Tessili Revenge

by Robin Stephen

  Jey cocked her hand, preparing the throw. The balance of her weapon was familiar. Her arm was strong. Her hand was steady. She would not miss.

  “Jey, don’t do this.”

  The voice spoke out of the darkness, making her whirl around in surprise. She watched in numb astonishment as Treyam stepped out of the shadows to one side of the bed, his long coat shifting and swaying as he walked.

  She stared at her friend in a blaze of confusion. She almost lost hold of her passive echo spell. She did not understand. Was this a betrayal? Had Treyam somehow been working for the enemy all along?

  Treyam continued forward. He held his staff in his left hand. Its runes were alight with coiling power. His amber eyes were colorless in the pale light, but his expression was warm – even sympathetic. “Murdering this man will not heal Masidon,” he said. His voice was low and rich. “Nor will it sooth your regrets.”

  Jey felt her cool resolve leaving her. The bright, comforting decision she’d been carrying since Liam explained about the suppressor seemed to shatter and fall to fragments. She didn’t understand. Treyam was supposed to be on her side.

  “I do not say he should not be held accountable for his deeds,” Treyam continued. “But his trial needs to be public. He needs to own the horrors he has committed. The whole country needs to hear what he has done. He will not walk free, Jey, but if you murder him now he will take what he knows to the grave.”

  Jey felt the prickle of tears behind her eyes. Treyam was right. She knew that. Her skills were not needed or wanted in the new world the Tessilari would build. Violence could beget only violence, and the people of Masidon had shed far too much blood already.

  Jey let her passive echo spell fall. She returned her throwing knife to its sheath. And that’s when Phril decided to take matters into his own hands.

  ◈

  Balist, the former High Priest of Masidon and former dean of Tessili Academy, tried not to quiver as he sat in his bed and waited to discover whether he would live or die. He tried to tell himself that he was at peace. His relationship with Delari was strong. She had chosen him above all other men to head her church. He had served her well. He had seen to her people, kept them safe.

  He had made mistakes, of course. He remembered that day so long ago now, when he’d visited the academy and been warned about the student, J114, who now stood at the foot of his bed with murderous intent. He should have listened, then. He should have accelerated her graduation as had been recommended.

  He’d also made a mistake in trusting Nylan. When he’d discovered the existence of his bastard son, he’d felt a paternal desire to help the young man, to elevate him out of the squalor of his upbringing and help him to greater heights. That had been complicated as well. A priest was meant to have no love but for Delari. But Balist was a man. Like all men, he had made mistakes.

  He hadn’t known the map Nylan eventually stole would lead to the ancient prison of the diod. He hadn’t known failing to eliminate J114 that day would amount to signing his own death warrant. Delari did not grant even the most exalted among her servants the gift of foresight.

  Yet there were writings that indicated some among the Tessilari had such a gift. It was not natural for a mortal man or woman to see the future. So much about the Tessilari was unnatural. These people, two of them, had arrived in his bedchamber in the middle of the night, infiltrating both the administrative city and his personal defenses without apparent difficulty. He knew this was the least of what they could do.

  How could the sons and daughters of Delari let such unnatural powers go unchecked? How could any normal man or woman live side by side with such people? Tessilari could control even the thoughts of others. For all Balist knew, the man at the foot of the bed was doing that even now – placing his own thoughts in among Balist’s to grow and hatch like the eggs of a blight bird.

  Fortunately for Balist, the man who had appeared in his bedchamber appeared to be talking J114 down. It had been a blow to learn that the work of the church, which Balist had believed so successful, had actually been incomplete. All these years the Tessilari had been lurking, undetected, just beyond his reach.

  Balist watched, waiting, trusting in Delari not to abandon him at his moment of need. He watched the girl’s body language shift, saw the certainty drain out of her. He almost smiled as she returned her throwing knife to its sheath.

  Then there was a strange keen on the air. The small darting tessila that had been flitting about the room swept in an arc towards his bed, releasing that haunting cry. J114 gasped, spinning towards the small animal. “Phril. No!” Her voice rang in the still room, but appeared to have no effect.

  There were records at the academy, works of writing that suggested the flashnodes induced a kind of madness in the tessili there. It was why the creatures became so irrational and volatile as the girls grew older. The flashnodes disrupted the connection between tessila and student, limiting the power that could be exchanged. The flashnodes, Balist knew, were the heart of what had made the academy work.

  Now, Balist had a moment to regret what the flashnodes had done to this one tessila.

  At first, he was not afraid as the creature darted towards him. It was tiny, after all, impotent in its fury. Then there was a blurring in the air and a tremendous crash. Balist felt his bed collapse, shattering as the tessila, suddenly the size of a horse, hurled itself at him.

  Feathers flew into the air as talons scored the bedclothes. Balist felt a crushing impact on one side. He was hurled free of his bed so that he tumbled past J114 and the young man. His shoulder and head cracked against the hard stone. He slid across the ground, dazed, to come to rest in the center of the antechamber, before the doors.

  “Phril, stop it.” Balist could hear J114’s sharp voice. He could also hear thuds and scrapes as the tessila fought its way free from the collapsed bed. His head was spinning, but he managed to sit up and arrange himself in a more dignified pose. He would not meet his death sprawled on the floor.

  He looked towards the broken bed in time to see it all happen.

  First, he saw the red tessila, free of the bed now and advancing on him like an overgrown, stalking cat. There was no thought in those eyes, no awareness, only lust for the kill. J114 stood by the creature’s shoulder, pleading to no avail.

  Then, another tessila appeared. This one darted around the large one, a mere speck in the silver air. She flew in front of J114’s tessila and expanded as well, shifting to the size of a scenthound. She settled on the floor between the enraged tessila and Balist. She raised her wings.

  The enormous red tessila hissed and opened his mouth, displaying rows of glittering teeth. “Phril.” J114’s voice was a choked sob.

  And then the small tessila on the floor erupted with light. Where before her scales had been a pale blue, now they were incandescent. A brilliant glow permeated the room, so bright Balist had to raise his hand to shield his eyes. He squinted, staring with wonder. He had read of this type of tessila, but he’d thought them long extinct.

  J114’s tessila froze in its attack, going still as a statue. The young man appeared, stepping around the massive tessila’s haunch and walking to set his hand on the glowing tessila’s shoulder. He was glowing as well, giving off a light equally as bright as his monster.

  Although Balist knew he should not be impressed, although he knew these magics were unnatural and corrupt, he couldn’t help but feel a little swell of … some emotion he could not quite name. Of all the powers he had read of over the years, this one seemed the most divine. Now he looked up at the young man’s eyes, knowing he would survive the night. “You are a peace warden,” he said. “Thank Delari.”

  ◈

  The Tessilari were gathering for battle. They were a strange army. They formed in quiet clusters, men and women standing shoulder to shoulder, tessili wheeling and flying overhead in groups and swirls. In the very center, at the heart of the formation, First Mage Otha stood in silence. As the sun toppe
d the distant mountains and fell over the valley outside Deramor, some of the years seemed to fall away from the old woman. She walked with a staff, but so did many others present. Every Tessilari now bore a magical weapon. The stunrods taken from the orderlies had been distributed among them. Jey had learned from Liam those weapons had been designed and created for use against the diod and its minions.

  Jey and Treyam reached the edge of the broad field as the first rays of sun spilled down to light the army in a warm glow. Phril was small again. He’d crawled well up into Jey’s sleeve and now crouched there, full of conflicting feelings. He felt remorse over his loss of control, and shame that Nim had prevented him from destroying the high priest.

  In normal circumstances, Jey would have tried harder to comfort him. At the moment, she was experiencing similar confusion. She knew it had been wrong to decide to murder the high priest. She was glad Treyam had stopped her. Except something had changed between them in that bedchamber. The balance of power had shifted. Always before, Treyam had exuded an air of flippant indifference about everything. He’d seemed resigned to the fact that Jey could use his staff more effectively than he could, that her tessila was larger, stronger, faster, that she could outperform him in any physical contest. He’d never seemed to care.

  Jey glanced over at the young man as they reached the first cluster of Tessilari and exchanged murmured greetings. He had stopped glowing. Nim, like Phril, was diminutive again. She was tucked into Treyam’s collar, but she was no longer blue. Her scales had bleached to a pure, bright white except for pale azure accents along her brow ridges and spine.

  Treyam was a peace warden. The thought repeated in Jey’s head in a strange loop. Jey had never heard of a peace warden until she and Elle had fled to the Valley of Mist. There they had learned all about the War of the Diods and the betrayal. Peace wardens had never been common, but they were powerful in battle. They could call upon their tessila, bathing themselves and the area around them in an incandescent glow. All physical violence around them would fall still. No human, tessila, or animal could harm another if a peace warden was near. It was how the first diod had been defeated. A peace warden had strode to the very heart of the enemy forces, then destroyed the diod using a spell that killed her as well.

  Now, Jey’s heart seemed to tremble as she stole a glance at Treyam’s face. He walked with a new confidence, his shoulders square, his eyes resolute.

  Jey knew that spell – the one that had killed a diod. All Tessilari were taught to cast it, usually at a young age. Jey and Elle had learned it when they’d arrived in the valley.

  Treyam knew it, too. And that thought somehow made Jey even more uncomfortable than the memory of the previous night. The knowledge that she’d almost done something unforgivable ate at her, yes, but it wasn’t what caused the coil and swirl of anxiety to writhe in her chest.

  Surely, she told herself as she followed Treyam’s purposeful stride into the heart of the Tessilari forces, surely he did not intend to attempt to destroy the diod himself?

  At last, they reached the center of the camp. Jey saw relief smooth the worried creases out of Elle’s forehead as her friend saw them coming. She smiled, something a little sly about the expression. Her eyes flicked from Treyam to Jey and back.

  They had not returned to the shelter where the other Tessilari were staying after their adventure in the High Priest’s mansion. They hadn’t discussed it, but by some unspoken mutual agreement they had retreated to Lokim’s old hideout instead. Treyam and Jey had slipped inside, built a fire, and fallen asleep side by side. They hadn’t spoken. In the night, Jey had felt an understanding between them. She’d been confident he wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d nearly done.

  Now, in the light of morning, Jey wondered if she’d been foolish and naïve, imagining that shared feeling of connection in the darkness. Perhaps Treyam had only stayed with her to keep an eye on her, so he could deliver her to the hands of those who would judge and punish.

  Elle opened her mouth as if to speak, as if to make some remark about the fact of Treyam and Jey appearing together after going missing some time in the night. But First Mage Otha turned her old head, her sharp, inquisitive gaze snapping onto Treyam with sudden intensity.

  Treyam set the end of his staff against the ground. He looked at Otha. Some ghost of his trademark grin lingered about his eyes. “Otha,” he said. “We have a peace warden at last.”

  Then Nim leapt out of his collar, beat a circle around his head, and began to glow.

  ◈

  The knights arrived two hours after dawn. They rode up in two gleaming columns, mounted on their armored horses, battle standards flapping and cracking in the air overhead. High Mage Agina stepped forward to confer with a general. Then the strange army moved out.

  Jey walked between Elle and Treyam, her heart heavy as lead. Around her, the Tessilari marched in silence.

  News of Treyam’s transformation had traveled quickly. Now he walked beside her, head high, Nim riding his shoulder with her wings half spread. All around, people cast admiring looks in his direction.

  But in front of Treyam, First Mage Otha tramped with a quick step. Just as Jey had feared, Treyam had offered to go alone, to try to bring down the monster by sacrificing his own life. First Mage Otha had refused to hear of it. “We are weak,” the old woman had snapped. “Even you with your new power, we are mere shadows of the Tessilari of old. It will take all of us to stop the diod this time.”

  So, they walked together – a hodgepodge of men and women, young and old, powerful and weak. The gleaming knights surrounded them. Together, they crossed the broad valley and continued into the forest, breaking into smaller formations to move among the trees. Jey was grouped with Otha, Treyam, Lokim, Elle, and four other stern-faced Tessilari.

  The strategy was a simple one. The bulk of the forces would engage the hardened men the diod had created, buying time. This one unit, Jey’s, would attempt to push through the gathered forces and reach the diod.

  Would it work? No one could say. But they had to try. The most recent reports counted those the diod had slaughtered in the hundreds. Dozens more common people had become the warriors the Tessilari called hardened men. At this rate, it would take only a few more days before the diod was unstoppable.

  They walked through the quiet forest for a long time. There was little conversation around them. Jey followed on Treyam’s heels, watching the dancing hem of his long coat. She wanted to speak to him, to explain herself, to tell him she didn’t want him to die. She remembered that day, so long before, when she had decided to trust him, to follow him to the valley. Ever since, she’d been aware of the way he watched her. But she’d kept her distance.

  Now Treyam moved straight ahead, not sparing a thought for her. She could see his determination in the set of his shoulders. She felt a strange desire to touch his arm, to make him stop and look at her, to take his hand and lead him away. They could flee to the Fog Isles, perhaps, or somewhere beyond. It might be years before the diod’s forces caught up with them.

  Ahead, the trees began to thin. Off to the right, a horse whinnied as a knight commander gave a shout. Then they were moving out of the forest, stepping into another, smaller valley. The settlement of Tintarin lay below, a cluster of small houses in the morning light.

  And drawn up before the houses, waiting, stood the hardened men.

  They were like no men Jey had ever seen. They stood as still as stones, faces devoid of emotion. They carried a random assortment of weapons, ranging from clubs to knives to staffs to swords. They wore the clothing of tradesmen and laborers and farmers and thieves. They were the common folk of Masidon, transformed into nightmares. Some of them bore visible wounds, gashes or cuts or dented skulls. But the wounds did not bleed. The men stood shoulder to shoulder. Not a one moaned or twitched or betrayed pain of any kind.

  In the heart of the village, Jey knew, the diod lurked. From their vantage point she thought she could make out a s
trange stain of purple light emanating from the town square.

  At last, Jey felt that strange peace settle over her. Her worries about Treyam vanished. Her fatigue from the night before faded away. She felt primed, prepared, and ready. This one last time, Jey would do what she was so good at.

  She drew her knives. These were new knives, handed to her this morning by a Tessilari with a gray beard and kind eyes. Like Treyam’s staff, they glowed with a tracery of runic markings. She could feel the magic in them as her palms settled onto the smooth wooden grips.

  The hardened men could not really be killed. Jey knew this. But they could be crippled to such an extent they could no longer attack. Magical weapons made that easier.

  First Mage Otha stopped. The Tessilari formed up, the knights gleaming at their flanks. The hardened men did nothing. They only stood, a solid wall between this army and the diod.

  First Mage Otha spoke, and her voice rang in the quite air. “It is time.”

  One of the knights raised a horn to his lips. A note sounded, high and pure. Another note answered from the end of the line. Then, the armored horses charged.

  ◈

  Behind them, people were dying. The air was full of horrible noises, of screams, the ring of weapon on weapon, and the sick crunch of weapon on flesh. Horses whinnied, men bellowed, women cried out. The Tessilari and the knights were fully engaged. There was no turning back now.

  But Treyam was glowing again. He was holding back, Jey could feel, conserving his energy. He walked in the center of their formation, supporting Otha with one arm. Around those two, Jey and her companions strode, weapons out, eyes alight with battle fervor. It had taken them only a few moments to push through the front lines. Now the small group hurried for the heart of the city, knowing every moment cost lives.

  Jey still held her knives, but she could not use them. Treyam’s peace warding surrounded her, suppressing any desire she might have to do violence. It was a strange feeling, and she fought it a little as they walked through the deserted streets. What if something went wrong and she needed to defend him? She would dash ahead, she decided, and move beyond his range of influence.