Her eyes returned to the eastern bank with its tall sandstone wall. She thought she caught a glimpse of the King’s palace, but the giant towers were like pitchforks on the horizon, half-hidden by the wall and countless arching rooftops. Far in the distance, she could see foothills rising up behind the city in a steep slant, crossed by small tributaries of water. Countless windmills dotted the hills. Sora had never seen so many windmills before, perhaps hundreds of them, all shapes and sizes. She stared for a long time, watching the distant wooden arms spin lazily in the wind.
“Leaves an impression, doesn’t it?” Burn asked. He sat next to her on the bow, chewing a roll of sweet bread.
“Can’t see much yet,” she said. Her gaze returned to the crush of people on the western shore. “Why is there no wall on this side?”
Burn considered the tangled mess of buildings on the western bank. “The city was originally built around the King’s palace. Eventually the city grew until it crossed over the river,” he explained. “The west side is home to less attractive types, the lowest of the tiers all fighting for a place to belong. Lots of crime.”
“It looks a bit run-down,” she agreed. A forest of blackened chimneys tainted the sky with smoke.
Burn snorted with humor. “The riverside is the nicer district,” he said. “The deeper you travel, the more lawless it becomes.”
Sora smirked. “You certainly seem familiar with it,” she teased.
“I’ve spent some time there,” Burn laughed. “I’m no stranger to the lower quadrants of the city.”
She glanced at him, curious. “Did you used to live here?”
He grinned at her disarmingly. “Long ago, before I met my wife. More years than I care to count,” he replied.
They sailed farther through the city. The river narrowed and widened at intervals. Silas guided their ship toward the south gate at the lower base of the city. It was the cheapest place to dock.
Eventually Burn pointed down the river. “See that line across the horizon?” he asked.
Sora nodded.
“That’s a bridge connecting the two banks, newly constructed. It’s more than a half-mile long. King Royce designed it himself. He’s a brilliant inventor. He also built the windmills and much of the plumbing beneath the city.” He whistled slowly through his long, sharp teeth. “It will be a sad day when his reign comes to an end.”
Sora stared at the dark, distant line on the horizon. The bridge crossed a narrow point of the Crown’s Rush, tall enough for a five-masted vessel to pass under: the largest bridge in the Kingdom, spanning almost a quarter-mile. She vaguely recalled stories about it from her days as a noblewoman. Her father’s footmen brought news of the bridge from the city.
They passed under the bridge and continued to the southern docks, where the Crown’s Rush expanded into a large lake. The Bath, Burn called it. Sora didn’t expect the river to suddenly expand outward, becoming placid and smooth. The opposite shore appeared small and gray in the distance. “At the far end of The Bath, the river begins again. It all spills over a large waterfall and continues to the south, branching and narrowing until it reaches Fennbog swamp,” he explained, and nudged her shoulder. “Sorry place that is,” he muttered.
Sora grinned in humor, then her eyes turned to where the eastern side of the city piled up against the river. Shops and merchants had accumulated outside the southern gate on the boardwalk, their stores supported by stone blocks and wooden posts. An expansive marina sprawled out over the water.
“Best prepare to make land,” Burn said, and stepped back from the bow. “You should gather your things.”
Sora left the bow quickly and headed to her cabin, an excited spring to her step.
* * *
Docking the ship took twice as long as anticipated. As Silas found a vacant spot on the southern wharf to drop anchor, Sora readied herself in her room. The majority of her belongings would stay on the ship, but she made sure her blades were clean and secured to her belt. She braided her thick blond hair and washed her face. Then she tucked her humble coin purse inside the pocket of her cloak.
Finally, she carefully removed the Dark God’s sacred weapons from a locked wooden box under her bed: a rapier hilt and a spearhead, both icy-cold to the touch. Her Cat’s Eye stirred uneasily as she held them; the artifacts gave off a queer, uncomfortable energy.
Last night, their group met in Silas’ cabin to discuss their arrival in The City of Crowns. Sora, Crash, Burn and Caprion would take the sacred weapons to the Temple of the North Wind. If they could speak to the High Priestess, they might be able to secure her help, and she might have information about the Shade. Surely, if any news existed of the Sixth Race, it would be at the Wind Temple.
Meanwhile, Lori would accompany Ferran on his houseboat to the Healer’s seminary, which was located on the other side of The Bath. She wanted to see the extent of the plague and how the Healers were treating it. Between their two parties, they were certain to uncover evidence of the Shade’s presence, and perhaps track down The Book of the Named.
Sora wrapped the sacred weapons in a linen cloth and placed them carefully at the bottom of her leather satchel. Then she shouldered her bag and headed out the door.
Burn, Caprion and Crash met her at the bottom of the plank. It was already past noon, though clouds obscured the sun, making midday feel like early evening. A brisk wind sent shimmering ripples over the surface of the water. From the railing of the Dawn Seeker, Sora found herself looking out over The Bath, the wide lake at the base of the City of Crowns. If she listened hard enough, she could catch the waterfall’s roar at its southern end. Or perhaps that was the general cacophony of the city.
The docks of the southern wharf were large and expansive, trailing out across the wide lake in a complex network of floating boards. They bobbed and shifted beneath her feet as she joined her companions.
“You have the weapons?” Burn asked softly.
She nodded.
His eyes cautiously scanned the docks, though they were far out on the wharf and no one approached. He beckoned for them to follow and started toward the city. Crash joined him in the lead, with Sora and Caprion trailing behind. As they walked, the docks became more stable underfoot, supported by large pillars sunken into the muddy banks of the Crown’s Rush.
Sora gazed about the boardwalk in wide-eyed curiosity. Countless ships of all different shapes and sizes were anchored outside the city. Caprion seemed just as curious, and kept drifting a half-inch off the ground in distraction, like a particularly buoyant leaf. She would touch his arm now and then, and he would sink back down, casting her a sheepish look. Sora found it amusing.
They traversed the docks swiftly to the southern gate, where the crowds became as dense and swirling as the Crown’s current. A constant flow of people rushed to and from the southern gate of the city. Sora remembered this kind of foot traffic in the seaside city of Delbar and braced herself against it. She kept close to Burn’s back. The Wolfy was like a giant barge cutting his way through the waves.
The river smelled much worse than Delbar’s seaside port. In this area, where the Crown’s Rush became slow and stagnant as it widened into The Bath, the water released a rank, noxious smell. She saw floating clumps of rotten vegetation, drowned rats and fish carcasses, old clothes, soggy wood and other debris.
“Do they throw everything in the river?” Caprion asked, appraising the water dubiously.
“Mostly,” Burn said in distraction. “Don’t drink the water, would be my advice.”
“And people do that?” Caprion balked.
“Only if they’re drunk,” Burn said wryly.
“Or drowning,” Crash added.
Burn cast him a humorous look. “Perhaps suffocating would be more appropriate.”
Crash nodded, his eyes skimming the water. “They say drowning in The Bath is like being buried alive.”
Sora snorted, unable to hold back a laugh. She caught Caprion’s alarmed look. “They’re n
ot serious,” she reassured him. At least, I don’t think so. She certainly wouldn’t want to fall into that water.
The foot traffic became all but impenetrable when they reached the southern gates to the city. Sora noticed a dozen or so soldiers standing outside. They wore heavy suits of armor with the royal emblem of a boar’s head engraved on their chest plates. As Sora watched, she saw the soldiers call out to people seemingly at random, stopping them, perhaps questioning them about their business. Some pedestrians flashed a piece of paper to the guards and then quickly walked free.
“Residency cards,” Burn explained, noticing her lingering look. “You can apply for one if you live on the east bank. They allow you to pass freely through the gates of the city. Otherwise, if the soldiers take notice of you, prepare for a long delay."
Luckily, all the soldiers were busy when they reached the gates, and the crowds were so thick, their small group passed into the city unnoticed. Immediately, the traffic lessened until Sora could walk freely. A paved street, wide enough for several wagons to pass on either side, stretched before them. She saw horse-drawn carriages of all shapes and sizes, house servants, midwives, heavy-set merchants and baker’s boys. Some men looked like stewards in expensive uniforms, their house insignias pinned to their high collars, but she saw no lords or ladies. They must keep to a different district, she thought. In this part of the city, tall brick apartments lined the road, staggered on top of squat storefronts. The buildings all looked very square and utilitarian. Their size was impressive, but Sora felt a little disappointed. She had imagined a grander sight upon entering the city.
Small waterways interrupted the streets, crossed over by all manner of footbridges. Sora found the canals charming, and she imagined them quite beautiful in the summer when the blue sky reflected from their surface. Now, with the murky clouds overhead, the tiny streams looked dull and brown, carrying dead branches and winter leaves. Some were half frozen over with ice. She wondered how much sewage ended up in the water.
Finally, they turned down a winding street called Tamarack Way. They followed it toward the eastern side of the city, away from the Crown’s Rush. Occasionally on street corners, she saw figures dressed in elaborate, billowing costumes, some in burgundy red with gold stripes, others in midnight blue with silver brocade. They wore delicately crafted porcelain masks beneath wide jesters' hats, and stared at passing street traffic with eerily hollow eyes. As Sora passed, one swept into a low bow, each movement carefully measured like a fine dancer.
She cast Crash a questioning look. The masks were unnerving. “Who are these people?” she asked.
“A tradition in The City of Crowns,” Crash offered briefly. He seemed distracted, his eyes scanning the streets.
“The Winter Solstice Festival is upon us,” Burn explained in further detail. “You’ll see a lot more masked characters in the days to come. The festival is quite an ordeal, you know. Biggest holiday of the year. Parades, fairs, markets, parties….”
Sora nodded. She hadn’t realized the two weeks of festivities had already begun. Now that Burn mentioned it, she saw many storefronts decorated for the season. Some hung large wooden masks outside their doors. Painted pine cones and glass ornaments dangled from windows. Streamers and banners, the traditional colors of winter solstice, adorned the sides of buildings: black for the evening sky, white for the dawn’s renewal, and silver for that gray space in between, where time slowed and ghosts lingered, and a man’s spirit could take on its raw form. The festival had once been a very somber and serious affair, a time to honor the dead and make offerings to the various gods. But more recently it had turned into a celebration, one final surge for storekeepers and merchants to earn coin before the long, hard winter began. The festival would continue for the next week or so until its culmination on winter solstice eve.
A shiver of excitement ran down Sora’s spine. She had always wanted to visit the City of Crowns for the winter solstice festival. Now she would finally have her chance.
As they traveled up Tourmaline Street, the buildings grew smaller and shorter, until finally Sora caught a glimpse of a domed temple arching above the city. She sucked in a short breath.
The Temple of the North Wind was built completely out of sparkling white granite. Even in the dull winter light, its surface gleamed from the countless flecks of quartz and mica crystals embedded in its surface. It was crowned by a domed roof made of shining gold. At the top of the roof spun the emblem of the Goddess, turning this way and that as a weathervane.
Perhaps even more surprising were the myriad of small, delicately shaped windmills that adorned the temple’s roof. Their various twisting blades spun and twirled in the wind. Some were made of bronze, silver or copper, others gilded in goldleaf or studded with gemstones. All glinted with rainbow-hued light.
“Windmills?” Sora asked, slightly breathless.
“Prayer wheels,” Burn corrected. “The spinning blades represent the ever-constant movement of the Goddess. They say when all of the prayer wheels spin at once, the Goddess showers the city in blessings.”
Sora imagined it would take a mighty blast of wind to turn all the wheels on the domed roof. There were so many of varying shapes and sizes, they seldom moved at the same time.
They walked ten more blocks before reaching the wide pavilion in front of the temple. As they entered the circular pavilion, Sora became aware of a growing crowd. A horrible feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.
Tents and wagons packed the cobblestone courtyard outside the Temple of the North Wind, transforming the pavilion into a miniature campground. A large granite wall and heavy stone gates separated the masses from the temple. The King’s soldiers stood about, trying futilely to control traffic. None of the campers seemed about to leave. Sora recognized sunburned farm types, burly trappers and fishermen. Many appeared sick. Yes, Sora confirmed. The plague had struck the city.
Burn came to a stop. The street traffic swirled around his large bulk, like a river around a boulder.
“Well,” he said briefly, his deep baritone carrying easily over the hubbub of the pavilion, “this isn’t very encouraging.”
“It’s just like the temple in Barcella,” Sora murmured. She remembered visiting the Temple of the West Wind. Then, she used her Cat’s-Eye stone’s ability to gain an audience with the Priestess of the West. She wasn’t so sure that would work this time. The city types had a hardened look about them, and no minor acolytes stood at the temple gates, only glaring soldiers in heavy helms. If she and her companions caused trouble, they might be arrested.
“There has to be a way inside,” Sora said. She shared a look with Crash. “If we can get inside the temple grounds, we can still speak to the priestesses.”
“I could lift us over the wall…” Caprion began, then paused.
Burn was already shaking his head. “Too many people,” he said. “We’d start a riot.”
Crash surveyed the pavilion in thought, then pointed past the large temple to where rolling hills slanted upward behind the city. Windmills dotted the deep green grass and spun idly in the wind. The Temple of the North Wind stood at the most eastern point of the City of Crowns, and abutted the tall slopes beyond the eastern wall.
“Perhaps we will find it less crowded behind the temple,” Crash suggested. “It must have a rear gate of some kind, though we might have to scale a few walls. We could find a place to slip onto the grounds.”
Sora nodded, and no one offered an objection. After a moment, Crash motioned for them to follow, then led them down an alley to the right of the temple. “This way,” he said.
CHAPTER 10
Lori’s first sight of the seminary brought a familiar lump to her throat. Almost fifteen years had passed since she first arrived at the Healer’s academy, ten years since she completed her training and achieved the elevated rank of Healer, and seven years since she left. She remembered the light smell of the river, its brisk, moist chill and the promise of snow on the wind
She pulled her cloak tighter and waited for Ferran to finish securing his houseboat to the seminary’s ample docks. Though smaller than the grand marina of the City of Crowns, the boardwalk here was packed with ships. Lori expected as much. With the plague spreading, she assumed the seminary would be overrun with desperate people looking for a cure.
Ferran finished and joined her side, a yellow reed dangling from his lips. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded. They continued down the forested path to the seminary’s tall towers. She remembered it too well. The path was wide enough for a wagon to pass. With thick ferns and foliage on either side, it felt more like they had followed a long tunnel through the wilderness.
She rounded a turn and caught a glimpse of a tall gray tower thrusting above the pines. It stretched upward until it blended with the overcast sky.
As they neared the seminary, Lori saw tents pitched around campfires in the forest; the smell of cooking meat tickled her nose. A busy campground sprawled through the trees. She could hear subdued coughing from every side, the low murmur of voices, and, dimly, broken sobbing.
This is a dreary place, she thought. She remembered the seminary as a sanctuary of peace, a place of wellness and hope. Now the pallor of death seemed to hang over the woods, the stone walls and the tower’s darkened windows.
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