“Apologies, Ono, but if I may interrupt,” my uncle said, holding a hand up. He paused, hacked out a dry cough and downed half a glass of new wine, then continued, “I’m not sure if I truly understand the implications of what you’re saying. I understand what you said, but perhaps not what it means.” He looked around the room with an expression I knew well. His eyes were lazy but searching for something. He arched his back forward and peered sideways at Father, breathing raggedly over his cough. This was the way he looked when he was trying to dig his hooks into a crowd. The cough was probably fake. Just a way to make noise. Where Taa was a silent creature, Uncle was a loud one. Right now he wanted to draw out everyone’s doubt. Pull it in toward his own uncertainty. In a way, this was Father’s fault. He treated what Taa said with skepticism from the start, and now people weren’t taking her seriously. Only because of how intent and sober Queen O’nell looked had the conversation even come this far.
“I’m sure you’re not alone in that either,” Father said. “Mother, let us assume these… oracles from the Rho tribe are telling the truth. Not the most reliable source anyhow, but let us assume, for the sake of argument. Let’s say their visions are accurate. What does it even mean if Saythana has returned to our world? Is he going to ally himself with Narkissa? It’s been hundreds of years since the last confirmed sighting of him, no? Hundreds.”
Queen O’nell shook her head to interject. “Are you familiar with his mythology?” She looked at Father first, then to Uncle Speight.
A long pause before Uncle spoke.
“I admit not as much as I’d like to be,” he muttered. “Never seemed appropriate to take the time to learn about something that comes every few hundred years.” He shrugged and smiled. Perfectly set white teeth gleamed silver under alchemical lights as brightly as his silks. He looked over his shoulder warily, then twisted in his seat and crossed his legs, moving nervously like he just now realized that others were watching him. “He comes... and takes the souls of people. He came to the prophet Dh’hpur. Enek’Senehet. Nalai of the Serpentine tribes.”
Queen O’nell tilted her head in agreement. She took a slow breath, then set her glass down, considering something silently as she clasped her hands together. A few other people looked like they wanted to speak, but instead they waited for her. “You can’t define Saythana as good or evil,” Queen O’nell said, nodding earnestly like she was trying to agree with her own words. She worked to find something in her memories, cocking one eyebrow to the side. “From what I understand, at least.” She glanced at Taa. “What the Lady Anasahara is saying… is just that we don’t know what will happen. Imagine he is like a wild card played into the world.” She held up two fingers, then placed them against the palm of her other hand. “Like if the Maelstrom of Iklips were to be randomly placed somewhere in the world. It might cause great harm if it were above a city, or cause barely any harm if it appeared over the Obelisk Tundra. It is like a neutral piece in chutrang that can change the whole layout of the board, but it acts on its own. It doesn’t ally with either side. You can’t know what will happen, only that there is massive potential for destruction, or at least a change in the landscape to some immeasurable degree.”
Aymeer leaned in, looking like he wanted to interrupt, but hesitated several times before finally raising a finger to speak. To his credit, he spoke boldly when he finally did. Even if he didn’t feel that way, it was good to sound it. “Like if some…” he flicked a hand over his shoulder, “merchant or servant said they wanted to be queen of her own kingdom? And just like that, everything in our world could change? These aren’t just fanciful tales—that could actually happen?”
Queen O’nell nodded. “Dina’s father is right. We don’t know if he will actually come, and there is one group or another warning the world of his arrival every decade. But something like that… you always pay it heed when the warning comes, no matter where it comes from. His tale has lasted through the centuries for a reason.”
“So we’re not talking about old magic superstitions here?” Aymeer asked. “Stories that parents say to frighten their kids? To convince them there’s something worse out there than the daemons that roam our lands? This is something with real potential?”
Taa cleared her throat. “Potential,” she repeated delicately, as though it were the only word she heard. “That is a small way to put it. There is always uncertainty when it comes to Lu’hra Jahd.” Her gaze wandered off to one of the nearby windows. Several moments passed before she spoke again. She moved her staff in front of her, swinging it in slow, measured arcs. The knot at the top swayed slowly in the air. If you looked carefully, you could see that it moved separately from the rest of the staff. It pressed against the air in different angles from where it was pointed, like it was trying to tell Taa where it wanted to go.
Taa spoke quietly, her free hand raised to her chest. “Saythana comes to a sultana of one of the largest tribes of men in the glacial swamps. She says she wants to be ruler of the largest empire in all of Mirradalia and is willing to give up her soul for it.” Taa snapped two skeletal fingers against each other. They rattled loudly in midair, finding ghostly notes between her breaths. “Over the next decade, Enek’Senehet stretches her empire all the way to the Silsipia Desert.”
Queen O’nell chimed in. “Saythana comes to a blind girl in the Isles of Illusions, and tells her he’ll grant her one wish in return for her soul. Any wish she wants in all the world. The girl is a street urchin who spends her days stealing food from careless farmers and oil colors from artisans too rich to care. She has no ambitions to be an empress. She’s not of royal blood. She doesn’t even have magic. She doesn’t ask for power or riches. She doesn’t ask for a longer life or revenge on someone who treated her poorly. She asks the Dream Weaver to help her create a painting that will be loved by all people. That’s all she wants.”
Queen O’nell drew the shape of a canvas with two fingers, then swerved them back and forth like she were drawing into the air. “The result… a fourteen year-old child creates the most renowned work of art in Mirradalia’s history. The Burning City. King Youden just offered the Bishops of the isles two-hundred sunstone marks for it. He was willing to pay enough to buy a city-state.” She held up her index finger, shaking it firmly like she was sure no one had heard. “And by the gods I’d swear it—it is worth that much. Even more maybe. I’ve seen it only once. Years ago. The painting is so beautiful you almost don’t want to see it twice. Like some part of you is afraid it won’t be the same the second time around.”
Both Father and Uncle grunted in unison. Father in a thoughtful way, Uncle in a tired one.
Taa spoke again. “Saythana comes, and sometimes whole cities vanish overnight. Other times, all you get is a beautifully made painting.”
“So there is no real threat?” my uncle asked. “Only the threat of a threat?” He wasn’t wrong, but what he said felt entirely inappropriate. The difference in how seriously Taa and Queen O’nell were taking this and how seriously Uncle and Father were taking it was becoming distracting. Taa’s austerity had already lost its momentum. Not that she couldn’t bring it back, but she no longer wanted to. The quiet conviction she’d spoken with was gone. She was reminded, I think, of why she avoided the Royal Court in the first place. The unspoken tension between her and my father had bubbled up.
Aymeer sat up in his chair, broadening his shoulders before raising a hand once more to speak. He looked to my uncle for a cue. “I know I am too young for my opinion to really matter,” he began, “but would it be okay if I said something in defense of my father and the king?” Everyone’s eyes turned to him. Except for Taa. She was listening, but her eyes stayed on the windows. I guessed she was thinking about the blue moon. Father looked a bit surprised, but gestured forward politely.
Aymeer followed Taa’s eyes for a few seconds, then he continued, “There is always some threat or another looming in the distance. Always something that we must fear, something out to ruin the
kingdoms of man. But that—”
“Not something like this, child,” Taa said, sounding wearier. “Believe me, none of us here truly understand this warning given by the Serpentine.” She looked at Aymeer, Father, Queen O’nell. “These visions… they come from bone alchemy. They aren’t whispered delusions or retired folk tales like the lot of you are thinking.”
“Yes, but we can’t let that rule our way of thinking, Grandmother,” Aymeer replied. “The king is right. We have to make sensible decisions based on what we know. It’s like how people treat the old gods. Many still worship them, hoping to find mercy in some unforeseeable day in the future, a hundred, a thousand, or ten-thousand years later when they think the old gods might come back, but what kind of way of life is that? Betting your senses on superstition and the old magic.”
He glanced over his shoulder, then pointed to the Ivory Hands behind him. “Grandmother, believe me, we are going to be ready for whatever challenge comes to us. Every kingdom’s army is as big as ever. Queen O’nell commands an army of fifty-thousand. In Panbin they are building the largest fleet of ships Mirradalia has ever known.” He raised a fist, holding it rigidly in the air while meeting Taa’s eyes. He strained his shoulders to stay straight. He had been waiting for this moment. Preparing for it. His father looked on proudly, a smile pulling at his lips. “Chaya has the Ivory Hands Father has been training. I wish you would one day come to see them. You don’t know what they can do. You’d be far more eager to join this war if you understood the kinds of weapons we wield now. More powerful than the old magic. They’d make short work of even you, Grandmother. Not just now, but you at your prime. They’d take down the Tide Caller with ease.”
My eyes went wide. Partly in anger, partly in disbelief. Yephi and Iris wore identical expressions. Father chuckled anxiously while Queen O’nell narrowed her eyes at my cousin. Aymeer looked from side to side, surveying the crowd to see if he had gotten the reaction he wanted. Some people may have dismissed it as a young teen making a bold quip to his grandmother, but not anyone who knew Taa. Mother looked furious. It was the wrong kind of boldness. A kind that wasn’t welcome here.
More sips of wine, not because I wanted to, but because I needed something to do. His words had stung more than if they were aimed at me.
“Have you ever seen your grandmother fight, young lordling?” Queen O’nell asked. “Perhaps you need a reminder if you’re making comments like that.”
Aymeer cocked his head to the side, shrugging reluctantly. “She’s taught me some of her tricks,” he said, trying to sit a bit more upright. He curled a finger over his chin like he was trying to keep himself from saying more.
“You’ve seen her do a few tricks for you?” Queen O’nell asked.
“The lad’s just being smart,” Uncle Speight said, patting Aymeer on the shoulder. “Apologies, Ono, you know your loving grandson means no offence. It’s his first chance to accompany me to a meeting of the Royal Court. He just wants to make a bold impression.”
Eyes on Taa.
She breathed quietly. Slowly. Mindfully. Face like the landscape of a gothic dream. A haunt of lines and the strange scars of forbidden alchemies. Predator eyes and the smell of old magic. Finally, through all of that, she smiled. Aymeer’s expression lightened.
“Maybe I’ll come by,” Taa said. She didn’t show it, maybe. She didn’t think it, maybe. But those Anasahara eyes—they burned and seared and glowed at the sight of a challenge. “One day, maybe I’ll come by where Chaya’s army trains, and we can test your words, dear grandson. Your Ivory Hands against my frail and elderly ones.” Taa raised a hand. “And you can see for yourself if the fist behind this shawl is bone or iron.” With one eye, she watched Aymeer. The other drifted behind him, measuring the masked men. The men stood perfectly still, not showing the slightest hint that they might have overheard.
“We should right now!” Queen O’nell exclaimed. “We should clear the great hall and show them—”
“Now is not the time and place for any of that, ayetha,” Taa said. “I enjoy your enthusiasm, but believe me, we have more important things to worry about.”
“More important than the war against Narkissa?” my uncle asked.
Taa raised her staff. “One day. Maybe. One day.” She turned to leave. “I hope you consider my words, blessed representatives of the five kingdoms.” She spoke without turning back. She strolled out, shawl and shadow trailing behind her in forest mist and silver silhouettes.
I spun the stem of the wine glass in my hand, looking for something to keep my fingers busy. Taa’s words made me want to write some of my own. It wasn’t that they made me afraid or anxious; it was just how she spoke of other worlds. Places and things that existed far away. The nether, the old continent, the Shoreless Seas. Places that she had visited and things she had seen. I was curious and intrigued and I wished I could learn more.
More than learn. I wanted to see. I could always learn enough from Taa and books. But that was different from seeing, and from imagining seeing it all came verses, hymns, and rhymes. I tried to memorize them as quickly as I could. There were musicians and painters and writers who would swear by thinking of abstractions and ideas and then putting them into paper later, but that never worked for me. I knew a perfect line of words right when I thought of it. I had to write it then, or I’d end up spending days trying to remember what I had first thought of. I spun the glass some more.
Conversations began to grow in volume around the room.
“Hey, aren’t you too young to be drinking that?” someone asked. I turned to my left, startled, and then I was startled that I was startled. It was the wine. The poison had gotten to my head. It dulled my senses and I hadn’t noticed him.
He was a year or two older than me. His dress and accent placed him from Mimenhi. Blonde hair speckled with black. Xenashi ancestry. He blinked, smiled, then pointed at my glass. I looked at it, taking a second to piece together what he had said. He’d spoken Emelim, but in a thick Hulnesh accent. The words came out deep and with broad notes.
I cursed under my breath. If I had to speak to him I’d lose the poem I was thinking of. I had nothing to say right now anyway. I was still thinking of Taa’s words. It would do no good if I spoke to him about ancient daemons and old gods.
So I said nothing. Just nodded politely and pretended I was too drunk to speak.
He shook his head, still smiling, blinking. “If Yuweh saw you drinking that he would—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” I said in Hulna, without turning to him. I spoke in a clipped accent. The Hulnesh languages were not meant for people who spoke quickly. “I drink wine, I tell lies, and I have no moral compass. Shai’tan shall gladly welcome me into the warmth of his hellfire.” I reached my arms out in an embrace. At the very least, I used the proper term for Satan in the old continent.
He pursed his lips into a thin smile, looked at my glass for another moment, then walked back to his table. It was undoubtedly a foretelling of how future encounters with boys would unfold.
At the very least, I was able to finish my poem.
In this dream of ocean streams, the ocean dreams of reddened seas
Below the cities of seas unseen, the ocean dreams of old gods redeemed
Semladon, in his ocean dreams, seizes the sea in these scenes I see
A thousand chains for the god untamed, her pain and stains the dark retains
Between the worlds a world remains, there lies Enek, restrained and drained
Enek, old god of death and pain, returns her reign with a thousand chains unchained
In this dream of lies and cries, there lies the devil—in disguise
Watching me—watching me always with his eyes and spies
There comes his son—through my lies and eyes he takes his prize
CHAPTER 16
I told Mother I was retiring back to my room with Yephi and Iris before leaving. They would end up sleeping there tonight. It was never intentional, but whenever t
hey came this late, the fifteen minutes back to their own rooms always ended up being too long of a walk for Yephi. None of us had eaten yet. We were waiting for Taa.
In the past few years, this had formed into a tradition. On the night that Taa returned from her travels, she would cook for us three in my room, no matter how late it got. It was always a soup, and always in the style of the land she came from. If she went to Mimenhi, she would return and cook a broth made of ground shells and matigrass that tasted like a sweet chicken porridge flavored with sea salt. If she came from Panbin she would return and make a dry fish and cayenne soup so spicy it could make Mother sweat, and Mother was of the desert. Today Taa had come from the old continent, but not from one its three kingdoms. I didn’t know what the Rho tribe ate, but the Serpentine tribes in the old continent that stayed away from cannibalism always had good food. They had more years to filter out the best recipes, and a variety of ingredients you would’ve been hard pressed to find in the new continent.
My room was in the highest tower of the palace, right next to the observatory, and the path to get there offered the best views of the Dwah Forest and of Upper and Center Chaya. Farther south of Center Chaya were the farmlands and villages, and farther east was the lower kingdom. From Upper to Lower Chaya, you didn’t go north to south—you went west to east, farther away from the Dwah Forest.
The pathway linking my room to the great hall started with four flights of stairs right outside of the palace kitchens, and ended in a wide hallway made of garnet glass and elder stone. Both were alchemical hybrids between sand and different kinds of rock. The garnet glass stretched from floor to ceiling on both sides of the hallway, offering better views than even the tallest windows in my room, though in my own room I had three telescopes set in three different spots to see the kingdom in detail. There was people watching, then there was people watching. On a clear and bright enough day, I was the closest thing Chaya had to an omniscient being.
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