by Ashley Capes
Knuckles and other small pieces that looked to have been carved from larger parts were connected in an intricate pattern to create the rose. It was almost as large as a head and its petals were a cleaner white than elsewhere.
Some bore spidery runes, though none she recognised.
When she’d first seen it, Nia had to admit it was the work of a master craftsman, despite its morbid nature.
The altar was soon touched with a faint blue light – Argeon was glowing.
“Is something wrong?” Nia asked.
“Yes,” he said. “This is not something that anyone living in these lands could make.”
“Do you mean from across the sea? The invaders? Father told me they were your ancestors.”
“There is every chance it is the Ecsoli, yes.”
“But that isn’t all that troubles you?”
The glow faded, leaving only the regular light of the lantern. “No. I am also troubled by the purpose of this altar and by the fact that whoever made it is apparently so confident that they have not bothered to protect it. They think perhaps no-one in this land can fathom it.”
“What does it do – does it drive the corpses?”
“No. It is used for summoning.”
Nia took a step back, only half conscious of the movement. “Summoning what exactly? What is worse than the living dead?”
“I do not know,” he said. “I pray we do not have to find out.”
11. Nia
“Father?” Nia knocked on the polished wooden door to her father’s rooms but received no answer. The setting sun sent orange light streaming through the dozens of windows in the hallway. They were all kinds of shapes; glass fitted where knots and irregularities in the wood had been removed. She rose to her toes to look through one of the larger windows and into the garden.
There he was, tending to the young cherry trees in their stone pots. She tapped on the glass, smiling down on him.
He glanced up and returned her smile when he saw her. “The door is open.”
She went inside, crossing the antechamber with its tranquil dryad fountain and met him in the garden. His yellow robes were dirty at the knees; he’d been kneeling in the garden beds again.
“I am glad to see you returned safely, Nia.”
“Don’t fuss, Father,” she said, but she kissed his cheek. “Lord Protector Danillo sends his apologies. He has already gone to the travel-stone; he suspects Ecsoli involvement.”
The Oyn-Dir’s expression lost some of its cheer. “He is quite worried then.”
“He said he’d send a force to help us protect the altar – he wants to dismantle it but needs to study something in the Anaskar library.”
“Did you provide him with a sketch at least?”
“No. Danillo said the Greatmask can remember it clearly.”
“Is it safe to leave unattended?”
“We are watching it.”
“Ah.” He retrieved his watering can and finished the final cherry tree, its deep green leaves tinted by the sunset. He reached out to touch them. “Is it a conceit for me to have such a garden in the middle of our already beautiful woods? To prune and arrange, to change what is natural?”
Nia sighed. “Father, I don’t think we should be talking about your garden right now.”
“But I am talking about the bones, dear.”
“Are you?”
“Whoever is subverting the natural way of the world by making that altar is guilty of the same transgression: they want to remake their surroundings in a way that they find pleasing.”
“Then how does that help us find out who is behind it? I refuse to accept the return of the Ulag – in any form.”
“Of course, daughter. It may not help; I have been searching the very earth for answers and I taste nothing but... mist. A prescient mist at that, it anticipates my searching and moves to block me, no matter the direction I attempt.”
A shiver crossed her body. Things that were outside Father’s ability to see were rare. Such things were always powerful creatures or events. Upheaval usually followed. Danillo’s mention of a fell God echoed in her mind.
“Nia, there is one thing that I have gleaned which I might be able to add to the Lord Protector’s quest for knowledge.”
“I can contact him via the bone charm he left.”
“That is well. The rose is more important than it seems.”
“That’s all?”
He smiled. “Yes. Who is in charge of watching the altar?”
“Pannoc. He volunteered. A dozen warriors support him.”
“Good.” Her father shifted to a bed of soft pink daisies. “I’ve felt Gedarow weakening of late. Perhaps you could visit him again.”
“Again?” If there was one person she did not want to see ever again, it was the prisoner.
“It has been days. You will win him over where others have failed.”
She folded her arms. “I have my doubts, Father.”
“Nevertheless, it is my wish.”
“Then I’ll get it over and done with. Am I fishing for the usual information?”
He nodded.
“I’ll report back soon then.” She left the garden and her father’s dwelling, into the loam-covered trails between homes and trees. The red-tipped leaves were darkening in the falling light, but she found herself in the prison before full dark.
Inside the stone building she was met by the jailor, a burly fellow with a soft voice. “Come to visit him again, My Lady?”
“Yes.” She tried to keep the distaste from her voice, in case Gedarow was listening.
The jailor, whose name she still could not recall, produced a key and moved to the first cell, peering within. “He’s still groggy from the dose we gave him at lunch.”
“I’ll be fine,” Nia said. “He likes me, remember?”
“Right.” He unlocked the door, then closed it behind her but did not lock it. If it weren’t for the drugs, the jailor would have done so but after intensive study, her father and his Herbalists had found something that prevented the Sap-Born from using his power.
Not that he was so strong as Efran had supposedly been, able to turn his very surroundings to amber, but Gedarow was still dangerous.
The young man lay on his cot, a thick blanket covering him. A plain-faced, serious fellow prone to talk, he was quiet now. Sweat covered his furrowed brow – a side effect to the danfel herb. Yet sympathy was hard to muster, after what the Sap-Born did to the forest. That much she had seen; she didn’t need memories for that. “Gedarow?”
His eyes fluttered but he did not lift his torso. “My Lady?”
She sat on the small stool. “Would you like to talk?”
“I’d like that.” He turned his head, smiling when his eyes focused. “How is the grove? Is it still being tended to? I feel it, I think. It seems well.”
“It is,” she said. Best to move on from that subject or she’d lose her calm. “Have you thought more about what my father asked?”
He chuckled. “Betray my fellows? No, I haven’t thought about it. But may I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Is that the only reason you come to visit me? You are not like the others.”
Nia hesitated. If Father was right and the man was weakening, was it worth taking a risk? “Gedarow, you strike me as someone who appreciates honesty.”
He nodded.
“Then let me say that nothing comes before protecting my people.”
“Ah.” The hope he had obviously been fighting to hide died in his amber eyes.
“But I admit to finding you interesting.” And it was not a lie; she did want to learn more about him. Perhaps it was due to a familiarity, something lingered – he was connected to her past somehow. The distant past, not part of her recent blank spaces. “I understand your devotion to your comrades. You have borne our experiments with surprising grace.”
“Thank you, My Lady. That is both far less and much more than I expected to
hear.”
She almost smiled. “You remain optimistic.”
“Oh, I know there is no future... that how I feel is pointless, truly. But I didn’t want you to hate me. I don’t think I could bear that.”
“And dramatic,” she said, but she lifted his water flask and handed it to him. He was correct, of course, there would never be anything between them, between enemies, but she couldn’t find the strength to hate him anymore – not now that she’d started to understand him a little better. And wasn’t that the chief source of her reluctance to visit? It was painful to see the Sap-Born as human, as Broann like she herself, when it was so much easier to see them as enemies, evil men and women who had poisoned themselves in a quest for power.
And no doubt Father had known all of that, and pushed her for that very reason.
She leant closer. “Why, Gedarow?”
“My Lady?”
“Why do this to yourself? Did you really believe in Efran’s vision?”
He looked to the roof of his cell. “I used to know the answer to that... I am weary, more than I have ever been. Each day is a new struggle with pain and fear. And disappointment.”
“That he failed?”
“No.” He swallowed. “That no-one has come for me. As far as I know, there hasn’t even been a failed attempt to free or even find me.”
Nia shook her head.
A look of true pain tugged at his features; something deeper than that which the drugs brought about. “I have been refusing to admit that for a long time now. For an entire season, it seems.”
And no doubt it would be a season more before the rest of the secrets of the Sap-Born would be uncovered. Gedarow closed his eyes. She stood. “We’ll talk again, Gedarow.”
“I’d like that, My Lady.”
Nia headed back to see her father. The young Sap-Born had revealed little, but he had confirmed something they had long suspected; there were still Sap-Born out there, and more, enough to give Gedarow the hope that rescue might be possible.
12. Ain
Ain woke to cool darkness, moonlight crossing the wall. It fell across a figure that sat sleeping in a chair. Dark hair covered part of her face; Silaj. Her chest rose and fell evenly but a frown was still evident on her brow.
How had he... Ain swallowed, wincing at the tenderness in his throat. The sand-walkers. He’d been saved, but by who? Were Majid and Wayrn and the others safe? At least the Cloud seemed well enough, considering that he was returned and resting. But he had to know. Ain straightened with a soft groan. The door wasn’t too far – even if his body seemed stubbornly unwilling to cooperate with any speed.
“That’s far enough, Ain.”
Silaj was sitting up, smiling at him. There was a fading fear in her gaze too, but by the time she’d lit a candle, it was gone.
He smiled back. “You should be resting in a proper bed, not sleeping hunched up in a chair.”
She stood and leant in to kiss him. “I’m not the one who was nearly killed, you fool.”
“How is our son?”
“Sleeping – I hope. Mother has him.”
He sighed. “Then the Cloud is safe for now?”
She pulled the chair closer and took his hand. “Yes. The things did not come so far – they took all the bone and left. Majid thinks that was their target all long. Wayrn agrees.”
“But...” What would such a thing do to the fragile peace between nations? So much negotiation was built upon the bones and their future use. He shook his head – more immediate concerns existed. “Was anyone else hurt?”
Silaj nodded. “Yes. Broken bones and other wounds. But no-one died this time.”
“This time?”
“So everyone thinks. I suppose they’re right. We have some bone here, after all.”
“Then we have to—”
She raised a hand as she climbed onto the bed, sitting on his legs. “None of that ‘Ain, Hero of the Cloud,’ business tonight. Just Ain, please. You need to rest.” She traced her fingertips across his throat, her frown returning.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“The bruising is already dark. Majid thinks the Walkers only choked you and the others long enough to stop you. Then they took the bones. If the bones weren’t what they wanted, he thinks you’d all be dead.”
Ain leant back against the soft pillow. Maybe Majid was right. And troubling as it was that such things were not traceable via the paths, at least they could be cut down. But the thought of their return... surely the clans could turn them back. “How many were there?”
“I don’t know, no-one said.” She shrugged. “Or if they did, my mind was elsewhere.”
“And where is it now?”
“On tomorrow, when it should be here with you, in this room,” she said.
“Tomorrow?”
“I was foolish enough to think that after everything you went through, after everything that happened back here, after the darklings were defeated, that we’d have a lasting peace.” She looked to the dark beyond the window. “I want a different world for our son.”
“As do I.” Ain reached up to cup her cheek. How closely her words mirrored his own thoughts. “Whatever follows, we are together.”
“I know.” She gripped his hand then placed it back on the bed. “Now go on, back to sleep.”
“Only if you join me,” he said.
She slipped beneath the blankets and he drew her close.
***
The council stood around the body.
Ain knelt in the shade cast by the group; Majid and Elder Raila waited beside him. Wayrn, Jedda and others stood across from them, joined by Palan or Wajan of the Western Clan – Ain still couldn’t keep the twins straight. But each face was troubled, and with good cause.
“Sands, it’s everywhere,” Ain said, as he wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. During the sandstorm and the attack, he hadn’t had a chance to really see the corpse-like walkers. But now it was clear once more that the Clans were facing a powerful magic indeed.
The headless torso had been sliced open, along with the limbs, to reveal green cactus woven throughout the entire body. In many places, it had taken the place – and possibly the role – of muscle and bone.
“We believe the plant reinvigorates the dead,” Majid explained. “You remember their strength? It was almost casual.”
“Blows did not deter them.”
“But what gives the cactus such power?” Wayrn asked.
“And where do the dead come from?” Palan or Wajam added. “This man looks almost preserved... yet he probably died fighting the darklings. He should be sun-blasted bones by now.”
Raila looked to Wayrn. “Do you think he will agree?”
“I do. But time will be the factor.”
Ain stood. “King Oseto?”
“Yes,” Wayrn said. “I sent word requesting aid – and not just aid in retrieving the bones, but in defending the Cloud. But we all know any such help is weeks away at best.”
More grim expressions. Ain looked east to where the bones had lain. “They came from the north – do we follow them?”
“We’ve marked their trail – but the sands obliterate it not far beyond the Sea God’s grave. There is no guarantee they continued north,” she said. “And more – no guarantee we’d survive what we find.”
“I know you’re not suggesting we simply wait, Raila,” Jedda said as he stroked his white beard.
“No. We can either pursue them or attempt to fortify ourselves to protect the remaining bones. I’m open to other possibilities.”
“Send them away,” Ain said.
Palan – Ain was sure it was him, now – frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If we really want to protect the Cloud then we send the bones of the Sea God away. To the Wards or further to Anaskar perhaps. Maybe Danillo and Greatmask Argeon can stop these creatures – it is clear nothing I or Majid can do as Pathfinders is capable.”
Several voices clamoured in protest
. Ain simply waited for the objections to end.
Raila folded her arms. “You know as well as I do that isn’t an option.”
“I’m only thinking of protecting everyone.”
“And I must think of the future too, Ain.”
He nodded. The bones were the hinge of all negotiations between the Medah and Anaskar. So much of the possible peace between the two nations depended on differing groups in the clans accepting that the bones and the power they offered was more important than returning to their ancestral home. Ain had stood before them dozens of times to argue for staying in the desert – the only home they had known. Wayrn had offered Seto’s hospitality to any who wished to settle in the city, but none had taken such an offer of course.
Worse, an entire new clan had splintered away – they called themselves the Gedaki, the new seekers. Led by Fuasa, a wild man, they refused the idea of peace and had disappeared to the south weeks past, where they said they would find a way to reclaim the Medah’s rightful home. How many more would join them if the bones were sent away? “Have we considered the Gedaki?”
“Do you really think those fools have the ability to create walkers, lad?” Jedda asked.
“True.”
Majid pointed to the corpse. “Whoever created these will be beyond our ability to face alone, an assumption I think we have to make until we know more.”
“Agreed,” Raila said. “Which means we must take both paths. One group will seek the bones and report back once they are found, and with whatever information they can glean. The rest of us will work on protecting the bones we have.”
“I will go,” Ain said.
Raila raised a hand to forestall further volunteers. “Let me decide, Ain. And I’ll be doing so over a pot of marjoram tea. Go, eat and return after a meal, all of you. And enjoy it too, you’ll have much to do soon enough.”
13. Flir
“You must decide, and quickly,” Aren said. His silvery hair gleamed in the torchlight. “Tikev has given up everything to sneak me inside, he cannot return to service and he will be hunted from this day on if we fail.”