by Ben Peek
‘That idiot.’ Eilona heard her mother’s exasperated voice as a guard opened the door and she stood, momentarily confused, in the doorway. But her mother, stalking around the room, waved her in. ‘Lian Alahn,’ she said, but after the door closed. ‘That idiot.’
The only other person in the room with her was the witch, Olcea. ‘What has he done?’ Eilona asked.
‘He invited his son and Faje to Neela.’ An exasperated sigh escaped the Lady of the Ghosts. ‘It seems he is concerned that his son is putting the family wealth into the accounts of the Faithful. He has – and I don’t know how – he has got word somehow about the state of his finances. Alahn can’t command his son to come here, so he has requested that he and the leader of the Faithful come to Neela to discuss their treaty.’
‘But you burned his offer.’
‘It is possible that he doesn’t know what was offered, but at this point, we had best assume that he does.’
‘Nymar took his father’s letter to Faje,’ Olcea said, exhaustion etched onto her every word. ‘I was lucky to see it. Hien passes through Faje’s office in Rje twice a day. Mostly, he is discussing the deployment of the Faithful through the cities and the importance of supplies. But this morning, Nymar was there with his father’s letter. They had quite the discussion. Nymar doesn’t believe a word of it, but Faje, it appears, has had a visitation from his new god. Se’Saera has shown him a future where both he and Nymar are on Neela. They are in this house with Alahn and your mother. I am sure nothing good happens, but Faje was not clear on the details.’
It could mean anything. Eilona’s mother could agree to a treaty, could agree to send everyone who was even slightly cursed to Rje, or it could be a lie, one Faje told to Nymar to appease him. Or it could be worse. Eilona was about to begin discussing the ways that it could be worse, when the door opened, and Reila entered. Behind her, Sinae and his beautiful, blonde guard walked in. At the sight of them, her mother ushered all three to the table where Olcea sat.
Eilona declined the offer to join them. A chill threaded through her as she lifted her hand and said no, she had nothing to add. Her gaze flicked to Sinae, but it was the brown-eyed gaze of his guard she met, a gaze that only added to Eilona’s discomfort. She would speak to her mother later, she told herself, as she walked up the stairs, to where her stepfather was.
The room was bare except for one of the few cots she had seen on Neela, but Elan Wagan was not in it. Instead, he sat in his wheelchair, his empty gaze directed to the half-open window and the dirty breeze that filtered through it. Eilona had been here on the day he was lifted up the stairs and taken to the room, and she had been in the room when he had begun screaming. She, Reila, Caeli and her mother tried to calm him, but it was not until the guard opened the window that they succeeded. After, he even allowed the old healer to tie a cloth around his mouth, to provide small protection against the dust.
‘How is he?’ she asked Caeli, who sat on the floor, against the back wall of the room. ‘I was told he slept well,’ she added.
The guard closed her book, folded the orange and black cover of Malaeska into her lap. ‘Surprisingly. He doesn’t like to be taken from the chair, so he has slept sitting. But he’s been good. So good that he didn’t even start to yell when your mother did.’
Eilona made a motion, to ask if she could sit, and the other woman nodded. ‘I didn’t think you liked the mercenary novels,’ she said, after she had sat. ‘Not even the famous ones.’
‘I gave Sinae an old kettle and he gave me this.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I thought it would be good for a laugh.’
‘It is mostly sad. The author – Winters – wrote it as more a cautionary tale. The Malaeska in the book is the author’s alter ego and what happens to her is mostly true. She really did fight in the battles she lists, really did lose a child after her husband abandoned her. The last was what made her write the book. Winters wanted to warn young women not to take up the sword, but needed to make money as well. Hence the torrid love affairs in the book.’
‘It’s probably why my parents didn’t give me a copy as a child.’ Caeli offered half a shrug. ‘Still hard to imagine that it inspired so much.’
‘Winters made a fortune,’ Eilona said. ‘The books the big mercenary groups put out haven’t strayed from her basic formula, either. Like Malaeska, they’re half propaganda, half a cheap thrill, and half a revenue source.’
‘You have three halves.’
‘I’m working on it.’
It was the most she had spoken to Caeli since her return. She was used to the guard staring at her with her cold blue eyes, with her judgement, her memory of what Eilona had said about her after she had been given the position of guarding her mother. Since her return, however, Caeli’s gaze had been different. Cold, still, yes, but different, also.
‘I’m giving it a read,’ Caeli said, picking up the conversation after a pause. ‘Mostly because I never have. I never thought I would. I used to be so sure of everything, but lately, some of what I’ve thought has been challenged, and I’ve come up wrong. So I thought I’d try this.’ She turned it over in her hands. ‘Not all that sure I’ll be writing my own life down, but you have to go where the changes in life take you. You can’t ignore them.’
Eilona thought of Sinae and nodded, but said nothing.
‘In the Spires,’ she continued, ‘I should have told you Olcea was watching us. She wanted to tell you, but I said it didn’t matter. You didn’t have to know. I knew then that you would leave me at one point and I wanted you to. If you had got hurt, well, a little hurt would be all right. My parents got a little hurt, after all.’
‘I regret that.’ Eilona stared ahead, at her father, and not at the other woman. ‘I am glad that they were not killed. That they continued to work. That they took on an apprentice. I’m glad that they survived the siege. I can’t apologize enough for what happened. I can understand how a little hurt would be okay.’
‘You might understand it, but I don’t accept it.’ Caeli pushed herself up. ‘Not so long ago, I thought someone cursed was nothing but that,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I ever thought about what an ugly thought it was, but I did. I’m not afraid to acknowledge that. I didn’t go around telling people what I thought, but I acted on it, and I didn’t treat people fairly, or honestly. But a friend changed my opinion. Now, you and me, we may never be friends. There is a little too much in our history for that. But people do change, Eilona. I have seen it. I’ve seen it in me, you, your mother, everyone.’
Everyone, she repeated, after the guard left. Everyone.
9.
With the mid-morning’s sun behind him, the Lord of Faaisha rode into Gtara, accompanied by three hundred soldiers.
Ayae was not surprised by the number, but she had not expected Jye Tuael himself. She had thought that the likely candidate would be one of the lesser Lords of Faaisha, one of the lords who complained about Mireea and its position on the Spine of Ger. In Samuel Orlan’s shop, Ayae had met half a dozen of the lesser Lords of Faaisha and each one of them had complained about the Lord of Faaisha. He was rarely described in a flattering light, and instead was spoken of as a man who did not like to get his hands dirty and who, because of that, worked through agents such as warlocks, spies and diplomats. So well established were those representatives that, when he arrived in Gtara, Ayae mistook him at first for a soldier, no more than a captain, or a claw, as the rank was known in the Kingdoms of Faaisha.
Jye Tuael rode his horse well, his body a practised, comfortable sway in well-made and well-worn chain and leather. The sword he carried was a sabre like a hundred other sabres that Ayae had seen, no better or worse a sword than she would expect from a soldier who made his career on the field. The only thing that set him apart from the other soldiers in worn green cloaks – the colours of the Kingdoms of Faaisha had been put aside, it seemed, in the dense green of Leera – was the gold ring he wore. He would, over the next two hours, twist the ring around his finger, ba
ck and forth, as if a combination of half-turns and twists would free him from Tinh Tu’s influence.
‘The compulsion in your letter ensured I came here,’ the Lord of Faaisha said, after he had been led to Tinh Tu. She had awaited him inside an abandoned inn, the room cleared of all but one table and two chairs. He sat at a table opposite her while the white raven walked along the table between them. ‘My warlocks assure me it could not be broken.’ There was a thin film of anger over his words, but he was, Ayae thought, surprisingly calm. ‘I do not consider this the beginning of a healthy relationship.’
‘I am not concerned by that,’ Tinh Tu said. Ayae stood behind her, between Jae’le and Eidan. On the other side of the room, eight marshals stood behind the Lord of Faaisha. ‘I am concerned with the siege of Ranan and nothing more,’ the old woman finished.
‘We have a force of eight thousand,’ he began.
‘You have thirteen,’ she corrected. ‘You will find lying to me has very few benefits. But, let us overlook that for the moment. You are the largest force outside the Leerans themselves and you will be responsible for holding the northern side of Ranan. Most important is that your soldiers do not leave the battle. You and your soldiers must fight until we are victorious or until we are dead.’
Tinh Tu’s command was undeniable. A murmur went through the marshals. ‘There are times when it is advantageous to leave the field and fight another day,’ the Lord of Faaisha said.
‘Not this battle.’ Her voice allowed for no dissent. ‘When you return to your camps, you will also issue an order, on the pain of death, for the new god’s name not to be said.’
‘We have all said Se—’ Tuael’s voice choked off suddenly. He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I am not a dog to be treated as such.’
‘Consider it fortunate that you did not die.’ Tinh Tu reached out to the raven, her long, old fingers scratching it chin. ‘The new god can hear her name when it is spoken. Not speaking it is a matter of simple survival. Now, in a moment, my brothers will talk to you. My sister may as well. When they speak, you will listen to all three and you will enact their advice. You will do this. You will have no choice.’ She paused and let her words echo in those before her. ‘When the battle of Ranan is over, you will not see us again, and you will not speak of us, either. You will be free to reconstruct the story of the battle in any way you wish. You can make a hero or a villain out of yourself, Jye Tuael, it does not matter to me, or to my family. All that matters is that no history will record the four of us here, just as it will not record any details of Aelyn Meah or a man named either Qian or Zaifyr.’
Ayae found herself swallowing her own words, her protest against Tinh Tu’s power, her commands. She almost spoke when she heard her name mentioned later. At that moment she felt, more than any time before, a culpability in what was taking place before her, and felt it so keenly it could have been a weight in her hand. She heard again the words of the Mireean and Yeflam soldiers and saw the same desperation and resentment in the Lord of Faaisha and his marshals. She felt her hands curl up, but did not say a word.
‘Ranan will not be easy to lay siege to,’ Eidan said, from beside her. ‘Under no circumstances are you to enter the ravines that cut around and through it. You will need bridges that can be moved into position during the battle to cross them. When you leave, you will see that we have dismantled ships to build ours. I would estimate that you will need a hundred for the size of your force, but that number may change. Once the battle begins, the bridges that connect the five parts of Ranan together will be destroyed, and these temporary bridges will be the only way for us to move from section to section. They will need to be mobile and they will need to be protected. The soldiers you assign to them will be under constant fire and will need to be steady hands. You will also be well advised to bring catapults. They will not be able to hit the centre of Ranan, which is marked by the cathedral, but they will be able to help clear the way for an initial landing.’
‘Ranan will soon hold close to thirty-four thousand soldiers,’ Jae’le said, from the other side of Ayae. ‘The majority of these are Leeran and were once the population of Leera itself. They will be joined by Faaishan and Gogari soldiers. You will find that they are aware of our arrival, and that they have prepared by fortifying Ranan, and by placing various weapons such as ballistas, catapults and towers around the city. However, it is not these that will be the most dangerous of the foes you face. In the centre of Ranan, there is a small force. This force is led by the man known as the Innocent. The soldiers who serve under Aela Ren are unique. They cannot be killed by the likes of you and me. They can only be struck down.’
Eidan spoke next. After he had finished, Jae’le spoke, again. They spoke for close to an hour in this manner, outlining what they knew of Ranan, the type of forces within, the resistance that they would face, the things that they were likely to see. For the hour, Ayae said nothing. She listened to the two men and thought of the scarred walls of her youth, but rather than the terror she so often felt when she recalled the Innocent, a strange sadness came over her, instead. It added to the weight that she felt from her part in watching Tinh Tu issue her commands, and it kept her standing in the inn after the Lord of Faaisha and his marshals were led outside by Eidan and Jae’le.
After the door closed, she said, ‘This is not the way we should be doing this. It makes us no better than the Innocent or any god.’
‘We are no better.’ Tinh Tu’s voice no longer echoed with her power. She rose from the seat and turned to Ayae. ‘But what choice do we have?’ she asked. ‘It must be this way.’
‘This way?’ Ayae gave a half-laugh in disbelief. ‘You have bent over three hundred people to your will. Eidan held a mountain range while it broke apart. And Jae’le! I listen to him tell me he has no power, but you all defer to him. Why do the three of you – the four of us – need an army?’
‘I met the Innocent, long ago,’ Tinh Tu said. ‘My brother chained him to a tree in the depths of Faer. It was deep in swamps that altered their form like a maze. I knew this intimately because the swamps were part of my kingdom when we ruled. In that time, Aela Ren became a story for children. He was a lost prince. A knight who betrayed his honour. An honourable thief, even. No one knew who he was, so he could be anything. For cartographers, he became a quest connected to mapping the swamps of Faer. For most, it was a quest that went unfulfilled. But one day, a woman returned to me in a state of great fever and illness, claiming she had found him. After she died, I used her notes to make my way deep into the swamps, into the middle of its tangled, ever-changing heart. It took me nearly a year to navigate those paths. For the longest time, I thought that the swamps were the creation of a dead god, but they weren’t. They were my brother’s creation. I could see that clearly the deeper that I went into the swamps. But I saw it mostly on the evening that I entered a small clearing and found a man who was neither a knight nor a prince nor a thief. When I found Aela Ren.
‘My first thought upon seeing him was that he was a monk, for he bore the pain of his prison in a grave silence. The myth my people told was that Aela Ren was in a cage, but that was not true. Rather, a cage was kept inside him. Wood had been coaxed and grown out of a dozen trees and pushed through him. It pierced and tore his skin apart and shattered his bones and burst his eyes and dislocated his limbs. I know the wounds he received because I watched them for a week. I watched as his flesh was torn and broke and healed again and again as every movement and every breath he took, moved the living cage in him.’
Ayae stood, horrified despite herself. She saw the Innocent held against the tree, a solitary, tortured figure, a man who would repeat his horror in her home, hundreds of years later.
‘Jae’le did that. He made the prison and the swamp and he never told anyone about it.’ Tinh Tu’s scarred lips pressed together. ‘I have not asked him why he did it, because I know why. I talked to Aela Ren in his prison. I asked him who he was and what he had done and he refused to a
nswer me. I asked him with all my power and he still refused. In fact, he told me he recognized the power. “It is not my master’s power,” he said to me. “It is not truth, but I recognize it. I can see Aeisha in you. The Goddess of the Word. She would struggle to ask anything of me, just like you.”’
‘But,’ she began. ‘But surely he wasn’t right?’
‘He was. After a week, I realized that, before this man, my power was fleeting, and nothing more. Eventually, I did get answers from him, but not all. Even in that prison, he had enough power to recognize and fight me.’ She turned to Ayae. ‘Now, ask yourself, how much harder will it be to kill such a man when he is not imprisoned? How much harder when he is surrounded by his kin? You are right about the things we can do, Ayae. We are powerful and we can do truly awful things. But in the battle before us, we will need these people. We will need them to protect us. To answer when our powers falter before those who were empowered by gods, those who understand what it was to be divine before we were born. We will need them because we cannot defeat the god-touched without them. But we cannot trust them to stand by our side by their own free will. How can we, after all that they have seen?’
10.
Orlan woke him after the morning’s sun had passed its zenith.
‘Use the bed in the room across from here,’ the cartographer whispered, guiding him from the chair beside Taela, and out of the room. Exhausted, Bueralan did not resist. His body felt heavy, as if the steel Taela felt within her was part of him, was his bones and his muscles. He realized only after Orlan had pulled a sheet over him that Kaze had not returned to the room. Have you seen her? The old man shook his head. ‘She’s somewhere,’ Samuel Orlan said, a note in his voice Bueralan could not make out. ‘Just not here.’ The cartographer was clean and wore fine clothes, not the old, worn pieces he had lived in since Ooila. The sight gave Bueralan a small satisfaction. Orlan looked like himself, like the man he had met in Mireea, a lifetime ago. The man who had plotted against a new god, the man who had taken a risk and failed.