by John Bierce
Emiere just listened, and spread none of the rumors himself, for he far preferred to simply trust his eyes. The semaphore network was breaking down even inside Galicanta, and, after all, the Sunsworn could be seen with the naked eye, just shy of the horizon.
It was said there were no greater fortresses on all Iopis than On-Renza and Madracha, and they were built within sight of one another.
The narrow isthmus between the continents of Teringia and Oyansur, between Galicanta and the Sunsworn Empire, had been a place of blood and battle between the two great nations for centuries. In a distant year of unstable, watchful peace, a Sunsworn Emperor had ordered the construction of a great fortress, On-Renza, at one end of the Choke, the narrowest part of the mountainous isthmus. The Galicantan Emperor of the time had promptly ordered the construction of Madracha at the Galicantan end of the Choke.
The Choke was only a league in width, bordered by steep cliffs dropping away to the sea on either side. It was a parched desert scrubland, with nothing larger than a rodent living there— though there were usually plenty of vultures circling overhead. Emiere had never liked the ugly things, but no one on either side shot at the carrion eaters. He wasn’t sure why— he’d heard rumors that it was bad luck, that the birds would remember the insult and descend upon you when you were only wounded, not dead— but regardless of why, it just wasn’t done.
The seers claimed that the cliffs were slowly eroding away, and that someday the sea would break through them. Most Galicantan soldiers bragged that they’d have long since conquered the Sunsworn by then, and Emiere was sure the Sunsworn said the same about them. Emiere wouldn’t admit it out loud, but a part of him sometimes prayed to the ancestors to carve away the cliffs faster, so that the two lands might be forever separated by a sea.
Not, of course, to say that there weren’t battles at sea as well, but as bloody and desperate as they were, they were of little import to the great battles over the Choke, or even the quiet night raids and infiltrations. Neither side were Radhan, to sail the sea out of sight of land.
The walls of both fortresses stretched straight across the leagues of the Choke. It was hard to say which were taller or thicker, but both loomed over the rocky, dusty ground. There was little chance of even a rabbit sneaking across the Choke unseen, but Emiere kept a diligent watch regardless.
For Emiere’s oldest brother had died guarding these walls. His father had died assaulting the walls of On-Renza. One uncle had died in a night raid that made it into the Sunsworn fortress itself. A second uncle, his mother’s only brother, had died in a brutal, pointless skirmish in the no-man’s land between the great citadels.
Emiere fully expected to die on the Choke himself someday, or at least be crippled, like several other of his uncles and brothers. Emiere was glad he had more daughters than sons, for he was sure both of his sons would die on the Choke some day.
Emiere never complained, though, for none in his family ever did. Duty had no room for complaint.
“Emiere!” one of the other guards on the wall hissed. “Did you hear they might be opening up the fortress again soon?”
They’d closed the fortress off weeks ago. No one was allowed in or out from the north, nor even supplies allowed in. Madracha was living as though besieged. And, in a way, it was— from the Wrack to the north and the Sunsworn to the south. There was no communication outside the fortress, save via semaphore. They had enough supplies to keep them going for most of a year if need be.
“They won’t,” Emiere said, not bothering to look at the other soldier.
“What makes you so sure?” the other soldier demanded. “The Wrack’s surely nowhere near us yet. Besides, everyone knows it can’t survive in this heat.”
Emiere just grunted and stared out at the Choke.
“Even the generals are going crazy trapped up in here,” the soldier insisted.
Emiere didn’t respond, just kept watch.
“Ignore Emiere,” another soldier said. “He doesn’t believe anything unless it’s so sour as to make your face pucker.”
Emiere glanced over at the second soldier, then shrugged. The other soldiers chuckled a bit at that.
The other soldier wasn’t wrong, though. Expecting the worst had always served him well.
As morning turned to noon, Emiere’s fellow guards began clustering under the shade cloths, seeking what little cool they could. The sun fell like a blow against your skin at the Choke, and the air was so hot it felt like it could burn your lungs.
Emiere barely acknowledged the heat. In the privacy of his own mind, he did sometimes wish that he could be in one of the cool, breeze-filled semaphore tower rooms, where messages constantly flew back and forth between the two continents. He’d always thought it one of the great ironies of history that these two fortresses were also two of the biggest semaphore relay stations in the world, facilitating communication between the two enemy nations.
Emiere didn’t say any of that, though. He just watched the Choke and listened to the rumors and complaints swirl around him.
The Radhan were spreading the Wrack, so that they could just steal Teringia’s valuables to sell to the empires of Oyansur.
The Wrack was the revenge of the mysterious dwellers of the Krannenbergs, who Lothain had driven far into the deep caves of the mountains for sacrificing innocent Eidol children to their gods.
The Moonsworn were spreading the plague, for their centuries-long infiltration of Teringia was coming to an end, and the Sunsworn would be invading soon.
The Wrack didn’t exist at all. It was just a lie the generals were telling them so they didn’t have to give them leave.
Madracha’s food supplies had been poisoned, and the Sunsworn were planning an invasion.
The Wrack was caused by the semaphores.
Ladreis was already filled with the Wrack, and the Sunsworn were planning an invasion.
The Sunsworn were planning a new invasion to take advantage of the Wrack.
The Wrack was spreading through the spirit realm.
The Quae Empire had declared war on the Sunsworn, and the Sunsworn would have to pull troops back from On-Renza soon.
The Sunsworn were planning an invasion.
The Sunsworn were planning an invasion.
The Sunsworn were planning an invasion.
Emiere just took a drink of warm water from his waterskin and stared at the Choke. He stared at the distant walls of On-Renza, where Sunsworn troops moved as little as they could, and huddled under their own shade cloths. He couldn’t see the slightest sign of activity or excitement over there.
He thought of pointing that out, but sense did little to dispel rumors.
So he just watched the Choke, where he’d die someday— if the sea didn’t wash it away— and he waited.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the Land of the Blind
Eyeless Sherra was, even among the Moonsworn, the subject of some superstitious dread. She could see it inside their bodies every time they were around her.
There were countless stories of seers who had plucked out both their eyes, but in truth, it almost never happened. Those seers who did bear gems in both eyes tended to number among those blind from birth, like Eyeless Sherra.
Even knowing that, her fellow Moonsworn feared her. They hardly showed it in their voices, but Sherra could see it easily in the Goddess Sea, in the ripples their bodies produced.
The fear directed at her wasn’t because she was truly that exceptional of a seer in talent. She was good, but there were a small number that bettered her in various aspects of the discipline. She was hardly the only seer that used their gems ceaselessly, gaining effortless skill with it. Even some of the one-gem seers did that.
Having two empty sockets for gems wasn’t it either. To be sure, being able to use two different types of gems at once was a profound improvement. The colors and images she saw didn’t blend— instead, she saw both images simultaneously, somehow overlaid on one another in her mind. She could easily co
rrelate what she saw in one image with the other, but this was a trait common to all two-gem seers. Likewise, her ability to see in parallax in the Goddess Sea allowed her to see things others simply didn’t— in essence, she had depth perception. Something no one-gem seer would have.
Or, at least, those factors wouldn’t make people as nervous around her as they were. There was something else, wasn’t there?
No, it was the fact that she hadn’t just been born blind. She had been born anosmic as well, without a sense of smell, and somehow, she had become one of those bizarre freaks that could perceive the Goddess Sea through another missing sense. More alarming still, she could actually comprehend what her nose perceived— something the majority of those rarities like her could not do. That would make others nervous, wouldn’t it?
Sherra had no words in any of the three languages she spoke to explain what she could smell, but she was able to act on it, nonetheless.
When they came to her room and told her that she was needed, Sherra came without a word. She came expecting some poor soul no-one else could diagnose, or perhaps the first case of the Wrack in Ladreis.
Instead, she found herself being offered a new eye. Nervously, of course. She felt like she was still forgetting some reason why she made people nervous.
This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence by any means— she was frequently offered new eyes. Sherra was quite certain that no other seer in all of Galicanta owned so many as her.
What she was not expecting, however, was for the new eye to be emerald.
Silently, Sherra popped out the spinel in her left socket and replaced it with the emerald. She blinked twice over the cold gem, and the Goddess Sea came into focus in a deeper, richer green than she had ever seen before.
“We’re using this gem in rotation, Sherra,” Raquella said. “Both the Patient and the Dedicated have agreed you deserve a slot in the rotation to use the emerald.”
Sherra ignored her words and peered at her through the emerald in her left socket and the peridot in her right.
The difference was astonishing.
“Raquella, did you know that you’re pushing towards a heart attack? I highly recommend you take more care with your diet. It’s still some distance away, of course, but I can see the build-up in your arteries.”
There was a moment of silence at Sherra’s words.
“It’s quite astonishing,” Sherra said. “I can’t see the buildup at all with the peridot yet— it would have to progress much further along for that.”
“I see,” Raquella said. “I’ll try and follow your advice. While appreciated, though, I do need you to acknowledge what I’m saying.”
Sherra whirled in place, watching the Goddess Sea spin about her.
“No,” she said, “I don’t think that’s sufficient. One in three.”
“One in three what?” Raquella said, patiently.
“Shifts in the rotation,” Sherra said. “The Patient, the Dedicated, then me. Then the Patient, the Dedicated, and then me. Then the Dedicated, then the Patient, then me, because we all deserve a little variety in life, don’t we?”
Sherra could see an immediate increase in stress from several of the other Moonsworn in the room. They were already quite stressed to begin with, poor dears, what with the Wrack, and their usual cares, and their fear of Sherra.
In point of fact, Sherra was absolutely sure she was forgetting some other reason why they feared her.
“We… we’ll take that under discussion,” Raquella said. “In the meantime, can we suggest you practice with the emerald alongside a peridot? Perhaps you might be able to learn to see the Wrack before it kicks off the delirium stage.”
“Snakes, snakes, snakes,” Sherra said, spinning closer to a couple of other Moonsworn.
Ah, that’s right. She was mad, wasn’t she? Not allowed to touch knives or be around fire or small animals unsupervised. That would explain the fear.
“Sherra, the peridot?” Raquella said, patiently.
“You don’t listen very well,” Sherra said. “But I do. I’m excited to hear the screaming.”
When Sherra’s keepers escorted the blind madwoman out of the room towards one of the infirmaries to practice with the emerald, Raquella sighed, and dismissed her rants about snakes from her mind. Dealing with Sherra always put her on edge, but it was hard to argue for doing without her— the woman’s gifts as a seer were astonishing, and she could diagnose illnesses and internal injuries with ease. Her seer’s nose was an especially rare gift— one that only a dozen other seers in recorded history had possessed.
When she wasn’t causing injuries, at least. On no less than seven occasions she had injured other Moonsworn, usually swiping them with knives without even seeming to notice. No-one even knew how many small animals she’d vivisected.
She’d never injured a patient, curiously enough. Never even tried.
For all the dangers in dealing with Sherra, they couldn’t simply lock her up somewhere safe or grant her the Goddess’ Mercy. She was simply too useful.
Raquella shook her head, and returned her mind to other matters. Well, other matters than the hideous news she’d received this morning. If Raquella were a betting woman, she would imagine that they had a day, maybe less, until the first screams began. She had spent most of the last four days since meeting with the Empress working frantically, preparing the city for the Wrack’s arrival.
There would not be anywhere near enough painkilling medicines, nor medicines to put victims to sleep. Tincture of the poppy was in especially short supply.
A particularly clever group of Dedicated Moonsworn had, however, thought of a useful medical treatment— namely, a way to reduce the injuries that the screamers inflicted upon themselves. It was, Raquella had to admit, a surprisingly simple solution.
Namely, a cunning canvas wrap with rope loops that could be used to keep a screamer constricted, so that they could not claw at themselves or pull muscles by thrashing their limbs unnaturally. The afflicted’s struggles kept the rope loops taut and kept the canvas wrapped around them. If it worked like everyone hoped, it should also prevent the semi-frequent broken limbs.
It would do little to prevent heart failure or suffocation brought on by throat clenching, but the survivors should be in better shape than they would otherwise be.
With a simple word from Raquella, the Empress had every single weaver, seamstress, sailmaker, and anyone else who might be helpful manufacturing the wraps in Ladreis set to work on the task. It was astonishing and terrifying to Raquella— she was used to the reverence with which Galicantans spoke of the Empress, but seeing it play out so determinedly was something else entirely.
They’d set children to collecting the cloth scraps from the wrap manufacture, and bundling them with twine to manufacture earplugs. Wax, especially beeswax, was selling for an absurd premium, yet those who had it were freely sharing it with their neighbors to make even higher quality beeswax.
Ladreis had completely changed in a matter of days. From a boisterous, argumentative, bustling city, it had turned into a quiet, determined, and industrious one. Every order the Moonsworn gave was obeyed without question, and she’d even heard that duels had halted nearly entirely, which she’d never expected to happen.
Even in times of war, Ladreis usually still had…
No. Raquella turned her thoughts away from that road, for it led too close to the morning’s news.
She’d also noted that the chapels, shrines, and repositories of the Vowless ancestors were packed to the brim with supplicants at all times of the day.
One of the biggest challenges had been barreling enough fresh water. At this point, the Moonsworn scholars were all but convinced that the Wrack could spread through water— hence why the poor often seemed to get it a couple weeks after the wealthy. Their access to clean, unpolluted water was poor at best, as though they still lived in the days where you drank wine or small beer if you didn’t want to get sick. The Moonsworn had put an end to thos
e days across much of Iopis, but somehow, no matter how hard the Moonsworn tried, the wealthy and powerful always managed to ensure that the poor didn’t benefit from changes to society, as though they didn’t deserve them.
They hadn’t caught the Wrack in water yet, but Raquella was sure it would only be a matter of time. Once they could observe the diarrhea of a survivor of the Wrack’s delirious screamer stage with the emerald eye, they would surely be able to identify the illness. Once the patterns were found, ideally peridot seers could be trained to do the same.
Given all that, they’d been barreling as much fresh water as they could, before the Wrack arrived. She had issued a commandment that no-one in the city was to drink from fountains or pipes, but only from stored water, once the screaming had begun. Hopefully, it would limit the spread of the Wrack to less than it had been in other cities.
They could only hope, at least.
Even as Raquella went about her inspections, she could feel the morning’s revelations circling in the back of her head. While giving orders, taking care of paperwork, and responding to inquiries from the palace, she felt herself gingerly circling about the topic, like a tongue poking at a sore tooth.
She knew there was no way to avoid thinking about it, hard as she tried.
The Sunsworn Emperor had declared the Wrack a punishment from the Sun Goddess upon the heathen Vowless and had begun marshaling his armies and assembling his fleets. He declared that the Sunsworn faithful, especially the warriors most blessed by the Sun Goddess, would be immune to the disease, as the Moonsworn had proven to be.
Raquella desperately tried not to think about the fact that plagues were not the realm of the Sun but of the nameless third sister.
Within a month at most, Galicanta and the Sunsworn Empire would be at war, and there was no greater breeding ground for plague than war. Raquella had hoped, quite realistically, that the Wrack could be contained in Teringia, that the Choke might keep it out of Oyansur.