White Star Phase: Book One of the Ascendants Chronicle

by Scott Beckman

  “I don't need to go,” Valkil mumbled. “Not really. The Lady, the others… They don’t actually want me there. If anything important comes up, they can tell me all about it tomorrow.”

  “Shavyn wants you there.”

  “Well... Damn it, that's true. The kid wouldn't know what to do with himself if he had to go alone." Valkil groaned. "Sometimes I think you know me too well.”

  “It’s your own fault. You made me your wife.”

  “You seduced me.”

  Ahlaha's laughter rang like notes on crystal chimes. “We both know that’s not true. I’ve told you I want no lying in this household.”

  “You did, though.” Valkil turned to get a better look at her. “Not with words or a look or anything. Just by being so damn beautiful.”

  Ahlaha put down her brush and crossed the room to lay a kiss on the top of his head. Valkil looked up at her with a mischievous grin, and she slapped him playfully. “Flattery won’t get you out of your responsibilities,” she sang. “Get up.”

  Valkil laughed and pulled her into the bed with him.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  Valkil straightened his vest, then nodded to the guard to open the door. He flashed the man a conspiratorial smile as he passed, but it was returned with only a disappointed shake of the head.

  The audience turned in their benches to watch as Valkil strode past them. He passed without a look. On the dais at the aisle's end, the Lady Verden sat in an ornate, tall-backed chair, radiant in the long white dress and feathered headdress of her station. White Star light flowed through the lattice ceiling and imbued the Lady with an otherworldly halo. A trio of advisors sat on her right but only two on her left, one seat empty between them like a telling gap in a child’s teeth. Valkil bowed a slight apology to the Lady and took the vacant seat, crossing his leg and looking out across the crowd as if unaware they had been waiting for him.

  The round, bald Master of Days rose from the front bench and cleared his throat. “Now that all are accounted for, I bring this audience to order.”

  “Cadh,” the Lady Verden said, and the room hushed to hear.

  “Yes, Lady?” the Master of Days asked.

  “I would like an excuse from Commander Valkil.”

  Valkil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I do apologize, Lady. I had not intended to be tardy and I meant no disrespect.”

  "That's hardly an excuse," Cadh said.

  "Well, it's all I've got."

  “Cadh, tell me,” the Lady said. “How many times has Commander Valkil been late to our audiences?”

  “This cycle?”

  “Yes.”

  Cadh turned to one of his mousy assistants, who flipped through the many parchments laid out before her. She whispered an answer and Cadh announced it. “Seven, Lady.”

  “That does not include this current session,” Valkil pointed out.

  “No,” Cadh said with a glare. “It does not.”

  “Does the Commander wish to abdicate his station?” the Lady Verden asked.

  “No, Lady.”

  “Is he capable of arriving on time to all future audiences?”

  “Capable? Yes, I believe I am quite capable.”

  “Does that mean you will?” Cadh asked.

  Valkil sighed. “Sure it does. Listen, if the Lady Verden would like to replace me on this dais, she has only to send a request to the Officers in Dacina, but I doubt they would see truancy as reason enough to force me into early retirement.”

  “Nobody has suggested replacing you,” the Lady Verden said. “But if you are to be my advisor, you must be here to lend your advice.”

  “Well, I’m here now. Shall we get started?”

  One of the advisors on the other side of the stage scoffed as though personally offended, but the Lady Verden only nodded to Cadh and, sighing, the Master of Days turned to address the whispering audience. “We begin by reviewing the previous session’s assigned…”

  “Please, Master?” A smooth-faced soldier in the second row raised his hand and received Cadh's scowl. “I have pressing news that the Lady and her advisors must hear at once.”

  Cadh bristled. “We have an order for these things, sir…?”

  “Shavyn, Master.”

  “Stand for me, Shavyn,” the Lady said. “What is your station?”

  Shavyn wiped his palms on his tunic as he stood. Already short of stature, he shrank under the Lady Verden’s gaze. “I am a Ducal guard of the western walls.”

  “And a student of Commander Valkil’s, isn’t that so?” Cadh asked.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “What is the meaning of your interruption?” the Lady Verden asked.

  “My officer sent me in haste from Coroma Tower. I bring news of an attack on the independent villages.”

  “They have chosen to live outside of our jurisdiction and rule,” said one of the Lady's advisors, a small, shrewd woman named Morkren. “Why should we concern ourselves of any plight they might have stumbled into?”

  “I think it is the nature of the attack the Lady will find interesting.”

  “So tell me,” the Lady Verden said.

  “Yes, Lady.” Shavyn coughed and cleared his throat. “A young woman arrived at Coroma last night, claiming that her village had been attacked. She and her mother were on their way here to beg our aid when the attacker caught up to them. Lady, her mother was killed.”

  “Heart breaking,” Morkren said drily. “Get to the relevance of your tale.”

  “Lady, it was a therill that attacked them.”

  The audience hushed at the predator's name. Valkil glanced at the Lady, looking for any sign of emotion, but she retained her typical stoicism. “Did this villager bring evidence?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Shavyn gave a handful of black spines to Cadh to deliver to the Lady. “These were taken from the mother's body. Don't worry, though. We broke off the tips.”

  “Why did you break them?” the Lady asked.

  “We feared they might still be poisonous.”

  Lady Verden glanced at the spines and then handed them back to Cadh. “I do not find this compelling evidence. The therill are monsters from our legends, soldier. I am not convinced they are real, nor that they have chosen this cycle to return.”

  “But their poisonous spines are one of the most enduring parts of their legend…” Shavyn said, brow furrowed.

  “Many creatures have spines, soldier," Morkren said.

  Shavyn struggled to respond. Valkil took pity on him and spoke up himself. “What creatures in the west have such poisonous spines? Can anyone present name one?”

  “There are none I can think of,” the Master of Days said. “But then, we do not know for certain that these spines were once poisonous.”

  “The villager,” the Lady Verden said. “Did she see this therill?”

  “Yes,” Shavyn said. “She fears those of her village are in danger. They sent her to request our aid.”

  “What aid do they request?” the Lady Verden asked.

  Before Shavyn could answer, Morkren scoffed and said, “There are pressing issues that relate to the lives of our own people. We waste time listening to this soldier’s stories.”

  “If it is the therill that have returned, Morkren,” Valkil said, “it very much concerns us and all of Camarei.”

  “There are no therill,” Morkren said.

  “Your incredible all-sight never fails to amaze,” Valkil said, rolling his eyes. “Why we listen to anyone else when you always have all the answers, I’ll never understand.”

  “Silence, both of you.” Lady Verden nodded to Shavyn. “Answer the question. What aid does the village request?”

  “Soldiers. Hunters.” Shavyn looked to each advisor in turn. “They want protection from the therill and the means to hunt it down."

  The avi in the lattice ceiling tittered, audible as the audience held its breath. The Lady stared hard at Shavyn, unblinking, and though he held her gaze a moment, he finally brok
e and looked down at his feet.

  The Lady pursed her lips. “I do not believe in therill, nor do I believe we owe the independent villages our protection. Let this story be told to the guards on the western walls that they may keep watch for spined creatures that might intrude on our own lands. Send the girl back to her village. It is decided.”

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  After the audience session, Valkil waited beside the dais. The other advisors gathered to talk amongst themselves or with the Lady Verden, but he didn't join them. A young woman approached him with fluttering eyelashes and a sultry smile but he waved her away and she went with a scowl.

  “Can you talk to her?” Shavyn asked as he neared, wringing his hands.

  Valkil glanced at the Lady Verden among her sycophants. “Certainly I could but she wouldn’t listen to me. We know that well enough.”

  “You’re her advisor. Advise her.”

  Valkil raised an eyebrow. “You’ve come into an inheritance of boldness all of a sudden, haven’t you? Where has this new Shavyn come from? In our lessons, I am familiar only with a timid Shavyn, a boy with all the self-confidence of a verlower.”

  “It is just…” Shavyn looked down. “The girl. Erona. She is very distraught. Her mother gave her life on the road, a sacrifice so that Erona could reach us and ask for our help. To turn her away, well… It just isn’t something I can see myself doing.”

  “Hm, is that all? Are you sure it’s nothing to do with the firmness of her arms or the rough cut of her jaw? You always had it in you for the harder girls. No taste for softness nor refined things.” Shavyn blushed and Valkil laughed. “Very well, then. It is nobility and nobility alone that has you feeling such empathy for this pretty girl's plight. Don’t fret, Shav. I’ll tell the girl and spare you the trouble.”

  “I do feel guilty, Commander. I promised her we would help her. I told her the Lady Verden was good and caring and kind…”

  Valkil snorted. “In that case, I recant my offer. Let this be one of our lessons. Lie and you must face the consequences. Therefore lie only when you have confidence your dishonesty will never be discovered.”

  “It was you who told me the Lady was good.”

  “Maybe once, a very long time ago. Before all this. Put the pressure of rule on anyone and they break. It is far too great a responsibility for any one individual.”

  Shavyn crossed his arms. “I remember you saying just the opposite, that a battalion needed a single commander to lead it. Any more and it would never know whether to charge or retreat.”

  “War is different. Between war and politics, I choose war every time.”

  “If you hate politics so much, why not leave it?”

  Valkil thumbed his tunic's golden buttons. “These don’t pay for themselves, Shav.”

  “I suppose not. Well, would you talk to her?”

  “I’ve just said I won’t.”

  “Not the Lady. I mean the girl. Erona. The news will seem more official coming from you than me. She deserves that much, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know that she deserves anything at all. I have little respect for the independent villages.”

  “This isn’t about that. It’s about a girl who lost her mother, who believes the therill are attacking her village. She’s not so different from us.”

  “She is disloyal to Camarei. In that, she is quite different from us.”

  “Please, Val.”

  Valkil’s eyebrow went up again. “Not only by name but an informal variant? Your appeal to logic has failed so now you turn to personal affectation to get what you want from me. Clever, actually.”

  “I had a good teacher.”

  “And now flattery.” Valkil laughed. “I like this new Shavyn very much indeed. Very well, take me to her. I’ll pass on the bad news, then take my leave so you can remain behind to console her and enjoy any benefits that might bring.”

  Skor-Adal II

  Finding Purpose

  Krudah drifted back from sleep. A nearby fire warmed his face and shoulders, and the familiar, acrid scent of fried insects set his stomach rumbling. A fur blanket tickled his chin, though he'd had no such blankets in his camp.

  “Pass another?” Arvad's voice, nearby. Someone seated close moved, leather creaking, and Arvad thanked them.

  “We should be getting back,” Aelida said.

  “You can stop saying that,” Arvad said. “We’ve all heard you.”

  “I wouldn’t have to repeat myself if you’d stop ignoring me.”

  “I’m not leaving him,” Zethyr said, and the others fell silent.

  “Leave me,” Krudah said, eyes still shut. “I’m the one who fled Skor-Rek, not you. Go home.”

  “Is that an order?” Zethyr asked.

  “You prefer our company,” Arvad said. “So we’ll stay.”

  “You’re not safe in my company.”

  “That’s not true,” Zethyr said.

  “It is. Nobody and nothing is safe around me.”

  “Enough,” Arvad said. “We don’t believe your self-pitying any more than you do. It doesn’t serve you and it certainly doesn’t serve Skor. We promised our lives…”

  “I have made many promises,” Krudah said. “I promised to protect Koera. I promised to keep her safe. Yet it was I who…”

  “I said enough.” Arvad ran his hands through his hair. “You have committed a crime. An unimaginable one. But I know you, general, and nobody has honored the gods more. It doesn’t excuse what you’ve done, but maybe it explains why you’re still with us. The gods haven’t taken you, though they could have at any time. If they’re not going to take you, then we’re not going to let you waste away out here with the bugs crawling all over you like a corpse. You have made a terrible mistake, but perhaps we should be grateful you live and have the opportunity to redeem yourself. If the gods thought you had nothing left to offer them, you would surely be dead.”

  Krudah shook his head. “They didn’t stop me…”

  “Please, General,” Zethyr said. “No blasphemy from your lips.”

  Krudah sighed and sat up. The fire shimmered in the grease on his caliphs' chins, the bones from their meal half-eaten in their hands. “I have broken the laws of our gods and our people," Krudah said. "You know the punishment.”

  “Yes,” Aelida said under her breath. Arvad and Zethyr shot her angry glances, but she looked down and would not meet them.

  “Aelida is right,” Krudah said. “I have taken the lives of one sacred to Skor. You must take my life in return.”

  “We’re not executioners,” Arvad said. “Nor are we priests, to determine guilt.”

  “I’m admitting my guilt to you now.”

  “Skor has given us no authority to say whether or not that’s true, nor enact any kind of justice even if we could.”

  “Arvad, you stubborn grunt, just do what your general commands you,” Krudah growled, fists clenched.

  “Damn it, General, I won’t,” Arvad said. “There has to be another way to make peace with what you have done. There has to be.”

  Krudah looked to Aelida. “You know what needs to be done. Do it, I beg you.” Yet she would not look up from the mound of insects crawling in the ground before her.

  “What would Koera want?” Zethyr asked. “How would she tell you to redeem yourself?

  “She would want to live, Zethyr,” Krudah snapped. “She would tell me to face my judgment and my gods. She would say that I deserve the place now reserved for me in Anyr’s prisons.”

  None of his caliphs would meet his eye. A familiar fury overcame Krudah, burning from the pit of his stomach up into his chest. He took his sword Czallah from where she lay beside him and pressed her sharp edge to his throat. His caliphs' jaws fell agape, but they made no motion to stop him. Krudah stared back, unsure for a moment if he wanted to be stopped, then finally made his decision. “If you lack the mercy to do it yourselves, I will do it for you.”

  In that moment of bitter resolve, Krudah
found the will to do what he had not been able to do throughout his time in the forest and drew the blade across his throat.

  A brief flash of pain burned like a brand, then vanished. Time slowed. The White Star light shimmered, the sound of his caliphs' cries came muted and round, and he descended downward dreamily; all calling to mind an innocent memory of a time cycles past when he had traveled to the ocean and dove under the waves.

  Through the void, his wife came. Koera. She looked just as he remembered; wrinkles at the corners of her eyes from over-smiling, the snaggletooth that sometimes caught her lip, and her graying black hair tied back in a bun. His heart ached, and even that calm, comfortable sea couldn't drown out that pain.

  If all eternity had been that water and that vision, Krudah would have been happy to spend it.

  Yet it wasn't all bittersweet nostalgia. Koera's voice came, speaking words that she had last said to Krudah the night of her death.

  "The cult of Zor has overtaken the land of my birth. My parents were taken and made to work for them. My brothers and sisters. My aunts and uncles. The High Priest must go after them but he refuses to, and Skor alone knows why. You must do it. Why have I married one of Skor's greatest generals if he can't or won't protect me and my family? Something has to be done."

  In lightning-quick flashes, Krudah saw himself striking Koera, saw her falling, her head striking the table and blood splattering. The jannir had him, the drug taken by Skor-Adal caliphs to replace fear with courage and anxiety with bloodlust, but he had taken it willingly, even knowing what it might do, and thus he had no defense behind to pretend he might be guiltless.

  The vision of Koera began to fade. Krudah remained frozen in the darkness, unable to reach out to her or even to speak, to apologize for what he had done. Yet in that moment outside of time, an opportunity for redemption found him and he knew what he had to do to atone for his sins.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  Krudah survived his suicide attempt thanks to the efforts of his loyal caliphs. They nursed him back to health with small sips of water and bites of ground insect meal. The throat wound made it so Krudah couldn't speak, but he expressed his gratitude as best he could through gestures and nods. Recovery came slow but steady and never once did the caliphs leave his side except to hunt for prey or firewood, always returning quickly.