The White Song (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 5)

by Phil Tucker

  He kicked open the double doors and, with grim determination, strode out into Haugabrjótr.

  CHAPTER 20

  Kethe

  Urgency seized Kethe as she left the Hall of Light. She could tell the others wanted to talk to her, knew that she should stop, coordinate, organize the Consecrated and a thousand other plans. But only one thing mattered to her. Only one name pounded in her mind to the rhythm of her heart: Asho.

  Akinetos led the way along a broad, glorious hallway toward the convoluted descent to the Temple of the Virtues, with Mixis and Synesis a step behind. Consecrated trailed them, followed by the remnants of their honor guards and numerous courtiers, nobles, and bureaucrats.

  Any moment now, Akinetos would turn, gesture for her to join him, ask her opinion on what had just happened, embroil her in conversation and duty.

  “Excuse me,” Kethe said, stepping out of the flow of traffic to the side of the hall. The others turned, surprised, but Kethe didn’t give them a chance to question her. “I’ve got to see to something. Excuse me.” Then, with an apologetic smile, she turned and hurried back.

  She could feel their stares burning between her shoulders, and she knew their confusion and indignation were right — demons could attack at any moment, the very fate of the Empire was in doubt, and here she was, haring off after a Bythian Sin Caster who was no doubt unconscious, who wouldn’t know that she was at his side — but she didn’t care.

  He was Asho, she loved him, and she needed to see him.

  Picking up speed, she raced through the Palace of the Ascendant until she spotted a man who might have been a chamberlain of sorts. Ignoring all the others who bowed as she passed them, she hurried up to him and reached out to catch his arm before he could kneel.

  “The Sin Caster, Asho. Do you know where he is?”

  “Your Virtue, I — yes, of course. May I have the honor, unworthy as I am, of escorting you to his quarters?”

  “Yes,” she said, fighting for dignity and gravitas. “Please hurry.”

  He bowed low, then turned and, with a look of exaltation and sublime pride, swept out of the hall, head flung back, one arm in front of him as if he were about to part a curtain. He strode quickly, but not quickly enough. Glancing back, he must have noted her impatience, for his face paled and he hiked up the hems of his voluminous robes so he could hustle over the magnificent carpets. Kethe easily kept pace, and soon he was noticeably sweating and fighting for a dignified run-walk, turning corners and angrily brushing away subservient and questioning looks.

  “Here, your Virtue, he is within,” he said at last, stopping before an undistinguished door.

  “No guards?” asked Kethe.

  “My gravest apologies. I am sickened, absolutely sickened by this oversight. Perhaps the exigencies of the situation will excuse this gross negligence...?”

  “Yes, very well, thank you. You have done me a great service.”

  The man bowed, regaining much of his composure at the compliment, and edged backward.

  Kethe knocked, then opened the door. The room was completely dark, but she knew even before she summoned a dancing white flame that it was empty. A bed against the far wall was covered in tousled sheets and little more. A table, an unlit candle, nothing else.

  She whirled around, and the chamberlain froze. He’d managed to get some six yards away, but he was still facing her, still half-bowed.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  “I —I mean — he isn’t...?” The man’s composure proved fragile; under her glare, he visibly wilted, and beads of sweat sprang out across his brow once more. “But he was here. I can swear it, I do swear it, but if he was moved… Yes, perhaps he was relocated to more luxurious, more fitting quarters...? I will inquire at once and send word.”

  “Yes,” said Kethe, her excitement dulling into frustrated doubt. Moved? Why? Had he succumbed to the poison in his system? No, they would have told her — wouldn’t they? Biting at the corner of her lips, she waved the man away and then stared once more into the empty room. There was no scent of sickness.

  She stepped up to the bed and touched the mattress. No evil-looking fluids. Nothing obvious. Asho had simply left. Had his condition improved? Perhaps he’d gone looking for her.

  Their conduit. Why hadn’t she thought of that first? Half-closing her eyes, she reached out and tried to sense it, then saw it manifest in the air before her. It sloped down toward the floor at an oblique angle and sank out of sight.

  Relief made her weak at the knees. He was alive. But where was he?

  The Virtues’ Temple, of course. He must have gone looking for her.

  Thrusting aside her doubts, Kethe raced back the way she had come, ignoring the bows, the calls for blessings, the looks of wonder and awe. She ran as if her battered green plate were weightless, Tiron’s sword flapping at her hip, fleet of foot and pausing only for new directions.

  Soon, she emerged into the evening air. Ignoring the glorious sunset, she ran down a broad, spiraling staircase to a colonnaded walkway that turned into a tenuous bridge that arched out over the void to the Temple grounds where they emerged from Aletheia’s flank.

  She slowed and then stopped. Some sort of confrontation was taking place at the great gate to the temple. A small crowd of beggars was facing the Virtues and the Consecrated, and to Kethe’s shock, she saw that Akinetos and the others had drawn their blades.

  Kethe ran forward, calling out as she drew close so that the ranks would part. She stumbled to a stop as she emerged into the clearing in the center and saw Asho facing off against the Virtues. He was holding before him a blade that had black fire fanning down its length, and he seemed dangerously alive. His eyes were smoldering, and his clothing was rippling as if it were caught in a strong wind.

  “Asho!” She took a step forward, then wheeled around. “Akinetos! What’s going on?”

  “Going on?” The massive Virtue didn’t take his eyes from Asho. “This Sin Caster has descended upon us with thirty more of his kind. Can you not sense them?”

  Kethe reached for the White Song — and in doing so, opened herself up to the energies around her. Immediately, she felt the conduit, strong and vibrant between them, and Asho’s renewed, almost overwhelming vitality — but then, like thunderclouds smothering the sun, she sensed what was coming off the rest of the crowd.

  The beggars exuded a sense of foul power. Each and every one of them was a Sin Caster, though they were dim and feeble compared to Asho’s might. There were thirty of them, gathered before the gate of the Temple.

  “Asho,” she said, trying to remain calm. “What is this?”

  “I came looking for you,” said Asho. “And found instead the bigotry, hatred, and short-sightedness that so characterizes the Empire. After all these men and women have been through, do you think I’d ever agree to their being placed under arrest?”

  “Wait. This is madness,” said Kethe, and she moved between the two groups, arms extended in both directions. “Please. We’ve perhaps only moments before we’re attacked. We can’t fight amongst ourselves.”

  “Step aside, Kethe,” said Mixis. “I don’t know who these Sin Casters are, but you know we can’t suffer them to walk freely amongst us.”

  “Are you going to stop them?” Asho rolled his shoulders and pointed his blade at the Bythian Virtue. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Enough!” Kethe’s shout drew all eyes. “Lower your weapons! Asho – please — who are these people?”

  “Sin Casters,” he said, not taking his eyes from the Virtues. “I rescued them from the Fujiwara stonecloud. They’re the source of your precious black formulas.” His smile was cruel. “Which, I suppose, will no longer be forthcoming. Sorry.”

  The effect of his words on the Consecrated and the attendant nobility was immediate. A ripple of uncertainty flowed through them, causing them to rise out of combat crouches and glance at each other.

  “This is not the time or place to discuss such delica
te matters,” said Akinetos.

  “Damn you,” said Asho. “I’ll talk about the Empire’s crimes wherever I see fit.”

  Synesis had both of her blades in hand. “We didn’t know,” she said coldly. “You make it sound like we were complicit.”

  “Tell me you really tried to find out where the formulas came from,” said Asho. “Tell me you didn’t just drink them down without a thought. Go on. Tell me to my face.”

  Synesis’ lip curled back in disdain. “My mistake, perhaps, was to trust my superiors.”

  “Regardless,” said Mixis. “Sin Casters are anathema. They are to be put down like rabid dogs before they can destroy the innocent.” He strode forward, exuding a sense of lazy confidence. “You’ve been tolerated because... Wait. Remind me why we’ve tolerated your presence?”

  Kethe could feel the situation spiraling out of control. This wouldn’t be resolved with words. “Asho, please. Take your people away from here. Now.”

  “Are you defending them, Makaria?” Mixis sneered at her. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  She caught Asho’s gaze and held it. Please, she mouthed, and with obvious reluctance, he nodded.

  “All right,” he said. “I came here looking for you. Hoping you could help them.”

  “I’ll find you. Please, just leave before something awful happens.”

  He looked to the others. “Come on. Let’s find somewhere a little less noxious.”

  Mixis actually growled, but he was prevented from taking a step forward by Akinetos, who clamped a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. They watched as the Sin Casters departed, most of them hobbling or leaning on each other. They crossed over the slender bridge, entered a distant tunnel, and were gone.

  “Strange days,” Akinetos said wearily.

  “Strange?” Mixis turned on him. “Do you think Theletos would have tolerated that crowd? Do you think he’d have allowed them to leave?”

  “To be honest?” Akinetos shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Maybe not. But he’s dead, isn’t he? Hard as that is to believe. And now it’s down to the four of us, with an army of demons winging their way here. You really want to weaken our forces just before that battle?”

  “They’re Sin Casters, Akinetos,” said Mixis. “Sin Casters. Before our very gate.”

  “I know. I know.” Akinetos shook his head. “Strange days. Makaria, are you coming in with us?”

  “I need to speak with Asho,” she replied, and saw the condemnation in Mixis’ and Synesis’ eyes. She decided she didn’t care. “I’ll be back shortly. Send word to the Grace of what happened here, will you?”

  “You mean your mother,” said Synesis.

  “I will,” said Akinetos. “Hurry. We’ve much to discuss, and I’d have your counsel.”

  “I — yes. Thank you.”

  Turning, she caught Gray Wind’s eye in the crowd. He was standing beside several other familiar faces — Wolfker, Dalitha, and others — but she could only raise a hand in greeting before turning to run after Asho.

  He hadn’t gone far, having stopped in the first large hall they’d entered. His Sin Casters had sat down, exhausted, while a few were arguing with Asho.

  Kethe walked up to him and shoved his shoulder hard, pushing him out of the knot of Sin Casters. He barked in anger, but she shoved him again, keeping him off-balance, wanting to dash him to the ground. She thought of Mixis with his blades drawn, Synesis behind him, thought of Asho cut and bleeding, lying dying on the floor, and with a cry she punched him, only for him to catch her by the wrist and pull her into his arms.

  He kissed her, and she felt something within her open, felt the White Song rise, seeking to erase her anger, her fear, but she couldn’t let go of her rage. She broke free, and his smile made her shove at him again, but this time he danced back.

  “You fool, you insufferable, mad, stupid fool, what were you doing? What were you thinking?”

  He laughed and bowed, moving ever backward, drawing her away from the group, and she followed him, her hands aching in tight fists, and his amusement made her even angrier. “Bringing Sin Casters to the Temple? Did you want to die?”

  “Who said I would be the one dying?” With that, he lifted off the ground, arms extended on either side, drifting back, flames flickering in his palms. “Who says those animals wouldn’t be the ones to fall?”

  “Stop that!” She could feel her anger growing like a flame fed by the wind, desperate and raging. The dark energies coursed down their conduit into her, a force that crackled and spat like water poured into heated oil. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Into me? A dark and delirious power, a desire for bitter justice. I broke curses. I killed the unkillable. And it feeds me, lifts me out of my bed, gives me strength when I should be dying.”

  “Asho, stop. Please.”

  But he only laughed and floated back into a side corridor, into the gloom. “There is no stopping, Kethe. Not while the world rages at us. Not while the world hates who and what we are.”

  “I don’t,” she said, and followed him into the dark, reaching out to him. “I don’t hate you. Hate us.”

  He drifted down and took her hands. “No? Then why do you let them call you Makaria?”

  She dashed his hands away. “That doesn’t matter. It’s an act. I play it so we can fight —”

  He was shaking his head as he stepped back once more. “At some point, the act becomes the truth.”

  “You drank from a demon, didn’t you? That’s what’s happened. That’s why you’re like this. You’re drunk on its power.”

  “Not one, but two,” he said. Then he stopped and put his hand to his head. “The things I’ve seen, Kethe. That room. That black table. Shattered, but stained with evil. How can people do that to each other? How can we hurt each other so badly, behaving worse than animals? How?”

  “What are you talking about?” She tried to take his hand, but missed. “Asho? What room?”

  “How many years? Decades? Centuries? Since they arrived in Fujiwara. Creating their potions, milking innocents not of tears, but of their power. Pain radiating out like ripples from a pond, corrupting, polluting the world...”

  “Asho, please.” She caught hold of his shoulders. “Please, stop. I’m here. I’m with you.”

  He sank down the wall into a crouch, and she sank down with him. His fingertips brushed across her cheek. “Are you? Kethe?”

  “Kethe, yes.” She caught his hand and pressed his fingertips to her lips. “Kethe. It’s me. I love you.”

  “Love me. You love me.”

  “Yes. You know I do.” She leaned forward and kissed him, not out of ardor but in the hope of reviving him, of bringing some of that wicked fire back to his voice, the fire she preferred to this listlessness that was stealing over him.

  He kissed her back, but softly, and then broke the kiss and rested his brow against her own. “After this is all done,” he said, his breath mingling with hers, “are we going to be together?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “A house, perhaps. You and me, lying naked in our bed. Sunlight coming in through the window. Endless afternoons doing nothing but being together. No danger. No death. No pain. No — no suffering.”

  “No suffering,” she echoed, growing more scared. “Yes. Together. Yes.”

  He traced the line of her jaw. “Far from this Empire. Far from Virtues and White Gates and Black. Far from your mother and the Ascendant. From the cycles of Ascension. From all this madness that makes us hate and kill and hurt and maim.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  She kissed him, but he didn’t kiss her back.

  “Kethe, the power’s going fast. Those demons aren’t real. Or — yes, they’re real, but they’re mangled, shadows of the demons I’ve fought. We’ve fought. The Fujiwara – Audsley said they turn Sin Casters into demons. Those broken things – I could have been one of them. What does it mean for me to drink their power? Does it make me a cannibal? Or a liberator?”<
br />
  “Asho, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  “Some of the Sin Casters I freed wanted to go kill the Fujiwara. I convinced the others to come, to fight in our precious war. But why? Why didn’t I drink deep and walk through those halls bloody-handed, exacting my revenge?”

  She felt tears run down his cheeks, and despite the ache in her heart, she had nothing to say.

  “I left them. They’re probably dead now. I thought them short-sighted and foolish, but maybe they’re heroes. Maybe they saw the truth of things. But then I wouldn’t be here with you. Oh, Kethe.”

  “I’m here,” she said. “Asho, I’m here.”

  “I remember following your father when he led my sister and me out of Bythos. I was so proud, so determined to impress him. I followed him through that burning Portal to Ennoia, and when I saw you that first time – do you remember? I fell in love with you then.”

  Shaya, Kethe thought. He didn’t know she’d died. Should she tell him? Did she have the right to hold back that truth to protect him? Or was that lying?

  “Oh, Kethe. I hate it. I hate all of it. Your father. The lords and nobles. Your Virtues. Your mother, agreeing with everything the Ascendant says, every single thing that crushes and breaks the wills and souls of those beneath them.” He was turning his head from side to side, rolling it gently against her own. “Only with you do I feel safe. Do I feel like myself.”

  “Asho, you’re not well. We need to get you to a bed. These demons – their power’s messed you up.”

  “Yes,” he said with a heavy resignation. “Yes. I feel sick. No. I need more power, that’s all. We brought back spikes and formulas. Pain incarnate. I need a drink. Just enough to tide me over till the demons come.”

  “No,” she said. “You can’t. You’ll die. You’ve done too much already.”

  “A small house,” he said quietly. “Alongside a creek, with a swing beneath a branch. A garden. Just silence and you. Silence and you.”