Just as Aemetta arrived at an entrance to the Calling Room, one of the people kneeling nearby leapt up and took hold of her. It was Ryna. There was a moment of confusion and anger, then Aemetta’s gaze followed Ryna’s hand until both were pointed at Wyand and Keltin. The two men hurried over to them amid cheers from other fighters at the sight of the glowing Stormheart. When he reached Ryna and Aemetta, he was surprised to be met with looks of exasperation and fear.
“Where did you go?” Ryna demanded as another volley of glowing orbs streaked past in the hallway.
“Aldhagen,” Wyand panted, and both women were stunned to silence. “The Cultivators attacked us there as well, but when we used a thunder stone to stop them, the blast collapsed the way to the upper levels.” Screams from the corridor spoke of incredible pain and destruction beyond the safety of the Calling Room, but Wyand knew what needed to be done. “We can’t lose this side of the Hall, too.”
Wyand met the determined, expectant stares of Keltin, Ryna, and Aemetta. “Just tell us where you need us,” Aemetta said softly.
Wyand spent less than a second in thought—Keltin and Ansund had already shown him a plan that worked. “Have arrows ready, as many as can be found, and wait here. When I’m in place, tell the people trapped in the corridor to fall back. Keltin will let you know when it’s time to strike.” With that, Wyand ran to the entrance at the eastern-most end of the Calling Room and nodded to his friends.
“Fall back!” Keltin, Ryna, and Aemetta cried in unison. At first, the fighters in the passage seemed reluctant to follow the order, but once they saw who had spoken, they quickly gathered the injured and disappeared in the direction of the Last Calling chamber. Wyand waited, feeling as though his heart might burst out of his chest. The Cultivators stopped firing, and for a moment the only sound was that of the long, mournful tone of their alarm. Then Wyand heard what he was waiting for—heavy footfalls marching in unison towards the Calling Room. He took a deep breath, gripped the Stormheart, and jumped into the corridor.
The four Cultivators had their weapons ready, but so did Wyand. The Stormheart surged with light even before his feet touched the ground, and as it released the blinding pulse of energy, Wyand slid onto his back to avoid the bursts of deadly green that buzzed over his head. As he’d hoped, the Cultivators were unprepared for the presence of the Stormheart and they immediately faltered in their advance. During that instant of weakness, Wyand heard Keltin issue the order to attack. Silver robes blossomed with the dark shafts of scores of arrows until each of the four Cultivators collapsed, never to function again.
Wyand exhaled—the nearest Cultivator’s staff lay close enough that he could feel the heat of its still-glowing tip through the layer of Sreathan plate on his left leg. He looked past the fallen Cultivators and smiled at the sight of an unobstructed passage to the upper levels. As Wyand rose to his feet, though, a sound from beyond the barricaded entrances reminded him that there were priorities even more important than reaching the top of the Hall. The people trapped in Locboran still screamed for help; with the imminent Cultivator threat contained, Wyand knew it was time to reach these survivors.
Aemetta clearly shared his thoughts, because she stared at him expectantly from the edge of the Calling Room, thunder stone at the ready. “That was impressive,” she said with a nod as he made his way towards the row of archers.
“That was risky,” Ryna scolded him, but as Wyand began to reply, he noticed Eyrie among the archers with Cailla by her side.
Wyand’s heart leapt with joy every time he saw Eyrie now, but he forced himself to subdue the desire to be closer to her. This is still a battlefield, Tilia’s voice shouted in his thoughts as he stepped forward. Wyand focused; nevertheless, it was impossible for him not to smile when he locked eyes with Eyrie and she grinned slyly. He could stare at her smiling face for a lifetime and still want to see nothing more, but that would have to wait. “Excellent shots,” Wyand said at last, nodding over his shoulder towards the Cultivators.
“I was aiming for you,” Eyrie laughed, as did most of the other archers. Wyand’s mouth hung open slightly as he searched for a fitting response, but Eyrie went on before he could speak. “What’s next?” she asked.
“Everyone needs to pull back or move into the Calling Room,” Wyand said as he fought the urge to embrace her. “It’s time to open these doors.” Eyrie nodded excitedly and raced back to the main force to spread the new instructions. Wyand found himself watching her run until Keltin was suddenly beside him.
“You have absolutely no idea what you’re doing,” Keltin said with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
Wyand wasn’t prepared for such a blunt assessment, even from his oldest friend. “How else can we get to the survivors?” he asked, somewhat defensively.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” Keltin replied as his eyes darted towards Eyrie before returning to Wyand.
Ryna appeared and shoved Keltin’s arm lightly; now it was his turn to be surprised. “Leave him alone,” Ryna said tiredly. “Go find something useful to do.” She stalked back into the Calling Room, muttering something about “don’t know what you’re doing.”
Keltin’s cheeks went red—it was the most life Wyand had seen in his friend’s face since leaving Aldhagen. Annoyed that he’d been beaten at his own game, Keltin marched stiffly to the nearest metal door. “Step away from the entrances!” he shouted. “We’re going to break through the barricades!” The screams from Locboran subsided and Keltin frowned at the doorway, straining to hear what was happening. “Is everyone ready?” he called through the door a moment later, and a voice muffled by layers of stone and metal responded with a faint “yes.”
With the Cynmeren and Smokedwellers at a safe distance, Wyand waved to Aemetta and she flung the thunder stone at the nearest metal barrier. Even as echoes of the explosion still hung in the air, rain-soaked survivors from Locboran surged into the Hall. Their initial relief quickly turned to confusion and fear as the force of liberators emerged from their protected positions. Eyrie, Cailla, Ryna, Aemetta, and many of the other women rushed forward as they spotted friends they hadn’t seen in months, if not much longer. Wyand smiled proudly—Hirst was right yet again, and thankfully some of the people who’d been trapped with the Cultivators were now safe. Then he noticed a detail that stopped all other thought: not all of the workers entering from Locboran were female.
Before Wyand had time to ask any questions, two boys stepped through the entrance, one on either side of an old man Wyand knew instantly. That man, Orfrum, was one of the most prolific metalworkers in Aldhagen, and although it was wonderful to see him, tears welled in Wyand’s eyes when he recognized the two boys who walked with him. They were covered in cuts, bruises, and mud, their mining clothes were tattered to the point of being useless, and their expressions were blank and distant, but Wyand knew them instantly. “Adlig! Scur!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he spoke.
The two Tailings seemed to emerge from a fog at the sound of Wyand’s voice and a spark of their former energy returned to their eyes when they at last saw him. Orfrum reassured the boys that he was more than capable of walking without them, and they sprinted to Wyand within the span of the next breath. “Depthcarver!” they yelled, but their words soon turned to sobs as he embraced both of them.
“You’re safe, boys. It’s over now,” Wyand said as he, too, felt tears running down his face. Though he’d been overjoyed to reunite with Keltin, seeing the Tailings safe carried an even greater sense of relief with it. Yes, they could be infuriating at times, but Adlig and Scur were Wyand’s responsibility, and that was not a fact he took lightly.
Scur regained his composure first and pushed back to arm’s length. His gaze held a level of remorse that was more than any child should have to know. “We could’ve cast ourselves out as soon as we knew the truth,” Scur said bitterly. “Now…now it’s all gone. They’re all gone.” His mouth quivered and he collapsed into Wyand’s arm again.
&nbs
p; Then it was Adlig’s turn to speak, though it was more difficult to understand him since his face was pressed against the armor on Wyand’s shoulder. “Stonecaller Galbrun,” he wept, and Wyand felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest. “Grefstan,” Adlig said a moment later. What little air remained in Wyand’s lungs was ripped out by a ragged gasp. “Depthcarver Edan,” Adlig whispered, and those words shut out the rest of the world from Wyand’s mind.
Wyand turned Adlig’s face toward his own after staring into nothingness for what felt like an eternity. I misheard him, Wyand prayed. “Whose name did you say last?” Wyand asked softly.
Tears streamed from the Tailing’s eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “Depthcarver Edan,” he repeated. Wyand still didn’t believe it, he refused to believe it, until Adlig frowned apologetically and gave two small, defeated nods.
Wyand stood sharply, releasing the Tailings from his comforting embrace. His face was a contorted mess of disbelief, agony, and fury—it was fury that at last seized control. Cold and calm, Wyand turned to Keltin. “Did you hear any of that?” Keltin stared into the distance of Locboran and nodded without saying a word. Wyand looked past him to the fighters gathered in the corridor, some smiling as they reunited with old friends, some in tears as they learned names of the fallen, others watching from the shadows warily, searching for the next attack.
Wyand lifted the Stormheart to gain everyone’s attention, and a silence fell throughout the corridor. “The Hall is reopened,” Wyand declared, though the joy that statement should have brought with it was lost amid his burning anger. “Now it’s time for us to tear out whatever fragments of the Cultivators’ forces remain in the upper levels. Step forward and you are welcome to join me in that task, though I blame no one who chooses to remain behind.” He looked across the gathering of haggard, weary faces, but even through their exhaustion and pain, he saw that they shared his fury. Another surge of coldness swept over him and he went on. “I don’t know if machines fear our concept of ‘death,’ but whatever their version is called, they’ll be begging for it before we’re finished.”
A resounding cheer rose from the crowd, but Wyand needed no further encouragement to fuel his ascent to the top of the Hall. Keltin turned away from the reclaimed entrance as more survivors rushed in, but he didn’t even glance at Wyand. His mind, too, was already several hundred strides up the corridor. “The first one’s mine,” Keltin said quietly as he paused by Wyand’s side to wait for the new force to amass.
Soon, Wyand stood before a group over a hundred strong, with more fighters joining each passing second. Just as Wyand was preparing to move on, Adlig and Scur suddenly stepped forward from the crowd and knelt at his feet. “We’re ready to follow you, Depthcarver,” Scur declared solemnly as both of the Tailings stared up at Wyand with looks of determination. The anger Wyand felt for the Cultivators was pushed aside temporarily as he found himself at a loss for words. He was proud to see that Adlig and Scur were ready to join the fight, but that was the last place he wanted to put them, especially after what they had already endured in Aldhagen.
“I could use them here, actually,” Aemetta said as she glided through the group of fighters. “Do you boys realize how important you are?” Wyand shared the Tailings’ looks of surprise as they shook their heads. “As much as we all may want to help free the Hall from the Cultivators—or ‘Venerates,’ as you call them—our first responsibility is to make certain the survivors from Aldhagen and Locboran reach safety, right? You two managed to cross between cities; because of that, you have information that could prove critical in helping us all escape. Besides, I want to understand how two of the youngest survivors are ready to fight so bravely when most others are either too confused or too scared to do anything useful.”
Before their questions and protest could begin, Aemetta turned Adlig and Scur away from the ramp to the upper levels and led them briskly back down the corridor. She glanced over her shoulder with a small, knowing grin and Wyand mouthed the words “thank you.” Then, with the Stormheart still in hand, he spun to face the path upward. Keltin stood nearby as expected, but at some point during the assembly, Eyrie, Cailla, and Ryna had joined him. No words were needed—this was a time for action.
The levels above the ground floor of the Hall were surprisingly austere, with most entrances leading to chambers no larger than five strides across. In these there were no Cultivators, only occasional pipes or humming machines that posed no threat to the advance. After encountering so many of these quickly-scanned and quickly-forgotten rooms, Wyand almost stumbled forward from surprise when he stepped into a doorway and found something completely different.
A long corridor stretched more than twenty strides into the distance, with side passages leading to the left and right only a few strides from where he now stood. The ceiling ended at these side passages as well, offering a glimpse of what appeared to be three stacked levels of living quarters embedded within the Hall. Bewildered, Wyand stepped forward cautiously until he stood in the cross passage. Dozens of doors—every one of them bolted shut from the outside—lined each level as it gradually curved out of sight towards the center of the Hall.
Keltin, Eyrie, Ryna, and Cailla appeared equally confused and anxious as they joined Wyand in the open space between the rows of living quarters. In spite of their best efforts, everyone’s shuffling footsteps still felt loud as they cast echoes toward the vaulted ceiling above. When they all stood still, though, another sound crept into the air, faint and muffled, but still easy to identify. A chill raced up Wyand’s spine as soon as he heard it. “Someone’s crying,” Eyrie whispered, giving voice to everyone’s thoughts.
“Machines don’t cry,” Keltin replied softly as he made his way from one door to the next, listening at each before moving on. Wyand followed his friend’s lead, beginning the same careful process on the opposite row of living quarters. A few doors later, Keltin stopped suddenly and hissed through his teeth to draw everyone’s attention. He nodded and pointed his dark knife at the door to his left.
Heart racing, Wyand gathered with the others as they formed a tight ring around the door. Bows creaked and blades were leveled, ready for whatever might emerge from the room beyond. Keltin slowly retracted the bolt, then shoved the door inward and stepped aside. The sound of weeping stopped immediately, but its source still wasn’t readily visible. The interior of the room was darker than night, so Wyand advanced with the Stormheart in hand. From the blue haze between light and shadow, a child appeared, huddled on the floor against the back wall of the small room and squinting fearfully from the unexpected brightness.
She looked to be somewhere between two and three turnings old, but her face was unnaturally gaunt for a child. As Wyand watched, the traces of worry in her eyes suddenly melted into pure joy. “Fyrnraed!” she said in a dry, hoarse whisper. “You came back.” Then she took note of Wyand’s appearance, and of the other people who waited beyond her door, and she screamed. Not knowing what else to do, Wyand stepped back, stammering explanations that he knew she wouldn’t hear or understand. Thankfully, Eyrie was well versed in dealing with people during their first encounter with the Cynmeren.
“Sister, please listen,” Eyrie said soothingly as she knelt before the girl. “As it is woven, I am called Eyrie. What’s your name?”
The screaming ended, but there was a long silence in its place. Finally, the little girl lifted her sima with her right hand and replied. “Inna,” she said uncertainly. “I am called Inna.”
Eyrie smiled. “Well, Inna, you look like you could use some water and food. Would you like that?”
The girl’s eyes flickered with ravenous excitement as she leaned forward, but a surge of renewed doubt caused her to retreat into the corner of her tiny room once more. “Where are the Fyrnraed?’ she asked fearfully.
“We’ll explain that soon,” Eyrie replied as she gently placed her hand on Inna’s knee. “First, though, you have a great adventure waiting for you. It’s time to f
inally leave the Hall and find your task. Are you ready?”
Inna avoided the question and frowned at Eyrie. “Today’s Kingdomturn?” she asked skeptically.
Eyrie nodded and locked eyes with the young girl. “Today is the start of your new life.” She then stood, offering her hand. Inna’s tear-swollen eyes darted around in thought, but at last she seemed to accept the explanation that Eyrie had provided. A moment later, she was on her feet and standing amongst the growing crowd of fighters outside the small room. At first, Inna appeared overwhelmed, but just as panic began to take hold, Eyrie was there to squeeze her hand and give encouragement. “You don’t know it yet, but every one of these people care about you, Inna. They’re your family.” The girl couldn’t yet understand what “family” meant, but walking through a crowd of smiling faces was certainly a strong introduction to the concept.
Wyand laughed silently to himself in amazement as he watched Eyrie lead little Inna to a group of Bloodsisters. Once the girl was happily eating and drinking, Eyrie made her way back to Wyand. “That was astonishing,” Wyand complimented her. “How did you imagine such a perfect explanation so quickly?”
Eyrie looked somewhat insulted. “I didn’t imagine anything. The old idea of Kingdomturn is dead—today we redefine it and make it ours. You do still intend to activate the real beacon, don’t you?” Wyand opened his mouth to reply, but no thoughts would manifest into words. He simply nodded as Eyrie went on. “Then from now on, this will be a day we celebrate both the past and the future. Whether we ever connect with the Old Kingdom or not, we will honor it through our vision of peace for this world.” Though he knew this would be a day of great change, Wyand had never imagined being a part of anything as significant as wiping away the definition of Kingdomturn itself. Completely lost in thought, he glanced around the living quarters.
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