by Dave Gross
He waved the sands into an image of a fertile landscape dotted with great cities.
“To understand what I will tell you, you must know the history of our land. Once, all were part of the Empire of Thassilon. It began with the wizard-king Xin.”
The sands formed the image of a tall man with the distinctive Azlanti features: purple eyes, a regal nose, and long black hair with a widow’s peak.
“Xin led thousands of followers to this land to form his own kingdom. His knowledge was great, but he consulted wise and powerful allies.”
The oracle’s hand moved, and an image appeared of Xin addressing five dragons with scales of brass, bronze, copper, silver, and gold.
“Xin set before his people the example of the goddess Lissala, who in those days represented the best qualities of just rule.” In the sand, a king stood before three kneeling servants. One held a black sword, another a quill, and the third an open hand. Behind the king stood a six-winged woman with the tail of a snake and a sihedron star for a head.
“I’ve seen that snake-lady on the Street of Little Gods,” said Radovan.
Illyria patted his arm to hush him. From her perch on Illyria’s shoulder, Amaranthine stretched her neck to nip at Radovan’s ear.
“In those days, Lissala’s virtues had different names,” said the oracle. “In the common tongue, you would call them earned wealth, nurtured fertility, honest pride, shared abundance, eager striving, righteous anger, and deserved rest.”
The image transformed into a scene of farmers harvesting crops and warriors defending caravans from giant insects bursting up from the ground. “Xin’s people divided themselves into two castes, brave warriors and cunning providers. Working together, they were fruitful and their many accomplishments were great. In time, the empire grew beyond King Xin’s ability to rule it. He appointed seven wizards to govern his domain while he turned to arcane studies. These are the azghat, now known as the runelords.”
He shifted the sands to show seven figures, each clutching a different polearm. “Each azghat wielded only one sort of magic, unlike King Xin who studied all. The azghat of rich Shalast used magic to fill his vaults with hoarded wealth. The azghat of bounteous Gastash used magic to feast on all manner of flesh. Thus were the virtues of Lissala corrupted into the seven sins.
“As their powers grew, the azghat forged pacts with evil dragons, outsiders, and even the veiled masters of legend. They grew cruel, treating their citizens as chattel.” In the sands, the runelords presented slaves to dragons of white, black, green, blue, and red scales.
“One day a pillar of scarlet flames consumed Xin’s Crystal Palace, and King Xin vanished. The azghat claimed his lands.” The sands formed a map of seven domains, each marked by different colors and different runes.
“King Xin lived only a little more than a century,” said Illyria. “Had the runelords discovered the secret to eternal life?”
“No,” said the oracle. “The azghat passed down their mantles of authority from master to apprentice.”
“What of the tales that one or more runelords survived Earthfall?”
The oracle nodded as though he had expected that question. “It is said that the azghat foresaw the cataclysm and prepared different ways in which to survive. Zutha chose the deathless path. His undead body lies hidden, awaiting the return of his Tome to revive him.”
“What I want to know is why the hell your ‘friend’ left you this cursed book.” Radovan made no attempt to disguise his anger.
“Perhaps he hoped you would know how to destroy it,” said Illyria.
“If so, he would have left a warning … unless he did, and someone removed it.” I turned to Zora. “Did you?”
Her mouth opened and snapped shut again. Yet again, the geas prevented her from speaking.
I turned back to Illyria. “Did you remove anything from Ygresta’s chambers?”
She raised an eyebrow but answered smoothly. “No.”
I shivered at a chill in the air. Already the power of the combined books seemed to be affecting me.
Heedless of our conversation, the oracle sifted a handful of sand onto his painting. The images whirled again, reforming into the rough outlines of our continent as it had appeared over eleven millennia earlier. A glowing meteor descended, crashing into the land where the Inner Sea now divided Avistan from Garund. “Earthfall shattered our world, but the Thassilonian people endured. The warriors are the ancestors of my people. The Varisians descended from the providers. But the descendants of the azghat also survived.”
He spilled a handful of purple sand on the painting, and another image of King Xin appeared. “The scions of the azghat are scattered, like these grains of sand, throughout the peoples of Avistan. We know them by their Azlanti eyes and hair.” He waved his hand, and the image of King Xin divided into two faces. A half-elven man and a human woman—both faces familiar.
The yurt became silent but for the hiss of the brazier and the bubbling water. The oracle leaned over to breathe in its steam while the rest of us exchanged troubled glances.
“We came to ask a question,” Kline said at last. “And to request your help breaking the geas on this woman and the curse on Count Jeggare.”
“I cannot break the curse of the terrible book,” said the oracle. “The only way to escape its power is to surrender it to a stronger bearer of another section—or to die.”
Kline looked at me across the circle. The images now depicted a great shadow holding a smaller figure by the throat. “I don’t know whether to apologize or thank you for taking it from me.”
I waved off his remark. “You are not to blame.”
“The geas I might break,” said the oracle. “As for the question you came to ask me, I know the answer.”
“What question?” said Radovan.
“You wish to know where to find the third part of the terrible book.”
“This guy is good.”
“That is part of the curse. The book wants to be completed. Then it will compel you to seek out the Crypt of Zutha, where it will revive its master.” The oracle turned to me. “Before I answer your question, you must answer mine. Search your heart before you speak. There can be no lies within this yurt.”
“On my honor, I will answer truthfully.”
Despite my oath, he chanted a prayer and traced a sign over his eyes. The word of a count of Cheliax meant nothing to him, but his ancestors would reveal any falsehood.
“What will you do with this terrible book when it is whole?”
“I have no intention of reviving Runelord Zutha.”
“Yet the book compels you to gluttony, and the curse—or your own nature—compels you to continue reading, even as you know that only strengthens its grip on your mind.”
Kline said, “You’ll destroy it, of course.”
“I have been a Pathfinder since before you were born,” I said. “The thought of destroying any knowledge rankles.”
“You can’t mean to deliver it to the Society.”
“I trust the Decemvirate no more than you do, especially after I found the last dread tome I entrusted to them in the hands of an enemy.”
“You should entrust it to the masters of the Hall of Whispers,” said Illyria.
“Those necromancers most likely to desire Zutha’s return?” I said. “I think not.”
“You can’t keep it for yourself,” said Kline. “No matter how highly you think of yourself, you have to admit the curse is affecting your mind.”
“You underestimate my willpower, Kline. You are not the one who has plumbed the mysteries of the Lacuna Codex and unraveled the conundrums of the Lexicon of Paradox. You can hardly imagine—”
“Boss,” said Radovan.
His voice was an antidote to my reckless thoughts. I removed the book from my satchel and lay it before me. “These equations of life and death hold a powerful allure, even for one who has renounced the practice of necromancy. Perhaps as a Pathfinder and an arcane scholar, I
have been more susceptible to its powers. Yet I know what I must do. When I recover the missing third, I will restore the Gluttonous Tome, and then I will find a way to destroy it.”
“But you said yourself, there are spells in there you’ve never seen before, not to mention the theory,” Illyria said. “How can you allow such knowledge to be lost forever?”
“My lady, the prospect of destroying any book pains me more than I can express. Yet so long as any part of the Gluttonous Tome exists, so does the threat of returning Runelord Zutha to resume his tyrannical rule. In destroying it, we consign him to the grave forever. We have the opportunity to destroy one of the ancient evils of the world. Shall we not take it?”
“When you put it that way…”
“Your answer?” said the oracle.
Recalling Kline’s skepticism about the methods to destroy the Tome, I answered with care. “I swear to seek out a means of destroying the Tome or, failing that, to prevent it from reviving its dread master.”
Despite my equivocation, the oracle appeared satisfied. “The spirits say that the missing portion of Zutha’s terrible book never left the capital city of Xin-Gastash.”
“But where is that?” said Illyria. “The cities of Thassilon were all destroyed during Earthfall.”
“The ruins of Xin-Gastash lie beneath the Sleeper. Kazyah will show you the way.”
“No,” the Shoanti woman said. “I must stay with you. You need me.”
“Not for much longer. Our ancestors have given me strength to endure this long so that I can help our visitors in their task.”
“I won’t let you die. I’ll use your scrolls to call you back from the River of Souls.”
“You may call, but I will not come. It is time for me to take my place among our ancestors. But first, I have strength enough for a few last tasks.” He gestured to Zora. “Come here, skentok.”
“Stop calling me that,” said Zora.
“Once I free your mind, you will be as you were before. Come.”
I made way for Zora to take my place beside the oracle. She knelt before him, uncharacteristically meek as he lifted his palms to either side of her head. He chanted his prayers, concentrating as sweat beaded on his face. When he was finished, he sank back, breathing heavily. Kazyah wiped his brow.
“The geas was too strong?” said Kline.
“It is broken,” said the oracle. “But it was like the skin of an onion. Beneath it are more spells. This may take some time.”
“You must rest,” said Kazyah.
“I must finish.” He sat up and began another chant. “Our work is not done, not until our skulls are gathered.”
With a look of pained resignation, Kazyah dropped another handful of herbs in the pot and waved the vapors toward her father. After a long look at his straining face, she shooed us from the yurt. “Go. Wait outside.”
I cast a last look upon the oracle. When I was his age, my half-elven blood put me in my prime. Until the gluttonous curse took hold of me, I had felt younger still, thanks to the gift of half a dragon’s heart. Looking upon the oracle, I once more began to feel old.
Outside, Radovan fed another log to the fire. We sat around the crackling flames without speaking. From inside the yurt we heard the oracle chant spell after spell. His voice rose again, this time in a Shoanti valediction to the living. Before he finished the song, his voice dwindled to silence. Kazyah’s wail rose in its stead. She resumed his funereal song.
Zora emerged from the yurt, face pale, manacled hands clasped in an incongruously pious gesture. Rather than run into the Bottoms, where surely escaped slaves would welcome her, she came to us and knelt beside Illyria.
“I can tell you everything now,” she said. “Just please don’t ask me yet.”
Kazyah’s mourning song stirred memories of my own losses, especially the last moments of my mother’s life. So many things I wish I had said to her then or long before, but I had only listened and agreed as she extracted promises from me. Since that day, I had kept every promise. I prayed I could continue keeping them.
12
The Cinderlands
Radovan
Two things I’ll always remember about Kazyah, who her people named “the Night Bear,” and not because she’s cuddly.
The first was helping her bury the oracle.
Three days east of Kaer Maga, she told Janneke to stop the carriage. While the others made camp, Kazyah took the oracle’s shrouded body in her arms and told me to bring as much water as I could carry.
Her asking me was a surprise. I figured she’d pick Eando. He was an honorary Shoanti, after all. So maybe the Sun and Skull Clans don’t mix. Maybe she didn’t like Pathfinders. Maybe she didn’t like the fact that he’d been cursed before the two books joined up and stuck to the boss. Whatever her reason, she chose me.
She carried the body in her arms, chanting in Shoanti from the first step away from the carriage. After a little while, I caught onto the words. Real quiet-like, I sang along with her. She nodded at me, so I sang a little louder.
The sun beat the hell out of us. It had to be worse for her, since she wore a big furry bear hat and cloak. Even so, she never asked for water. I didn’t feel like I should drink unless she did. I kept singing and tried not to think too much about how much my tongue was going to look like a scrap of old leather.
We walked for over an hour through rough red hills. Stone markers lay scattered on the ground everywhere. Most could have just tumbled there for I could tell, but a few had Shoanti runes carved on them. I couldn’t understand the signs, but Kazyah knew where she was going. She found the stone she was looking for and lay the old man’s body beside it.
Just as I was thinking we should have brought a shovel, Kazyah stuck out her hand and made a chopping motion. A line formed in the dirt, like the mark of a wave on the water. Dust blew up to either side, and the clay growled until it coughed up a grave-sized hole.
Kazyah told me to bring the water as she unwrapped the body. She washed the old man’s corpse, singing to him the whole time. The pain in her voice was as sharp as it had been the hour he died.
At last, she got me to climb into the hole. She passed his body to me, and I lay it as gently as I could at the bottom. She pulled me out like I weighed no more than a duck, reminding me she was strong as Janneke—stronger, maybe.
She filled the grave with another chant to the earth.
Afterward, she drank some water and tossed me the skin. I took a swig and passed it back. She cradled it in one arm, her other hand resting on its belly. I couldn’t help thinking of a mother and her baby.
She got up, and we walked away. She didn’t say anything, but since she wasn’t chanting, I figured it was all right to make small talk. I said, “I never knew my old man.”
My father was dead before I was old enough to remember his face. To make up for the lost income, my mother sold me to his gang, the Goatherds. For a long time I blamed my father for dying.
I wanted to ask Kazyah what kind of father the oracle had been, or even what his name was, but I was afraid to poke at a fresh wound. She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk, so we didn’t talk. We didn’t sing. We just walked together for a while.
* * *
After we left the oracle’s yurt back in Kaer Maga, the boss had sent Janneke off with a message for Kaid’s Band. I had an idea what that was about. Kazyah stayed with the oracle’s body. The rest of us went back to our tower at the Seven Sins. It was time for a chat with Zora.
The boss had a room four times the size of mine, and mine was what you call spacious. His windows faced the inn’s courtyard, where sometimes there were plays. He closed them before we got started.
The boss set his satchel and sword on the desk before taking a seat behind it. A peacock carved out of dark wood and bright gems looked over his shoulder as the rest of us pulled up chairs and footstools. Zora got the seat of honor, right in the middle.
“Start from the beginning,” said the boss.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll even give you the things I took. They must be worth more than I’m worth to Janneke.”
I realized the boss had sent the bounty hunter off for at least two reasons. One was to give Zora hope she could cut a deal. What she didn’t understand was that the boss already gave Janneke his word that she could arrest Zora. He wouldn’t go back on a bargain.
“Tell us,” he said.
“It began two years ago. I was inside a house when I heard a sound from my lookout. He was choking, trying to call out to me. At first, I didn’t see anybody with him in the alley. Then I saw the shadows were strangling him.”
I’ve seen some eerie stuff, but that still gave me a shudder. “What did you do?”
“My aunt taught me a few spells. Mostly I use them to help me get in and away, but I know one or two that sting. I hurt one of the shadows enough to make it let him go. I slipped down and we ran, but a black ray shot out from the other end of the alley. It drained all my strength. I could barely stand, much less run. The shadows grabbed us both.
“The spell came from a third shadow, bigger than the other two. The others called the big one ‘Master.’ It amused him that he’d caught thieves breaking into the house of one of his colleagues. He asked whether we’d done it before. I was going to lie, but I had a feeling he could hear my thoughts. So I told him we’d been burglars for years.
“That’s what saved my life. The Master said all I had to do was keep stealing and he wouldn’t turn me over to the city guard. The difference was that from then on, he’d choose what I stole.”
“He sent you after the Gluttonous Tome,” said the boss.
“Not right away. I don’t think he even knew about it. He sent me after all sorts of magical things. Most I didn’t understand, but sometimes I recognized scrolls or books detailing ways to create a soul vessel, preserve a dead body, that sort of thing.”