The Fate of the Tala

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Andi,” Ursula said abruptly, startling me, “some time ago you demonstrated the barrier’s properties to me by having me walk through it then locking me out. Can you do that on a larger scale—make a hole in the barrier and control its size?”

  “I could, yes. It’s usually the opposite of what I’m supposed to do, but I can make the barrier permeable selectively.”

  “Can you make it seem like they did it, not us? But at a time of our choosing—a few days from now to coincide with the attack on n’Andana—so their ships enter our waters, say, one by one, as we’re ready for them. If we can keep them from overwhelming us with numbers, and employ Nakoa’s storm-brewing abilities to hamper them, we might have a chance. We can make it seem they got the jump on us, and manage it so we look pressed to fight them off, but keep the upper hand in truth.”

  Understanding dawned, along with renewed respect for Ursula’s canny mind. “I can. The only factor I can’t control is if they punch a hole through it first.”

  “Aha! Why not retract the barrier past the point where the peninsula intrudes?” she asked.

  “Retract it?” I echoed like an idiot.

  “Yes.” Ursula leaned in. “Pull the barrier back just enough that they no longer have a toehold in it, but keep it close enough that they’ll think they do.”

  “I can’t retract the barrier in just one spot. You remember what happened when we expanded it—it’s like a globe with the Heart at its center. If I pull it back half a league at the peninsula, I have to pull it back that much everywhere.”

  Ursula nodded. “I know the implications. All those lands I inadvertently annexed, that were raked with magical havoc when we extended the barrier, that half a league all along the barrier will be affected again, and then exposed. Populations will be divided again. But if we have a hope of standing up any length of time to the Dasnarian navy, we have to be able to control their passage through the barrier.”

  “Maybe we send out a warning to all those places,” Ami suggested. “So people aren’t caught unawares this time.”

  “To the Nahanaun Archipelago, sure,” Ursula agreed. “To the places within my rule or those we have diplomatic relations with, yes. But many of the places the barrier passes through are unknown to us. I sent delegations out to follow the barrier’s circumference, to explain and open a conversation, but many haven’t returned. Not surprising, but still concerning.” She raked a hand through her hair, curlier now in the sea air of Annfwn, and the gesture made some bits stand out wildly. “I’ll see to it that we map every bit of the barrier—and talk to the people in those regions—but we’re talking about an effort that will take years if not decades, and we have to survive this war first.”

  I sighed and nodded. “We’ll need to warn the Hákyrling, and the rest of our ships at the barrier, too.”

  “We’ll need more than that,” Ursula said slowly, eyeing me in a way I definitely didn’t like. “We need to have instantaneous contact—or at least as close as we can manage—with at least Jepp and Kral. If you can talk to the high priestess mind-to-mind, can’t you talk to our own people?”

  My stomach clenched. “It’s a violation. I’d have to do what she does, and it’s a line I said before that I won’t cross.”

  “I have to point out,” Ursula replied, cool and remorseless, “that because you said that in front of Rayfe, the high priestess believes that you won’t, which means you must. We need every advantage, Andi.”

  I nearly asked her what she wouldn’t have me do, but I didn’t want to know the answer to that. “I’ll send a message to Jepp asking permission for me to go into her head. We can test out the communication by telling them about the barrier move.”

  “And you can retract the barrier soon?” Ursula pressed.

  “It won’t be easy, but I can do it.” I sighed. “Tonight, at midnight. That gives us time to provide warning, and Moranu is at Her strongest then. I’ll need that advantage. It will be good practice, anyway, in case I need to move the barrier again, as a final solution.”

  “What do you mean?” Zynda asked, looking worried, which she so rarely did.

  “If we fail to defeat Deyrr, we cannot in good conscience allow them to be unleashed upon the world,” I answered, as I watched Zynda for her reaction. I was saying out loud something I’d only thought about in the solid confines of my own skull, shielded so no Tala could overhear and name me as the ultimate traitor to Annfwn. Their hatred of Salena and bitterness over her betrayal would be nothing compared to what they’d say of her daughter. “Our last resort would be to do what the n’Andanans did: remove magic from the world so Deyrr will starve.”

  “Well that’s not so horrible,” Ami said. “Up until a year ago, the barrier only covered Annfwn and the rest of us lived just fine without magic.”

  “Except we can’t allow Annfwn to have magic either,” I explained, “or we risk all of this happening yet again. The n’Andanans sacrificed almost everything to confine magic to the Heart, and that was expanded by the Tala ancestors to just enough to live inside—with a sorceress shapeshifter able to access the Heart. If we don’t want this to happen again, then I’ll have to retract the barrier all the way to the inside of the Heart, and seal it so that no one can ever access it again.”

  Zynda had closed her eyes, bowing her head. “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered in my mind.

  “Can you do that?” Ami asked, hushed.

  “I believe so.” I knew I could. I’d seen it. “It could be that this is what I was born to do.”

  “As a last resort though,” Ursula questioned. “Only if all is lost.”

  “Only if all is lost,” I agreed. And it would be only if I had no other choice, because to seal off the Heart that way, I’d have to be inside it—and I’d trap myself there forever.

  ~ 12 ~

  By the time I finally left the council chambers, my queen’s guard in songbird form swirling around me in bright colors as they tweeted happily of freedom, the sun had climbed to midday. It was Danu’s sun now, high, bright and unflinching, the shadows as banished as they could ever be. A few messengers awaited my emergence, along with a smattering of other Tala requiring answers to questions or decisions on pressing issues.

  Ursula had said she’d speak to Harlan, Ash, and Marskal about keeping a rotating guard on Rayfe. We’d keep the fact that Rayfe had been compromised to our circle—and her loyal Hawks—for as long as possible. Ami went with her to see about relocating the children to a location Rayfe didn’t know about—a severe vulnerability there—and I greatly appreciated my sisters handling all of that.

  I couldn’t yet face Rayfe—or what I might find in his mind.

  Once I dispensed with the immediate issues and deferred the less urgent ones for later—or delegated them to others to handle—I went to the small balcony terrace at the other side of the main cliff walk, overhanging the ocean. Zynda was to meet me there to escort me to meet Shaman, and if she could find Kelleah, Zynda would send her to me.

  The balcony terrace was a good location, central and pleasant. On my first full day in Annfwn, after my first intimidating council meeting, where they’d criticized whether I’d ever be good enough to be queen, Rayfe had escorted me to the little table there. We’d lunched surrounded by blooming vines, with the lovely vista of Annfwn all around. He’d been charming, and I’d been dazzled by his powerfully sensual spell—and overwhelmed by my vastly changed circumstances. I’d been so afraid I’d never measure up to the crushing expectations, my mother’s ghost haunting me at every turn. I’d felt very much on display, as we drank ambrosial wine and dined on succulent fish.

  They need to see us enjoying the treasures of Annfwn. Seeing their king happy will set them at ease. Seeing their queen will give them hope. Rayfe said those words when I chafed at the seeming indolence, anxious and uncomfortable. Though Ordnung had been luxurious in its way, crammed with Uorsin’s ruthlessly acquired wealth, we hadn’t lived softly. Castle Ordnung had been a fortr
ess first and foremost, and we’d lived as soldiers in a war he’d never stopped waging.

  I could see that now. And I could see that, even when I hadn’t known it, I’d also been at war all my life, with the pitch of it gradually increasing daily. How long ago it seemed that I’d first sat at that table with my new, foreign, and intimidating husband. When my worries had been about Uorsin and Ursula coming after me. About learning to shapeshift and manipulate the magic barrier in even the smallest way. Baby steps that seemed so small in retrospect, so minor.

  When had Rayfe and I last sat here to savor the treasures of Annfwn? When had they last seen us happy? Far too long ago. I couldn’t be sure when and why that had changed, when I’d begun to lose hope and so had none to give, even in pretense.

  The table sat empty. By some tacit agreement—at least, to my knowledge, Rayfe had never made it a royal command—everyone left that little table on its private terrace for our exclusive use. I sat down in the bright sun, almost too hot, so I used a brush of magic to draw a silk awning overhead, suspended from the terrace posts. The staymach birds settled happily all around, singing a sweet song.

  “Would you like wine, My Queen?” Nisia asked softly, having slipped up on quiet feet. “Or food?”

  How I would love some wine. A lot of it. But I needed to keep my senses sharp. “Tea, please,” I said instead. “And food, yes. Whatever is ready—don’t go to any trouble.” Maybe if I ate even small amounts at every opportunity, the nutrition would gradually accumulate without overloading my stomach. “Are Queen Dafne and King Nakoa KauPo settled?”

  “Yes, Queen Andromeda. And the little princess, too. All three ate heartily and are now sleeping.”

  “Thank you. When they awake, would you send them to me here? And ask Dafne to bring her map of the barrier. I’m also expecting Zynda and Healer Kelleah. Otherwise, please see that I’m not disturbed.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  She scampered off, and I took the moment of peace and privacy to cast my mind over the cliff city and the nearby countryside, the sea, and farther out around larger Annfwn. All seemed peaceful—but then, I’d learned that apparent peace could be an illusion, one easy to abruptly and violently shatter. I toyed with the high priestess’s jewel in my pocket, the smooth topaz warm to the touch, half-tempted to contact her. I wasn’t even sure where the impulse came from, except that I’d love to strike at her immediately. Hatred welled black and bitter in my heart, and I longed to smash her coy face against the stones at my feet. She’d fucked with me and my life, my husband, in the worst perversion imaginable.

  I wanted to destroy her for what she’d done. And I would.

  But with a clear, cool head.

  Making myself let go of the jewel, I continued my mental patrol with a routine check of the barrier, running my mental hands over it, smoothing, strengthening, reinvigorating. As a last step, I visited the festering hole where the peninsula of the Dasnarian Empire invaded the circle under the barrier’s protection. It had corroded the barrier a bit more since the day before. This time, however, I didn’t spend effort fixing it. I itched to, the wrongness making an almost audible appeal to be rectified, like a sick child crying for help.

  But Ursula’s strategy was a good one. There were multiple futures where it could work. Not many, and not the majority of them—but strong possibilities. In at least that arena, in the inevitable naval conflict on the far side of the Nahanaun archipelago, our ships had a chance of not being utterly defeated.

  Such were my best expectations.

  I spent a bit more time reviewing those particular future threads, checking for changes resulting from our decisions today. Those battles had shifted now, mostly in our favor, and—oddly enough—included boats I didn’t recognize. Most of the ships in our navy were of Tala design, which is why the harbor and outlying waters at the cliff city in Annfwn were so crowded lately. When Rayfe called the Gathering, he’d also called in every ship we could lay claim to, along with their sailing crews.

  The Tala had preserved a long tradition of boat racing and other sorts of sailing tournaments. Another way the Tala ancestors had embedded military-style training in an otherwise decidedly nonmartial culture—again, with an emphasis on defense from an attack coming from the sea.

  Out at sea we had the Hákyrling, along with a few other ships of Dasnarian design that Jepp and Kral had “appropriated”—mostly merchant ships that had been plying the Nahanaun Archipelago when the barrier shifted. Fortunately for us, even supposedly peaceful Dasnarian traders prowled the seas heavily armed, so those ships would come in handy, too.

  We also had a few—a handful, really—of sailing ships from the other twelve kingdoms. In general, those ships preferred the gentler seas—and plentiful trade—of the eastern and southeastern coasts of the realm. The few we had in Annfwn had been required to sail the long, turbulent, and difficult journey around the Crane Isthmus. Ursula had called in favors for those, and had considered conscripting more, but our merchant ships were not accustomed to battle. They’d be ripe targets and of little help.

  My previous visions of the naval battles had included those ships, along with thousands of smaller Nahanaun boats—some sailing ships, but mostly canoes and coracles.

  The current vision intensified, gripping me as Moranu’s silvery presence took control, showing me what She willed. I saw a battle raging under stormy skies. Heavy rain obscured details, but brilliant flashes of lightning revealed vivid moments.

  The composition of the navies had altered. There were the many Tala ships—distinguishable by the sleek, low-in-the-water profiles and airy rigging—and overwhelming numbers of the heavier Dasnarian ships, along with the innumerable smaller Nahanaun craft, but now mixed in with them were many more tall sailing ships like those plying the seas off Elcinea. Most of those, while familiar in design, flew banners I didn’t recognize. Others, galleons and smaller ships that belched woodsmoke, weren’t like any I’d seen before. I couldn’t tell whose side they fought for.

  I tried to look more closely at some of the banners. Unfortunately, the visions didn’t always yield to changes in perspective—especially when Moranu wanted me to see something and I went in a different direction. Indeed, as I pushed for detail, the stormy battle scene darkened, then dissolved into wisps of smoke. Instead I looked out on the calm sea of Annfwn, all the ships in these waters well known to me, the bright sunshine making me wince.

  “Your tea has grown cold,” Dafne said, nodding at the pot and plate of food resting on the table. “Nisia said not to disturb you.”

  “I didn’t mean for her to keep you two waiting. My apologies.” I nodded to Nakoa, who’d been standing at the rail observing the scene below, a sleeping Salena securely tucked in the crook of his elbow. He nodded back, unconcerned.

  “No need to apologize,” Dafne assured me. “More visions?”

  “Yes. And the tea is easily reheated.” I caressed the smooth ceramic side of the pot with my fingers, warming it judiciously with a bit of fire magic. When I poured it into my cup, it steamed invitingly.

  “Handy,” Dafne noted. “Why can’t you do that, Dragon King?”

  Nakoa gave her a stern look, but his lips twitched as he came over to brush affectionate fingers through the rich copper and bronze strands of her hair. “Because you would be unpleasantly surprised if my lightning shattered your favorite teapot, little dragon.”

  “You have a point,” she replied drily. “I brought maps, as requested.” She indicated the maps and books of notes on the table. “What do you need to know?”

  I explained the plan to retract the boundary. Nakoa frowned thunderously, but grudgingly agreed that it was a good strategic move. Dafne extracted metal tools from a lavishly decorated bag, and I watched with interest as she meticulously measured the length of the Dasnarian peninsula intruding through the barrier.

  “How far back from the peninsula do you want to retract the barrier?” she asked.

  A good qu
estion. “Far enough to get clear of Deyrr’s influence, but not so far that the Dasnarians will immediately notice.”

  “Hmm.” She studied the map. “Her Majesty will have to send word to pull our ships back, or the Dasnarians will certainly notice when the barrier runs over them. We’ll have to count on them staying well back from their side of the barrier—which they’re likely to do as they can’t otherwise detect it unless they run into it—and create a plausible reason for our ships to move back without alerting them.”

  “We have a plan to contact them, yes.”

  “Excellent. Do you think there will be magical storms like the last time the barrier moved?”

  Another good question. “I don’t know, but probably.”

  “We’ll need a storm at sea then,” she said to Nakoa, who nodded. “Lots of that lightning you love so much. So,” she returned to studying the map, “just far enough to clear the ooze slick in the water, but the least amount past that, to keep it as subtle as possible.”

  “If only we knew how far that Deyrr slick spreads out from the rocks. I can sense it via the barrier. Maybe I could try to estimate how big it is,” I added, though I wasn’t sure how to measure it and convey that to Dafne.

  “No need. I have a recent report.” She riffled through another notebook, opened it to a page, then made markings around the peninsula, looking back and forth between the notes and her map. “There.”

  “A report from whom?” I demanded, and she smiled innocently.

  “That’s on our side of the barrier, remember, and I have spies everywhere.” She measured a distance from the ooze border she’d drawn. “You’re moving the barrier soon?”

  “Tonight at midnight.”

  She paused in her measuring and notetaking, looking up curiously. “Why midnight?”

  “The peak of Moranu’s power. I’ll need all the help I can get.”

  Tapping the feathered end of the quill against her cheek, she gazed at me soberly. “How hard on you will this be?”