Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “There are hundreds!” he exclaimed. “Were they all cast out? Did they all die on the way here?”

  “Many were cast out just like you were, and many did die before we knew another name for them,” Fadian replied.

  “The Unwoven,” Ryna said softly as she looked to the Guided in awe.

  “Some of them are Unwoven women, yes,” Fadian replied, “but only the ones too stubborn to say their true names, even at the edge of death.” He regarded Ryna with a knowing smile that forced her to look away. She unconsciously gripped the bone weapon before realizing what she was doing.

  “None of those reasons explain the two knots on the sima below Altra’s, though. Her story is a tragic one,” Fadian continued. “As I said, many were cast out like you, but not all of them. A far greater number of the people represented on this wall began and ended life here in Cynmere. In Altra’s case, her third child’s life ended before it ever had a chance to start. The knots you see are not ‘arrival’ and ‘end’; here they signify birth and death.”

  Fire crackling in the sconces was the only sound in the Council Chamber as both Ryna and the Unwoven stared at the two knots in stunned silence. Then the Unwoven turned slowly to face Fadian. “I’ve seen death,” he said plainly. “I understand the concept of life ending. But whether Cynmere believes in the Venerates or not, how can new life exist here without their influence?”

  The Guided’s eyes flickered as he blinked in surprise; the expression looked very unnatural on a face that normally exuded such confidence and knowledge. “Holt hasn’t addressed the concept of creating life with you yet,” Fadian replied. Then he muttered quietly, “Of course he hasn’t.” He sighed. “The simplest explanation is that we live as the people of Aldhagen once did, in the time of Grigg and the founding of Cynmere. This wall is the best explanation I can offer—its connections show ancestors, children, families. It shows that we are all connected.”

  “But how?” the Unwoven demanded, with Ryna nodding in support of his question. “How are these ‘connections’ made?”

  Fadian held up his hands, “It is thankfully not my task to explain that truth,” he said with a peculiar little smile. “You’ll learn more once you spend some time with the Order of Dawn.” Without another word, he turned away from the dazed newcomers and walked towards the nearest sconce.

  “That’s all you’re going to tell us?” Ryna asked sharply, allowing her false persona to drop away and giving her inner frustration total control of her words. “After pulling us aside and showing us something this incredible, you’re not even going to explain it?”

  Fadian paused beside the sconce and looked back at her, his left eye glimmering brightly amid the shadows cast by the right half of his face. “Understand this, Unwoven,” he said. “We each possess the gift of life, even you.” With that, he blew out the sconce and disappeared into the eager darkness.

  18

  Keltin’s eyes grew wide as he watched the practice stick careening towards his head again. He winced as he lifted the isen with his sore right palm, but thankfully this time he managed to block the practice stick with it before yet another welt could be added to his jaw. He did not expect the stick to recoil instantly, however, and spin towards the left side of his face. Keltin fell to one knee from the force of the blow, the sting of the practice stick already burning angrily in his cheek.

  “Up,” Protector Nihmadien commanded, pointing the practice stick at Keltin’s chest. “Remember that the High Conduit is watching from the Holy Spire—you don’t want him to think you’re lazy, do you?”

  “No, Protector,” Keltin replied as he took hold of the end of the stick to hoist himself up. The sounds of isen striking against one another and feet shuffling in the sand reminded Keltin that there were hundreds of other people training under the High Conduit’s scrutiny all across the plain; so it was each day in Dism Slyde. All of the Penitent Faithful, regardless of task, took part in mock combat during every Third Calling so they could be ready to face the Cynmeren threat. With most of his body shaking from pain and exhaustion, Keltin assumed the ready stance Nihmadien had taught him three days earlier and prepared for another strike of the practice stick.

  Nihmadien leveled the stick in front of his chest and studied Keltin with sunken eyes. Then, suddenly, he thrust the stick down into the sand and laughed. “You can barely stand,” he smiled. “That’s good—you’re devoting all of your energy to training, but there’s no use beating against what’s already broken. Since Third Calling is nearly finished anyway, why don’t you put away your isen and begin the walk back to the healing quarters a little early?”

  “Won’t the High Conduit see that as being weak? Laziness?” Keltin panted.

  “If he sees how much effort it’s taking for you to stay on your feet right now, I think he’ll be impressed just by watching you walk without my help,” Nihmadien replied as he began the journey back to the Gates of Contrition. He stopped after a few strides when he didn’t hear Keltin’s footfalls on the sand. “You want to go see them again, don’t you?” Nihmadien asked from behind his cowl before turning to look back at Keltin.

  “Always,” Keltin breathed as he tucked the handle of the isen into his sash.

  Nihmadien smiled knowingly. “I can’t fault you for being impressed. They are an amazing group,” he said. “They” were known as the Shroud Legion, and Keltin had been fascinated with them since his first training session on the plain beneath the Spire. No amount of exhaustion could force him to miss an opportunity to watch them practice. With his energy renewed and Nihmadien by his side, Keltin hurried towards the ever-present haze of dark smoke in the distance.

  The training area for the Shroud Legion was far removed from the rest of the plain, and situated along the muddy fringes of the river as it joined with the unending mass of water to the north. From thuribles spaced evenly throughout the area, clouds of sacred smoke billowed across the ground, offering only brief glimpses of the chaos hidden within. As Keltin watched, he was mesmerized by the movements of the Shroud Legion and once again reminded why they were known as the most skilled warriors in Dism Slyde.

  Amid the smoke, grey-clad fighters would appear for an instant, then vanish again so quickly that Keltin had no guess as to how many members of the Shroud Legion there actually were. Unlike the rest of the Penitent Faithful, they did not wear robes or capes, instead opting for simple field clothes that matched the color of the smoke perfectly. Cowls and veils covered each head, leaving only the fighter’s eyes visible as they leapt from cloud to cloud with an isen in each hand. To an unfamiliar observer, the movements of the Shroud Legion seemed strange, erratic, and pointless—a never-ending sprint from one puff of smoke to the next. Keltin had voiced this same opinion when Nihmadien first brought him to their training grounds, and the Protector had laughed at his ignorance.

  “Watch more carefully,” Nihmadien had told him. “They are hunting each other with the same fervor as they would hunt the enemy in actual combat. Every Legionnaire works alone in the smoke, both as an attacker and as a target.” With that understanding, Keltin had come to appreciate just how terrifying it would be to encounter the Shroud Legion within the confines of their native element. To further add to the confusion, each member of the Shroud Legion would shout at random or strike his two isen together in an effort to disorient the intended target. Very rarely, Keltin heard or saw two fighters clash before vanishing again; more often, he would just notice small patches of blood on the ground where an attack had been successful. Nihmadien had reassured him that the wounds the Shroud Legion suffered in training were never lethal, just embarrassing for those who bled.

  Now Keltin smiled with excitement as he watched the Legion perform. Though they each moved in a unique and random pattern, there was still a sense of order to the scene overall; to Keltin it was like watching a powerful storm build on the horizon. A flicker of movement from one of the fighters emerging from the smoke mimicked the lightning as it jumped from one c
loud to another, whereas the shouts and clattering of metal were a constant thunder. Over that thunder, the sound of the Calling chimes suddenly echoed across the plain from the heights of the Holy Spire.

  “All right,” Nihmadien said, clapping his arm on Keltin’s shoulder. “On to your next task. Come find me at the Gates when you finish tending the injured.”

  “Of course, Protector,” Keltin nodded, struggling to pry his eyes away from the Shroud Legion; it was clear from the fading smoke that they were done training for the moment. Keltin watched as the fighters formed a circle and pulled down their veils, revealing faces of both men and women filled with levity despite their exhaustion. A burst of laughter drifted to him as one of the Legion pointed to a tear in the fabric of another fighter’s sleeve. Keltin longed to walk closer, but a quick glance towards Nihmadien ended that line of thought.

  The Protector stood two strides behind Keltin, watching him with raised eyebrows and a faint smirk. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said sarcastically, and Keltin was instantly embarrassed. Pushing through the fatigue that gripped his body, Keltin apologized as he jogged past Nihmadien to join the lines of people walking back towards the entrance at the base of the cliff. This was the fourteenth time since arriving in Dism Slyde that Keltin had stood at the base of the hundreds of stairs leading up to the healing quarters, but familiarity only made the task of ascending them seem that much more daunting.

  When he finally reached the upper hallway, Keltin’s legs felt like they might collapse beneath him at any moment. He tried to walk normally, but his trembling steps inspired more than one quiet chuckle from the Servants as they passed. The Servants confused Keltin—they performed duties crucial to the upkeep of Dism Slyde, yet they seemed to be treated differently from everyone else in Dism Slyde. Keltin had noticed that their movements were closely monitored by the Protectors and that there was a constant glimmer of fear in the Servants’ eyes whenever the Protectors were near, yet no one could explain why.

  Thankfully, that fear was absent when they looked at Keltin, although their expressions of sympathy when they saw him were equally troubling. He had tried asking a few of them for answers, but as soon as he called to them the Servants would bow their heads and hurry past, saying “forgive me” until they were too far away to be heard. From what Keltin had gathered, these people were a representation of what happened when a newcomer failed the initial testing; he prayed that it was not in the Venerates’ plan for him to suffer the same fate.

  Ignoring their looks of silent and maddening compassion, Keltin moved through the Servants and retrieved a tray of food from one of the meal rooms that they manned. He flinched as the edges of the wooden board pressed against the bandages on his raw palms, but this pain had become familiar in the days since the excitement of stopping the runaway Vessel Cart. The aroma of hot whiteroot soup brought a smile to Keltin’s face. If Silax refuses to eat again today, that just means more for me, he thought happily. He still took an extra spoon, just in case.

  As he approached the entrance to Silax’ room, Keltin slowed his steps so he could move as quietly as possible. Whether it was from shock or starvation, Silax slept frequently and loathed being awakened, as Keltin had unfortunately discovered two days earlier. With the late-day sunlight peering beneath the clouds to shine on the far side of the valley, Keltin crept into the healing room. Silax was indeed asleep once again.

  Keltin set the tray on a table by the wall and lowered himself onto a stone bench covered by a blanket. It was anything but comfortable, but at least it offered a chance to sit for an instant. Keltin exhaled, but a nagging sensation of guilt kept him from feeling relaxed for long. He took hold of one of the spoons and stirred the soup idly, contemplating what to do next.

  “You’re back,” Silax grumbled from the bed.

  Keltin dropped the spoon from surprise and it fell into the bowl with a clatter. “And you’re awake,” he said. “Would you like some food? It’s whiteroot soup this time.”

  “I would love nothing more than food,” Silax groaned as he sat up. “But none of the food here is clean.”

  “We already went over this,” Keltin said. “All of the food in Dism Slyde comes from Aldhagen. The carts bring it back with them after every journey they make there.”

  “That still doesn’t make it clean,” Silax replied tiredly. “I told you before that you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Well, you’re right about that. So why don’t you explain?”

  “I can’t.”

  Keltin shook his head, then pointedly ate a spoonful of the soup while he stared at Silax. He smiled broadly to make sure Silax understood how delightful it tasted. If Silax wanted to be stubborn, that was fine, because Keltin knew how to be stubborn too. “Is your plan to starve, then?” Keltin asked after another delicious sip.

  “If I have to,” Silax replied, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards the ceiling. “The only plan I really care about right now is revenge,” he said quietly.

  “Against the Cynmeren?”

  “They’re a good start.” Silax slowly pulled his legs out from beneath the blanket. “I need to get out of this bed first, though,” he complained as he tried to stand.

  “You need to finish healing before you do that,” Keltin scolded him, putting his hand on Silax’ shoulder and forcing him to lie back down.

  “And when is that supposed to happen?” Silax demanded.

  “When you decide to start eating again,” Keltin replied simply before enjoying another steaming spoonful of the whiteroot soup.

  Silax sighed and reluctantly let his head fall back onto the bed once more. “Have you seen Aemetta? Is she all right?” he asked anxiously after a moment in stubborn silence.

  “I still haven’t seen her,” Keltin said. “I’ve asked every woman I see, but they all just say she is healing. I tried to go to the women’s healing quarters yesterday, but apparently it’s forbidden for us to enter the women’s side of the valley for some reason. Anyway, I’ll keep trying to find out how she’s doing. I’m just as concerned about Aemetta as you, believe me.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Silax objected with no lack of sarcasm. “You barely know her.”

  “I’ve known her longer than you have!” Keltin countered. “Plus, in the short time we spent together, she and I experienced horrible things most people can’t even imagine. I mean…slag, Silax! Aemetta and I were cast out together, what could people share that’s more personal than that?”

  “You don’t know what we went through,” Silax said quietly.

  “That’s because you still haven’t told me,” Keltin replied. “How did you end up in Eredun’s vessel cart?”

  “Why don’t you ask him.”

  “Silax…” Keltin began, then he realized the truth. “I can’t believe it hasn’t come up until now. Silax, forgive me, but Eredun died the day you arrived in Dism Slyde. His injuries were…” Keltin paused, remembering the horrific scene in Tamer’s Canyon, the sickening smell of burning flesh. “…No one could survive that.”

  Silax covered his face with his right hand, rubbing his temples as he shook his head. “I told him to leave me,” Silax whispered. “He had Aemetta, they could’ve left and been perfectly safe, but he wouldn’t listen.” Silax closed his eyes again. “Just eat what you want and then leave, Keltin. Please,” he said numbly.

  Keltin wanted to protest, to press for more information, but he could see that Silax was in no mood for questions. Finding nothing else to say, Keltin lifted the tray and left the room in silence. After leaving the tray with the Servants in the meal room, one of them stopped Keltin in the doorway.

  “You need those wraps replaced,” the Servant said with a kind smile but a stern gaze as he studied Keltin’s hands. Keltin looked down to discover that the earlier discomfort caused by the tray had actually caused another episode of blood soaking through the bandages on his palms. There was no point in denying the Servants—if Keltin refused this man’s help, he kn
ew five more would stop him before he could make it out of the healing quarters. He held out his palms and looked away as they were slowly unwrapped.

  After an instant of pain and a satisfied nod from the Servant, Keltin thanked the man before returning to the main passage. He hurried past the small windows that overlooked the valley below, certain that Nihmadien would be irritated for being made to wait so long. As dusk settled in, the hallway turned sharply right, marking the beginning of the canyon that led to the Gates of Contrition. In another fifty strides, Keltin began seeing the familiar black cloak of the Protector on almost every person he passed. The small windows on the left side of the corridor ended abruptly and a massive cross-passage took their place—this was the archway over the Gates of Contrition.

  Keltin increased his pace even more when he noticed that two Protectors were already lighting the fires in the light directors that overlooked the entrance to Dism Slyde. He turned right and ran down the cross-passage until finally arriving at the Tasking Station. It was a large room, completely enclosed by stone except for a single entrance. This was where duties were assigned throughout the day, and it was where Keltin knew to find Nihmadien. As expected, the Protector was waiting inside with an expression that spoke of innumerable heated questions yet to be voiced. A spike of fear forced Keltin to one knee when he realized Nihmadien was not alone.

  “Venerates smile upon you, Draeden,” Keltin said, chest heaving as he stared at the floor and tried to catch his breath.

  “And you, Keltin,” the Draeden replied. “Get up. You don’t have to bow every time you see me—that’s an honor reserved for the High Conduit.” Keltin leapt to his feet. “Good. Now, where have you been?”

  “I was tending to Silax…the newcomer from Eredun’s cart,” Keltin stammered. “And then the Servants rewrapped my hands. I didn’t ask them to, though. I will atone for any delay I have caused to you or Protector Nihmadien.”