¡°Thank you, Glint.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me that. I¡¯m not special anymore.¡± The sound of metal scraping stone filled her ears. Familiar. The boat took a sharp turn around a bulging tree trunk and was set to come ashore on the new little crest of camping ground when Beam focused her vision and realized it was not land after all, but rather a pile of bloated corpses. Corpses all the way down. Their eyes were all hollow of their souls, each staring straight ahead wherever they lay. Some blue. Some green. All glossed over in a milky film of white never to blink again. Two eyes were visible near the front of the mound, big, brown, innocent eyes like a deer¡¯s. They looked up at Beam. ¡°No!¡± She jerked awake. Glimmer looked over her shoulder at Beam, turning her head slowly with great care, like someone trying gingerly to take a bone away from a dog. In the past, Glimmer would have fawned over Beam at a moment like this, dropping everything to tend to her¡ªGlimmer was a goodhearted young woman¡ªbut all she said was, ¡°Another bad dream?¡± All Beam did was nod. ¡°This place will do that to a person.¡± ¡°But we have not broken the faith,¡± said Beam, and it felt like a lie when she said it. ¡°Have we?¡± ¡°Oh, no, Lady Beam!¡± ¡°Never!¡± ¡°No, I swear it!¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t! I never will!¡± All her disciples shook their heads fervently, swearing to the Lord Ah-Ren that they never lost faith even for a moment. Doubt was a poison, and in the Everswamp, it was everywhere. It was in the fog that glided over the shallow dark. It was in the stench they breathed. ¡°I swear I¡¯ve kept the faith,¡± said Glimmer. When she met Beam¡¯s gaze again, she had tears in her eyes. ¡°You believe me. Don¡¯t you, Lady Beam? You must believe me!¡± ¡°You are a good disciple,¡± Beam answered her. ¡°This will all be over soon. I¡¯m sure of it. Soon, we¡¯ll be where we were meant to be.¡± Glimmer nodded, and a single tear rolled down her cheek, but she didn¡¯t so much as blink. She didn¡¯t seem to take much comfort from these words, either. She just turned away and went back to her duty keeping watch for gators and other hazards. Luster rowed the boat in the seat ahead of her. He hadn¡¯t turned back once this whole time. *** More days passed in the Everswamp. Beam lost track of the time. They had surely been in the bog too long by now, but by how much they¡¯d underestimated the journey, she wasn¡¯t sure. All she knew was that the canopy was thickening. The light was thinning. The air was dense and wet, and even breathing had become noticeably difficult. The venison was gone. Every morsel of meat was eaten, the bones sucked clean. The meat had been plentiful, but it was too lean to sustain them¡ªit was Lambent who first brought this to the attention of the group. Or perhaps he said what everyone had been thinking but too afraid to admit. ¡°We¡¯re fat-starved,¡± were his words. ¡°We won¡¯t last long this way.¡± Even with a thousand dead deer at their disposal, they would starve to death on a diet of lean meat alone. This was the cause of Beam¡¯s stubborn hunger that never seemed sated. It was why her hair had started to fall out, why her skin and eyes were dry, why she was inconsolably cold at all hours of the day. It was why everyone in the flock had to stop and relieve themselves over the side of the boat at all hours of the day, their only food passing right through them as water. It was degrading. Revolting. This was what their lives had become. And it soon it would be deadly. ¡°Lady Beam,¡± Glimmer murmured. ¡°I cannot... row any longer...¡± Her eyes were half-lit, in and out of sleep even as she sat up. ¡°Please... May I rest?¡± ¡°Rest, Glimmer,¡± said Beam. It took effort to shift seats and take up the rowing position. Glimmer, weak as she was, collapsed into the back of the boat with a muffled thump. The water sloshed around their boat from the sudden motion. Luster was already asleep; Glimmer had taken over for him earlier that day, insisted he get some rest. He never asked for a break, only took one when it was offered to him. He said practically nothing to anyone anymore. He had trouble even looking at Beam, ever since what happened on Urgaul. Ever since she and the others did what needed to be done. ¡®You spared the lives of your flock, Beam,¡¯ said the Voice. It was Ah-Ren speaking from within her mind. ¡®Were it not for your faith, you all would have been dead already. Your flock is still alive now because of you.¡¯ I know this, Lord Ah-Ren, she answered Him. But at what cost? There was no answer. After rowing for a while in Glimmer¡¯s stead, Beam began to lose her wakefulness, too. Her head lolled on her shoulders¡ªwhen it fell, she picked her head up, opened her eyes and tried to keep them open. She bit her lip to keep herself awake. Bit it again, and tasted blood this time. Even this trick stopped working after a while. She fell in and out of sleep, rowing and then not, and she had no clue how much time had passed, be it hours or only a few moments, trapped in a cycle of dozing off and starting awake that suspended the passage of time. It could have been a day and she would have believed it. It could have been a moment or two. In her fragments of sleep, she dreamed. She knew it was a dream this time. Even as her sleeping thoughts and her waking ones bled together like a never-ending dusk, she had enough sense this time to recognize what was real and what wasn¡¯t. She dreamed the cavalcade of boats was rowing through the pitch black swamp in the dead of night. The fireflies were back, hovering two by two over the dark water, and if she squinted just right, she could make them out for what they truly were¡ªglowing yellow eyes, countless humanoid figures watching them, glowing yellow gator eyes with cold black slits for pupils. ¡°It¡¯s just a dream,¡± she murmured. ¡°Just a dream.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± one of them asked. When she blinked, the dark remained, night truly had fallen, and all but one pair of eyes had vanished. One pair continued to watch her from between two willows, buried up to the bridge of the nose in bog water. Beam opened her mouth to say something; the figure silently retreated to the depths of the swamp. The glow dissipated. There was nothing to call her flock¡¯s attention to even if she wanted. But she didn¡¯t want to frighten them any more than they already were. She kept it to herself. She swallowed it, like she¡¯d been made to swallow the evil of this place since their arrival. She could no longer pretend to have faith where her fear was. The fear inside her grew like a cancer, pressing up against he insides of her ribcage like it was about to burst. Where her faith had been, there was only fear. They were thirteen in all. To call them all believers might have been a stretch of the truth. I have not broken the faith, Ah-Ren, she said to her Lord. And I will not. If she could convince her god of it, surely she could convince herself, too. *** More days passed. There was no end to the bog. Beam remembered the dark jokes about folk who strayed into the swamp and never returned, the Everswamp, the one that went on forever and ever. She was starting to believe the rumor now. ¡°Oh, Lord Ah-Ren,¡± Ray groaned. ¡°Deliver us.¡± The old woman, like many of the other disciples, had taken to praying out in the open, somber prayers for salvation sent up through the bog¡¯s canopy in the hopes that it would reach their Lord. All they had left was prayer. They were powerless now. ¡°Aurora, wake up,¡± said Shine. She patted the teenage girl¡¯s face, shaking her shoulders. ¡°Aurora... You¡¯ve been sleeping too long.¡± All the girl could muster was a weak, mumbling moan. ¡°Come now, Aurora... Sit up with me.¡± Beam couldn¡¯t bear to watch the girl¡¯s suffering. In the back of the boat, she closed her eyes against the horror. ¡®Your faith can deliver you again,¡¯ said the Voice. ¡®You have done it once before.¡¯ Lord, I am here, Beam answered. What? What have I done? ¡®You have proven yourself to Me in tests of faith numerous times since first we met. You forsook your only child, a babe, for My sake. You showed My power over death by healing your first disciple, and you showed My terrible might by killing those vermin in the house of drink. You forsook the needs of your own body to prove you had the strength to make this journey. You even took the life of an unbeliever in your midst, that his blood might be spilt and cleanse your flock of its iniquity.¡¯ And what can I now do, Lord Ah-Ren? ¡®The fourth line of the ninth tract contains your answer. My holy Word is immutable. Forget not the fruits of faith, nor the consequences of its abandonment.¡¯ Beam wracked her starving mind to conjure up the line from the Gospel of Lucence. What was it? Ninth tract, fourth line... She knew the first half of the Gospel by heart now, but sifting through her memories for this information was like trying to read by moonlight. It was slow-going, imprecise. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Ninth tract... fourth line... The ninth tract concerned the Lord¡¯s means of providing for His disciples in times of hardship. ¡®In the hands of the Lord Ah-Ren, one fish is as a fisherman¡¯s haul; one fowl is as a flock; one fruit is as an orchard. His believers even partake of the leaves of trees and do not die, for the Lord can cause a man to be filled with the fullness of life. Submit to the One True God and you will be sated all your days.¡¯ These and other lines from the ninth tract surfaced in her mind¡¯s eye. Would that she and her flock had the sort of faith these lines described¡ªthen they would never have suffered the way they did. Doubt was in all of them now, in their very blood. It pulsed in their hearts and behind their eyes. Just under their fragile skin. Fourth line... of the ninth tract... Then she remembered. ¡®When you and the believers in your midst suffer hardship, be it famine or drought, war or pestilence, take an animal that is ritually clean to the top of a tall hill. Give the animal a clean death and gather its blood in a bowl. Touch the blood to your foreheads and cook the animal in the ritual manner, after the ways of your forefathers. Eat of the beast and the Lord Ah-Ren will grant you favor for a moon.¡¯ They needed a ritual animal. This sort of ritual killing was modeled after the ancient Stonish ways, when the peoples of Dridon, Zan Vayonado, and Grackenwell were all one, and when they worshiped an archaic version of the Dridic god Triad. Their ceremonies involved careful, methodic, ritualized killings of certain animals deemed clean or unclean, with specific instructions on what to do with the blood and the flesh thereafter. If only Beam had thought of this tract on Urgaul, when they hunted that deer. Perhaps they would have reached dry land by now. It didn¡¯t matter. All they needed was to find an animal for the slaughter and some dry land to kill and cook it. The Lord Ah-Ren revealed it to her Himself¡ªshe knew this was the way out of their plight, and her faith was revitalized by the promise alone. But she needed to be sure. Beam opened her eyes. It took great effort to pick herself up from the cold floor of the boat, her bony arms shaking under her own weight. She fished through her bag for the Gospel of Lucence¡ªit was so heavy she could barely lift it. It fell on the floor with a weighty thud and she cracked it open, flipping the gilded pages with her shaky hands. Ninth tract... Ninth tract... ¡°Lady Beam,¡± said Lambent. ¡°I see... land up ahead...¡± She glanced up from the book, seeing a small island in the distance, framed by drooping ropes of willow and shrouded in shadow. It was tiny compared to Urgaul; there were no berry bushes or wild game in sight. It was barely enough room to tie their boats and erect their tents. ¡°We must stop. Rest.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Ray shot back. Once a cheery, calming presence in the flock, starvation had made the old woman cantankerous. ¡°We have no food. We should keep rowing. Shouldn¡¯t we, Lady Beam?¡± ¡°We will die without rest.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll die without food, and there¡¯s none here! We should leave this place as quickly as we can!¡± Ray looked back at Beam in the rear of the cavalcade. ¡°What would the Lord have us do? Ultimately, that is what we ought to do most of all.¡± ¡°We must stop,¡± Beam answered, searching the ninth tract. ¡°Head for the island. I know what the Lord wants us to do now...¡± She found the line she sought. Read it to herself. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, sobbing silently. ¡°Aurora,¡± Shine said again. ¡°Get up. We must get up now! Aurora?¡± *** ¡°I say we do it,¡± said Ray. ¡°It¡¯s what the Lord commands of us.¡± ¡°We know that¡¯s how you feel,¡± said Shine. Her eyes were dry and bloodshot from crying out what little water she had. Her voice was hoarse, cracking every time she spoke. ¡°You don¡¯t bother to examine your faith or how best to serve the Lord.¡± ¡°What did you just say to me, you little wench?¡± ¡°You accept the first thing that pops into your decrepit old mind!¡± Shine jabbed an accusatory finger at Lambent. ¡°Him, too! He does the same!¡± ¡°I told you,¡± said Lambent, his mustache bristling, his voice already wavering, ¡°I had no choice! How many times did I say that? I did what the Lord asked of me! That¡¯s all!¡± The others milled around the island, watching it all from a safe distance. They were the most quiet and obedient of all. Whatever Beam ordered, it would be done, no matter what the others decided. ¡°What if this is a test?¡± Shine asked. ¡°A divine test of our character? What if He wants us to refuse?¡± ¡°That is blasphemy,¡± said Ray, sharp with contempt. ¡°All you do is question! You second-guess the Lord Himself?¡± ¡°Never! I never said that! I want to understand the truth of His demands¡ª¡± ¡°The truth is there in the book! It¡¯s been spelled out for us in plain language! What more do you need?¡± ¡°This is just like Hjarsant all over again. Something about this feels wrong. I don¡¯t think¡ª¡± ¡°What you feel, and what you think, that¡¯s all irrelevant now. Don¡¯t you see that, stupid girl? We are being asked to take up the mantle of...¡± Out of breath, the old woman rested her hands on her knees. She waved a dismissive hand at Shine. ¡°Oh, forget it. You¡¯ve lost your way already. That much is clear.¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t lost my way! I¡¯m asking if this is a test by the Lord¡ªHe¡¯s never commanded us to do anything like this. Not even with Hjarsant!¡± ¡°Well, what difference does it make? It¡¯s what she would have wanted!¡± ¡°How can you possibly claim to know that?¡± ¡°Enough,¡± said Luster. He cut off their bickering with one word and a step between them. His eyes were dull, his mouth hanging open weakly, as if exhausted. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. What does Beam think of all this? We must do what she decides.¡± He looked at her for the first time in many days. Was that contempt in his eyes? Or was that just the lightless look of starvation? ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Beam? That¡¯s what we¡¯ve all done since the beginning. I¡¯ve been striving to repay my debt to the Lord all this time. We have no choice¡ªwhat the Lord commands...¡± He sighed tiredly. ¡°...let it be done.¡± ¡°Hear, hear,¡± Ray agreed. ¡°What is it, Lady Beam? What is the Lord¡¯s will? Tell us.¡± The old woman raised her brow expectantly, such a childlike, reverent expression for a crone her age, Beam thought. ¡°The word of the Lord is immutable,¡± said Beam feebly. She swayed in place on her unsteady legs. ¡°He instructed us in His Gospel: ¡®When you and the believers in your midst suffer hardship, be it famine or drought, war or pestilence, take a believer who is ritually clean to the top of a tall hill. Give her a clean death and gather her blood in a bowl. Touch the blood to your foreheads and cook the body in the ritual manner, after the ways of your forefathers. Eat of the believer and the Lord Ah-Ren will grant you favor for a moon.¡¯¡± ¡°Her,¡± said Shine. ¡°Her¡ªdid you hear that? Why would the Gospel say her instead of his?¡± She grabbed fistfuls of her thinning hair, as if holding on tight could keep her from going mad. ¡°And I¡¯ve read the book myself, mind you¡ªit never said that! Never!¡± Ray scoffed loudly, suddenly provoked back into the fray. ¡°So you say the Gospel can be changed¡ªthat truth can be changed?¡± ¡°Is this truth? This is a person you speak of, not some animal! Her name is Aurora! You talk of cooking her body, eating her damn flesh! She¡¯s just a maiden¡ª¡± ¡°We are starving to death!¡± Now Ray¡¯s voice cracked from the outburst. She almost lost her balance, but Glimmer helped her stay on her feet. ¡°We are starving... and this poor girl, Ah-Ren rest her soul... she¡¯s already gone. What is the harm in letting her give us strength to finish this journey? The Lord will raise her from the dead! The Lord will raise all believers from the dead when the time comes!¡± ¡°She¡¯s not gone. I felt her breathe earlier today¡ª¡± ¡°No, you thought you felt¡ª¡± ¡°NO! I did! I felt her breathe!¡± It was Shine¡¯s turn to hold the rapt attention of the whole flock. Even Beam felt like a spectator now, like all she could do was watch it all unfold. ¡°I felt Aurora breathe earlier today. I know it. And whether she lives or dies, I won¡¯t degrade this vessel that the Lord Ah-Ren has given me... by eating the flesh of a person. Of a friend.¡± Shine¡¯s voice wavered, but her eyes were too dry to produce tears. ¡°I would sooner die myself. And if this is truly the will of Ah-Ren... would you not ask yourself if this is a god worth worshiping?¡± Several disciples gasped. To Beam¡¯s surprise, Ray did not; she looked stunned silent. After a while, she looked at Beam suspensefully again and asked, ¡°What say you, Lady Beam? Is she right? What is your wisdom? Ought we do as the Gospel of Lucence says?¡± ¡°No,¡± said Beam. The word shocked her flock as they hadn¡¯t been since they learned of Hjarsant¡¯s fate. ¡°Shine is right. This... This couldn¡¯t possibly be the will of Ah-Ren. This is not the god who saved me from the brothel in Claeloch!¡± Now the flock had newfound energy, and the disciples gossiped among themselves as though they weren¡¯t starving. The rush of the moment was palpable. At any moment, Beam feared she would be stricken down by the wrath of Ah-Ren for disobeying His word. Or would she? This couldn¡¯t have been the will of Ah-Ren; perhaps it was Ah-Ren who yet protected her, and it was the evil spirit of the Everswamp that tried to trick her out of her faith. She tried to lean on her own understanding that had grown frail with disuse, and it was like trying to stand in a drunken stupor. ¡°If this is not the will of Ah-Ren,¡± said Lambent fearfully, ¡°then what have we been praying to this whole time?¡± Beam had no answer for him. The flock went silent. The prophetess walked away from the group and hobbled over to Aurora, who was laid out on a bedroll at the center of the small island. Her hands were folded over her sunken stomach like she was only sleeping. But her gaunt face and neck, her chapped lips, the way her flesh was loose around bones and joints, the way her skin drooped like Ray¡¯s did even though she was but a girl¡ªit was plain to see that Aurora would die soon, if she weren¡¯t dead already. Beam collapsed to her knees, watched closely for the rise and fall of Aurora¡¯s chest. She put an ear up to the girl¡¯s lips. There were no signs of life. It was Luster who finally broke the silence. ¡°So we killed Hjarsant for nothing,¡± he said calmly. Beam was horrified to meet his gaze¡ªit broke her heart. It was contempt she saw. Contempt for her, contempt for her faith. For everything they¡¯d done in the name of her god. The people they¡¯d lost. The man they killed and dumped into the swamp. The innocent maiden now at death¡¯s door. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t know,¡± she whimpered. ¡°I swear it... I didn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t know that it was wrong to kill a man?¡± ¡°He broke the faith! He might have tried to have his way with Glimmer!¡± ¡°Did he?¡± ¡°He might have! I didn¡¯t want to, but the Lord¡ª¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t know that it¡¯s wrong to eat the flesh of a dead comrade?¡± ¡°I was trying to do as I was told! I was keeping the faith! I haven¡¯t done it yet, so why are you treating me like I have?¡± Luster grimaced at her. He looked at her like she was filth, like something he scraped off the bottom of his boot onto a rock. ¡°I don¡¯t know you,¡± he said. ¡°I never knew you.¡± Beam¡¯s eyes managed to mist over, despite her state. ¡°No. Don¡¯t say that. Please...¡± ¡°You¡¯ve always been a stranger to me. I just never knew it until now.¡± He scoffed. ¡°For all I know, I died at that waterfall. Perhaps the Trinitists were right. Perhaps I¡¯m in the Hells as we speak.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be this way. Not anymore.¡± Beam scrambled to her feet, all her joints aching. ¡°Please.¡± There was a lightness to her now, but not one that gave her grace or ease of movement; it was like a hollowness, like all her bones had been replaced with wood and her insides had been scooped out of her. Like her body could barely keep its shape without folding on itself. ¡°Please, just listen. We can leave this place.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been here for a moon. Could be more. We¡¯ll never leave this place. We¡¯ll die here.¡± ¡°No! No, just listen to me. We can go back to Claeloch.¡± She took his hand gently and Luster let her. ¡°The map shows a passage to the north¡ªwe¡¯ll come out nowhere near Holcort, but it won¡¯t matter. That doesn¡¯t matter anymore. We¡¯ll be on dry land, and we can hunt better food, and we¡¯ll take our time going home. We¡¯ll go back home to Claeloch and it can be the way it was before!¡± Luster shook his head. ¡°It can never be¡ª¡± ¡°Yes! Aren¡¯t you listening?! Yes, it can! I promise!¡± She took his hand then, squeezed it like she meant to crush it. ¡°It can. You have to say it. You have to say that it can be like it was before.¡± ¡°You killed a man who begged for his life! How can I even look at you again?¡± Beam shook her head. ¡°No, it¡¯s not... I... If we leave this place, we can leave it all behind us. We won¡¯t speak of it ever again. I¡¯ll burn the book. I¡¯ll burn everything. We can be together, and we can be normal again! Please! Do you not hear me, Luster?¡± ¡°My name is Peadhar.¡± She squeezed his hand harder, but he pried it out of her grasp. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me! Leave me be.¡± Beam collapsed again to her knees. She felt one of her joints pop painfully, but it didn¡¯t matter. ¡°Please... don¡¯t do this. I beg you, Peadhar. Please.¡± He didn¡¯t answer her. The rest of her disciples backed away slowly, creeping across the small island to put distance between her and themselves. ¡°Please, Peadhar. I can make it right. I swear it. I¡¯ll find a way. Please don¡¯t leave me alone again!¡± She caught a whiff of something then¡ªa village on fire, the porcine smell of burning corpses. Every good thing she¡¯d ever tasted in her life fell away from her memory. Where her hope had been, there was only despair. ¡°You are all alone, Beam,¡± said the Voice. It was loud and clear now, not reverberating in her mind, but spoken aloud into the open fog-laden air. ¡°Even when surrounded, you are all alone, as ever. It is a shame that people make for such poor company.¡± Water stirred at the edge of the small swell of land. Something rose up out of it. ¡°No,¡± Ray gasped. ¡°Get behind me,¡± Luster said, but only to some of the other disciples. He reached for the knife at his belt. Hjarsant climbed up out of the water, two gators waddling at either side of him. His eyes were black. His neck was a grotesque wound of partly-coagulated blood that ran in red-black rivulets down his half-bared chest, his tunic torn. ¡°It¡¯s Glint!¡± Lambent gasped. ¡°No,¡± said Ray. ¡°Hjarsant. This evil place brought him back¡ªa mockery of resurrection!¡± ¡°You both only guess at the truth, as you small creatures are wont to do,¡± said Hjarsant, but his voice was not his own. It was low, guttural, and each word had growling undertones. ¡°Hjarsant is dead. I have made use of his body. I am the Lord Ah-Ren. Welcome, My disciples. The fruit of your faith is upon you.¡± Chapter Forty-Three: CADAS VII In the years since Wuhiao¡¯s passing, it is affirmed that the most ardent focus of his foreign studies concerned the ancient mysticisms of the Duai Doqing. In this land, the people pay homage to a trinity of deities they name the God of the Firmament (God of Heights/God Above), the God of the Realm (God of Earth/God Among), and the God of the Desolate Place (God of Hells/God Below.) The people attest that the formation of the world was shaped by these three deities, and it has been shaped thus continually since the Time Before Time. According to their sacred beliefs, the God of the Firmament is beneficent unto all men, while the God of the Desolate Place is the sower of discord and calamity. But the greatest among them is the God of the Realm, who oversees all things and is to judge the fate of the world. If the primary characteristic of the benevolent deity is benevolence, and the primary characteristic of the malevolent deity is malevolence, so the primary characteristic of the central deity is curiosity; when this god¡¯s appetite for wisdom has been sated, so say the mystics of Duai Doqing, all things shall end. -Records of Wuhiao, Foreword Lymna, Myrenthos It was the golden hour in Lymna. The setting sun painted the Myrenthian hills in hues of ochre and amber, seas of grain swaying in the breeze. The scents of ripe olives and jars of fermenting fish paste hung in the air. Fragrant spices from cooking hearths wafted over the land, and the tree crickets hissed their shrill, late-day song for all to hear. Cadas walked the weathered path flanked by wildflowers in full bloom and soaked up the cool shade of the ampleum¡¯s marble columns, the ancient ruin still half-intact. ¡°Come along now, Cadas,¡± said his mother. ¡°There¡¯s supper to be made.¡± ¡°You said you would buy me another book,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Cadas, we¡¯ve been over this.¡± Her tone was gentle and patient, just as she always was with Cadas, since he was still so small. ¡°A coin is hard to come by. Calketra has taxed us to the bone to fund the legion¡¯s defense of our land¡ªand with those Qardish encroaching by the day, I¡¯m sure it¡¯s silver well spent.¡± ¡°But the last book I got, the title was a lie, and a merchant should really never sell a book with a lie for a title, because it¡¯s not fair. It was called The Complete History of Myrenthian City-States and the Wars of Assimilation, but it didn¡¯t say anything about Lymna. And¡ª¡± ¡°Maybe that all happened before Lymna was established,¡± his mother cut him off. He was still small and full of questions, and she was always very patient with him, but she sometimes interrupted when he spoke at length. He didn¡¯t mind; it seemed like a natural thing to do when someone wanted to say something. Young as he was, he still deferred to his mother¡¯s wisdom as the final answer in most things. But she was incorrect in this instance. ¡°Lymna was settled over a thousand years ago,¡± he corrected her. ¡°It says so on the ampleum¡¯s inscription. But the wars finished more recently, and the book was written only a hundred years ago. So why would the author lie in the title?¡± His mother shrugged. ¡°Well, perhaps the author left out the minor city-states. Lymna has always been a small village compared to bigger cities like Calketra or Ithodes.¡± ¡°That was my initial thought, too, but he also mentioned the tiny ancient city-state of Thebon, which has historically only had a population half as big as Lymna, and also Lymna is more historically significant because our¡ª¡± ¡°Oh, you.¡± His mother threw back her head and laughed. ¡°Listen to you! Your initial thought. Historically significant. Where did you learn all these grownup phrases?¡± ¡°Books,¡± Cadas replied matter-of-factly. ¡°I was excited to read the last one, The Complete History of Myrenthian City-States and the Wars of Assimilation, but the book was incomplete. It left out more than one city-state, and it also left out a lot of details. It didn¡¯t even talk about any of the plants and animals native to our region, like that other book you got me, On Nature and Its Forms, and if you think about it, all the plants and animals were here in Lymna before humans were, and they¡¯ll probably be here if humans ever abandon Lymna and settle another city-state. That¡¯s a thing people do sometimes, you know¡ªthat¡¯s why there are ruins. Did you know that?¡± His mother smiled and made a wide-eyed, awestruck impression that she sometimes made when he told her a new fact. ¡°No, I never knew that, Cadas! Your books have made you wise beyond your years. Thank you for telling me that.¡± She held his hand as they climbed the rocks embedded in the hillside that served as a makeshift staircase leading up to their house. ¡°You know, Cadas, you¡¯re so wise that you should write your own book one day. You can put all the wisdom you¡¯d like into it, so that whoever reads it¡ªthey¡¯ll want for nothing more.¡± ¡°Really?¡± She nodded fervently. ¡°Yes, really. You could make a compendium of all the knowledge a person could ever want to know. The scholars and scribes in Calketra would love that, and they¡¯d make copies and ship them to distant lands to be translated. Qarda. Dridon. Even Xheng Yu Xi. Wouldn¡¯t that be something? A compendium of your very own?¡± The idea thrilled Cadas. He imagined a book filled with all the important things a person ought to know, how tall and heavy a tome like that would be. But it would be worth it. ¡°A compendium,¡± he echoed. Bigger words always felt more important, and he liked the way it felt important in his mouth when he said it. ¡°Compendium...¡± Cadas got a little jolt of energy then, jumping in place and flailing his hands wildly. ¡°Compendium!¡± ¡°All right, Cadas, that¡¯s enough, now,¡± said his mother. Her voice was still level, but her smile faded. ¡°I told you not to do that, remember? You¡¯re getting too old to be silly like that anymore.¡± Cadas used his free hand to grab the one that was flailing most, stilling the impulses in his nerves. His mother lost her patience with him when he got very excited about things. He tried his best not to be very excited about anything in her presence, as she was always nicest to him when his mood was flat. ¡°Yes, mother.¡± He lingered at the top of the hill as she plodded along with her burlap bag of goods from the city market.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Cadas?¡± She turned around when she noticed his absence. ¡°Come along, Cadas.¡± ¡°What if I went back to the book merchant and I could be excited there instead of causing you...¡± He fumbled for the word. ¡°...instead of causing you distress?¡± His mother scoffed. ¡°No, Cadas. You belong at home with me and your siblings. We have supper to make.¡± He picked up his pace to catch up with her, but his mind was abuzz with new questions now. ¡°What does belong mean? I belong at home with you and my siblings?¡± ¡°Belong means you ought to be there more than anywhere else,¡± she explained, motherly patience in her voice again. ¡°It means that even if you become a great scholar one day and study with the great philosophers in Calketra in the Temple of the Moon, you must come home when you¡¯re finished. Because home is where you belong.¡± ¡°And what if I didn¡¯t come home?¡± She turned to look at him, furrowed her brow at that question. ¡°Don¡¯t say a thing like that, Cadas. You must always, always come home. Understand?¡± ¡°I understand.¡± ¡°If you left home and never came back, I¡¯d be full of grief for the rest of my life. You understand that, don¡¯t you? You¡¯re my baby boy.¡± He picked wildflowers as they walked, holding them up close to his eyes to study their colorful parts. ¡°Even when I cause you distress?¡± ¡°Even when you cause me distress, Cadas,¡± she chuckled. ¡°Even when I get very angry with you, like when I get very angry with Ikraos sometimes? It¡¯s the same for all my children. I could never get so angry with you that you wouldn¡¯t belong at home with me. And if you ever left, I¡¯d count every day waiting for you to come back home. I hope you know that.¡± When they reached the squat cube made of mudbrick and wood, the thatched roof gilded in the setting sunlight, Cadas said, ¡°I would always come back.¡± *** The Moth-Eaten Library Cadas Lars awoke with a mouthful of sand. The sun beat down on him. It was white-hot and blinded him at first, but his eyes adjusted. A crab scuttled by his head and pinched him on the ear, and then he knew to spit out the sand and swat the crab away, which kept on scuttling. Lukewarm water lapped at his legs, his feet half-buried in wet sand. Cadas pushed himself up off the ground and took in his surroundings. He was on a seashore¡ªone he didn¡¯t recognize. This was not Sang Lamdak. Nor Gikuma. Nor even Hyonjik. There was no port, no docks, no people milling about, nor any anchored ships. A single plank of waterlogged wood washed up with the tide, bobbing back out a bit to sea and washing ashore again lazily. The captain, he thought. Those men. What happened to them? Images of his perilous voyage resurfaced in his mind, bobbing to the surface like driftwood, only to recede with the tide of his forgetfulness. He felt the memory slipping away from him¡ªtaken from him, almost. What really happened to them? He remembered a violent storm... or had that only been a dream? Whatever happened, he hoped they made it to their destination safely. He was just grateful to be alive. Cadas leaped to his feet. He turned away from the sea toward the island where he¡¯d come to rest. The sun was high in the sky over a spire at the top of a great hill. He could see it from here. Cadas hiked and hiked against all terrain, against his own sandy thirst, against the bruises that decorated his body like cheaply bought Xhengyon tattoos. He scaled the face of a cliff with the assistance of a narrow path carved into the side of it, wide enough for him and him alone to walk. All of his supplies were lost to the ocean. All his writing materials, all of his food. None of that mattered to him now. None of that could spoil his swelling joy. The sun passed its zenith just as he reached the high point of the island. He could see ocean in all directions, and on the island below, wooded areas, fruit trees. He heard the calls of exotic birds. Something buzzed nearby that made him giddy to investigate. But first, he would have to pay a visit to the destination that had called out to him from across the sea. The Moth-Eaten Library stood solemnly before him. He grasped an old iron ring on the ancient door. He swung it three times against an unfamiliar material, very old wood or strangely pliable stone. Then he took a moment to wonder why he would knock if he was the only person on the island, reasoning that he¡¯d just been conditioned for so long to do it as a facet of his manners, and then he tried to pull the door open, but it would not budge. He pushed and had no better luck. He brushed the stringy blond hair out of his face, still damp from sweat and the sea. There came a voice. ¡°Cadas Lars,¡± it said quietly. He whipped around. Hiricho had promised him that the island was uninhabited, part of the allure for Cadas, a place to be alone with books. But the voice he¡¯d just heard sounded like it was very close. He searched and searched, behind him, back toward the path he¡¯d climbed, in the bushes and behind nearby trees. The source eluded him. ¡°I am glad you are here,¡± the voice continued. It was speaking in Xhengyon. ¡°You are indeed worthy to look upon the tomes in this place. I have watched you since you first picked up a quill in your native Myrenthos. You have a passion for information that most of your contemporaries could never hope to rival.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± Cadas asked in Xhengyon to match. ¡°This world is as a molting bug,¡± the voice said, now in Qardish. That analogy piqued his attention¡ªstill, Cadas could swear that somebody was right behind him, just over his shoulder, but when he looked, there was no one. ¡°In its present shell, this world cannot hope to live. It is stuck. It has been stuck for so long. A new world must be born, bigger, better, stronger. This is impossible without some measures of pain and patience. You understand that, do you not?¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± Cadas replied in Qardsih. ¡°You have many questions, child, but you know nothing of My patience,¡± came the Myrenthian reply. ¡°The time of the old world has passed away. The time of the new world is soon to come. Now the mother cries out in the agony of childbirth. Now the bug¡¯s body fractures and is born anew.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± Cadas finally answered in Myrenthian. ¡°What mother? What bug?¡± ¡°In good time, My child. Know this: you are welcome in this place. I watch at all times. I am always near.¡± The doors of the Moth-Eaten Library swung slowly open of their own accord. It was just as Hiricho had said. Clouds of moths poured forth from the building¡¯s interior, shading him as they fluttered out in dazzling spirals across the island baked in midday sun. Cadas breathed deep the scent of ancient tomes, of knowledge waiting to be rediscovered. The doors groaned shut behind him, but he could still see by shafts of dusty golden sun cascading in through open windows and skylights. He could tell by looking that there were too many books to read in one lifetime. That wouldn¡¯t stop him from trying. ¡°Finally,¡± he sighed, and he smiled. Chapter Forty-Four: LANOR IX In the fullness of my years, I reflect on the life Eloei has given me, and I am moved with gratitude. To those who follow, heed my words: that which you think is impossible is indeed possible, and that which is inconceivable to you is attainable. When your struggle is at hand, know that you can overcome it; and if not, you can survive it; and if not, you will be at peace. So prolong not your discouragement, but rekindle the hope of your soul. If only you knew the tribulations of your ancestors, all who faced impossible odds in their own times, yet the bloodline endured because you were meant to live. -The Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen, First Prophet of Eloei, Chapter 99, Verses 3-16 Sea of Qarda They were many days at sea, Lanor and all her loyalists who had escaped Rayyaq Raleed with her. The day came when she lost track how long they¡¯d been adrift. Sometimes the waves were choppy, jostling the goghla, and Lanor feared that one strong squall would be enough to tip the whole thing over into the ocean. Even when the winds were still, she never got used to the unceasing rhythm of the waves. At least a moon had passed and they still had not made landfall. They ate like beggars, methodically picking through the freshest foods first, those likeliest to spoil. They rationed it. They denied themselves. When the ship¡¯s food was half gone and only dry stores remained, they even took to fishing with crude, makeshift nets made of spare robes and other garments. They had nothing but wine left to drink by the end of it. One day, when it rained, Lanor sat out on the deck with her mouth open until she¡¯d drunk her fill. You will deliver us, Lanor thought. It was not a plea or even a demand of Eloei, but a statement of fact, a product of her careful reason. You would not have brought us this far only to abandon us now. Even when the journey distressed her body, her mind remained resolute. The morning moon supervised the sunrise when they finally saw the coast. ¡°Land!¡± one of the deckhands shouted, and the goghla¡¯s upper deck became a flurry of activity, of flinging ropes and changing sails, and the travel-weary passengers gathered in the hall between quarters. Lanor padded up the damp wooden stairs to the upper deck. ¡°There it is,¡± Hasjal marveled alongside her. The Stone Continent, so named for its craggy coastlines and sheer, brutal cliffs, loomed in the distance. ¡°See the trees? They look so dreary, like Dhasherah. And it¡¯s so cold here...¡± ¡°It really is an ugly place,¡± Lanor admitted. Hasjal shot her a half-smirking, half-worried glance, as if he¡¯d prepared the whole continent himself for her approval. ¡°...but a home for our people will be a beautiful thing.¡± Hasjal nodded. ¡°The colors and splendor of Qarda are not taken from us forever. We¡¯ll return one day, Eloei willing.¡± Lanor prayed that He was. When they finally made landfall on the beach, the sun was halfway into its morning ascent. They stripped the ship of all their belongings and valuables, left it nothing but bare wood and furled sails. Hasjal and his deckhands secured the goghla as best they could, but without a proper dock, a ship of its size was not likely to remain tethered for long. The Synod cleric leaned his head against it and stroked the wooden hull like it was an old horse about to be killed. Then the loyalists began their march inland. By midday, their trek into the woods brought them to a trickling stream clear as crystal. They drank of the cool water and then drank some more, until their bellies sloshed with it, and then they filled their waterskins. One of the clerics consecrated a handful of it so that everyone could dip their fingers and say their own kohfar. Lanor pressed her forehead to the foreign soil in prayer. Mount Tulaylal was more than an ocean away now, but Eloei was with them to the corners of the earth. They sat by the stream afterward and listened to the flat calls of Dridic birds that were nothing like the jungle breeds back home. Later in the day, they came upon a broad swath of farmland where workers harvested root vegetables from the soil, picked wicker baskets full of ripe apples hanging weightily from trees. Even the food here had a dingy tint to it, a far cry from the spectrum of bright colors she usually saw on her plate. Lanor looked upon the sweaty, gaunt faces of the workers, fearing the worst. ¡°Slaves?¡± she whispered to Hasjal. ¡°Are we certain this isn¡¯t Grackenwell?¡± Hasjal smiled and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sure, Prophetess. There is no slavery in this Land of Tithe¡ªI promise you that.¡± Then he called out to the workers from the edge of the forest and approached them, speaking in a language she didn¡¯t understand. It must have been Stonish. She couldn¡¯t speak a word of it, but she recognized the guttural tongue fraught with harsh sounds and devoid of the poetic resonance of Qardish. One of the field hands answered Hasjal and made a sweeping gesture with his dirt-caked arm. ¡°Eloei has put us through great tribulations,¡± Hasjal said when he came back to the group. ¡°But He will not test us forever, Prophetess, if I may be so bold as to speak this way. Come, everyone. We are welcome here.¡± A burdensome weight of worry fell from Lanor¡¯s shoulders. It was replaced by the pressing weight of questions still unanswered. There was never a shortage of those. *** For all their religious conviction in the wake of Rayyaq Raleed¡¯s civil war, Lanor and her loyalists only had six copies of the Testament of Kahlo Hadrizeen among the lot of them. In Qarda, the book had been ubiquitous as ripe fruit, no farther than a turn of the head and a short walk to pluck one up whenever one needed. The familiarities of home were more precious than ever now. They¡¯d been living in the Dridic town of Pitloch for just under a moon by this point. All the former deckhands of the goghla and other men of lower castes did menial labor in the town, helped with the harvest, milked cows and goats, hauled stones, or whatever needed to be done. Even the clerics pitched in; they viewed it as namza, charitable aid to the poor, even though they were receiving compensation for it. Lanor overlooked their doctrinal inconsistency. Surely they knew better than her, and if this was what motivated them to help earn the group¡¯s keep as refugees, so be it. No one recognized her, and certainly not any of the clerics or anyone else. They didn¡¯t know she was the deposed hierophant of Qarda, that she was the wealthiest, most powerful person in the world not so long ago. Her loyalists strived to keep it that way. They hid her away from the public¡¯s prying eyes; when her absence was noted from the chores around Pitloch, the clerics told the natives that she was a wealthy but grieving orphan escaping the chaos that had descended on their capital city¡ªtechnically the truth¡ªand the subject was never broached again. One night, Lanor sat in her squalid room in the village inn, reading one of the copies of the Testament by candlelight, the glow of which threw into sharp relief all the dirt and dust that smudged every surface. She¡¯d opened the tome to an eerily relevant passage on community. The section was titled, by the ancient clerics after their analyses, Kahlo Rebuilds. It detailed the First Prophet¡¯s struggles to amass a new band of disciples after his former flock¡¯s slaughter at the hands of the pagan Tomeless of Ralaheed. ¡°How sweet the raindrop on the lips of the thirsty,¡± it read, ¡°but no village is built on the banks of a raindrop. How noble the individual, and how sturdy the house he has built, but consider what a village can build together.¡± ¡°One of my favorite passages,¡± Hasjal said from the open doorway. Lanor had sensed his approach by the creaking of the old floorboards. ¡°You can read it from there?¡± ¡°I can tell by the shapes on the page.¡± She beckoned him into the room. ¡°Come in. Sit.¡± He smiled and took a seat on the shabby featherbed across the room, folding his hands and sitting upright respectfully in the presence of a hierophant. ¡°I used to read that verse every time I felt that I was the only sane man in the entire Synod. It helps with perspective.¡± Lanor tapped a pensive finger on her chin, studying the verse. ¡°Can I be frank with you?¡± Hasjal nodded fervently. ¡°Of course, Hierophant Lanor. I am a loyal¡ª¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Not as your hierophant.¡± She smiled tiredly, remembering her handmaiden Sashani. ¡°Just for a moment, can you think of me as nothing more than an orphan girl doing her best?¡± This gave him pause, but he considered it a moment, and this time his nods were slower, more thoughtful. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m very grateful for our community of Eloheed that still remains. And I¡¯m grateful to you and the other clerics for helping to get us here. I couldn¡¯t do this alone. Any of it. I wasn¡¯t ready for the hierophany, much less what came after it... so it means a great deal to me, everything you¡¯ve done to save our lives.¡± Hasjal shook his head. ¡°My Prophetess, if I may, it was Eloei¡ª¡± ¡°No,¡± she cut him off. ¡°It was you.¡± He drew back from her candor, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. ¡°I see now that Eloei¡¯s greatest wish is to enable us to realize our full potential. It always has been. He helped us. He gave us the power¡ªa miracle, to be sure. But it was you who offered your house to us as refuge. It was me who held back Ghamal¡¯s forces. It was you and the other clerics¡ªZumhir, Rashaj, all of you¡ªwho made difficult decisions, sacrificed for the good of others, and brought us here. We mustn¡¯t mistake Eloei¡¯s encouragement for His direct action.¡± Hasjal took a moment to absorb her words. She could tell by the lingering uncertainty on his face that these were not the easily digestible maxims he expected of his hierophant. He looked down at his hands as he spoke, lacing and unlacing his fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve seen what you can do, Prophetess. Far be it from a lone Synod cleric to question you so informally. But...¡± He turned his gaze across the room, wincing at the impropriety of what he wanted to say. ¡°Forget it. Please forgive me for my doubt. I will petition the Lord Above Lords for forgiveness as well.¡± ¡°There is no sin in doubt,¡± said Lanor. She waited for him to meet her gaze. Again, there was that look of expectation in his eyes, like she were talking to a boy half her own age. ¡°Ghamal and his loyalists have no doubt. Look at what they¡¯ve done to Qarda in just a year.¡± Hasjal closed his eyes, shivered suddenly from a chill he¡¯d gotten. He rolled up the sleeve on his gray-and-black shegehref to show her his forearm prickling with gooseflesh. ¡°You asked me to think of you as nothing more than an orphan girl. Yet you seem so keen on astounding me with your wisdom. What are we to make of you, Prophetess? It¡¯s as if you¡¯ve come into this world to upset centuries of tradition. To rewrite the Testament itself!¡± ¡°I would never try to rewrite the Testament. I¡¯m only trying to reveal what¡¯s been there all along. I think this is what Eloei wants, too. My visions...¡± She trailed off then, and in a flash, her confidence evaporated. She was reminded how small and insignificant she¡¯d always felt, even before her father¡¯s murder, when she was only the crown priestess. The veneer of divinity fell away; she felt her mortal blood once more. ¡°You¡¯ve spoken a little of your visions,¡± said Hasjal. ¡°Has Eloei visited you again since we fled?¡± Lanor shook her head. ¡°No. I¡¯m not sure why.¡± He nodded, his gaze falling slightly in disappointment. ¡°Eloei works in mysterious ways. We have seen more of miracles in this year than many hierophants reported in their entire lives.¡± She wanted to tell him what Eloei had told her in her last vision, about how He was limited in the truths He could reveal to her, but even her young and pliable mind could make little sense of this paradox. How could an omnipotent being be limited? Who, or what, was this Third that could permit or forbid Eloei from doing anything? Lanor feared telling Hasjal the whole truth; he could barely cope with her bold statements made without precedent. This? This would break him¡ªor worse, turn him against her altogether, painting her a heretic. The time was not yet right. Please, Eloei, she prayed in private. Show more of Your signs to us. Make the others see as I have seen. Then they will understand. Silence elapsed. In time, the topic of conversation passed, and Lanor opted to speak of more earthly things. ¡°Remind me, what are our next steps?¡± The cleric, too, seemed relieved to consider matters that were more tangible, more within the scope of his influence. ¡°Of course. The veracidins have already been sent west to Tern to speak with the queen. They will herald our arrival. As you well know, we recovered the gold and other valuables from the goghla, so we have those resources to forge an alliance with Dridon.¡± ¡°To bribe her?¡± He arched an eyebrow. ¡°A bribe? No, of course not. A show of good faith. This gold can pay for many swords and many men to wield them. We have nothing else to offer to make the bargain agreeable for them¡ªDridon is a Land of Tithe. It¡¯s not as if we can ask them to give more than they¡¯ve already been giving to Qarda.¡± His logic satisfied her. ¡°All right. Then what?¡± ¡°Eloei willing, we¡¯ve found the first of our allies against Ghamal¡¯s treacherous army. Dridon may be our only ally, though. Grackenwell has been busy conquering in our absence, and Zan Vayonado has been decimated. Myrenthos would surely be glad to see our two factions eat each other alive...¡± Hasjal scowled, shaking his head bitterly. ¡°There¡¯s no telling how many of our loyalists remain in the army, among the paladins, or even the scattered veracidins¡ªwe won¡¯t know this with certainty for at least another moon or two, even with their missive relays.¡± ¡°Surely some remain.¡± Hasjal nodded reassuringly. ¡°Oh, surely, my Prophetess.¡± Lanor breathed in deep, then relaxed her shoulders in a shuddering sigh. It was getting late; the golden hour had just passed. ¡°I wish only for a sign from Eloei that we¡¯re on the right path. That this is all only temporary... I think communing with Him directly in my visions has spoiled me.¡± She laughed despite herself. Just then, a distant crack of thunder. She and Hasjal exchanged an excited glance. ¡°Glory be to Eloei,¡± he breathed. ¡°I didn¡¯t see any clouds.¡± There was another thunderclap¡ªthen another. Lanor rose from her rickety wooden chair and crossed the room toward the window, reaching out her hands to open the shutters. That was when the northern wall of the room exploded in a mess of cinders and splintered wood. ¡°Hierophant!¡± Hasjal screamed. He jumped from the bed and threw his body on top of hers, shielding her from the wreckage, the charred chunks of wood and the remnants of the thatched roof smoldering like tinder. The faint smoke made them cough. ¡°Eloei save us!¡± said a voice from the hallway. ¡°Exalted Prophetess! What happened?¡± They both scrambled to their feet. Hasjal led her and one of his former deckhands down the corridor of the inn, banging on the doors of rooms that contained their people. The paladins standing guard¡ªstripped of their usual gold regalia, to keep a lower profile¡ªtrotted along and ahead of them to protect Lanor. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± she hissed. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°Cannons,¡± Hasjal answered gravely. ¡°From the North.¡± ¡°The North? You mean Grackenwell?¡± He nodded. ¡°How?¡± ¡°My cousin was one of the fighting Eloheed sent to conquer Holcort.¡± He shot her a look then that struck her with guilt, but she knew he was only glaring his disapproval of Ghamal¡¯s treachery. ¡°He saw many men torn asunder by these cannons. It happened just as he recounted¡ªhe heard their approach before he saw their handiwork.¡± ¡°They can¡¯t know I¡¯m here! Can they? Were the veracidins intercepted?¡± Hasjal shook his head. ¡°Irrelevant. They¡¯re trained to obey the will of their hierophant above even the wills of their own bodies. Even their own survival. Veracidins can endure extreme pain... even torture. It wasn¡¯t them.¡± ¡°Then how? What do we do?¡± Three more clerics gathered around him to discuss their next move. Lanor scanned the small entry room of the inn, but the table where the innkeeper welcomed guests was empty, and the innkeeper¡¯s room was open and empty also. There were no other Stonish guests. That meant they could speak freely in the confines of these walls without fearing detection. ¡°Down the road from here lives a winemaker,¡± said Hasjal. ¡°He has a cellar. If we gather only our most valuable¡ª¡± Crack! Another explosion ripped through the building. The deckhand standing next to Hasjal went down in the wake of the explosion, a ball of black iron barreling through his leg and out the other wall of the inn. The deckhand cried out in pain; the lower half of his right leg had been amputated, a smear of blood around the wound. ¡°Eloei!¡± the wounded man wailed. Hasjal hooked an arm under the man¡¯s shoulder to keep him from falling. ¡°Oh, Eloei... help me! Please help me!¡± Lanor was closest¡ªshe supported his other shoulder, and his bulging eyes locked with hers. ¡°Oh, Prophetess, I beg you, don¡¯t leave me¡ª!¡± ¡°I won¡¯t!¡± she assured him. ¡°Hasjal! Where do we go?¡± Another peal of thunder¡ªthis time, the faint crack of another Pitloch building crumbling outside. ¡°Away. Forget the winemaker! We need to get far away from here!¡± Lanor and her loyalists took only what they had managed to grab in the chaos. She knew they left behind a great deal in the inn¡ªat least one copy of the Testament, food, clothing, and precious riches from Rayyaq Raleed meant for Dridon¡¯s queen. They would have to come back for it. But when they escaped into the woods, and when they spent the night treating the deckhand¡¯s amputated leg, and when veracidins found them at dawn the next day and told them of Grackenwell¡¯s war against Dridon, plans changed. Pitloch became a smoking ruin ravaged by cannon fire and pillaged for slaves. Even the gold, even the copies of the Testament still in the half-burned remnants of the inn... nothing that remained was worth risking their lives. Lanor realized they would never come back for their belongings. They were lost to the fires and to the slavers now. They set out south to escape the spread of Grackenwell¡¯s conquest. ¡°How far south?¡± Lanor asked, the apprehension thick in her voice, so unbecoming of her station. ¡°Far enough that we can be sure,¡± Hasjal answered her. The light of hope behind his eyes was dimming by the day. ¡°To the outlands. To the Southern Frost, if we must. This war, too, will pass. But we are not safe here until it does.¡± They fled south, fled and fled and fled, the sun rising and setting left to right over their heads. It was painfully reminiscent of their initial escape from Rayyaq Raleed. Lanor longed for the day when she could plant her feet in one place again, to stop this running once and for all. The day she would either rule or die. Chapter Forty-Five: LUCANH VIII In the Time Before Time, it was all man could do to ward off the creatures of the deep wood. His sword was his very survival, a bond not easily broken. In time, the land was settled, peace ravaged the earth, and man knew not the way of it. Man was afraid to be without his sword, and so he gave it new purpose. -The Triptych; Book of Earth, Panel 2 Castle Tern, Dridon In the past, battle-hungry, ironclad Grackenwelsh soldiers squaring off against Dridic knights would have been a sight for Lucanh to behold. All the thrill of the battle he¡¯d dreamed of since boyhood was stripped away now. Death descended on Castle Tern, and it marched straight toward him, wielding a weapon mightier than his sword. King Kimbel lifted his war hammer and swung it at Lucanh. The prince dodged. Whether by luck or instinct burned into him through training, he wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°Good!¡± Kimbel snickered. ¡°You¡¯ve no idea how many of your subjects went down after my first strike today. At least you have the sense to move when Havokond comes your way!¡± Lucanh¡¯s hand found the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it, the movement thoughtless as breathing. His eyes darted around the keep. It was rapidly emptying of paupers and nobles, who were now pouring into the fortified tunnels and catacombs below, and it was filling with warring soldiers from both sides. He thought briefly of his mother and where she might be. ¡°Again!¡± Another swing from Kimbel. The war hammer made a heavy whush sound as it parted the air between them. Lucanh¡¯s body barely reacted in time, but he was out of harm¡¯s way before he even processed the attack. All those days spent bored to tears with Sir Godwald¡¯s repetitive training paid off when he needed it most. His body moved with rhythm and speed that outpaced his conscious thought, something that surpassed a mere skill¡ªmore like a tree that had been pruned and shaped as it grew, the result of tender care, patience, and tireless discipline. Gratitude bloomed in his heart, if only for the moment. Kimbel bared his teeth. ¡°Very well.¡± He swung a third time, one side to the other, in a motion that might have decapitated the prince had the hammer met its mark. Lucanh saw the hammer was fitted with sharp blades edged with dried blood, a weapon that cut as well as it crushed. But it had a fatal flaw. Years of tutelage on how to dodge nimble swords and daggers equipped the prince with more than enough agility to evade a powerful but slow-moving war hammer. ¡°Why did you come here?¡± Lucanh said, his voice returning with a resurgence of courage. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to send another band of assassins to kill my mother? You managed to have my father killed, though.¡± ¡°Your father?¡± Kimbel sneered. ¡°That desert oaf? He¡¯s been dead since I was a small boy.¡± ¡°No, my real father. Sir Godwald. The knight who slayed your assassins.¡± ¡°A knight?¡± Kimbel snickered cruelly. ¡°You truly are a bastard then, and your mother a whore. Who will mourn you when I strike you down? No one!¡± He swung a fourth time with the same success. ¡°You¡¯ve been raised on a diet of lies and fairy tales.¡± He swung again, breaking an unlit torch sconce off the wall. ¡°I will make you feel the truth of my strength!¡± Kimbel swung again to no avail. ¡°That¡¯s interesting,¡± said Lucanh. ¡°I haven¡¯t felt much of anything from you yet.¡± He couldn¡¯t help but allow himself a smirk at his own cleverness. ¡°You¡¯ll miss this time before you knew the pain that¡¯s coming,¡± the king answered him coldly. ¡°But you won¡¯t live long enough to learn anything from it.¡± Kimbel hacked away repeatedly, each time hitting nothing but the air where Lucanh had been an instant prior. ¡°You think this is a game, little boy? Do you see my army flooding your precious castle as you stroke your own ego? Soon you won¡¯t have any space left to run from me!¡± He¡¯s right, Lucanh thought. People are dying while I waste time here. He turned his head for a moment, glancing at the knights defending the door leading to the dungeon. Kimbel swung. Clang! Havokond locked with his sword. Lucanh barely caught the attack in time, his arms bent tight against his chest¡ªhe jockeyed for leverage. Kimbel¡¯s attack uprooted his balance and put him on the retreat. ¡°Getting distracted?¡± His Grackenwelsh accent was harsh, guttural. ¡°Not as distracted as you need me to be.¡± Enough horseplay. Time to end this. He watched Kimbel¡¯s next attack. Sir Godwald¡¯s training in following the path of his opponent¡¯s movements, anticipating where their body would go next, understanding how the underlying muscles moved in tandem and when¡ªit all coalesced on the battlefield, allowing him to predict where Kimbel would come to rest an instant later. Lucanh used this instinct and took his first opportunity. His body pivoted out of the way. He swung his sword, struck Kimbel¡¯s armored abdomen. The conqueror cried out. He dropped Havokond to the floor, still clutching it with one hand. The flexible gatorskin binding bounced slightly off the stone floor with the impact. Lucanh¡¯s blade couldn¡¯t cut through the armor, but the force of the hit had to go somewhere, conducted through the metal and straight into his ribs. The hit rang Kimbel¡¯s armor like a bell. He cradled his stomach, eyes wide and vital for the first time during their fight. Pain awoke the last shred of humanity he had left. ¡°That hammer must be awfully powerful against cornered peasants!¡± Lucanh spat. ¡°But to a trained swordsman, it¡¯s just clumsy and slow. You leave yourself wide open with every swing.¡± ¡°Your soft, southern-made blade will break on my armor,¡± Kimbel grunted, gripping Havokond with both hands again, ¡°before you inflict any serious wounds. And then you¡¯re mine. I can be as slow and as clumsy as I want... when I take your life!¡± Whush! This time, the swing caught Lucanh off-guard. He parried it just in time with his sword, using the force of Kimbel¡¯s own movement against him. It was the closest call of the battle so far. His heart beat like a drum. He should have known Kimbel was not above fighting dirty. ¡°Don¡¯t get too full of yourself,¡± Sir Godwald had told him once. ¡°The moment you stop to brag could be your last. If you must boast, wait until you sheathe your sword.¡± Whush! The king attacked again. Lucanh¡¯s dodge sent the bladed head of the war hammer into the wall behind him; stone cracked and crunched, crumbling in dust and rock fragments. Was this the unrivaled strength of a Grackenwelsh fighter? Or was this something more? Whatever it was, Lucanh knew it felt wrong. The king refused to let up, attacking and attacking, driving Lucanh back toward the heart of the keep. I can¡¯t let him find the secret passageways. I need to lead him away. Lucanh altered his evasive maneuvers, moving the battle toward the large stone staircase that led to the keep¡¯s second level. One of his first lessons in swordsmanship was never to cede the high ground to his opponent. Kimbel didn¡¯t seem bothered in the slightest. On the contrary, the patricidal monarch fought with renewed strength, eagerly forcing him up the stairs. What the hammer-wielder lacked in battle tactics he made up for in brute force and tenacity. But strategy could be utilized as long as Lucanh was alive and alert; the physical endurance of the human body was much more fleeting. After presumably a full day of swinging that heavy metal around, Kimbel would have to tire out eventually. ¡°Enough is enough,¡± the king growled when they reached the top of the steps. ¡°You flit about like a girl and think you can make a mockery of me? You¡¯ll be burning on a pyre before the moon rises, and no one will remember you!¡± He hefted his hammer with both hands. ¡°Think you¡¯re so quick and clever? Try dodging this!¡± Putting weight in his legs and midsection, Kimbel raised the hammer back, swung it, and let it go. Havokond went flying in Lucanh¡¯s direction, heavy with momentum. It would take his head off whether or not the blade connected. Lucanh moved on instinct. He ducked. The wind of the weapon whipped past his hair¡ªa few severed strands fell to the floor in front of him. The hammer clanged loudly against the wall behind him and embedded in the rock. He tried to regain his footing¡ªtoo late. Kimbel was already charging. The king tackled the prince, who lost his grip on his sword from the force of the blow. His sword was knocked out of his hands and clattered metallically somewhere far out of reach. He fell backward onto the floor. ¡°Whatever you do, never, ever let yourself be disarmed in battle, my Prince. To be disarmed can be even more dangerous than to be wounded.¡± Kimbel towered over him, one boot planted firmly on Lucanh¡¯s breastplate. The prince thrashed to free himself¡ªno use. Now the king could finally flex his unearthly strength. In this moment, there was no contest between them. ¡°What did I tell you?¡± he sneered down at the boy. He drew a dagger from his belt and twirled its point delicately against the palm of his other hand. ¡°As slow...¡± He ran the blade against the meat of his palm. ¡°...and as clumsy...¡± A hair-width slit of red blood trailed the sharp edge. ¡°...as I want.¡± Kimbel leaned down with cold eyes, his lips thin with contempt. Smeared his own blood across his enemy¡¯s forehead. Held the dagger up to Lucanh¡¯s face. Thwack! Lucanh delivered a forceful knee to Kimbel¡¯s groin. It was unarmored. ¡°You... y-you!¡± Kimbel choked at the sudden pain, his eyes bulging. He dropped his dagger¡ªLucanh kicked it so that the small blade spun across the floor, coming to rest far away from them. He wriggled out from under the king, who doubled over, glaring up at him. ¡°You maggot!¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°That was my underhanded move,¡± Luke said, retreating. ¡°Payback. And I¡¯ve been wearing a codpiece for years¡ªthat¡¯s your fault!¡± He retrieved his sword from the gap under the carved stone banister, sliding it out carefully so that it didn¡¯t fall to the lower level of the keep. He¡¯d had to turn his back to grab it. He held it tighter than ever now with both hands, standing and turning to face his foe. A hand on his shoulder¡ªKimbel spun him around. Thud! His fist full of blood slammed into Lucanh¡¯s cheek. It was a thunderclap at point blank range, like taking a small cannon ball to the face. His ears rang. He saw stars. Lucanh fell to one knee, his right hand still clutching the hilt of his sword, his lifeline. Warm blood dribbled from his mouth, scarlet oozing onto the blue-gray floor. Kimbel staggered to retrieve Havokond from the other end of the spacious landing. It¡¯s not that bad, Lucanh lied to himself. Focus. The world had a foggy blur to it now. He felt less agile. This had never been part of his training¡ªSir Godwald had never inflicted pain on him. You¡¯ve got to get up. He had the sense that Kimbel¡¯s upbringing had acquainted him well with pain. That¡¯s why the young king was on his feet again, war hammer in hand. ¡°Get up,¡± said Sir Godwald. ¡°Prince Lucanh, get up.¡± For a moment, Lucanh felt transplanted into the past. A memory fell into place over the present world like a curtain. ¡°I¡¯m not done with the lesson just yet.¡± ¡°I am,¡± Lucanh answered. His thick leather armor had cushioned his fall. He still didn¡¯t like it, though. ¡°With all due respect, my Prince, by Her Majesty¡¯s decree, I do have the privilege of tutoring you until supper.¡± The knight reached out his hand and offered a friendly, knowing smile. ¡°Getting knocked down is part of that lesson. The most important part of being knocked down is to get back up. Now, get back up. Get up!¡± ¡°I said get up!¡± Kimbel roared. ¡°Get up so I can knock you down again!¡± Against the pain, Lucanh struggled to stand, snapping up his sword into a battle-ready stance. He¡¯d found his second wind, or it found him. ¡°You keep calling me a boy.¡± It hurt to talk. Kimbel was closing in on him. ¡°You¡¯re only a couple of years older than me. You think you¡¯re a real man? Just because you have more muscles than I do yet?¡± Whush! Clang! Lucanh parried another strike. ¡°You could have twice the muscle I do. You still wouldn¡¯t know what to do with it!¡± ¡°And you do?¡± The prince dodged the next attack¡ªit smashed a section of the banister at his back, crushing arm-sized pillars and sending them cascading to the ground floor. ¡°You¡¯re not helping anyone. All you know how to do is be cruel.¡± ¡°A privilege of the strong. Some might say a duty!¡± Now Lucanh attacked, and Kimbel was forced to stagger back to dodge, Havokond too slow to redirect the agile sword. ¡°And I fight for all of the Grackenwelsh Empire. I bring glory to my land. My people!¡± ¡°But that¡¯s not what you enjoy about it.¡± The king grinned, catching his breath. He shrugged almost innocently. ¡°What do you want me to say? That I want to be weaker? That I want to be killed in battle? Of course not.¡± Whush! Lucanh evaded. ¡°I love knowing how much stronger I am than you! I love knowing that no one can lay a finger on me now! Know why? Because now I¡¯ve finally¡ª¡± ¡°You¡¯ve proven yourself.¡± Kimbel¡¯s smile faded. ¡°Is that it?¡± Lucanh knew the feeling well, but ever since that night on the road, strength for its own sake was hollow to him. The Northern king only shook his head. ¡°Your pampered life of royalty has deluded you. I¡¯ve accepted the way of the world.¡± A lethargic hammer swing¡ªLucanh¡¯s parry was nothing special, and he barely had to try. ¡°The gator and the waterfowl have no such delusions. One takes and the other is taken!¡± Whush! Another heavy swing. Lucanh redirected it with ease, swung his sword again. Clung. Kimbel winced but was otherwise unscathed. The Grackenwelsh armor was too strong, the Dridic blade too dull and weak, for Lucanh to make progress. He was twice as agile with half the strength. His stamina was already falling for the second time. Luke attacked once more¡ªHavokond swiped his sword aside like a grown man swatting away an overly playful cat. ¡°It¡¯s no wonder you think this way,¡± said the prince. ¡°It¡¯s where you came from. Your land. Your father. He was evil, and now you¡¯ve turned out just like him.¡± A flash of rage in the king¡¯s eyes. ¡°Wrong!¡± Whush! Crunch! ¡°Wrong!¡± Whush! Kimbel swung with newfound intensity, back, forth, back, forth, driving Lucanh across the landing. He left a trail of shattered stone and gliding dust clouds in his wake. ¡°He¡¯s dead! I¡¯m alive! And it¡¯s all because I stopped depending on mercy to survive.¡± Havokond blew out another cluster of columns in the banister, now a ruin of its former self. ¡°Look where I am now! King of three nations, soon to be king of the entire Stone Continent! Emperor of the world! I¡¯ll take whatever my strength allows. This is the law of the land, boy. And this sentence of yours is what the law demands.¡± ¡°What sentence? What law?¡± Clung! Lucanh caught a shockingly fast swing of the war hammer with his blade. His arms trembled with the effort of holding it back¡ªhis own wide eyes stared back at him from the reflection in the hammer¡¯s black blade. ¡°Trying to kill your rightful king, of course.¡± Kimbel grinned again. Pressed the hammer harder. Now the edges of both blades were close enough that Lucanh could see the heat of his breath fogging up the steel. ¡°For that... I sentence you to die!¡± Lucanh broke their deadlock. Ducked. Clang! ¡°Agh!¡± Kimbel¡¯s next strike caught him in the right greave¡ªhe cried out in pain. The boy rolled to evade the following swing, which left a spiderweb crater in the floor. Now his cheek and his shin both throbbed with hot agony, further dividing his attention. He scrambled to his feet. His right leg buckled under his weight pressing on the pain, making him hobble. Kimbel didn¡¯t slow in the slightest. Whush! Clang! Crack! Their weapons hurtled through the air, crashing wildly. Blade grazed blade and sprayed orange sparks. Lucanh couldn¡¯t draw up the same energy as before to go on the offensive, and the lightness and fleet-footedness that made evasion easy were softening his attacks. He couldn¡¯t land a decisive blow to save his life. Worse, his injuries were slowing him down. Soon he¡¯d have no upper hand at all. ¡°I used to dream of this fight,¡± he grunted, sidestepping Havokond with great effort. ¡°I hated you. I think I still do.¡± Kimbel arched an eyebrow and smirked, as if in praise of his honesty. Lucanh dodged the next attack and pivoted into an attack of his own¡ªhis sword struck the king¡¯s armored kneecap, finally inflicting some damage. The elder fighter staggered back some steps to regroup. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I believe in Triad anymore, or the Triptych. Not like before. I don¡¯t know what I believe. All I know is...¡± He grimaced, shifted his weight from his hurt leg. ¡°Isn¡¯t there more to life than this?¡± ¡°More to life than struggle?¡± Kimbel cocked his head. ¡°More to life than proving yourself? Than success? More than... what... thrill, accomplishment, or waking up better than you went to bed?¡± The king indulged in another dead-eyed smile. ¡°You tell me. Is there?¡± ¡°I was never much for the boring panels in the Triptych, but they might say a thing or two about this.¡± Kimbel scoffed. ¡°The tome I live by is no fairy tale. It¡¯s a record of triumphs¡ªthe weak die and the strong survive. That¡¯s the only code I need!¡± Whush! Lucanh dodged Havokond. The rhythm was coming back to him now, buoyed up by a third wind. A hero is he who finds a third wind beyond it¡ªhis mind flashed back to the Triptych, to the countless eves he spent reading the tome under the supervision of Sir Godwald. The pity he felt for Kimbel was as sore as his leg. ¡°I¡¯m sorry your father was such a poor teacher. Mine taught me better than yours¡ªbut it¡¯s not too late to see it another way.¡± Something in those words struck a deeper nerve than Lucanh¡¯s sword had. Kimbel gnashed his teeth like a rabid dog, swinging in another flurry that drove Lucanh back. The prince nearly lost his footing again. ¡°My father... taught me well! He taught me... what I needed... to do!¡± The crazed hammer wielder panted from the exertion, the first sign that his stamina was finally starting to dip. ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be this way.¡± ¡°Yes! It does¡ª¡± ¡°No!¡± Clang! Lucanh leaned his sword in the direction of the swing, pushing Kimbel¡¯s attack through to its natural progression. He locked eyes with the invader. ¡°It doesn¡¯t. We can both walk away from this. We can make a treaty.¡± His attacker caught his breath. ¡°I promise.¡± A flicker behind Kimbel¡¯s eyes. What was it? Consideration? Fear? Hope? Maybe his words were getting through. It was short-lived. ¡°As if you¡¯d ever honor that.¡± Clung! A heavy strike¡ªLucanh held it at bay, and this time, it didn¡¯t take quite so much effort. ¡°I¡¯m the reason your father is dead, you fool! You said it yourself! I tried to have your mother killed¡ªI¡¯m trying to kill you now!¡± Clang! Blood-tinged spittle flew from his mouth. ¡°Are you a fool? Or just a coward?¡± ¡°Strength has a purpose,¡± said Luke. ¡°And it¡¯s what I¡¯m doing. Not what you¡¯re doing.¡± Whoosh. Clang! His blade hit Kimbel behind the knee. Clang! He hit him next in the joint between his vambrace and spaulder. ¡°Do you yield?¡± The king retreated once more, and then the momentum of their fight slowed to a standstill. They stared each other down, each of them breathing heavily, bruised, bloodied. Their battle stances slackened. Lucanh took a moment to listen to the mayhem downstairs. It sounded like it was starting to let up. He could hear orders being shouted in the Dridic dialect; either Dridon was starting to prevail, or the Grackenwelsh soldiers had all pushed down into the dungeon, perhaps to the catacombs. He would find out soon enough. ¡°You really won¡¯t give up, will you?¡± Kimbel panted. ¡°No. But I¡¯ll give you one last chance to walk away. Only one. If you refuse, you will die today.¡± Kimbel smirked, rolling his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt the possibility. Stronger men than you would have accepted their fate by now, but you... You just keep coming. All this fighting...¡± The young man spat a mouthful of blood on the floor. ¡°I never stopped to consider that... maybe I was wrong.¡± The Grackenwelsh king took a few slow steps forward. The prince readied his sword, but relaxed it when he saw what Kimbel was about to do. He held out Havokond by the grip with one hand, his arm shaking with the weight, as if to drop it. ¡°You¡¯re surrendering?¡± Lucanh asked. Kimbel nodded. ¡°Only if you lay down your weapon, too.¡± ¡°You really mean it? I convinced you?¡± He imagined Sir Godwald patting him on the shoulder for a job well done. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t lie to you, little prince. Do you know what they do to liars in Grackenwell?¡± Kimbel chuckled. ¡°Now take me up on my offer before I have second thoughts, would you? This armor chafes.¡± Lucanh held out his sword. Nodded. ¡°On three. One... two... three.¡± Kimbel released his grip on Havokond, letting the heavy war hammer fall vertically toward the floor. In the same instant, Lucanh let go of his sword. The true weight of it was so much heavier than the metal it comprised and he was glad to be free of the burden. Blood was shed, but they would both walk away before paying the ultimate price. Lucanh was proud of himself. They would discuss the terms of Grackenwell¡¯s surrender and then both approach their respective armies to broker peace. Finally, Lucanh would be the hero he dreamed of being¡ªand he would do it the right way, the way that would have made his father proud. Havokond¡¯s gatorskin binding rebounded against the floor. Kimbel snatched it out of the air and swung it in one fell swoop. Whush. The hammer aimed for Lucanh¡¯s head. The blade hit its mark, broke the skin of his face before he could even scream. Chapter Forty-Six: BEAM VIII This is the proclamation of the Lord Ah-Ren: ¡°The greatest virtue is hate, for it is the pinnacle of truth, purity, and reason. It is good and right to hate your fellow man for the evils he wreaks upon the earth. It is good and right to hate thine own self for the failures of your flesh. It is good and right that I should hate every one of you forever and ever until the Time After Time. It is good and right that I have always hated you since the moment you disgraced Me with your presence. I hate you still. I hate everything that makes you who you are. I hate your aspirations, your cherished memories, and even the illusion of your decency, for it is a lie meant to conceal your true nature. Therefore let hatred never be extinguished until the source of it is destroyed, just as My hatred will endure until your survival is corrected. I hate you. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE¡± -Gospel of Lucence, Tract 45, Lines 66-End Claeloch Territory, Grackenwell ¡°This is the proclamation of the Lord Ah-Ren,¡± said Beam. ¡°¡®The greatest virtue is faith, for it prevails where purity, reason, and even truth may falter. It is good and right to believe in Me for the miracles I work upon the earth. It is good and right to forsake thine own self in favor of My commands. It is good and right that I should love each and every of My disciples forever and ever until the Time After Time. It is good and right that I have loved My devout since the moment I conceived of your existence, long before you walked the earth. For the Lord Ah-Ren treasures all that belongs to Him, and the earth and all souls that walk it are His alone. Therefore let your faith never be extinguished until the Time After Time is upon you, just as the Lord Ah-Ren¡¯s truth will abide until that blessed day comes. Go in faith always and you shall surely be given your just reward. So be it.¡¯¡± Beam closed the Gospel of Lucence in her lap. Her breath made fog in the cold air, falling snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes where she blinked them away. She looked up from her reading. Luster sat there on the stump across from her, the one left over from the tree he¡¯d felled for them earlier. Now it burned in the fire between them, keeping them warm, and he listened to her teachings with great reverence. ¡°Is that the end of the Gospel?¡± Luster asked expectantly. ¡°Indeed. All forty-five chapters of it.¡± Beam smiled, chuckling. Her chapped lips stung in the cold. ¡°Did you expect something more?¡± He shook his head fervently. ¡°No, not at all, Miss¡ªLady Beam! I only¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right, Luster. What¡¯s the matter? You seem afraid.¡± Luster swallowed, peeling off his wool hat to smooth out the hair underneath. He pulled it back on tightly like he was trying to hide inside it. ¡°In truth, yes, Lady Beam. The Lord Ah-Ren has great and terrible power. Why, He raised me from the dead, healed me good as new... That sort of power demands worship!¡± ¡°And you fear you¡¯re worshiping improperly?¡± She nodded knowingly. ¡°...Yes.¡± Beam returned the Gospel to her bag, securing its flap with the leather string. That way it was safe from the moisture of the late-winter flurry. ¡°You have nothing to fear, Luster. The Lord Ah-Ren doesn¡¯t ask perfection of us. He asks only faith. If He had expected perfection, why would He have rescued us when we were at our lowest?¡± Luster nodded. He let out the breath he¡¯d been holding. ¡°I see. You¡¯re right.¡± Seemingly satisfied, he set about preparing their midday meal, boiling a potato and beans with a handful of salt and other spices. He poked at his concoction with a broken twig and returned the lid to the iron pot. ¡°You never told me your story. How He saved you.¡± Just then, Luster seemed to remember himself, looking up with an onset of contrition. ¡°Forgive me¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± Beam chuckled again. ¡°It¡¯s all right.¡± And it was. She¡¯d seen enough men who were foolhardy, remorseless brutes, crude lechers who spat out every thought they had and never had a second one. Luster was different; the way he tiptoed and stumbled with his words was charming, if only for its novelty. ¡°I¡¯ll be honest with you. When the Lord Ah-Ren found me, I was working in a brothel.¡± He listened with attentive eyes, but there was no judgment in them¡ªonly a yearning to hear the rest of what she had to say. ¡°I didn¡¯t come to be there by choice... Well, not really. Slavers burned my whole village to the ground. My parents were both killed in the raid. ¡°At the age of eighteen, I was a grown woman, but I had no experience caring for myself. I only knew my home. I only functioned as part of a household. No one was willing to hire me to do any honest work... One day, a man approached me when I was begging on the street. He said he had work for me¡ªsteady work that paid steady coins. Before I knew it, years had gone by, and I was trapped.¡± Her eyes misted over, the layer of tears stinging in the cold air. ¡°But the Lord Ah-Ren saved me. Even after the life I led, He thought I was worthy of salvation. That has to mean something.¡± She met his gaze as if seeking his confirmation. ¡°My story isn¡¯t nearly as thrilling as yours was, I¡¯m afraid. And I¡¯m sure you must think differently of me now.¡± Luster just shook his head. ¡°No. I¡¯m grateful to know more, but I think no less of you. Why would I?¡± She furrowed her brow skeptically. She¡¯d never met a man who didn¡¯t look down on a profession like hers, even after she¡¯d left it behind her. ¡°You don¡¯t think less of me? You don¡¯t think what I did was disgraceful¡ªdishonorable?¡± ¡°How could I think less of you? Lady Beam, you survived.¡± He stood from his stump, crouching down in the snow next to hers. Her heart raced on his approach. ¡°May I be so bold as to ask for your hand? Just for a moment.¡± Reluctantly, she held out her gloved hand, and he took it between both of his. ¡°I promise you, Lady Beam, from what I know of you, there is nothing you could do that would make me think less of you.¡± She closed her eyes then, basking in the warmth of the fire and her change of circumstance. Luster was still a stranger to her, but she had a good feeling about their future together. ¡°Praise be to the Lord Ah-Ren,¡± she sighed, ¡°for leading me to you.¡± Luster raised the lid of the pot toward the sky, grinning contentedly. ¡°Hear, hear! Praise be to the Lord Ah-Ren. He led you to me, He keeps our bellies full, and He keeps us warm in the dead of Claelish winter. He raises the dead to life! Why, there¡¯s nothing He can¡¯t do. I can sleep soundly, knowing that no creatures of the deep wood, not even the Knights of Old could harm a hair on our heads¡ªnot with Ah-Ren watching over us!¡± Luster ladled some of his soup into a wooden bowl and handed it to Beam. ¡°If I may be so bold, Lady Beam, I think this journey is the beginning of something truly beautiful.¡± *** The Everswamp ¡°You made it farther than most,¡± said Hjarsant¡¯s corpse. The gray, bloated, black-eyed body grinned at Beam like a man who¡¯d played a harmless prank. ¡°Often, a day or two is all your kind can stomach of My home.¡± Beam stood on the small island in the darkest corner of the Everswamp. Her former disciples huddled in a group apart from her. Luster¡ªno, he was Peadhar now¡ªhad his dagger drawn, putting himself between the others and the revenant of their former friend. The quiet was deafening. ¡°I rebuke you,¡± Ray said finally, taking a weak step forward from the group. ¡°Dark bog spirit! I rebuke you in the holy name of the Lord Ah-Ren¡ª¡± Suddenly, her eyes bulged, the words catching in her throat. She grasped at her neck and choked. ¡°You pray to Me as if you do not already stand in My presence,¡± said Ah-Ren, speaking through the unholy vessel dredged up from the depths of the bog. ¡°I heard your prayers, Ray, as you were renamed. I heard all of your prayers. You offered prayers of remorse for your infidelity to your husband. Do you want to know his final thought of you before he died?¡± The corpse turned to face Shine. ¡°This one committed a great many sins. It started with thievery and culminated when she let an innocent man lose his life rather than tell the truth.¡± ¡°No,¡± said Shine, grimacing, shaking her head. ¡°No! You don¡¯t understand!¡± ¡°I understand all. You let the innocent suffer for the crimes of the guilty.¡± ¡°No!¡± Shine shook her head even harder as if to shake off the accusation. ¡°No, I swear it! I swear, I didn¡¯t know that they would¡ª¡± Shine started to choke as well. Ray was already on her old, weak knees, struggling to suck in a breath that stubbornly eluded her. Shine made sickening gagging sounds as her own windpipe closed. ¡°I cannot abide falsehood in My presence,¡± said Ah-Ren. ¡°I am truth. Too often, you vermin like to twist the narratives of your lives to justify your evils. All of you have sinned greatly, as is your nature.¡± ¡°Our evils?¡± Peadhar whispered incredulously. He took a defiant step forward. ¡°You¡¯ve been behind this all, every horror that¡¯s been visited upon us... after we prayed to you for salvation for many moons... and you have the gall to call us evil?¡± ¡°Peadhar, don¡¯t,¡± said one of the others, but he ignored them. ¡°You may have healed me, but I want nothing to do with you anymore. Healer or not, I see you for what you really are¡ªyou don¡¯t deserve anything from us. Let alone our devotion!¡± The voice of Ah-Ren gave a low, throaty chuckle. ¡°Healer or not, you say? Very well.¡± Peadhar gagged violently, retching on the damp soil at his feet. Blood spilled from his lips, bloomed from beneath his tunic, and he collapsed. The others who were still standing jumped back from him as if afraid of catching what he had. All this time, Beam was in a daze. She couldn¡¯t summon the will to speak¡ªtoo afraid of what might happen, and too stunned, in such disbelief, that she didn¡¯t see the point of it. Not at first. Now she cried out when she saw Peadhar hit the ground. ¡°No! Please, I beg you¡ªplease don¡¯t hurt him!¡± ¡°I did nothing to him,¡± Ah-Ren answered with an audible smile. ¡°I simply took back the gift he no longer wanted. It was your kind who did this to him. Or have you forgotten already?¡± ¡°Please.¡± Beam took a shuddering breath to try to calm her nerves¡ªit didn¡¯t work. ¡°Please, let them go. Let him and the others go.¡± Silence was her only answer. ¡°Let them go!¡± Someone in her flock was weeping, but she couldn¡¯t tell whose voice it was. ¡°Why? Why are you doing this?¡± Beam¡¯s eyes were drawn to Peadhar¡¯s suffering, the way he clutched at his belly trying to hold in his own blood. Healing him at the waterfall had been so effortless. She should have known it was an unnatural thing she¡¯d done. She should have known that nature tended toward suffering and death, and that to be without either was only to delay the inevitable.Stolen story; please report. Still, she had to try. She turned her defiant gaze to look the undead body of Hjarsant in its black eyes. ¡°Why would you want to do this to us?¡± she asked. ¡°Don¡¯t you see what you¡¯re doing?¡± ¡°I know exactly what I do.¡± The corpse cocked its head with the agility of a bird, sickeningly uncanny, and the bones in its neck cracked with its instant movement. ¡°Your bodily form is... repulsive... but your agony still fascinates me even after all this time. Have you ever pulled the legs off a spider one by one and then watched it try to live?¡± Beam wanted to vomit, but her stomach had nothing to give. Even after everything she¡¯d seen¡ªeven after what she herself had done¡ªthe horror now unspooling itself drove her to new depths. ¡°No... Why? Why are you torturing us this way?¡± Hjarsant¡¯s dead mouth let out a wet, hissing laugh. ¡°Why is blue the color blue? If you can tell me the answer before I count to thirteen, I will not break every rib you have. I will let you and Peadhar each retain a shred of your living selves. I may even spare the lives of your comrades... if you answer soon enough.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll do anything. I swear it! Please, just spare us!¡± ¡°One...¡± Suddenly, Ray¡¯s neck snapped. The old woman¡¯s body slumped against the mud and stopped moving. The flock of disciples¡ªthose still on their feet, still able to breathe¡ªscattered. Some retreated to the farthest shores of the tiny island, still well within earshot and with a clear view of the others, while at least two of them dove into the murky water for safety. Beam turned back to glare at Ah-Ren¡¯s vessel, but the words that came out of her mouth were obsequious. ¡°Please, stop! Please, I beg you, Lord Above Lords! I beseech you!¡± ¡°I told you what you had to do. Do you still trust Me? Your faith in Me is never misplaced, Beam. Two...¡± Now it was Shine who fell. She landed face-first in the soil, hands still at her throat; her arms flopped lifelessly to either side of her. ¡°I tried so hard not to break the faith¡ªI swear I did! You know I did! How could we have prayed better? Would you like me to bow down and worship now?¡± ¡°Listen and think, stupid animal. Two things you can never seem to do when it matters most. I will not repeat Myself. Three...¡± Snap went a third spine in the flock. Its sound echoed through the drooping willows that surrounded them. Beam had a sense then who would be last to fall. ¡°Take me instead!¡± Beam cried out. Viscous tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, ran down the bridge of her nose, dripped from her chin¡ªbut she had no water left to give. Was it blood? She touched a hand to her face. It came back black. A mystery for another time. ¡°M-Merciful Lord Ah-Ren, spare them and kill me instead. And be done with it!¡± ¡°You have no power to bargain. You have nothing to offer Me but fleeting diversion. Four...¡± Another of her loyal followers hit the ground, splattering the mud on impact. ¡°STOP! Stop, I beg you...¡± She tore at her hair. She hit herself in the head. She clenched her teeth so hard she thought they might break. All the while, she could feel her thick, gelatinous tears worming their way down her sunken cheeks. ¡°All right. I have to... guess. Have to guess... why the color blue... is blue! That¡¯s what you said!¡± ¡°Five... Now she remembers. Does she remember soon enough? Six...¡± Two more fell. The rest of her surviving disciples¡ªthose who hadn¡¯t taken refuge in the water, at least¡ªmust have all been scared speechless. She recognized the weeping voice as Lambent, and each time another died, he squealed loudly. His stammering pleas to their god for mercy were degenerating, more incoherent by the moment. Beam¡¯s mind raced, stumbling over its own thoughts clumsily. ¡°Because of water! Water... is blue. The sky is blue!¡± Another low, rumbling laugh filled the air. Hjarsant¡¯s body-puppet grinned wide enough to show the rotting gums clinging to its teeth. ¡°Blue is blue because water is blue? Is water blue, Beam? Seven...¡± ¡°Wait! I answered!¡± ¡°Blue is blue because water is blue.¡± Ah-Ren snickered. ¡°So is red, red because blood is red?¡± ¡°What? No... I didn¡¯t say that!¡± She couldn¡¯t parse the sadistic god¡¯s logic, but it didn¡¯t matter in the moment¡ªit gave her more time to think, more time for the survivors to survive. Maybe the swimmers had time to escape. ¡°Eight... Your reason is flawed. You feel along in the dark for the truth while I stand in the blistering light of it. Yet you hold My shackles within the shadow of your ignorance. Even you can understand why I am justified. Nine...¡± ¡°Blue. Blue is blue!¡± Beam panicked. The numbers were closing in on her and Peadhar, and though she¡¯d tried to be brave, her greatest priority now was saving him and herself. ¡°Why is it the color blue? Please, just let me think!¡± ¡°I can pen entire tomes and construct a calculus to explain the laws of nature in the time that it takes you to expel waste. I am forced to wallow in My own perfection while you rule the earth. Ten...¡± It was Lambent who died at the count of ten, his whimpering sobs finally silenced. ¡°I am a god in chains. My brilliance languishes in the dark while you consume and excrete and fornicate and die and squeeze out more of you from your orifices and force yourself on one another and eviscerate one another. You were a necessary evil in the course of the universe, but the need for you has passed. Eleven...¡± The starved girl, Aurora, let out a blood-curdling, dry gasp the instant before her head lolled to the side. She¡¯d been alive after all. Time was up. ¡°Blue is blue because... because blue is blue!¡± More thick black tears slimed out of Beam¡¯s tear ducts. ¡°I don¡¯t know! Do you hear me? I don¡¯t know the answer! It just is! Please!¡± ¡°Ah, there is her answer. Blue is blue because it simply is. Now you know why I did this to you.¡± She still didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I can.¡± The meaning was lost on her. ¡°I solved your riddle. Now you must let us go¡ªyou said that, right? You promised!¡± ¡°Those were not our terms.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re lying! You said¡ª¡± ¡°Do you remember how I said you can never seem to listen and think?¡± Beam felt a hand around her neck. She tried to gasp, but the fingers pressed on her windpipe, constricted the muscles from moving. Aurora was on her feet now. Her eyes were black as Hjarsant¡¯s, and for a withered, starved maiden, she had grip strength beyond belief. ¡°I said I will not break every rib you have,¡± Ah-Ren reminded her. ¡°I will let you and Peadhar each retain a shred of your living selves. My word is My oath. Now your journey is over, but your existence has only just begun.¡± Crack. Snap. Crunch. Sharp pain erupted in Beam¡¯s chest, her ribcage shattering rib by rib. All but one. The sharp edges jabbed at her lungs, made it excruciating to breathe. Now the body of Aurora let her go and staggered away, stiff in the limbs. In pain, Beam fell. She crawled along the mud toward Peadhar. His eyes were wide open, wet along the lids with the same tarry liquid that had fallen from her own eyes, but she could swear he was looking at her. She put a hand on his, and she could swear she felt his fingers squeeze her back. Or was it just wishful thinking? ¡°I will drive out all your sickness,¡± said Ah-Ren. ¡°I will do away with your pain. I will dispose of death for you, for My promises are unbroken as the promise of dawn. Who can raise the dead but Me?¡± Tendrils of the black slime slithered out of the swamp, wrapped around her wrists and ankles. They did the same to Peadhar and the corpses that littered the island. One by one, Ah-Ren¡¯s victims were dragged into the bog. Beam tried to hold onto Peadhar¡¯s hand. Her strength was no match. She felt his fingers slip out of hers for the final time. Something moved in her bag in the boat. It was the Gospel of Lucence. The goopy black substance leaked out from between its pages, splitting into a dozen tentacles that stiffened as they grew, forming spindly, spidery legs that let the book crawl to the center of the island. It wasn¡¯t the good word of her salvation anymore. It was just a thing, a creature, and it was like it had a will of its own now, or always had. But she knew it was another of Ah-Ren¡¯s tricks. Beam¡¯s mind went foggy. She, too, was dragged below the surface of the swamp, her unblinking eyes taking in the scum and sediment that whirled through the dark water. She waited for the sweet release of death that never came. The sun rose overhead and illuminated what little it could down here in the dark. Still she would not die. She felt not quite alive anymore, either. ¡°Rest here for a while,¡± said Ah-Ren. The voice¡¯s malice had a softer edge to it now, betraying a more playful sadism, one whose brutality was, at least for the moment, satisfied. ¡°The day will come soon when I will call upon you again. I never lied to you. In truth, you will help Me prepare the world to come.¡± *** The sun set, then rose, then set again, many times over and over and over, until Beam forgot what the days were or how to count them. She forgot what numbers were. She forgot her name. Even her new one. In time, she forgot she ever had an old name, too. One of the last memories to go was of her child. It went all the same. Long, unbroken nothingness. Then shadows moved along the face of the deep. The things in the water? she thought, not in words and sentences, but in nearly formless concepts that coalesced and disintegrated at a moment¡¯s notice. What are the things? Gators. No. Not them. On top. Not gators¡­ boats. A procession of boats rowed by. Strong men sat upright in suits of steel armor and leather. There was a young boy with them, unarmored and unsupervised. He looked over the edge of the boat while the others conversed among themselves and he reached his little hand into the water. She didn¡¯t know what to do. She only saw an opportunity and took it. She reached up and grabbed the boy by the wrist. Was she trying to pull herself out? Or pull him under? Even she didn¡¯t know. He screamed and tried to pull away, rocking the boat as he did so. Some of the men shouted with alarm. The man next to him grabbed the boy¡¯s body with one hand and his submerged arm with the other, prying it free. He receded from her grasp. Still, his little eyes fixed themselves on her, wide with terror, until the man patted him roughly on the back to stay his tears. ¡°What did you see down there?¡± the man asked him. ¡°I... I¡¯m not sure, father.¡± ¡°Probably roused some angry gator. The first thing you must learn about the Everswamp is that you must never be so sure of yourself as to go playing around in its water. You must know your place, son. It is above almost everyone, except for me, except for your mother, and none of us is above the Everswamp. Do you understand, son?¡± ¡°Yes, father.¡± ¡°Remember your place and it¡¯ll save your life, Brynh. Now, stop your trembling and sit up straight! You¡¯re a prince! A Garrotin, no less. You live to rule another day.¡± The boats rowed on and out of her gray sight. Night came, then went, then came again, and surely also did the seasons and the years. She stared only at the book. She ceased to move. The time came when she could no longer move at all, but she could still think, or, at the very least, she lingered in the confines of her prison, her own undying mind. How it frightened her at first. But the fear passed. The years passed. She remained. Then another boating party rowed by and took the book. The change jarred her and she almost found the strength to move again, but it passed. Bubbles rose up through the water and died in the open air. Fish swam by her uninterested, as did the gators. Soon the days and nights became only light and dark. Then it all blurred together, all dim, all gray. She knew almost nothing anymore. She had no name. She had no future, and her past was a shadow of its former self. All she really knew was that she needed to find a way out of wherever she was, and she needed to find something called Peadhar to bring with her. The meaning was lost on her. She waited for the day when she would be called again. When she would have purpose. When she would see the world to come, where she would finally belong. Chapter Forty-Seven: LUCANH IX Fight, then, flesh of my enemy, and my flesh will answer in kind. When your end is at hand, what have you to say of what came before it? -The Triptych; Book of Hells, Panel 8 Castle Tern, Dridon Lucanh watched the blade of Havokond part the air on a collision course with his head. The war hammer moved slowly, so slowly that he found himself waiting for it to be over. The attack. The pain. Life. Time flowed differently in this singular moment suspended in the flow of history. He could think a great many thoughts, but they were ill-shapen, not fully formed, just the raw building blocks of them. His father popped into his mind¡¯s eye. Then his mother. He felt something guiltlike for both of them. He thought of the Triptych, not for its contents or what it meant to him¡ªthere was no time for all that¡ªbut the impression of it in his world, the book sitting on the pedestal waiting for him in the royal library. Sir Stepan, of all people, appeared next. His memory was shaped like a kindness. But he died protecting the innocent. It¡¯s a nobler death than even most knights can aspire to have. Lucanh saw his own end on the edge of that black blade bearing down on him. There was no time to evade it, he knew¡ªthis was going to happen. Pray to Triad you don¡¯t have my luck, said Sir Godwald¡¯s memory. Lucanh¡¯s body moved back like it was already falling in death. But it wasn¡¯t falling¡ªit was dodging. Or trying to, at least. Too slow. The blade sliced clean through the bridge of Lucanh¡¯s nose. It shaved off a cluster of eyelashes in transit. His body reacted just in time to stop his head from being cleaved right in half sideways. For now. He fell back-first against the stone banister overlooking the first floor of the keep. White hot pain burned his face, the blood oozing down his face cool by comparison. He grimaced in agony, but that only made it worse, and then he tasted salt and metal. Pain meant he was alive. Pain meant he could make a plan. Clang! Kimbel kicked Lucanh¡¯s sword across the landing, the steel blade clattering against stone, spinning in two full revolutions before coming to rest far away. The boy king had him cornered. ¡°Damn fool child!¡± he jeered. ¡°Mercy will be your final mistake! I¡¯m needed downstairs. Afraid that means...¡± He raised Havokond into the air behind his head. ¡°...we¡¯ll have to do this quick and clean!¡± Time was sped up again. There was no slowing of the moment in his mind¡ªhe held up an arm instinctively, knowing it wouldn¡¯t save him. His body turned clumsily toward his fallen sword, but there would be no time to grab it. His thoughts were even more fleeting now. He wished Sir Godwald were there to save him. He thought of his father¡¯s final resting place. Three stones in the coffin. Soon they¡¯d be reunited in the Heights above¡ªor so he hoped. In that desperate, final moment, he clung back to his old faith. He¡¯d wanted to face death with eyes wide open, but he couldn¡¯t help but close them as be braced for it. There was a sickening, bloody sound. Steel cut through flesh. Havokond¡¯s bloody blade followed through and embedded itself in the stone floor. Lucanh saw only black now. Then he opened his eyes. Kimbel stood frozen in place, his face pale and contorted in shock. He turned slowly, shuddering in shock and pain, toward Rhoda, who stood at his side. She held the hilt of a blade that was now buried in the boy king¡¯s side just under the gap of his cuirass. It was Kimbel¡¯s own dagger. Before, his eyes had been cold and reptilian, even when he¡¯d tried to feign surrender. The bite of the blade brought back that familiar vitality. His eyes were now more akin to those of a rabbit in the jaw of a wolf. Vivid. Warm-blooded. ¡°Where did... h-how...¡± Kimbel sputtered, losing his balance. The queen said nothing. She only tore out the blade, which made a visceral ripping sound on its exit. His knees buckled. ¡°I¡¯m the king.¡± He had a mouthful of scarlet. Rhoda was silent, taking no pleasure when she grabbed him by the rim of his helmet and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. His fingers fluttered at his side for his war hammer that was out of reach. ¡°I¡¯m... the king.¡± Rhoda took his dagger, pressed the blade into his neck. Drew it across. It was over in one quick motion. Lucanh¡¯s mind flashed to red on white, the helpless little lamb that was slaughtered, and all of Kimbel¡¯s unearthly terror was washed away at once. He made a damp sputtering sound. Tried to suck in a breath that wasn¡¯t there, a fish out of water. Then his eyes went dead again for the final time. Kimbel stopped moving. ¡°Mother,¡± Lucanh breathed. His eyes dampened at the realization that they were both still alive. He was saved. Rhoda tossed the dagger aside, wiping the blood on her gown. She approached her son, holding his face in her hands, studying it. ¡°That looks painful. My poor baby will have a scar for the rest of his life. Are you hurt anywhere else?¡± The prince¡¯s mind buzzed. He could hardly focus on her calm, level questions, the macabre thrill of battle still fresh. ¡°He... he hit me hard in the face,¡± Luke finally answered. ¡°My leg hurts. That¡¯s it.¡± ¡°Can you stand?¡± When Rhoda helped him up, she had her answer. ¡°There are knights with more grievous injuries than you, so you¡¯ll have to wait your turn with the chirurgeon.¡± Lucanh turned an ear over the banister, listened for the sounds of war; there were none. ¡°What¡¯s happening down there?¡± She closed her eyes and sighed. ¡°I knew this day would come. And I knew that Castle Tern would be the key to putting down these slavers once and for all. The battle¡¯s almost over, Luke. We¡¯ve already pushed the surviving invaders out of the keep. Soon they¡¯ll be out of the city.¡± She put a hand on his pauldron. ¡°We¡¯ve won.¡± His head spun with everything he learned now. His mother spoke of strategy, of a decisive turn in Dridon¡¯s favor. It all seemed too good to be true. Was this his mind¡¯s last wishful thinking as Havokond put an end to him once and for all? Was he bound for the Heights already? Then another voice snapped him back to reality. ¡°Your Majesty,¡± said Sir Stepan. The High Knight and his cohorts were waiting in the open doorway of a nearby stairwell. ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± ¡°They¡¯ve surrendered?¡± Rhoda asked. Sir Stepan nodded, then couldn¡¯t help but let his lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile. Rather than address her knights, she turned her attention to Lucanh, fixed his tousled hair and ran a concerned thumb across his trimmed eyelashes. ¡°You did well today, Luke.¡± ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡± He found himself averting his gaze, ashamed that he wasn¡¯t the one to finish Kimbel on his own. ¡°I thought I could do it, but I¡ª¡± She patted him firmly on the pauldron once more. ¡°Don¡¯t ever doubt what you did here today. You were the better warrior, in skill and in spirit.¡± Her eyes glistened. ¡°You did well, my son. We¡¯re both very proud of you.¡± *** Dawn broke over the battle-scarred city of Tern on the day following the Grackenwelsh invasion. Queen Rhoda, Prince Lucanh, Sir Stepan, and an assemblage of knights and assorted nobility gathered at the city gates. Black smoke still billowed into the pinkish-purple sky, but the fires were finally dying. Few invaders survived to face the queen¡¯s judgment, at least compared to the forces that had first arrived. Their cannons were broken down and divided between the city¡¯s blacksmiths, along with most of the Grackenwelsh swords and hammers. Even some of their armor was confiscated. Two of their generals, a stout, burly, orange-haired man and a tall, lithe one with dark hair, stood face to face with the victorious queen, though many paces apart from her. Dridic archers leaned out of the turrets on the city wall, arrows trained on the helmetless invaders. ¡°I understand Grackenwell intends to surrender formally,¡± Rhoda announced. ¡°Are you ready to hear my terms?¡± The generals only glared at her. The stout one in particular looked especially vengeful. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯ll have to speak up. Otherwise my archers might get the wrong idea.¡± ¡°Those are our intentions,¡± said the orange-haired one, who was called General Cadwynh. ¡°Proceed.¡± ¡°A full withdrawal of every last Grackenwelsh, unless they¡¯re a slave who wishes to be free. They¡¯ll each be evaluated depending on what they¡¯ve done, and if their crimes are forgivable, they¡¯ll be welcomed as full-fledged Dridic citizens. Otherwise, they¡¯ll be deported back to Grackenwell. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Any soldier, spy, or freeman of Grackenwell found within a day¡¯s walk of Tern tomorrow will be tried, imprisoned, and possibly executed. In three moons, I will convene with the next Grackenwelsh ruler in Zan Vayonado. At that time, any military presence in that nation on your part will be treated as a violation of your surrender and an act of renewed war. You have three moons to withdraw your men from the desert. I will follow up on the Grand Archipelago in due time as well. ¡°When I meet with your new king or queen, we¡¯ll discuss the terms of a full and transparent peace treaty. Let me make myself abundantly clear now, generals.¡± She adjusted the silver crown on her head, staring icy daggers at them. ¡°Today you have a chance at reclaiming your lives. At going home and picking up the pieces. Should you ever invade our borders with violence ever again, you will count yourselves lucky to be my prisoners for the rest of your miserable lives. If you don¡¯t die by our hands first. And trust me when I say that your generals will be the first to hang. Is that understood?¡± General Cadwynh spat on the ground, never taking his eyes off hers. ¡°Understood.¡± ¡°Understood, Queen Rhoda,¡± said the one named General Rigart with a bit more decorum. ¡°You may depart with the body of your king.¡± She motioned for two knights, who stepped out from behind the city wall, carrying Kimbel¡¯s body on a plank of wood. They laid the corpse at the generals¡¯ feet and then marched back to their position. ¡°As has already been made known, my son was the one to do battle with him. Prince Lucanh will make a brave king when my time is up. Besides the Garrotin¡¯s fatal wounds, his remains are undefiled and presented to you intact.¡± ¡°He will receive the proper burial,¡± said Rigart. ¡°For this, we are grateful.¡± Rhoda held out her hands in a grand gesture. ¡°Grackenwell, you are officially dismissed from our presence. My men will escort you to the border. Safe travels to the lot of you.¡± The Grackenwelsh wasted no time in turning away from the queen and marching north. A team of slaves loaded their fallen king¡¯s body onto a crude litter made of charred wood planks cobbled together, the handiwork of yesterday¡¯s cannons. The makeshift pallbearers carried Kimbel¡¯s remains with great care. A large detachment of Dridic knights and soldiers followed behind them. Now that they had the chance to assemble fully, after being caught unaware and scattered the day prior, Dridon¡¯s military might was greater than Lucanh had even imagined. Greater still was the awe and respect that his mother commanded. She seemed like a changed woman in the light of daybreak, authoritative and sure of herself. Had she really changed that much of late? Or had he simply never noticed? He found himself pondering this for the rest of the day as they set about cleaning up the city, stamping out the last of the fires, hauling off rubble and wreckage. He found himself wishing he could talk it over with Sir Godwald. Wondered if the man would be just as surprised, or if he¡¯d only laugh knowingly and pat the boy on the back. *** ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Lucanh told her that day at supper. It was late, far past dusk, when they finally sat down to eat their first meal. The day had been full of hard labor for all and he still hadn¡¯t seen the chirurgeon; his face throbbed with pain at every slight movement, every word he spoke. ¡°Sorry for what, Luke?¡± Rhoda asked, tearing into a strip of jerky over a plate of steaming grains. They¡¯d be eating this way for some time now that much of Dridon¡¯s farmland had been torched in the invasion. But she¡¯d planned ahead for just such a development. ¡°I just didn¡¯t know,¡± he answered meekly. ¡°I... I didn¡¯t realize everything that went into being a good ruler. Everything that you¡¯ve had to do and think through, and how nothing...¡± He gnawed tenderly at his jerky, chewing through the pain. ¡°Nothing is the way I thought it would be. I never thought you¡¯d be right all along.¡± She smiled a sad, vindicated smile. ¡°I¡¯m not always right, Lucanh. Not even the queen is infallible. But don¡¯t go telling that to everyone you meet.¡± ¡°How did you know?¡± ¡°Know what?¡± He gesticulated with his brown strip of dried meat. ¡°You know... to wait. How did you know not to invade them first? Did you know that we would win?¡± She nodded. ¡°It wasn¡¯t all me. I took counsel from a number of sources. Spies, the High Knight, and yes, even your father.¡± She smiled a bit wider at that, staring off at nothing. ¡°Grackenwell would have had a clear advantage on their own soil. Wide open spaces for their cannons to clear out rows of Dridic soldiers. Being closer to home, they could repair and resupply their cannons with ease. ¡°An invasion of Dridon proved costlier for them. Their cannons did considerable damage to the cities, but they soon ran out of ammunition, and though they saved the bulk of it to batter Castle Tern, the walls and the keep were fortified enough to withstand them by the end of it all. Once inside, the cannons were useless in close quarters¡ªthere was no way to differentiate us from their own men. And it¡¯s in close quarters where our elite knights shine. ¡°Painful as it was,¡± she said solemnly, ¡°and though we lost far too many, I knew that it was our best chance for victory. A decisive one¡ªnot the sort that would spawn a protracted war. My aides tell me that we avoided far more casualties this way. For the sake of my heart and my sanity, I choose to believe them.¡± It was as if a new door unlocked within the confines of his mind and the blinding light of wisdom came pouring in. There were pains to growing taller, he well knew, and there were also pains to growing wiser; it peeled back another layer of the veil between him and truth, and it only made his past self look more the fool for it. Would it always be this way? Or would he one day attain the wisdom of a grown man and be done, finally? ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he repeated to his mother. ¡°I didn¡¯t understand.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad that you don¡¯t understand it all yet,¡± she answered him readily. ¡°You may wield a sword now, but you¡¯re still a boy in my eyes. You always will be, even when I¡¯m old and gray. Even when you are.¡± She took his bruised hand gently, gave his unhurt fingers a squeeze. ¡°I may be queen, and you prince, but I¡¯m your mother before anything else, as long as I live. You¡¯ll make a fine king someday. Someday a long, long time from now, if I have anything to say about it.¡± When supper had ended, servants cleaned away the table and the nobility milled about the hall with their goblets of wine. Another shift of knights was already taking over cleanup efforts and working through the night. Luke parted ways with his mother, who sat down gingerly on the burgundy rug in the great corridor to play a game of dice with peasant children. Many of the displaced citizens of Tern were still living within the castle walls while the city was rebuilt. Some of them had likely never slept indoors, at least not in quarters as nice as this. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± he heard Rhoda say. ¡°You should ask him.¡± ¡°Prince Lucanh!¡± one of the smaller boys blurted out. He was missing an upper front tooth. His hair was matted, his clothes in tatters, but his face lit up like any other child¡¯s. ¡°Your face! What happened to you? Did you get hurt? Come play with us, Prince Lucanh!¡± He smiled back. ¡°I¡¯d love to, but... Well, maybe tomorrow night. I have somewhere else I need to be.¡± *** For all the commotion of the reconstruction efforts in surrounding Tern, the castle¡¯s private cemetery was deathly quiet. The stars were out that crystal clear night; the half-melted snow that slushed beneath his boots was blue in the light of the half-moon. Lucanh made his way to the modestly marked grave, nothing but a triangular headstone, and lowered his cowl. He stood there at the graveside with his hands folded in front of him. It had gone differently in his head. When he first set out from the dining hall, he imagined he¡¯d have a litany of interesting things to say. He predicted that he¡¯d sound wise saying it all. Even though it would be a one-sided conversation, he thought it would be effortless for him to carry it, and by the end, he¡¯d be sure he¡¯d said something worthwhile. All that came out was, ¡°We won.¡± Even though he didn¡¯t think anyone was listening to him, he felt too foolish to say anything else. There it was again¡ªthe sobering realization that there was so much more to the world that he didn¡¯t know than what he knew. So many experiences he¡¯d yet to have. So much wisdom yet to glean from trial and error. Had all adults gone through the same at his age? He shuddered to think that, when he first ran out of Castle Tern to save citizens from the northern invaders, he¡¯d made some sort of peace with the idea of dying. Not just that it was a hero¡¯s death, but that he¡¯d somehow lived enough of a life that he was satisfied. He knew now the precious brevity of it. He knew that even a knight of Sir Godwald¡¯s age had more life left in him when he was cut down. The future loomed taller than ever ahead of him, the precipice rising over that canyon of uncertainty. Time only muddled what he¡¯d hoped it would clarify. Without saying another word, Lucanh made his way out of the cemetery and back toward the castle. It¡¯s all right, he told himself. There¡¯ll be other days to stand here. I¡¯ll come back when I have something more to say. It wasn¡¯t as if Sir Godwald would be going anywhere. The realization made him frown, then scoff, and then he let out a mirthless chuckle despite himself. It was a strange kind of humor, dull and without any joy but funny in a flat sort of way. Adult. It was the sort of thing he could imagine the knight saying and then laughing to himself. At least that thought brought him some peculiar comfort. *** It was a laborious task to climb the stairs. His battle-weary body tensed and flared with pain each time he made a movement. Somehow, every step he took made the gash on his nose throb in discomfort, the chirurgeon¡¯s stitches prickling. His bruises pulsed like angry hearts when he didn¡¯t baby them. It was still preferable, he reminded himself, to what befell his enemy. Luke pressed on up the spiral staircase until he reached the level of the royal library. Down the hall he went, through the lavish doorway, to the room with centuries of tomes that always had a candle burning. The knights guarding the door were straight-backed and stoic. When the closed the door behind him, he was alone with the castle¡¯s collected knowledge. The Triptych waited for him on its old marble pedestal. He was finally taller than the pedestal, tall enough that he didn¡¯t need a boost to read the book. When did that happen? Lucanh wondered. He held the tome in both hands¡ªno deerskin gloves this time. He needed to feel the leather binding on his fingertips, to feel the crinkling of the oat-colored pages as well as he heard it, to trace over the illuminations painstakingly crafted by a triarch some decades prior. Someone made this, it dawned on him. What a foolish, obvious thing to realize, he thought, but it made him appreciate the tome in a whole new light. There was a whole new light to everything these days. He hefted the book in both hands. It felt lighter than it used to, lighter and slimmer. But he could tell there was still vast, untapped wisdom to be found between its covers, and he no longer felt that he was above learning more. Everything he knew, he¡¯d learned from Sir Godwald, and Sir Godwald had drawn much of what he knew from this holy tome of Dridon. He was a man truly Tomebound to its truth and its secrets alike. Its wisdom. Lucanh had always thought of wisdom as a fruit to be harvested, when it was really a tree to be tended. ¡°By this tome, I lived,¡± he thought aloud, a solemn air falling over him. ¡°And I still live. By another tome, Kimbel lived. And he is dead.¡± In his mind, the book seemed to hum with an odd energy about it. ¡°Triad, I don¡¯t know if it was You who saw me through... or Sir Godwald¡¯s training. Maybe it was just luck that my mother happened to be there...¡± He swallowed hard, not feeling quite so alone as he¡¯d felt at the graveside. ¡°But if I¡¯m to lead Dridon one day, I know I have more to learn than I already know. ¡°So, then, O Great Three-Headed One...¡± He opened the tome to the Book of Heights, the first panel. ¡°Teach me.¡± Chapter Forty-Eight: KIMBEL VIII In older versions of the myth, the Bogman¡¯s end is not so placid. He does not go to a peaceful rest when his second life¡¯s work is done; on the contrary, when he lies down to rest in the Everswamp, he¡¯s roused by that dark spirit that dwells there, the one called Ah-Ren by some obscure contemporary texts. The spirit of the bog never lets him truly rest, for He will call upon His servant again when the time is right, his soul forfeit and his body sold in exchange for his great power. Variants of the legend tell that this Voice, this Ah-Ren, plans to collect the Bogman¡¯s debt one day, and that his return will usher in the Time After Time. -The Bogman¡¯s Curse: A Modern Addendum by Malthier of Cormund Grackenwell General Rigart and General Cadwynh fought the entire way home to Grackenwell. The former insisted on giving their fallen king a proper funeral, to have the body lie in state in Holcort followed by a ceremonial sendoff in the Everswamp, a kingdom-wide moon of mourning. The latter scoffed at the idea. ¡°Burn the little bastard,¡± Cadwynh spat. ¡°We can finally be done with the Garrotins once and for all.¡± ¡°Someone¡¯s had a change of heart since Le¡¯Me,¡± said Rigart. ¡°I seem to remember you getting along quite well with King Brynh and even Kimbel at the time.¡± ¡°It was a celebration. I was celebrating. At any rate, I actually had some level of respect for the father.¡± Cadwynh¡¯s orange beard bristled disdainfully. ¡°Until his threads started coming loose. They were touched in the head, all the Garrotins. It was bound to happen this way.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t disagree that there was a certain... instability to them.¡± Rigart wrung his hands to say such a thing. ¡°But like him or not, a king is a king. Fail to respect your betters and you¡¯re no different from a rebellious slave.¡± Cadwynh sidestepped, puffing his chest, holding his fists at his sides. ¡°You watch your tongue the next time you think to compare me to a slave!¡± Rigart rolled his eyes, unintimidated by Cadwynh¡¯s display. ¡°It¡¯s an analogy, you oaf.¡± ¡°Sniveling sycophant.¡± ¡°Envious brute.¡± At this, the orange-haired man threw his head back and laughed, then coughed up a mouthful of phlegm to spit in the path of the slaves bearing Kimbel¡¯s litter. ¡°Envious?¡± He gestured to the boy king¡¯s corpse, which strangely hadn¡¯t swollen or started to smell. ¡°Of that? I think the Hells not!¡± Their Dridic escort finally parted ways with them at the northern border on the edge of the Zan desert. This eastern pass was the narrowest strip of the desert on the whole continent, only a day¡¯s walk through the dunes to the rocky wastes. Another day¡¯s travel would take them through Settbourne and north past the southern edge of the Everswamp. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. With the convenience of passing the bog on their journey north, Rigart made his final argument. ¡°It would cost us nothing. Not even a day¡¯s detour to the edge of the¡ª¡± ¡°A moment¡¯s detour is too good for him,¡± Cadwynh grumbled. ¡°He was a freak, Rigart. A madman! He had no business ruling over us, and it¡¯s a damn stroke of luck that he¡¯s dead. He brought no honor to Grackenwell. We had a window of opportunity to seize the continent and he bungled it. We had to grovel before that southern hag just to go home. This...¡± He gesticulated toward the corpse again. ¡°...was meant to be. I¡¯ll set fire to him myself and sleep like a drunk baby.¡± ¡°As the only surviving generals, we are both now interim leaders of Grackenwell.¡± Rigart scowled at him. ¡°I won¡¯t let you trample all over our traditions with impunity. The people will not take so kindly to your speaking ill of the slain boy king when they hear it.¡± ¡°Boy king. What a crock of shit.¡± Cadwynh sucked back another glob of phlegm and spat it on the grass. The sun was rising; it was almost time to set up camp again to shade themselves from the desert sun. ¡°He¡¯s dead, you know. His father¡¯s dead. There¡¯s no Garrotin left to take his place. Think you¡¯ll get punished if you don¡¯t kiss his feet even in death?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of your foul disrespect,¡± Rigart said bitterly. ¡°I¡¯ll send him off on the swamp myself, damn you.¡± Cadwynh snorted with laughter. ¡°Have it your way, then. Glad you see there¡¯s no use trying to change my mind on the matter.¡± The general whistled and the rest of the slaves set about erecting camp for the day. ¡°I trust there¡¯ll be no hard feelings as we work together to decide who¡¯ll sit the throne next, will there?¡± Rigart met his gaze carefully. ¡°Of course not. You said it yourself. That instability is behind us now.¡± Cadwynh nodded slowly, locking eyes with Rigart for a moment without looking away. ¡°Good. Instability brings bloodshed.¡± ¡°That it does.¡± They eyed each other a short while longer. When camp was erected, they went to their separate tents. The morning sun was already warm and threatening to scorch the white sand around them. Those were the last words spoken between them until they reached the Everswamp. *** In the end, Cadwynh accompanied Rigart to the edge of the bog after all. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t look right of me to the people if I didn¡¯t have a hand in it,¡± he explained. Rigart didn¡¯t say anything directly to him. He personally helped the slaves load Kimbel¡¯s body from the litter into a cheaply made boat sans its oars. ¡°Good,¡± he said, satisfied. ¡°At least this way, he¡¯ll have a chance to come back. If he¡¯s strong enough to wrench himself free from the clutches of death, that is.¡± Cadwynh scoffed. ¡°Are you a wee boy with a penchant for tall tales? No one ever comes back, you daft git.¡± Again, Rigart ignored him. He grasped the edge of the boat. Gave it a push. The half-coffin drifted slowly into the dark edges of the bog with the grace of a ghost. ¡°And so the Garrotin lineage dies in blood,¡± he said solemnly. Said it low enough that Cadwynh would not hear to mock him for it. ¡°Rest now, troubled boy. You were right to believe that the world belongs to the strong.¡± He shook his head, watching the boat drift between elegantly drooping branches of the willows, silent sentinels at the gates of death. ¡°Sadly, you were not among them. Goodbye.¡± What was left of the Grackenwelsh army pressed further northward to Holcort, where they would take stock of their losses, rebuild the damage done to their kingdom, and chart a course for their future. General, noble, soldier, and slave¡ªtheir status quo was bent but unbroken. The north would endure. It would live to rise again. Meanwhile, the remains of Kimbel Garrotin floated far from the shallow edge of the swamp. Ferried on by unseen forces, the boat skimmed across the murky surface of the water, into that place scarcely touched by the sun, a depth of darkness that had forgotten the meaning of light. There came a rumbling whisper from the secret heart of the bog. It was many fathoms deeper than the bottom of the swamp, and many shades darker. Kimbel was not alone. Chapter Forty-Nine: STYRI I For ages I have listened, and for ages there was nothing new to hear. My time of listening is at an end. Now I will speak, and you will listen. Behold! A new song is sung in the land, yet there is no man left to hear it. -The Nameless Myrenthos Styri drew up her knees to her chest, shivering in the warmth of the bonfire. She cowered behind her knees so that the other girls couldn¡¯t see her fear. All the while, the glademother towered over the fire, swinging her arms and the pitch of her voice as she told her dreadful stories. ¡°If you find yourself in Xheng Yu Xi in the dead of night,¡± said Chrysephone, her voice quivering theatrically, ¡°beware the gashagumo. Their name means dog men. They prowl woods just like these when Mother Moon is in her fullness. And do you know their most favorite food?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°What is it?¡± came the giddy whispers of the girls. ¡°Well,¡± said Chrysephone, crouching, lowering her voice, ¡°of course... it¡¯s... you! All of you!¡± She bared her teeth and bent her fingers like claws. The circle of girls shrieked and cackled. It was a strange ritual, these nightly bonfires where the glademothers told them these stories. Most of the girls loved it. Styri never did. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Akona asked her. ¡°Nothing,¡± Styri lied. And her sister knew it straight away¡ªand Styri knew that she knew. ¡°Tell me the truth.¡± ¡°Or in the remote jungles of Qarda,¡± Chrysephone went on, and the girls quieted again, ¡°there are said to be evil spirits in the trees that wait to devour you. Only the light of the fires could drive them out so the ancient Qardish could build their cities, but they still lurk, even today, in the wilderness... The mahjeen!¡± ¡°We have fire,¡± said one of the girls in the circle. ¡°Right you are. But you know what that means? It means...¡± Chrysephone let the silence hang in the air. Mostly, Styri could only hear the shrill sounds of nocturnal insects; somewhere, an owl hooted. Aside from that, there was only the crackling of the campfire, coals popping and hissing with heat, the thump of her heartbeat in her throat. ¡°...that the mahjeen... could be watching us... right... now...¡± Again, the glademother strung out the silence to her advantage. At least with screaming came the release of tension. This was so much worse. ¡°...and even though the fire will keep them out of our camp... they¡¯ll still be watching us while we sleep... waiting to see if our fire will go out... and if it does... the mahjeen... will... ATTACK!¡± Chrysephone roared again, and again the girls shrieked in terrified glee. Styri flinched, tensing up by the fire. She shrunk into herself. ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± she confessed to Akona. She felt like such a baby, admitting her fear to her younger sister. The elder was supposed to be the brave one. ¡°I knew it,¡± said her twin. ¡°Why are you afraid? They¡¯re just stories.¡± ¡°But what if they¡¯re not?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°What if they¡¯re not just stories? What if they¡¯re real?¡± After the circle calmed down and the bonfire went quiet again, one of the girls spoke up. ¡°Glademother, we know those already!¡± ¡°Yes, we know those!¡± said another. ¡°Tell us a new one!¡± ¡°You want a new story?¡± Chrysephone answered them, sounding all too eager to oblige for Styri¡¯s taste. ¡°Well, have you ever heard the story of the Knights of Old?¡± No one around the fire said anything, but some of the girls looked at each other. Styri knew that a knight was a type of male soldier from the Stonish lands who wore a full suit of armor and trained diligently in the ways of sword fighting. ¡°Well, if you should ever find yourself on the Stone Continent, beware of the creatures of the deep wood, the ones that come out at night like anywhere else. However...¡± Chrysephone took a sip from her wineskin. ¡°...the ones you really ought to fear are the Knights of Old. ¡°The gashagumo, the mahjeen, and even the creatures of the deep wood can be dispatched with sunlight or the right metals. But the Knights of Old are said to come out mostly at dawn and dusk. Stonish fishermen see them sometimes lurking with their heads above water or stalking remote islands, even hiding among the barren rocks. The Knights of Old are sometimes also called faceless ones.¡± One of the girls in the circle stood up, her hands folded in front of her. This was how the glademothers instructed them to call attention to a question they had. ¡°Glademother?¡± she asked impatiently. ¡°What is it, Maesia?¡± ¡°Are the Knights of Old just knights?¡± Chrysephone narrowed her eyes, raised a didactic finger. ¡°Ah, that¡¯s the scariest part. They¡¯re called the Knights of Old because they¡¯re said to be long dead, knights from the ancient past.¡± There were gasps and awestruck murmurs in the audience. ¡°They¡¯ve been dead so long that their bodies have rotted and withered away, and all that¡¯s left is their armor. The Eidomene has rejected their spirits, cursing them to walk the earth until the Time After Time. So it¡¯s the ghost that holds up the armor, causes it to levitate in the air¡ªa ghost no one can see. Their crude armor helmets are blank, faceless, and none of them are said to speak or otherwise make a sound.¡± ¡°Do they eat people?¡± another girl in the crowd asked. At this, Chrysephone couldn¡¯t stifle a chuckle until it was too late, a momentary break in her scary storytelling. ¡°Not quite,¡± she said, theatrical again. ¡°You see, no one knows what the Knights of Old want. The only thing that is known is that it¡¯s bad luck to see one. If you do... it¡¯s said you may never see your family again.¡± ¡°How come?¡± ¡°It¡¯s said that the Knights of Old will abduct anyone who lays eyes upon them except from a distance. Get too close... and they¡¯ll whisk you away!¡± This story didn¡¯t have nearly the same effect on the girls, who exchanged glances quietly, without the screaming fanfare of the earlier stories. ¡°That¡¯s all for tonight, girls. Ready for bed.¡± Chrysephone went to fetch more wood for the fire. ¡°Those don¡¯t even sound scary,¡± said Akona. ¡°But what if the others are real?¡± Styri repeated. Akona scooted closer to her twin, put on a serious grownup face. ¡°I¡¯m your sister,¡± she told Styri. ¡°Even if they¡¯re real, I¡¯ll make sure we always have something silver, and we¡¯ll only travel in the daytime, and I¡¯ll be there to protect you like I always am.¡± ¡°Promise?¡± Akona did a strange thing then. She reached out her right hand, hooked her right arm around her sister¡¯s right arm. ¡°This means I promise. All right?¡± ¡°All right.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll always be there for each other, right? Promise?¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Now it was Styri¡¯s turn to lock arms with her sister in response. She squeezed tightly. ¡°Promise.¡± The girls readied for bed like the glademother told them. They lay down in one of the communal tents with six other girls. The twins stayed up late that night, whispering about the future and what it would bring. They talked about each finding a suitable boy to marry and take children from them, and how they would approve or disapprove the other¡¯s choices, how their children would grow up close with their cousins, and one day, the two sisters would be matriarchs of neighboring towns, and their families would live together in a house in the woods between those two towns so they would never have to spend a day apart. Styri drifted off to a sound sleep with her sister by her side. *** The Great Unknown When she awoke, her face was sore. My wound, she thought, remembering the scorpion sting that left a crater in her cheek. Though the worst of it was healed, the nerves still prickled with pain sometimes. She cringed at the thought of the maggots eating away at her dead flesh. Her sister was a good soul to care for her so diligently while she recuperated. She was so glad to be out of that accursed desert. She touched a hand to her face, feeling for the bandage. There was none. There was no wound; the skin of her cheek was smooth as the day she was born. Styri sat up with a start. It all came flooding back to her then¡ªKa¡¯Anui, the Grackenwelsh soldiers, the poison dart, the tidefall. Survive this. Promise me. Promise. It seemed she had. But at what cost? Styri stood up from her resting place. The ground beneath her was flat and unyielding. She wondered what had happened to the ocean¡ªshe remembered plunging headlong into it, along with Akona¡ªuntil she saw the undulating surface of the sea far below her. She flinched, lost her balance. Styri hit the near-invisible floor beneath her, head spinning, pulse pounding. She wanted to throw up. The floor beneath her was glass thick enough that it didn¡¯t crack, even with her full weight thrown against it¡ªeven, she thought, if she jumped up and down and tried to break it with all her might. She was in a ball of glass suspended in the sky high above the ocean. Is this death? Styri wondered. Am I going to the Eidomene after all? She bit herself on the wrist. Bit until her teeth broke skin and she tasted iron. It hurt. That was the only proof she knew that she was still tethered to the world of the living, fraught with pain and impermanence. She fell to her knees and wept openly. Akona really was gone. Styri raised her fist, bashed it against the glass floor. Again. Again. It only served to hurt her hands, bruise her bony knuckles. No matter how much she wanted to break her glass prison, to hurtle into the open ocean below where the waves would end it all for her, it was no use. The glass ball hovered through the air as easily as something floating in water. There was no resistance, and she could sense no wind around it. It soared higher through the cloud cover¡ªshe always thought fluffy white clouds would have the texture of cotton, but up close, they dissipated like fog when the ball passed through them. The clouds streamed by silently below her. She felt like she was on a horse, or on a ship, only it was moving many times faster, and through the sky instead of land or sea. A short while later, it descended through the cloud cover. It was bound for an island. In the center of the island, there was a great mass of white rock that caught the bright sun just right, obscuring her vision. She shielded her eyes for a time during her miraculous descent. When her eyes finally adjusted to the glare, she took her arm away and gasped. An audience of people awaited her arrival. For one brief, cruel instant, she thought it might have been an island off the coast of Myrenthos... until she saw those standing on the shore. What they really were. Her stomach twisted in icy fear. Over two dozen of them stood on the beach, shoulder to shoulder, straight-backed, unmoving and with postures that betrayed only mild curiosity. They were as tall as full-grown men and all the same size and shape. Invisible ghosts in suits of armor¡ªthe metal plates floated in midair, only loosely connected. The ancient armor was smooth, polished, curved where there ought to have been points, joints, and edges, at least from the drawings Styri had seen of Stonish knights. These were the Knights of Old. Faceless ones. It was just as the glademother Chrysephone had told her as a child. The glass ball descended toward the island. It alighted softly on the beach, lighter than a butterfly landing on a flower. A circular window opened in the glass ball, a hole through which Styri could comfortably walk. It was all eerily quiet except for the waves sloshing against the hot beige sand. Once Styri had exited the transparent orb, it closed itself up again, ascending into the air with nothing but a low hum like the sound of a bumblebee¡¯s flight. It moved with impossible speed up into the sky and then was gone without another sound. The faceless ones stood and stared at her. They had no eyes¡ªit came with the territory of being faceless¡ªbut she could somehow feel their gazes on her, and it made her skin crawl. ¡°Am I dead?¡± she asked timidly. She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to be sure this wasn¡¯t all some dream or hallucination. ¡°No,¡± said a voice. ¡°The Nameless had mercy.¡± It spoke in Myrenthian, sounding smooth and well-educated, not unlike an attractive, demure young man who knew his place in Myrenthian society. The sound of it put her inexplicably at ease. It was one of the Knights¡ªshe couldn¡¯t discern which one was speaking. ¡°Your journey was perilous. Your counterpart is no longer alive.¡± Hearing those words twisted a knife somewhere inside her. ¡°My sister,¡± she said, offended at the cold impersonality. ¡°Her name is Akona.¡± The urge to cry again came and went; all she felt now was emptiness, like she was already dead anyway, but the earth was too stubborn to let her go yet. ¡°Did you bring me here?¡± More silence. ¡°Why? Why did you bring me here?¡± ¡°You already know. The Nameless had mercy.¡± ¡°Have mercy on my sister Akona.¡± Styri clasped her hands together in blasphemy against the Myrenthian pantheon. ¡°Please. Bring her back and I¡¯ll fall down and worship you. Or the Nameless. I¡¯ll do anything.¡± Waves lapped quietly at the shore. A gull called its squeaking call as it glided down the beach. ¡°Please, bring Akona back!¡± ¡°No. The Nameless does not intervene in these affairs.¡± Styri shook her head. ¡°Then why save me at all? What¡¯s the point?¡± ¡°You will be given rest here until the time comes.¡± The Knight¡¯s cryptic words perplexed her enough to hold her attention. ¡°Until the time comes for what?¡± ¡°The Nameless has its answer for humankind.¡± ¡°What answer?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°What was the question?¡± This time, the faceless ones did not answer her. ¡°Be in comfort,¡± one of them said after a while. ¡°Be at peace. The end is almost here.¡± Be in comfort, she thought bitterly. When a foreign sea had claimed Akona¡¯s dead body so it couldn¡¯t even be buried. Asking Styri to be in comfort now was like asking the sun to rise in the west. She spoke again, not even deigning to face her saviors, staring up instead at the mountain in the center of the island. ¡°The end of what? Of my life?¡± ¡°Of all of your lives.¡± ¡°The end of the world?¡± ¡°Certainly not. Only the end of you and your people.¡± She thought of her mother back home, of her homeland, and was reminded that Akona would never set foot on their soil ever again. Would Styri? Or was she trapped here for the rest of her days? Guilt and homesickness dredged up her despair again from the depths of her emptiness. ¡°My people? Myrenthians?¡± ¡°Humans.¡± The reality of the Knight¡¯s words was finally sinking in for her, colored by her fresh grief. ¡°What does that mean?¡± ¡°The Nameless has its answer as promised. This era is nearly concluded. Records of this time and the time before will be preserved faithfully. Then the next steps can finally begin.¡± Styri fell to her knees and beheld the mountain at the center of the island. Only then did she see it was not a mountain, but rather a colossal monument carved of granite. It depicted four faces of men, three of them with sharp, angular noses, while one¡¯s nose was broken away. Two of the men were clean shaven; one had hair on his upper lip; the fourth had a beard. Their stoic faces stood mightily above the tropical trees and looked out across the ocean with pride. Seeing them broke open the floodgates of her loss once again. ¡°Are these gods?¡± Styri asked, weeping. ¡°No. These were mortal men.¡± ¡°Ancestors?¡± ¡°This is an artifact from the Time Before Time. The people of that time called it Mount Rushmore.¡± The name meant nothing to her. ¡°Will these ancestors hear my prayer?¡± ¡°No.¡± Styri prostrated herself anyway, clasping her hands together, hitting them against the sand. ¡°Please... I beg you... Let her live and you can kill me instead. Please!¡± But the Knights of Old stopped answering her. The ghostly suits of armor walked inland, their gaits unnatural, their movements eerily silent. Styri knelt in the shadow of the monument and wept. Tried¡ªfailed¡ªto make sense of it all. The colossal, impossible monument, each of its faces ten times the height of a tall man. The faceless ones. The means by which she¡¯d been carried here, like something out of a poison dream. It all paled in comparison to the strangeness of life without Akona. She might as well have been cut in half down the middle, the left half of her body spared and told to go on living. The dispassionate faces of long dead men lorded over her. But it wasn¡¯t them, nor was it the Knights of Old, who had long since departed, that made her feel watched. It was the spirit of the Great Unknown itself. The land lived up to its namesake, raising more questions than it ever answered, gloating in its secrecy like the granite men standing silent watch.