“So I drew my bow,” she said, taking up an invisible bow, reliving the memory. “I took aim. It still didn’t know I was there but it was suspicious, sniffing at the air. Looking around with its little black eyes. I let the string go and I tell you, I’ve never been so nervous. My heart has never pounded so hard.
“It flew true. Struck the therill in the neck. It started, jumped up, and ran. I raced past the dying barridur as if it wasn’t there, on the hunt for something far more valuable.
“It knew I was behind it. It was very fast, alternating between running upright and on all fours, but I could see that it was wounded. It paused once, to swipe its arm in my direction and fire those spines at me. I had only a moment to react, could only flinch and turn, but it was enough. The spines hit my quiver and didn’t quite get through. They didn’t touch me.
“I kept on chasing after it. I was so excited when it started to slow. I was so hopeful that it meant it was dying. I was already dreaming of my riches, my glory.”
Aioni paused, eyes vacant. Malquin goaded her on. “So what happened? Why didn’t you get it?”
“There was an entire city of them,” she said quietly. “I nearly ran into the wall of it, all covered with vines and wood. It blended right into the surrounding forest. I didn’t see the wounded therill get through the wall and after I saw how many of them there were, stalking the heights of the walls, looking out from the towers, even training in the yards…”
“Why are we just hearing this story now, Aioni?” Valkil asked. “Why didn’t you come to us? To me?”
“I tried, Val. I went to Verden. I had an audience with the Lady herself. I told her everything. What do you think she told me?”
“That the therill are legends,” Valkil said. “Fables.”
“Of course she told me that. Why would she think anything else? Nobody else would believe me so I came back. And I got the pairu daza feathers to poison my traps, to frighten them away if they came around.” She leaned forward. “Now you tell me. What made you believe they’re real?”
“Spines like those,” Malquin said. “A young woman in our group has some just like them.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a girl from one of the independent villages. She says there have been several attacks. People gone missing. Even says that one of the creatures followed her near to the Verden border.”
“It hunted her and she escaped it?” Aioni’s eyebrow went up. “Some feat, that. She must have some tricks I don’t know. If one of those things wanted me dead, even I wouldn’t gamble on my life.”
“It may have let her live,” Valkil said. “It may have wanted us to come after. It may be ready for us.”
Aioni chuckled. “And here you are. It makes sense you’d be the one to come. The one willing to throw away the lives of others in the pursuit of glory.”
“I’ve done my best to right my wrongs, Aioni,” Valkil said, an edge to his voice. “If you’d been around, I would have apologized long ago. Let’s put this behind us, eh? I only have so much patience for your bitterness.”
Aioni glared. “You’ve changed, then?”
“I said I have.”
“You said many things. In my experience, you’ve meant few of them.” Valkil opened his mouth to reply but she cut him off. “Let’s put it behind us, you say. Very well. Let’s do it.” She went again to the table. This time, she returned with a fat, knotted twig. She put it into Valkil’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it. Looking into his curious eyes, she kept her hands on his. “Say what you would have, had I been around when you wished to apologize me.”
Valkil rubbed his fingers on the wood. “Is this…?”
“Ferum, yes.”
“Really, Aioni? This isn’t necessary.”
“It is for me. Either you do this or you can bite the head off a glisber for all I care.”
“Aioni, these villagers are dying. The therill…”
“I’ve lived on my own a long time, Val.” Her eyes burned with an old flame. “I never needed those villagers. I don’t need them now. Don’t you say any more on it. You’re the last person who could teach me about the sanctity of human life.”
“Just do it,” Malquin said. “What do you have to fear, Val?”
Valkil looked down at Aioni’s hands over his, pictured the wood within. It trembled slightly, almost imperceptible. He swallowed hard and the wood jumped. Aioni’s eyes flashed. “I felt that. You feeling nervous, Val?”
“No.” Valkil took a deep breath. “I have nothing to fear.”
Her mischievous grin widened. “So let’s hear it. Your apology. Oh, I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Aioni,” Valkil began. “When you knew me before, I was a different man. I had chosen a direction for my life, a journey that I was determined to take. I was committed to that direction and nothing could turn me from it. I sought glory at the expense of safety to myself and my soldiers.”
“Come on.” Aioni’s smile soured. “I could have told you all that. Get to it.”
The wood remained still in Valkil’s palm. “I did you wrong. Truth be told, I did many people wrong. You didn’t even get the worst of it, though I understand you might not care to hear it. You deserved recognition but I stole your glory. I made it my own. I let the Ladies of Camarei think I did it all alone, and I made no effort to make sure you or the others got what you deserved. You should have had songs written of your exploits like there were songs written of mine.”
“I still do.”
“Yes. You still do, I won’t deny it. Though it seems you’ve carved out a life for yourself here. You might think you would be happier leading a battalion or serving some lord or lady but I tell you it isn’t all you imagine.”
“I would have liked the choice,” she said. “But enough. Say the words. The ones that make this bit of wood leap and jump at your lie. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you wish you had done things differently. Tell me you’d go back and change it if you could.”
At the moment Valkil began to speak, the ferum wood tickled his palm. He paused and Aioni saw his hesitation. Even before he whispered the words 'I can’t', she knew he would.
She struck him and her fingernails scratched his skin open and bleeding. “You disgust me,” she muttered.
“Val,” Malquin said. “You haven’t grown at all. You haven’t changed.”
Valkil threw the ferum wood down. “I can’t say that I would change it, but it’s not for the reasons you think. I did many regrettable things but I can’t regret them because they led me to Ahlaha and I’d not take a step different if doing so might take me off the road to her.”
Malquin struck Valkil and then stood over him where he fell. Red in the face, Malquin bellowed, “I am your blood. Your kin. You would choose your own happiness over mine, you selfish brute?”
“You would do the same,” Valkil shouted back. “That is what you ask of me every time it comes to this. You wish I had rejected her because you wanted her. You wish me miserable when you would have had no chance of winning her heart anyway. You can’t blame me…”
“Passing the blame?” Aioni scoffed. “How very like you, Val.”
“I love her,” Valkil said. “And she loves me. And I’m sorry that neither of you has that, I really am. But I can’t make it happen for you. Love isn’t mine to give to you.”
Aioni laughed. “You said very different things to me once.”
“At the time, I thought I meant them.”
“No you didn’t,” Aioni said. “I don’t need the ferum wood to know that. You said what you needed to get what you wanted from me. I’m no different from anyone with the misfortune of crossing your path.”
“She loves you,” Malquin said quietly. “I still don’t understand how that could be.”
“You don’t have to understand it. We don’t need you to. Truth be told, it doesn’t matter a bit.” Valkil pushed himself up. “Innocent people are dying. I’d like to help them. If the two of yo
u can put your egos aside and help me, I’d appreciate it. If not, stay in this hole and rot together for all I care. You deserve each other.” He ascended the ladder without looking back.
Malquin sighed and rubbed his temples. “I never, ever want to say this but I find myself doing it more often than you’d think. The man is right.”
Aioni slammed a fist on the table. “I know he is.”
“So you’ll help us?”
“Help you what? Get pairu daza feathers from the Qati so you can hunt therill?” Aioni paused. “You know, they’re likely to require one of us to touch a feather. They believe you have to. That you can’t use them without knowing what they do.”
“So if we say it’s to be Valkil using them…”
Her eyes twinkled. “That’s just what I was thinking.”
Skor-Adal VII
The Thrall
Krudah awaited Zethyr’s return, seated in the dirt. Nearby, Aelida led the others in strength and flexibility training. Slither joked her way through the motions and her peers laughed, save the two recruits. Since the day they had been made to drive their spears into their fallen brother, they had not laughed.
Zethyr arrived at last, sweating through his baggy black uniform. “It is further than it looks,” he said to Krudah between breaths.
Arvad excused himself from training and joined them. “What was there to see?”
“Hundreds of cultists working the fields,” Zethyr said. “They cultivate these bushes and gather the tiny berries. They work without breaks, without even looking up.”
“Who manages them?” Arvad asked.
“Nobody that I saw.”
“How close did you get?”
“I walked among them at the outer edges. You could see their hunched forms all the way to the horizon but nobody stood tall among them.”
“What good servants,” Arvad said, “that they work without fear of the whip. It is said the cultists are mind-dumb. Did you speak to them?”
“I tried,” Zethyr said. “Only one responded. Working for the glory of Zor, she said. That was all.”
“Did they speak amongst themselves?”
“Not that I heard. Stranger yet, they have no settlements. For all the miles I could see, there was not one building. It is said they work tirelessly for the cult but do you think it’s literally true?”
“Does it matter?” Arvad asked. “They have given themselves over to this cult. Abandoned the teachings of our gods for theirs. Let them work until they die and then let them face the judgment of Skor.” He turned to the others, still practicing. “Break camp and prepare for the road. We will encounter Zor’s followers today. Keep your eyes open for signs of their leaders.”
Slither thrust her spear into the ground and wiped her forehead. “Tis time we faced these enemies of ours. Let us pale them. They have no worth in this life any longer.”
“Aye,” Aelida said. “Killing the workers could mean fewer resources for the higher cultists. We could weaken our enemy before we reach them.”
“No,” Arvad said. “That would only succeed in bringing their eyes upon us. We are few in number and our goal is great. We must not give away our intentions.”
An avus called in the distance and the wind shifted direction. “Could be too late,” Zethyr said, pointing.
At the edge of camp, a short, bald man stood, dressed in the simple canvas of a Zor thrall, hands clasped at his waist. The caliphs took up their weapons but Krudah grunted for them to stop.
The thrall looked them over. His eyes, deep black as if replaced by stones, settled on Krudah. “You come for Zor,” the thrall said, tone flat.
“We are travelers,” Arvad said. “We are fleeing the judgment of Skor for the crimes of our general.”
“You are soldiers,” the thrall said.
“Yes.”
“Zor will take you.”
“We have heard stories, that Zor takes what he wants,” Arvad said. “We will not be taken.”
“If you seek the protection of Zor, you will be taken.”
Arvad paused. “How did you find us?”
“You sent one of yours ahead to see us. I have come to do the same.”
“And what are you, exactly?”
“I am Zor.”
“Yes, but we understand there are a number of ranks within your people. Are you like those in the fields or are you one of the Elites?”
“I am no different from those in the field.”
Arvad crossed his arms. “That is a cryptic answer.”
“The nature of Zor is not something you yet understand. Much I could say would be cryptic to you.”
“Yet you will tell us?”
“Zor will answer you.” The thrall looked at Krudah. “We waste white starlight.” Krudah hesitated, then nodded. The thrall seemed appeased. “We will pass through lands controlled by Zor. There will be no need for your weapons. I suggest you leave them behind. Without their weight, we will travel more quickly.”
“You ain’t taking my blade, bug-eye,” Slither said.
“We prefer to keep our weapons,” Arvad said. “We do not know what dangers lie ahead.”
The thrall shrugged. “You may bring them if they will make you feel better.”
“Who are you?” Aelida asked.
“I have no name but Zor. None under Zor have names like you know them.”
“How long have you served Zor?” Arvad asked.
“All my life. No more questions. Let us be on our way. We have a very long way to go.” He gestured for them to follow. None of the caliphs moved until Krudah did, then they fell into step behind him.
They soon entered a flat landscape of knee-high shrubs and voiceless, tireless thralls working on their hands and knees. None looked up as they passed. No avi flew overhead. Even the passing islandics seemed stuck in the sky.
Miles passed and nothing changed. Every sound and sight and smell remained the same, a doldrums on land. At first, Slither talked incessantly to fight it, but eventually they all succumbed to the silence as they marched through that strange country.
At rest-time, several caliphs settled in for naps. Meon and Krudah remained awake, eyes on the thrall guide. He sat apart from the group, staring unblinking at the horizon.
“Ah,” Slither muttered, eyes closed, “would that I had my daughter here. I miss her like death miss the Blue Star.”
“We will see our families again,” Zethyr said. “On Bewahn or in the halls of Skor.”
Krudah shut his eyes against the memory of his wife's dead eyes staring up from the blood-spattered floor.
Suddenly, the thrall guide announced, “Strangers.” He stood facing them. “We must go now.”
“We’ve only just stopped,” Zethyr said. “We’ll need more time to regain our strength.”
“There is no choice,” the thrall said. “We must go.”
The working thrall surrounding them rose to their feet. Eyes vacant, they moved together as if connected by puppet strings. The caliphs leapt up, drawing weapons, but hesitated when the thrall did not come for them. Instead, the followers of Zor stood still, statues in ragged clothes and sunburnt skin, all facing back in the direction of Skor-Rek.
“What is this?” Aelida asked.
“Danger comes,” the thrall said. “They will guard our escape.”
“What danger?” Arvad asked, looking back the way they had come.
“An enemy of yours and ours. Please,” the thrall said, “we must go now before it is too late.”
On the horizon, the thrall converged on a point. It seemed to swallow them, making room for more and more thrall. As Krudah watched, the locus point moved closer, slow but steady.
Arvad grabbed Krudah’s shoulder, eyes wide. The caliphs gathered their things and followed the thrall guide away from the ravenous point, running despite their tired feet.
Behind them, lightning flashed in a cloudless sky and thunder rolled across the landscape.
Mourisiel VII
<
br /> Survivor
Fiskahn had just popped an epil slice into his mouth when someone knocked softly on his door. Grumbling, he gathered his robes and went to open it.
Just outside, Razhier waited on the step, looking uncomfortable. The street appeared empty otherwise, the doors of neighboring homes all shut. Fiskahn peered at Razhier with one eye shut against the White Star’s light and then, maneuvering the epil slice into his cheek, asked, “What?” Juice sprayed from his lips and caught the light.
Razhier grimaced. “Can I come inside?”
“No,” Fiskahn began to shut the door but Razhier put out a hand and lay the tips of his fingers against it. Fiskhan hesitated. “Something happen?”
“Your message said you had found something.”
“I know what it said.” Lowering his voice, Fiskahn continued, “We don’t meet out in the open like this. Don’t ruin everything with your overzealousness, boy.”
“I can’t wait,” Razhier said. “Is it Theina? Did you…?”
Fiskahn coughed loud and dragged Razhier inside with a fistful of his shirt. He slammed the door hard. “Don’t say her name! Don’t you ever say her name, not ever. Not where anyone might hear you. Not anywhere around me, for damn sure. You hear me?” Razhier looked forlorn and Fiskahn released him. “Damn, kid. Every time I see you, you’ve got less sense than the time before. Think, would you?”
“I’m sorry. It’s just…” Razhier wrung his hands. “Did you find her?”
Fiskahn hesitated, then winked. “I might have.” Razhier’s eyes lit up. “Don’t you say a damn thing! Don’t you dare.”
Razhier suddenly seemed years younger, his face flush with color. “She’s alive? Please tell me she’s alive. Where is she?”
“Yes, yes. Sit down.” Fiskahn gestured to the table. Razhier took a seat and Fiskahn went around to his chair. “Let me start at the beginning. There was a celebration at the palace a few nights ago. Anniversary of Qataga’s coronation, I think. I don’t remember. It doesn’t often matter. Those kinds of courtly events are the same every time, regardless of the purpose. They’re just an excuse for binging on wine and food, even more than a typical night.
White Star Phase: Book One of the Ascendants Chronicle Page 11