by Tammy Salyer
He’d have done so for her, and right now, he was the only Knight who still had faith in her. “Tell me what happened,” she said at last. “I…I must know.”
Removing the eye shields to gaze at her with his celestially enhanced eyes, he said with a weary sigh, “It was a terrible, unintended mistake.”
As the Gildr sailed south into the night’s unknowns, he explained the plan he’d devised upon meeting Balavad in Aster Keep. With grave assurance, he explained that his only intention had been to summon Vaka Aster using the cage, as he’d told her and Roi that day on Mount Omina. Their celestial creator had to be shown Balavad’s destruction, then, Ulfric had been sure, she would face Balavad and protect Vinnr from ruin.
But Ulfric hadn’t realized that shackling her in Balavad’s cage was only one part of things. Once she’d been summoned, he hadn’t known how to unmake the cage to free her to act against their enemy. And when he’d looked inside Balavad’s Scrylle a second time in search of answers, Balavad had been there, toying with his mind. Unwilling to let himself be used as a pawn, Ulfric had thought he could sacrifice himself for the good of everyone by throwing himself into the ring of Fenestrii that acted as Vaka Aster’s prison, hoping it would release her. Instead, his actions led to this—to him becoming Vaka Aster’s vessel, and her becoming caged. The only way for Vaka Aster to free herself was to destroy Ulfric, which would destroy Vinnr. Until this curse was broken, her power was limited, and he still didn’t know how the cage could be undone.
“The consequences of this catastrophe are worse than if I’d done nothing. Vaka Aster can’t aid us unless I give my will over to her. Even then, she can’t leave my being, and I am more vulnerable than any vessel in history.” He sighed. “I never asked our creator to become part of me, I promise you that. I was only doing what I thought was right.”
As Eisa listened, his glowing eyes held her still. And though ages had passed since she’d seen a human with so much celestial power within them, she could still read the regret, the worry in his familiar face. And the burden of leadership he’d been carrying like an anvil on his shoulders since his and Symvalline’s daughter had been born? That was still there, too.
“So you see,” he finished, “all I want now is to put this event behind us, free Vaka Aster and myself, and find my family.”
Like a splash of cold water, Eisa suddenly understood that she and Ulfric were very much alike. He was fallible. And so was she.
The difference—he freely admitted it.
As if her voice had a will of its own, she heard herself say, “I know what it’s like to curse yourself by trying to right wrongs, Ulfric.”
He looked at her levelly, but she read no question in his face. As if he knew what she’d done. “Would you like to tell me what you mean?” he said.
And for the first time, Eisa confessed what she’d done, how the discovery of Himmingaze’s Mystaes’ desecration of Lífs’s vessel and their creation of the Glister Cloud had made her lose her reason. How she’d slaughtered them to the last person as punishment for their crimes, and how in doing so she’d doomed Himmingaze. And because they’d lost or hidden Lífs’s Scrylle, Himmingaze remained doomed.
When the last word left her mouth, Eisa felt as if she were suddenly waking from a dream. Tense, she waited for Ulfric’s admonishment, one that she deserved.
He approached, his celestial eyes holding hers. Stopping just before her, he raised both arms, his intentions unknown. She hesitated, unable to throw a blow at him, not at her leader. But she didn’t have to.
He laid his hands on her shoulders, their searing heat seeping through her armor, and said, “I failed you more than I ever knew, Eisa. I was supposed to teach you wisdom and temperance to balance the great warrior in you, and I didn’t fully succeed. Your spirit is indomitable, and you will be a greater Knight than I am someday. There is still time.” She heard through the Mentalios link what he failed to block, Endless time.
Unsure what he was getting at, she questioned, “What do you mean?”
“All curses—like all cages—can be broken. Remember that.”
Her heart’s fast beat began to abate. He had accepted her faults without judgment, without anger. He even took some of the burden of blame, unnecessarily, on himself. Eisa had always told herself that her deeds were not her fault, but rather the fault of Himmingaze’s faithless Mystae who had forced her hand. She had judged them and found them condemnable. She’d even relished being the one to condemn them. And since then, she’d condemned everyone who had dared take a misstep. Commoners; Mylla, the child of cast-out Dyrraks; weak and unworthy acolytes of the Conservatum; even Stave Thorvíl, her own Knight companion. Even Lillias.
But in her heart, which now beat at a slow, steady pace, she knew the judgment she placed on others was misdirected. She was the one to blame for Himmingaze.
And Ulfric, her Stallari, forgave her. Trusted her still and showed her a way to get free of her cursed judgment. She hadn’t realized it would matter this much. Seven hundred turns of wrath—at herself—could finally recede.
He released her shoulders and began to pace in a tight circle, rubbing his thumb around his Mentalios lens. “We have two tasks now before us. First is to find a way to unmake this cage and get Symvalline and my daughter back home safe.”
Drawn back to the present, she said, “Is there a way?”
“There must be, but it won’t be easy,” he said. “Balavad’s Scrylle is useless. Vaka Aster destroyed his vessel and thus Battgjald when she fought him in Himmingaze, and his Scrylle is blank as a new slate. Nothing remains, including the rite to unmake the cage. Now that Lífs’s Scrylle and whatever lore it contained is likewise gone, that leaves us with Vaka Aster’s, and”—he drew a deep breath—“that of the Verity of Arc Rheunos, Mithlí, whom I have seen is likewise shackled.”
She drew a sharp breath. “Balavad has been there too?”
“Yes, his plans to prevent the Syzyckí Elementum are more advanced than we could have guessed. And that’s where Symvalline and Crumb are now. Whoever caged Mithlí must know a way to reverse it, or if not, their Scrylle may contain what we need.” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I intend to send Safran and Stave there to find the artifacts and the cage-makers, and Symvalline and Isemay, and bring them all back to me. Unless—” He eyed her closely. “Do you think this task should fall to you and Roi?”
So, he still trusted her. Relieved, she thought it over. Choosing her words with care, she said, “No, Ulfric. I can’t do that. I serve Vaka Aster, and I’m a Dyrrak. Besides yourself, I am the most capable person in Vinnr to keep the vessel safe. I can’t leave Vaka Aster’s side again. It was a mistake to do it once.”
He nodded. “Safran and Stave then.”
“Are you certain of Balavad’s Scrylle?” she asked. “It could be that your current state inhibits you from seeing into it clearly. We know the Verities can’t see each other. Perhaps that is true of their Scrylle lore as well.”
He shook his head forcibly. “It’s blank, I’m certain. And no, I’m not inhibited. After I arrived in Himmingaze, I looked briefly into Lífs’s Scrylle and saw all that was recorded there, even what Griggory has added. If Balavad’s own Scrylle contained anything, I would have seen it as well.”
So Griggory had recorded her deeds. That must be why Ulfric had seemed so unsurprised by her confession. He already knew. And now he seemed certain Balavad’s Scrylle was a dead end, but they needed to explore all options before giving this task up. She pressed, “What if all of us Knights looked together, at once? With our combined—”
“No,” he cut in sharply. “You must swear never to look inside Balavad’s Scrylle, Eisa. He can see your mind through it, and he’ll take control. I’ve attempted to peer into it twice and barely managed to escape as myself both times. If not for Vaka Aster, I wouldn’t have last time. His vessel and realm may be gone, but Balavad is still a Verity. He is still out there in his celestial form, and he is still malev
olent. None shall ever look into his Scrylle again while I live. Swear to me now that you won’t be that foolish.”
The anger in his tone was that of the Stallari with whom she’d faced wars and skirmishes between the fiefdoms of each kingdom. Commoners too petty and dumb to know better than to fight each other for the Verity’s artifacts, the Fenestrii, the vessel, the Scrylle. They all wanted to control the celestial gifts, as if that would give them power, and the Knights had been forced over and over again in olden days to fight them back. Ulfric had been indomitable then, a warrior of no compromises. But then the Cataclysm happened, and most of the Fenestrii were taken back to Vigil Tower, and the Knights had closed themselves away for the most part. Vaka Aster had slowly faded from them, attending to Vinnr less and less, her vessel becoming an inert statue. And as she had, the Conservatum drew fewer and fewer acolytes, fewer and fewer devout, and eventually, the Knights’ ranks had dwindled to just seven. Seven to fight the world, should the world bring the fight to them, and protect Vaka Aster’s vessel from the ignorant and faithless.
She still admired that Stallari, and she promised herself she would never again doubt him. “I swear it.”
He peered at her, then nodded.
“And what’s the other thing we must do?” she asked.
“Find a way to give the Himmingazians their home back and bring Griggory back to his own.”
These words hit her in the guts, and she almost reeled. Was he mocking her, or worse, planning to punish her after all for what she’d done?
“I told you, it’s finished, Stallari. There’s almost nothing left to salvage.”
His lips curled into a spare smile. “Have you forgotten? I am a Verity, or close to it. I won’t, can’t, leave Dyrrakium while I’m…like this. But between us Knights here, we have thousands of turns of experience, knowledge, and wisdom. And we have Vaka Aster’s Scrylle once more. If it’s not possible to save their world, then we’ll find a way to bring them to ours.”
“But you heard Bardgrim. Those who are already here are ill.”
“And the spark we all carry can extend life.”
She nearly laughed. “You’re joking, Ulfric. You want to ordain them all as Knights, bring them into the Order?”
He did not laugh. “Wouldn’t you say we owe them something for what’s become of Himmingaze?”
She stared at him closely but could still see no judgment or mockery in the set of his jaw, the lines around his eyes. His sincerity was genuine and unselfish. Helping the Himmingazians was the right thing to do, and it didn’t matter that she was the reason for their world’s slow decay.
Still, she choked back the arguments against such absurdity. Their own Mystae had committed the ultimate sacrilege. The Himmingazians could never belong in Vinnr. They weren’t acolytes of the Conservatum, much less capable warriors. They weren’t even Vaka Aster’s creations. Perhaps being Vaka Aster’s vessel was having unforeseen effects on Ulfric’s thinking. For now, she would leave it. The Himmingazians were a faithless race that hardly warranted more than this moment of her thoughts, and she’d give them no more.
But what was it Bardgrim had said? Something about saving Ulfric? Could that be why he’d been ordained a Knight? There was still a mystery with regard to that particular Himmingazian, and she was more than a bit curious to solve it.
Ulfric looked past the horizon. “It’s almost morning,” he noted. Weariness of the mind or heart coated his tone. “Eisa, you have to swear something to me.”
She nodded when he glanced back to her.
“The Dyrrak people can’t know the whole truth about the vessel, about the cage. If they perceive this vulnerability…” He let the statement hang.
“Are you accusing the Dyrraks of treachery?”
“I’m accusing humans of being human. You and I know there is a vein of weakness in every rock. Until all is righted, there’s no reason to go hammering at that vein. Swear it, Eisa.”
After a moment, she nodded once more. “Faith in the fight, Ulfric. Faith eternal.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
From a hatchway aboard the Gildr, Jaemus let his gaze sweep over the well-lit though uncannily quiet troop hold. For the past two days, he’d barely left this berth, spending all his time tending to the Himmingazians.
They were sick. He couldn’t deny it. The cough Cote had shrugged off three days ago not only hadn’t healed, it had spread to them all. A dry, deep-in-the-chest rattle that sounded like the air they breathed was filtered through gravel.
More than helpless, Jaemus was scared. What ailed them was subtle and could potentially have been simple seasickness, but Jaemus knew it wasn’t. It was as someone, he couldn’t remember who, had said—this wasn’t their world, and despite the many similarities between the constitution of the Vinnrics and the ’Gazians, their bodies were not thriving here.
Conditions were crowded in the sleeping dorm, as the Dyrraks had had to make room for the extra passengers along with their own complement of two hundred or so warriors. Those not on duty or training on other decks, which left only a small group of fifty or so, maintained a sedate, disciplined composure that Jaemus wasn’t used to. The Himmingazian people tended to be more jovial, and far less…formidable.
His attempts over the last Halla cycles (he suspected he’d always think of periods of light followed by dark repeated as “cycles”) to speak to any of the crew always resulted in a similar outcome: reverence for his rank as Knight manifested by an unwillingness to meet his eye, followed by quick withdrawal.
They did seem curious about the other Himmingazians, though the language barrier and the other-worlders’ obvious illness made any sort of cross-realm sociability impossible. Jaemus had tried being friendly, even solicitous, but the only thing the Dyrraks seemed to respond to were requests for something to comfort the ’Gazians, food and what have you, which they snapped to fulfill as if he were an officer giving them an order. It was frustrating to be treated as some kind of superior rather than as what Jaemus was accustomed to, a peer willing to collaborate equally on assuring a necessary outcome. A Himmingazian, in other words. Such distance between him and these people didn’t bode well for making a smooth adjustment to the Dyrrak way of life.
And that’s what they faced now, wasn’t it? A life in Vinnr. The story Eisa had told of Himmingaze—only a few more Glister Cycles until the end…
He couldn’t imagine it. He just couldn’t see it. His life, his history, his world wiped out of existence. His family, Jovus his dad, Vreyja his gramsirene, gone. He simply couldn’t accept it.
And forget telling the ’Nauts this unbelievable news. They had enough troubles right now. Once they got through this sea voyage, maybe they’d feel better. Then, perhaps, he could explain this…this inconceivability.
He would try again to push Ulfric into doing something, anything he could to help the ’Gazians as soon as they made land and Ulfric took back all the celestial artifacts from the bruhawks. The ferocious-looking birds, big as a person with wings that spread three times as wide, rarely came aboard the ship and never together. They’d carried the satchel containing the Verity artifacts for the last three days, passing it off between them and never bringing it near a Dyrrak ship. For someone who’d put his life in the Dyrraks’ hands, Ulfric seemed awfully untrusting of the southern peoples.
The reason Jaemus saw so little of Ulfric was Ulfric’s seclusion from the Dyrrak crew. He and the Knights shared a large cabin in the warship’s sterncastle next to the Domine Ecclesium’s. He didn’t leave that space and was flanked at all times by the other Knights. In one of the few meals Jaemus had taken with them, they had decided that until Ulfric was able to release Vaka Aster, the less exposure any of the Dyrraks had to him, the better. The Knights couldn’t risk Ulfric’s so-called heretical truth being uncovered, or even suspected. The Domine Ecclesium appeared to be in his middle years, fit-looking middle years, but had a cunning wisdom in his eyes that seemed much older. Jaemus didn’t mind
admitting the man unnerved him. He, above all, needed to be kept away from Ulfric.
Cote rolled over on his bunk and gave a small groan. Jaemus would have known it was his lifemate even if he’d had rocks in his ears. Stepping away from the hatch, he pulled a stool to Cote’s side.
“Good day to you,” he said in mock formality. “I’m guessing that noise is your way of protesting not being the captain in charge of the ship you’re traveling on, eh?”
Despite his illness, Cote’s facility with Elder Veros was improving rapidly, and he insisted, stubbornly, on using it when they spoke. It came so naturally to him, in fact, that Jaemus wondered if Vaka Aster had intervened with him slightly as she had with Jaemus.
“Jae,” he said through his increasingly dry, pale lips. “Just one more cycle, no…day from land now, that is right?”
“That’s what I’ve been told. Eager to get off ship already?”
“It agrees not so much,” he managed.
Attempting lightness, Jaemus offered, “I, for one, have never been so glad to lack the nag of hunger, which is apparently a side effect of being sprite-sparked. Have you tried some of that brittle, powdery brick they call ‘food’? It’s like trying to eat a desiccated carcass that’s been molded into a veeshock.”
Cote’s grimace said he quite agreed. The warship’s rations left more than a little to be desired, and it gave Jaemus added insight into the coldness, bordering on surliness, of most aboard.
“But you must eat what you can,” he went on seriously. “It may taste like fleech castings, but it’s important to keep your strength.”
Cote sat up, struggling a bit as Jaemus watched, feeling helpless. His features, strong and set, showed the fire in him, the spirit and drive that made him a natural leader among their people. Jaemus would happily have given every drop of whatever celestial energy he’d been endowed with to end the struggle against this wasting of stamina and strength that was afflicting all the ’Gazians.