Unbroken Chain

by Jaleigh Johnson

  “Don’t do that,” Darnae said. “If you left, you would be missed, by your companions and by me. Tempus must have something in mind for you to serve this city.”

  “Do you have faith in the warrior god, Darnae?” Ashok asked.

  Darnae laughed. “I’m a messenger and sometimes I’m a singer,” she said. “These things do not make an army—a poet, perhaps, but not an army. But I see you, Ashok, and I have faith in you.”

  “You don’t know everything about me,” Ashok said.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Tatigan agreed. He blew on his spectacle lenses and wiped them on his shirt sleeve. “But you can hardly blame her for that. In the span of time, you shadar-kai are such a young race,” he said, “and so much time spent under Netheril’s influence. Now that enough of you have broken with the empire, you’re all scrambling around, trying to survive. You have no time to learn about yourselves.”

  “What is there for us to learn?” Ashok said. “We are shadow. We know where we come from, and we know what fate awaits us if we fade.”

  “Yes, and that knowledge lessens whatever life you might make for yourselves in between,” Tatigan said. “She’s a singer”—he gestured at Darnae—“but there are no poets among the shadar-kai, no artists, no craftsmen who take such pride in their work as to elevate it to the definition of their race.”

  “You’re not being fair, Tatigan,” Darnae said, chiding the merchant. “I know that the shadar-kai forge masters are considered great artists, masters of their craft. What can you say to that?”

  Tatigan shook his head. “A small progression,” he replied. “To forge weapons of death in fires that can easily take an eye or a hand … There can be great art in savagery, I grant you, but I was speaking of poets—singers, not battle drums. A battle hymn is different from a love poem.”

  “Maybe we’re not capable of poetry,” Ashok said.

  Tatigan leaned back in his chair. “Not yet, perhaps,” he said. “You have no rich history to preserve in song or story. But if Ikemmu survives, your race might one day be capable of great works.”

  “And if we’re not?” asked Ashok.

  “You preserved Darnae’s song,” Tatigan said. “You must have seen some value in it. And anyway, she’s already declared you her hero, so how can you argue?”

  “You see?” Darnae said. She grinned and poured more wine.

  Ashok drank, and listened while they talked, and for the first time in his life he felt peace without fear. In Darnae’s shop, on the edge of an uncertain fate, he could be himself without fear of losing himself. He only wished the feeling could last.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  WHEN ASHOK RETURNED TO TOWER ATHANON HE INTENDED ONLY to rest a short while and head out again to try to visit Chanoch in the dungeons. He needed to see the young warrior, to make sure that he wasn’t suffering, and to confirm the feelings stirring in him after his conversation with Tatigan and Darnae.

  Despite the halfling’s faith and Uwan’s, Ashok knew his presence in Ikemmu was a detriment to the city. If Vedoran was right, and unrest was brewing among the other religions, Ashok needed to leave before it exploded into an all out conflict.

  A dark one waited outside Ashok’s room. He recognized it as the same one who’d brought him food after his nightmares.

  “A message for you, come from Makthar,” the dark one said. “The cleric Natan wishes your company. If you cannot speak to him at Makthar, he will be glad to come here.”

  Ashok sighed. “Tell him I’ll come to Makthar at once,” he said.

  Natan received him in what Ashok thought must be the main chapel room for followers of Tempus. There were no benches, and the room was dimly lit by candles. The sword of Tempus was carved into the wall, as large and as ominous-looking as the day Ashok had first awoken in Ikemmu.

  He’d woken up in a new world and emerged from that world a different being—except that he had no idea where he truly belonged. He could not go home, and he could not stay in Ikemmu under the shadow of that sword.

  Natan came across the room to greet him. Ashok had expected the cleric to look well given that his sister’s safety was assured, but if anything, Natan appeared even more haggard than he’d been the last time Ashok had seen him.

  A creeping fear stole over him, and Ashok blurted out, before Natan could utter any pleasantries, “What’s happened? Is she all right?”

  Natan looked briefly taken aback, then his face softened, and he clasped Ashok’s arm. “I knew it was right to come to you,” he said. “Tempus forgive me—I had my doubts about you before, but no longer.”

  “Tell me she’s well,” Ashok said.

  “Physically, she is well,” Natan said. “In other respects, she suffers, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “Yes,” Ashok said. “Has she spoken of her ordeal?”

  “No,” Natan said, and a look of frustration crossed his face. “She has not spoken to me. She will not see me.”

  “Give her time,” Ashok said. “The memories of her prison cell …” He wasn’t sure how much to say. It wasn’t his place, if Ilvani wouldn’t speak of it. “I was there, and what I saw won’t soon fade from my mind. For Ilvani, the agony is a thousand times worse.”

  Natan put a hand over his eyes. “I know,” he said. “But that is just what aches. She is my sister. We are very different—she is different, as I’m sure you also know—but we could always talk to each other. When her speech didn’t make sense to anyone, I understood her.” His voice hardened. “Yet now I’m helpless. She won’t let me help her. She has sealed herself in her chamber and won’t admit anyone. I cannot”—his voice shook—“sit idle, as I have done for a month and more, while she suffers.”

  Ashok stayed silent while Natan unburdened himself. When the cleric finished, he looked a hundred years old. Ashok realized then that not one but two shadar-kai had emerged from that slaughter room, and both had been deeply scarred by their experience.

  “Perhaps,” Ashok said cautiously, “if only for now, you shouldn’t think of Ilvani as your sister.”

  “What?” Natan looked stricken. “How else could I see her?”

  “The person I took out of that cage is not the same person you knew here in Ikemmu,” Ashok said. Natan flinched, but Ashok didn’t spare him. “Ilvani suffered and was made to watch her companions be tortured to death in the most hideous ways imaginable. You and I cannot comprehend what she had to do to endure, what she had to give up of herself. Whoever she is now, she is not the sister you knew. You have to stop treating her as if she were.”

  Natan was silent. The words hurt, but Ashok could see him considering them. He nodded, reluctantly, after a time, and looked up at the sword on the wall.

  “Why did He give her this burden?” he asked. “What they did to her … it was not an honorable death in battle; it was a death of the mind and spirit. Why did Tempus not give her the strength to defeat her enemies?”

  “This wasn’t Tempus’s doing,” Ashok said. “Mortals did this. The gods—what do they care to preserve or ruin one life? What are we to them, truly? I would be afraid if the gods took such an interest in me, for good or for evil.”

  Natan looked at him in confusion. “You don’t want a god to act on your behalf, as Tempus has done?”

  Ashok shook his head. “I don’t know that he’s acted for my benefit,” he said. “But if he has, I question why he took such an interest in a single life. There are bigger concerns in the world.”

  “But what if a single life can change the fates of many?” Natan said, and Ashok saw some of the fire rekindled in his gaze. “Wouldn’t that be worth a god’s attention?”

  “I don’t have that in me,” Ashok said. “You think too highly of me. Uwan thinks too highly of me.”

  “Perhaps,” Natan said. “But you changed my sister’s fate. That’s enough to place you in my highest esteem, for the rest of my life.” He smiled faintly. “And now I’m here, asking you to help me again.” />
  “What do you want me to do?” Ashok said wearily.

  “Speak to Ilvani for me,” Natan said.

  Ashok sighed. “I don’t believe she would welcome that,” he said.

  “I think you’re wrong,” Natan said. “You’ve made me see that she is in a terrible, dark place, a place where she doesn’t recognize herself, let alone the ones who care about her. Knowing that, I think of all the beings in the world, the only one she will speak to is the one who knows what it feels like in the dark. You are that person.”

  “If she says no,” Ashok warned, “that’ll be the end of it. I won’t press her.”

  “I understand,” Natan said. “Will you go to her now?”

  Ashok shook his head. “No,” he said. “There’s something I need to do first.”

  Natan started to argue but seemed to think better of it. “Chanoch,” he said.

  Ashok nodded. He started to turn away, then abruptly he said, “Do you believe in forgiveness?” He kept the bitterness from his voice, but it was a struggle.

  Natan smiled sadly, as if he saw every bit of Ashok’s internal struggle. “I do,” he said. “But the rule of this city is not mine. We put our lives in Uwan’s hands and must trust his judgment.”

  “And Tempus’s?” Ashok asked.

  “Yes,” said Natan.

  “Because Tempus would never choose someone unworthy to serve Ikemmu,” Ashok said.

  “Never,” Natan said. His faith restored, he put his hand on his chest and bowed his head to the sword on the wall.

  When he raised his head a breath later, Ashok was on his way to the door.

  “I’ll speak to Ilvani soon,” Ashok promised, and left before Natan could say anything more.

  The walk from Tower Makthar to the forges and pens was not a long one, but as Ashok entered the caves the Tet bell tolled. He’d been out of Athanon during his rest time and beyond. Olra would be missing him for his Camborr training.

  Strange how in the short amount of time he’d spent in Ikemmu, he’d come to think of the day to day activities as routine, as if they and his companionship with Skagi, Cree, and the others had always been a part of his life.

  He would miss them when he left.

  He walked past the pens with their howling beasts and the cawing crows and ravens, and headed up the passage to the dungeons. The deeper he went into the caves, the more sound became muffled, until the animal cries died completely, and he could no longer smell the forge smoke.

  His breath fogged the air, and the torches along the walls became sparse. Ashok was about to turn around, thinking he’d gone the wrong way, when he saw a pair of guards up ahead of him in the passage. They flanked a wooden door with bars at head level.

  Ashok nodded to both of them. “I’ve come to see Chanoch,” he said.

  The guards exchanged a glance. “No one’s to see prisoners sentenced to solitary,” one said.

  Ashok remembered when he’d stood on the edge of the Span with Vedoran, how he’d been able to get the guard to leave because the man was unsure of his place in the hierarchy.

  “Do you know who I am?” he said imperiously.

  The guard on his left murmured, “The emissary of Tempus.”

  Ashok suppressed a shudder at the reverence in his voice. “Uwan has given me leave to speak with the prisoner, who is still a warrior of Ikemmu and a devoted servant of Tempus,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Let me pass.”

  The guards exchanged another uncertain glance, but then they stepped aside, and one of them unlocked the door and gestured Ashok through.

  A single candle burned in the small room, which was taken up by three smaller cells—glorified boxes, Ashok thought. Chanoch was in the farthest cell, chained to the wall. His face was covered with a black hood so he couldn’t see to teleport. The other cells were empty.

  Chanoch raised his head at Ashok’s approach and tried to shift against the chains. “Since when do you speak in Tempus’s name?” he asked. Ashok heard the wry amusement in the young one’s voice.

  “Are you offended?” he asked, with a good humor he didn’t feel.

  “No, but Tempus will be,” Chanoch said. “I’ll speak to Him on your behalf. We’ll preserve your soul, whether you like it or not.”

  “It’s your soul I’m worried about right now,” Ashok said quietly. He pressed his back against the cage bars and slid to the floor, unwilling to speak to the black hood. He could feel the shadows already waiting in the dark. “It’s so quiet,” he said. “There’s nothing to hear in this place but echoes.”

  “Time enough to listen to your own thoughts,” Chanoch said. He sounded tired. “You shouldn’t be afraid for me.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Ashok said.

  “I brought this fate on myself,” Chanoch argued. “Lord Uwan, he knows—”

  “Don’t … speak to me of Uwan,” Ashok said. The anger rose in him, threatening to become something ugly. “The leader you idolized sentenced you to die alone in the dark.”

  “Not alone,” Chanoch said. “Uwan came here twice in the last day to sit with me, so that I wouldn’t be afraid.”

  “Gods,” Ashok exclaimed, putting his head in his hands. “It’s a waste, all of it. It should be me.”

  “No,” Chanoch said firmly. “You’re going to serve Ikemmu.”

  “I’m not staying, Chanoch. As soon as”—As soon as you die—“when I can, I’m leaving the city.”

  That stopped him. Ashok could imagine the look of horror on Chanoch’s face. “Where will you go?” the young shadar-kai asked, shaken.

  “Does it matter? There will be another emissary, another servant of Tempus. Have faith,” Ashok said blithely.

  “We’re not speaking of Tempus,” Chanoch said. “I thought … you’d found a place here. I hoped you’d found companions.”

  “I did,” Ashok said. “But that’s over now. You’re here, I don’t know where Skagi and Cree are, and Vedoran …”

  That was over too. Vedoran knew, or at least suspected, Ashok’s involvement with the enemy enclave. Whether he would reveal what he knew remained to be seen, but it was yet one more reason for Ashok to leave. He did not fear Ikemmu’s punishment so much as he feared seeing the faces of his companions when he was exposed as a betrayer and a murderer of his own people. To have their faith in him disappointed was more than Ashok could bear.

  And Ilvani …

  For her to know his part in her capture … No, let him leave having done one good thing for Ikemmu and its shadar-kai. Though he despised what was happening to Chanoch, he would not trade his short time in Ikemmu for the life he’d been living.

  “Chanoch,” he said.

  Silence.

  “Chanoch,” Ashok said urgently.

  “I’m here,” Chanoch said. His voice was faint. He coughed and said again, his voice stronger, “I’m here. It’s just I’m so tired, Ashok. I’ve never felt so weary before.”

  Ashok swallowed. “It’s all right,” he said. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll come back to see you again tomorrow, if you want. So you won’t be alone.”

  “I’d like that,” Chanoch said sleepily.

  Ashok pressed his forehead against the bars, letting the cold metal numb him. They didn’t speak anymore, and eventually, for the first time in days, Ashok slept.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  HE RETURNED THE FOLLOWING DAY AFTER HIS TRAINING SESSION with Olra, who didn’t question his absence the day before. Ashok thought word must have reached Uwan of his visit to Chanoch as the guards didn’t question him again. And so every day after his training, he went into the caves and back to the cell where Chanoch waited. The young one was strong, but every day he grew a little weaker.

  They talked of many things during those visits. Ashok asked about Ikemmu and Chanoch’s journey to the city. Like Ashok, he’d been born on the Shadowfell plain, the child of a small enclave. His mother had been killed by a childless woman who’d tried to take Chanoch a
s her own, but Chanoch had run away rather than be claimed as another’s son.

  A patrol found him wandering the plain, half-starved, bleeding, and feral. They brought him to Ikemmu and tried to foster him with several shadar-kai, but he’d attacked them all. In the end a cleric at Makthar had taken him in, and that’s when he had found Tempus. The cleric arranged for him to join the military and swear the oath to Tempus.

  “You were going to become a cleric yourself?” Ashok asked.

  “I think so, yes. It wasn’t an easy decision. I love the fighting. There are times I can’t sit still. But my mentor said that my prayers in battle would level the enemy. He knew that I would fight for my city and my god.”

  “What happened to him?” Ashok asked. “Your mentor?”

  “I’ll see him soon,” Chanoch said.

  Days passed, and on the tenth, Chanoch barely greeted him. Ashok sat in his customary spot with his back to the bars and listened to Chanoch’s faint breathing.

  “I’m going to see Ilvani today,” he said. “Natan asked me to speak to her. He’s worried that she’s not recovering from her ordeal.”

  He got no reply from the cell. Ashok turned to look at the hooded figure.

  “Chanoch,” he said, but his voice came out in a haggard whisper. “Chanoch,” he said, louder.

  Chanoch’s head came up a fraction. Shadows seemed to bleed from his skin. The heralds of death and decay, Ashok thought. He’d heard the humans speak of their bodies feeding the earth when they died. Chanoch’s flesh would feed the Shadowfell.

  Ashok reached through the bars and through the shadows to remove Chanoch’s hood.

  Blinking in the sudden light, Chanoch looked at him through half-closed eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a hiss of air escaped. Chanoch’s lips moved, but his words were gone. He had no voice.

  Ashok gripped the bars helplessly. “I don’t … Say it again, Chanoch,” he said roughly. “I can’t hear you.”

  Chanoch stopped speaking. He nodded, smiled at Ashok, then turned his head to the side. He was looking at something in the corner of the cell. Ashok followed his gaze, but he saw nothing, only the shadows.