by Ryk E. Spoor
She held up her hand. “Tobimar. I’m . . . somewhere in between; sex is a special thing, but not the sacred thing your people make it. So I can understand both sides. But believe me, I appreciate your hesitation. And it’s fine. Besides, as Poplock pointed out, we’re trying to keep him a secret, and in any case I don’t want to risk the damage Poplock could do on his own.”
“I beg to point out,” the Toad said dryly, “that it wasn’t me who incinerated two hundred yards of tunnel and forest in one blast.”
“True enough. So, o cautious and non-destructive Toad, any new observations before we go?”
“A few. I was thinking about those Eternal Servant things, and how hard they should be to make, and then I remembered that the Wanderer said something about that.”
“He did? I don’t remember him saying anything about golems or automata,” Tobimar said, strapping on his swords.
Poplock was almost done replacing his equipment in his pack. “Not in so many words, no. But he said something about magic placed into items being more common.”
Kyri nodded, making sure her Raiment was as spotless as possible by surveying herself in the full-length mirror. “You’re right, he said it was like that in Elyvias as well. So maybe it’s easier to make such things here than it would be in our part of the world.”
“Could be,” Poplock confirmed. “What little tests I’ve been able to do have seemed to show that making physical things with magic—alchemical tricks and such—are easier than just calling up the magic and letting fly with no physical channel. Even so,” he continued, hopping to his accustomed place on Tobimar’s shoulder, “that kind of thing’s not going to be easy, and to have made hundreds . . . I want to meet this ‘Master Wieran’ of theirs.”
“I can’t blame you,” Tobimar said. “For my part, we were able to show that there used to be an ancient tower near the center of town, in that park with the huge tree in the middle, but given that they’re trying to keep some of the facts about us quiet we couldn’t ask about it in more detail. I’m hoping we can get some of that settled tonight.”
Kyri knew just how important that was now. If Tobimar was right, one of the Seven Stars might be here—buried under the ruins of the tower, perhaps. The thought was enough to send a chill down her spine; she followed Myrionar, she respected many gods, but Terian was the shining beacon that even other deities looked to. What must it mean to Tobimar, whose family—whose entire country—followed Terian’s guidance?
“Are we ready?” Poplock asked.
“I think so,” Kyri said. “Remember, I am simply Phoenix, or Justiciar Phoenix. I see no reason to reveal other names, and since I’m on duty . . .”
“Oh, none of us are arguing,” Tobimar said. “We’re hiding Poplock’s existence as our equal, and in my case we’re going to say nothing of my family name or background unless we have to. There’s something wrong here, behind all the perfection, and this means we’d better be doubly careful.”
“Then . . . let’s go!”
Miri was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, bouncing from foot to foot with energetic excitement. “Oh, there you are!” she said.
“Good thing you came down now,” Dania said, and looked fondly at the diminutive Light. “Miri was about to wear a hole in the floor pacing.”
A slight rose tint touched Miri’s startlingly fair cheeks—lighter than almost any skin Kyri had seen—and she gave an embarrassed laugh. “Well, it’s so . . . exciting!” she said, repeating herself from the prior night. “Come on, I’ve got a coach for us!”
Kyri found herself smiling as well. There was something infectiously cheerful about Miri’s boundless enthusiasm. “Lead on, then!”
The coach was, like everything they’d seen in Kaizatenzei thus far, beautiful in every aspect: wood polished to a mirror gloss, ornamented with carven vines outside and lit within by a soft, forest-green luminance that emanated from the roof of the coach. One of the Eternal Servants drove the coach, which was drawn by four sithigorns, of a breed Kyri had never seen—black with gold-edged tailfeathers. The overall effect was striking.
Miri insisted on them getting in first, then bounded in and sat across from them. “To the Manse, Quickhand,” she called up to the driver.
“Yes, Light Miri,” the Servant said, and the team of giant birds immediately began pulling the coach along.
“So the ‘Manse’ is the local ruler’s home?” Kyri asked. “Would that be the Color you mentioned, Kerrim?”
“Oh, no, Kerrim isn’t the ruler here. That would be Reflect Haldengen.”
“Reflect?” repeated Tobimar. “That’s a title?”
“Yes. You of course can’t help but notice that we’ve built our whole country around the theme of light—something you’ll understand more, I think, as you stay here—and the city . . . ruler, head, whatever you might call it, is called a ‘Reflect’ because something that reflects returns light to those it is directed upon.”
That made sense to Kyri; symbolically it meant that the ruler was reminded that their job was to make the world better for those being ruled. “An inherited position?”
“Oh, no. We have almost no inherited positions in Kaizatenzei, at least not in government!” Miri’s voice held a note of pique, as though the very idea was an offense. “Reflects are elected by a general vote of the population, once every five years. It’s of course not uncommon for a Reflect to maintain that position for a long time, if he or she does a good job, and in fact Haldengen has been Reflect of Murnitenzei for seventy-three years as of today.”
That was a long time. “With such time of service, I venture to guess that he’s either extremely old, or not entirely human.”
“Oh, very good. Haldengen Baldersedge is his full name.”
The significance of the name did not escape her. “An Odinsyrnen, then. So he has ruled to the approval of the population for that long? I look forward to meeting him.”
“No more than he’s looking forward to meeting you. I’m hoping that the Lady herself will be able to come. She said she’d let me know if she could.”
Tobimar raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Your own ruler? The Lady of Light, you called her? But wouldn’t she be in your capital?”
Miri smiled, this time with that particular narrowing of eyes that says I have a secret! “Oh, yes. But still she may tell me she will come, and then you shall see indeed.”
Kyri saw a tiny movement from Poplock—one of the trivial-seeming movements they’d agreed upon for various signaling purposes. Tobimar acknowledged Miri’s secretiveness with a chuckle. “I see there’s something you want to show off later. I notice a lot of magic—the lights along the road, the Eternal Servants of course, the clean stoves within the inn we stayed at, and so on. You must have many powerful wizards here.”
“Well, of wizards we have relatively few—if by that you mean those who cast spells freestanding, so to speak. Many alchemists, gemcallers, summoners, a few symbolists and chosen of various religions, that sort of thing. You’ll be meeting one of the best in the magical arts tonight—I’m sure that Hiriista will be there.”
Kyri kept her face neutral, but she could see the satisfaction in Tobimar’s eyes. That fit exactly with what they had deduced. Magical activity connected to material media—alchemical products and devices, the spirit housings of summoners, and so on—was highly functional here, making up for the difficulty of direct application of mystical or deific power. “That’s very different from home,” she said. “There, impressing magical energies into any object is a more difficult project, and while I’ve heard the term gemcaller, I’ve never met one, and I’m honestly not even sure what it means.”
Poplock’s mouth tightened with heroic resolve, preventing him from entering a conversation obviously dear to his heart. She wondered if he’d explode sometime during this party from sheer frustration. But they all agreed that Poplock had demonstrated just how deadly he could be when his presence, or capabilities, were unknown, an
d even under these conditions Poplock had himself insisted he remain an apparently stupid, harmless toad as long as possible.
Miri shrugged. “Actually, I’m not terribly well versed in that either, but you can ask old Hiriista if he’s there.” She looked out the window. “Oh, we’re almost there!”
The Manse was a lovely home, much of it carved out of and into the stump of some gargantuan tree, fifty feet high and seventy feet across, showing that something awe-inspiring had once stood here. Flowing out from the wooden bulwark that formed its central pillar, the remainder of the Manse was constructed in harmony with that source; even in the fading light of sunset she could see that the wood had been carefully matched, the polished stone facings chosen for their complementary color and patterns.
Golden light shone from the windows, and she could hear music faintly echoing through the air as they drew nearer, accompanied by the susurration of distant conversation and laughter. A pang of memory struck her heart as she remembered the so-similar sounds and lights of another party, the one in which her brother celebrated his selection as a Justiciar. There was the same air of joy, of wonder and faith, that had been in the air that day, too.
Once more she was struck by the rightness of everything in Kaizatenzei; even their construction was of a piece with everything else they had seen. Yet by the Wanderer’s warnings, and by those of Myrionar, she knew there had to be something else, something darker, waiting somewhere near. What is hidden here? How is it hidden? Will we get our answers here?
“Here we are!” Miri said, and bounced from the coach before it had even quite stopped. “Come on, I can’t wait to introduce you!”
“Coming, Light Miri,” Tobimar said with exaggerated formality. As they alighted, they exchanged glances.
All eyes open. All senses alert.
Let’s see what mystery awaits here!
CHAPTER 17
One major advantage of being thought a dumb animal was that you could look at pretty much everything whenever, and however, you wanted, and no one would even notice, let alone wonder why you were looking; at most they’d pick you up and throw you out, or return you to your apparent owner. Poplock smiled to himself. He’d spent almost four years in Zarathanton honing that skill, disappearing underfoot or being ignored sitting on a low table or wagon.
It did require a lot of patience and restraint, of course, and even with the signals they’d worked out, there were going to be plenty of times he had to just hope the others did the right things. But on the other hand, he might be able to learn things no one else could.
The three humans alighted from the coach and walked up a curving, gently illuminated pathway to the double doors at the front of the Manse. The doors stood open on this warm, pleasant evening, the light spilling from them to guide visitors inward. Poplock caught a passing darterfly and was reminded anew of the perfection of the place. Which keeps me suspicious. Nothing’s perfect, not without gods meddling. And when gods meddle, little mortals get hurt.
As the three paused in the entryway, adjusting to the brightness, Poplock surveyed the room. He was impressed; Sha Murnitenzei wasn’t a huge city, not compared to Zarathanton, but even so there was quite a turnout for this shindig, as his distant cousin Lormok might have put it. He guessed there must be over a hundred people in the brightly lit hall. And you’d think this would be a pretty select party. But maybe not, they seem to act as though everyone’s basically equal.
“We’re here, everybody!” Miri announced to the room at large as they entered. Heads turned, and a ripple of laughter chased around the hallway. Everyone’s smiling—kind of smile you give to someone you like. She’s popular here, and this informality’s almost certainly part of it.
That happened to put Light Miri right up at the top of Poplock’s suspicious list. He didn’t have any evidence, of course, but it made sense. If the baddies could use this overpowering goodness as a cloak, then the best disguise would be as the nicest person you could find—and as someone with enough power and authority to go anywhere and do anything, which seemed to be what a Light did.
Of course, she could just be as nice as she appeared, in which case she might be in more danger than anyone else once the real baddies showed up.
Many of the partygoers immediately gravitated towards them, but the mass parted in the center to let through the short but impeccably dressed form of a Child of Odin. He was clean-shaven, which was rather what Poplock had expected—his name implied a follower of Balder, who was depicted by the Odinsyrnen as clean-shaven—but his silver-and-gold hair was very long, reaching almost to his knees, and while styled was not restrained in any way.
“Haldengen Baldersedge,” Miri said, a touch more formally, “allow me to present to you a Justiciar of Myrionar, called the Phoenix, and an Adventurer of—Zarathanton, was it?—yes, Zarathanton, named Tobimar. They have crossed the mountains themselves to come here.” She turned to Kyri and Tobimar. “Phoenix, Tobimar, allow me to present to you Halgenden Baldersedge, Reflect of Sha Murnitenzei.”
“An honor to meet you, sir,” Tobimar said, with Kyri making a similar greeting.
“Not at all, not at all,” Halgenden said. “Far more an honor to meet you. Crossed over through the Pass of Night? By the Light in Darkness, that’s a feat I never thought I’d hear of, let alone done by some coming from the other side. Decidedly impressive, I must say.”
The phrase Light in Darkness got Poplock’s attention, especially since he could feel Tobimar’s shoulder tense on hearing it. They’d seen no temples that appeared dedicated to Terian, but “The Light in the Darkness” was one of the most common of his titles. Interesting.
“Thank you, sir,” Kyri began, and Halgenden shook his head.
“None of this ‘sir’ business, or ‘Reflect’ or any of that dustballery! You call me Halgen, like everyone else who’s not mad at me, and I’ll call you Phoenix and him Tobimar, yes?”
Kyri laughed. “All right, Halgen.”
“Agreed, Halgen,” Tobimar said with his own smile.
“Let me introduce you around, here.” He gestured to another Odinsyrnen, a very pretty woman (at least as far as Poplock’s admittedly limited judgment of humanoid beauty was concerned) of about Halgen’s apparent age and as solid has he. “This is Freldena Baldersedge; I’m her husband, and a lucky one as well, given that her family’s been—”
“Frigga’s name, Halgen, you needn’t bring all that up!” Freldena said in a mildly exasperated tone. Her fond smile took the edge from the rebuke. “Honored to meet you both, Phoenix, Tobimar.”
After they exchanged greetings, Halgen continued introducing them—two dozen introductions in the space of a few minutes, which Poplock knew would lead to Kyri and Tobimar having to ask most of them their names again shortly. He was pretty sure the one that would stick was that of Hulda, Freldena and Halgen’s daughter, who looked to be an adorable six years old and knew how to play on that—clearly the darling of the party.
“So, I hope you’re enjoying your visit to Murnitenzei, Phoenix, Tobimar,” Halgen said, leading them over to a table laden with mostly-unfamiliar foods—though Poplock could see parallels to some of the cuisines he’d seen in Zarathanton.
“Very much so, Halgen,” Tobimar said, starting to load up a plate at Halgen’s gesture inviting him to do so. “Not something we expected, I’ll tell you!”
Most of those around laughed. “No, I wouldn’t think so!” Freldena said. “So on the other side of the mountains, it’s like this, then, not like the forest outside our walls?”
“Not exactly like this,” Kyri said. “But not monstrous like that, no, definitely not.”
“Then what in the name of the Seven Lights brought you here?” Halgen demanded mildly. “Even one like Miri, here, wouldn’t assay that crossing without an exceedingly good reason!”
Poplock hid his grin. This was another area they’d had to discuss and plan out; they needed someone to ask that question and bring up the subject so that they coul
d turn the questions around and find out things about this place. And we had to know what story we wanted to tell, to keep from revealing things we don’t want told.
“We had a few reasons, actually,” Tobimar answered. “In Phoenix’s country—which is just the other side of the Pass—we found evidence of a particularly vile conspiracy, and some of that evidence seemed to show that they had support from something on the other side of Rivendream Pass. Seeing this place rather throws doubt on that, though.”
“Do not go quite so fast, Tobimar,” Miri said, looking more grave than usual. “While it would seem almost beyond belief that anyone in Kaizatenzei proper could be involved in anything dark—and even less so in anything that contacts people we did not know existed—I would not exclude the possibility that something in the surrounding forest has had such contact and influence. Despite all our efforts of the centuries, the forest still surrounds us, presses against us, and yields only grudgingly to us; I would be unsurprised to find there is something more than mere dumb malice lurking there.”
She’s able to be serious and focused. Not surprising, but she sure works that bouncing, laughing girl business a lot.
“But you said a few reasons,” Halgen said, a question in his eyes.
“Well,” Tobimar said slowly, “the main other reason is that I’m chasing a legend.”
“Oooh! A legend! I love legends!” said Hulda brightly.
“So do I!” Miri agreed. “Can you tell us this one?”
“Well, it’s not the most happy story . . .”
“It’s okay,” Hulda said. “Some of the ones Father has told me aren’t always happy. Just let me know when you’re coming to really sad parts.”
“I’ll do that,” Tobimar promised.
The story Tobimar told was—pretty much—the one he’d told Poplock and, later, Xavier and Kyri, of the lost homeland, the flight to safety, and the unique curse that his ancestor had discovered and that now had fallen on him.
“But I had a few clues, and one of them was the way the oldest stories of my people began: ‘Long ago, when justice and vengeance lay just beyond the mountains.’ We’d known we were looking for some place on the other side of, and protected by, mountains, but when I remembered that old saying, it stuck with me. And then I realized that the country on the other side of the Pass from here—a country called Evanwyl—had as its patron deity a god called Myrionar, the god of Justice and Vengeance—I suddenly realized that I might have found my answer.”