The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1)

by Kari Cordis

  “That stretch of coast,” Banion added, “just north of the Swamps all the way up to Addah and beyond the charts, has the most inhospitable shores of the known world. Most of the Cyrrhidean coastline is a wall of solid rock, and the areas that men could land are treacherous as a woman—” he paused, glanced at Cerise, and decided to let it stand. “Merranic scoutsloops reported all kinds of shipwrecks broken up on those rocks and shoals back in the Ages they were exploring over there.”

  Traive smiled a mirthless smile. “Fangvine seems to love the salt air, too. Grows like a jungle along the coast.”

  That made more than one of them shudder.

  The plantations finally ended and nice, normal oaks and beech and maple and sycamore filled the countryside. The days pooled into a relaxed muddle, drifting by without any further incidents, only Melkin retaining the steel-sharp edge of urgency. It helped that they had a definite goal, knew exactly where they were going, and in some vague sense, knew they were almost there.

  Or so they thought.

  One day they came up on Kai, who usually ranged out of sight, scouting. He was definitely done scouting, standing patiently waiting for them. The trail faded away in front of him, bushes and weeds growing casually as if just a yard away there wasn’t an obvious cleared path.

  They drew around him, wondering, and he said, “This is as far as we can go with any certainty.” They all stared at him perplexed, but that was nothing to his next statement. “The Forbidden Forest cannot be found unless it wishes to be.”

  There were several seconds of blank silence as most of the party tried to figure out exactly what that meant. Rodge inserted a finger into one of his ears in an attempt to loosen the wax before asking, “Did you say, ‘unless it wishes to be?’”

  Had it been anyone but Kai making this sort of pronouncement, there would doubtless have been a rapid-fire, scorn-filled commentary going on already. Melkin turned in wordless outrage to Traive, who was looking faintly amused at the looks on their faces.

  “This is true,” he said, breaking it to them as gently as he could. “Many Cyrrhideans have sought the Ivory’s Garden over the centuries, and not all have found it…of course, in the stories, it’s only those in direst need who—”

  “Of course,” Melkin barked, patience snapped. “What else would we expect on this trip but a little translocatable geography!” He glared around at Cyrrh while Cerise made completely empathetic sounds of affront. Such things, obviously, were not acceptable in the North.

  Melkin whirled accusingly back to Traive. “How much more dire need can anyone get than the threat of the Wars restarting!?”

  “Comes from dealing with witches,” Banion rumbled, sucking his teeth in disgust.

  Ari looked at him thoughtfully. Witches…

  The group stirred around, restless and wrathful and having no idea what to do with this particular challenge. Ari screwed up his courage. He was going to look like a fool.

  “The Ivory are Illians…” he said. Kai shot him a level glance.

  “That’s right, Ar,” Rodge said. “Thanks for joining the group.” His fat pony was trying to snack as long as they were just standing around, and he yanked its head up impatiently. “We’re not staying,” he hissed at it.

  “Maybe,” Ari continued doggedly, feeling his face start to heat, “Maybe we should pray. To Il. I mean, that’s what they do, right? They’ve got to get home somehow.” His face had to be as red as his hair from the heat he could feel coming off of it.

  Jaws almost dropped off of faces all around the group.

  Traive looked at him with a touch of surprise. “That’s not a bad idea…unless someone’s got a better one?”

  That seemed to galvanize everyone back to life.

  “I am NOT praying to some cult figure--!” Cerise began hotly.

  “We don’t have time for this!” Melkin spat.

  Loren confessed, “I don’t even pray to Marek.”

  “I thought you said you knew where it was,” Rodge accused Kai.

  “Blasphemy,” Banion muttered unhappily into his beard.

  Ari took a deep breath, amazed at the riot of noise. “I’ll do it,” he said nervously. Anything to get them to stop. They did, everyone looking at him, most of them in some state of offense.

  “Well, get on with it then,” Melkin said impatiently.

  Ari’s throat was dry. He hadn’t thought it would be so…public. “Uh,” he said. “Uh, I...I, um, that is, we…”

  “He can hear silent prayers,” Traive suggested.

  “Oh. Right,” Ari mumbled.

  “How do people come up with these things?” Cerise snorted quietly. “A god that’s never been seen but hears your thoughts. Why would anyone even want a god that knows what you’re thinking all the time?”

  Traive leaned on his crossed arms over his saddle horn, surveying her in amusement. “Good thing He’s a forgiving sort of God, hm?”

  “You don’t need forgiveness from Marek,” she pointed out smugly.

  “Marek doesn’t require anything of you but gold…” he reminded her. She narrowed her eyes at him, feeling vaguely like she’d lost the encounter, but not sure why.

  Ari, meanwhile, was frowning in concentration. He wasn’t that sure about Il to begin with, and then, he’d been a little angry with Him lately…the whole life He’d picked out for him, and all. He tried to remember everything Selah had said (which made him suddenly miss her so bad it was like a charlie horse of the heart): compassion…power…knowledge. Well, if He already knew everything, what was the sense in telling Him? And why didn’t He just give it to them? Wasn’t He supposed to be merciful? And surely He was on their side in this little…Ari took a deep breath, refocusing. Personal. She had said He was a personal God, who wanted personal things. Well, OK. Here he was, being personal. Help us find, he began and came up against a wall. There, in the deepest, quietest part of his thoughts, he realized suddenly that he didn’t want to find the Statue. Despite what he’d thought was panic up at the meadow with the centaur…he didn’t want the adventure to end and all his friends to go back to their normal lives and leave him alone, still questing. He still had no answers. He didn’t even know all the questions yet.

  “Come on, Ari, hurry it up over there,” he heard Rodge complain.

  He forced away all the murky uncertainty and finished up quickly, Help us to find the garden. And the Statue. And the answers to everything. Please. He opened his eyes. Everyone was moving around restlessly. Banion looked doleful. Traive, however, smiled brightly. “All ready?” he inquired solicitously.

  “Uh, I think so,” Ari said doubtfully. It seemed like a pretty dumb idea, in retrospect. Immediately, though, Kai and the Regent both turned and set off into the trees.

  “What are we doing now?” Cerise demanded.

  “This,” Traive called cheerfully over one broad shoulder, “is called faith.”

  “That’s not a verb,” Rodge muttered, but he fell in line quick enough.

  Four hours later, Traive’s faith was tried. Melkin’s patience was exhausted. And Banion was considerably more open-minded.

  “Are you sure you were respectful enough?” he asked Ari anxiously.

  Ari, sighing, didn’t think it was a matter of courtesy.

  They couldn’t even see anymore, it was so dark, and Melkin stopped them in disgust. It was a glum and tight-lipped group that swallowed a cold dinner and turned in. There just didn’t seem anything more to say.

  And as he lay in his blankets that night, Ari had to come face to face with his inner squirmings—it was either that or see the whole thing fail, everything they’d worked and traveled and fought through for so long. Not to mention the danger to the Realms and the threatening mass of Enemy looming on the horizon. They had nothing else to go on…this thread was thin enough, and it depended, he was somehow sure, on him.

  He was in a quandary. He was well aware his heart wasn’t in the right place…but it wasn’t like he could force hims
elf to want something he didn’t.

  He sighed, stretching his arms up dispiritedly to rest his hands behind his head. What do I do? he asked of the empty sky. There must have been cloud cover, because as he gazed up, it began to drift off. Stars began to come out, dozens of them, then hundreds, millions. Brilliant, ephemeral lights, so far away he couldn’t even imagine it. It came rushing back to him, the memory of that other night all those months ago, when his problems were laughably insignificant and the world still made sense. That night under the endless skies of the High Wilds, when he’d felt that Presence…His skin goose-bumped at the memory. That feeling of power had been so vast, as if the stars were really holes in the night sky that His splendor was blazing through. Remembering that sense of awesome, all-knowing timelessness, a sudden rush swept through him, a jumble of wordless longing for answers to their questing, for safety from the sinister Sheel, for some kind of resolution to his turmoil…for a god that could really be what he promised. His heart ached in his chest for things he couldn’t even put a name to, let alone ask for.

  The night’s rest did absolutely no good for Northern morale. Zero. No one had ever seen Melkin’s temper so black—it kept everyone else’s complaints down to an undertone.

  “What are we supposed to do?” Cerise hissed at Traive as they all mounted up. “Just ride around in circles down in southern Cyrrh the rest of our lives?”

  He looked at her mildly. “Would you like to go home?” She drew herself up stiffly, reproachfully thinning her lips.

  Ari, on the other hand, had never felt so calm. Maybe it was resignation. Whatever it was, it had settled deep and he looked out at the morning with a matter-of-fact air. Il was either going to grant this or He wasn’t.

  It did shake him up for a moment when Kai looked directly at him and asked, “Which way?”

  He blinked. “It doesn’t matter.” Now, why had he asked him?

  There were several snide comments about his beseeching skills as the morning wore on, the majority of the party being in a shockingly unpleasant mood, but it rolled off of him. He’d never claimed to be a Shepherd.

  They thrashed through undergrowth all morning, no longer on stags that slipped through jungle without stirring a leaf. It wasn’t doing much for the general temper, unfortunately, being run into branches and scraped through prickly underbrush. More than one horse earned some new and unprintable names that morning in southern Cyrrh.

  Strangely, Ari’s certainty grew deeper the harder things got.

  They were all more than ready to give it up and stop for lunch when Melkin growled suddenly, sharply, “Are we on a trail?”

  Kai tossed him a look over his shoulder. He’d stayed barely a horse-length ahead since yesterday—which was probably extremely foresightful. Ari wouldn’t have been surprised if they could lose each other in this crazy place.

  Hope stirred in mutinous chests. Rodge and Banion sat up straight in their saddles. Everyone stared at the grass under them, willing trees and bushes out of the way. It definitely looked like a path. The grass was getting more and more worn. Traive’s mare hit bare dirt with a satisfying clop of a hoof, then there were more clops. Within moments they were all clopping and everyone was straining ahead, looking expectantly for—actually, only Ari knew what to expect, and he didn’t recognize it at first.

  The horses filed into a little cleared area in the trees, and came abruptly to a stop when Kai did the same at their head.

  “Oh, no,” Rodge said, deflated. The Dra was scouting again, looking for the trail on the other side. Cerise ground her teeth in frustration.

  Ari looked around, and felt a funny lurch. The way the light and shadow fell…the patterns of the trees…It was small, but then he’d been small. And there had been that overgrown garden—how could he forget it when it had been in his dreams for months now? That big mess of brambly brush over there…?

  “Wait,” he said. Melkin turned sharply to look at him.

  “A clearing, you said?” Traive asked, glancing at him, too, and recalling the interview with the centaurs. They all looked at Ari.

  “Is this it?” Loren asked him. He’d never been there. In fact, the ‘nuns’ had been at Jagstag with Ari, and that’s where Lord Harthunter had adopted him.

  “I think so,” Ari said softly, a hundred sensations and memories careening through him. He felt all funny inside. He cleared his throat, pointing at the monstrous thicket several yards away. “That’s the garden.”

  Instantly, Kai shifted his attention there, Melkin right behind him. Excitement began to edge through the group. Traive pulled an axe from his backbrace, as those brambles were way too thick just to be pulled aside, but before he could dismount, Kai called sharply, “Here!”

  Spurring their horses, they all rushed after the Dra. He was way back, at the farthest part of the mess of vines and thorns, and they pulled up sharply around him, adrenaline pumping.

  “NO!” Melkin shouted, furious.

  “I can’t believe it,” Loren said, awed.

  There, cut very clearly straight out in front of them, was a neat trail leading in to the densest part of the thicket. Down here, the mass of stalks and vines had grown well over their heads, and a clean, sharp line of fresh-cut and cleared branches ran the entire length down to where a space opened up several yards in.

  It was absolutely and completely empty.

  Ari couldn’t make it register. To have come all this way, on a trail left by ghosts, overcoming almost every obstacle you could think of and several that wouldn’t have occurred to anyone in their right mind, only to be too late? Of course, they didn’t know this was the right clearing—where was the convent?—or that the Statue had ever been here, or that that was what was missing. He had no doubt they would proceed to cut this patch to pieces…and was equally sure they’d find nothing. He was as certain that it was lost to them as he was that his hair was red.

  “What do you seek?”

  They all jumped, looking at each other. Kai was the first to move, sliding around the far end of the thicket like silk over a Cyrrhidean woman. They followed as a mass, and it didn’t take but a second to find the source of the voice on the other side.

  Well, there’s the convent, Ari thought to himself. Almost buried under overgrown trees and bushes, on its roofed porch sat a woman. She didn’t look surprised to see them down here in the middle of nowhere, nor hostile, nor even particularly curious. Kai was resheathing his blades as they all came to a stop, long before the boys had even thought to draw theirs.

  “Who are you?” Melkin demanded, in a wary, neutral voice. “What do you know of this place?”

  She arched an eyebrow, silently, in such classic Imperial fashion that it took them all aback. But with a few seconds of observation, it was obvious she was from the North, the eyebrows as golden as the neat, upswept mass of hair, her skin flawless alabaster over the fine-boned face. A Northerner. Here, where they’d seen no Northerners but each other for well over a month.

  Traive dismounted quietly and sank to a knee. “Lady Dorian,” he said respectfully.

  Of course. Ari felt his insides spasm as the name shot through his memory with electric recognition. The second-in-command. Who else was going to be hanging out down here, alone, in Cyrrh with all its danger? And in the Forbidden part of it, no less.

  “Whiteblade,” he said huskily, for the sake of the others.

  Melkin looked like he’d been slapped. His face and tone changed instantly. He narrowed his eyes at the self-composed female perched just out of reach in front of him, gathering his thoughts.

  “We seek the Statue of the Empress,” he said, watching her closely. “We’ve learned of its importance in trying to prevent the resurgence of the Enemy…” He hesitated. After all, it was the Whiteblades that were supposed to be the repositories of this kind of information. But he’d said enough.

  Without a trace of anxiety or consideration for their long travels and travails, her strong, clear voice answered, “It i
s not here.”

  Melkin glared at her. “That much I could gather,” he said, probably thinking of the several months’ worth of mysteries he hadn’t figured out yet. “You have it?” he pressed. “Is it safe?”

  “No,” she shook her head gravely and they all stared at her, appalled and impatient.

  “Do none of these women know how to give a straight answer?” Rodge muttered.

  “Where is it?” Banion rumbled, barely civil.

  “It is gone.”

  Gone. Gone. Gone where? Ari felt queasy with apprehension. This was terrible, the unknowing at this stage of the game almost unbearable. Did the mercs have it after all, or, worse, Enemy that was paying them?

  “Will you not tell us more?” he asked miserably. She swung her head at the sound of his voice and from across the grasses separating them, he could feel the bright burn of her eyes, like golden topaz, glimmering with light and with something unreadable. Then she smiled.

  “The statue is gone forever, for it is no longer needed.”

  “Speak plainly,” Melkin said, harsh and low, eyes boring into hers as if he could will sense out of her.

  With an effortless spring, she launched herself from her sitting position, landing weightlessly on the balls of her feet in the meadow grass. If Ari hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed anyone could move with that much grace. She straightened, tall and slender, with a long white neck, long arms and long, long legs. Her golden-brown eyes flicked among them.

  “There is no statue; the Empress is no longer stone. She has come back to life.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. They were standing fetlock deep in meadow grass and you still could have heard it. Birds stopped singing, animals stopped rustling, the breeze stopped, the horses froze, the sun stopped. Time stopped.

  After an eternity, Melkin repeated, “Back to life.” He sounded stupider than Ari had ever heard him. Banion very carefully reached up to scratch his beard.

  Traive chuckled the warm, homey, comfortable laugh that they all knew so well, and the spell was broken. The Northerners looked around at each other perplexed; it was a testament to the stranger’s force of personality that no one had made any comments yet.