by D. T. Kane
“I always thought the Symposium was open-minded when it came to such things?” he said. “Surely Atux would have been accepted. He was Grand Master Bladesong’s son after all. And the Edicts hadn’t even been considered at that time.”
“Open-minded?” Bladesorrow gave a non-committal grunt, still speaking into the cell floor. “Certainly. But when the only major point of comparison is the Temple, that’s not saying a whole lot. There were those who shared my consternation, but few felt strongly enough to take a stand. You need only look as far as Nellis Lonemage—one of the most talented elementalists of our time. He became High Emissary, leader of the Second Symposium in the North. By all objective measures a great success. But he was driven to accept that position, forced from Tragnè City by the ingrained bias against shadow attuned, particularly successful ones. Such was the depth of derision he experienced while in Tragnè City. And that was before Rikar’s death.”
Ferrin frowned. He’d always assumed Lonemage had accepted the post willingly. That’s how the histories portrayed it—native son returns home to lead the North. But he was quickly realizing that histories weren’t always reliable when it came to matters of prejudice. The victims of inequality very rarely were the ones writing them.
“But Atux was different,” Ferrin persisted, raising his voice. “His own father was Grand Master Keeper. Surely Rikar Bladesong could have used his position to ensure equal treatment.”
“Perhaps you forget,” Bladesorrow replied, “that Rikar, even more so than I, was a champion of unification. He loved Atux fiercely and wanted a world where he, and all like him, could be who they were with impunity. But he wanted large-scale change, not just to create a sheltered environment for one boy. Even if that boy was his son.”
Ferrin tried to see some sense in that. But all he saw was the same cowardice Bladesorrow had projected earlier. An unwillingness to face a problem head on, barrel it over with will and determination. Avoidance of conflict wasn’t worth the price of freedom.
“I see you doubt Rikar’s decision. But until you’ve hidden something from someone out of love you can’t possibly understand. Sometimes it’s the only way to keep them safe. And even then, it doesn’t always work. Rikar knew it then, but I didn’t understand. Not until it was too late.”
The bitterness in Bladesorrow’s voice was too raw to be fully related to his long-dead brother. Ferrin considered probing further into the man’s inner demons, curious despite himself. But this banter was getting them nowhere. They needed to get out of here and to Jenzara. He didn’t even want to consider what the Grand Father might be doing to her after what had happened at the trial.
“Where’s the Angel?” Ferrin asked. “He must know what Valdin will do to us if left unhindered. He’ll send assassins at the very least. Maybe even come here himself and end us.”
Bladesorrow rolled his shoulders. If the sudden shift in topic bothered him he didn’t show it. “Don’t know. But Devan was troubled by what he saw in my projection. Surprised even. Did you see his face? Looked as if he’d just witnessed an unspeakable betrayal.”
“But he already knew what Valdin was. He killed the other Aldur. Betraying you for personal gain was almost friendly compared to that.”
Bladesorrow lifted a shoulder, let it drop. “You’re not wrong, boy. But there was definitely surprise in his face.”
Ferrin thought on that. Perhaps the Angel couldn’t know everything, but certainly he was one for considering myriad possibilities. And Valdin betraying Bladesorrow had been a plainly obvious one. Something truly must have been blinding the Angel if he couldn’t have foreseen that. Perhaps an interesting question under other circumstances. But he cared for the Angel’s feelings even less than Bladesorrow’s, and there was no time for idle speculation.
“What about other former Keepers? Surely there must be some left in the City.”
Bladesorrow made that noise at the back of his throat. “I’m sure some remain here. But most who were friendly to me were banished long ago, or else they...” His words trailed off.
“You mean you got them killed at Riverdale?” Ferrin grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. But they were true. And saying something to spur Bladesorrow to some sort of action wasn’t the worst thing at this point.
Bladesorrow looked up, anger flashing in his inky eyes. But only for an instant. Then he looked away once more.
Ferrin let out an exasperated sigh.
“Well, you did just show half the City that everything Valdin’s said about you is a lie. Aren’t there any good people left who might help?”
The sound Bladesorrow made might have been a laugh. “Good people? Perhaps. But you’ve a thing or two to learn if you think that’s enough. Few were willing to cross the Temple even before the Disbanding. Now? I’m not sure anyone’s brave enough. People rarely take action, no matter how unjust the circumstances, unless they’ve a personal stake in the matter. Throw in potential adverse consequences—social ostracism, penalties, death—chances of change plummet even further. Sometimes a strong leader emerges, bringing enough of people’s innate good to the fore to create some actual change. But not often.”
Ferrin thought that was the most jaded view of humanity he’d ever heard. But he was now only half listening to Bladesorrow. The man was about to speak further, but Ferrin silenced him with a sharp jerk of his head. He shut his eyes. Focused. Subtle vibrations tickled his senses, like the deep-down feeling one got when listening to a stringed instrument. The burbling of a river right before the rapids.
A water attuned was channeling.
His eyes flew open. “Get back, away from that wall.”
Bladesorrow didn’t question him, leaping away from the wall. A moment later it exploded into shards of stone. Water sprayed through the gaping hole, soaking them both.
Ferrin spluttered in surprise, blinking water from his vision. A slender figure with long dark hair stepped through the rift. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
50
Jenzara
Many have said that Tragnè was as good a fighter with her spear as she was a healer with the light. Yet she found the weapon a detestable thing, made only for taking life. Such heavy-handed diplomacy never suited her. To this day the Temple remembers her reticence, using Tragnè’s spear only for the execution of those already adjudged guilty.
-From the preface to the Millennial Printing of Tragnè’s Oral Histories, written by Rikar Bladesong
HER SHOULDER ACHED under the full water skin she carried. She hadn’t had any money, but the grubby peddler had been eager enough to accept the fool pendant Valdin had given her. From the gleam in the seller’s eyes it had been a one-sided deal, and she hadn’t been the victor. Not that she cared. She’d likely have given the cursed thing away just to be rid of it. Rid of all the lies and deceit Valdin had fed her, both in the past few days, as well as indirectly over the course of her life.
She imagined she must look ridiculous to passersby, walking down the avenue of the former Symposium in the fine green dress of a wealthy woman while struggling under the weight of a hard-off wanderer’s leather sack. The skirt’s hem was already stained and torn from the market’s filthy streets, and she’d purposefully ripped open a seam down its side to make for easier walking. Under different circumstances she’d have smirked; and Ferrin, if he’d been there, would have been outright laughing. She immediately regretted the thought of him, a mixed pang of longing and shame forming deep in her chest.
She struggled on. The bright sun of earlier had been replaced by a disquietingly dark afternoon, ominous clouds blotting out the blood-streaked skies. She quickened her already anxiety-ridden pace. The clouds filled the usually well-lit mall with shadows, and she had to squint to see down the dark alleys.
It had all been a lie. The North, the shadow, had nothing to do with her mother’s death, nor with the war. The Symposium should never have been disbanded. Taul Bladesorrow should still be at its head. The crushing toll that so much
unearned hatred must have exacted on the man left her lightheaded. On the Grand Master Keeper. It still seemed a distortion of reality to think of the man as anything other than the Betrayer. But after all he’d been through—and all she’d done to him—using his true title seemed the least she could do.
Finally, Jenzara found the alley she sought, right after the ruined storefront she’d passed with Valdin during their previous visit. She was almost certain it had been an alchemist’s shop, and a nice one at that. Absently, she wondered what tragedy had befallen the establishment and its owner as she stole down the dank passageway towards what Valdin had called a “camp.” In her own mind it was simply the Fifth Prison. It smelled even worse than she remembered, like rotting things better left unknown.
She reached the large, oak doors and was only slightly relieved to find the same two Parents as before guarding them. They regarded her with frowns and cold looks that made her shiver and almost turn back. Almost, but not quite. If she was going to do as she intended, have any chance of atoning for what she’d done, she would need to face far worse than these men. So she raised her chin, set her shoulders, and hoped she appeared far more confident and relaxed than she felt.
Despite her posture, the words she’d rehearsed stuck in her throat as she approached the pair. Was this a mistake? She could just kill them, after all; she knew where they kept the key. The merchant with the water skin had been all too willing to throw in the unadorned, steel knife she now concealed in her bodice. She was relatively certain that if she got the jump on one of the guards and brought him down before they understood her intent, she could take the other.
For the first time in her life, she wouldn’t have minded having a sword. The Parents had taken the one Erem—no, the Grand Master Keeper—had given her. But she still carried the man’s words: True skill lies not in killing, but in protecting yourself and those in your care without taking another’s life. And she also figured that many of the Parents had been just as fooled by Valdin as she and the rest of Agarsfar. No, she wouldn’t kill these men. At least, not if she could avoid it.
“Hail Parents,” she said, giving the traditional salute with an outstretched hand.
“Hail, Lady,” the one on her left replied flatly. “Why are you here?”
She gave him a look that she hoped said, “Isn’t it obvious?” and bobbed the shoulder carrying the water skin. “At the direction of the Grand Father. Time for this camp to be watered. Oceanshade is inside, I presume?”
She held her breath, hoping they wouldn't take that last question as the fishing for information that it was.
“Of course,” the man replied, frown deepening, as if he were trying to determine if this were a test or mere foolishness. “Where else would he be? And as for your supposed purpose here? The Grand Father never sends a,” he paused, eyeing her up and down, “an agent to do such business. Always sees to it personally, or at least sends a Priest.”
She’d been afraid of that, but for that reason also wasn’t caught off guard. She favored the man who spoke with a sly look through fluttering lashes and took a step closer to him, hoping the churning of her stomach didn’t show in her eyes. She bent forward as if the water skin were beginning to weigh on her. If her low-cut dress caused that motion to have any other effect, well, it was by pure coincidence, of course. The suddenly more-interested look on the Parent’s face gave her the confidence she needed to continue.
“The Grand Father trusts me with a good many things, esteemed brother,” she spoke in a low, husky voice. “You wouldn't want to keep his—how did you put it?—agent waiting now, would you?”
The Parent reddened and shot an uncertain glance to his partner. Jenzara followed his gaze and observed the second man’s eyes dart back to her face. She tried with only limited success to ignore the disgust gurgling in her stomach. He shrugged in reply to the first Parent.
“Not as if the fifths will start any trouble. They’re all collared anyway, the keys safe with me.” The man’s eyes danced over her with a hunger that made her skin crawl. She gave him a wide smile to hide the burning in her cheeks.
The other guard, seeming to have regained some of his senses, regarded her with narrowed eyes for a minute. Then he grunted and removed the enormous key from within the folds of his robe. The chains clattered to the ground as the door opened with a release of stale air.
“Thank you kindly.” She maintained the sultry tone but hurried through without another glance at the men. “I'll be sure to report what a fine job you two are doing when I return to the Grand Father.” It was physically difficult to keep the bile in her stomach where it belonged as she strode down the dark passage away from the two men. She felt their eyes on her backside until she passed from their line of sight.
She quickly forgot the men’s undressing stares, though, as she reached the chamber where she’d foolishly accepted Valdin’s proposal days before. Angry glares swept over her from the unseen recesses of the room, causing her skin to crawl with the judgment they held. Even the violet glow of the shadow torches seemed to shy from her, casting the room in even deeper shadows than she remembered. A chill snaked its way down her spine, causing her to shudder so violently she nearly dropped the water skin. She couldn’t say she blamed them for looking at her so.
“Come to do your master’s bidding, harlot?” spat a bitter female voice from the darkness. Several assenting grumbles sounded in response.
That stung, but she ignored it as best she could. Readjusting the weight of the water skin on her shoulder, she rose to her full height and addressed the unseen masses about her.
“Master Keeper Oceanshade. I’d speak with you if you’ll hear me.”
Dead silence met her and for several, agonizing seconds she thought this had been a terrible mistake. Why would these people help her, after what they’d seen her do? The Grand Father’s treacherous bidding. If she didn’t believe herself deserving of their help, why would they?
Then, from the deep recesses of the room, came the surly voice of the man she’d come to see. It did little to improve her spirts.
“Lady Jenzara. Come to tell us of the lies ye’ve spun of the Grand Master Keeper?”
The squat form of Frankard Oceanshade limped out of the shadows and Jenzara couldn’t conceal a grimace. The man’s good eye was little more than a baggy slit; a scar on the face of a deformed statue. It made his bulbous nose—from which a line of congealing blood still flowed—look almost normal. She gasped and felt inclined to rush to his side. It was her fault, after all, that he’d been beaten. But she restrained herself. His words had left little room to wonder whether he’d appreciate the sentiment.
“I’ve come to ask your help.”
Oceanshade spat into the darkness. “Help? Why would we do that?”
She flinched back at the coldness in his voice.
“Well...” she stammered. “What you said before. About being with the Grand Master.”
“Aye. I said we were with him. Said nothing about you. Ye’ve already proved yourself a liar.”
That was cruel. And more than fair.
“Please. My, my...” She was shaking and had to take several deep breaths before normal speech would come. “My friends will die if you don’t help.”
“Do ye’ve any idea how many friends we’ve lost since Valdin came to power? Yeh condemned yer friends the moment ye agreed to aid ’im.”
Tears threatened to blind her, the truth in Oceanshade’s words slicing past skin, into her heart. “What can I do?” she whispered, trying with minimal success to hold Oceanshade’s glare.
He remained silent, but after a time his eye flicked towards the hall.
“The guards?” Her heart stuttered and she missed a breath. “Surely there must be another way?”
“Bah.” Oceanshade waved a dismissive hand and began to turn away. “If yeh were truly with the Grand Master, yeh wouldn’t put their wellbeing over our own.” His voice was low and steady, yet somehow she sensed he was
hiding something.
“No, wait. What would you have me do?”
The man turned back, but only crossed his arms, eye trained on her in a judgmental glare. She felt dozens of similar stares coming at her from the darkness.
Her mind raced. Erem had said killing was ever the last resort. But he’d also taught that you couldn’t just spread your arms to a killing blow. Was this one of those times? She wished she’d had a month with the man rather than a few days. But even then she wasn’t sure anything could have prepared her for such a decision. Sometimes you just have to pick what seems the best option.
And hope.
Releasing a heavy breath, she unslung the water skin from her shoulder and threw it at Oceanshade’s feet. She then ripped a strip of fabric from the frayed hem of her gown and balled it into one of her fists.
“Guard,” she shouted, eyes not leaving Oceanshade. The sound echoed down the long passage behind her. Oceanshade made as if to stop her, but she drew the dagger concealed in the dress’s bosom and held a finger to her lips. The stout man raised a surprised eyebrow but remained where he was.
“Guard,” she said once more with raised voice. “I require assistance. Just one of you. Don’t you both dare leaving your post or the Grand Father will hear of it.”
For a moment she thought they’d ignore her. Then the boot falls of a single man echoed down the hall towards her. The curses he muttered were appalling, only making her feel more secure in the decision she’d made.
When the Parent entered, his eyes darted about, first to Oceanshade, then the water skin at his feet, then to her, where they lingered far too long on her chest, then finally to the dagger gripped in her hand. He frowned.
“What is this?” His voice was like pottery cracking in a kiln.
“You must help me.” She inwardly cringed at the pathetic helplessness in her tone. “This man—this fifth—won’t do as he’s told and assist with the watering.”