by B. K. Boes
“And then, as the story goes, the Western Pass, the darkest of them all, was created with an even purer evil. It was built after the dark arts were discovered to be a terrible thing by those who accepted the darkness of the Other wholeheartedly, hence the black stone.”
“This is nonsense!” Lord Nondrum said. “If this was true, why would the Shal not condemn the Bridges? Why would the Temple of the Sustainer not teach such a damning history?”
Moloch glanced at Bram, who stood against the wall. He had tried to find something concrete at the sanctuary, but Lord Nondrum was right. The Temple had no solid teaching on where the Ancient Bridges originated, only vague theories, and nothing so straightforward as this.
The king scoffed. “Brother, you know how the Oracles of Eikon look down upon the Roshleths of Erem. They scorn the knowledge of the history keepers.” The king gently ran his hand over the parchment.
At the king’s comment, Moloch felt a little weight lifted from his shoulder. It’s working. This is working!
“But, I’ve heard Roshleths talk of the Bridges,” Lord Nondrum said. “Never have I heard this tale.”
“The Roshleth’s Histories are disjointed. It is one of their failings,” the king said. “Each tribe carries only pieces of the bigger picture.”
“Brother—”
“No more,” the king interrupted. “Lord Sarrem, my conscience is appeased. My people deserve peace.” He looked at Lord Nondrum. “We haven’t been able to give it to them in over a century.” And then he met Moloch’s eyes with his own. “If Eikon can indeed destroy the connecting pieces of Radelle’s Heart and the Western Pass, if your king can scour the land and rid us of Adikeans once and for all, and if our terms are adhered to without fail, Ergon will bow to King Shamylle.”
The last of the weight lifted from Moloch’s heart. He’d done it. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Nonsense!” Lord Nondrum slammed his fist on the table and stood, knocking over his chair. He stormed out of the room, without so much as a bow to the king.
King Gonnoss sighed. “He’ll come around. My brother is a stubborn man. And Eikonians have earned a dark corner of his heart.”
“I know,” Moloch said. “I’m sorry.”
“You wish to marry my niece, or so I am told.” The king’s tone was suddenly very sad, very personal.
Moloch stared after Lord Nondrum. “I do. We love each other.”
“I hope my brother can be convinced,” King Gonnoss said. “I had my doubts about you when you came here, Lord Sarrem. But you’ve changed my mind. In time, perhaps you can change his as well.”
Moloch smiled at the king, though guilt pricked at him for so easily taking his praise. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That means a lot to me.”
“You may go,” King Gonnoss said. “I’m sure much needs to be done to prepare for your plan.”
Moloch nodded. “Yes. And thank you, again, Your Majesty.” He bowed and left the dining hall, with Bram close behind.
“That went well,” Bram said as they entered the hall. “I can’t believe you found that document.” He smiled wide. “You’re the luckiest fool I’ve ever met.”
Moloch forced a smile. “Couldn’t have done it without you by my side,” he said, and he meant it, though he didn’t really want to talk about it anymore. Lying to Bram still felt wrong, though he’d settled on the fact that what he’d done had been for the best. He changed the subject and looked down the hall. “I need to speak with Lord Nondrum before we leave, Bram. I need to tell him my future is secured. That Junia will want for nothing with me.”
“Moloch, I think he might need some time,” Bram said. “He seemed rather angry.”
Moloch took off down the hallway, looking down each connecting hall, hoping for a glimpse of the king’s brother.
“I have to try to make peace,” he said. “I have to do it for Junia.”
Finally, he spotted Lord Nondrum on a small balcony that opened up in the middle of a hall. He was gripping the stone railing, looking out over the mountains. Moloch stepped quietly outside, the breeze tussling his hair. It was a beautiful view. The city was on the other side of the mountain, so it was pure nature that spread across the landscape. Peaks and valleys and blue sky stretched for as far as Moloch could see.
“Ergon is a beautiful country,” Moloch said, coming up behind Lord Nondrum.
A guttural growl came from the man at the rail. He turned and before Moloch could react, he had Moloch by the throat. “Come to rub salt in the wound, Sarrem?” He spat the word like it was a curse.
“Stop!” Bram’s dagger was at Lord Nondrum’s throat the second his hands had settled on Moloch. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lord Nondrum, but Lord Sarrem is my colonel and my friend. I’d die before I’d let anyone harm him on my watch.”
Lord Nondrum gritted his teeth but dropped his hand. Moloch gasped for breath and backed away.
“I just wanted to talk,” Moloch said. “Bram, put your dagger away.”
“But—” Bram started.
“Do it!” Moloch said. He took a deep breath when Bram backed away from Lord Nondrum. He held up his hands. “Lord Nondrum. I truly believe this course of action is best. For everyone.”
“That’s not what you came to talk about.” Lord Nondrum spit at Moloch’s feet.
“You’re right. I want to speak of my betrothal to Junia. Because of this, because of my plan and the fact that your brother has agreed to it, I will be the next Duke of Eunoya. My seat on the Eikonian War Council will likely result in the position of Chief Military Advisor. Your daughter could find no better match. You can check into my history all you want. I’m not my father, Lord Nondrum. I am loyal to Junia. Always. I can’t change what my father did to your sister. But, the king can see past that. Why can’t you?”
Lord Nondrum frowned and looked over the horizon once more. “My brother let my sister’s death go a long time ago. He never saw that your father was at fault. He’s too naïve. Too trusting.” He pounded his fist against the stone. “And now he’ll sign away the future of our nation to Eikon.”
“That isn’t what’s happening. Can’t you see that your people will benefit?” Moloch sighed when he didn’t answer. “Once I am named the future Duke of Eunoya, I will ask for Junia’s hand in marriage. Your daughter will be happy. I swear it. I’ll do everything in my power to make it so.”
“And to refuse you at that point would be political suicide.” Lord Nondrum balled his fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white.
“That’s not why I want your approval. It’s not about politics. Not for me, and not for Junia.” Moloch waited in silence for a while before finally turning to go. “I hope we can be on amicable terms one day, Lord Nondrum. Once you’ve had some time to think, to consider the happiness of your daughter, I know you’ll agree. And once Ergon is free from Adikeans and peace rules once again in the North, you’ll see this was right, too.”
Moloch left the man at the balcony railing. He had no more time to try to convince the duke of his noble intentions. He had Bridges to destroy, a country to save, a title to gain, and an engagement to secure.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Imrah
The City of Sydor, Adikea
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Imrah watched with wide eyes as the words Lapuro had written on the slip of paper disappeared. “What kind of sorcery is this?” she asked.
Lapuro chuckled. “It’s not sorcery,” she said. “It’s nature.”
“How did you come by it?” Imrah was still awed at the disappearing ink.
“Believe it or not, you can find the ingredients right here in the city, if you look under a few rocks, that is,” she said. “The ink is made mostly from the innards of the makklin slug.”
“Amazing,” Imrah said. “Will you teach me how to make it one day?”
Lapuro nodded. “Of course. It’s not especially useful. As you can see, the message only lasts for a
few minutes before it fades. This is urakma paper, grainy and rough. The discoloration of the paper is very effective in hiding the minimal traces you might find if you hold it up to the light.”
Imrah took the slip and held it up to the candle light. A few translucent marks remained, but not enough to decipher any words. “It’s perfect,” Imrah breathed. “I knew you could help, but I had no idea…” She looked up at Lapuro. “You’re always hinting at having lived such an interesting life, and yet, you never want to really talk about it.”
Lapuro licked her lips, which looked to be a bit too dry. Her slight smile at Imrah’s amazement faded. “That life… it was a long time ago. There are things I’d rather forget.”
Imrah furrowed her brow. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“I know,” Lapuro said.
“Well, thank you for this, Lapuro,” Imrah said. “It fits into my plans perfectly, and it eliminates my worries about the note falling into the wrong hands.”
“You’re sure about this, child?” Lapuro asked as she slid a little glass bottle of makklin ink, a pouch of umro, and a slip of urakma paper across the crude stone table in her little kitchen.
“Yes,” Imrah said. “It must be done.”
“Our system has been working.” Lapuro withdrew her hand, leaving the pouch, ink, and paper within Imrah’s reach. “Perhaps it would be better to rely on word of mouth and our trusted sources.”
“We can still do it that way,” Imrah said. “But we must be more daring. If we want to continue, we must prove to the Eikonians we can be more aggressive.”
“Yes,” Lapuro said. “Prestis mentioned they were getting impatient. They want more from us. I suppose it makes sense. They are putting a lot of resources into saving our boys.”
Imrah took the supplies and hid them safely in the pocket sewn into her waistline. “And they’re going to get it. We will approach more women in important households in the Central Sector. We may procure a few spies in Adikea. The rebellion could do more than put a dent in the army. I gathered a list of first generation slave-wives from my master’s records.”
“Oh?” Lapuro asked. “And is that not enough?”
Imrah shook her head. “Not if we want to make a noticeable difference. We’ve got to save more boys. The older, the better. Saving infants is wonderful, but we don’t reap the benefits for eight years.”
“We save older boys sometimes,” Lapuro said.
“Not often enough.”
“And how old is this child you’re going to try to save?”
“He’s perhaps three.” Imrah said. The majority of their successes were in saving boys under two, though perhaps two out of ten boys were older.
“I can think of no way to improve your plan,” Lapuro said. “But at the same time, I’m not sure it is the best way.”
Imrah had begun her visit by explaining to Lapuro how she planned to approach Fyla without revealing her identity. It was true. Her plan wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could come up with.
“How much do you know about this woman?” Lapuro asked, her eyes revealing her concern.
“Not much,” Imrah said. “But that’s the point.”
“I suppose…” Lapuro looked down at her wrinkled hands folded on the stone table for several minutes. Finally, she took a deep breath and used the table for leverage as she stood.
Imrah’s brow furrowed at the slow movements and the flash of pain across Lapuro’s face. The old woman was getting weaker. “Are you all right?” Imrah asked as she, too, got to her feet.
“I’m not the one we should be worrying about,” Lapuro said with a small smile. Her hands trembled at her sides, just slightly. “You must be careful, Imrah.”
Imrah came to Lapuro’s side, taking her arm and letting the old woman lean on her. “If everything goes as planned, Fyla won’t even see my face,” Imrah said. “Now, let me help you to bed, Lapuro. You seem so tired.”
“Yes,” Lapuro nodded. “I do believe I’m due for a nap.”
Imrah helped Lapuro out of the kitchen and across the little hall to the only bedroom. A stone block with layers of hay and a couple of blankets served as the bed. Lapuro shuffled to its edge with Imrah’s help and sat down.
Lapuro sighed. “If it weren’t for you and Illya, I don’t think I’d make it.”
“Nonsense,” Imrah said. “I’ve never met a stronger woman.”
“Oh?” Lapuro laughed, good-natured but too dry. “Perhaps you should look into one of those fancy mirrors in the Dakkan Household.”
“You flatter me,” Imrah said as Lapuro scooted back onto the bed and lay down, leaning against a bundle of blankets piled at one end to elevate her head. Imrah pulled a blanket over her old friend, and as she did, Lapuro grabbed hold of her hand.
“Good luck, child,” Lapuro said.
A nervous energy settled in Imrah’s chest at the thought of leaving Lapuro’s humble home to carry out her task. “Do you have any more advice for me?” Imrah asked, not quite ready to make that step.
Lapuro breathed in deeply, and then thought for a moment before continuing. “Remember the timing is very precise. She must be given a window of opportunity. Outside that window, we can’t guarantee her son will be seen by our allies. The same thing goes for if she fails to tie a white cloth around her boy’s ankle when he’s placed on the death barge and sent out into the Tehsan Ocean. That cloth is the only way they know the boy is still alive.”
Imrah nodded. “I’ll give her three days. Hopefully, we’ll have another slave-wife in our ranks by the next Holy Day.”
“I’ll have Illya notify our contacts that we might have a rescue on the horizon,” Lapuro said.
Imrah said her goodbyes and left her old friend, stepping into the streets of The Forgotten Vale. She made her way through Sydor back to the Central Sector.
The slave-wives would gather water at the well shortly after dawn. Imrah got there with plenty of time to spare. Last night, she’d emptied what was left of the Dakkan Household’s salt supply. She would have had to have gone today to get more anyway, but now she had an excuse to be in the Middle Sector so early. People like Dramede Dakkan and his family wouldn’t take kindly to an unseasoned breakfast. Imrah planned to slip the note to Fyla and then purchase the salt, making it home before the family was ready to eat.
It wasn’t long after the first light peeked over the rooftops that women and children began to swarm the well. It became busy quickly, a soft chatter rising as waiting slave-wives began their morning duties. It had been a long time since Imrah had gone to gather water at the nearby well for the Dakkan Household. That task was now Unna’s. The thought struck Imrah as she stood in the shadows.
What if Fyla isn’t the only slave-wife or the only servant in her household? What if she doesn’t gather the morning water?
As time passed, Imrah started to fear that was the case. She couldn’t stay much longer. The sun was rising, and she had to get back to the Dakkan Household with salt or risk raising suspicion. She was about to go when she spotted Fyla.
Imrah’s breath caught in her throat. She had to write the note and then quickly get it into Fyla’s hand without her seeing Imrah’s face. If the note faded before Fyla read it, the plan would fail. Imrah studied Fyla; the woman’s left hand steadied the jar against her hip, and her right hand was perched lightly on her son’s back.
I can do this. Slip the paper into her hand and keep walking.
Imrah took out the makklin ink and the slip of paper. With the slip of paper held to the wall, she uncorked the little bottle and drew out the bristles secured to the underside of the cork. The makklin ink was thick, a brownish-black. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to get the note right the first time. She’d worked out what to say, and now she quickly wrote:
There is a way to save your son. Meet me here on the eve before the next holy day, when the brother moon, Almeck, is full and straight overhead.
Now time wa
s against her. Imrah re-corked the bottle and slipped it into her pocket. Heartbeat picking up, she stepped out of the alleyway and walked quickly toward the crowd around the well, making a straight line for Fyla. She held the slip down, trying to look normal, relaxed. The crowd was thick, and Imrah had to weave between women and children. She came up behind Fyla, who was next in line to draw water.
She’s not looking. Just do it.
With only a pause in her step, Imrah slipped the paper between Fyla’s hand and the little boy’s back. Fyla gripped the paper and jumped, startled, but Imrah only saw her reaction out of the corner of her eye as she rounded the park. Imrah ducked behind a group of women to sit on a bench beside another slave-wife.
As the people moved, Imrah caught a glimpse of Fyla at the well. Her emotionless expression was replaced with a furrowed brow. She was searching the crowd, looking for whoever had slipped her the note. There was fear in her eyes.
That’s good. She’s read it.
Fyla looked back to the paper and her eyes widened. She held it up, confused.
And it’s faded.
The woman tucked the paper away in a pocket with trembling hands. Imrah took another deep breath.
It’s all up to you now. I hope to see you in two days’ time.
Chapter Sixty
Jabin
The City of Nomika, Eikon
8th Cycle of Chenack
989 Post Schism
Half a span passed slowly for Jabin. He’d never spent one day in such discomfort, sitting on the cold, hard dirt floor of a cell in darkness, only being fed once a day. Seven days in, and Jabin was starting to lose his mind.
There was enough room to stand, but Jabin could stretch his arms out and touch the walls. He had nothing but a bucket in which to relieve himself. At first, he’d tried over and over again to explain to the guard who fed him what had happened. But the foul-mouthed oaf would hear nothing of it.