On his left, Juppa sat back, quietly observing the gathering. Though he had formerly impassioned and silver-tongued, Juppa had said little after returning from the Long Night, as many had come to describe the battle for the city. He now brooded and cast unreadable glances and refused to engage in conversation or prolonged discussions.
Takha didn't know the thrill, or horror, of combat. He couldn't sympathize with Juppa, the only person he had considered a friend. In the end, Juppa's inner withdrawal served Takha's interests, for on who else would the Starmother rely in the coming days? Indeed, she’d already begun to display her leanings, and she reached over and touched him on the arm as she listened to the Ferai daughter's story.
Ahryn Ferai, daughter of Doveh, heir to the holy seat.
Takha narrowed his eyes as he looked on the girl, recognizing the naiveté of youth, innocent and ignorant.
Look at her eyes, sparkling green yet no longer capable of filling with the mist of her star.
He suppressed a sneer as she looked up at the Dawnman with the battered face standing dutifully to her side. The girl was just a simple child in a larger game. What gave her the right to sit here, in the bastion he’d cultivated, and claim dominion over the people he’d conditioned?
“Takha Shun,” she said, addressing him from her seat across the table, green eyes fixed on him and a smile on her face.
He nodded, forcing a return smile. “Lady Ferai.” Takha flicked his eyes up to the Dawnman, who stared at him unblinking. Discomfort grew inside, as if the Dawnman saw every secret he kept.
Ahryn scowled. “Do not call me that.”
“Apologies. I was just being respectful of the Patron's daughter, light be with him.”
She tugged at her ponytail. “It's fine, and Ahryn will do. So, what do you think of this plan?”
Surprised, he responded and uncertain. “I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're asking, Ahryn. This is the same plan we,” he nudged the Starmother, who sat on his right, “developed during the Long Night. I believe elevation of the thirty or so of the surviving one hundred to prophets will allow for expansion of the faith into the islands. There are thousands of opening minds waiting for the word of light. And the battle-hardened survivors will make up an admirable faith militant who will enforce the law we create in the name of Gethael.”
“You mean Gethael's law, which you will faithfully execute.” The Dawnman's voice chilled him, causing his hairs to stand on end.
But Takha didn't waver, appreciating the weight of the moment. “Yes, I mean that.” He looked back to Ahryn. “It is a good plan. This world needs governance. For too long, it has operated without guidance, moving day to day within the limits imposed by the Astral through their choke on commerce, a forced state of fear and subservience. Without that control, anarchy is a real threat. It would be best to move quickly, seize upon the power vacuum, and preach the light.”
The Ferai girl inspected him, no longer smiling. “I will not see one group of tyrants replaced by another.”
He quickly backtracked. “I've no intention of tyranny, Ahryn, and I apologize if my distaste for the Astral is clouding my words. I only wish to see fairness in the land: people treated equally, with a construct of morality to guide them.”
“Why do you detest my people so much, Takha Shun?” He heard where she placed the emphasis in her question.
He sighed. “Our people, Ahryn.”
Heads swiveled and eyes locked on Takha. Ahryn remained still. “Explain.”
“You already know, I'm sure. The mighty Ferai, noble Ferai... your mother was starless, wasn't she?”
“Careful.” The Dawnman gripped his sword and shifted his feet ever so slightly.
Takha had intended no slight, no insult. He merely spoke the truth. “The other families aren't quite so honorable, Ahryn. They breed in unsustainable quantities to maximize their singers.” She blinked, and Takha saw recognition. “And those who don't fit the bill, who aren't startouched and have no affinity to sing? They are disposed of, left for dead in the gutters, as worthless as the starless.”
Ahryn whispered. “You were cast out.”
He laughed. “Yes. Long ago. Can you guess by whom?” Awkward stares from around the table. “Never mind. I am the youngest child of Sotma Rayn, brother of the late Antarro and Valura.”
Gasps came from the gathering. Takha's stomach warmed. He'd never spoken those words aloud, never told anyone about his lineage. The rage at being discarded by an Astral family, in their eyes a useless body deserving no future, had boiled within for so long. But now, everyone knew—now, the Astral suffered great losses, fled in defeat. Now, Takha sat at the pinnacle of the next generation, the power of faith in his hands. He laughed again.
Thankfully, those in attendance accepted his anger as justifiable, and excused his zeal as an outlet for years of hostility. Redemption, they called it—absolution. And just like that, Ahryn Ferai and the others continued their detailed plans to spread the faith and impose a structure of law and governance.
The Dawnman, however, didn't take his eyes off Takha for the rest of the meeting.
Takha cursed the shadow man as he struggled to keep pace with the procession, wincing at the incessant throbbing in his leg and the jarring force from every step from the docks to the water-lift.
Why couldn't Ahryn choose a closer meeting place? Cursed girl!
He collapsed into a chair nestled in the corner of the lift, nose filling with the smell of wet grass and churning water splashing from the surrounding Falls.
“Are the Astral here already?”
“Yes,” said Ezai. “They arrived yesterday, all the Houses together. Heralds have confirmed it.”
“I hope they didn't disturb too much.” Ahryn scrunched her face.
“Why together?” Takha asked. The Astral blamed each other, as always, but they mostly blamed Sotma Rayn, who'd disappeared after the Long Night.
“To show they remain who they are.” Ezai stated, as if fact.
What did that mean?
Takha's impatience with the Dawnman grew every day, and he yearned to be rid of the Arbiter, who Ahryn clearly adored. In fact, she never left his side: not in the hours after their victory, not in the meetings to discuss the implementation of new government, and not now en route to parley with the Astral.
What connected them?
“Bah,” he said, “the faith is not concerned with who they are, or who they were, or what they think, to be honest. It is a courtesy, you know. They don't deserve this.”
The Starmother interjected, saying, “Perhaps not, but it is important to distance ourselves from the very start. Whereas the Astral would show no mercy, we will. I think exile is appropriate.” Her eyes twinkled, and the corners of her lips turned up. “Don't you think it is appropriate? To be cast out?”
Takha sniffed, unwilling to share in the jest, and caught another whiff of fresh water. He wiped his face of the water left after another spray from the Falls. “Exile into the Expanse would be appropriate. Let them create maps and report back. Let them take on the foolish job she's been jabbering about.” He jerked his head at Ahryn. “Restricting the Astral to their islands is a gift. How will relegating the families—what's left of them, anyway—to their luxurious manors accomplish anything? Where is their penance?” He looked at Ezai. “Where is the justice?”
The Dawnman didn't respond. He just kept eyeing Takha.
“They will hold no influence in the city,” said the Starmother. “Nor will they hold influence over the flow of commerce between all the other islands of Vespri. We don't know when this fog will break, or when the Astral may regain their starlight, but if we snuff out the foundations of their syndicate, it won't matter. Without a hold in the city, with the Orange Dawn alive again and the faithful multiplied many times over, what will they do? It is a problem for another day.”
Takha heard her, but didn't agree. No one understood the depths of the Astral's spite and resentment like he did. They w
ould not simply accept their fate and keep still on their islands, where they would be forgotten and rendered unimportant by the passage of time.
No, they would be back. But what could Takha do? Ahryn made the decisions, and she delegated the commands of faith to the Starmother. Takha and Juppa—who stood silently with chin raised and allowed water to wash his face—filled the roles of prophets and emissaries. Their roles were to shepherd the word of Gethael, but nothing more.
At last they arrived, then disembarked the lift and walked onto the plateau atop Sanctus Mount. Truly, Ahryn's home defied belief, beautiful like nowhere he'd been. Teyflowers remained in bloom in the heat of summer, there was a smell of sweet wine and pollen on the air, and crystal blue water flowed down a still stream from far-away glaciers, pooling in a grand fountain. He staggered to the fountain, dipped his fingers in and sniffed at the freshness. What a place.
Ahryn reacted in similar fashion. She raced to grab a handful of teyflowers and pushed them to her face, then breathed deeply. With a laugh she dunked her hands into the fountain's stream and splashed. Takha watched her, never more certain of the girl's incapacity for the role she'd be given.
His belief was emphasized as he laid eyes on the arcing line of Astral standing among the pillars of the Ferai estate. He recognized his twin uncles, short and fat, sniveling at the feet of three other men. There was a tall, thin man who stood regal, white cape billowing behind him; a well-muscled man, taut jaw and dull eyes, wearing a skin-tight black suit; and a short, fat man with a yellow scarf. Each bore the constellation of their respective Houses, appropriately colored, though white banners whipped from poles dug into the ground. The Astral looked insolent, rebellious to the end despite everything.
So be it.
Takha hobbled to the waiting families, joined by the procession of faith led by Ezai and Ahryn, ready to begin negotiating the expulsion of the Astral. In their place, the faith would rise, and a new age would begin.
He wished he felt more of the sun than the faint glow pushing through the clouds, but he just pulled his robes tighter.
Chapter Twenty
“We are human, and to be human is to yearn, rush forward, and test limits. It is no different with the light. Now you are ready.”
- Neranian's Third Degree
Ahryn walked through the meadow behind her family's home, tall grass and willow stalks brushing against her legs as the flow of the stream to the fountain and Falls rushed in her ears. Owls hooted as they swooped, searching for an afternoon meal, and Ahryn enjoyed the relative silence in her solitary stroll. She was home.
Negotiations with the Astral had gone long and involved much debate, even anger, but in the end, they’d reached a settlement. The faith's plan, crafted by the Starmother and Prophet Shun, had been accepted.
The Astral would withdraw, abandon their city homes, relinquish their leases and ownership within Celaena, and remove their barriers and tolls on trade throughout the islands. Ahryn allowed them their ancestral islands. She knew the connection—the meaning. Just as she’d found peace in the meadows atop Sanctus Mount, so, too, would the other families in their own place.
Maybe they didn't deserve it; maybe Prophet Shun was right, but Ahryn would not start the new dawn of the faith in the darkness.
“Thinking on the future?” Ahryn turned and saw the Starmother approach as the elderly woman waded through the grass towards her, face warm and kind eyes twinkling.
“How'd you guess?”
“Oh,” said the Starmother, “wisdom comes with age. And you are your father's daughter. He often wandered these meadows lost in thought, thinking on similar questions with no clear answers.”
“You knew him well?” Ahryn continued her stroll, and the Starmother followed. Together they left a wake in the grass, which billowed in a gentle breeze. The clouds above brought a daily wind, sometimes soft, sometimes strong, and mostly carrying a cold from the sea with only faded sunlight to temper the chill.
“I did.” The Starmother bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Doveh and I know each other from another time, long before the first war with the Astral. Often, we shared knowledge and theories, trying to guess the coming days.”
They stopped at the stream and took turns scooping fresh water running from the glacial tip of the mountain on its way to the Falls. Tomorrow they would ride back the city in her father's ship, which was majestic and shaped like a comet, but tonight they bore no responsibility and freed their minds.
“So,” said Ahryn, “my father's dive into the mysteries of the faith spanned many years?”
“Yes, but he was not alone. Your mother shared his passion. And there were others, academics and intelligentsia within the city and throughout the islands. Together they worked to piece together the days before the purge, tracing all the way back to the coming of Gethael and his seven apostles. They worked to understand why the faith came to be, and why it was forced away.” The Starmother glanced at Ahryn, gave her a knowing look. “The forbidden texts don't tell the whole story, Ahryn. They are just the beginning.”
How did she know?
“Do you now know the whole story?”
“No,” said the Starmother, chuckling. “And I don't know if I ever will—if anyone ever will. But in the end, does it matter what happened thousands of years ago? Look at us now, united by the light, free from the greed and lust for power that has plagued the Dominion for so long. The Astral thought themselves better. Shame on them.”
Thirst quenched, Ahryn pointed back to the Ferai's stone manor and began a return. The pillars and benches carved from the rock came into sight, as did the flowing silkweave draped end to end bearing her family constellation: the spear, mighty and proud. After the Long Night, after fully appreciating her connection with the stars and inherent power of her starlight, she understood. House Ferai were defenders of the light.
“Starmother.” Ahryn needed to ensure her family's survival, placing the legacy in the hands of a trusted friend who would steward her House into the new era. But it couldn’t be her. Ahryn couldn’t just ignore Qydian, or Saryx—not after what she’d read and heard. She and Ezai had discussed a plan, a mission into the East to take the fight to the apostle. Ahryn would leave House Ferai in the good hands of the Starmother, who could make great strides in sewing the roots of a new economy—after all, the Ferai were the only Astral family to avoid exile and were free to mingle with the faithful in the Dominion.
“The moonlight treasury sent word this morning, seeking an answer to a question they posed after my parents' deaths. I owe them that answer, but haven't found the time in the circumstances. I'm ready now.”
“Oh? What's the question, child?”
“House Ferai needs guidance. Not just someone to make decisions and sign documents, but to ensure my father's vision is maintained—someone to keep our path pure and act in the best interests of the new age.”
“And you cannot fill this role?”
“No, I don't think I can. Even the holy seat is too much for me. Besides, I've other plans.”
The Starmother inspected her with kind eyes. “What other plans?”
“East.”
“Ah,” said the Starmother, hands clasped behind her back as the pair approached the Ferai manor. “Well, in that case I would be happy to serve as your steward, Ahryn. This place is like a home to me, too. Doveh's memory,” she patted her chest, “is safe with me.”
Ahryn beamed. “Thank you.”
“Now, tell me this: You said the holy seat is too much. What are your plans there?”
Ahryn furrowed her brow. “I have an idea, but I need your opinion.”
They sailed on calm waters back to the city.
Starless marched along the riverbanks, a perpetual procession of farmers and merchants seeking fortune within Celaena's districts. Most now wore blue robes—a sign that the faith was spreading far and wide—and their faces did not reveal contempt or distress; Ahryn saw hope and joy. Laughter carried over the
still channels in the fresh morning air as her vanguard made their way between islands.
Juppa and several disciples played Celestial with Ezai, and Ahryn smiled as the Arbiter rattled tiny dice in his gauntleted hand and threw them too hard and off the playing surface. Pleasant. That was how she'd describe their day-long journey.
At the city's gates, she inspected the giant, sweeping murals with a different eye, now burdened with the knowledge she'd read within her secret star-covered book. She'd come across the book by chance, a treasure hidden in Shifter Square in a little shop owned by an odd old woman. Ahryn could deduce no rhyme or reason for the text to have been there. Had it been luck, or something else? The Starmother had said the texts only told part of the story. The beginning.
Moving into the cavernous gates of the city, Ahryn looked upon the murals with a new perspective. Her father had found them so enthralling; if only he’d known.
Inside the walls, Ahryn and the rest changed craft, moving from her father's comet to a small channel boat. All except the Starmother, who stayed behind and said her goodbyes before she returned to Sanctus Mount and began the challenging task of finding Ferai's new place in this world.
The city vibrated with life. Quints no longer existed, and districts already spilled into each other. They passed laborers and merchants and entertainers with no sigil or constellation, intermingled and happy. The new structure had held so far, accepted by the majority as temples of Gethael were erected on every corner with presiding prophets to organize. If disobedience existed, if the people rejected law and order, she did not see it on her float down the channels to the shrine.
They docked at the quarries and walked the rest of the way, Takha hobbling along behind the rest. Prophet Shun carried a deep resentment for the Astral. She understood why and empathized. His dark mood belied his true self, which she learned included a strong belief in the light and connection to Gethael alongside a passion for speaking the Bringer's word. Many followers had come to the light on his account, she'd been told, and for that she could never thank him enough.
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