“Secrets, you say?”
Ezai took the question as an invitation. “Secrets from long ago. Before the purge.”
“Ah,” he said, his only response. Silence drifted between them, and Ezai's attention turned to the hundreds of men and women, singer and starless alike, who went here and there throughout the structure without a word. All carried a book, or a scroll, and seemed oblivious to the interaction. Academics indeed.
Ezai continued unprompted. “There is a link between the growing faith and the Astral murders. Darkness comes to Celaena— perhaps returns—and the resurgence of the forsaken apostle is no story, no myth. Truth lies somewhere in there.” He pointed his arm to the spiraled staircase leading down the chutes in the hill until they reached the cavernous libraries below.
His words hung, conviction resonated, but Bril did not emote. Instead, he spoke slow, and cool.
“Ezai.” He stopped, considered again. “Brother Ezai. You speak dangerously. The purge happened thousands of years ago, but it left a black mark on the Dominion's history, a reckoning never to be forgotten. The wisdom you seek is fire, and it burns any who grasps it. That is why any trace was destroyed, along with any who sought to preserve it. You seek dangerous things.”
“Let me worry about the flame and danger, Bril. I will defy that, too,” Ezai pleaded.
“I am sorry, Ezai. There is nothing here to help you, even if I opened the libraries. House Vo has its secrets, to be sure, and there are gems within most would die to see. But we have not survived the swings of time through unneeded recklessness. After the purge, if anyone—man, woman, or child—was found harboring scriptures of faith of any sort, they would have been destroyed. Even then, the Astral who had begun to shimmer with starlight and unlock their magic could not resist the weight of an entire world's malice.”
Ezai deflated. Never had the light of his path grown so dim. He felt disconnected, unsure. Nothing in his tenets provided for the absence of a way forward; nothing in his experience prepared him.
Father, help me.
“However, there is something.”
Ezai snapped to attention, shrugging the unfamiliar anxiety to the side. “What's that?”
Bril Vo struggled with his next words, as if to convince himself. “It's something I read in the seminary, long ago, when I trained to be a singer. It was a reference of a reference—a tertiary source, at best.”
Ezai clung to the man's voice, rapt, perhaps desperate.
“After the purge,” he said, “there were many deviants. Old men who rejected the abolishment of their faith. Celestial worshipers devoted to its survival. There were reports of forbidden scriptures, the binding of a codex that preserved the dogma.”
Bril finished his revelation, but to Ezai's dismay it had not been as illuminating as he’d hoped. “Is that all?”
“I told you, a reference of a reference. It is the best I can do.”
Ezai folded his thick arms encased in metal armor. “You're right. It's something.”
“So,” said Bril. “If it is knowledge you seek, secret knowledge of the past, then there is at least a breadcrumb to follow.”
Ezai nodded. “And I will follow it.”
Bril now grinned wide, the academic inside showing his pleasure. “I ask only one thing, Brother.”
“I will hear your request, and then I will consider.” Ezai owed the man for having shared the knowledge, but not enough to blindly commit himself to an Astral.
The plump man stood from his chair, approached the Arbiter, and raised his eyes to meet the taller man’s. “If it's true—if one of these books has survived the ages and you are lucky enough to find one—when you are done with it, when you gain the knowledge you seek, bring the book to me, Ezai. It would find no more deserving a home, no more deserving a student to study its pages.”
Ezai weighed the Astral and found him to be genuine. Nesher, the Eagle, had taught his son to be humble as well as thankful.
“You have my word, Bril Vo. Thank you again.”
Ezai moved from the study to the door, ready to venture forth into the tattered Orchards and onwards to a swiftclip. Where he would go from there, he did not know. He turned to Bril and asked him of the destruction.
“What happened here?”
Bril's smile disappeared, and his haunted look returned. “A tidal wave, high and wide, crashed into the island. It came from waters to the east. We were not warned, and we received no caution from the cloudwatchers. The toll was devastating. Many died, Ezai.”
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Ezai, unable to comprehend. He didn't know what else to say.
Bril did not respond, only nodded and sat again in his chair. The conversation now ended, Ezai turned to leave the manor. As he began to close the door, Bril called after him, his voice faded on the rising wind.
“Look for the star.”
Ahryn crinkled her nose at the smell of Gambler’s Row assaulting her nostrils as she left the coliseum and her first League fight. The trend of the League was impossible to avoid. Wherever she went she heard tales of epic battles between zealous singers and the pride earned for their respective House. When she’d been at the seminary, nose stuck in the Doctrine, the other aspirants had prattled on about upcoming duels, casting predictions and setting bets. It had never made sense to her before now.
Memories played in her mind: streaks of light, crackles of electricity, screams of joy and dismay. Tonight's bout had been a special occasion, featuring two Rayn cousins pitted against each other. They were nephews of Sotma Rayn, she had learned from an enthusiastic waterman sitting next to her in the stands. Papers with rankings and projections spilled from the man's pockets as he jabbered on about the delights of combat, all the while blushing while sharing company with an Astral.
The combat between the cousins had proved a violent affair, which had seemed to concern the grey-haired Arbiter woman who’d kept watch over the match, ready to jump in to protect the starless viewers. Often, she had gripped the handle of the mace dangling at her side and seemed set to intervene, but never had, and the match had ended in a grand spectacle of starlight. The waterman had yelled, ecstatic, hardly able to speak as he jotted down updates on his papers and calculated winnings. She remembered smiling alongside him, caught up in the excitement.
A mass of starless bodies exited the arena, vibrating with energy and bumping into each other. She imagined the radiance of her star after establishing the channel, when she imbued herself with magic flowing from a monolithic celestial body, and sympathized. Such power was euphoric, and highly addictive. She had never considered that the starless, bereft of starlight, could find their own connection: a connection with emotion and purpose. Here was where they channeled—not with a star, but with each other, with the thrill of common purpose. The revelation shook her.
A group of young boys and girls hurried past, clad in loose-fitting blue robes, hushing and pointing as they went, keenly aware of her Astral presence. They were so young, yet the faith was for everyone. More and more she could not escape the reality of her father's legacy. She had wandered far and wide the past few days since her encounter with the slimy Arbiter, mind split with the decisions she faced, and everywhere she saw the worshipers. They played their games, completed their work, engaged in debate and discussion, and always they spoke the words of Gethael. Always they seemed content, satisfied.
Common purpose. Her face dawned in another realization, finally keyed to the potential of the faith's movement, finally beginning to understand why the faith was not to be feared, and why her father may have shepherded its return. Just as the singers glowed with their star, just as the starless swelled with exhilaration and anticipation at the next League combat, the faithful surged with purpose and determination to find salvation in the light. It was what they called ascension. In the end, all people of the Dominion—Astral, starless, or otherwise—came from the light, and to the light they would all return. So it was told, and so it would be.
The thrum of Gambler’s Row quickly faded, now only echoes on the wind, and the streets emptied until she walked alone, well back from the children she followed. Quieter now, the children's whispers carried all the way to the shop they finally entered. The shop bore no markings and nothing to suggest what may lay within. Ahryn didn't see any windows; the building had likely been built to block the sky and shut out the stars. It was a secret meeting place, where Starsingers dared not venture. Inside, she may not have the ability to channel.
Briefly, the offer delivered by Veydun—Sotma's offer—flashed in her mind. Sword and star joined in elegance. With such training she'd never worry about the sky being obscured, never feel weak without a view of the Ferai star.
But the children she had followed through the streets, and surely the adult now standing before her, were celestial folk, pious and peaceful. She wouldn't need Ferai; there would be no reason to sing. Confident, Ahryn walked up to the shop, opened the door, and stepped inside.
“Hello, Ahryn.”
Surprise took her. Twenty or so blue-garbed worshipers stood in a semi-circle, facing her, the children she'd followed among them. They all looked at her with warm faces, gentle smiles, and hands clasped in their robes. Tables and chairs were pushed to the side, the shop empty except for the gathering of celestial.
What is this?
Ahryn's instinct told her to run, escape to the street and call up her star. She must have seemed ready to flee, because the eldest looking of the group pushed forward and spoke.
“Please, stay. You are safe herewith us.” There was no tremble in his voice, no fear. Instead, she heard steadiness and calm. Realness. The man with crinkled skin and kind eyes reminded her of Hecta, and she her mind set at ease. Yes, he meant it. Ahryn trusted him instinctively.
She closed the door behind her, then moved closer to the circle. “Who are you?”
The elderly man smiled wide, as if she'd told a joke. “No one special, Starchild. We are just people.”
“You know me?” Her questioned betrayed her innocence.
Soft laughter rippled through the ring, and the elderly man replied for the celestial gathering. “We do, Ahryn Ferai. Your father brought the faith back to Celaena, restored us to the light.” He bowed his head, as if ashamed. “We were all very saddened to hear of his passing.”
“Thank you,” she said, grief in her throat. “It's very kind of you.” Ahryn fidgeted, suddenly feeling very awkward, standing in a vacant shop off Gambler’s Row and surrounded by an adoring bunch of worshipers who looked up her as if a god. She balanced herself, narrowed her mind, and became inquisitive.
“Have you been watching me?”
“Yes,” he said. “Ever since you left the seminary.”
“Why?” She didn't convey anger, only curiosity, and she ensured her tone fit her mood. Faces in the group remained serene, and all seemed united in their welcoming.
“There are many answers to that question, Ahryn. Many answers, but only one reason. It is a simple reason, and important. Your father refused to sit in the holy seat, despite so many requests from the Starmother—a Starmother he personally chose, might I add. I believe he thought if he took the seat himself he would be intruding.”
“Intruding?” She didn't understand.
“He wanted the faith to grow by itself, I think. Organically. He wished for it to spread to the hearts of the people by virtue of what it is, not by who speaks for it.”
“And it has!' she exclaimed, perhaps too loud, but the man only chuckled.
“To be sure, the faith spreads far and wide. But now it needs a shepherd, a keeper to ensure the flock does not stray. It requires an icon to which the celestial may cling, for ideals alone are never enough. The Starmother, beautiful and serene, is still only starless, still only a steward. Only an Astral may lead the faith. Such was once the way of things.”
She understood now. “You're afraid of another purge.”
“Ah, I see your father's intelligence lives in you.” He smiled again. “Yes, Ahryn, we are afraid of another purge. But it's not only the threat of persecution we fear; there is another danger.”
“Tell me!”
“Passion is treacherous, Ahryn, and it can be bent and shaped until it does not resemble what it used to be. There are men and women of this world who know that, yet they abuse that truth for their own ends. Every new wildfire of faith that burns through another corner of Celaena requires a spark. Those sparks come from prophets, particularly devout followers with a gift for communicating the will of Gethael. Prophets themselves are chosen, selected, but even the purest of rivers may be tainted at its source. Control of the faith is a pendulum, Ahryn. On one side is organic growth born of virtue. On the other side...” His voice trailed off.
“Control.” She finished for him.
He nodded. “Indeed. Always a delicate balance, but the faith swings too far into darkness.”
Darkness in the faith?
The idea plagued her, a taint on her father's legacy and on her House's integrity. Worse, it was a corruption of the holy, the divine.
If that’s true, the festering must be stopped.
“You suspect an evil within the faith?”
“Evil is a strong word. Still, something stirs, and it smells foul.”
“Is it the Starmother?”
“Goodness, no.” He seemed perturbed at the very idea. “She is a fine woman, beyond reproach. But yet, Ahryn, we do feel something is amiss. If we are right, the consequences would be dire. The faith would face another purge, Starchild; it is possible for the Astral to create for themselves an excuse, a reason to stamp out the faith and in so doing take hold of the city with the starless beneath their boots. Your family has always been different, Ahryn, but there is no denying the aspirations of the others. One must only look a decade in the past to see.”
Another war loomed. She didn't know much about the past one, as she had only been a child when the battles had broken out, but she knew enough to understand bloodshed and famine.
“The Order will never allow it. The Arbiters keep you secure.”
“I wish that were so, young one, but time has not been good to the stalwart disciples of the Orange Dawn. The Eagle has fallen, his son has been exiled, and the Lion withers in the Keep and takes no further interest in the affairs of the starless. Even now, the call for justice goes unheeded more and more. One needs only walk the streets in the poorest districts, even in the Nightmarkets, to see. The old ways are coming apart at the seams, and a new tragedy rushes in to fill the gaps.”
Ahryn's understanding of the Dominion's structure revolved around the balance preserved by the defiant Arbiters. If it was disrupted, the foundations would shake.
“What should I do?”
“Take the holy seat, Ahryn, where your father should have sat from the moment he brought back the faith. The choice is not easy, we understand, and without purity of heart it may be simple to seize power for yourself. But we are sure in you, Ahryn. Guide the faithful to a path of light. Weed out the taint seeping through the shrines, even as we speak. Save the celestial before it is too late.”
The responsibility seemed immense, the weight of it crushed her breath, and she gasped for air by reaching for reasons to flee. “The moonlight treasury, my family's estate—”
“Pebbles.”
“I'm sorry?” His response was so simple, so abrupt, that she temporarily forgot her anxiety.
“In the end, Ahryn, it is the stream of faith which must endure. All else are just pebbles over which the stream flows. In time, the pebbles erode and are forgotten. But the stream flo
ws on.”
“But I can't forget tradition,” she pleaded, “or my family, and everything that my family built.”
“And no one is asking you to do that, Ahryn. There are many within the faith that are more than willing to serve, to assist as able. You don't need to bear the weight of politics and logistics, nor concern yourself with coins and coffers, trade and taxes. Leave those constructs to another. Simply bring your focus where it belongs.”
At last, her future illuminated. The last memory of her father played in her mind, in the boat on the way to Celaena, gaze fixed on the murals at the city's entrance. They’d discussed the past, the truths that were behind the history of the world. Everything turned back to the celestial. It must be the way.
“Who will be my trustee? Who will steward my House and ensure it survives while I do my duty?”
“That decision is yours, Ahryn, and no one else's. But if I may offer a suggestion? What about the Starmother? There is no one more qualified, and she was very close with your father. House Ferai will be in good hands until you are ready.”
Ahryn agreed. “I think that is a fine idea.”
“I'm glad.” The man clapped. “The news is yours to share, not ours. When you make your way home to the first shrine—the shrine your father built in the quarries—everything will change. Until then, my girl, stay safe. Celaena is a dark place, despite the light ever present in its streets. And everywhere this strange fog crawls, growing thicker by the day.”
“I will stay safe, friend.” She reached out and took him by the hands, exchanging warm smiles.
“Light be with you, Ahryn Ferai.”
“And with you,” she said.
Chapter Thirteen
“The past echoes with the cries of those who did not respect their star. They searched for the light, but found only the burn.”
- Neranian's Second Degree
Takha squinted under a blazing sun sitting in the sky directly overhead, which was somewhat obscured by wisps of fog. He tried to measure the swarm of starless who had taken up residence in the strawweaver's square and count the slack-jawed faces looking up at him. They all wore bland, expectant expressions. Many stood with arms crossed and bags of straw at their feet; some leaned against pillars and chewed at pieces of straw in their mouths, and some sat back and wove two strands together without a glance. Working folk were said to be the hardest laborers in Celaena, though their efforts paled at the slaves who mined ribbum in the Tsac deserts.
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