“You know him?” Ahryn seemed shocked, seizing on the connection rather than absorbing the curator's words.
“Yes, he knows me,” Ezai interjected, and both looked at him. “My history with the curator is a long tale, and we have not the time for telling.”
Ahryn opened her mouth, but Ezai cut her off. “Hecta, I am seeking knowledge you may possess.”
“I see. What sort of knowledge, Brother?”
Hearing his former title hurt inside, but he did not wince or correct the curator. “The Forbidden Texts.”
If Hecta knew anything about them, he didn't show it, because he did not react at all. He only stared at Ezai in silence, face blank. Ezai stared back, the silence in the office palpable. Ahryn grew visibly uncomfortable and started to pull at her pony tail and shift her balance back and forth. A moment later, Ezai decided to press on rather than try and wait out the old man.
“I unsuccessfully sought access to the Vo libraries. Bril Vo mentioned that in his studies to become a singer, long ago, he came across reference to a series of texts drafted in secret during the time of the purge. I wondered if you knew anything about them.”
Again, Hecta didn't respond. At least not immediately. It took another minute or so of waiting, but at last he spoke.
“Why do you seek this information, Brother?”
Ezai looked at Ahryn, who now watched him with fiery eyes filled with pain and desire to avenge her parents. Rare emotion swelled inside him, and again the odd call to protect the girl, to guide her, rose in his heart.
Is this what it feels like to raise a firstborn child?
He looked back to the curator, who continued to sit and stare.
From the beginning.
“I am bonded to Sotma Rayn, to bring justice for his slain children, Antarro and Valura.”
“Yes, I'm aware.”
“Are you aware that I have been excommunicated for the Order?”
“Yes.” Much quieter.
“Are you aware why?”
The curator shifted in his seat. “No, that I do not know. Of course, the rumors spreading through the islands speak of a man who lost his mind, driven crazy by an obsession with his father's legacy and no longer able to carry out his sacred duty. But those are just rumors, and I am not obliged to believe the words of other men with their own agenda. And those rumors don't sound like the man I knew.” He paused, then smiled in earnest. “Well, maybe the bit about your father's legacy does.”
Ezai returned the smile, a rare crack in his stoicism. “Thank you, old friend.”
“Let's hear the real story.”
“Of course. My investigation into the Rayn murders revealed a defiant assassin.”
“Impossible.”
“Is it? That is the question to be answered, and the question led me here. Of course, the other Astral would be quick to jump at the idea of an Arbiter killing singers in their bedrooms. What better way to trigger a new conflict in the Dominion. But one has to consider all the options and all the details.”
“Those are dangerous words, Brother.”
“Indeed, but there is danger in truth, is there not?”
Hecta didn't answer, but he nodded. Ezai continued.
“If the assassin is defiant, and if we agree to dispense with the notion of a rogue disciple of the Orange Dawn, we are left with only with conjecture and speculation. Myth. I'm speaking of course of the forsaken apostle, Saryx.”
Ahryn's eyes narrowed, and she looked puzzled.
“Oh, Ezai, what have you done?” Hecta asked with a frown.
“I'm sorry?”
“Saryx is a story, Brother. You can't believe he exists, can you?”
“I can, and I do.”
“So, this is why you were cast out. Perhaps the rumors had more truth to them than I thought.”
“I am getting old, Hecta, there is no doubt. I feel it in my bones. I am tired every day. But I assure you, my wits are sharp, and my strength remains.” Ezai flexed his hands and stood taller. “Saryx was real, Hecta. You know that as well as I. Let's stop with this fiction, because it will get us nowhere. There is enough confirmation in the Arcanum of the Order’s Keep regarding the movements before the purge, and I'm sure you will find—or have already found—the same in the many bookshelves lining the halls in the seminary. Still, confirmation of a myth is not enough to understand the truth,” he glimpsed Ahryn hanging off his words, “or avenge a family. There must be more. I need to know if these forbidden texts exist. Please, Hecta. This is my last resort. I cannot enter the Vo libraries, and the Arcanum is now out of my reach.”
The curator considered for a long time, and the room filled again with the awkward silence. Ezai stood steady and patient, but Ahryn could not contain her impetuous energy. She chewed at her lip and pulled at her ponytail and started to re-examine the same random objects around the room.
“Ezai,” said the curator, “there is nothing I can do for you right now, but I promise I will ask questions and find answers. In time, I may have your answers.”
It would have to be enough. “Thank you, Hecta.” Ezai beckoned to Ahryn as he turned and left the office. She followed, questions leaving her lips before he had closed the door behind them. He ignored her inquiries, bringing a finger to his lips and shushing her.
“All will become clear. Patience in all things, Ahryn. That is your first lesson.” She gave him another puzzled look. “Now come, show me how you tied that knot, and then let's set sail.”
This time she didn't try to object. Instead, she asked a simple question. “To the Academy?”
“Yes. I have many questions.”
Unlike the seminary, the Academy's island was a calm plateau, where waves gently lapped against a small rockface overhung by green grass. Ahryn helped Ezai secure their boat alongside a polished teywood dock.
“Have you ever been here before?” Feyra asked in earnest.
Ezai grunted an answer which she didn’t understand, but didn’t bother pursuing.
Together they walked from the dock to a white stone path, bricks originating from the quarries in her family's district, finely shaped and smoothed. The pathway snaked up a shallow hill and through carefully trimmed grass, until it reached the Academy, a monolithic structure made of the same white stone extending from a wide, circular base; from it, a spire reached high into the sky. Ahryn only saw outlines of the spire, as the mysterious fog covered almost the entire island and sat low. She imagined on a clear day the very top of the spire could eclipse the clouds high above.
A breeze whipped at her as she walked, causing her hair to fling about, the breeze surprisingly relentless and strong. The gently lapping waves now broke in great splashes, soaking the grass. She pulled her cloak tight as she saw Ezai do the same, then she trudged on.
Soon they approached the Academy. It was made up of a cluster of domes circling a central, sky-high spire. The domes formed a wide base, and their walls flowed into each other such that she couldn't tell where one began and another ended, like a ring of bubbles.
They found the main entrance easily, which was marked by a doorway much wider than tall. Above it, blue light etched into white stone formed the glyph of the watchers, an eye encased by a cloud floating on a horizon. The cloudwatchers were wickedly smart and bizarre, living in solitude on the coasts and forever gazing into the Unpassable Sea and ever vigilant in their charge to defend the Astral. From the perspective of her Astral kin, the wise and selfless cloudwatchers were nobility, not the Arbiters, who considered themselves righteous and just.
Ahryn had never met a cloudwatcher, despite the mutual reverence. Her reception in the entryway surprised her, as two cloudwatchers knelt before her with heads bowed. She beckoned for them to stand, and they did, reluctantly, ignoring Ezai and solely focusing on her.
“Forgive us, Astral. We were not aware of your coming. Had we been, I promise the greeting would have been much grander. The Academy is your home as much as it is ours.”
&nb
sp; Ahryn struggled to find appropriate words, shocked at being addressed in such a fashion by noble cloudwatchers. She regained herself quickly and seized at the unexpected shift in power.
“It is fine as it is, watcher, but thank you.” The walls and ceiling of the Academy distracted her; outside they had seemed to be opaque, solid stone, but inside they were translucent, providing an unobstructed view of the entire exterior and the horizon beyond. “This is amazing. How is this possible?”
The first watcher, a middle-aged man with hair curling around his eyes and soft-looking skin, beamed. “Ah, it is a substance of our own design, Astral. A salve is applied to the stone. The result is, well, you can see for yourself.”
“A salve?” Ezai seemed skeptical.
“That's right.” The first watcher flicked his eyes at Ezai before quickly returning them to Ahryn.
“Simply fantastic.” She paused for a moment, awestruck. “But why is this nowhere to be found in Celaena, or the city-homes, or our manors? Such a thing would solve so many problems, perhaps change the architecture of the Dominion completely! I can see the whole sky—”
The second watcher interjected.
“Astral, what you see is not easy, or inexpensive. The salve takes a very long time to produce. It is resource intensive, prohibitively so. There is simply no way to produce it in the way you desire. All we can do is maintain the nature of the campus, but it is enough, I think. Your buildings are built, your ways are set, and still the Astral shine.”
She was smooth, this second watcher, her voice pleasant and words crisp. Yet Ahryn had no time to be coddled. Their visit to the seminary had yielded nothing to advance her search for vengeance—nothing to enable Ezai to track down the killer—and she saw no reason to be at the Academy. She didn't understand why Ezai had brought her here.
He had referred to the unnatural fog settling over the world, and her ability to channel did seem tougher with the interference from the cloudstorm. But such was the way with bad weather; it was the very reason for the cloudwatchers. Ahryn didn't like wasting her time on this island, but she didn't have a choice. Her companion wanted to be here, and he was in charge.
“Where is the grand cloudmaster?” Ezai snipped, getting straight to the point.
The first and second watchers again flicked their eyes to the Arbiter and quickly returned them to her. “Busy.”
Ahryn sighed, wondering if the Arbiter sensed where the watchers' loyalties lied. “I request an audience with him. Please let him know an Astral has come to the Academy to speak.”
“Of course. Come, this is but the entrance. There are many wonders within, and you may wish to peruse them while the master readies himself.”
They guided Ahryn and Ezai inside, passing through various domed rooms. It was strange to walk inside, sheltered from the cool torrent from the sea, but with a view of entire island and beyond, as if walking along the coast. Her mind did not want to accept the discrepancy, so she focused her gaze inward to avoid becoming disoriented. Encased artifacts atop pedestals spotted the room—not weapons or armor or remnants of civilization past, but maps and charts made up different inks, some so faded as to almost disappear, along with wrinkled and tattered parchment and vellum.
“Who shall I say has come, Astral?” the female watcher asked in her silky voice.
“Ahryn Ferai, of Sanctus Mount.” The watchers glanced at each other, but said nothing. They then nodded and took off, leaving Ezai and Ahryn alone in the expansive dome of historic recordings.
“What do you expect to find here, Ezai? Why are we taking time away from the hunt? This place is full of academic sycophants. Why not just read the daily cloudwatch report that filters through the land?”
The Arbiter inspected a rustic-looking quill, which had probably been important to someone at some point. He set it down upon its pedestal and repositioned the glass enclosure. She saw him mumble to himself again.
“Something moves in the darkness, Ahryn.”
Why is it always a struggle to get a straight answer from this man?
“Can you elaborate?”
He stood tall, inspecting her with those hollow eyes and rendering her weak and small. Pain wrote itself all over his face, plain as day, but he never acknowledged it or hinted at its existence.
“Details are important. Another lesson for you.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, or why he kept referring to lessons like she was his pupil. But instead of saying so, she just crossed her arms and tried to look annoyed. It worked, as Ezai offered more.
“Tensions return to the Dominion. I can feel it. Your father's faith continues its spread, but I don't know by whose hand. No, not the Starmother. Someone else. Something else.”
“Corruption?” She thought back to her discussion with the old man in Gambler’s Row.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He quieted himself, then paused and seemed to think. “Maybe the starless are tired. Tired of living under the thumb of the Astral, of being reduced to laborers fighting for the scraps. At the same time, the Astral families are becoming bold. It feels like before.”
“The war?”
He nodded. “The war.”
“You think the Astral are planning another conflict?”
There was no answer. Ezai's barely moved, his statuesque figure looming over her. She considered the tensions and shuddered at what she discovered, realization erupting on her face.
“The faith wasn't around last time.”
“No,” he said. “It wasn't.”
She still felt confused. “What does this have to do with the clouds?”
Before Ezai answered, the first and second watchers returned.
“This way, please.”
The watchers beckoned for Ahryn and Ezai to follow. She looked up a spiral staircase and saw the stairs go on forever, a perpetual winding to the very top of the tower. Dread filled her, but immediately slipped away, and she was suddenly grateful for all those climbs up the Sanctus Falls.
Still, she didn't intend to make the climb unaided. Very quietly, she began her channel, casting her eyes upwards through translucent walls to the Ferai constellation in the sky above. The task proved difficult, and she strained, resorting to holding her breath, which filled her vision with flashes of her father placing his arm on her shoulder as he filtered his light.
The channel connected, a projection of Ferai winked into life before her, and then a blue mist drifted into her eyes. Ezai looked over, her starlight attracting him like a lightning rod. He frowned as he climbed unassisted, burdened by his armor and his bastard sword.
Nobody made small talk during their ascent. Though Ahryn did not struggle, the others likely were trying to save their breath on the long way up. Ahryn looked outside the translucent tower walls at the landscape slowly moving out of her sight. She saw through the fog to the adjoining islands and the churning waves, and she made out the glow of the ribbum mines from the nearby Tsac deserts. Eventually she saw the pinnacle of the towers of Celaena and even the outlines of Sanctus Mount. If she turned around she could see all the way west to the Lokka's plains and the expanse beyond. And everywhere there was water—the Unpassable Sea, and its horizon. It was a perfect vantage for any clouds attempting to make their way inland.
She brought her sight back inside the spiral stairway, and she saw Ezai's struggle. His breaths became deeper and his steps slower. But he did not complain, although every so often he mumbled under his breath. To whom was he talking? At first, she'd thought the rumors might be right: that thought his mind was lost, and he was just a banished Arbiter who talked to himself. But time spent with him had revealed only the opposite. He remained resolute and mighty, his wits sharp, but his presence ripe with the burden of sadness. Failure, maybe? Ahryn sensed a strong, inexplicable connection to him.
Their climb seemed to take hours, and Ahryn noticed sweat dripping from Ezai's brow, along with dampness at the low backs of the watchers who walked in front, but at last th
ey emerged through a square hole cut into a stone floor. They entered into another dome, one sitting far above the island and atop the spire. Ahryn couldn't guess their height, but it seemed at least as high as her family's perch atop the mountain.
A man stood with hands clasped behind his back, staring out from the dome to the world beyond. Ahryn followed his gaze, which went south from the islands and outward to the unending depth of the Unpassable Sea, and the fog continuing to roll towards them, no end in sight.
“Do you understand what it would mean to inform the world of their arriving doom?” the man called back without turning to them, his voice creaking and deep, like an old soldier.
Ezai said nothing, nor did the watchers, but Ahryn took her cue. “I'm sorry, I'm not sure I know what you mean.”
Still facing outside, the master went on, “Why do you think we exist, young Ferai?”
“The cloudwatchers?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said. “The answer seems apparent by the very name of your organization. You watch the clouds to warn the Astral about any coming risk to their connection to the stars.”
“So logical.” The cloudmaster conveyed no emotion. “But why do we serve to watch the clouds and warn the Astral?”
“I...” she started, but quickly realized she didn't have the answer. “I don't know. Why?”
“Because.” He turned to them at last, seeming to be an average old man with nothing distinctive or memorable about him. “Such was the will of Gethael.”
She recoiled, shaking her head. “What?”
“Do you know the age of this institution?”
“No.” She had no clue.
“We date back to before the purge, young Ferai. We survived the purge. We walked in the time of Neranian, and before.”
“Before Neranian?” Her mind fogged. “There were Astral before Neranian?”
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