Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  It disturbed him, but so far it was the best he had.

  Lelishen glided into the room with the Trelelunin she’d called Glim on her heels. “Solineus, this is Glimdrem. A friend since the Forgetting. His knowledge might assist us.”

  Lelishen’s man did little for Solineus’ mood, and he blurted his idea out. “I can offer the Edan the Twins.”

  The Trelelunin glanced at each other. Lelishen said, “Keep it in mind.”

  Glimdrem said, “It’d be a strong symbolic gesture even if they refused. Personal sacrifice has impressed the Edan in the past. Not that our sacrifices seem to mean much, right Lel?”

  “You’ve grown grumpy since last we spoke.”

  “I had fifty slivers of Ikoruv pulled from my body after a wild gidebird chase on Sutan for a decade. My mood’s been better.” He grinned.

  Solineus groaned. “I hope you’ve got suggestions, I don’t have patience for banter right now.”

  Glimdrem strolled close, cocking his head. “How does a Silone speak Edan?”

  “The trade village of Binsol. I spent several seasons with my uncle bartering with your people. And I’ve an ear for language, I’ve picked up a little Tekite.” It was the cover story concocted by Lelishen. It wouldn’t hold water if pressed, but it gave him a viable out.

  “Mmm, Binsol. Did we meet there, you feel familiar?”

  Solineus’ heart slugged his chest, dear gods I hope not. “Not that I recall, but it has been a count of years.”

  He sauntered to the table and took a seat. “I may not have the answer you seek, but I have an interest in your ghost swords.”

  Lelishen said, “The Archangel I mentioned died while trying to create just such a weapon.”

  “Twenty-five such weapons, in fact. They summoned a gate similar to the one on Kaludor.”

  Solineus swallowed hard. “A black bar down a beam of light?”

  “No, the beam turned black as night.”

  His breath left him. The Trelelunin described the gate he saw in his memory while in Istinjoln. Was I there? No, impossible, the woman from his dreams gave him that memory. She was there, she saw it, she warned him the best she could. “What’s that to do with these Twins?”

  “Please, indulge my curiosity. May I see them?”

  Solineus grabbed the wrapped blades and handed them to the man, but he refused with palms extended.

  “Forgive me, no. Just show me.”

  Solineus unwrapped the blades and slid them from their sheaths, the murmur of their voices slipping into his consciousness.

  The Trelelunin was easier to read than the Edan. His brows rose and his lips crinkled his nose. “Remarkable.” He pointed to the ricasso, where the Latcu blade met Ikoruv from the hilt. They blended, seamless, with the black flowing into the translucent Latcu like dye in glass. “Astounding. I might even say impossible, but I try not to use that word anymore.” He smiled.

  “What?”

  “This is a work of art mentioned in books from the God Wars. Rivets of steel or another neutral metal are common, or like the twenty-fifth’s weapon, bonded with a seam. For these two materials to alloy is… I haven’t words.”

  Solineus turned a blade over in his hand, the whisper in his head calm and soothing, almost a purr. Even so, it was hard to forget the forceful commands in Istinjoln.

  Glimdrem leaned in close with an intent stare. “Latcu, when edged or pointed, can be sharp as steel even when in nature.”

  “It’s damned sharp, I get it.”

  Glimdrem picked up the empty sheath. “Forged from Ikoruv, using such a valuable material for a scabbard is rare.” He glanced inside. “Ikoruv is harder than fine steel, harder than most metals known, but it’s still lined with Latcu wherever the blade makes contact. If you hold the blade’s edge close to the iron ringing the table, it’ll show you why. Slow and easy.”

  Solineus stood and pointed the blade at the aged iron with browned patina. As the blade approached a shining scratch appeared, then a groove, and it was still four fingers from contact. “It’s cutting the iron without touching it?”

  “From this distance is exceptional, just swiping past this band might slice it in two. So, you see its value as a weapon. Few metals stop ordinary Latcu well. These swords?”

  “I’ve seen a shield with Latcu heads stuck in it.”

  “Yes, an Ikoruv alloy, I’ve seen a couple examples, though we cannot replicate them.”

  The sword’s ability to sever metal was only the beginning, incredible as it was, it wasn’t what he needed to know. “What of the voices? What are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “The woodkin are famed for many things, honesty is one.”

  “It’s not an untruth. The voices, spirits from the Celestial… The gods bound spirits from a number of worlds during the God Wars, there’s no way to tell what sort inhabits these blades.“

  Solineus wrapped the swords. “Any thoughts at all?”

  Glimdrem’s face remained placid. “Any ideas on the origin of these Twins?”

  Lelishen said, “The individual who gifted the swords was nine feet tall, but otherwise human in appearance, they weren’t his.”

  “I see. And this man spoke Silone?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are examples of weapons befitting such a people among the God Wars antiquities in Jolislin. Our scholars name them the Vloswan, followers of Sol; speaking Silone is appropriate, if he is one.”

  “The man spoke a multitude of languages, including Edan. Several I didn’t recognize.”

  Glimdrem’s head cocked. “Peculiar.”

  Solineus asked, “You were with this Archangel when he died, what of this Oxeum Codex?”

  “Ah! I’m convinced it lies outside the Eleris, but hidden.”

  Solineus resisted a growl. “I mean what the hells is it?”

  “A book.” Glimdrem’s grin was galling, more so when it turned into a smile for Lelishen. “From the libraries of Oxeum, lost since the God Wars. A history of sorts, I can’t say it’d be useful to you, but better odds that than other things. Uvin wouldn’t leave it far from his person.”

  His next thought suggested he was going crazy, muttering it out loud proved it. “If I had that book, I’d bet the Edan would honey their words.”

  Glimdrem’s brow furled, a mocking grin on his face. “If only you could speak to the dead, or if perhaps I had it in my home? Not that I would give it to you.”

  Glimdrem chuckled through Solineus’s glower, but he stopped on looking at Lelishen’s disapproving stare. “Lel, I think you like this human too much.”

  Lelishen said, “Your making light is insulting to us all.”

  Solineus wasn’t so mad as he was a flicker before.

  “Yes, yes. My apologies.” His face straightened, but a hint of smirk remained. “If… If you found the book, then yes, the Edan value knowledge. It would be a bargaining point. But how?”

  A thousand thousand trees, and even if this dead twenty-fifth had it close, how could he find it when the Edan failed? “I don’t need the book, I have another.” He grinned at Lelishen and she frowned.

  “The book of the Touched is mine.”

  “Yours, but you loaned it to me. I plan to keep it a while.”

  “I loaned… Yes, I did.” She cocked her head with a grin. “It might work.”

  Glimdrem said, “What book?”

  Lelishen answered. “The Touched gifted the book to me, filled with languages I’m unable to read.”

  “And you loaned it to this human? Is it so valuable?”

  “Yes. But, it will be there’s someday. It isn’t enough.”

  Lelishen tapped her toe. “It’s the best we’ve got, but we need honey.

  Solineus snorted, rubbed his eyes. “Then we need to find a beehive.”

  Glimdrem didn’t like the Silone from the moment he walked through the door with Lelishen. He was too comfortable in the woman’s presence, a woman so much his superior. Bringing
a human to the Eleris, let alone the Crowning Tree, was a slight against all woodkin no matter the excuse. And defending the human. Lelishen had always been a nudge soft.

  Glimdrem sat on an emerald green cushion with legs crossed. A seb-vine that stood the length of his forearm sat in a wooden bowl of soil in front of him, its yellow-veined buds closed and taunting him.

  It was foolish to concern himself with a human, a Silone, but there was something about the man. Something familiar, something dangerous? If anything was dangerous, it was those ghost-cursed swords, not the man. The Edan stowed the few Celestial weapons they possessed in the museum of Jolislin, so far as he knew. Scholars considered them too unpredictable for normal times.

  Forget him and concentrate.

  He closed his eyes, taking breaths, falling deep into the heat within his lungs to find Spirit and Life. The energy swelled within him and he opened his eyes to gaze upon the vine.

  In the centuries before the Great Forgetting, Life-sculpting this vine would’ve been beneath him. He’d been a master of the art, sculptures throughout the Eleris with his signature proved it. Five times he Forgot his mastery, and four times he relearned the ways, but five hundred years ago he ended the repetition. He took on serving the Lord Chancellor of Knowledge, defying the Forgettings by traveling the world.

  But now and again he returned to his past, tinkered with the art, sometimes soothing, sometimes aggravating.

  He directed Spirit to the vine, connecting with its life energy. It was a healthy, happy plant, simple and at peace, wanting to grow. What do you wish to become?

  And he imagined the conversation.

  I wish to become you.

  He grinned at the plant as if it spoke. How about the symbol for knowledge instead?

  It was a bold concept, considering how many vines he’d broken over the last several centuries: a three-quarter circle with an overlapping triangle. More than a worthy challenge.

  His Spirit connection with the vine’s life held steady and he pushed a trickle of warmth from his core into the fibrous weave of the vine’s structure. Buds opened and shoots stretched and over the next couple candles formed the three-quarter circle, but this was the easy part.

  He nudged the vine’s growth, lending it a tendency, instead of redirecting the growth into a sharp angle and straight line, which would challenge his fledgling skills. He squinted, pushing more Life where he desired the corner, softening and strengthening at the same time, or so he hoped. The vine bent and straightened.

  He exhaled, holding his meditation through joy. Another fifty years of dedication and he might be worthy of sculpting an Eternal Oak again. His focus waned at his own humor.

  Focus. Straight, and focus.

  He slowed the vine’s growth, easing more energy a finger behind the lead shoot, where he’d next bend the triangle. Time passed uncounted as the vine grew, the structure remaining flawless, no weak points he could find. Green, healthy, stiffening at the corner already.

  You will enjoy being knowledge, little friend.

  I wish to become you.

  You’re aiming too high, little friend.

  Chimes jingled, someone was outside. His focus wavered. In his mind’s eye he saw Lelishen kissing the human and his gut twined into knots.

  Chimes jingled.

  It is so high a goal?

  “Give me a wick!”

  The vine’s growth surged, the shoot splintering in seven directions in wild twists and turns before turning yellow, and curling into tight black balls, dead ends. He stood in a rage, sweeping the pot from the floor and hurling it at the wall. He stood panting like an animal as the oak bowl rattled and rolled on the floor, the suffering vine sprawled in its scattered dirt.

  The chimes sounded again, and he took control of himself, embarrassed. His ineptitude was not the vine’s fault. He nudged the vine and bowl beneath a table with his foot and opened the door.

  Lelishen’s beautiful eyes greeted him, and he smiled at the glimpse of worry in the pout of her lips.

  “Are you well?”

  So foolish to imagine her with a human. She may never want him, but she’d find someone worthy. “Yes, fine.” He stepped outside and closed the door, realizing the sun was heading for its zenith. It was near time to watch the Silone humiliate himself in front of the Edan. The notion brought an unexpected sense of well-being. “The Silone have my full support. Which won’t mean much, I fear.”

  “We’ve a plan.”

  He grunted, more from the we than any plan.

  They collected the rubbish and escorted him back to the Crowning Tree, arriving early, but the Edan already stood in wait. Their expressions were perfect and bland as always, except for Limereu, who didn’t hide her curiosity. The Father Wood had changed this one, although she already smiled less often.

  Glimdrem did his best not to gloat before his vicarious victory, but he found it difficult to suppress a smile.

  Inslok cast his impassive stare on the human. “We welcome you in your return.”

  The Silone stepped forward and bowed. “I am pleased to return.”

  “You have an offer for the Father of Ages to consider?”

  Glimdrem wanted to chuckle.

  “In return for safe passage for my people to the Blooded Plain, I will guide a party of your choosing to visit the being known as the Touched. Hundreds of books line the wall of his tomb, the knowledge we might glean could change how your people view the God Wars.”

  It was an offer with a foundered gait, and the man having hope it was enough made it all the more entertaining.

  The Edan glanced to each other and Inslok spoke. “While an appealing offer on the surface, we already have a guide in Lelishen.”

  Lelishen stepped forward. “I vowed to serve as the ambassador between the Silone and Hidreng, it may be years before I might lead an expedition.”

  Inslok gave a sharp nod. “A fair point, we would not encroach upon a solemn promise.”

  Sometimes the Edan’s ridiculous adherence to their own code was worth it, although much of the time it drove Glimdrem crazy.

  “However, time is of little consequence. We will wait. Have you another offer?”

  “My people don’t have the luxury of patience.”

  “And this concerns the Edan how? It will only speed her freedom from her vow to not grant your petition.”

  The corners of Glimdrem’s mouth quivered, and he pursed his lips to hide his mirth. This was getting good.

  Lelishen spoke with a force and certitude Glimdrem was unaccustomed. “If the Edan do not grant the Silone passage, I will retire from my position within the Branch of Knowledge. By law set down by the Father of Ages himself, you could no longer require me to leave the Eleris.”

  Glimdrem’s humor withered as black as the vine’s buds. He couldn’t believe what he heard. Horrifying, but her conviction impressed him. He’d never seen the Edan defied before.

  The Chancellor spoke without a hint of emotion. “Such would be your prerogative. This is your sincere vow?”

  Damnation, she’s winning. He’s winning. How?

  “Yes, so sworn.”

  Inslok blinked several times before answering in his cold voice. “I will take your offer to the Father of Ages.”

  Glimdrem spoke before he’d thought it through. “If the Father of Ages approves, without Lelishen, the Chancellor will require another Seeker to accompany this man. I volunteer.”

  The Chancellor nodded. “Noted and accepted.”

  Inslok said, “Your acceptance of this task may help sway the Father’s decision. I too feel compassion for the Silone people and will throw my vow behind this journey.”

  Edan compassion? Glimdrem was getting more used to the impossible by the day. Lelishen didn’t just defy the Edan, she won outright, with the Sword of the Father of Ages volunteering to travel outside the Eleris and lead this mission. All for some humans, and worse, Glimdrem had just shoved his face straight into the buzzing hive of it all.


  His head spun with their victory, and his stomach sickened.

  The Chancellor spoke to Inslok. “Communications with the Hidreng will be sensitive, I had hoped you would make our will known if it came to such. Oversee the situation.”

  Lelishen said, “I can calm the Hidreng.”

  The Edan ignored her words, what Glimdrem had expected all along. Inslok said, “We could delay departure a few days.”

  Limereu bounced a step, a broad smile on her face. “No need! I can deliver a message to the Hidreng.”

  Dead silence.

  But Glimdrem knew he’d found how Lelishen won. Whether Limereu convinced Inslok and the Chancellor, or if she’d assisted in the plan, she played a role.

  Neither of the other Edan appreciated her volunteering, their eyes were cooler than normal.

  Inslok said, “I will make it known to the Father of Ages, his will to decide.”

  They’d sealed victory. Come good or ill, they wouldn’t deny his petition. Not with Inslok’s blessing. Glimdrem fought to kill the maggots squirming in his gut and turned to Lelishen with a forced smile. “Congratulations.” He turned to the human. “And to you and your people.”

  The gloat in the human’s smile grated. “Thank you. And for your help.”

  Glimdrem exhaled a deep breath, his smile turning more natural. At least Lelishen would be away from this human for a time, and with good fortune, perhaps the Silone would fail to make it home alive. Not that Glimdrem would wish such a thing.

  21

  Star Talk

  A Fire in the mire,

  a breeze in the smoke,

  a tease in rote,

  Broke, broken, Taken and lost,

  Returned but unFound.

  Dance Winded, kick and scream,

  the Fire the Sire,

  the breath of life the Dam,

  the Foal, the Beautiful Liar.

  –Tomes of the Touched