The man sighed, as if speaking to a child.
“There were no Astral as you have come to know them, but there were men and women who commanded starlight. Such was the legacy of the apostles.”
Ahryn couldn't think straight, couldn’t process the information. She saw Ezai focusing intently on the cloudmaster and his words. Maybe he'd explain it to her later.
“So, you were tasked with watching over these... pre-Astral?”
“That is an accurate description.”
“Why?”
“As I said, young Ferai, because it was Gethael's will. There were... complications...”
“Before the purge?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know this?” Ezai jumped in at last. “Nothing survived the purge.”
The cloudmaster laughed. “You wonder if we keep the Forbidden Texts? No, Arbiter, you will find nothing here of the sort. We have tradition, wisdom passed from generation to generation to those who are worthy. I think you are familiar with this method?”
Ezai straightened, mumbled under his breath, then went quiet. The cloudmaster turned back to Ahryn.
“Now, young Ferai, tell me this: How do you think the benefactors of your father's resurrected faith would react if they were to learn that Gethael, the Bringer himself, had commanded the Astral's protection?”
“It wouldn't be pretty.”
The cloudmaster smiled. “No, I suspect not. Neither would it be pretty if we were to enable the slaughter of so many devout followers of Gethael. You feel it, don't you, Brother Ezai? The coming storm of fury kept alight all these years, never fully snuffed?”
“Yes,” said Ezai. “I feel it.”
“So, back to the beginning. How does one inform the world of its impending doom, if at all? How can one make such a choice? I am burdened by knowledge.” The cloudmaster brought his hands in front of him and interlaced his fingers, holding them low. “Some time ago, one of our new trainee watchers found something incredible. A sequence of math and extrapolation that would have made any instructor proud beyond measure. He was ignored at first, of course, since he appeared to be mad with unverifiable ravings. But in secret, we double checked and inspected. What did we learn? He was right.”
“What of this man?”
“Publicly ignored and discredited.”
Ahryn expressed her horror. “But why?”
“Because his discovery carried grave implications, my dear. Powerful, frightful consequences, and the knowledge so impactive it may change the world.”
“This storm.” Ezai's voice was calm as ever, as if he'd known all along.
“Yes, Brother. This storm.”
“I saw destruction, in the Twilight Orchards. A wave had flattened vegetation and uprooted ancient trees. Was that a consequence?”
“A small one.” said the cloudmaster. “The real danger is all around us.” He swept his arms around the translucent dome.
Ahryn squeezed her eyes shut, which were no longer misted from her climb. She recalled the difficulty she'd had linking with her star and establishing her channel, and she suddenly understood the enormity of the problem.
“The fog, it will keep coming?”
“Yes, young Ferai. Thicker and fuller, until all the sky and stars are blotted from sight.”
“The Astral must be warned!”
He didn't react to her elevated tone. “Must they?”
“They would be defenseless!” Ahryn cried out for her kin.
“Against whom, young one?”
Ahryn searched her mind for an answer, one she believed she already knew. But she could not find it. “I… I don’t know.”
The cloudmaster smiled. “I said before, how can I enable the slaughter of the starless, of Gethael’s followers? Your father's people?”
“Why would warning the Astral enable a slaughter?”
“Perhaps you should ask your friend, young Ferai. He understands, I can see in his eyes. Yes, it is clear to him now.”
Ahryn turned to Ezai, who stood solid and unmoving, and he looked down to her with those sad eyes that made her want to cry. “Tell me!” she shouted.
“War is coming, Ahryn. There's no stopping it now. The Astral will wash over the starless like a flood if they have their starlight.” He bowed his head.
Now she really understood. “If they have their starlight…”
Ezai only nodded.
“There,” said the cloudmaster. “Now you appreciate my burden. I fear that is all the time I have to give you today.” He turned back to the translucent walls and his watch over the Unpassable Sea. “Light be with you, young Ferai.”
The first and second watcher ushered Ahryn and Ezai out of the dome and down the stairs. The descent went much quicker and was much less laborious, though hard on the knees. Implications raced through her mind and questions died on her lips.
Once down the spire and outside the Academy, walking down the stone path toward their docked boat, she peppered Ezai with a flurry of emotion and words riddled with angst. Ezai wiped away tears that streaked down her cheeks. She grew tired, eventually, and stopped her rant. When she did, she drew enough energy to ask a single question.
“What do we do?”
Ezai looked out at the channels separating the islands, in the direction of Celaena, and then up to the darkening, foggy sky. Then, he answered.
“Justice must wait, Ahryn. Other things are important now.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like the fate of the world.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Rise, they said. So we rose, one by one, until we stood as numerous as the stars.”
- The High Prophet at the Twilight Orchards
Takha sat next to Juppa and the Starmother in the starview chamber, side by side in reclining chairs which normally allowed them to stare into the heavens above without difficulty. But tonight, they looked at cloudy skies. And whereas most nights brimmed with chanting and bustling bodies, full with ceremony and tradition as the faithful called to Gethael, this night—at the end of the lunar year, at the precipice of conflict boiling for years—no one took time for prayer.
Instead, the faithleaders had sent word far and wide: stay home, dine with your family, and enjoy yourselves, for tomorrow would be a day of days, a movement of change and hope in Celaena not seen for a millennium. The faithful would take to the streets, rise up against the tyrants of starlight, and take back the world for themselves. The smiths had crafted weapons for every fighter who would take up arms, and the one hundred had been trained and instructed to lead their own legions.
Curse the Astral!
Takha did not care about the faith's coming revolution. He didn't care about right or wrong or who deserved the light. He only cared for the destruction of the Astral, the mighty startouched families who had ruined his life and scarred him so many years ago. Vengeance would be his, and it was so close now. It consumed his thoughts, almost made him forget the palpable absence of the shadow man. Takha never slept at home anymore, rarely if ever venturing from the shrine, and his white-eyed stalker hadn't shown himself since Takha's ascension to prophet.
He wondered what the shadow man thought of the tension in the city and of the impending clash between opposing forces; it seemed so expected, like history repeating itself. Would he be happy, knowing the Astral faced their end? Or would he be furious at Takha’s independent planning, at the place he’d secured for himself in the faith? What did the shadow really want?
“Takha, what's in your mind? I see you wondering.”
He glanced over to the Starmother, who inspected his face with her kind green eyes. What would life be like if he gave everything to her and the faith? Could he bring himself to abandoned his rage and his singular focus to make the Astral pay? After the coming war, when the faith took back the city and expelled the blight of the Starsingers, what would come next?
Juppa interrupted, his voice and mannerism a sharp counterpoint to the musings. “I imagine h
e's thinking about tomorrow, Starmother, and the days thereafter. Who of those who will survive wouldn’t think on such things. But of course, I won't see you on the battlefield.”
“No, you won't” She smiled, brushing off the comment. “My child, the faithful have all the might they need with you at their head. What could I offer out there that you cannot?”
Juppa didn't respond, but he didn't seem angry or bitter. Perhaps it was nerves. Takha didn't know and couldn't sympathize, because he'd never so much as thrown a punch. His weapon came in the form of words, his thrusts and parries linguistic jabs and social maneuvers. He was a strata-jumper, not a solider, and it served no one to pretend otherwise.
“We'll be planning the future, Juppa.” Takha spoke with words like silk, as he often did when his schemes fell into place before him. “From the ashes, we will rise. The faith, servants of Gethael, will reclaim the light and lead Celaena and the Dominion into a new age.” Takha rose from his chair and walked to the center of the hall. “Before, the world functioned on fear and forced scarcity. The Astral threatened to burn us all, and they might have, unless the starless submitted to tyrants and labored to achieve their ends. No, it wasn't a command. It wasn't slavery, and every man and woman chose their own path.” Takha filled his voice with concern. “But if they hadn’t chosen to serve the Astral, to buy in to their corrupt economy, where would they have gotten their tokens? How would they feed their families? The world worked in a way the Astral wanted and the starless could bear, but at what cost?” He paused for dramatic effect as he looked up at the gray sky. “Will the world work without the Astral threat? How will trade and tokens be governed? These are questions no one has asked, and we've no answers. But the answers must be found, and found in time to capitalize on the victory, lest we risk losing everyone to anarchy.”
Juppa sat up. “You're talking about government. I thought you said no one would accept structure and law—that it isn't our way.”
“I said no one would accept a sham, purporting to govern even while the Astral run free and unchecked.”
“Ah.” The Starmother signaled her understanding. “You're speaking about tomorrow, in a city without Astral.”
“Yes,” Takha said. “And I'm really talking about a theocratic state and the rule by divine right. At that point we would already have a faith militant, survivors of the war to come. They would be battle hardened, scarred, and passionate. And we already have the word of Gethael to enshrine a moral code within the people. Bring those two together, and the city may be governed. It will work.”
“The Order won't allow it.”
“Bah. The Order is dead. It died with the Eagle and the passage of time. The Lion is nothing. The forebearers are nothing. It is just a sect of women and children who watch their firstborns be warped by tradition and foolishness. And the son of the Eagle is banished—no more than a ghost. No, the Order will do nothing. They can do nothing.”
Juppa considered, and the Starmother continued to be silent, listening to Takha's speech. He sat back down, aware of their eyes. He ignored the quiet and focused on the clouds overhead.
“Yes,” said the Starmother. “Takha and I will remain in the shrine and lay the groundwork for the future.”
Juppa nodded, but said nothing. Takha smiled, brought his hands behind his head, and stifled a laugh.
Sotma Rayn marched the halls of the Rayn city-home, several Tsac blackguard flanking his sides. They offered him no comfort, nor security, as useless as the wardens who watched from their posts—wardens who had failed to protect his children. But how could they be expected to do what a singer could not. His children had been finely trained and imbued with his warrior blood, but they had proved no match for their foe.
Well, blackguard or warden, either would be enough for the tide about to wash over the starless.
“How close?”
“Maybe another day, Sotma.” Bril Vo marched next to him, stumpy legs working hard to keep up with the long strides of the Raynlord. “Maybe less, depending on the winds, which seem to be blowing harder of late.”
“I was sorry to hear about the Orchards, Bril. Such beautiful scenery. I will miss the taste of your oranges.” He paused to examine a bundle of documents handed to him by a young singer from House Lokka.
Good. The positioning is tactically sound.
While he didn't expect resistance, he still planned for it. Satisfied, he nodded, and the Lokka singer hurried elsewhere. Sotma resumed his march, Bril in tow.
“Are we sure they've not been seen?”
“It's hard to say. There are many ships, filled with many men.” Bril sucked in a breath. “The channels are not used to being so full, and the network swiftclips are always in flux.”
Sotma glanced to the side. “I thought we halted travel?”
“We restricted our starlight, so there is no magic to empower the sails, Sotma, but the network still operates, and the starless still travel to and from, carrying out their regular business. It's just much, much slower.”
“I see.” Sotma clenched his hands at his sides as he marched. “In that case, it won't matter if the rest of the blackguard are seen by any starless out in the islands. The starless wouldn't be able to get word in time.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Sotma smiled. “Excellent. Will the others be ready?”
“Singers arrive daily, Sotma, from all corners of the Dominion. Your city-home was not sufficient to host them all, so we've usurped lodgings around the quint.”
“Won't that cause commotion? Surprise is everything to battlefield tactics, Bril, even when the odds of victory are so heavy in our favor. We mustn't get lazy.”
The duo crossed into a great hall with a roof of clear glass that exposed the entire sky. Drops of rain fell and splotched the lunette, adding to the obscurity caused by the extent of rolling fog. Despite the block, Bril's eyes finally filled with pale-yellow, and he sighed and matched Sotma’s pace.
How long had he been trying to channel?
This new development was becoming a growing concern. The thought of losing starlight amid an ongoing war posed an untenable risk. He'd need to keep vigilant and be ready to pull back at a moment's notice.
Bril's breathing seemed to become easier with his link established. “The excuses have been easy enough, Sotma, given the end of the lunar year tomorrow night. Word is out about our planned celebration in the Nightmarkets. It is not a shock to think many singers will participate.”
Clever.
He’d expected nothing less of the Vo and was glad to have their family as an ally, not just in the war to come but in all things. Vo always stood with Rayn, despite the reclusive nature of the academics.
“Then we are prepared? Is there anything left?”
Bril paused, then stopped short and turned to Sotma, who in turn stood in place and faced his friend. “I don't believe so. The Vo, Tsac, and Lokka are with you. Ferai crumbles alone atop Sanctus Mount, and the moonlight treasury begins to probate their Estate without the girl’s instructions. Even now their coffers are diminishing as debts are paid, and their starless workers migrate into the uncharted islands and away from House rule. Veydun reports the Lion took his bait; the fool emptied the Keep and brought the Brothers and Sisters to the Expanse to answer Marcinian's call. And the blackguard arrives shortly.”
A rush of blood surged through his hands, a feeling so rare these days, as the yearning for battle raged and satisfaction inched ever closer. He clenched his fists and opened them, imagining the hilt of his blade grasped within.
“Find me when they arrive, Bril. Once all of Celaena is clustered in and around the Nightmarkets for the celebrations, I will gather our forces in the central gardens of our quint and I will speak with them.”
“Certainly, my friend. And then?”
Sotma smiled once more. “And then we will go to war.” Bril returned the smile, then waddled off, no doubt to finalize the Vo's lunar distraction. Sotma carried on through the
city-home toward his chamber. His day had been too long and exhausting. He longed to sleep and to rest before the storm.
His brothers had not been happy about the conscription of their House singers, leaving the manor to the north undefended but for the twins. But they’d had no choice in the matter, for Sotma had roused his Elegance and cut down ten wardens in the blink of an eye. Then, he’d raised his sword to his brothers—his own flesh and blood—and forced the issue.
In a way, his brothers had been pleased that Sotma had finally taken House matters into his own hands, despite their contempt at being threatened. Sotma did not regret his actions, but he did want to ensure his lands were protected. So, he'd dispatched the majority of his personal wardens back home, along with a letter promising not to hold his brother's contempt against them when the new era of the singer rose to meet them. It proved to be a taxing effort, together with managing the planning necessary to launch a city-wide assault with precise timing.
Just as Sotma reached his doors and pulled them open, revealing the bed inside, a warden approached, panting and pale.
“What is it?”
“Raynlord, you've guests.”
“I'm sorry?”
“At the gates to the city-home, two of them asking to see you. Begging an audience.”
“Who are they?” Sotma had not expected anyone, and this was not the protocol. He gave strict instructions.
“I'm not sure. A rough-looking man and a little girl. I don't recognize them.”
Sotma sighed. “Very well.” He flicked a hand at the warden, who turned and ran back the way he'd come. Sotma followed, clenching his hands. He tested his ability to channel, unsure if he'd need it, but recognizing it may be difficult to summon his star in an instant. These inopportune clouds infuriated him. The Rayn star floated in his mind's eye, within reach, though he didn't complete the link. His eyes stayed white, but he held the star at the horizon of his vision. Ready.
He approached the doors to the city-home, and the wardens pulled levers to open the large, rectangular gate, which slowly lowered into the ground. A sliver of hazy street light cracked at the top, followed by a cloudy view of the rooftops of Celaena, and then at least revealing his visitors, who stood side by side and looking grim. He frowned, clenched his hands, and brought himself an inch closer to his star.
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