“How did you find me in my city-home, Dawnman? Why are you here?” he called to Ezai, whose hulking frame loomed over the young girl beside him. She wore loose robes and a ponytail of jet-black hair. Her heart-shaped face ended in a soft chin under high cheekbones. She looked like a Ferai, and he wondered if this was the girl he'd tasked Veydun with bringing to him.
“I'm here to talk, Sotma,” came the response.
“To talk? If you've not found my children's killers, I don't see the need. You haven't, have you?”
Ezai pursed his lips. “No.”
“Then I've no time for you.” Red mist drifted into his eyes. “My attention is elsewhere.”
“I've heard.” Ezai's words did not reveal any emotion, only the cold voice of a haunted man. Still, Sotma found his reply concerning.
“What have you heard?”
Ezai looked up at the sky, then around the streets outside the city-home which were filled with singers from different Houses. They watched the interaction. Then he looked back to Sotma and spoke.
“Don't do this, Sotma.”
Interesting, thought the Raynlord. “I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about.”
The girl jumped forward before Ezai responded and shouted, “Don't lie to us!”
“You're Ahryn Ferai, aren't you?” He needed to know for sure.
“I am, and you're Sotma Rayn. I received your ‘offer.’ “
“Oh? I wasn't sure when you failed to show up at my door. Who would turn down the chance to learn from the Elegance?”
“My father raised me better.”
Sotma bowed his head, then spoke out of the side of his mouth to Ezai. “Our children are our reflection, aren't they?”
The girl didn't reply, but stepped back, guided by Ezai's gauntleted hand. Then he stepped forward in front of her, her and rested his other hand on the hilt of his father's sword.
Despicable.
“Nothing good will come from this. Win or lose, Sotma, the world will change forever.”
“Hah! Isn't that the point?” Sotma's eyes now glowed red, the channel bright and full. “Aren't you tired, Ezai? Tired of keeping a balance that is nothing more than a construct of your own family's delusion? Gethael gave the Astral the power of starlight for a reason. Our magic was not to be held in abeyance and we were not meant to survive as merchants, squirreling away our share of the market—a market that only exists because we make it exist. This is not life, Ezai. What's beyond the Unpassable Sea? What lies within the Expanse? How can we know without gathering the starless and using them to find out? The danger of venturing into the unexplored east is so high that they demand untenable pay and refuse any deviation from the tragic routines carved into their daily life. It is not right, Ezai. The world deserves more; we deserve more. The Astral should rule how we please, without interference from the Order, and the starless should follow. That is the way, Ezai.”
“I've heard these words before, Sotma, not long ago. They are just as mad now as they were then, and they cannot abide.”
“You cannot abide, Ezai. You, and your Order—excuse me, former Order. Why should the Arbiters decide what it means to be in balance? Fortunately, they have no place in this story. Veydun has seen to that.”
Ezai stoic front finally cracked. Was that fear he saw in the son of the Eagle? Sotma grinned.
“This will not go the way you want, Sotma. I beg you to reconsider. The world cannot survive another war.”
“Maybe not, Ezai, but we will simply build a new world. A better world.”
The Arbiter assessed the environment. All around him, singer eyes glowed: red, purple, yellow, green. There were hundreds of them in the streets, all focused and intent. He took his hand off the hilt of his sword, pulled his cloak tight, and turned away from the city-home, ushering Ahryn along. As he went, he called back to Sotma.
“Light be with you, Sotma Rayn. Remember the Dawn.”
Chapter Eighteen
“It came to this, in the end, but how could it have been anything else?”
- The High Prophet at the Promenade
Ahryn watched bursts of starlight explode in the clouds, vibrant colors lighting up the sky. The celebrations drew her attention away from the book sitting idle in her hands, which was open to a chapter debating concepts of restraint against principles of unbridled power. After working her way through the entire Doctrine, she'd arrived at the more theoretical instances of Neranian's postulations. She found them boring, but they distracted her from the mysterious star-covered book inside her satchel. Did Ezai know the truth about the past and the faith? Did anyone?
It seemed strange to her to be reading, enjoying starless celebrations for a new year even while the world teetered on the brink of conflict. It was the calm before the storm, a peace before the inevitability of certain death for untold numbers.
They sat together in the Nightmarkets, watching the lunar celebrations and paralyzed by the unfolding reality. Ezai's appeal to Sotma had failed, and neither knew what to do next. Should they warn the starless? Could they make a difference? Ezai and Ahryn, two lonely souls, each without a family. What could they do?
Last night, immediately after the confrontation, Ezai had ushered her to the channels under the watchful glares of starry-eyed Astral and whisked Ahryn away with haste. Today Ezai and Ahryn sat in silent dread.
“You are always reading, young one,” he said gently, his voice almost a whisper among the crackles of excitement. He sat bent over, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. “On the boats, on the benches, everywhere.” She frowned, and he noticed. “It's not a bad thing, to read—not at all. Reading allows our minds to expand with new ideas, to contemplate new meanings and gain understanding. More should read, I think. I am pleased to see your attention so captivated, even now in these heavy times.”
Ezai always spoke with a strange cadence, as if he was having an internal conversation while projecting to the world. It was like his mind thought in one direction while his mouth struggled to follow. He was such a strange man. Sad, and filled with pain, but strange. Still, she felt safe with him. Why?
“Are you trying to ask what I'm reading?”
His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.
“It's just the Doctrine. Advanced theory, philosophical debate and such. Boring, really.”
“Show me what you know.”
She startled. “Here? Now?”
“Isn't this a perfect time and place?” He swept his arm over the phosphorescent explosions and the starless who reveled in the display.
“Fair point.” She rose from her seat and strode into the center of the square. Unlike her earlier forays into the Nightmarkets, she did not command the attention of the throng, just one Astral among many. The relative anonymity thrilled her and gave her confidence.
But when she tried to find her star she encountered only a void: a harrowing absence in her mind, as if a piece of her had left without saying goodbye. It was unnatural. She strained with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Still, she could not force her mind through the fog lingering above.
These other singers are linked! Look how they light the sky with their magic!
She pushed harder, and then harder still. Until finally she connected, the glow from Ferai enveloping her body as her vision tinted blue. The cold of the evening disappeared and her skin radiated warmth. She giggled, threw her hands upward, and shot a stream of sparking starlight into the air, where it arced before falling to the ground, dissipating just over her head. Then she conjured a ribbon, long and narrow, and made it spiral around her in rapid succession, like a cocoon raked by talons. She thrust her arms in front of her and shot the ribbons forward until they grasped wooden pillars on either side of the square. They pulled taut, then retracted, and she elevated from the ground, rising high.
To end her performance, she allowed the ribbons to vanish, and for a moment she suspended herself in the air, but not for long. She pointed herself to the ground, fis
t stretched out front, and propelled herself with starlight. Just before impact, she flipped herself around into a kneeling position and thudded into the ground like a meteor, causing a shockwave of dust and light to explode around her.
Applause broke out, and observant starless filled the night with more cheering and whooping. Many came close to shake her hand or clap her on the back and she strutted over to Ezai, who remained seated on a bench, his face stone. She thanked the starless and saw them off, then returned to her companion and sat beside him.
“You've progressed quite far, Ahryn.”
She beamed, proud of herself. Her eyes still carried mist, and she maintained her link because she was too afraid to break away.
“Still from your reading, I take it?”
“Yes,” she said. “These books are powerful.”
He looked at her, inquisitive and cautious. “Someday I'd like to take a look.”
What would an Arbiter want with the Doctrine? “Sure, no problem. Got time now.”
But he shook his head. “No, not now. First, we must survive the night.”
She almost lost her channel. “What?”
Ezai didn't react, but simply pointed his chin toward a cluster of singers churning their light. “See there?”
“Yes,” she said. “I see.” She watched children and their parents circling the singers and clapping, faces alight with excitement at the display. The lunar year celebrations always brought joy to the people, a single night of unity.
“It's a distraction.”
Confused, she asked, “What do you mean?'
“Tell me, Ahryn. Do you see your blue-robed friends anywhere?”
She looked, but saw no faithful. Strange. These days the faithful outnumbered everyone else, following her everywhere and always watching. But here, tonight, she saw none.
“No, I don't.”
Ezai nodded, then knelt forward and hung his head. “They know it's coming. They sense it.”
“War… like the cloudmaster said… like you spoke about with Sotma…”
“Yes. Like that.”
“But why tonight?” She didn't understand. “What distraction?”
Before Ezai answered, a young child ran up to them, clutching a book of her own. Ahryn caught the image on the cover and recognized the League symbols. She smiled.
“That was wonderful!” the child gushed over her. “Would you mark this for me, please?”
Ahryn laughed. “But I'm not a competitor!”
“I know,” said the child, “but you will be!”
Now Ahryn blushed, then reached out to the girl, who placed the book in her hands. The young singer opened to a blank page at the back and placed a palm to the paper. She then infused herself with starlight and caused an impression to trace around her hand. The girl squealed as she took back the book.
Ezai, who'd been watching, stood and approached, then knelt before the child. At first, the child recoiled, maybe an instinct at the Arbiter's physical presence, but she calmed at Ezai's soft smile and deep voice.
“Do you have a place to hide, little one? A place only you know?”
The child scrunched up her nose, then her eyes went large. “Yes.”
“Good,” said Ezai. “Can you do something for me?” The child nodded. “Will you go there now? Hide for us. We'll come find you.” The child studied their faces, maybe trying to understand, but she eventually nodded and ran off, the League book gripped tightly to her chest.
After the girl had gone, Ahryn turned to Ezai, who was still kneeling but had bowed his head.
“Care to explain what's going on?”
He raised his gaze and met her eyes. “Do you see any Arbiters here?”
“Besides you?” There was no answer, just a steel stare. She pursed her lips and tugged her ponytail, then looked around. Nothing different than before, just a mass gathering of commoners reveling in the night, and a ring of Starsingers around them… blocking any way in or out. And nowhere did she see any peacekeeping Dawnmen. There was no one capable of resisting their magic should it turn away from simple fireworks and toward violence.
“Oh no.” Her voice trailed off into the chilly breeze of the evening.
Ezai nodded. “Now you see.”
Ahryn began to realize what was happening. “Ezai... what do we do?”
The Arbiter stood, then placed a palm on the hilt of the bastard sword hanging from his belt.
“Save all that you can.”
Sotma Rayn stood on the balcony of his city-home, draped in darkness except for the dull glow of the fog above and the misty eyes of the hundreds of Starsingers below him in the streets. Around them, thousands of men and women who formed the blackguard stood at attention, wielding swords, spears, and shields. The other Astral heads flanked him: Kriv, Bril, and Marcinian, seated to the side without complaint. No one spoke, and no sounds permeated the night; Sotma did not even hear any rats scurrying in the alleys or the hooting of the owls so familiar in the city.
He drank in the silence, then took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly and watched it condense and drift away. In that moment, he experienced a bout of nostalgia. Years ago, a decade at least, he’d stood in this very spot and called his cohort to battle, urging them to rise up against the Orange Dawn and claim their place, their birthright. They should have won, should have reigned over the Dominion with their tune to the stars like Gethael, the Bringer, and his celestial apostles.
Sotma knew the truth. He felt inside his tunic, touching the starred book inside. It was laughable, really, the lie his folk had propagated for so long. No wonder the people had purged the history books and removed the faith. They couldn't handle the truth. He smiled at the thought of the Eagle's son chasing legend and suffering a penance, all the time following his instincts to the correct answer. It was just as his father had always done, light be with him.
The railing of the balcony chilled Sotma's hands, so he released his grip and squeezed his hands open and closed. In the distance he saw the sparks of the lunar celebrations light up the sky over the Nightmarkets—tiny flickers on the horizon. Suddenly they went still. One heartbeat. Two. And then a massive explosion enveloped the sky, bursting light in all directions. Marcinian clapped, and Sotma raised his arms, stretching out wide as if embracing all who looked up at him. It was time at last.
“Here we are at the precipice. Most of you are starless, which we happily tolerate, because you saw a better way and joined us to take your proper place. You no longer toil in the ribbum mines; now you have a chance to stand with us and serve as our right arm. You'll eat better, sleep better, and enjoy a better future.” Sotma brought his arms down, then clasped his hands behind his back. “But the rest of you,” he swept his arms over the gathering and motioned to the Starsingers, “you have been blessed with ability to command the light. This makes you better. You are better, celestial descendants from the Bringer himself.” He paused to compose himself. The Elegance inside surged, and he hardly kept his words steady. “But for centuries... nearly a millennium... we've been relegated to nothing more than thugs, though they've done us a kindness with the title of merchant. Ten years ago, we finally lost our patience and refused to continue living a life beneath us counting tokens in our coffers and getting fat and lazy. So, we banded together, the Astral families, and stopped channeling our hate at each other. We were united.”
Singers stirred in the crowd, eyes glowing more furious. Each of the families' heads walked up to stand next to Sotma. The blackguard continued to stand in silence, a formidable wall of laborers turned soldiers. Well trained.
“But we lost.” Sotma’s words lingered as an owl hooted from an unseen perch, finally breaking the stillness of the night. Sotma ground his teeth and seethed. “The Orange Dawn rose to meet us, blinded by their false virtue and misplaced morality, but it was two men, in the end, who brought us to our knees: the Lion and the Eagle. The annals of Celaena would have you think them champions of another time—l
egends of the past.” Sotma spat. “They were just men, lusting over power in their own way, as all men do. But they had no business trading blows with us, the rightful heirs to the Dominion's rule. They had no right!”
His booming voice, amplified by starlight, echoed through the corridors of the quint and vibrated the stillness in the air. He breathed, letting the anger within dissipate and the burning at his skin cool. “Well. The Lion is an old man, confused and tired, and he was been tamed. Even now he rides east with his cohort, chasing demons at the edge of the Expanse, far away from here. And the Eagle,” Sotma lowered his chin and briefly closed his eyes, “even I can respect the noblest of deaths.” He opened his eyes. “But his mighty son failed to live up to the legacy. There is nothing to fear from him. So, who then will stand in our way? The answer, friends, is simple. No one. There is no one who will deny us, no one who will stop us from fulfilling our destiny. Just there, over the channels and in the midst of the city at its very core, the first stones are being cast. From the Nightmarkets will flow the blood of those starless who attempt to defy their fate. Let us go, now, into every corner of this city and conduct our own purge in our cleansing of the impurity.” Sotma lifted his eyes to the sky, saw the radiant red glare in his vision, and cried out, “And from this city, we will take every piece of the Dominion, island by island, until the world shakes and the starless tremble beneath our feet!”
Roars rose up from the gathered army. Sotma felt the swelling of pride in his fellow Astral. They placed their hands on each other’s shoulders, allowing the light to infuse between them, and together floated over the balcony and down to the ground in front of the raging crowd. Then, with fist raised to the air and booming voice, Sotma rushed forward.
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