The Iron Flower

by Laurie Forest

  Diana’s looking around at the panoramic view with relaxed curiosity, completely unfazed. Ni Vin also seems unaffected by our death-defying entrance. Only Marina meets my gaze with a wide-eyed look of lingering fright.

  “Weren’t you the least bit scared?” I say to Diana rather shrilly.

  She blinks at me as if I’m being a tad alarmist. “I smelled no fear from their entire party. It was clear some sorcery would create our path.”

  I flinch as the disc we’re standing on starts to descend down the central pole like a wheel on an axle, the horses fidgeting. The pole, close up, is as thick as a mammoth tree trunk, and formed by a long stack of glowing, rotating scarlet runes.

  “How did your people build a road like this?” I ask Valasca, astonished.

  Valasca shoots me a sly look. “Our rune-sorceresses bring together runic systems from all of our origin cultures. When we combine them, we can do more with them.” Her smile widens. “It gives us an incredible edge.”

  “I thought rune-sorcery was rare.”

  “It is. We only have twelve rune-sorceresses,” she tells me. “But they span almost every tradition in the known world. What they lack in numbers, they make up for in diversity. Which leads to enhanced power.”

  I look around, astonished by what they’ve accomplished with their rune-sorcery. Gardnerian wand magic pales in comparison to some of the things they’ve created here.

  Countless buildings densely cover the central valley. My eyes dart around, straining to take it all in from this height. There are so many styles of architecture here, unlike the mostly uniform Spine-stone styles of Verpacia or the unvarying Ironwood forest designs of Gardneria. It’s all varied and mixed—as if every type of architecture on Erthia was thrown into the valley and tossed with a mixing spoon.

  Long lines of glowing red trace the angles of each roof, casting the entire city in an otherworldly, scarlet glow. I point the glowing red lines out to Valasca as we descend, asking her what they are.

  “Lines of runes,” she says. “They power lights and stoves and such. When the different runic systems are melded, they turn red. Hence our rather monolithic color scheme.”

  The stone floor of an enormous circular plaza is gradually rising up to meet us, its tilework fashioned into a multicolored design made up of interlocking runes. The sound of female voices echoes everywhere, spread thick across the plaza and beyond—women shouting, women talking and laughing boisterously, women singing along to the melodic sound of string instruments. All women. No men.

  A crowd is gathering below us, the plaza illuminated by guttering light of countless torches that send up scarlet flame.

  An immense Spine-stone sculpture stands in the center of the plaza below, reminiscent of the statue of my grandmother back in Valgard. Only this monument depicts the Amaz Goddess in flowing garments, her belt a twining serpent. There’s a white dove on the Goddess’s shoulder, and the three First Sisters sit at her feet, gazing up at her adoringly. Below the First Sisters, a ring of small, horned deer prance.

  Beyond the Goddess sculpture lies the largest structure in the valley—a massive geodesic dome with a series of smaller domes attached to its base, like offshoots.

  “That’s the Queenhall, home to Queen Alkaia’s Council,” Valasca says proudly. “That’s where we’re going.”

  The Goddess statue rises up to tower over us as we finish our descent. We smoothly connect with the ground, the runes beneath us winking out of existence, and a ring of stone-faced, heavily armed soldiers in rune-marked scarlet tunics fall in to surround us, a throng of curious onlookers just beyond them.

  The Amaz all over the plaza are as varied as our own party. Urisk of every class. Alfsigr and Smaragdalfar Elves. Elfhollen, Ishkartan, Keltic, Noi—and even a few Gardnerians, their skin tinged with a green glow like mine, some of them with fastmarked hands. Many of the women seem to be of mixed heritage, like Andras and Professor Volya, and their clothing is as varied as they are.

  Only the black rune-tattoos on their faces mark them as uniformly Amaz.

  Every Amaz, save the young children, is heavily armed with rune-knives, swords or axes strapped to their bodies, along with many gleaming weapons I’ve never seen before. Even the very old women wear sly, curved knives hanging from intricately woven belts and small double-sided hatchets fastened to their arms.

  I think of Andras’s adept mastery in the use of so many weapons and remember what he told me about the Amaz training all children in a wide variety of weaponry and martial arts.

  Freyja points sharply at me and gives what sounds like a firm order to Valasca in another language. Valasca nods, then smiles and says something jauntily in return. I gather that Valasca’s response has been somewhat cheeky, as Freyja shoots her a stern look before riding up to the soldiers surrounding our party.

  Freyja confers with the soldiers, then rides off with nine of them toward the Queenhall, effectively splitting our numbers in half. The rest of us set off in the same direction as well, but slowly enough that Diana can now saunter beside me.

  The Queenhall is covered with a stunning mosaic design fashioned in every shade of scarlet and deep purple, its geometric surface edged with lines of glowing scarlet runes. Worked into the front of the dome is a gigantic arcing entrance framed by a carved ivory snake, its tail undulating out onto the plaza. Beyond the arch is a series of multicolored curtains, each receding layer draping slightly longer than the one before, giving the entryway the appearance of a lush, fabric tunnel.

  Rune-torches affixed to black spiraling posts bracket the Queenhall entrance and wash it in a crimson glow.

  A sizable crowd is assembling near the Queenhall, spilling out over half the plaza. The dense group parts as we near, and some of the women gasp as they catch sight of me, their eyes narrowing—the older ones in particular. Their hands instinctively reach for swords or axes, as the children are swiftly hidden from view or spirited away entirely.

  As we draw closer to the entrance, Valasca leans down to press her face against our horse, her eyes closed, reminding me of Andras’s runed-enhanced way with horses. I remember that some of the Amaz rune-tattoos confer the ability to speak to horses with one’s mind, among many other skills.

  Our horse slows, then stops, and Valasca dismounts. She helps me down, then gives the mare a pat and prods her to trot off with the other horses.

  The crowd is thickening around us, growing increasingly threatening in their demeanor. They’re rendered all the more intimidating by the crimson torchlight, the world of the plaza a menacing landscape of flickering red light and shadow.

  Diana glides closer to me in a protective stance, her wild eyes darting around, and Valasca’s hand comes to rest on my back. “Stay near me,” she whispers in my ear, her gaze carefully scanning the women around us.

  I glance over my shoulder at Marina, who shoots me an anxious look, her ocean eyes round with worry, her arm linked through Ni Vin’s. Ni Vin seems to have appointed herself as Marina’s bodyguard, her unscarred hand resting lightly on the hilt of the curved sword that hangs at her side, her face expressionless as she surveys the crowd.

  As we approach the Queenhall, I see that the huge rune-scaled, rose-skinned soldier has positioned herself between us and the curtained entryway, her mammoth frame blocking our way, her rune-axe gripped menacingly in both fists. We slow to a stop a few feet away from her, and the crowd’s belligerent muttering dies down.

  “Make way, Alcippe,” Valasca orders with a casual swipe of her hand. “The Gardnerian is here to speak with Queen Alkaia. You know this. And Freyja has ordered that it be so.”

  “No,” Alcippe growls, tightening her grip on her axe.

  “Alcippe, what are you doing?” Valasca asks, seeming genuinely confused. “This is Freyja’s decision.”

  Alcippe’s face takes on a look of deep disdain, and she spits out a derisive lau
gh. “Freyja has forgotten who she is. I am overriding her decision.”

  Valasca and Alcippe launch into an intense string of conversation in another language. Then, without warning—and to my immense horror—Alcippe snarls something at Valasca and starts toward me, hoisting her rune-axe.

  Fear bolts through me as Diana yanks me roughly behind her and Valasca pulls out a knife, leveling it at Alcippe.

  The warrior freezes midstep, eyeing the small, glinting blade.

  A very small blade, I note, heart hammering, compared to Alcippe’s terrifyingly huge weapon.

  Valasca raises her palm. “Stand down, Alcippe. You are outmatched.”

  Alcippe laughs contemptuously and glances around at the women encircling us, the crowd mirroring her hostility. “I think not,” she counters, taking another threatening step forward.

  “Queen Alkaia must have the final say!” Valasca insists, standing her ground. She’s a good deal shorter than Alcippe, slender and sinewy in her build. I wonder if she’s completely given leave of her senses to take on this monster of a warrior.

  Alcippe’s eyes cut to mine, blazing with ferocity. “I will not have that evil creature defile the air Queen Alkaia breathes! Move aside, Valasca!”

  “Alcippe, please, stand down,” Valasca persists, rune-blade still out, refusing to give an inch. Alcippe’s eyes dart toward the knife again as she hesitates, looking both hell-bent on murder and deeply conflicted.

  Then, to my overwhelming and blessed surprise, she lowers her rune-axe and steps aside with angry reluctance.

  Diana, who always amazes me with her ability to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, gestures haughtily toward Alcippe’s heavy weapon, her expression contemptuous. “You think you can subdue us with that toy of yours?”

  “Toy?” Alcippe lurches forward and growls through gritted teeth. “You will not think it a toy when it splits your head down the middle, Lupine!”

  In a flash, Diana is crouched, her eyes bright and feral, lips pulled back to expose her teeth. Claws form and fur spreads over the hand she now has arced over her head. “Take one more step, Amaz,” Diana says very slowly, flexing her wickedly curving claws, “and I will add your head to the collection I’ve ripped from the necks of my former enemies.”

  Just as all hell seems about to break loose, Marina launches herself between Diana and Alcippe, her gills flying open. She opens her mouth and lets out one of her unearthly, flute-like tones. Everyone turns to look at her, caught off guard by the eerie sound.

  Marina pulls back her hood, and the crowd gasps in surprise. She looks around worriedly, then tenses her neck and pulls her gills in flat. “We are here to beg for your help. To rescue my people.”

  Murmurs of “The Selkie speaks!” can be heard all around, as well as cries of astonishment in a multitude of languages.

  “We need your help.” Marina looks to Alcippe entreatingly. “Please. I beg of you.”

  Alcippe stills, then turns to glare at Diana for a good, long moment, a storm of rage in her rose-colored eyes. Diana, never one to back down from a fight, is more than happy to meet the warrior’s glare, her lips curled into a scary smile.

  Alcippe’s mouth tenses, her hands so tight on her weapon that her knuckles have paled, but she steps back and stands down. “Out of respect for the Selkie,” she announces, her eyes tight on Diana, “and only because of her, I will not kill you right now, Lupine.”

  Valasca, Marina and I breathe a collective sigh of relief.

  Diana gives a disdainful snort. “And I will let you keep your head for another day, Amaz.”

  Alcippe’s posture stiffens, and Valasca shoots Diana a look of fierce censure.

  “Thank you,” Marina says gratefully to Alcippe. She sends Diana a desperate glance, as if silently pleading with her to stay silent, before turning back to Alcippe once more. “Thank you for your compassion.”

  This showing of respect seems to mollify the rose-haired warrior. She nods curtly at Marina and storms into the Queenhall, the others in the crowd slowly filtering in after her.

  I round on Diana. “Do you really collect the ‘heads of your former enemies’?”

  Diana waves a dismissive hand. “That is irrelevant.”

  “Irrelevant?”

  “Yes, irrelevant.”

  “Diana, she’s the biggest, scariest soldier here. And you threaten to tear her head off?”

  Diana flips her long blond hair over her shoulder and brings her hand to her hip. “She. Was. Rude.”

  “You promised to be diplomatic!”

  Diana straightens her posture and glares at me imperiously. “I am the daughter of Gunther Ulrich. There is only so much I am willing to put up with.”

  “Well, then,” I snap, “at least let me do the talking while we’re in front of the queen!”

  “Fine,” she replies tightly.

  Valasca is looking at Diana and me like we’ve sprouted horns. She turns to Marina. “Are they always like this?”

  Marina nods, her face solemn as Ni Vin quietly shadows Marina, ignoring the rest of us completely.

  Valasca looks to the heavens and mutters a low oath to herself before sheathing her rune-blade. “Come on.” She motions for us to follow her. “You came here to speak with our queen. Well, here’s your chance.”

  Before we enter, Valasca pauses to caution us. “Do not step on the threshold. And remember to bow low before the queen—”

  “We know, we know,” Diana says impatiently, striding past her through the wall of curtains, forcing the rest of us to follow along in her wake.

  CHAPTER THREE

  QUEEN ALKAIA

  We push through the series of scarlet and deep purple curtains and enter a large foyer lined with brightly embroidered garnet rugs and tapestries. Countless pairs of shoes are lined up on one side of the room, cloaks and other garments folded up on sectioned wooden shelves on the other.

  Valasca instructs us to remove our shoes and cloaks, then lifts the edge of a heavy curtain and steps over an enameled threshold that’s brightly styled in the design of a multicolored snake. She turns and motions for us to follow her into the hall.

  The curving walls and ceiling of the Queenhall are huge and luxuriously lined with more garnet tapestries. The embroidered designs depict various images from the Amaz religious history—the three First Women walking in a beautiful garden with the Great Goddess; the slaying of the cruel male partner by the only faithful daughter; the Goddess rewarding this faithful daughter, naming her Amaz as she places a rune-stylus made of starlight into her hand.

  At the head of the Queenhall, there’s an enormous tapestry flowing out over the ceiling, showing the Great Goddess surrounded by white birds. Hundreds of them, swirling toward the ceiling until they reach its apex, where they blend to form a single, gigantic ivory bird.

  I’m momentarily transfixed by the Goddess’s birds, which are so like the Ancient One’s bird shown in the stained-glass windows of our cathedral in Valgard. So much like the white birds in Wynter’s sculptures and woven into her tapestries. The birds that led me to Marina.

  The Watchers.

  A shiver ripples through me, and I’m instantly aware of the white wand hidden in my boot and gripped by the desire to curl my fingers around its spiraling handle.

  The long, oval interior of the Queenhall is even bigger than Valgard’s Cathedral and supported by multiple columns of stacked, rotating runes. A richly carpeted central walkway leads to a raised dais at the far end of the hall, and scores of women fill the rest of the space, eating, conversing and laughing together.

  My gaze darts around as we start down the walkway. A circle of green-scaled, silver-eyed Smaragdalfar Elves sitting to our left catches my eye, the young women drinking tea and talking. They’re all dressed in deep green tunics and pants of the subland Elves, looping black embroide
ry edging their garments, but their cheeks are marked with the signature Amaz rune-tattoos.

  Another woman approaches their group. She has the pointed ears, bone-white skin and silver eyes of the Alfsigr Elves, but her hair is a shock of violet. She catches my gaze, and her eyes narrow. A flush stings at my cheeks, and I look quickly away, abashed to be caught staring.

  Some of the Amaz are busy serving food throughout the hall, the aromas of rich, unfamiliar spices and fresh bread wafting on the air. I watch as women accept bowls of food and notice that it seems to be the custom to bow slightly in thanks.

  My eyes widen as I spot a golden-hued Urisk woman who is naked from the waist up. She’s laughing and chatting with two other women while a baby suckles contentedly at her breast. I’ve never seen a woman nursing so brazenly, and it both shocks and fascinates me. Such a thing is completely forbidden in Gardneria—Keltania and Verpacia, too. In all of these places, women nurse privately, and even then, with the baby hidden away underneath loose tunics.

  I suddenly notice that we’re attracting a fair bit of attention ourselves. Women throughout the Queenhall turn to stare at us, and a cacophony of distressed conversation rises, soon encompassing the entire room. I glance around nervously as we approach the raised Queen’s dais at the end of the massive hall.

  In the center of the dais, reclining back against lush cushions, is a very elderly woman. Her skin is deep green, her ears swiftly pointed, and her white hair is styled in stiff, sculptured loops that grace her head like a curling crown. She’s heavily adorned with black metallic piercings and tattoos that swirl all over her deeply lined face.

  I realize, with surprise, that this frail-looking old woman must be the powerful Queen Alkaia.

  She’s flanked by an entourage of formidable warriors in uniform. The fierce-looking women are also seated on cushions, weapons affixed to their backs or propped against the base of the huge Goddess tapestry. Alcippe is among them, sitting directly to the left of the queen, her rune-axe within arm’s reach behind her. She catches sight of us as we advance, glowering with open hostility.