by Matthew Ward
"How long have you been here?"
"Ten years, at least I think so. It's easy to lose track of time."
"And you've never been tempted to leave? No family to return to, or anything of that nature?"
Koschai looked at me curiously. "You do ask a lot of questions. I should warn you that the serathi are unsettled by mortal inquisitiveness. Not all of them respond altogether well."
Nor, it seemed, did Koschai. "My apologies, I didn't mean to offend."
Koschai rubbed his brow and his expression cleared. "You didn't, my boy. It was a fair question, if on a rather sore topic. As it happens I do have family – a daughter – but it's been some time since I saw her. You see, I can't leave Skyhaven."
"Why, won't the serathi let you leave?"
"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, my boy." He sighed. "I'm quite sure the serathi would happily return me to the realms below. Certainly there's very little I can do that they cannot, although I have a better grasp of some of the mechanisms in this place than they do. I've always been something of a tinkerer, and the methodology transfers well enough. Even so, I'm sure that I'm little more than a burden to them. It's not that they won't let me leave, you see. It's that I can't."
Koschai moved to the balcony's edge and stared out across the river. "I'm not trying to be evasive, I'm really not. It's just been so long since I've spoken to someone who doesn't already know the story, I can hardly think where to begin."
"You don't have to tell me anything," I said, while hoping he would.
Koschai laughed. "It's hardly polite of me to clam up now, is it?"
"True, but don't feel you need to tell me the whole story. I'll settle for the pertinent facts."
"An excellent suggestion, my boy, an excellent suggestion." But he fell silent, all the same.
I joined Koschai in contemplation of the river. It was crystal clear, and swift flowing. As far as I could tell it was completely bereft of life, and like everything on Skyhaven it was just a little too perfect.
"I left Tressia for selfish reasons," Koschai said at last, his voice quiet. "You have to understand, there have always been certain... expectations... placed upon my family, and I was stifling under the weight of them. I don't know if you can understand that?"
"I understand it very well, as it happens," I said. "My family has ruled the Empire for generations, and my uncle is insistent I take the throne."
"But you don't want to?"
I shrugged. "As soon as I do, there's no going back. I'll live out the rest of my days as master of the Golden Court. A prisoner in a gilded cage, but a prisoner nevertheless."
Koschai nodded. "You do understand, don't you? In the end, I accepted the position of reeve on the Isle of Selann simply to escape, even though it meant leaving my daughter behind, at least initially. I'd always intended to send for her once I'd established a degree of order. I don't know how Selann is nowadays, but then it was a lawless burgh, and no place for a young girl, however self-assured. I made arrangements that she would want for nothing, gave her guardianship over to a trusted servant, and took ship west." He sighed. "I never reached Selann. My vessel was attacked by corsairs. Every man, woman and child aboard was slain."
"Except for you?"
"No, my boy, in many ways I'm as dead as the rest of them. It's the reason I can never leave Skyhaven."
I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn't find words to express the mix of horror and puzzlement I felt. It occurred to me, somewhat belatedly, that it was hardly polite to look so aghast, but Koschai seemed more amused than offended.
"The serathi found me, you see," he went on. "To this day I have no idea why they chose to save me, but they did. They're truly remarkable creatures, and can breathe vigour into even the slimmest spark of life, but they were too late with me. My body and soul are bound together by the magics of this city. Were I to leave... well, I'd not last very long at all. That's why I can't see my daughter again. It's been ten years since I left, but the burden never diminishes."
Arianwyn had told me very little about how her father had disappeared – mostly because she had known very little herself – but what she had told me tallied with the Koschai's story.
"But you could at least send word that you're still alive." I had to remind myself that it was not for me to take offence on Arianwyn's behalf, but even so my tone was not so civil as it could have been.
"To whose benefit?" Koschai snapped. Then his voice softened. "I'm sorry, that was graceless. But I've been over this in my mind a hundred times. What good would it do to tell her? Whatever joy she took from that knowledge would be overwhelmed by the fact that I could never come home. She has mourned me once by now. What's the point of renewing all that grief?"
I'd nothing but contempt for Koschai in that moment. I'd the distinct impression the older man had isolated himself not for Arianwyn's benefit but for his own, that it was he who feared the pain of fresh parting. But then who was I to lecture another man about choosing his arguments in order to explain a decision already made? The words may have been different to those I'd spoken to my uncle time and again, but the sentiment was all too similar.
I recalled a character trait I'd heard my father refer to again and again when speaking of the more worthless nobles of the Golden Court. 'Hollow nobility' he'd called it – the idea that dignity could be worn as armour to conceal weakness of character. Koschai and I had both woven noble sentiments around selfish decisions. How many times had I said that Eirac made for a better emperor than I? Even now, I wasn't sure if it was true; more likely it was simply a convenient rebuttal. With that realisation my self-righteousness faded, taking my contempt with it. I was no better than Koschai.
"Thank you," I said.
"For what?" He frowned, clearly aware he'd missed something.
"For telling me." And for teaching me a lesson I should have learnt a long time ago, I didn't add. "It can't have been pleasant to relive."
Koschai waved my apology aside. "Think nothing of it. Actually, I feel better for having discussed it with another of my own kind. The serathi don't understand feelings, not really. I confess, it would be nice to know how my daughter fares, but I'll settle for a broader picture of what's going on in the world. Perhaps you'd be so kind as to provide one, insofar as you know it? Call it a trade for the maudlin tale I've just recounted."
We took a wide, curving stairway down to the garden below. There were many paths to choose from, and none of them lit, but the moon and stars were bright overhead, and I could see clearly enough to guide us both. Not that Koschai needed any guidance, though whether his night vision was on par with mine, or he simply knew the garden's routes, I couldn't tell.
As we walked, I told him as near I could of recent events, of the peace between Tressia and the Hadari Empire, of Malgyne's attempt to gain control of the living realm and the constant battles against the fallen souls who had survived their master's defeat.
I downplayed my part in those events, letting instead the lion's share of the credit go to Edrevor Torev, master of Tressia's armies. It was no hardship, Torev had become a good friend, and had, in truth, borne far more of the military burden than I. My responsibilities had lain more with the arbitration of disputes between our realms, and defusing the myriad offences and slights that were entirely to be expected when the armies of two recently-at-war nations came together in common cause.
As I talked, I wondered again what was holding me back from being honest with Koschai. Part of me was worried about the awkwardness it might entail. It was one thing for him to accept me as an equal, quite another for him to accept me as his daughter's beloved. But there were other reasons. It was entirely possible this man wasn't who he claimed. The story of his rescue by the serathi was incredibly convenient, though admittedly no more so than mine. Even if Koschai was, in fact, the genuine article, I knew he'd not be satisfied until he'd heard everything I could tell him. Arianwyn had been through a great deal this past year, and I wasn't entirely
certain that it was my place to speak of those events. Better to avoid the topic entirely, at least for now. Or was I once again indulging in hollow nobility? It was hard to be sure.
Koschai remained unfazed by the supernatural elements of my tale. Given where we stood and what he'd told me of himself, I don't suppose I should have been much surprised – the boundaries of his experience were much broader than mine. He proved an attentive listener, and picked away at my story whenever he was dissatisfied with the details. I shouldn't have been surprised. Arianwyn had much the same analytical frame of mind, and it was now plain to me from which parent she'd inherited it. I was glad I'd chosen evasiveness, rather than deceit, as my strategy. I didn't doubt for a moment Koschai would have unravelled any chain of falsehoods.
Here and there I dropped names into my tale. Koschai shrugged most aside, but some he recognised from his time in the Tressia. In particular, he was downcast when he learnt of Quintus' demise. Quintus had been the city's guard captain at the time of Malgyne's invasion, and had died a hero's death on the cusp of victory.
"Poor Quintus," Koschai said quietly. "He never did know which fights to walk away from."
Our meanderings had brought us to the bank of the river at this point. Koschai plucked a broken branch from amongst the grass, and twitched it absent-mindedly into the rushing waters.
"He died to save another," I said. "It was a good death."
Koschai sighed. "I know it's an idea you Hadari cleave to, but I've never really understood that concept. Death is death. In the end, does it really matter how it comes?"
"Sometimes." I knew he'd soon change his mind if I told him that Quintus had died saving Arianwyn. "In this case, I choose to honour his sacrifice. He entered a battle knowing he was overmatched, and died victorious."
The older man sighed. "You're quite right, of course. Quintus was never one for a meaningless gesture. He was a good man, and a better friend. Even if I was never entirely sure where I stood with him."
I couldn't help but laugh at that. Koschai frowned, clearly not understanding my levity.
"I'd have used the exact same words," I said. "He always regarded me with mild disappointment, as if I was always a fraction shy of earning his respect."
"That was Quintus, indeed." A gentle smile set the ends of Koschai's moustache twitching. "You sound like you knew him well."
That brought me up short. I was dangerously close to treading upon ground I'd resolved not to cover. "As well as I knew anyone in the city. He was one of the few that didn't treat me like a pariah. Things are different now, of course."
"Yes, yes I suppose they would be," Koschai allowed, continuing along the riverbank. "The Tressian Republic preserved through the good graces and friendship of the Hadari. Who'd have thought such a thing was possible? Is the city very badly scarred?"
"The buildings, not so much," I replied, grateful for the change of subject. "Thousands died, I'm sorry to say."
We walked on together in silent contemplation. Was Koschai thinking about Arianwyn? It would have been all too easy to think she had been one of those slain in the fighting. Had he asked me outright if I knew of her fate, I'd have been unable to maintain my charade. But he didn't ask. He didn't even mention her.
All of a sudden there was a beating of wings in the night sky, and Adanika made a graceful landing to our front. "I trust Koschai has kept you sufficiently entertained?"
"I have no complaints," I replied.
"We've spoken of mutual acquaintances," said Koschai.
Adanika's brow wrinkled in what I took as polite confusion. "How fascinating. I would not have believed the two of you had so much in common."
"It seems that the world is smaller than we might think." I matched her tone as best as I could. What was going on here?
"Anyway," Adanika said brightly, "I bring good news: the serathiel will see you now."
"Then we should not keep her waiting. Is Jamar on his way?"
"She wishes only to see you," Adanika replied. "I will take you now."
There was no arguing with that tone of voice, polite though it was, so I said my farewells to Koschai, and allowed Adanika to carry me into the skies.
Five
Adanika bore me as surely and gracefully through the spires and towers as she had on my arrival, but this time I saw none of Skyhaven's beauty. I was too busy thinking.
Events were moving quickly – too quickly. I'd a vague sense of something unfolding around me, but it was coming too fast for me to make much sense of it. Too much of what I'd experienced stank of unlikely coincidence.
The more I considered, the less I believed that Adanika had simply stumbled across my path, but then I couldn't imagine why she'd been looking for me. Or rather, I couldn't make sense of the possibilities. Had she known, as Koschai apparently did not, my connection to the Trelan family? Had Adanika overheard my avowed intent to offer myself up for ransom, and therefore knew my status in the Empire? There was also the matter of finding Koschai, or at least a man who claimed to be Koschai. I hadn't fully abandoned my suspicions that he might be an imposter, though what purpose such an impersonation would achieve I couldn't imagine.
Then there was the Radiant. I'd known of Astarra all my life, but the title of the 'Radiant' I'd only encountered a few months ago, and under peculiar circumstances. After Koschai had vanished, Arianwyn had been raised by a servant named Zorya. She was no creature of flesh and blood, but a sentinel, a peculiar being of living stone. Zorya's origins were shrouded in mystery, but she'd spoken in vague terms both of the Radiant, and of a war that the Radiant had created her to fight. At the time, I'd had other things to occupy my attention; it hadn't seemed important somehow.
It did now.
Adanika slowed and released me. This time I staggered only a little as my feet hit stone. Without a word, she landed, and led me towards a looming door of dark timber whose surface was covered with intricate carvings of battle-arrayed serathi.
As we approached, a figure moved to bar our passage. Thus far I'd found all of the serathi intimidating, but this one was just a hair shy of terrifying. She was as tall as I, and carried a long spear that stood even taller. Her breastplate, greaves and vambraces gleamed like gold in the moonlight, and the robes beneath were the colour of spilt blood. She had no face, just an expressionless golden mask that hid the flesh behind as completely as the scarlet hood hid her hair. Indeed, the whole of the guard's body was concealed from view – if not by hood, mask and robe, then by long black gloves. Only her wings were visible, the black feathers sinister in the darkness.
Adanika offered a shallow bow. "We are expected."
The guard returned the bow and stepped aside.
"Come."
Adanika passed through the door. One cautious eye on the guard, I followed onto a steep, upward stair. What few lanterns there were never raised the level of illumination to a comfortable level. The stairway felt like a tomb. A well-tended and loved tomb, but a tomb nonetheless.
"I apologise for the necessity of the walk," said Adanika, "but it is against tradition to approach the Courts of Heaven any other way by night."
"That's fine. I daresay the effort won't kill me. Who was she?"
Adanika smiled. "The sentry? One of the serathiel's graces, her inner circle of guardians. It is their duty to protect all that is sacred to us."
"There are more, then?"
"Oh yes. Why, does that worry you?" she asked innocently.
There seemed no point in lying. "Yes."
"Good. I would not wish to face one of the graces in battle. For a mortal to do so would be a foolishness matched in degree only by its brevity."
Was I being warned? I'd seen the ease with which Adanika had cut her way through Scarface's band. That she was daunted by the idea of fighting a grace was stern caution indeed. "The graces guard only the serathiel, not the rest of you?"
"I am but a Handmaiden of the Second Circle, and expendable in the grand scheme. It is for me to look to
my own defence, and that of my younger sisters. The serathiel brought us out of the darkest times. Without her we would be leaderless, and bereft of a future."
We continued awhile in silence, partly because there had been a ring of finality to Adanika's last response, and partly because I was saving my breath for the ascent. Tradition was all very well, but I could have done without the climb. There was no break in the stairs, no landing to grant my weary legs a moment's rest. Adanika, of course, took it all without so much as a glimmer of exertion. This was a test. Though whether it was a test of my stamina, my pride or my determination – or all three – I couldn't tell. We finally reached the top of the stairs, to find another gloriously carven door, and a pair of graces, standing before us.
"We have arrived at the Courts of Heaven. This is as far as I shall accompany you. The serathiel awaits you inside. The graces will allow you to pass." As Adanika spoke, the two hooded figures drew back from the door. "We will speak again later, I am sure." She offered me a small bow and began her descent.
After taking a moment to compose myself, I opened the door and passed into the chamber beyond.
Except it wasn't a chamber. I was now outside, and standing in the amphitheatre I'd seen on my approach to Skyhaven. Or what I'd taken to be an amphitheatre, at least, for this space had surely never been used for something as trivial as entertainment. Rings of tiered seating – all empty – stretched into space above me, all hewn from the same golden stone as the walls, and bedecked with scarlet cloth. The floor was tiled with black stone, and glimmered in the moonlight. In the very centre of the space, raised on a dais of polished wood, stood a throne of burnished gold; and there, upon that throne, waited the serathiel. There were no lanterns. The only light came from the moon.
"Are you impressed by Skyhaven, mortal?" The serathiel rose from her throne and descended the deep steps cut into the dais.
I bowed respectfully. "I am indeed. I'm sorry, but I'm not familiar with the proper form of address."
The serathiel smiled kindly, as one might do at an entertaining pet. "There is no reason why you should be. You are an outsider, after all."