Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  “No. It would be easier to believe that, but Celidon’s failure is his own. It doesn’t matter if you have friends or enemies at your side. In the end, you live or die by the strength of your will.” He closed his eyes. “In the end, you take the Test alone.”

  Shara took his gnarled hand and sent comfort to him through the cycles of her breath.

  “Thank you.” Celinor looked up, piercing her with his green eyes. “Whatever you are doing, it helps. This is one of the things a Zelani can do?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you are not a Child of the Seasons.” He mused.

  “I am originally from Faradan, but my heart belongs to Ohndarien now.”

  “Yes. She captures the heart that way.”

  Shara almost didn’t say what came to mind next, but she had to. “Ohndarien is under siege. We came north to find help.”

  “Help from who?”

  “The Ohohhim.”

  He raised a black eyebrow. The subtle shift in his mood was unmistakable. “Why would the Opal Empire help Ohndarien?”

  “They seek the artifact you protect. They believe it possesses the secrets of Efften.”

  “Ah. And you came here to convince me to give them this artifact in exchange for their assistance?”

  Shara nodded. “Yes. Without them, Ohndarien is lost. She is besieged by Faradan and Physendria and will fall very soon.”

  “I see…” he said wistfully.

  “I’ve met their leader, Father Lewlem. He’s a good man. You should speak with him; perhaps we could come to some sort of alliance.”

  “You hoped we would surrender the Legacy into his keeping, for Ohndarien’s sake?”

  Shara nodded.

  Celinor rocked forward onto his feet and stood up, extending a hand to her. She took it, and he pulled her upright. “Come, then. Why don’t you look upon this Legacy? Then tell me if you would give it to the Ohohhim, even to save Ohndarien.”

  CELINOR LED Shara farther up the slope to the tiny mouth of a cave. He pointed into the center of the dark opening. “There is a fire within.”

  The opening was hidden behind a jumble of rocks. She would have to crawl on her belly to get in.

  “What is in there?” she asked.

  “The artifact you seek.”

  He didn’t look Shara in the eye, but turned and walked away. She crouched, peering into the cave. Her stomach heaved. She had to close her eyes and turn her face away. There was something vile in that cave. She could feel it humming in her bones, tight and frantic. The faint tinkling of a music box drifted out of the darkness. Shara recognized the haunting tune from her childhood. Her mother used to hum it as Shara fell asleep.

  If the key to saving Ohndarien was in that cave, Shara would have to face it. She swallowed her disgust and crawled through the gap. The passage grew taller and wider as she crawled toward a small fire flickering at the back of the cave. She crept forward through the darkness, slowly rising to her feet as the tunnel expanded.

  A young woman dressed in rags sat on a rock next to the flames. She had tanned skin and black hair and was constantly turning the handle of a silver music box that lay in her lap.

  As Shara approached, the young woman peered into the darkness. Her red-rimmed eyes finally focused. She reached a thin arm toward Shara, waving her hand through the air as if trying to touch a ghost. Her gaunt face cracked into a smile.

  “You have come,” the shriveled young woman said. Her voice sounded distant and fragile. “Thank the winds and the sky and the forever plains.”

  Shara walked into the firelight. She wanted to run back the way she came, but she felt oddly compelled to go closer. She couldn’t look away.

  On the stone floor next to the young woman lay a baby, no more than a year old, with pale skin and rose lips. She slept, her eyes darting madly underneath their closed lids.

  “She’s not what you expected, is she?” the girl asked, still winding the music box.

  “Is that her? Is that the Legacy? She’s just a child, so small.”

  The stranger shook her head. “She is horrible. She is worse than you can possibly imagine.”

  Shara looked closely at the sleeping babe. Her tiny chest rose and fell with her breathing. This little one was the source of that sickening feeling Shara had been fighting ever since she landed on the island.

  Shara ripped her gaze away and knelt next to the young woman. She had the face of a fourteen-year-old, but her eyes were strained, constantly focusing and unfocusing. Her shoulders curled forward like a crone’s. She seemed as if she would blow away in the wind.

  The music box she turned glimmered in the flickering firelight. It was made of exquisitely wrought silver, except for the brass handle, which looked crude and heavy.

  “What are you called?” the young woman asked.

  “Shara,” she said, feeling numb.

  “I am Copi.”

  Shara nodded, unable to take her eyes from the child.

  “One moon, that was all,” the young woman said, steadily cranking the wheel. The delicate notes sounded hollow in the confines of the little cave. “Only one moon. I was to take my turn and become a woman. I would be given a stallion to ride across the Vastness.” She drew a sobbing breath. “I don’t want to be a woman anymore. I just want to stop. I just want it to be over.”

  “How long have you been here?” Shara asked.

  “Fifteen years.” She closed her eyes and bowed forward, curling over the music box. Her hand continued turning as though it were a separate thing, no longer part of her. The girl’s index finger was scarred and crooked. It pointed away from her hand at an odd angle as if she could not bend it.

  Shara turned back to the sleeping child. Her little lips puckered repetitively as if she were trying to nurse. Was this child the weapon that the Ohohhim sought? What kind of people would want such a thing?

  Unable to look at the child for long, Shara turned her back to Copi. “Who is she?”

  “Just a child. Nothing more. The horror is inside the child, locked in her dreams.”

  “You don’t look more than twenty,” Shara whispered.

  Copi let out a little puff of air. “The body does not age, she does not let us. But the spirit stretches thin. Celinor is the same. I do not know what we have become. I don’t know how we endure.”

  Shara wanted to use her power to ease the girl’s pain, but she couldn’t concentrate. Arousal seemed impossible in this place.

  “The women of the Vastness have guarded this child for the past three hundred years,” Copi said. “As long as there is a woman to turn the handle, the box will keep singing. As long as the music never stops, the child will not wake.”

  Shara didn’t ask the obvious question. After standing in the child’s presence, it wasn’t hard to imagine the horrors that would be unleashed if she ever woke up.

  “I have waited so long for you,” Copi said. “Have you come to take her from me?”

  Shara leapt to her feet and backed away. Her head spun, and she felt the walls of the cave closing in. “No. I can’t do that.”

  “You are the first woman I have seen since the baby opened her eyes. Please. You must. I cannot go on forever.”

  Shara saw herself a hundred years from now, sitting alone in the dark, turning that handle. She felt like her whole life was being ripped from her. Brophy, Ohndarien, her power. The baby was like an endless black pit she could fall into and never hit the bottom.

  “No. No. I’m sorry, no.” Shara turned and ran toward the light at the end of the tunnel. She fell to her hands and knees, wriggling through the tiny opening. The bright sun blinded her as she crawled out of the cave. She couldn’t breathe. The First Gate had been taken from her.

  Shara knelt on the jagged rocks until her breath returned to normal. She kept her eyes closed for a long time before she finally opened them.

  The landscape before her was twisted and broken, shrouded in the swirling mists. She sat on her haunches and hugged h
er knees to her chest. She could still hear the faint notes of the music box coming from the cave behind her.

  It was over now. Everything she and Brophy had hoped for was over. She couldn’t run from this burden, not after what Brophy had taught her. She could still feel the baby back there, hovering like a black wave about to crush her. No matter how far she ran, that wave would catch up with her.

  The tinkling of the music box came closer and closer. Shara looked back in the tunnel and saw Copi creeping forward, the music box tucked under one arm while she held the handle with the other. The hollow-eyed young woman crawled out of the narrow gap and set the box down next to Shara.

  “I’m done,” Copi said. “My time is over.” And she let go of the handle. The silver box gave one final tinkling note and stopped.

  Shara grabbed the handle and turned it as fast as she could. The song returned, harsh and frantic. “No! What are you doing?” she screamed.

  Copi crawled the rest of the way out of the cave and kissed her softly on the cheek.

  “I am sorry, my sister,” she said quietly. Her eyes lingered on the box for a moment longer, then she stood and staggered down the hill toward the ocean. She let out a sob of laughter, then collapsed to the stony ground and died.

  12

  BAELANDRA CONCENTRATED on her breathing, waiting until her body and mind slipped into perfect harmony. When the moment sang to her, she spun into the first stance of the Floani form and leapt from the ground. Her breathing remained easy and controlled. She stretched the breath, flung her legs into the splits in midair and landed precisely, swiveling slowly into the next stance.

  One move flowed to the next as she leapt around the room, twisting and spinning. She finished the form and remained standing lightly on one foot. The trance faded. The tingling, invincible feeling seeped out of her as her conscious mind rose slowly back to the surface.

  Her foot started wobbling, and she gave up on the dance. Exhaustion replaced euphoria, and she sank to the floor, sweat running down her neck.

  She had spent the last two weeks of her imprisonment practicing the meditative arts she had learned as a child. She could feel her mental strength and discipline returning—she had never felt so close to the Heartstone—but the sense of peace and serenity that her teachers had spoken of eluded her.

  At least Krellis had the decency to lock her in one of the officers’ rooms in the Citadel, rather than a cell. Her quarters were elegantly furnished with a beautifully carved table, an enormous feather bed, and a small fireplace in the sitting area; but she hated this place more than anywhere she had ever been.

  Her two young guards refused to speak to her. They only opened the door when they brought food. Even then, the first thing to enter was always a spearhead, forcing Baelandra back. They took no chances.

  She had never felt so disconnected from the events of Ohndarien. There was a Physendrian army at the Water Wall and Farad troops outside the Quarry Gate, but she might as well have been on a remote beach in Vizar.

  Hearing footsteps outside, she rose to her feet. She was still breathing hard, her forehead dotted with perspiration. Her skirt was hiked up and tucked into her belt at her waist to perform the dance.

  The door creaked open, and a spear was thrust through the crack. “Call out so I know where you are,” the guard demanded.

  “I’m here, in the center of the room,” she replied.

  A young man opened the door wider and stuck his helmeted head inside. The thin young man had a long face and an even longer nose. His eyes were large and always looked sad, even when he smiled. She overheard his name once, Tyrlen.

  “Brother Krellis requests your presence with him on the Water Wall. The Physendrians are attacking.”

  Baelandra leapt forward. She yanked the hem of her dress out of her belt and let it fall to floor length again. Grabbing her sandals from the corner, she slipped them on. “Lead the way.”

  “Yes, Sister,” he said, but didn’t move. “I was instructed to warn you. If you attempt to escape, your friend from Kherif will be killed.”

  Baelandra sneered. “Fine, let’s go.”

  She pushed the door wide and breezed past him. The young soldier hurried to catch up as she rushed down the dark hallway. The Citadel was the first structure Morgeon had built, and the crude fortress had withstood several attacks before Ohndarien’s blue-white walls were completed. From time to time they passed a coat of arms. There were dozens of them throughout the hallways, one for each Master of the Citadel.

  Tyrlen led Baelandra up a spiral staircase to the Citadel’s battlements. They emerged into bright sunlight a little bit north of the Water Wall, and Baelandra could hear the sounds of battle in the distance. She rushed toward them.

  The young guard grabbed her arm. “Sister! You are to remain here. Krellis’s orders.”

  She twisted her wrist, broke his grip. His sword rang against its scabbard, and she turned to face the point of his blade.

  “You must stay here, Sister,” Tyrlen said.

  The clash of steel and sounds of the dying rose from below.

  “My city is at war, and I belong on the wall. Run me through if you must,” she said.

  The youth said nothing, but she could see the doubt in his eyes. She turned her back on him, ran toward the battlements.

  The Citadel was built on top of a hill overlooking a wide valley. The famous Water Wall dropped down from the fortress, crossed the valley, and climbed up the mountain on the far side. The towering arches that supported the aqueduct were built atop the hundred-foot barrier.

  Men were fighting on the steps of the Water Wall. If there was a skirmish on the ramparts, then the Physendrians had already scaled the walls.

  Baelandra sprinted toward the sounds of battle. She ran over a bridge across the aqueduct and onto the steps where the Water Wall met the Citadel.

  Ohndarien defenders in blue-and-white uniforms fought a large group of armed men in civilian clothes. The Ohndarien soldiers held the high ground and seemed to be standing fast, but beyond the stairs the entire Water Wall was empty, completely undefended.

  Baelandra ran to the outer battlements and peered over. “No,” she whispered.

  The vast Physendrian army filled the valley like an ocean. Squads of Crocodile pikemen, Scorpion spearmen, and Serpent swordsmen went on and on.

  A dozen massive siege towers crept toward the base of the wall. The rolling buildings were almost as tall as the battlements. Teams of oxen pulled the wooden monstrosities closer at a grinding pace as hundreds of men pushed from behind. Physendrian soldiers crowded the tops of the towers with ladders in hand. Archers clung to the sides, arrows at the ready. They would arrive in moments, and the wall was empty of defenders.

  A boulder smashed into one of the towers, thrown from an Ohndarien trebuchet. Shards of wood exploded from the rocking platform. Men screamed as they fell, but the tower did not stop.

  “Where are the soldiers?” Baelandra snapped a glance at her guard, but he was as shocked as she.

  “I…I don’t know, Sister.”

  Again, Baelandra looked down the length of the battlements. What was Krellis thinking? Two hundred men could hold that wall against thousands, but none guarded the most vulnerable stretch where the siege towers were bound. There was no way Ohndarien could reinforce the wall in time.

  “This is insanity!” She looked over the battlements again. A cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck. The attacking troops were clustered in the very center of the valley against the base of the wall. That could only mean one thing.

  The Physendrian Gate stood open.

  Baelandra charged to the inner edge of the wall to look down into the city. Physendrian soldiers poured through the narrow gap into the streets. A dense line of defenders braced them, but they could not hold out forever against that many invaders. With the wall and the gate intact, Ohndarien could have held out until starvation claimed them, but they could not hope to brace Physendria soldier for sold
ier.

  They had to get those gates closed.

  “You were ordered to stay put,” a voice boomed to the side of her.

  Baelandra spun around. Krellis walked up the stairs, away from the skirmish some fifty feet below him. He sheathed his sword.

  “What have you done?” she shouted, running toward him. “Did you sell Ohndarien to Phandir?”

  He laughed.

  She slapped him. “You think this is funny?”

  Krellis’s laughter died away, and he rubbed his face. Flexing his fingers, he forced a smile. “I thought you were never going to touch me again.”

  She swung at him a second time, but he caught her hand.

  “Bae,” he said in a softer voice. “You know I would never treat with my brother. If I wanted Ohndarien at the end of Phandir’s leash, I would have given her to him years ago.”

  She shook off his grip. “Then what treachery is this?” She pointed at the fighting on the stairs.

  Krellis smiled. “Look a little closer.”

  She studied the individual men in the battle. Swords clashed, and shield smashed against shield, but she noticed some of the men were smiling. The wounded hid grins while they lay on the steps.

  “There is no blood,” she said, stunned into confusion. What was this farce?

  “That’s my girl,” Krellis returned, winking. “Your Zelani were the kernel at the center of this plan.”

  She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “There were Physendrian agents in Ohndarien. They’d been hiding among us for months. I knew about some of them, naturally, but I didn’t know about all of them. It turns out I didn’t know about most of them. There were hundreds posing as soldiers and merchants, but your Zelani ferreted them out. I had the spies killed this morning before they could gather. Our soldiers dressed in their clothes and took their places.”

  “And carried out a mock attack?”

  Krellis smiled. “Of course. Those are my men down there, pretending to fight each other, but, alas, my poor brother doesn’t know that. He thinks they are his vanguard. In his eyes, they have been brilliant in sweeping the wall clean, opening the gate, and pinning our defenders on the stairs.” He pointed where she had just been looking inside the city. “Hundreds rush into that narrow tunnel as we speak, but I have archers and soldiers on the other side of the wall, slaughtering them as they emerge.”