Obsidian

by Lindsey Scholl

  As they finished dressing the carcass of the dead yemain, Amarian tried to ignore the unnatural cold over his left shoulder. The Ealatrophe was watching them with idle curiosity. Thinking that Thelámos would attract too much negative attention, Vancien had directed his mount to stay among the trees; the beast had joined them not long after they had brought down the yemain. Though Amarian figured he wanted a piece of the kill, Vancien insisted that he was merely bored. Either way, Amarian didn’t like it. The sacred nature of the creature always made him feel as unworthy as he knew he was.

  “Where could that brainless fennel be? The army will be here by the time she gets back.”

  Vancien said nothing. Fear often spoke with the voice of anger and for Amarian, this was particularly true. Just as he was about to suggest that they start back to the house, Thelámos gave a loud shriek of welcome. They both looked up to see Bedge burst out of the trees. Her swirled brown fur was missing large patches, she was favoring one paw, and her eyes were half-crazed.

  Amarian dropped his pack. “Bedge, where in the Chasm have you been?”

  By way of an answer, she limped over to him, ran her thin body across his legs, and collapsed. Now much alarmed, he dropped down next to her. “Bedge! Idiot fennel! What’s gotten into you?”

  Vancien knelt next to him. After listening to her breathing, he passed a hand over her to check for wounds. The limp was caused by a large thorn, recently acquired. She appeared simply exhausted.

  Amarian muttered as he, too, ran his hand across her limp head and down her neck. She stirred under his touch, but did not open her eyes.

  “What do you think happened to her?” he asked.

  “Looks like she’s come a long way and in a great hurry. There’s no way we can know until she wakes up.”

  The day was beginning to fade, so Amarian draped the unconscious kit over his shoulder as they gathered up their kill. The movement woke her up. With a howl, she tried to scramble to the top of his head. Amarian howled himself as she did so.

  “Bedge! Shh! Hold still, it’s me! By the Chasm, you’ve got claws!”

  Pinned to his shoulder like a huge housecat, it took a while for her to calm down. “Sir? Sir, we must go,” she rasped into his ear.

  “What are you talking about? We are going. Go where?”

  She shook her furry head and jumped down. “Bedge went very far. First for good hunting. Then Bedge followed the orbs coming up in the big, pretty fields. She ran and played. Played, played, played…” she ran a paw distractedly across the dirt. “Bedge likes to play, but Bedge stopped when she heard them.”

  “Them?”

  “Him. And them. They were in the fields.” She shuddered. “Bedge heard bad noises before she saw them.”

  The brothers stared at each other as she began to avidly lick herself. Vancien spoke first. “She saw the army. And if she went east towards the rising orbs, she was in the fields or the wood between here and Windrell.”

  “And him?” Amarian was pale.

  Vancien looked at the fennel, then at the sky, then at Thelámos, who was preening himself, oblivious to Bedge’s news. “I think there are only two ‘hims’ who could be riding with the Eastern Army. And you’re here.”

  Amarian’s stomach turned. He wiped a shaking hand across his forehead, which was beginning to glisten. “Surely not. I mean, we knew he raised them but he couldn’t ride with them, could he? He’s never done that before.”

  Vancien was disturbed by the idea, as well, but he didn’t want to admit it. “None of this has been done before, ‘Ian. Starting when you chose Zyreio against your will.”

  “We can’t fight him, Vance. We can’t. He’ll…who knows what he’ll do?”

  Bedge had begun pacing. “Sir not fight? Sir must fight. Evil army will reach big city in days. Bedge, Sir, and—” she glanced at Vancien, for whom she had not yet found a satisfactory label, “—Sir’s brother must fight loud bad fennels.”

  Amarian had knelt on the ground, struggling to breathe. “I can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t face him.”

  Vancien laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Amarian. Kynell is with us. Zyreio is no match for him. I’m sure of it.”

  Amarian continued to sway, senseless to everything but his fear. The nightmare that had been his advocacy came rushing back, paralyzing him and casting his current reality into darkness. He could feel Bedge purring up against him, trying to calm him, but he could not move to touch her. He heard her voice soothing, “Sir is too scared, Sir will be fine, Sir has Bedge and the light-god,” but he could not catch his breath well enough to respond.

  Amarian shook his head and began swearing under his breath. Then he felt a great claw shove him to the ground, digging its talons into his chest. For a moment, he thought Zyreio himself had struck him, but then he felt a debilitating cold seize his body.

  “Thelámos, stop!” Vancien cried, horrified. He shoved his shoulder into the Ealatrophe, who ignored him. Bedge had thrown herself onto Thelámos’ back, going instinctively for his great neck. He only plucked her off and tossed her to the side.

  Amarian lay pinioned on the ground as Thelámos glared at him. He heard Vancien’s shout and saw Bedge attack. But those images began to mingle with other images, and other voices.

  “Tell me again,” he heard his own voice insisting. “From the beginning.” Then his reality disappeared altogether. All he could see were the walls of his childhood, and his father looking down on him.

  Hull bent down low, scooping him into his lap. “It’s a long story, son. And it’s about time you go to bed.”

  Amarian squirmed at that last word. “Not yet, Papa. I’m not tired.”

  Hull looked at Chera, who only shrugged. It was Hull’s job to put Amarian to bed, and she would let him make the decision.

  “Okay. Just once. But tomorrow night you go to bed early.”

  Amarian nodded. It was worth the sacrifice.

  “Do you remember who never, ever changes?”

  “Yes. Kynell. He is always the same.”

  “And who is ever-changing and inconstant, except for his lies?”

  “Zyreio. He never means what he says, except when he wants to.”

  “And who is in-between?”

  Amarian thumped a small hand on his chest. “Us. We change but not always. And we only sometimes lie. But we shouldn’t,” he added quickly.

  Hull settled back in his chair, his voice low and strong. “Long ago, in the days after the great city of Lascombe was first founded, Zyreio came to Kynell and said to him, ‘I am tired of exile. I want all of Rhyvelad to be mine.’

  “‘You cannot have it.’ Kynell told him.

  “‘Then I want a champion,’ Zyreio had said. ‘And I want you to have a champion, too. They will fight as enemies and one will die. Whoever’s champion triumphs will rule Rhyvelad for a time. Then we’ll do it all over again.’”

  Here Amarian straightened and looked his father in the face. “But why would Kynell do that? Why did he listen to Zyreio?”

  “I don’t know, son. Not completely. Do you want me to finish the story?”

  Amarian nodded and put his head back on his father’s shoulder.

  “At first Kynell did not respond. Zyreio’s heart—or whatever he has in place of a heart—fell. Kynell would not accept his plan. But then Kynell, with a voice that made Zyreio jump back, said ‘They will be called Advocates. And they will be brothers.’”

  “No!” Amarian popped up again. “That’s too mean! Brothers shouldn’t fight.”

  “Shh. It’s okay. We have to trust Kynell. If he wanted the Advocates to be brothers, he must have had a reason.”

  “But that’s not how the story ends, is it?”

  “They talk some more. About the cycles, and how long each would have control of Rhyvelad. What could be done, and what couldn’t be done. That sort of thing.”

  “Why did Zyreio get his way?”

  Here his mother interceded. “Zyreio only
got his way for a short time. Kynell always triumphs in the end, and that means love does, too, including the love between brothers.”

  “Why can’t the gods fight themselves, instead of the Advocates?”

  His father took up the conversation again. “Kynell can defeat Zyreio with a word. But if Kynell allows Zyreio to resist, the whole world could be destroyed by their fighting.”

  Kynell can defeat Zyreio with a word. The words rang again and again in Amarian’s head as he pictured Zyreio in that army. The whole world could be destroyed, but Kynell can defeat with a word. The cold continued to course through him, pounding at his fear, bringing him relentlessly back to the fear of Kynell, whose voice even Zyreio feared.

  He had stopped moving. Vancien was frantic, shouting “You’ve killed him!” even as he plowed repeatedly into Thelámos’ shoulder. Finally, Thelámos released his hold and sat back to admire his handiwork.

  Amarian lay still a moment longer, then coughed and curled into a fetal position. Vancien covered him with his cloak but it seemed to have no effect. He still clutched at his chest, which bled only a little, and stared into the trees. Finally, in a thin voice, he spoke.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go.”

  Vancien nodded, but glared at Thelámos. It had been a brutal way of getting Amarian’s attention. Amarian saw the look and managed a smile.

  “Don’t. He is holier than we are.” Then his speech was stopped as Bedge, anxious to help, curled up next to his chest and rested her head on his face.

  Night had fallen when Amarian recovered; when he did stagger to his feet, he said not a word. They walked the short distance in silence. Ming, who was waiting for them, had only to look at his shivering form before she put another pot of hot water on the fire in addition to the one with boiling vegetables. Like most of Chiyo’s people, she operated with impressive efficiency. After she hurried Amarian to the chair next to the fireplace and wrapped him in a blanket, she started asking questions in her thick Western accent.

  “What has happened to this man? What did you do to him? And where did that lady go?”

  Vancien and Bedge kept their distance, happy to let her do the preparations for dinner. “He has taken a severe chill,” Vancien responded. He pointed to the big, bloody sack they had brought in. “We were hunting yemain. That bag is for you. What lady?”

  “This lady,” N’vonne answered as she stepped inside. “I just stepped out to see if I could find you. What took you so long? And what happened to him?”

  Vancien shook his head. “Long story. But we have more news.”

  “Save it for now. We’ve got to get you to the palace. Corfe wants to meet with you tonight for dinner.” She looked out the door. “Right about now.”

  When he didn’t move, she threw him a bundle of clothes she had been carrying. “Hurry! Put these on. They’re loans from the palace so we can at least look respectable.”

  He did as he was told, instructed Bedge to keep a close eye on Amarian, and followed her out into the night. The early autore air still had a bite in it; he could see his breath as he jogged to catch up with her.

  “Corfe knows I’m alive then, does he?”

  “I don’t think he’ll believe it until he sees you. We’re all interested in what his reaction will be.”

  “He still won’t believe I’m the Advocate.”

  She nodded, her auburn waves bouncing a little in the lunos-light. He noticed that she had also dressed up for the occasion.

  “We need to talk to Telenar, as well,” he continued, dropping his voice as they entered the city gates. No need to cause a panic quite yet. “Bedge went exploring, and she saw the army between here and Windrell.”

  That caught her attention. “Here and Windrell? It’s already gone through the Ulanese?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “So Telenar was right. It’s headed straight for Lascombe.”

  “Which means we have a lot of work to do in the next few days.”

  __________

  Corfe entertained them in high style. It had been a long time since they had enjoyed good, warm Keroulian food. Vancien’s appreciation of it was dimmed, however, by the knowledge that Amarian was still shivering in Ming’s poor cottage. Wine flowed, followed by delicious greens, marinated poultry, and finally, sweet glazed honey cakes. Corfe did not say much to him beyond a formal greeting when he first arrived. It was a private party, consisting of Corfe, Telenar, N’vonne, Chiyo, and Vancien, yet their host kept to surface conversation during the course of their meal. Vancien, who alone knew how imminent the threat was, could not sit still.

  Finally, when the last of the honey had been whisked away and replaced by hot tea, Corfe acknowledged his presence by more than a shallow formality.

  “I have to say, Vancien, you look very much alive and healthy. Much more so than when I last saw you.”

  “Much has changed since then. You yourself look more alive now that I can see Kynell in you.”

  Corfe flushed at the unexpected compliment, but before he could respond, Vancien continued. “We can’t dwell on the past, however. I have just found out that the Eastern army has moved beyond Windrell and is marching through the fields towards Lascombe as we speak. We may have just a few days before it’s here. And Zyreio rides with it.”

  Telenar choked on his tea. “Did you say rides with it?”

  “Bedge said that she saw a ‘him’ with ‘them.’ And she was terrified.”

  Corfe jumped in, glancing at Telenar. “Perhaps the ‘him’ in question was Amarian?”

  There was an awkward pause as several of them considered how to proceed. Vancien, not knowing how much Corfe had been told, held his tongue. Telenar sighed. “Remember when I told you that we saw Amarian in the marshes? That was not entirely accurate. Since that time, Amarian has been traveling with us as,” he laid great stress on the word, “a follower of Kynell. Consequently,” he continued, looking again to Vancien, “there’s just one other person that Zyreio would trust with his army—himself.”

  “Look,” Corfe cut in, beginning to rise from the table. “I don’t know what game your little band of brothers is playing. First Vancien’s dead, now he’s alive. Then Amarian is Obsidian’s Advocate, now he’s not. I’ve half a mind to throw you all out on your heels.”

  At the far end of the table, Chiyo had been scratching plans into its wooden surface. He had not spoken at all during dinner, except for muttering to himself. Now, when Corfe’s voice escalated, he slammed down his knife.

  “You will do no such thing, Corfe. Sit down.” Surprised, the young man obeyed as Chiyo continued. “Do you know what I’ve been doing while you’ve been discussing Kynell knows what?” He pointed a calloused finger towards the scratches. “Planning evacuation routes. Preparing for our defense. Figuring out how to keep people alive. Do you or do you not believe that a large force will soon be laying siege to this city?”

  They all nodded.

  “Then I suggest we start acting more like soldiers and less like theologians. Send for your commanding general. We need to evacuate the women and children immediately. Have him bring me layouts of the palace, the city, and the surrounding areas. After that, send for the king. He needs to know what’s going on. Vancien, find the palace carpenter. We’ll need his help. N’vonne, find the kitchen master. We must know how long we can hole up in this place. Telenar, find what helpful priests you can and get all the useless ones out, away from the soldiers.”

  Vancien was already on his feet. “And Amarian?”

  Chiyo paused. “It might be best to keep him out of sight. If any under his former command see him, who knows how they’ll react?”

  Everyone, even Corfe, was galvanized into action by Chiyo’s words. By min-lunos, the king and his chief officers had been informed of the approaching danger, and Chiyo was already conferring with the carpenter on how to build barriers against the enemy. Shouts started reverberating in the streets as word spread of the evacuation.

  It was
still several hours before dawn when the soldiers banged on Ming’s door. Amarian withdrew into a corner as the older lady limped to the door, wiping sleep out of her eyes as she went.

  “Yes?”

  A flushed young officer bowed. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. The city is being evacuated. We must ask you to remove yourself and any dependents inside the walls to report for immediate departure. Please do not flee yourself but report to the city for appropriate evacuation orders. Please do not take anything with you but warm clothes and food. Shelter will be provided.”

  Having finished with his speech, he hurried away to the next house. Ming shut the door, lit a candle, and looked at Amarian. “Do you count as a dependent, my son?”

  “No, but I’ll help you get your food ready for the road.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The night before Chiyo ordered the evacuation, Lucio and Teehma made their escape. After several tense days of planning, Lucio had wanted to leave the city as quickly as possible, but Teehma insisted that they say farewell to Trint and Ester first. She had asked Sirin where they were living during supper. Unsuspecting, he had described Tertio’s shop to them and even how to get there. So later that same night they crept down the street, avoiding eye contact with anybody and hoping they could see their two comrades one more time before they left the city forever.

  Sirin’s directions were accurate. In about twenty minutes, they found themselves outside of a small house, with two windows facing the street and, around the corner in an alley, two more windows. It did not take long for Lucio, using Gorvy’s training, to find the window that looked in on both Ester and Trint sleeping in bunked beds. But his small whoop of triumph was cut short when the door to their room opened and Tertio looked in. Holding their breath outside the window, Teehma and Lucio could only see the outline of his head. It looked like a contented outline. Teehma felt a pang; it had been a long time since an adult had bothered to look in and see how she was sleeping.

  After a few minutes, Tertio left and Lucio sprang the window’s lock. They climbed inside, using a worn-out old dresser as a ladder down to the planked floor. Tertio certainly did not live like Sirin, but the place was clean and warm. Trint was sleeping like a baby, but Ester jumped when Teehma scuffed her foot on the floor.