Trial of Stone

by Andy Peloquin

  “What you have there is more than three decades of my life’s work.” Ennolar fixed her with a stern gaze. “The Arch-Guardian has given his permission to share this information with you, but I will warn you, should it fall into any other hands, the consequences will be severe.” He finished his words with a hand gesture she didn’t understand, but which mimicked a very painful form of execution.

  “Understood.” Aisha nodded.

  With a bow, the Secret Keeper turned and strode toward the wall. To her surprise, he made no move to touch the stone, yet the wall slid aside for him as he approached. When he stepped through, it slid silently back into place behind him, leaving Aisha alone in the temple.

  She hurried toward the vault-like door, once again forced to squeeze sideways through the narrow opening. The two Secret Keepers stared at her curiously but asked no questions as she ducked into the flow of traffic moving through the Temple District. At this time of the morning, just after the noon hour, the streets around the temples were busy. She welcomed the press of people—it provided ample cover for her to lose anyone following her.

  Aisha’s heart stopped as her eyes fell on the stone pillars and marble-tiled stairs of the Sanctuary. Her feet hesitated, horror thrumming within her. The Kish’aa hovered by the thousands, a thick wall of blue-white light that swirled like a whirlpool around the building. She sucked in a breath as the spirits of the dead turned toward her, their empty eyes locking onto her face. With a force beyond her control, she began striding toward them as if in a trace. She could not escape the dead, not so close.

  The Ministrants, healers of the Bright Lady, were too busy treating the ill to pay her attention. The white-robed women wore thick cloth bandages wrapped around their hands and arms as they ministered to emaciated men and women covered with crusted blue blisters that oozed pus.

  A sudden swell of nausea crashed into Aisha, and she sucked in a breath as the energy crackled through her skin. The single spark of life within her danced between her fingers and set her nerves tingling. All around her, the sparks of the thousands that had died here surged toward her like moths drawn to a flame. The humming in her head grew to a deafening ringing that set her head pounding and drowned out her surroundings.

  Aisha heard herself cry out, a muted, wordless whimper of panic and fear. Her legs moved of their own accord, as if the power of the Kish’aa controlled her body like a puppeteer’s marionette made to dance on its strings. She wanted to shut her eyes and stop up her ears, yet she could not. All she could do was watch in helpless horror as the dead swirled around her.

  Someone bumped into her and she faintly heard a voice asking, “You hurt, girl?” But it came as if from a great distance. She was in the world of the Kish’aa now.

  Energy tingled across her skin and thrummed to her marrow. She could see the sparks dancing around her fingers, running across her hands, rippling through her veins. Yet it felt…wrong. She’d absorbed Radiana’s spark, yet these spirits would not join her. Without their names, she could not control them, could not stop them from setting every nerve in her body ablaze. She could see and feel the dead, but she lacked her father’s ability to hear them, to summon them to do her will.

  The Kish’aa held her rooted in place, imprisoning her within a swirling vortex of crackling blue-white light. Their ghostly lips moved but she could not hear their words. She felt as if her head would explode with the force of their cries.

  Her father’s words flashed through her mind. “The day will come when you, too, must answer the call of the spirits, bindazi.”

  Tears streamed down Aisha’s face. They were brought on partly by the pain that threatened to rip her apart from the inside out. For the first time in years, since the day she had regained consciousness in the Night Guild’s tunnels, Aisha knew real fear.

  Fear of the power around her, of the whirling energy that set her nerves and muscles on fire. Fear of the madness that would claim her if she yielded to the power of the Kish’aa and chose to use her gift. Fear of losing herself to the power of the Whispering Lily, of deadening herself until only a husk remained.

  A part of her wanted to curl up in a ball, to close her eyes and block out the world around her. She was terrified of this gift, this curse. She had no one to call on, no one to offer advice or lend support. Kodyn and Briana could try, but what did they know about being a Spirit Whisperer? This was a burden that she alone could bear. A burden too heavy for her shoulders.

  Yet another part of her, the part she’d fought so hard to strengthen for the last four years, screamed at her to fight. Not to fight the power of the spirits, but to fight the fear that held her paralyzed.

  Aisha curled her fingers into fists. Even the tiny movement sent pain flaring through her arms, but she bit down on a cry.

  She had chosen to come to Shalandra. Even knowing what lay ahead, she’d made the decision because she had to. She had come to find her destiny, to embrace the gift of the Spirit Whisperers.

  So be it. Resolve hardened like a block of stone in her gut. I will embrace it as my father instructed.

  Reaching into her pouch, she pulled out the petals of the Whispering Lily. So small, so delicate, such a lovely shade of blue, yet their beauty belied their danger. She hesitated, wrestling back her fear. There was no going back from this.

  Aisha drew in a deep breath and closed her fist around the petals, crushing them in her strong fingers. I will answer the call of the dead. I will make the sacrifice.

  Her hand came up to her mouth and, without pause, she swallowed the crushed petals. A sweet fragrance filled her nostrils and a single drop of oil coated her tongue. Sweet at first, then bitter and biting, then sweet once more.

  The buzzing stilled, so suddenly it staggered her. The pounding in her head stopped, and it seemed the world had fallen silent. Yet Aisha could still hear the muted hum of traffic, the muttered conversations around her, the moans of the sick lying before the Sanctuary. But it all faded into the background, as if someone had stuffed cotton into her ears.

  A new sound reached her then: whispers, quiet at first but growing steadily louder. Words from a thousand lips, washing over her like a thundering cascade, a torrent of pleas and cries that she could not understand.

  The swirling mass of energy coalesced into individual shapes. Men, women, children, old and young. Their figures were sharp, as clear to her eyes as the people moving through the streets around her. She reached out a hand toward one, a girl that looked around her age. The moment her fingers touched the ghostly form, a spark crackled through her skin. But it no longer brought her pain. Instead, the power set her muscles alight with energy, vitality.

  She met the spirit’s lifeless gaze. “What do you want?”

  The ethereal form seemed to solidify, the details of her face, form, and clothing almost becoming tangible. “Justice.” A single word, drifting like a leaf on the wind, yet it echoed in Aisha’s mind with the force of a hurricane. It was perfectly clear, as if someone had just said it aloud.

  “Justice for what?” She shook her head.

  “Justice.” The spirit of the young girl fixed pleading eyes on Aisha. As her figure came into focus, Aisha’s eyes flew wide. The girl’s body was covered in crusted, pus-oozing sores. The same sores that covered the men and women being tended by the white-robed Ministrants.

  Confusion twisted Aisha’s face into a frown. “I don’t understand.”

  The ghostly figure’s eyes seemed to flash, a spark of lightning in her empty gaze. “Justice.” The cry was louder, piercing. More and more ghostly throats echoed the word, until it rippled through the spirits swirling around her.

  Aisha felt helpless. She had answered the call of the spirits, but she could not understand what they wanted. She could do nothing for them. There could be no justice for disease—it claimed all alike, rich and poor, powerful and enslaved.

  Yet she could listen. She could hear their cries. It was the gift she’d been given—the gift of the Spirit Whisperer
—and though it came at a heavy price, she would bear the burden.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Anxiety set Kodyn’s gut churning as he paced the garden balcony that overlooked the front of the mansion. He scanned the Path of Gold again and glanced at the sun’s position high in the cloudless sky.

  Noon had come and gone more than two hours earlier. She should be back by now.

  He knew he shouldn’t worry about Aisha—she could take care of herself. Yet, with everything he’d learned about the enemies they faced, he couldn’t help his nervousness. They were up against the most powerful people in Shalandra, outnumbered, with no allies he could call on. Arch-Guardian Suroth’s lips had remained sealed on what he intended to do to move against the Necroseti and the Gatherers.

  “You’re going to wear a rut in the tiles,” Briana called from where she sat on a high-backed stone bench in the shade of a strange-looking tree with silver bark, leaves, and fruit to match. “And you know how costly Praamian ceramic can be.”

  “Sorry.” Kodyn shot a last glance back at the Path of Gold then turned toward the Shalandran girl. “Even with all the precautions she’d take to avoid anyone following her, she should have returned by now.”

  “And worrying isn’t going to get you anywhere.” Briana gave him a little smile. “Better you join me and actually get some food in your stomach. Keeper knows you hardly ate at breakfast.”

  Kodyn had to admit the food on the tray beside Briana looked appetizing. Sweet rolls, candied nuts, dried fruits, crushed date paste, goat cheese, salted butter, and strange prickly fruits harvested from one of Suroth’s trees. He plucked a few dried fruits from the tray.

  “There, happy?”

  Briana gave him a broad smile. “Very.”

  Kodyn glanced around but saw no sign of the Malandrian boy, Hailen. Briana had dismissed the servant, wanting some time alone in the garden. The brow furrowing the girl’s forehead told Kodyn that she was deep in thought.

  Likely mulling over her encounter with Councilor Madani and what to do about the bastard.

  The sound of boots clacking on the ceramic tiles tore his attention away from the food. His hand dropped to his sword as he stepped in front of Briana, but he relaxed as he caught sight of Arch-Guardian Suroth striding toward them.

  “Good to see you take your job seriously, young Praamian.” The Secret Keeper smiled. “I take it by your worried expression that your companion has not yet returned?”

  Kodyn shook his head. “She’s probably just being extra careful,” he said aloud, more for his own benefit.

  Suroth nodded his approval. “Wise.” He turned to Briana. “With your permission, Daughter, I’d speak to the young man alone.”

  Briana cocked an eyebrow. “What’s so secretive you can’t say it in front of me?”

  “Nothing.” The Arch-Guardian brushed an affectionate hand across his daughter’s cheek. “I simply doubted you’d be interested in the Vault of Ancients Kodyn intends to access to steal the Crown of the Pharus.”

  “You doubted that?” Briana’s eyes flashed, and her fingers moved through the hand signs in sharp, short gestures. “I have always shared your fascination for anything Serenii-made. If there is something you want him to know, I’m damned well going to hear it, too.”

  Suroth turned a helpless smile on Kodyn. “My daughter could out-stubborn her mother any day.”

  Kodyn chuckled. “Trust me, that’s something I’m very familiar with.” His mother could challenge a stone statue to a staring contest and walk away victorious.

  “If you insist, Daughter.” Suroth addressed the both of them now. “As the highest-ranking Secret Keeper in Shalandra, nothing goes on in the Temple of Whispers without my knowledge. Ennolar informed me of your request for the map, though he believes it is going to the Black Widow.”

  Kodyn raised an eyebrow. “You know about the Black Widow?”

  Suroth snorted. “Of course I do! I’ve availed myself of her services on a number of occasions. Indeed, she was one of the first people I contacted in my search for Briana. That is how I knew my daughter was not in Shalandra. I swear that woman has every grain of sand counted. Makes her a truly effective ally in our efforts to punish the Necroseti responsible for Briana’s abduction.”

  The Arch-Guardian squeezed his daughter’s shoulder, and Briana leaned her cheek against his hand for a moment.

  “But the map is just the first step in your quest to steal the Crown of the Pharus,” Suroth continued. “The Serenii tunnels will get you inside the palace, but they do not lead directly to the vault where the crown is stored with the rest of Shalandra’s relics. You will need to enter the Tomb of Hallar on the western side of the Palace of Golden Eternity.”

  Kodyn’s gut clenched. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be a worthy Undertaking.

  “The Vault of Ancients sits beside the holiest place in all of Shalandra: the Tomb of Hallar.”

  Briana drew in a sharp breath. “Truly?”

  Kodyn’s brow furrowed. “Someone important, I take it?”

  Both sets of eyebrows rose, and Briana’s eyes widened. “Did I never tell you about Hallar, Shalandra’s first Pharus?”

  Kodyn shook his head.

  “Hallar’s origins are shrouded in mystery,” Briana explained, “though it is agreed that he belonged to one of the tribes of the four mountains. He was a champion—of which tribe, no one knows—a peerless warrior that defeated every challenger sent against him. He was the one to unite the tribes into one, and under his rule, the city of Shalandra was built.”

  “Carved from the mountain, you mean.”

  Briana nodded. “Of course. He founded the Keeper’s Blades and the Indomitables, and, we believe, created the caste system, which has maintained order and prosperity in Shalandra since his days. His death is as much a mystery as his birth, but everyone in Shalandra knows that his body lies at rest in the Tomb of Hallar, at the highest point of the city, above even the level of the palace.”

  “In that stern-looking face?” Kodyn had seen the stony features of Hallar glaring down at him as he entered the Palace of Golden Eternity. “That’s his tomb?”

  “Yes, or…” Briana hesitated. “At least that’s what we believe.”

  “The Tomb of Hallar has been sealed for two thousand years,” Suroth put in, “and the key lost to time. Few written records exist from that long ago. All we have are the stories and legends passed down to us by our ancestors, and those carved into the tombs in the Keeper’s Crypts. My Secret Keepers and I have dedicated ourselves to uncovering as much of Shalandra’s history as we can.”

  “But the Vault of Ancients can be accessed, right?” Kodyn cocked his head. “It’s not locked up tight like the tomb?”

  “Of course.” Suroth nodded. “But, and this is a secret that no one beyond myself and a few of my most trusted priests know, the vault does not open on our command.”

  Kodyn’s brow furrowed. Briana had told him that Suroth was the one who brought out the relics from the Vault of Ancients for ceremonies. Yet the look on her face revealed confusion on par with his.

  Suroth glanced around, “The Serenii designed the vault door to only open four times a year. The Vault opens of its own accord—I alone know how to move through the vault safely without setting off the traps left by the ancient people. Only I can safely enter to retrieve the relics stored there.”

  Kodyn’s gut tightened. Serenii traps? That’s going to make things damned difficult. He’d heard his mother’s story of her escape from the Black Spire in Praamis. Only her skill combined with a healthy dose of the Mistress’ luck had gotten her out alive.

  “If this is such a big secret, why are you telling me?” Kodyn asked.

  “Because I need your trust if I am to trust you to keep my daughter safe.” Suroth fixed him with a pointed expression. “The vault will open in three weeks, on the day of the Anointing of the Blades. But if, for some reason, we fail to find a way to help you succeed in your efforts to cla
im the Crown of the Pharus, you will know that I am speaking the truth when I say that we can only try again in three months.”

  “Ah, of course.” Kodyn smiled, understanding dawning. “Trust is built on truth, after all.”

  “Precisely.” Suroth returned the smile. “With everything that we face—the Necroseti, chief among them, but I doubt the threat of the Gatherers is truly passed—I need to know that I can count on you to keep my Briana safe. I would give anything to ensure her protection.”

  Kodyn held out a hand. “You have my word that I will do everything in my power to protect her. And, as long as you need us, we are here to help.”

  “Thank you.” Suroth shook his hand, and once again Kodyn was surprised by the strength of the Secret Keeper’s grip. “I am father first, priest second, and Councilman third.” He shot a glance up at the sun and his brow furrowed. “Speaking of the Council, I am late for our weekly meeting.”

  Briana’s face fell. “Must you go, Father? Those Necroseti wear masks of courtesy but they want nothing more than to see you gone.”

  Suroth shrugged. “I do what I must. My duty is to serve this city as best I can. And, after the Council meeting, I will find a way to speak to the Pharus and share my suspicions. He has no love for the Necroseti and the rest of the Council, either.”

  Briana sighed. “All the same, I’ll still worry about you until you return. Maybe Kodyn can—”

  “Kodyn’s place is by your side.” Suroth cut off his daughter with a firm shake of his head. “I am more than capable of protecting myself, Daughter.” He pressed a kiss to Briana’s forehead, and she threw her arms around his neck.

  Kodyn looked away—after the last few weeks, they deserved a private moment of tenderness. Suroth had made an effort to spend a few hours with Briana the previous afternoon, but his duties as Arch-Guardian of the Secret Keepers and a member of the Keeper’s Council had kept him busy.