by Ashley Capes
“Argeon will stop her.”
“Perhaps so, but ask yourself, at what cost? Such a struggle would be devastating to Anaskar – she would ensure that. And then you will have to ask yourself, King Oseto, after Mila, how many more would you sacrifice to cling to your throne?”
43. Notch
Dawn was burning a hole on the horizon when Notch returned to his own rooms, finding himself wide awake after doing his best to match Casselli’s passion. She was a demanding and intoxicating lover yet somehow he’d been able to keep enough of his wits to wonder about her claim for wanting a different Paradisum, to wonder exactly what he’d agreed to. Could he use her as she used him and still reach the Oracle?
But Casselli had revealed nothing more during the night and even the sight of his silver bracers did not seem to interest her... which was odd, since she was self-confessed in her desire for power. He’d dozed a little afterwards and even now, could not shake lingering images from a dream – where lions had been tearing into a fresh kill. Were they supposed to represent Casselli as predator? Or did it have something to do with the bracers? They remained enigmatic but somewhat ornamental still. Had the white witch been toying with him? Were they nothing more than trinkets?
It seemed possible but by the same token, Notch couldn’t deny the sense that her warning had been an earnest one.
He found the chambers he shared with Alosus empty. “Alosus?” The Tonitora’s huge bed did not look to have been slept in, perhaps no surprise. Notch spun for the stand where his father’s sword rested – the grand sickle was missing.
Notch strode toward the door; he had to find an Inquisitor. Or a servant, anyone who could give him answers. “Damn these bastards.” He thundered down the marble corridors until he came across a young servant, who he cornered long enough to explain what he wanted. Or, more likely, ‘demand’ was closer to his demeanour.
By the time he was standing before the ornate door, lions crossing the silver inlay, to the Palace Inquisitor’s chambers, he had calmed enough to explain to the purple-robed woman who answered what he needed.
“Ah, you must be Captain Medoro, War-Hero from Anaskar,” she said. The woman seemed quite alert for such an early time of day.
“Yes. As I said, ma’am. I wish to speak to my friend.”
She waved him inside. “I am Inquisitor Phiran. Please set your weapon aside then follow me; I will have to consult the records.”
The entryway was lined with weapon racks, all empty save for one that held a huge bastard sword that was obviously used by a Tonitora. Notch added his father’s blade to the bone grip and caught up to the woman, who was halfway down a hall, already unlocking a door to what looked like a cell. The other doors he’d passed bore no windows.
Inquisitor Phiran’s room was ordered, parchment, ink and shelves aligned evenly with each other. Only the skeletal hand seemed out of place, yet she did not ask him to use it – instead she gripped it and closed her eyes, her lips moving soundlessly.
He sat on the chair opposite and waited, fighting the urge to tap his foot.
When Inquisitor Phiran opened her eyes and released the hand, she took a moment to answer. “I imagine you have not had a chance to learn all the nuances of our way of life here, but I assume you are familiar with the indenture system in Ecsoli?”
“I understand slavery, My Lady,” he replied.
“Yes, well. It seems Alosus has requested to compete for his freedom and that request has been accepted.”
Notch sat straighter. “What does that mean? Who accepted his request – the Inquisitors?”
“His master; Prince Tanere. And what it means is that your friend will be performing in the Arena this evening.”
“Performing? I’m certainly not familiar with that. Are you saying he has to fight for his freedom?”
“Essentially, yes. It is an old custom, but one which is still, on occasion, permitted. His Highness is quite generous, you see.”
Notch wasn’t so sure about that. “What happens in the Arena?”
“Traditionally the slave is pitted against a monster of some sort. It could be any number of beasts – Alosus will make it into a very small group of ex-slaves, should he succeed.” She gripped the hand again quickly. “You are actually permitted to see him, another rarity. No doubt due to your standing as honoured guest.”
“Where is he?”
“Preparing beneath the Arena.”
“Who can guide me there?”
She sighed. “I will send for someone.”
***
The streets of Paradisum were not dissimilar to Anaskar, if he ignored the sun-powered crystals, the clean stones and the swarms of Greatmasks and bone armour, or the formal echoes of the Old Tongue, but Notch found it impossible to take them in properly – save for a song he kept hearing. It seemed that every corner he passed, seated in the comfort of a palace carriage, the same melody was playing. It was triumphant, rather than the playful, even bawdy material he expected from street performers.
He tapped his fingers on the windowsill. What was Alosus thinking? The stakes were too high, surely. If he failed it would be his death – and if he could not defeat whatever beast they set upon him, yet somehow survived, he would be put to death anyway, as a useless or dishonoured slave, according to Notch’s escort. Success meant freedom, yes – but was Prince Tanere so short of slaves that he could not simply let one slave free to search for his family, which would doubtless earn the man two more slaves? Surely the Prince could afford to buy Alosus’ family from whoever now owned them?
Of course, there was every chance Notch was giving the Ecsoli Prince far too much credit. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Alosus.”
There was another possibility, though it was harder to see beyond it to any benefits for the Prince – what if he wanted Alosus to win freedom? A wild thought, and unlikely, but something about the possibility seemed... well, possible somehow.
When the carriage crunched to a halt, a not insignificant distance from the palace, and Notch exited, he was confronted by a small stone building sitting in the middle of a soft lawn, a building which did not even seem to have a door. The sun pounded down upon him and he found himself squinting.
“Over here,” his escort said as he climbed down from the driver’s seat.
Notch circled the carriage, boots crunching on the gravel, and found the fellow standing before a row of evenly-spaced redwood trees. Mighty trees, their trunks were colossal but there was more than ample room to pass between each. Taking another step closer, it became clear the trees had been planted in a circle. The space in between was a mix of sandy earth and flowering weeds.
“This is the Arena?” he asked.
“Yes.” He smiled. “It may seem insecure but each trunk was woven with a bone of warding. No-one may pass between without permission.”
“Then slaves fight for freedom in there?” It was broad enough, certainly, but it simply seemed so... unlike the Ecsoli. Where were the rows and rows of seating for all to enjoy the spectacle? Space for the Inquisitors to judge the clothing of the spectators, or some other foolishness. “It just seems very... isolated.”
“Only the royal family may witness the formal Challenges.”
“Ah.” There was the Ecsoli attitude he’d been expecting. “Where is Alosus?”
“Below. It is not far,” the man said as he started along a path that circled the Arena. As the Ecsoli promised, it did not take long to reach a set of steps that led underground, where two blue-robes stood guard before a wide cell. The guards had been gambling with silver and gold pins, but they stood to challenge the servant.
“Whether he’s from the new world or not, he’s not permitted,” one jailer said.
Notch’s escort smiled. “Feel free to take it up with Prince Tanere, if you wish.”
The guard swore but stood aside, waving Notch to the column-like bars.
Alosus was performing a series of stretches on the stone floor. The cell al
so included bars and rings for training, everything Tonitora-sized. He stopped working when Notch approached. “This isn’t what I was expecting when you said there were advantages to being taken by the Inquisitors,” Notch said, speaking Anaskari.
“You must trust me, Notch. When I am free, it will be easier for the both of us. I wasn’t sure it would come to this... but I must take the chance now that it has been offered. I didn’t wish to worry you.”
“Too late,” he said. “Can you defeat whatever beast they have in store for you?”
“Yes,” he said, and his even tone once again made it hard to read the man. Was he quietly confident or hiding his fear?
“And what about the prince – do you trust him? What if you succeed and he refuses to free you.”
“He cannot,” Alosus said.
“No?”
“In all recorded history no master has denied a winner their freedom, though perhaps only a few dozen have been offered the chance in the first place.”
“Isn’t that suspicious itself? Why is he offering it to his uncle’s former slave?”
Now Alosus frowned. “That I wonder about also. Be sure that it will play to his advantage. What of Lady Casselli?”
“It seems she’s seeking a lover to distract her enemies in a ploy for the throne, though I’m sure there’s more to it. But she will help.”
“Notch... this is dangerous territory. You accepted?”
“I must reach the Library.”
The big man glanced away, then shrugged. “I can hardly judge you for taking your own risk, as I stand within this cell, can I?”
Notch smiled, though it was fleeting. “How many slaves have survived the Arena?”
“Three.”
“Three, in how many years of history in the Land of the Sun?”
“Notch, you do not have to worry.”
Notch ran a hand through his hair. “But I do. I can’t help you here.”
Alosus reached through the bars, gripping Notch by both shoulders. “Ask Tanere or Casselli to bring you to watch. You will see.”
“I don’t like it; but you know I will.”
“Good,” he said with a smile. “So has Lady Casselli offered a visit to the Library of Souls?”
“She has promised to arrange it for noon; she is speaking with Tanere.” He lowered his voice. “Do you know who her enemies may be?”
“Any or all, Notch. As before, do not trust those around you. It seems, at least, that you remain useful to the people here and so speak to the Oracle and we will leave before you cease being of use to them.”
“That is long enough, Captain Medoro,” Tanere’s servant said. “It is not permitted to spend too much time with the manes-spator before the contest.” Manes-spator – the ghosts that walk?
“Thank you,” Notch told the man. He nodded to Alosus as he was led from the holding cell, troubled thoughts plaguing him all the way back to the palace proper where he had barely reached his rooms before another servant was arriving with the noon meal, which he ate quickly.
One of Lady Casselli’s pages arrived soon after, speaking with some urgency. “We mustn’t keep My Lady waiting, Captain.”
“Certainly not,” he said, hooking his scabbard on once more then sliding his father’s blade out to check the edge. Even if you don’t know your enemy, that’s no excuse not to be prepared, the old man’s voice echoed in his head.
The path to the Library of Souls was no more convoluted than any other location in the sprawling palace, but after the twentieth turn Notch was certain he’d not find his way back. Even on different floors, so much was the same. Marble, tapestry, ornaments. Sometimes windows and plants, but other than that, he was utterly dependant on his young guide.
When the page finally stopped, it was to pause before a steel door with no handle or opening. Instead, the lad raised a twisted charm and set it against a panel of bone. The door swung open.
A tall figure waited on the other side, Prince Tanere.
“Captain Medoro to petition the Library of Souls,” the boy announced, his voice breaking as he spoke. Was he nervous at seeing the Prince or nervous about approaching the Library of Souls?
“Very well, off you go.” Tanere waved the boy away then gestured for Notch to approach. The Prince started pulling on a soft rope, opening a black curtain. A giant skull was revealed, pure white and so long that it could only have been one thing; a whale. Or perhaps even a young Sea God. It rested on bolts driven into the wall – the bone dominated the entire room, the long, pointed ridge-like jaws were smooth with the impression of a head and deep eye-sockets rested near the top.
“Is this an infant Sea God, Your Highness?” he asked softly.
Tanere smiled. “No, it is only a whale – yet it has collected the accumulated wealth of knowledge over centuries and centuries of royalty now. If your question has an answer, the Oracle will hold it.”
“And all I do is ask?”
“Once I awaken it, yes.” He lifted a carven box from the floor beneath the skull and drew forth a bone pendant big enough to fit in both his palms, then stretched up to place it in the socket. “In accordance with the rules our forefathers have established, it will only answer one question.” He paused, regarding Notch with a serious gaze. “You are being afforded an honour few ever received, Captain. And certainly no foreign man before you. Many have opposed this but I have vouched for you myself since you are, after a fashion, of the Ecsoli bloodline.”
“Thank you, Highness,” Notch said. Hard to gauge the truth of the words. Opposition to him visiting the Oracle seemed likely... but was the prince claiming to have vouched for Notch only to ingratiate himself further? A more plausible possibility was that Tanere was simply acting on his own.
Either way, he would want Notch to feel indebted.
“Do not touch the Oracle and do not waste your question. I will be waiting outside,” he said, drawing forth a key as he passed.
Behind Notch, the door swung shut with a muted boom, but he only focused on the whale skull. A faint yellow glow was filling the room. The sense of a vast, vast number of awarenesses were awakening and then focusing on him. It was like a crowded city had swept down to stare upon him. His skin prickled. A faint hum soon joined the light. Notch looked to the eye; did it need him to speak aloud?
If you wish it. The voice echoed in his mind, like several dozen people speaking at once – men, women, children of slightly differing tones. We will hear you no matter. Ask your question, Seeker of Knowledge – we see both yesteryear and today.
“I am not from this land. My question is about what we call the Sacrifice and I do not know if people of Ecsoli understand it the same as I do.”
The voice did not answer right away but the hum intensified a moment and a tingling crossed his skin. We believe we understand the process. Ask.
Notch hesitated. Had it ‘read’ him to understand the Sacrifice? In the end, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he phrased the question correctly, since there was no way to know just how strict the Library of Souls would be about the single question limit. “Do you know of a way or of someone in all the lands that can tell, show or help me reverse the Sacrifice and bring Sofia back?”
Another silence and this time the humming eased.
He found himself holding his breath. Was the skull going quiet because it did not have an answer? It had to know! Sofia deserved life, after all she’d been made to give up. “Please,” he whispered. The Library couldn’t fail – couldn’t fail. Not after crossings the seas, battling monsters, not after becoming embroiled with witches and beautiful, dangerous women and dangerous men too. Not after turning his back on his friends who even now might need him...
We have an answer. The voice returned with suddenness.
“Yes?”
While such knowledge has not been shared with us there is one who might serve your needs. Said to be the greatest Maker of Masks, seek him in the Northern Mountains beyond Ovaneus. He is called Qu-
Sitka.
“Thank you.” Notch knelt before the skull, hope bursting within him.
44. Flir
Flir had arranged for the two surviving soldiers, both bound, to be held in one of the upstairs rooms under the watchful eye and blade of Pevin and Grav. Though it was unlikely the still-trembling men would be very useful.
“What do you make of it?” she asked Kanis where they knelt before the now motionless body of Boles. The man’s face was frozen in the same smile, which was no longer pleasant by any stretch, even before the dried blood. The unnatural quiet of the village had returned, even more grating after the chaos of the struggle.
“It seems different to the darklings. I don’t know.”
“Did you notice the way he was speaking? He was repeating the things he said to us, almost word for word.”
“No... but I saw him stroll out into that mess without any idea what was happening. Like someone who wasn’t quite all there.”
She nodded. “If he was actually alive at any time over the course of today, I don’t think he was in control of his body. Or thoughts.”
“Who’s controlling him? And how and why?”
“That’s what we need to find out, because I think the whole village might be like Boles here.”
Kanis glanced back into the street, to the still-empty square. “I truly hope not.”
“Let’s try the soldiers, see what Mildavir was up to here. He mentioned the caves,” she said, rising with a wince and heading for the stairs. It was one thing to heal quickly and another to find herself being shot almost constantly.
“Think this is connected?”
“Why not?”
Pevin admitted them, his own eyes a little haunted, and Flir took a seat on the bed across from where the men knelt on the hardwood floor, hands bound behind their backs. Kanis leant against the doorjamb.
“Grav, you might want to wait outside,” Flir said.
“Yes, dilar.” He left quickly.
Flir leant forward a little. One of the soldiers was Joris, who’d been bandaged up but was sweating heavily. The other, a younger lad wearing his first beard, was in much better shape. “What is Mildavir doing out here? What is in the caves?”