by B. K. Boes
Kaela furrowed her brow as the Elder shook her head. What more can I do to make up for my mistake, to ease her worry?
“No,” Ednah said. “I want you to accept your confirmation and be the Roshleth I know to be inside you. I’m worried you might leave the Hodda solely in the hands of Vyad.”
Kaela blinked a few times, confused. “But, I put my desires before the welfare of my people.”
Ednah shook her head. “You did what many adults in your situation would have done. I was disappointed at first, but I’ve had time to think. You had great insight at such a young age. Wisdom beyond your years. And coming to me now… it’s been a long time since the Hodda have had a humble Roshleth, willing to admit her wrongs. No, Kaela. You must confirm your path as our Roshleth. You are our only hope for undoing this terrible pact with the Adikeans.”
“I can’t change our trade deal,” Kaela said. “Even if I wanted to. I’m not allowed to speak. Not allowed to contribute.”
“Not yet,” Ednah whispered, her voice raspy. Hope intertwined with the worry in the air, snuffing it out. “But one day your voice will lead the Hodda toward a purer path. Hold on until then. Be bold. Once you’ve confirmed, there is nothing Vyad can do to remove you. Speak, respectfully, of course, but make your voice heard. Yado will be here for a while longer. Lean on him, his influence. He will help you.” She began to cough again. This time blood spattered on the back of her hand. She pointed to a rag, and Kaela handed it to her. Wiping the blood off, Ednah attempted a smile. “Promise me, Kaela, so I can pass into the afterlife in peace.”
Kaela licked her lips and wiped away more tears. “Elder, I’m not sure…” She looked down at her lap where her hands were closed into fists, squeezing so tightly her fingernails dug into her palms. “… what if I’m weak the next time, too? What if I can’t do this?”
Ednah’s breath was coming harder now, and she winced as she forced a few more words to come. “I believe in you, Kaela.”
She means it… Kaela opened herself up to absorb the Elder’s confidence in her. It bolstered her, made her feel as though perhaps she could do anything. How can this be wrong to feel, Sava?
“I believe in what the Sustainer will do with you.” Ednah grasped hold of one of Kaela’s hands and tried to lift her head. “Promise me,” she said.
Kaela’s heartbeat quickened. Her body trembled. She felt the intense will of the Elder as if it were tangible, pressing in all around her. She closed her eyes and searched deep within. The spark of passion for her path was waiting, and with the Elder’s forgiveness, with her encouragement, that passion burst into flame. And it was all because Kaela could sense another’s emotions. The dark pool, that thing that frightened her, was only a faint impression in the corner of her mind.
This feels more like a gift… not a curse… as long as I stay away from the darkness.
Kaela opened her eyes, embracing her own passion and the hope Ednah emanated. “I promise,” she said. “I will find a way to bring the Hodda back to their true path.”
Ednah’s body relaxed. All worry had dissipated. Only peace remained, enveloping them in a warm embrace. Ednah’s hand slipped from Kaela’s. With one final breath, she gave her last blessing. “May the Sustainer be with you, my child.”
Life left her, but it left her with the slightest smile of victory on her face. Kaela wept as the Elder’s inner peace bled away. She closed her eyes, clinging to the fresh memory of the warmth and comfort that was Ednah’s last gift.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Moloch
The City of Pytar, Ergon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
The Pinnacle Fortress boasted the largest library Moloch had ever seen. It was four levels of round, smoothly cut and polished stone. On each level, there was a single, circular room, and each room was slightly smaller than the one below it. A marble stair spiraled upward through the open center, guards at every floor. Only certain people had access to each level. The bottom floor was open to the public. The next level, to the merchant class. The second-to-last was for oracles, diplomats, and nobility, and finally, the very top level was reserved for the royal family.
Moloch sat at a table on the third floor, scrolls and books stacked neatly on either side of him. Bram sat opposite him. They searched through each book and scroll, looking for anything in the Roshleth Histories that could speak to the origin of the Ancient Bridges.
It was their second day poring over histories. If Moloch could find something in the Roshleth Histories that threw doubt on the Bridges’ origin, perhaps King Gonnoss would finally be convinced. The king’s religious objection was the last barrier between Moloch and success.
Though the librarian hadn’t been enthusiastic, he had ordered an assistant to help them. Every few minutes, the assistant would come back from another section and stack more resources on their pile.
Bram carefully rolled another scroll and placed it in the pile for the assistant to re-shelve. “We’ve been here for hours.”
“And we’ll be here for a few more,” Moloch said. “I have one day left to find something, anything, that might cast doubt on the Bridges’ origins. King Gonnoss is different since I revealed the baron’s treachery. If it weren’t for his faith, surely we’d already be on our way to gather our chemists and destroy Radelle’s Heart.”
“I know a lot is hinging on this for you, but sometimes a man just won’t be convinced.” Bram shook his head, grabbing another scroll.
“I don’t need you to tell me how likely it is that I’ll fail.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Bram said. “It’s just getting late. I wonder if we should pursue other avenues. I know King Gonnoss doesn’t adhere to the Temple’s ways, but their teachings are so similar to the Roshleth’s, when you come down to it. Maybe if we found an oracle—”
“I don’t think that would work,” Moloch said.
“It’s just an ide—”
Moloch snapped. “It won’t work, Bram!” he said, louder than he intended. He sighed at his outburst. “I’m sorry. I’m just… irritable. Keep looking, all right?”
Bram sighed, but did as he was asked. After the stack had been completely searched, Moloch called for the assistant to get them more.
“There’s no more, Lord Sarrem. This is all we have.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Moloch asked. “There’s nothing left? This is very important.”
The assistant licked his lips and looked over his shoulder. “Well, we have a trunk of scrolls and loose-leaf paper left to be bound. The most recent shipment from…” The assistant lowered his voice. “… Baron Morrwin.”
“All right. Where are they?” Moloch asked.
“In a locked room. They won’t be allowed out here until they’ve been lacquered and the loose pages have been properly bound. But I could let you into the room to read them.” The assistant shifted. “You just can’t take them out of that room.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Bram said.
Moloch nodded. They followed the assistant up a couple of levels and through a set of double doors. A hallway was on the other side, and he stopped at the last door on the left.
“Here it is,” the assistant said. “I’ll have to stay outside the door and make sure you don’t take anything out. It’s policy. The loose pages would be easy to steal, and they’re very rare.” The assistant’s smile faded when Moloch raised his eyebrows at him. “Not that anyone thinks you would steal anything.” His face turned white.
“It’s all right,” Moloch said. “I understand.”
The assistant pulled a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he said.
Moloch and Bram stepped into the tiny room. A small trunk sat on a table at the back wall. There weren’t any chairs, so Moloch and Bram set the trunk on the floor and sat on either side. They opened it to find scrolls and loose-leaf papers.
Moloch picked up o
ne of the papers. The script was written in red ink, the letters done in a superfluous hand. It looked familiar. He looked through the pages, and then stopped, his hands shaking. Certain words and phrases jumped out at him, familiar. It read:
Roshleth Neddia’s History of the tribe Bomen
There was once a man named Lothen who was Patriarch over the Bomen long ago. He had one daughter, who was his most precious treasure. She would marry a Bomen man and bear a daughter. Lothen’s granddaughter would then marry a future Patriarch of another tribe, thereby bringing a strong alliance within Erem.
Life was hard then, as it is now. The Desert of Eidolon could be a dangerous place. Bands of thieves had fallen upon the tribe more than once and taken many of their possessions.
One day, the Bomen were trading at Kalyom, where the King of Sozo once dwelled. He was a very powerful king, accustomed to getting all he asked for. He fell in love with Lothen’s daughter at first sight and asked for her hand in marriage. He made the offer sweeter by offering the Bomen tribe protection under his guard. He would send soldiers with the Bomen to protect them from thieves.
Lothen was tempted. But, he stood strong. Though the king was powerful and his protection would give Lothen some peace of mind, he could not break with tradition. He refused, and to this day, his decision has stood the test of time. The Bomen are still here, still strong.
Moloch’s brow was beaded with sweat, his heartbeat racing. He recalled what The Acquisitor had said about himself, that he was an artist, a master storyteller. The script in red ink… the same handwriting… the exact same words he had read off the paper in the fire.
These are forgeries.
Moloch looked up at Bram, opened his mouth to say so, but realized Bram was reading as though nothing was wrong.
Bram never saw the paper in the fire. We were more concerned about the poison, about getting The Acquisitor to go along with our plan. Bram doesn’t know…
Moloch swallowed a lump in his throat. His skin felt cold and clammy as he looked down at the paper.
Look at this. It’s basically tailored to advise the king against making a deal with Eikon. A shiver went down Moloch’s spine as what he had to do became crystal clear.
“Bram?”
“You find something?” Bram looked up, then wrinkled his brow. “You look sick, Moloch. You might want to go lie down.”
Moloch put on what he hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m fine,” he said. “I was thinking… maybe you were right. It couldn’t hurt to have an oracle’s take on it. They’re far less superstitious about the Bridges as a whole. We might find one with a decent argument. I know there’s a sanctuary here in the city. Maybe you could go and research that for me while I stay here and keep going through this trunk.”
Bram looked at the trunk and back at Moloch. “I would like to get out of here. I’ve never been one for libraries.” He stood. “This is smart, Moloch. It couldn’t hurt, anyway.”
“Exactly,” Moloch said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you about it earlier. It was a good idea.”
“Nah,” Bram said, waving his hand at Moloch’s apology. “It’s been a long span. I’ll go see what I can find at the sanctuary.”
Moloch smiled as Bram left, but that smile faded immediately. He looked back to the forgery in his hand. It wasn’t urakma paper, nor was it made from trees.
It’s parchment, made from a sandbeast’s skin. The Acquisitor went to great lengths to make this look authentic.
Moloch folded the parchment and stuck it into the waist of his underclothes. Quickly, he surveyed the rest of the forgeries to ensure none of them also might affect the king’s decision against making a deal with Eikon. Morrwin had been smart. He’d only included one, which wouldn’t look suspicious.
After putting the papers and scrolls back into the trunk, save the one tucked in his waistband, Moloch thanked the assistant, told him he’d be back later, and left the library with a determined step.
The Acquisitor had one more forgery to make.
Moloch sat by The Acquisitor’s fireplace, thinking. Hurran had gone on Moloch’s order, and with an oath to never speak of The Acquisitor again, not even to Moloch or Bram. The youth took the oath seriously, promising on his mother’s life.
It had been too easy.
Now, after this last job, The Acquisitor would flee the city to Eunoya, no one the wiser. In exchange for his safety, the Acquisitor would continue his secretive work under Moloch’s thumb, in Moloch’s city. He would lie to Bram, tell him King Gonnoss had The Acquisitor in custody. And down the line, if he needed anything, Moloch would have a well-connected forger as an asset. The lying to Bram was the only part of the whole thing that made Moloch’s stomach twist into knots. But, it was necessary. For the bigger picture.
Moloch had sat there, finalizing his plans, as The Acquisitor worked all night. Because he had planned on delivering another forgery in a few cycle’s time, he had all the materials he’d needed on hand. The parchment, already aged. The red ink. Moloch had been surprised how quickly The Acquisitor had come up with a story to fit Moloch’s needs.
Maybe he is a master storyteller, Moloch thought as he watched the man with quill and ink, completing the document with absolute precision.
It would work. Moloch was sure of it. He would sneak the document into that trunk and claim he’d found it there.
Who would question me? The Lord of Eunoya, a nobleman who’d saved the life of Prince Durand… Moloch buried any insecurities, banished any thread of guilt. I’m doing this for Eikon, for my king. For Ergon, that they be safe from the Adikeans forever. And for Junia. No one will deny us marriage after this.
Moloch looked into the fire as The Acquisitor worked, watching the flames dance.
The king dabbed his mouth with his napkin, laid it to the side, and took a deep breath as servants cleared the table of dinner dishes. Without Baron Morrwin, the dinner had been slightly less hostile than the ones before it. But Lord Nondrum was still there, his face serious, without a hint of a changed opinion about Moloch.
“Now,” King Gonnoss said. “Lord Sarrem. This has been quite the span of days, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Moloch said.
“And you have one more session with which to convince me of your plan.” The king furrowed his brow. “I’ve had no sign from the Sustainer concerning the matter, though I’ve prayed day in and day out. Your integrity and judgment are exceptional. No one in my court knew of the baron’s treachery, or if they did, they remained silent.” He gestured to his son, Prince Durand, who nodded in agreement. “In this,” the king continued, “I have found peace in trusting you. But, peace has eluded me concerning the Bridges. My brother, Lord Nondrum, is a man I also trust, and his opinions carry much weight with me. He seems unconvinced as to the necessity of such a bold and aggressive action.”
Lord Nondrum eyed Moloch from across the table, his face a picture of displeasure. “I am grateful for your insight which saved my nephew from a sure death,” he said. “But, the fact remains. The Ancient Bridges are ours. The land is ours. And the reign over it is ours. It is my opinion that it should stay that way.”
Moloch took a deep breath and focused on the king, trying to ignore the constant glare from Lord Nondrum. “Ergon does belong to you. To your people. And it will remain so always. No one can take that away from you.” Then he turned to Lord Nondrum and looked him in the eye. “Being under Eikon’s protection will not change so much as you think, Lord Nondrum. The most significant change your people will experience will be a resounding and final peace among your lands. Strategically, my plan is the way to bring that peace.”
Moloch turned back to the king. “I have something for you, Your Majesty. Something I hope will settle the matter for your soul.” Moloch gestured, and the librarian, who he’d requested bring the document, stepped forward from the wall with a box. Moloch opened it and took out the parchment, feigning reverence.
“What is that, Lord Sarrem?
” King Gonnoss leaned forward to get a better look.
“It is a document from your own library, Your Majesty. From a Roshleth’s History.” Moloch smiled, ignoring the little bit of guilt that remained.
The king’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? And you’ve found something there to help your case?”
Moloch pushed his chair back and stood. Guards from every direction tensed, but the king held up a hand, and they relaxed once more.
“May I approach you, Your Majesty?” Moloch asked, watching the guards out of the corners of his eyes.
“Yes. Please do.” King Gonnoss pushed his napkin and drink away to make room for the parchment.
Moloch set the forged document in front of the king. “As you can see here, there is a depiction of the Bridges.” Those had been a nice touch from The Acquisitor. He truly was an artist.
“Mmm-hmm.” The king squinted at the picture, studying it from different angles.
“And here, if you read the text,” Moloch pointed to the scrawling handwriting next to the picture, “you’ll find something very interesting. You see, I believe the Sustainer brought this story to me. I searched for it, of course, but it was He who allowed me to find it.” Moloch cleared his throat after the lie left his lips. He continued, determined to see it through. “This Roshleth was sure of the origin of the Pytarian Bridge. She says it was indeed given by the Sustainer as a complement to the great bridges that connect your city.
“But Radelle’s Heart Bridge was a counterfeit, built much later when the sacrilege of the dark arts was still unknown. Though it was made using the power of The Other, those who wielded the power didn’t understand the evil of their source. It’s why it’s a darker stone than the Pytarian Bridge, which is pure white. Those who built it had only partly corrupted hearts, hence the gray of the stone.