by Jim Butcher
The stars had begun to wink out. Perhaps there was weather moving in. He’d have been concerned about rain if he wasn’t already in a cave—which again brought up the question about where the bloody stars had come from.
“Ow,” Tavi said. His head throbbed as the stars faded, and he suddenly remembered where he was and what he was doing. “Ow.”
“I doubt that you will die, child,” Alera said calmly. “Let us repeat the exercise.”
Tavi’s head pounded. He sat up, and the throbbing pressure eased somewhat. He’d clipped his head on a hanging icicle nearly three feet around at its base, and the thing had been harder than stone. He looked blearily around the cavern, which was lit by a dim glow emanating from the thirty-foot circular pool in its center, the water coming up to just below the level of the floor. Light and shadow danced and rippled around the ice cave, separated into bands of various colors by the water.
Ice groaned and crackled all around them. The floor of the cave swayed and rolled in a steady motion, though the size of the ice ship above and around them meant that it moved far more gently than the deck of any vessel.
“Maybe we shouldn’t call it a cave,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s really more of a cargo hold.”
“It is my understanding,” Alera said, “that the occupants of a vessel are generally aware of the presence of a cargo hold. This space is secret to everyone but me, you, and Kitai.”
Tavi tried to shake some of the ringing out of his ears and looked up at his tutor. Alera appeared to be a tall young woman. Despite the cold of the cavern, she wore only a light dress of what at first seemed to be gray silk. A closer look would show that the dress was made from cloudy mist as dark as a thunderhead. Her eyes constantly swirled with bands of color, endlessly cycling through every imaginable hue. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat and long, her feet were bare, and she was inhumanly beautiful.
Which was appropriate, Tavi supposed, since Alera wasn’t human at all. She was the embodiment of a fury, perhaps the greatest fury upon the face of Carna. Tavi didn’t know how old she was, but she spoke of the original Gaius Primus, the half-legendary founder of the Realm, as though she had been having a conversation with him just the other day. She had never displayed what sort of power she might have—but under the circumstances, Tavi had decided that treating her with courtesy and polite respect was probably a wiser action than trying to elicit some sort of display from her.
Alera arched an eyebrow at him. “Shall we repeat the exercise?”
Tavi stood up with a groan and brushed fine, soft snow from his clothing. There was better than a foot of powder on the ground. Alera said she had put it there in order to increase his chances of surviving his training.
“Give me a second,” Tavi said. “Flying is hard.”
“On the contrary, flight is quite simple,” Alera said. Her mouth had curved into an amused smile. “Surviving the landing is less so.”
Tavi stopped himself from glaring at her after a second or so. Then he sighed, closed his eyes, and focused on his windcrafting.
Though the air of the cavern did not contain any discrete, manifest furies, such as windmanes or Countess Calderon’s fury, Cirrus, it was full to bursting with furies nonetheless. Each individual was a tiny thing, a mite, with scarcely any power whatsoever; but when gathered together by the will and power of a windcrafter, their combined strength was enormous—a mountain made from grains of sand.
Gathering the numbers of ambient furies necessary for flight was a tedious process. Tavi began to picture the furies in his mind, visualizing them as motes of light that swirled through the air like a cloud of fireflies. Then he began to picture each individual mote being guided toward him by a featherlight breath of wind, one by one at first, then two at a time, then three, and so on, until every single one of them had gathered in the air around him. The first time he had successfully called the wind furies to him, it had taken him half an hour to accomplish the feat. Since then, he’d cut that time down to about three minutes, and was getting faster, but he still had a considerable way to go.
He knew when he was ready. The very air around him crawled eerily against his skin, pressing and caressing. Then he opened his eyes, called to the furies in his thoughts, and gathered them into a windstream that swirled and spun, then lifted him gently from the cavern’s snowy floor. He guided the furies into lifting him until the soles of his boots were about three feet from the floor, and hovered there, frowning in concentration.
“Good,” Alera said calmly. “Now redirect—and do not forget the windshield this time.”
Tavi nodded and twisted the angle of the windstream, so that it pressed against him from behind and below, and he began to move slowly across the cavern. The required concentration was enormous, but he made the attempt to split that focus into a separate partition in his thoughts, maintaining the windstream while he focused on forming a shield of solidified air in front of him.
For a second, he thought it was going to work, and he began to press ahead with more force, to move into speedier flight. But seconds later, his concentration faltered, the wind furies flew apart like so much dandelion fluff, and he plunged down—directly into the center of the thirty-foot pool.
The shock of the cold of near-freezing water sucked the breath out of his lungs, and he flailed wildly for a second, until he forced himself to use his mind rather than his limbs. He reached out to the furies in the water, gathering them to him in less than a quarter of a minute—he was more adept with watercrafting—and willed them into lifting him from the water and depositing him on the snowy floor of the ice cavern. It did not particularly lessen the bitter, biting pain of the cold, and he lay there shuddering.
“You continue to improve,” Alera said, looking down at him. She considered his half-frozen state calmly. “Technically.”
“Y-y-you are n-n-not b-b-being h-h-helpful,” Tavi stammered through his wracking shivers.
“Indeed not,” Alera said. She adjusted her dress as if it were any other cloth and knelt beside him. “That is something you must understand about me, young Gaius. I may appear in a form similar to yours, but I am not a being of flesh and blood. I do not feel as you do, about any number of things.”
Tavi tried to focus on a firecrafting that would begin to build up the heat in his body, but there was so little left that it would be a lengthy process, assuming he could manage it at all. He needed an open source of flame to make it simple, but there wasn’t one. “W-what d-do y-you m-mean?”
“Your potential death, for example,” she said. “You could freeze to death on this floor, right now. It wouldn’t particularly upset me.”
Tavi thought it a fine thing to keep focusing on his firecrafting. “Wh-why not?”
She smiled at him and brushed a strand of hair back from his forehead. It crackled, and a few bits of ice fell down over his eyelashes. “All things die, young Gaius,” she said. Her eyes went distant for a moment, and she sighed. “All things. And I am old—far, far older than you could comprehend.”
“H-how o-old?”
“You have no frame of reference that is useful,” she said. “Your mind is exceptionally capable, but even you could scarcely imagine a quantity of one million objects, much less the activity of a million years. I have seen thousands of millions of years, Octavian. In a time such as that, oceans swell and die away. Deserts become green farmlands. Mountains are ground to dust and valleys, and new mountains are born in fire. The earth itself flows like water, great ranges of land spinning and colliding, and the stars themselves spin and reel into new shapes.” She smiled. “It is the great dance, Aleran, and the lifetime of your race is but a beat within a measure.”
Tavi shivered even harder. That was a good sign, he knew. It meant that more blood was getting to his muscles. They were slowly getting warmer. He kept up the firecrafting.
“In that time,” she said, “I have seen the deaths of many things. Entire species come and go, like the sparks rising from
a campfire. Understand, young Gaius. I bear you no ill will. But any given single life is a matter of such insignificance that, honestly, I have trouble telling one of you from the next.”
“I-if that’s true,” Tavi said, “th-then wh-why a-are you h-here with me?”
She gave him a rueful smile. “Perhaps I am indulging a whim.”
“P-perhaps you aren’t t-telling the whole tr-truth.”
She laughed, a warm sound, and Tavi abruptly felt his heartbeat surge, and his muscles slowly began to unlock. “Clever. It is one of the things that make your kind appealing.” She paused, frowning thoughtfully. “In all my time,” she said at last, “no one had ever spoken to me. Until your kind came.” She smiled. “I suppose I enjoy the company.”
Tavi felt the warmth beginning to gather in his belly as the firecrafting finally gained momentum. Now he’d just have to be careful not to let it build too much. He might be tired of the cold, but he didn’t think that setting his intestines on fire would be any more pleasant in the long term. “But i-if I died, would you have anyone to talk to?”
“It would be bothersome, but I suppose I could find and keep track of some other bloodline.”
The shuddering finally—finally!—abated. Tavi sat up slowly, and reached up to rake his wet hair back. His fingers felt stiff and partially numb. Bits of ice fell from his hair. He kept the firecrafting going. “Like Aquitainus Attis?” Tavi suggested.
“Likely,” she said, nodding. “He’s a great deal more like your predecessor than you are, after all. Though I understand his name is Gaius Aquitainus Attis now. I’m not sure I understand why a legal process would alter his self-identity.”
Tavi grimaced. “It doesn’t. It’s meant to alter how everyone else thinks of him.”
Alera shook her head. “Baffling creatures. It is difficult enough for you to control your own thoughts, much less one another’s.”
Tavi smiled, his lips pressed tightly over his teeth. “How much longer before we’ll be able to send them a message and let them know that we’re coming?”
Alera’s eyes went distant for a moment before she spoke. “The vord seem to have realized how waterways are used for communications. They are damming many streams and have placed sentry furies to intercept messenger furies within all the major rivers and tributaries. They have almost entirely enveloped the coastlines of the western and southern shores of the continent. As a result, it seems unlikely that it will be possible to form a connection via the waterways until you have advanced several dozen miles inland from the coast, at the very least.”
Tavi grimaced. “We’ll have to send aerial messengers as soon as we’re close enough. I assume that the vord know we are coming.”
“That remains unclear,” Alera said. “But it seems a wise assumption to make. Where will you make landfall?”
“On the northwest coast, near Antillus,” Tavi replied. “If the vord are there, we will assist the city’s defenders and leave our civilians there before we march inland.”
“I am sure High Lord Antillus will be filled with pleasure at the notion of tens of thousands of Canim camping on his doorstep,” Alera murmured.
“I’m the First Lord,” Tavi said. “Or will be. He’ll get over it.”
“Not if the Canim devour his resources—his food stores, his livestock, his holders . . .”
Tavi grunted. “We’ll leave several crews of leviathan hunters behind us. I’m sure he won’t mind if a few dozen miles of his coastline are cleared of the beasts.”
“And how will you feed your army on the march inland?” Alera asked.
“I’m working on it,” Tavi said. He frowned. “If the vord aren’t stopped, all of my species is likely to be destroyed.”
Alera turned her glittering, shifting gemstone eyes to him. “Yes.”
“If that happens, who would you talk to?” Tavi asked.
The expression on her beautiful face was unreadable. “It isn’t an eventuality that concerns me.” She shook her head. “The vord are, in their way, almost as interesting as your own kind—if far more limited in flexibility of thought. And variety is nonexistent among them, in most senses of the word. They would likely grow quickly tiresome. But . . .” She shrugged. “What will be, will be.”
“And yet you’re helping us,” Tavi said. “The training. The information you can provide us. They are invaluable.”
She bowed her head to him. “It is a far cry from taking action against them. I am helping you, young Gaius. I am not harming them.”
“A very fine distinction.”
She shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“You tell me that you acted directly at the battle of Ceres.”
“When Gaius Sextus invoked my aid, he asked for prevailing conditions that would affect everything present with equal intensity.”
“But those conditions were more beneficial to the Alerans than the vord,” Tavi said.
“Yes. And they were within the limits I set forth to the House of Gaius a thousand years ago.” She shrugged. “So I did as he requested—just as I have moderated the weather for the fleet for the duration of this voyage, as you requested.” She tilted her head slightly. “It appears that you have survived your previous lesson. Shall we try again?”
Tavi pushed himself wearily to his feet.
The next attempt at flight lasted all of half a minute longer than the first, and he managed to come down in nice, soft snow instead of the icy water.
“Broken bones,” Alera said. “Excellent. An opportunity to practice watercrafting.”
Tavi looked up from his grotesquely twisted left leg. He ground his teeth and tried to push himself up, but his left arm gave out on him. The pain was unbelievable. He sank back into the snow and fumbled at his belt until his hand found the hilt of his dagger. A moment’s concentration, transferring his focus and his thought into the orderly crystalline matrix of high-grade steel, and the pain receded into the calm, detached lack of feeling that came with metalcrafting.
“I’m tired,” he said. His own voice felt unfastened, somehow, separate from the rest of him. “Bonesetting is taxing work.”
Alera smiled and began to answer when the pool of water exploded into a cloud of flying droplets and angry spray.
Tavi shielded his face against the sudden, icy deluge, and blinked at the pool as Kitai rose out of the water on a furycrafted column of liquid and dropped neatly to the cavern’s floor. She was a tall young woman of exotic beauty and extraordinary grace. Like that of most of the Marat, her hair was a soft, pure white. She had shaved it close to her skull on the sides while leaving a long, single mane running down the center of her head, after the fashion of the Horse tribe of the Marat. She was dressed in close-fitting blue and grey flying leathers. The clothes quite admirably displayed a slim physique, significantly more well muscled than an average Aleran girl’s. Her canted eyes were a brilliant green identical to Tavi’s own, and they were bright and hard.
“Aleran!” she snapped, her voice ringing back from the frozen walls. Her anger was a palpable thing, a fire that Tavi could feel inside his own belly.
He winced.
Kitai stalked over to him and placed her fists upon her hips. “I have been speaking to Tribune Cymnea. She informs me that you have been treating me like a whore.”
Tavi blinked. Several times. “Um. What?”
“Don’t you dare play innocent with me, Aleran,” she spat. “If anyone is in a position to know, it is Cymnea.”
Tavi struggled to make sense of Kitai’s statements. Cymnea was the Tribune Logistica of the First Aleran Legion—but before circumstance and emergency had forced her into becoming Tribune Cymnea, she had been Mistress Cymnea, proprietor of the Pavilion, the finest house of ill repute in the camp following the Legion.
“Kitai,” Tavi said, “I don’t understand.”
“Augh!” she said, and flung her hands in the air. “How can such a brilliant commander be such an idiot?” She turned to Alera, pointed a
n accusing finger at Tavi, and said, “Explain it to him.”
“I feel I am hardly qualified,” Alera replied calmly.
Kitai turned back to Tavi. “Cymnea tells me that it is custom, among your people, that those who wish to be wed to one another do not lie together before they make their vows. This is a ridiculous custom—but it is the way of the Citizenry.”
Tavi glanced at Alera and felt his cheeks warm a little. “Um. Yes, well, that’s the proper way to go about it, but it isn’t what everyone always does . . .”
“She informs me,” Kitai continued, “that those of your rank commonly take courtesans to your bed for simple pleasure—and set such baubles aside once you have found a proper wife.”
“I . . . some young Citizens do that, yes, but—”
“We have been together for years,” Kitai said. “We have shared a bed and pleasured one another on a daily basis. For years. And you are finally becoming competent.”
Tavi thought his cheeks might actually burst into flame. “Kitai!”
“I am informed that the fact that we have been together for so long will be the source of much mockery and outrage among the Citizens of Alera. That they universally regard me as the Princeps’ whore.” She scowled. “And for some baffling reason, that is considered to be a very bad thing.”
“Kitai, you aren’t—”
“I will not be treated that way,” she snarled. “You idiot. You face problems enough in assuming the Crown without giving your enemies in the Citizenry such an obvious weakness to exploit. How dare you allow me to be a means by which you are brought to harm?”
Tavi just stared at her helplessly.
The anger faded from her expression. “Of course,” she said, her voice very quiet, “this all assumes that you intend me to be your wife.”
“Honestly, Kitai, I hadn’t . . . I hadn’t even thought about it.”
Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open in an expression of something almost like horror. “You . . . you hadn’t?” She swallowed. “You plan to take another?”