by Alec Hutson
“You should have come to see me.” There’s an edge of anger to the matriarch’s words.
“To be truthful, that was why I came to the house. But then I found him.” She nods in my direction, her eyes still on her mother.
“You stole him from me.”
“You stole him from me first.”
For a long moment the tension in the room is palpable as Auxilia and her daughter try to stare each other down.
“Oh, Auxela. How I’ve missed this. There are so few people around me who dare to be so infuriating.” Auxilia throws back her head and laughs.
“What are you doing here, Mother?” Xela asks after the last echo of Auxilia’s laughter fades away.
“Why do you think I’m here?” The matriarch’s voice is serious again.
“I expect you came to drag him back,” Xela says, her hands clenched.
Auxilia studies her daughter for a long moment, her lips pursed. When she speaks again, she almost sounds sad.
“You think too little of me, Auxela.”
“I know how angry you become when you feel like someone that belongs to you escapes.”
To my surprise, the matriarch flinches at that barb. I expect her to lash back angrily, but instead she only nods slightly.
“I have learned something of myself since you left, Auxela. And while I still believe you share some of the blame for what happened” – the matriarch swallows before continuing – “I have come to understand that most of the fault lies with me.”
Now Xela is the one who looks shocked. She has the face of a true believer who discovers the high priest doesn’t believe in the gods.
“I came here to see you, Auxela,” the matriarch continues, “and also to relinquish my claims to Talin.” With a rustle she draws a piece of paper from the folds of her feathered robes. “Your life debt, signed and witnessed.” Without ceremony she rips the paper into several small pieces and lets them flutter to the table. “And now you are free.”
“But I was told only the emperor –” I begin in confusion, but Auxilia interrupts me.
“I saw him when we visited the palace and requested your manumission.”
“Why would you do this?” Xela asks, her suspicion obvious.
Auxilia smiles thinly. “Because I have to come to realize that I am caught up in a much larger drama. And that Talin has a very important part to play.”
The matriarch holds up her hand and snaps her fingers. As one, the warriors lining the room turn and clomp towards the exit in a jangle of metal. Auxilia waits until they have all vanished before speaking again.
“A long-simmering rivalry is about to erupt into open conflict,” she says, the cold steel returning to her voice. “Ever since the Prophet came out of the east he has been opposed by the Umbra – he claims that the gods are testing us, while the shadowdancers maintain that the gods have fled our world in fear of something that is coming.”
“Except for the Lady of the Shadows,” Xela adds.
“Yes,” Auxilia agrees with a nod. “Except for their goddess, who stayed behind and still grants them the blessing of her gifts. But they scorn the rest of the gods, whom they believe abandoned us.”
“And the Prophet disagrees,” I interject.
“Vehemently. And so they have been at odds for a very long time, both trying to usurp the other for the favor of the emperor. The shadowdancers have their strange powers, and the Prophet has his evident immortality. Who is correct? The people of Zim and the royal house have often been conflicted over who speaks the truth.”
“Who do you side with?” I ask, honestly curious.
Auxilia waves my question away, her long fingers fluttering. “The Orthonos have always preferred balance. Personally, I have my reasons for despising the Umbra” – she glances meaningfully at Xela – “but I also have little love for the zealots who follow the Prophet, and I’ve feared that if the scales tilt too far in his favor that he might use his popularity to destroy the order that undergirds the empire.”
“You just mentioned something about open conflict.”
Auxilia gives a curt nod. “Yes. You remember that tense affair in the throne room? About some girl that the Umbra is sheltering? Well, it seems that this matter will finally push the abbess and the Prophet into war.”
Coldness creeps down my spine as the matriarch speaks. Could Valyra be in even more danger than I feared?
“I had an emissary from the Prophet arrive at my manse last night. He carried a request . . . though it came off more as a demand, to be sure. The absolute gall of that man.” Her face twists in disgust. “He said that the end times are upon us, and that if Zim is to survive what is coming then this girl must be here in the city, where the Prophet can teach and guide her. And since the Umbra refused to give her up then she must be rescued.”
I shift uncomfortably on the bench. Xela’s brow is also creased with concern.
“The Prophet’s servant said that the Umbra is a fortress impregnable to assault by any army . . . but that it could be penetrated by a small, elite force. He asked that I give over my most skilled Sword to join this band, and said that many of the great houses had already done the same. He promised that in the new age that will dawn, the Orthonos family will retain its power and prestige. That all the nobles who participated in this great endeavor would be lauded as the saviors of Zim and all mankind. But that if I refused, my name would go down in the histories as a great betrayer.”
“And what did you say?” I ask, though considering she has her full complement of Swords standing behind her I suppose I already know her answer.
“I told him my sharpest Sword had already run off. And then I told him I would take my chances in the next age.”
“Do you think what he said is true?” Xela asks. “That the other houses have given their Swords to him?”
Auxilia shrugs, her feathered robes rustling. “Once, the nobles were united in their disdain for the Prophet. Now, a good number of them either believe in what he preaches, or wish to curry favor with him. Yes, I believe the emissary spoke true. And that this band of Swords and Shields has already left the city.”
Xela frowns. “Then we have no time to waste! We have to leave now if we’re going to beat them to the Umbra!”
“And what would you do then?”
A hard resolve fills Xela’s eyes when she hears her mother’s question. “Tell the abbess. If she is aware that they are coming then there is no way they will get inside the Umbra.”
Auxilia rests her chin on laced fingers, watching her daughter carefully. “I thought you might say that. Suffice to say, I could not allow you and your band of misfits to chase after the finest warriors in all of Zim.”
“You would try and stop us?” Xela says, her eyes flashing.
Auxilia smiles slightly. “Oh, I very much doubt I can convince you to do anything. In fact, I know from experience that you’ll likely go against my wishes, whatever they are. So I shall bequeath you a little help.”
I glance in surprise at the Swords standing behind the matriarch. “Them?”
Auxilia chuckles. “No, no. If I sent along my own warriors then the Prophet would bend his will towards the destruction of my house. I’m afraid I am not bold enough to confront him directly.” With that, she withdraws a small silver bell and rings it loudly.
Moments later there’s a commotion at the door as someone stomps inside cursing.
“I heard it, I heard it, you troglodytes. Get yer paws off me, we’re going inside.”
I know that voice. “Shalloch?” I cry out, rising from the bench as the mucker and Vesivia enter the common room.
“Lad,” the mucker says warmly, striding over to wrap me in a quick hug.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, astonished.
“I had the emperor sign his letter of manumission at the same time as yours,” Auxilia says.
Vesivia clasps my arm, crooking a smile at my obvious surprise. “She freed Shalloch.”
“But I thought you only had a few more months?” I ask him.
“Aye, I did. But that’s fewer trips down below, and the last few have been fairly dicey.” He punches me lightly in the shoulder. “And you weren’t around anymore to watch our backs.”
“I also offered them a substantial amount to join you, if you do decide to race the Prophet’s force to the Umbra.”
“Truly?”
Shalloch winks his good eye at me. “Aye, lad. Enough money to buy a sweet little ship . . .” He trails away when he notices Vesivia’s frown. “For fishing, of course.”
Xela clears her throat, and I quickly make the introductions between them. Shalloch gives her an unctuous grin and sweeps her hand up for a quick kiss. Vesivia’s frown deepens, but Xela seems mildly amused.
“We must leave quickly,” I say, already considering how fast we’ll need to ride to try and overtake the Swords and Shields if they have a few hours’ head start. “And we need to rouse Bell and Fen Poria.”
“They should be back soon,” Xela says. “They went to find supplies while you and Deliah were . . . sleeping in.”
“Deliah?” asks Auxilia. She says her name innocently, but I know her well enough to hear the edge of danger.
A quick patter of footsteps coming down the stairs announces the lamias. She strides into the common room, her hair in an artful state of sleep-mussed disarray, and then looks around blinking at the scene before her.
“What in the seven hells is going on in here?”
20
We ride north, passing unchallenged through soaring gates wrought of twisting copper, their mighty stanchions inset with innumerable colorful stones, garnets and carnelians and chunks of rough-hewn topaz. The road wends through fields of purple blossoms, bent-back old women in broad hats harvesting the flowers, long-furred animals draped around their necks like scarves. Each time a flower is plucked, the crones hold the blossom to the snout of the creature, and then depending on some reaction I cannot see they either toss it aside or carefully place it in a wicker basket slung over their shoulder. Bell wants to stop and inquire about what they are collecting, but Xela keeps a harsh pace, and our horses kick up clouds of white dust as we thunder down the road.
I can see in the faces of my companions that they have many questions, but those will have to wait as we hurry north, towards the jagged dark mountains piercing the cloudless sky. The Blackspears, Xela named them, younger and more rugged than Hesset’s Wall. A few even have faint wisps of smoke uncoiling from their peaks, and Xela claims she has seen fire flowing like a river down these blackened slopes. Somewhere in that range is the Umbra, the sanctuary of the shadowdancers of Zim. And also Valyra, daughter of the Red Sword, child of a dead world.
After a grueling ride, we enter a forest aflame with crimson leaves. The way becomes more arduous, plains giving way to the first foothills of the rapidly swelling mountains. The horses are lathered with sweat and breathing hard, so Xela calls for a slower pace. I take this chance to ride up beside her and broach the questions that have been gnawing at me since we left the inn.
“So did you leave the Umbra on the same terms as you left your family? Will the abbess be glad to see you again?”
Xela’s hands tighten on her reins. She’s dressed again in the tight black leather garb of a shadowdancer, which seems out of place in the day’s brightness.
“She will be surprised to see me, certainly. And in other circumstances perhaps she’d try and punish me for leaving the Umbra. But considering we are going to warn them of an attack, I imagine the abbess will find some shred of forgiveness for me.”
“Then you left the order.”
Xela nods slightly. “I was rebellious when I was younger. I thought by extricating myself from my mother’s suffocating presence I would be happy. It turns out after time I chafe under all authority.”
“You ran away from Zim?”
“Yes. I discovered when I was young that I had been blessed by the Lady of Shadows. I could see in the darkness like it was clearest day, even shape the shadows to my whims. This is a rare gift, but if it is bestowed upon a high noble it is considered a curse, something to be hidden. I found out later that my mother has the same abilities, but has long suppressed them.”
“How did you join the shadowdancers?”
“It was the abbess. She recognized my talent one day at court, and told me I should come learn from her in the Umbra. My mother heard of her suggestion and forbade me from leaving – of course, such a proclamation only emboldened me. So ten years ago I fled Zim and my mother and galloped down this very road, afraid that she would send her Swords to drag me back.”
A gust of wind stirs the boughs of the trees arching over us, and a moment later we are enveloped by a red blizzard of falling leaves.
Xela flicks away a few that have become tangled in her horse’s mane. “The abbess initiated me into the Umbra and helped coax out my gift. Those were . . . hard years. The Umbra is not like any other place. It is interstitial, seeming to exist between the border of what is real and what is not . . . between the waking and the dream. I found myself . . . slipping away. Years passed like they were days. You know, shadowdancers who reside in the Umbra never die. Just one day they submerge themselves in the darkness and are never seen again. I . . . did not want that for myself.”
Xela’s face is strained, as if she’s struggling hard to put her experience into words.
“When I was fully trained, the abbess sent me south. She owed a favor to the Contessa of Ysala, and I was the payment. I was to serve her for a year and a day. But the longer I was away from the Umbra, the more my thoughts cleared, and the clotting spiderwebs that kept me from considering what was happening to me were pulled loose. I went to the Contessa and asked her to assist me in finally being free. She agreed, and with her help I faked my own death. In return, I continued to work for her in secret, a life debt of my own, of sorts. I had been her loyal servant for nearly three years, and then you arrived in Ysala.”
“This . . . dream-state you say exists in the Umbra . . . do you think it will affect Valyra?”
Xela nods. “Most definitely. The mind becomes untethered if it spends too long in its halls. If your friend has been there for months, then she no longer knows what is real.”
I mull this over as Xela lapses into silence. The horror of seeing her mother killed, the fight against the monstrous Shriven in that ancient temple as it collapsed around us, the sense of violation as the Voice clambered from the ground and held us fast with its terrible power . . . and then stumbling through the doorway to another world, emerging into a place like the Umbra. Had Valyra managed to keep hold of her sanity?
I twist around to see how my companions are faring. Shalloch is the only one talking, regaling the silent women riding around him with some tale of adventure on the high seas. They look unimpressed, particularly Vesivia. Bell has caught one of the crimson leaves and is examining it closely. A crossbow is slung across her back, which makes me think of the first time I met her. I smile, remembering her threatening to put a quarrel in me as Poz desperately tried to calm her down. Deliah has donned her carapace armor, and the curving blade of her glaive rises up over her shoulder. Somehow through all this she’s managed to keep the same impressive horse that she rode from Chale. Fen Poria is there as well, though she is a few lengths behind us, hunched down in her saddle and clinging to her reins. Her horse was skittish when she first mounted, and it still looks like it’s not certain of the smell of the feral on its back.
Six companions. Most are skilled warriors – all except Bell I would trust to handle themselves in a fight. But how will they fare against the Swords and Shields of Zim? Are some of them riding to their deaths? A coldness goes through me at the thought. None of them know Valyra – they are each doing this out of friendship with me. Well, all except Shalloch. He’s doing it for the matriarch’s gold, like any good pirate.
“Look!” Xela cries, and my gaze follows where she�
�s pointing. Through a gap in the trees a mountain rears black and foreboding, and clinging high up on a cliff is a building that seems hewn from the dark rock itself.
“The Umbra,” she says, and I can hear the awe and dread in her voice.
We ride through the night, Xela leading the way. Even with her shadowdancer ability to see in deepest blackness I’m worried that one of our horses will turn a hoof on a rock, or someone will brain themselves on a low-hanging branch. But fortune smiles on us. By the time pink dawn light creeps into the sky we are all tired and saddle-sore, but nothing more terrible has happened than Shalloch falling from his horse in fright when something large and winged swooped from the trees and vanished into the dark.
I’ve been expecting to stumble across the campsite of the Prophet’s Swords, maybe even catch them sleeping, but they must have pushed through without stopping as well. This gives me a little tingle of unease. Did they know they’re being followed? What else would drive them on with such urgency?
The mountain has grown during the night. It drinks the morning light, a great black thorn unsullied by trees or water. The structure that Xela claimed was the Umbra dangles out over a sheer drop of many thousands of spans – it looks like some strange organic growth emerging from the side of the mountain. Now that we are closer I can see crooked towers and distended, bulging buildings stippled with windows. It seems entirely carved from obsidian, and the morning light slides across its jagged exterior.
“Still no sign of the Swords?” I ask Xela as she pauses, squinting up at the Umbra.
“No,” she says slowly. “There’s something, though.”
For a moment I see nothing, and then I realize what she’s looking at.
“The smoke?” Several thin trickles of darkness are emerging from the largest of the buildings . . . but they seem to be escaping from the windows, rather than any sort of chimney.
“There are no flames allowed in the Umbra’s great hall. Shadowdancers do not need light to see, and the fires deep within the mountain keep the monastery warm. Something has happened.”