Takha felt at home in the shrine for the first time since his ascent with the one hundred disciples so many weeks ago. Luck may have brought them into the inner circle of the faith, but the one hundred had quickly earned their place.
He had toiled and sweat in rags for far too long, the rigors of manual labor far below his stratum. Exhaustion and self-pity had laced his many long walks back to his home near the Nightmarkets—a much nicer place to sleep than most found so far inside the city. Most high-strata commoners yearned to live close to the Astral and near the outer perimeter, but he hated change and preferred to stay where he was.
What was he doing? Doubts plagued him, and he questioned the brutal, shameful extent of his effort. He hated the Astral more than ever. The growing fury was fueled by what he’d learned of the faith and its teachings. It was a union of unstoppable rage and zealous persecution, and he was ready to wield the might of a religious following with no limits.
Tonight, underneath the chamber's dome and amid the pomp and regalia of the ascension ceremony, everything felt just right. The ceremony was not normal, not routine, not just the mark of the end of the starless journey to epiphany; instead, it recognized the elevation of a chosen few to the solemn role of prophet, selected from the one hundred to carry Gethael's words to the people.
He stood to the side, casually leaning up against a wall and watching. The hall was filled not only with the one hundred, from whom the prophets would be chosen, but ten times as many starless faithful, kneeling on the floor and chanting under a warm, cloudless night. Starlight seeped in through the spiral openings in the dome, bathing the faithful and causing their blue robes to glow. The one hundred lined the walls of the chamber, a ring around the worshipers, and amongst them walked the Starmother. She passed through, touching men and women on the shoulder, bending down beside them to whisper words he'd never know. Likely she spoke the same dogma etched into his mind, the same call to the stars and Gethael's salvation. No matter how he truly regarded the faith, he recognized its awesome power. It was a galvanizing cause bringing starless together into an unshakable force.
The Astral were right to fear the faith; the shadow man was right to want to destroy it. Yet he’d permitted Takha’s plan to infiltrate and manipulate the faith, perverting it to their own ends. It was a dangerous gambit.
“Enjoying the show?” Juppa snuck up beside Takha, the prophet’s cheery voice an unwelcome interruption of his thoughts.
Curse this man!
“It's quite a sight, I must say.” Takha altered the tones of his voice when speaking to Juppa, catering to the man's status and attempting to invoke a sense of wonder. “So many came back to the stars. Your doing, Prophet Juppa.”
“Not just mine,” said Juppa. “I only share in the Starmother's success. She strictly followed the Patron Ferai's instructions and kept to the celestial teachings.” Juppa swept his arm over the horizon of the chambers and the thousand chanters within. “This is her doing, my friend, and I am just an instrument of a greater plan. Even she is just a tool of the Bringer. We are all intended for ascension, Takha, and thereafter the stars are ours.”
Yes, yes, I've heard it all before.
Takha always grew bored of Juppa's preaching, and boredom came relatively quickly after the man began talking. But he played his part well, especially since the endgame was in sight. Crafty thoughts had invaded his mind of late, thoughts likely to draw the shadow man’s ire.
Takha was no fool. The faith grew powerful every day. And here he was, a simple starless banker, ready to become a prophet like Juppa. He was ready to wield the faith in his hands and shape the faithful as he saw fit. All his life he scrambled to climb strata, holding no influence save for the smoke he drew from deceit and the mirrors of society to reflect it. Now he saw a chance, a real chance, to seize for himself prestige and privilege.
Takha saw Juppa studying his face. Did the man suspect the machinations working within Takha’s mind? How could he? Takha had played every aspect of his role just right.
“Takha,” said Juppa. “Soon you will be one of us, too: a medium for Gethael's light.”
“You don't know that. The Starmother hasn't made her selections. I am but one of many.”
“Please, Takha, you are too humble. Your call to Gethael is stronger than any of the others, and everyone can feel it—can't you? Are you excited?”
Takha accepted the praise. “Oh, yes, Juppa. I can feel it, and I am thrilled, to be honest. To think of bringing the starless to the stars, to be responsible for reintroducing the light of Gethael and the salvation it brings, is more than I'd ever hoped. Who knew this would be where my journey led? Who knew what waited for me atop the stairs at the end of my climb. What a day that was!”
Juppa smiled. “What a day indeed. I remember it well. You kicked and elbowed your way up the stairs to the top of the shrine. Hah, don't worry, so was everyone else! Fervor runs deep. Don't look surprised, Takha. I am a realist, and I'm not blind. I see the ardor in the faith—it's almost frightening at times. The death of the Patron Ferai has only emboldened the faithful, and the most devout of followers I see in the streets have become zealots. The ripples of devotion are beginning to coalesce into a wave. Who knows how high it will reach, but I imagine we will find out in time.”
Interesting.
Even the pious Juppa recognized the momentum, the inertia of the faith, though the man likely had no bad bones in his body. He'd never appreciate the possibilities stretching out before Takha's eyes, the emerging paths from one step to the next.
“Come now.” Juppa motioned to Takha. “The ascensions are beginning.”
The two men left their perch on the wall, as did the other hundred. Together they walked inward, moving between the kneeling faithful who continued to chant until they reached the center of the chamber. There they made a smaller circle, the Starmother in the middle. Each pulled a candle from their robes and held it upright in front of them. Takha played the events through his mind, recalling the directions Juppa gave the night before. Soon, new prophets would be selected, their candles lit aflame by the Starmother, the guardian of the faith.
She called out, “Children! Children of the light. Tonight, is special; tonight, we do not just sing the stars. We do not only beckon Gethael's warmth. We do more! Tonight, we welcome the newest shepherds of the light—the newest chosen to deliver the faith's word to every corner of Celaena and beyond, throughout all of the islands of the Dominion. They will deliver Gethael’s word to every island in the Dominion, to the great eastern plains, and outward into the Expanse. The faith will continue to flow from this humble shrine, and from each other shrine that has been erected and will be erected. Tonight, our new prophets will ascend. Come with me, let us lend our voices to their journey.”
In unison, the gathered faithful met the Starmother’s pitch as she gently hummed a familiar celestial tune. As she did, she drew her own candle and set it alight in the hearth that sat in the epicenter of the chamber. Then she began to move around the circled hundred. She did not light any candles on her first pass, instead taking the time to greet each and every one of the aspirants with a kind word and a soft smile. Takha gripped his hands tight and bit his lip, stifling his growing impatience.
The selections began on her second pass. She stopped first in front of Ebagnor, an elderly woman who had slaved in the ribbum mines for years. Next was Trinya, a polished-looking fellow who tailored silkweave. One left. Anxiety burrowed into Takha's mind. The entirety of his plan depended on climbing the hierarchy of faith. He’d spent his entire life cultivating his skill of deception and mastering his craft of manipulation so he could jump strata, and he’d employed all of his talents over the last several weeks. Juppa had confided in him more than any of the others, and Takha excelled to the point that even the Starmother had taken notice. She'd spoken with him more than once about his success. It had to be him. If it wasn't, he doubted the shadow man would leave him alive on the next visit.
> The Starmother stopped in front of him, and the eyes of the hundred fell upon him. In that moment, his plans and schemes escaped his grasp; his head suddenly empty, and his eyes grew wide. The serenity of his surroundings engulfed him, and the weight of adoration collapsed upon him. The Starmother spoke.
“Takha Shun, you have displayed a holy spirit from the very beginning. Strong. Passionate. Fierce. I see the light within you, burning bright and loud. Gethael's words gush from you with ease, a cascade of conviction that rises to the splendor of the nameless apostles. It is with true love that I set your candle alight.” She did, and it glowed in the night. “Welcome, Prophet Takha. The faith is with you, and you are with the faith.”
The crowd chanted the words, repeating the Starmother's address. Emotion nearly moved Takha to tears. Conflict raged within. He’d succeeded, garnering trust and worming his way into a position of consequence and control. But in the same fashion, he enjoyed a real connection with the faith; he had a bond with the hundred, with the thousand faithful within the chambers, with Juppa, and with the Starmother. He’d never experienced such inclusion—he’d never belonged. The same peace he’d experienced on his stroll through the quarries, bleeding and sweating from the labors of stone hauling, surged through him again.
It didn't last. Takha cursed his real family, the relics of his past who had tossed him out as if trash. It pleased him to know their spiteful act had forged an unmovable force of will. The sanctity of the evening and the ceremony dissipated, and the cloud of devotion faded. Takha's ambition rushed into the vacuum, and the blueprint of the Astral's destruction reformed in his vision. In the end he would be left standing, with nothing and no one to stop him.
“Out of my way. Move!”
Veydun pushed aside the throng, wading between starless bodies littering the Nightmarkets. He always hated this place, full of commoners who endlessly attempted to invoke a bond. They knew better, knew to send their missives to the stream, but they didn't care. He soured at so many tattered garments and sullen faces all around him, crying at him as he passed, begging.
Garbage.
The poor had no use for the traditions of better men. They were selfish, only caring for themselves. And their justice involved petty debts and quarrels, which were a waste of time for an Arbiter of any stature, but especially someone like him. Their tasks were better suited for the naive and proud, like Ezai, who only thought of purity and conscience. Veydun smirked. His wayward Brother had been deprived of his sacred Order. What was the man to do without his hallowed tenets, the guide on his path to righteousness?
Suddenly he squirmed at a pang of guilt sweeping through his body, an uncontrollable itch that resisted his dark thoughts. He stopped, grabbed at his side, and bent over, then took a deep breath and ignored the eyes falling upon him.
In truth, Ezai, son of the Eagle, was not a bad man, and did not deserve his fate. He had suffered the cruel ramifications of the movements of the Astral he did not see and had not expected, their conniving and manipulation too swift. But, alas, the ends had a way of justifying the means, and subversion of the Order required the son of the Eagle to be cast away.
The pangs finally receded, and his breathing became more controlled. The Astral would take the Order’s place as keepers of the Dominion, of that he had no doubt. More importantly, only then would Veydun be free of his damned morality, which was only a shackle on his soul. Life was short; it should be spent in lust and plenty, not in charity and altruism. He sniffed, righted himself, and continued walking toward his target, whose outline he saw.
It was his bad luck to be firstborn to his family, to have had no choice in his upbringing. No matter. It would all be done soon; the next step was to bring the Ferai girl to Sotma and deliver her into the waiting arms of the architect of the grand plot. The Raynlord wanted her with him in his manor, where he could twist her mind and claw away the faith for himself, keeping her as an ally in his crusade. Veydun had thought the plan clever, capable of solving two problems at once: the faith put to rest and the Ferai holdings subsumed by the Rayn.
Veydun looked at the girl, so young and innocent. He’d tracked her here, which had not been an easy task. Celaena was large, teeming with life, and a young Starsinger could lose herself in the city with ease. Sotma had provided the first clues to her whereabouts, the only information he’d needed: she had come into the wharf by swiftclip. From there, Veydun had spoken with shopkeepers and drunks and put together a picture of the girl’s movements. In his investigation, he’d learned another Arbiter had been around, one who seemed disheveled and had kept to himself. Ezai. Had his Brother crossed paths with the Ferai girl and introduced an interesting twist in the Astral's plans?
Once he’d arrived in the Nightmarkets, finding the girl had been easy. Though she’d taken steps to disguise herself, a Starsinger could never really hide. She stood too straight, held her head too high, and commanded stares and gestures from onlookers wherever she went. Even they, simple starless, knew her for what she was: better than them.
Veydun didn't respect the Astral, but he recognized their sheer power. In life, power was everything. Only defiant Arbiters like him could shield the starless from the singers; without that balance, tyrannical despots could ascend to their rightful place. The Ferai girl, so near to him now, would one day hold the same power. One day she would wield the star, but for now she remained a child and stood no chance.
He continued to keep his gaze upon Ahryn Ferai, who sat on a stone bench in front of a fountain, all by herself, circled by white birds hopping and cooing as they pecked at bread scattered on the ground. A book hung in her hands, a star on the cover, and she read from it with rapt attention. Every so often, she reached into a paper bag beside her, and would then flick morsels of bread at her feet. Veydun watched intently, taking the measure of her from afar. She looked up once or twice in a break from her reading, and raised a palm over her shawl. Had she seen him? Impossible. Yet when he finally approached, she did not look up or run, but simply continued to read, disinterested.
“Interesting book?”
She didn't lift her eyes from the open pages. “Fascinating, actually.”
“Filled with fairy tales and romance and pretty things, no doubt.” Veydun saw the impact of his words, an inference she could not ignore. The girl snapped her book closed and raised her chin.
“And what do you know of pretty things?” she asked, unamused. “Not much, I gather.”
“Oh, ouch,” he said. “A lady Astral should hold herself with more class, no? Especially the daughter of noble House Ferai.”
She quipped back without hesitation, “A disciple of the Orange Dawn should be more respectful, no?
“You've got a smart mouth.” Veydun crossed his arms.
“Hah.” She chuckled. “Look who's talking. I'm surprised you're so repellent, to be honest, given you've not much to hide behind except that fragile-looking steel and that stringy red hair.”
Veydun pursed his lips, stung and annoyed. He was the one to give out the barbs, he did not take them. If anyone else had spoken with him this way... Sotma had plans, though, so he must be careful. He hated biting his tongue and swallowing his pride, but sometimes the occasion called for it. A small sacrifice, in the end.
“My lady, I apologize. It seems we are off to a bad start, and the fault is mine. May I sit?” He motioned to the seat next to her on the bench.
“Only if you promise not to call me that again,” she said.
He grinned, then sat. “Of course. My name is Brother Veydun. I am an—”
“Arbiter, I know. How do you know I am Ferai?”
“It is my business to know, so I know.”
“Fine. Are you taking more bonds?” She was immediate, forceful. He had not expected it and adjusted on the fly.
“Do you seek justice, Lady Ferai?”
She grimaced, but did not object to the title. “That I do. For my parents.”
“Ah.” He sat straighter and
put his hands on his thighs. “I was sorry to hear. Your family were good people. Such a despicable act.”
The girl busied herself putting her books away and shoving them into her sack. Veydun watched her shift as she stowed the tome with the star, gently laying it on top of the others. It must be a special book for her, perhaps something from her father.
“Thank you,” she said, though with no sincerity. Her voice was cold—she appeared to have already hardened to the reality of the world. “So will you bond, if I ask for such a thing?”
Veydun coughed.
This must be handled delicately.
If he offended her she may not return with him to the Rayn manor. He turned to the side and looked at her in earnest, adopting a sympathetic gaze. It made him sick.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I cannot be of help. I'm sure you're aware that the tenets do not allow for personal invocation.” Her face sunk as he spoke, as if she'd dropped a disguise. “You'll have to send a missive to the Keep and place your paper in the stream, just like everyone else.”
Within a moment, she steeled herself again. She stood up abruptly, then grabbed her sack. “Then there's nothing you can do for me. I've been waiting for nothing.”
“Waiting?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “You don't think I picked up your scent back in the Rayn quint? I hadn't left the wharf by the time you arrived, marching around so pompously and asking your questions. I stayed just far enough ahead to keep you chasing, yet not too far so you'd lose me.”
Veydun resisted his impulse to violence, a temptation that had grown with every step he’d taken away from the Order and its tenets, but he kept his rapier sheathed and face neutral. “I see. May I ask why?”
“I was curious, and I'd not had the chance to speak with the other one. Also I was bored. So, I played a little game.”
“Very clever,” he said, hiding his hatred. “But before you leave, might I make a suggestion?”
Remember the Dawn Page 19