by Daniel Casey
Rikonen, 6th of Mabon
Wynne sat alone in the quiet at a desk in the athenaeum, before him a cold cup of tea and three thin books. Each book was a bright clean red, their covers a well-maintained leather, and the page edges gilded gold. He had already read each twice over but he reached over and opened the top book once again. The pages were a translucent onionskin on which it looked as though the ink had barely touched. The script was tiny, but still betrayed a gentle rolling slant. The language looked lovely and seemed to exist to tempt an illiterate to learn or one ignorant of the tongue to take it up.
He turned each page as though he were caressing the book. In no way was he rushed, but he also wasn’t looking at the pages, rather he gazed off through the stacks of the library. He suddenly stopped and turned to face the page—one with no illustration or marginal commentary, instead a dense passage. His fingers slide over the page smoothing it, then drew the back of his hand up to the top of the page. His middle finger followed along the written lines like a Cathedral yad. About a third of the way down, he paused and gently tapped the page.
The library wasn’t large but it was full of high shelves stacked tight. There were three long tables, each layered in tomes of varying thickness piled atop each other in dubious towers. Wynne’s desk stood at the end of the room opposite the entrance. Someone coming into the library would not have seen him until they were well in the room, so when Fery spoke it didn’t startle him though she sounded quite surprised.
“Father. I thought…” Wynne was still staring at the book, his hand unmoved.
“Sit, dear. I’m thinking.”
Fery pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat across from her father. She didn’t speak, but stared at him intently. The girl didn’t fidget, but it was clear she was eager to speak.
“I’m listening, Fery.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…” She gestured at his books.
Wynne made a dismissive face and beckoned her closer, “You don’t need to apologize.”
“I just know that you’re busy.”
Wynne moved quickly with purpose, he closed the book without slamming it and turned to face his daughter, “I am only busy because you aren’t here. You are here now.” He smiled warmly, and Fery returned the grin.
“I’m worried for the woman that the sailors brought.”
“Is she alright?”
“She still isn’t talking much.”
“But she’s eating? She’s healing well?”
Fery nodded, “Absolutely. She’s mostly just bruised. Soon she will be at full health.” She paused, and then added, “She’s bruised in all sorts of places.”
“Is that the issue?” Wynne had been certain that the corsairs had abused Kira, yet he still held out hope that they had merely beat her. He felt wretched and guilt-ridden thinking about it.
“She isn’t talking. She really only responds to the most basic questions and even then gives only short answers.”
“The men that brought her to us were not good men. They treated her roughly and she’ll need time to recover from that…in her mind, Fery.”
“I just…” Wynne could hear the anger and frustration in Fery’s voice, “I want to help her but I don’t know what I can do. I don’t want to force her to do anything or make her feel overwhelmed, but I don’t want to give her so much space that she thinks she’s all alone. I feel like I’m failing her.”
There were moments when Wynne realized just how glad he was to have Fery back in his life; how proud of her he’d become. This was one of those moments, and since their reunion, they were coming more and more often. It hurt him to think how long he’d been away from her.
“Fery, you are doing all you can. Kira must come to us in her own time and in her own way. We need to be present when she decides what she needs or wants, we must just be ready and be open. We are returning her to safety.”
Fery nodded but she was obviously unconvinced, “But can we do that?”
Wynne blinked surprised. Fery qualified her question, “Here, I mean.”
“Because of The Blockade, because of the city?”
“Yes, all those and more. I just…” Fery choked a bit, “We’re living precariously enough. It was all we could do to find you and bring you home. And then this girl, this plan…”
“It wasn’t our doing.” Wynne asserted. “Bringing her here, using those mercenaries. It wasn’t something we had a hand in deciding. That’s why we have to be the ones she deals with, we owe that to her.”
“I just don’t think…” She took a moment and thought hard. “I don’t think this scheme of theirs will work, it’ll only hurt her and us.”
“You are entirely correct.” Wynne understood her misgivings, he had felt them himself when the remaining civics had approached him with their plan. But they were too far along to retract or erase what was done. Wynne’s only hope now was to alter the path now. Yet, he still had lingering concerns, concerns that he could see mirrored in his daughter’s face.
“This is our last chance to free this city, to end the siege, give Essia its full freedom again. Kira is vital. We have had a hand in wounding her; we are guilty of that, each of us. Thus we must set her aright again and hope that she will come back around to the place we need her to be.”
“Even if that happens, there is no guarantee.”
“There is never any certainty, Fery. Ever.”
“It’s too hard.”
“Any difficulty you are feeling,” Wynne took Fery’s hand and held it lovingly, “and I know that you are truly wrestling with this, the hardship you are experiencing is a thousand fold in her mind, in her heart. She may never come back to us. She may never come back. She could very well come out of this with a vehement and justifiable hate of us.”
“We must just accept that.”
“To be just. Yes.”
“Otherwise?”
“Otherwise we are no longer who we are; we become what our enemies believe we are; we become our enemies.”
“And it causes all of us to grind down.” Fery nodded.
Wynne pulled Fery closer and kissed her on the forehead, “No one can stand over others, and we all must stand tall together to stand at all.”
“I understand. Though…”
“Though.”
“I still can’t imagine how you’ve come to be so accepting.”
“There is no other way to be.”
Fery gave a wistful smile, “I shall be there for Kira. As I am here for you.”
Wynne smiled and Fery got up and left. Still sitting he turned his head and listened to hear her leave. He seemed frozen for a moment, and then turned around to the desk, scooped up the books, stood and turned to leave. He knew Fery could bring Kira back, but he wasn’t sure the alm would come back and not hate him. It was difficult and worrisome. Leaving the athenaeum, the books still in his hands, he turned and walked with purpose to the suite of the Prime Alder.
He had found it. Hours in the shelves combing over lineages and canonical law, but he found the information needed. Now he just needed the authority to act. If Kira came around and persuaded of his plan, then he would have leverage. However there was no certainty that that would happen any time soon. In the meantime, he needed to set the groundwork and get underway. If the other alders saw it his way, then the change of course could go far in securing the future of not just the city but also the nation. Wynne didn’t trust the Cathedral but it seemed as though there was a rift he could exploit. He was certain his contacts in the Spires could be trusted so long as he gave them the impression of control and profit.
The Alders, the Cathedral, and the Spires, Wynne thought to himself, all of this is going to be a headache for the foreseeable future. He had reached the Prime Alder’s suite. He pulled a thin, long iron key from his sleeve and unlocked the door. It swung open to reveal a simple room with a small cot and desk covered in parchments and melted candles.
Wynne sighed and muttered, “I ha
d better quarters at the lighthouse.” He closed the door behind him.
The Blockade of Rikonen, 10th of Mabon
The supplies the Essians had granted them were no small favor. The stores of the Kopis were now full, and if they desired, they could sail from Far Port to Wick ten times over before they needed to consider resupplying.
No doubt, Riv thought, we’ll fortify our caches throughout the Novostos and Avostos. That is, if they ever left the damn Blockade.
Since their return from the rendezvous, Asa had been in a rage. The killing of his own men to make more room for treasure had been an extreme but not out of character reaction. For all the other crewmen aboard the Kopis knew, Asa returned not just with a chest of aurei but a tender near brimming with supplies and the promise of two more like loads. They saw this contract as a great success, looked at Asa as being an adroit captain, and they were more than placated. Asa could take the ship anywhere he wanted; he could even take a more aggressive stance toward his rival traffickers. Yet he lingered. He lingered, taking on a menial contract to transport two cadres of marines (green recruits just completing their first deployment) back to Anhra. Riv wasn’t sure what his captain wanted, but he was certain that he was stewing over something trivial.
Asa sat in his cabin aboard the Kopis eating his dinner and gazing out the ship’s window as the sun descended. His eyes were blank, his hand idled over his plate, and he had been chewing the same bit of peafowl for the last fifteen minutes. Riv sat with his back to the window finishing his own plate. He stood, walked across the room, and took up a full bottle of port; refilling his own glass, he came over to Asa and stood. The captain turned his head slightly, Riv shrugged a bit with the bottle, Asa nodded, and Riv poured a full glass then returned to his seat.
He drank deep and stared at his own glass as he spoke to his captain, “We need to be moving on.”
Asa grunted then violently spat out the food he had been chewing, “You are not wrong.” Leaning back in his chair, Asa continued to stare out the window.
“The men are in no rush as of yet, but they will be getting itchy soon.”
“We’ll be heading to Anhra once the last unit arrives from the core of the chain.”
“And then?” Riv asked. Asa was silent, but Riv pressed, “We have more than we need, more than we came with, more than we expected to get.”
Although he raised his glass to his lips, but he didn’t drink and in a near whisper said, “No.”
“Captain, sorry?” Riv asked.
“No, we didn’t. We didn’t get more than we expected.”
“You didn’t.”
Asa drank down the whole glass then let it fall from his grip onto the floor, “I didn’t. I didn’t get what I expected. I didn’t get what I came for.”
“But we did get what we needed.”
“I didn’t get what I wanted.”
“And that’s going to ruin this company.” Asa threw Riv a stern look, filled with undeniable rage.
Riv continued, “It will ruin this company,” he sipped his drink, “your brooding, this…tantrum of yours. And that will turn the men and that will ruin our stores and that will lose you your ship.”
“You would take my ship?” Asa said contemptuously.
“I would never take anything from you,” Riv glared, his tone the kind you would use to reprimand a child, “You know full well. I’ve only ever given to you.”
Asa broke his gaze, stood up, picked up his glass and placed it on the table. He took up the port bottle and slowly poured himself another, “I know. I know.”
“Tell what you know.” Riv relaxed, cocked his head to one-side, “Because it appears as though you’re plotting something.”
“They disgraced me. They treated me like some kind of…base scofflaw.”
“You are a free trader. You know we can be held in contempt by gentry.”
“These sad little men, these achingly dimwitted civics holding on desperately to the illusion that this city isn’t a slum that needs to be razed.”
“What are they to you? If they are so dimwitted.”
“They are nothing to me.” Asa raised his voice.
Riv guffawed, “Obviously.”
“They aren’t.” he walked to the window, “But it’s eating at me. What they thought of me. Clawing at the walls of my mind. I can’t shake the look that Alder gave me. I can’t get his tone out of my head.”
“This is bruised pride, a sliver, a mere scratch. Stop picking at it, let it heal, and forget it.”
“No, I can’t. What I did for those fools. They have their first bargaining chip in years, because of me.” He turned suddenly, “Me! And they couldn’t be bothered to show the least bit of gratitude.”
“They gave us plenty. You wanted more coin; did you ever think that they didn’t have more coin?” Asa blinked at this, his face changed, and it was clear the thought had never crossed his mind. Riv continued, “They gave us the run of their storehouse and in a city that’s choked, drying out, and smoldering that is quite a lot.”
“Yes, true but…” Asa closed his eyes and swallowed hard, “I need them to…I need the girl to be…”
Riv raised an eyebrow, “And you did damage to that girl that was unnecessary.”
Asa shook his head, “You can’t have a prisoner believing they have reign.”
“There are other ways, and you know that. You simply prefer the easiest method.” Riv spoke matter-of-factly without judgment.
Asa nodded, “I suppose. Effective but…I get taken up and fail to see consequences down the line.” He leaned back in his chair and seemed to look tired. For a moment, Riv thought he saw a boy sitting in front of him realizing that the game he was playing was harder than he realized.
“At times,” Riv’s tone was softer, “But that is why I am here.”
Asa grinned, “That is true.”
“So,” Riv nudged the bottle closer to Asa as he leaned forward to light some candles on the table, as the light had died, “We need to be moving on.”
Siracene Highlands, 11th of Mabon
It was perhaps the fifth dead village they had stumbled upon, Reg wouldn’t have noticed the first if Roth hadn’t pointed it out to him—a low grass ridges led to a rise of stones, the remains of building foundations. He was on the lookout for others after that, but the next dead villages they encountered were all clearly abandoned settlements with rickety structures of sad greyed wood and stone looking they were about to collapse. The second night away from the caravan’s path they made camp in the ruins of two stonewalls. The next morning Reg saw a strange cut into the side of the hill, like steps only far too large.
“These would be mine towns. Built fast to accommodate the miners that came to coax the gold, silver, and iron out of the mountains. For a brief time, this was the mineral belt for the world.” Roth explained.
“What made the world all silver and gold, eh?”
“Yes, actually. The would-be miners were a bizarre mix from your Novosy and the far north, some Lakelanders, and even some Adrenines—nearly all Dystosi.”
“That why there are so many halflings in these parts?” Reg asked.
Roth nodded as Lo moved along at a lazy pace, “None of them had any idea what they were doing. There are mineshafts and strip cuts like that one,” Roth gestured to the steps that Reg had seen, “that were poorly chosen and poorly executed.”
“So the town would rise up and then close up.” Reg muttered.
“Sometimes within only a few weeks. Others lasted longer, they actually got mineral. Despite themselves.”
“But there were real villages around here, right?”
“Yes, several actually. Hardly any exist now. These the miners abandoned once they realized they didn’t know how to live in the highlands. The others died once all the mineral was gone. And of those that hung on, well, they had their fate settled after the edicts.”
“Not quite farmland.” Reg shrugged.
“Well actuall
y, those potatoes in that cart of yours were probably from this region originally.”
“My geography seems to pale to yours.”
“It’s not your fault. You Novosy don’t really like to deal with the world beyond the Falkstone.”
“Funny.” Reg smirked.
“I’m a clever man.” Roth was deadpan, but he spurred Lo on to keep pace with Reg’s mount Kia. When he had pulled up even with Reg, he asked, “You realize how odd it is to be a Novosar shepherd.”
“Oh, yeah?” Reg seemed uninterested, “I suppose as odd as pulling an Athingani from the Novostos.”
Roth nodded, “Fair enough.”
Silence fell between them, which only made the dead villages they passed through more unnerving to Reg. The first that actually resembled a town was made up of four wooden buildings in an even row—two cabins and what may have been a tavern and store. The interiors could just barely be made out, dark and empty with odd shadows. These building were like dead trees hollowed out by some long passed rot. He had thought it was going to make for a good place to rest for the night, but the walls of the structures barely kept the wind at bay and any heat escaped through the gapes in the roof; it was really no better than out in the open. Many of the villages were only shacks, and most of the shacks were no more than collapsed boards fallen toward each other in near perfect looking pyramids.
The days in the highlands were a queer mixture of easy, familiarity, and blind faith. The last dead village they came upon that Reg paid attention to seemed the most significant; Roth called it Ashcroft.
“It wasn’t just a silver mine.” He said, “Though it did produce a good amount for a long time, longer than most.”
“What else was there?” Reg looked around and could see what looked like lots that had been carved out of the woods. There were also trenches that had to have been human made.
“It became rather infamous, inspired a monument.”