The Sky Warden and the Sun

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The Sky Warden and the Sun Page 35

by Sean Williams


  “What do I need to do?”

  “Perhaps nothing. The fact that you have chosen not to speak will make it harder for you to defend what you think is right, but it will also make it harder for the Synod to ignore you. If that makes sense,” she added with a smile.

  “Do you think it’s right?”

  “It would be wrong of me to say in advance.” She put a thin arm around his shoulder and pointed toward a door. “All I can do is ensure that you don’t make things any worse for yourself.”

  With that, she launched into a long and detailed description of the history, rituals and protocols of the Synod. Whether it was her intention to bore him mindless with the litany of dos and don’ts she poured onto him, he didn’t know for certain, but it worked anyway. He almost nodded off in the middle of the meal—simple bread and vegetable broth served in a kitchen deep under the ruined city, where other vessels served themselves or were handfed by the orderlies who tended them. He lost track of all the Judges and the decisions they’d made. The names, an endless litany of them, began to sound the same. By the time she showed him to an empty dormitory and he collapsed into bed, his thoughts were on nothing but sleep.

  He didn’t rest long, however. He was awoken from a dream in which he had asked the Mage Erentaite, in her original body, how the city of the Nine Stars had earned its name. She smiled and pointed upward. In the sky above shone nine bright lights that turned in a giant circle. They looked like stars but obviously weren’t: apart from their unnatural motion, they were too bright and clear, too close. He soon became dizzy with his head tipped back, watching them spinning around, getting faster and faster with every turn until they were just a blur, a bright circle in the sky, and he lost his balance completely and fell upward, into the stars—into the Void, where all the little parts of his mind that he’d lost wrapped around him like a web, choking him.

  He woke at the sound of a voice inside his head.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sal.”

  “What?” He sat up, blinking, and found himself staring at a lizard frozen on the far side of the wall, splayed as though caught in mid-motion. Apart from that and the low cot he was lying on, the stone-walled room was empty. “Who—? Where are you?”

  “I’m not there with you,” said the voice, “although I soon will be.”

  Sal placed its source, finally. The voice belonged to the Mage Van Haasteren and came to him via the Change.

  “What time is it?” The only light came from glow stones in the hall outside; it could have been either midnight or midday for all that he could tell.

  “Almost sunset. They’ll come for you in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you?” he asked again.

  “We’re within sight of the Nine Stars and will arrive in time for the beginning of the Synod. We’ll certainly be there for your hearing.”

  Sal rubbed his eyes and thought of all the miles the caravan had travelled without a break. It had been hard enough in the buggy. “I wasn’t trying to hold you up.”

  “I know, Sal. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Your idea was a good one. Perhaps a little ruthless, but the victim did bring it on himself. You simply guided him—just as your grandmother guided you into his hands back in Ulum. Behind every powerful solution, as they say, there lies a powerful need.”

  “But it worked, didn’t it?” Sal said, breaking into what sounded like the beginning of a lesson. “He could use the Change, even though he wasn’t trained the right way?”

  There was a slight pause, as though the mage was reluctant to admit that he had been wrong. But in the end he did so with only a slight edge of bitterness to his voice. “Yes, that’s true. Whether he knows what this means, though, I’m not sure. He is asleep at the moment. Hence this communication, while he won’t notice.”

  “Can Tait sense anything?”

  “I doubt it. The journeyman isn’t half as talented as he would like Shilly to believe. I gather the Haunted City sent him home before he finished training, and I can understand why.”

  That was pretty much what Lodo had said, back at Fundelry. And he had been right about the rest, too. But that was only half Sal’s problem. “What about Shilly? Is she okay?”

  “She’s angry, Sal, and confused. She suffered a minor injury during the storm, and she resents you for leaving without her. I haven’t said anything to her about what you did, though, and neither has Behenna. He wouldn’t, of course, even though he won’t be able to hide what’s happened to anyone sensitive.”

  “Like the Synod?”

  “Yes. Everyone there will know the moment they see him. His torc may not have exploded or turned green, but it might as well have. He’s marked, now, like Lodo, as you wanted him to be.”

  Sal felt a moment of satisfaction. Serves him right, he thought to himself. Behenna had got exactly what he deserved.

  A sudden and unexpected rush of shame followed that thought, though. Did he have any right to destroy the career of a Sky Warden to further his own ends? Even though that was what everyone around him, it seemed, was doing to him, he didn’t want to adopt their strategies in return. That would make him as bad as them—one thing his father most definitely had not wanted for him.

  He guessed that deep down he had thought it wouldn’t work. That there would be no consequences. All he wanted was to stay in the Interior, his mother’s birthplace. Hurting someone in the process of making that possible wasn’t part of the plan.

  He couldn’t even say that he’d had no choice, because there were always choices. He knew that. His father could have chosen not to pursue his feelings for a married woman. His mother could have chosen not to encourage the advances of one of her husband’s acquaintances. From those two choices had flowed so many ramifications—and they were still flowing.

  Along with the questions. If anyone could use the Change, anywhere, why were the two schools of thought kept so separate, and where, ultimately, did the Change come from? There were so many secrets and mysteries surrounding something that had seemed relatively simple—if awe-inspiring—when he had first found out about it.

  He almost asked about the Weavers, wondering if they were the ones the Mage Erentaite had hinted that he and Shilly had to learn to defend themselves against, but the elderly mage’s warning not to even think the name stopped him from mentioning them, too.

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “Time will tell, Sal. If your plan doesn’t work—and it hasn’t yet, note—I don’t know what will happen. Shom Behenna is not a man to be happily thwarted. You tried at the Divide and he persisted further than you or I ever expected him to. Perhaps he will simply accept it if the Judges’ decision goes against him, but I doubt another loss at your hands will sit easily. If he doesn’t decide that the cost already has been too great and lets you slip through his fingers, I’m sure he will make every effort to make sure you remain in his grasp.”

  “And he’s not toothless now, is he?”

  The mage hesitated a moment before answering. “No, Sal. I won’t lie to you. He’s not. He has nothing left to lose.”

  The thought hung between them for a good minute. A heavy dread settled into Sal’s stomach and dragged his spirits down with it. The sense of accomplishment he had felt on the way to the Nine Stars was gone. All he had left now was the knowledge that he had done everything he could, whether he should have done it or not.

  “We are almost there,” said the mage. “Tait will soon wake his master, and I don’t want him to suspect that I’ve been talking to you. We’ll see you at the Synod before long. Jarmila has met you, I gather?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do as she says. She has only ever done the right thing, as long as I’ve known her, and only ever told the truth.”

  Just like a golem, Sal thought.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “And one more thing,” the mage added. “In case I’m not able to talk to you afterward, in private, there’s something you should k
now. Lodo’s heart-name is Athim. Remember, and use it well.”

  “How?”

  “You will understand when the time is right.”

  Then the mage was gone. Sal was left alone with the lizard—and his puzzlement—for far too brief a space. But long enough. By the time the Mage Erentaite came to take him to the Synod, with Yeran’s body washed and fully clothed in white formal robes, he could feel Shilly again. The caravan was therefore very close, and the moment of confrontation had almost come.

  As he readied himself, he came to a sort of conclusion. No matter what happened next—whether he was dragged back to the Strand against his will or freed to return to the Keep—he would never regret his last, headlong flight in the buggy. As a farewell to the life he had loved with his father, it couldn’t have been fitter. As a sign of what he could do when he put his mind to it, likewise. He had crossed a boundary in his life, and now it was time to move on.

  Straightening his clothes, he went to face the Stone Mage Advisory Synod and the Judgment of the Interior.

  Chapter 17

  Nine Stars, One Mind

  A frill-necked lizard hissed at Shom Behenna as he passed. Shilly, leaning on Tait not far away, saw the warden flinch as though struck.

  “What’s wrong now?” asked Radi Mierlo, at his side.

  “Nothing,” he said, although his dark skin had turned ashen. “There’s nothing wrong.”

  The lizard watched him go, then scuttled into shadows cast by the torchlight guiding their way and disappeared.

  “What was that all about?” asked Shilly. The warden’s behaviour had been decidedly unusual since Sal had run off with the buggy: impatient and dismissive until Sal had been located again, then moody afterward, as though worried about something. Tait had been odd, too. Shilly couldn’t understand what they had to worry about. Sal had been found and the Synod would go ahead as expected. The warden was getting exactly what he wanted.

  “Lizards are the eyes and ears of the mages,” Tait said, “just as seagulls are for Sky Wardens.”

  She nodded. That made sense; lizards were as common as gulls in the desert, and people tended not to notice them. But why had it hissed so venomously at the warden as he walked by and not the others? Because he had used the Change in the Interior? She didn’t understand why that should make such a difference.

  There was much more going on than appeared on the surface. All around her she could feel tension building, thrilling through the stone itself. Outside, the sun was setting in a wash of crimson fire, melting into the desert as though returning home. Soon the full moon would rise on the far horizon and the Synod would begin. The time would come for her fate to be decided. After all the effort she and Sal had put in to get to the Keep—to put their future in their own hands—she would never have guessed it would come to this.

  Tait kept his arm tight around her waist as she hobbled along the great stone tunnel. There hadn’t been time to find the buggy, even though one of the orderlies who had met them assured her it was nearby. Tait had offered to help her readily enough, but he was no substitute for her crutches. Her newly-bruised bone jarred with every step, making her wince. She tried to conceal the pain, but there was no hiding it from Tait. She was so close she could feel him breathe. Although she was grateful for his help, the intimacy made her uncomfortable in other ways.

  Warden Behenna and Radi Mierlo hurried ahead, impatient for the Synod to begin. The Mage Van Haasteren and Skender came up behind Shilly and Tait and matched their pace.

  “Are you nervous?” Skender asked. “I would be.”

  “I’m looking forward to it being over,” she said.

  “Me, too,” said Tait. “Then we can go home.”

  “What’s so good about that?” If Skender was trying to bait the journeyman, his voice held no hint of it. “This is your chance to see the world! Given the choice, I’d never go home.”

  “Not everyone’s like you, Skender,” said the Mage Van Haasteren.

  “You can blame his mother for that,” said a voice from the shadows.

  Shilly turned to look past Tait as a woman in dusty red robes strode into the light. She was tall and carried herself proudly. Her head was bound tightly in cloth, like a turban, and in one hand she held a long, straight staff. Lines of unfamiliar letters ran across her temple and down both cheeks. Shilly had seen such decorations before in pictures of Surveyors. They were a breed apart from both Stone Mages and Sky Wardens.

  When Skender saw her, his whole face lit up. “Mother!”

  She took him into her arms and pressed her cheek against his forehead. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

  “Hello, Abi.” The Mage Van Haasteren took one stiff step forward.

  She reached out to enfold his hand in both of hers. “It’s good to see you, too. When I heard you were both coming, I rode from the dig as fast as I could. I thought I might not get here in time—and it turns out it was almost you who got here late.”

  “Well, that wasn’t our fault.” The mage’s eyes glittered in the torchlight.

  “Where have you been?” Skender wriggled in the woman’s embrace, and looked up at her with something very much like awe. “Tell me everything!”

  “Not now, Skender,” said his father, glancing ahead to where Behenna waited impatiently at the end of the tunnel. “Wait until this is finished.”

  Skender’s mother nodded. “I’ll see you after, I promise. I’m not going back to the dig until the day after tomorrow.”

  Tait tugged Shilly along, and she dragged her eyes away from the family reunion. Another one for her to feel jealous of. Skender’s mother looked nothing like her son, but she could see now where he got his wanderlust. How Skender’s parents had ever found themselves in one place long enough to have a child was a mystery.

  Behenna’s face had lost some of its yellow pallor when they caught up with him. Between him and Sal’s grandmother—who had set herself apart from the rest of her dusty entourage by donning a full-length azure robe just prior to arrival—stood a slender young man dressed in a simple cotton smock. He bowed slightly when Shilly and Tait joined them, sending a lock of golden-blond hair across his forehead.

  He brushed it casually aside, revealing pale brown eyes. “Welcome.” His voice was soft but firm. “My name is Othniel, and I have been assigned to ensure your wellbeing. We’ll wait here for the others, then proceed to the commencement ceremony.”

  “Why can’t we go on ahead and meet the rest there?” asked Behenna, glancing back to where Sal’s beefy cousin, Aron, struggled under the weight of the man’kin Mawson, strapped to his back in a leather harness.

  “Because that is not appropriate,” Othniel said. “I appreciate that you are in a hurry, Warden Behenna, but I assure you that you will miss nothing important.”

  The warden wasn’t going to acquiesce to the request with grace. “Is there anyone else I can speak to?”

  “No. Please be patient.”

  “They send a boy to meet us and expect us not to take insult?” Radi Mierlo sniffed. “We’ve come a long way for this, you know.”

  “I know.” Othniel smiled tightly and folded his arms. “And I am not as young as I seem.”

  The Mage Van Haasteren caught up at that moment. “Ah, Othniel,” he said, reaching forward to shake the young man’s hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too, Skender—and you, young Skender. And Abi! It’s been too long.” Skender’s mother embraced the young man. He barely came up to her shoulder.

  “You must come by the Keep soon,” said Van Haasteren. “The students could use a refresher course on optics.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Othniel nodded. “The spirit is willing, as you know, but the flesh…” He shrugged helplessly.

  Shilly followed the exchange with growing confusion. “You’re a Stone Mage?” she asked him.

  Othniel bowed again. “At your beck and call, this evening.”

  “A very good one, too,” Van H
aasteren said with a smile. “Too good to play nursemaid to a bunch of tourists.”

  “Perhaps.” Othniel took obvious pleasure at the look of consternation on Radi Mierlo’s face. Behenna ignored him.

  “But—” Shilly began.

  “I’ll explain later,” whispered Skender, sidling up beside her. “Look ahead. That’s where we’re going!”

  “It’s a beautiful, clear night now the rain has gone,” Othniel said. “Conditions couldn’t be better. The Gathering isn’t complete, but we have enough to begin. That’s the main thing.”

  Shilly took the opportunity to let go of Tait and stood balanced on one leg, peering past the adults around her. Behind their guide, she could see a wide, flat surface sloping down into darkness. She received an impression of great space, open to the sky. There were lights, twinkling faintly in the twilight, and a patch of yellow in the distance. It looked like a bonfire, but if it was the flames weren’t moving and there was no smoke.

  The tangled framework of the ruined city—different both from the city in the Broken Lands and the Haunted City—stood out starkly against the greying sky. Within minutes it would be fully dark and the city would effectively vanish, but it would still be unmistakably present. Even with all the other novel sensations around her, Shilly could feel the Change emanating from it. Vast and impersonal, dwarfing her.

  When the rest of the party had caught up, Othniel put a finger to his lips then indicated that they should follow him. Tait put his arm back around Shilly’s waist and supported her while she walked. She endured the indignity purely because she had no choice, and she cursed Sal with every hobbled step for running off with her crutches. It was bad enough that she had been dragged into the centre of his mess; being unable to stand on her own only made it worse.

 

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