The Shadowglass

by Rin Chupeco

  “The darashi oyun prides itself on its authenticity.” The older asha frowned at the page. “We both knew coming here that discovering new source material was a long shot, Tea. The elder asha may have their secrets, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they have anything to do with keeping Mykaela’s heartsglass or colluding with Aenah.”

  “I’m positive about this.” I saw their treachery in Aenah’s head as easily as I could see my own reflection in the mirror. But it was my word against theirs—and I was a bone witch, tolerated and feared but never truly welcomed, while they defined what it was to be asha. All I had to go by was Aenah’s claim that there was more to the story, and the Faceless wasn’t known for her truthfulness either.

  The woman sighed. “The librarians were kind enough to collect all known books that talk about the legend in some way—three dozen at last check.”

  “Thank you, Althy.” There weren’t a lot of people who believed me, but Althy, at least, was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.

  The next few hours passed in silence. I pored through an unnamed collection of first-century manuscripts allegedly passed down from the first age, and a few passages struck me as odd. The feeling grew worse the longer I continued reading.

  “I think I might have found something.”

  Likh and Althy came to peer over my shoulder as I pointed at the text and read aloud. “Blade that Soars cloaked his lover in moonlight and wove stars into her hair. He gave Dancing Wind the brightest and most beautiful of gemstones to wear on her graceful neck. But his love came at a price. He reserved the best of creation for her, and so the lands faltered. Trees and plants failed to take root, and the people cried out for sustenance. Many rose in revolt against the god they once loved, but Blade that Soars was a cruel tyrant, twisted by his passions. At his command, unseemly creatures rose from the ground, seven in number, and suppressed the people’s uprisings.”

  “Wait,” Likh said. “That’s not right. It was Hollow Knife who conspired to taint the land because he lusted after his brother’s power, right?”

  I continued reading. “Blade that Soars feared he would be overcome when he was unaware and sought to entrust his being to the one he cherished above all. At his behest, Dancing Wind carried a part of his heart within hers, and a greater part of her heart dwelled within his. She would never betray him, he believed, if he commanded a portion of her soul as well.”

  “Romantic guy,” Likh grunted.

  “According to this, Blade that Soar’s brother, Hollow Knife, ferreted out the whereabouts of that heartsglass in an effort to save the people. ‘Help me, Dancing Wind,’ Hollow Knife implored the goddess. ‘Help me take Blade that Soars’ heart, and we can make the world whole again.’”

  Althy frowned. “From what we’ve been taught, Dancing Wind speaks those lines, not Hollow Knife.”

  That was true. In the legend as I knew it, a power-hungry Hollow Knife convinced Dancing Wind’s envious sister, Little Tears, to steal Blade that Soars’ heartsglass to merge with his own and create godsheart. He then tried to bend the world into his own making, creating the daeva to carry out his plans. But Hollow Knife was defeated when Dancing Wind merged her heartsglass with Blade that Soars’, bringing the god back to life to vanquish his cruel brother and exile Little Tears, who became the first bone witch.

  “There is no other mention of Dancing Wind after this point,” I said, scanning the rest of the pages. “In the tale we know, Blade that Soars broke his heart into three parts and sacrificed two of them to heal the land. There’s none of that in this text. Listen to this: But before he could use his brother’s heartsglass, Hollow Knife found himself betrayed. For Little Tears still harbored feelings for Blade that Soars and sought to save his life by fusing half her heartsglass with his. And in doing so, she revived him and acquired part of his Darkened magic.

  “Blade that Soars struck Hollow Knife and tried to take the shadowglass. Caught unawares and knowing his brother would succeed, Hollow Knife halted the spell before it reached completion. He was overpowered by his sibling.

  “But the unmanning of Blade that Soars’ heart made him weak. He could only banish Hollow Knife to the underworld, where he was to wander among the ruins of the dead for all eternity. At the moment of his exile, Hollow Knife turned his anger and the last of his strength toward Little Tears, who had deserted his cause for her love of his brother.

  “‘No longer will you be able to use life’s magic for your own’ was his curse. ‘Your influence shall be limited to the ways of the Dark and of the dead. You will never be able to give away your heart again, for you shall be alone until the day you unmake your treachery and see my will done.

  “And so Little Tears, the first of the Dark, fled. Hollow Knife’s final blow severed her connection with Blade that Soars. Part of Blade that Soars’ angry spirit dwells forever within the lands as an undying wraith, fueling the continual death and rebirth of his seven demon spawn. And so both brothers died, and a mountain grew in their place.”

  “That definitely isn’t a darashi oyun I’ve ever seen performed,” Althy admitted.

  “But that’s impossible!” Likh burst out. “Are you saying Hollow Knife wasn’t the villain, and that Blade that Soars—”

  “Was,” I finished grimly. If this was true, then it meant Aenah had been right all along.

  They made elegant weapons, the Lady Zoya’s asha. They lined the ship’s stern, their backs like jeweled cannons, arms raised like exquisitely drawn arrows. They were danger wearing lipstick and rouge, and their fierceness shone even greater than their beauty.

  I could not see the runes they fashioned around themselves—not at first. The brooch the Dark asha gave me grew hot against my breast, and then I saw their hands shape thread and needle out of air, crank and wheel from ether, weaving soft, invisible silks that danced across the edges of my periphery.

  Their results were undeniable. The billowing winds behind us were a testament to the ashas’ power, and our ship sped faster than any I had been on. It sang across the water, our bow barreling through the foamy barricades of the sea. The sailors cried and prayed and cursed, but by the second hour, they had fallen silent, content to cling desperately to anything that was bolted down. They stared, awed and fearing, at the women in their flowing hua, with glinting suns and stars twisted into their hair, as the ship raced across the Swiftsea through no power of their own.

  I could not study the bone witch’s letters as often as I wanted, for the swaying ship and fierce waves gave me little time for balance, much less scrutiny. Already some of what she wrote had disquieted me, and not for the first time, I wondered if she had summoned me for my expertise in songs or for some other purpose entirely.

  Lord Fox and Princess Inessa talked quietly with the captain, assessing the damages to expect upon arrival at Kion. Lady Zoya had provided a list of casualties and confirmed no acquaintances on that list.

  “It was deliberate, then,” Lord Fox said hoarsely. “There’s something in Kion she’s looking for. But what? Most of the elder asha died in Daanoris.” He turned to the Heartforger. “What do you think?”

  Lord Khalad’s gaze was trained on the setting sun as the ship flew toward it. The vessel’s hull hit a large wave and leaped into the air, but at Zoya’s orders, the ship settled smoothly to skim the currents without slowing. “She never told me about returning to Kion,” he said. “I am as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps—” His voice hitched, the rest of his words lost amid the spray splattering the deck.

  “Zoya,” Lord Fox asked, “did anyone see my sister leaving the city afterward?”

  “No. She swooped in with only the azi. As I said, we saw no other daeva.”

  The man slammed his fist against the railing in frustration. “What is she up to? If she harms anyone again, I…I…”

  He leaned over the edge, breathing heavily, but when he righted himself,
the agony was gone. His dark gaze was focused on the water, as if seeking his reflection in every turbulent crest and tide.

  “Send a pigeon to Parmina if the army has not yet left Daanorian borders,” he said, voice like hammered steel. “And send another to Odalia, to Kance. If the daeva aren’t with her, then Ankyo may not have been her true target. She could be planning another attack elsewhere.”

  “Zahid couldn’t find out where she and the azi disappeared to.”

  “Because she’s still in Ankyo.” Lord Fox said grimly. “Despite everything between us, I know how she thinks, know what she would do in my place and what I would do in hers. She wouldn’t come to Ankyo, to the Willows, and have her azi blow its three-headed fires only to leave again without explanation. Not after what she said in Daanoris. She’s in Kion. She’s waiting for us. I’ll stake my life on it.”

  3

  There was no author’s name on the volume I read aloud from, no title to distinguish it from the rest. An interview with Istera’s head librarian revealed that it was the oldest manuscript they had, preceding the next version of the Blade that Soars legend by many years and dispelling any theories that it was a corruption of a previous text. The manuscript talked about other beloved stories—the lives of the Five Great Heroes, early battles between Tresean and Daanorian epics—but with barely a word changed.

  “Vernasha of the Roses wrote the version of the narrative we know today,” Althy mused thoughtfully.

  “Are you suggesting she changed it deliberately?” Kalen asked, and Likh gasped at the implication. “But why?”

  “She may have had access to other documents since lost to time. She ruled Ankyo, after all. And as the city’s first asha, she would have vetted most of its books.” Althy turned to Councilor Ludvig. “Are there any experts in ancient legends still living in Istera?”

  The man thought for a few moments, stroking at his beard. “I can think of one, yes. Garindor Sverrthiya lives in Farsun and is the preeminent historian when it comes to asha mythology.”

  “Garindor? That’s not an Isteran name,” said Kalen.

  “It isn’t. Garindor originally came from Drycht. He sought refuge here many years ago.”

  “That’s some refuge,” Likh said. “Istera is about the farthest kingdom from Drycht as one can get.”

  “It is a disgrace that Drycht do not honor their intellectuals the same way we do in Kion,” Councilor Ludvig agreed. “Drycht has always been a paradise for despots. When King Aadil wrested power from King Adhitaya and the royal house of Narsethi, politics changed drastically. King Adhitaya was not himself a good man, as you might know. When the revolution happened, he was killed, and his son Omid went missing. In his first few years of rule, Aadil showed signs of intelligence, of enlightenment. The kingdom enjoyed a golden age of song and stories. Though that changed soon enough. I shall talk to Rendor and see what he can do to assist us in making contact with Garindor.”

  “Your hunch was right all along, little uchenik,” Rahim remarked with a nod toward me, as the Isteran adviser left us. “Even in Tresea, I grew up on tales of Blade that Soars and the villainy of Hollow Knife. It seems inconceivable that this was a lie.”

  “But why?” Likh was still shaken. “Why would Vernasha change her story?”

  “We don’t know yet, Likh,” Althy said gently. “Let us see what Lord Garindor has to say before passing judgment.”

  Likh’s shoulders slumped. “Vernasha of the Roses was a peerless warrior! She was Kion’s first asha!”

  “Did you know her well enough to say that, little one?” Rahim asked. “Did she tell you her favorite colors, her favorite dress? It’s easy to look at a hero and deny their human flaws. Many heroes in my childhood were blackguards in their own right, and the only reason they are lauded still is because they are but Tresean.” The large man frowned. “But this too is a question I would like answered.”

  “And that doesn’t change what being an asha is all about.” Khalad’s voice was soft, hushed by the cold and tempered in the presence of old books. He put his hand on Likh’s shoulder. “You can’t honor the past if you don’t know what that past is. I would much rather know the truth than live in ignorant bliss, even if it destroys all I’ve come to believe. Tradition isn’t always honorable. If it was, then you’d have been an asha for years, without opposition.”

  Likh stared at him. The colors in his heartsglass swirled rapidly, and I thought he would speak. But Khalad’s hand was only a friendly gesture, and the oblivious Heartforger could not hear the wanting in Likh’s silence, his unspoken confession.

  The young boy-asha only nodded, bidding his heart to be silent. I exhaled, releasing a quiet breath I had not realized I was holding. It required everything not to intervene. It took Kalen and I years to breathe in the same rhythm. They would find their own pace.

  “How are you feeling?” Kalen asked me quietly, so no others could hear.

  I closed my eyes briefly. “If Aenah was right about this story, then what if she was right about everything?” The book of powerful runes the Faceless had given me remained in Mykaela’s possession, but I already knew the spells within by heart. The elders knew them too, Aenah had claimed, but had hidden their knowledge. The elders teach you the necessary runes to put down daeva and risk your life for their cause. The woman was long-since dead, but the words she taunted me with remained. Why would they teach you the very runes that would allow you to rise above them?

  My heartsglass was silver. How long before Aenah’s other prediction came to pass? When would my heart fade to black and gives itself to darkness?

  Kalen smiled. “Whatever the truth, we will find it,” he said simply, confidently, and I believed him.

  • • •

  That Garindor Sverrthiya lived in Farsun was not entirely accurate; he lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city, bordering the Runeswoods. It was at his insistence, Councilor Ludvig explained, and not because of any Isteran enmity.

  A pale-faced, sickly-looking lad of about twenty answered our knock. Althy glanced at his heartsglass and rolled up her sleeves. “Off to bed you go, young man.”

  The boy stared. “I…I don’t…”

  “No back talk. You’re ill with fever, and you shouldn’t be up. Where’s your master?”

  “Right here.” A white-haired Drychta came into view, looking fitter and healthier than his assistant. His heartsglass hung from a plain leather cord, pulsing a soft purple. He looked surprised to see us, then focused on Councilor Ludvig. “What is going on, milord?”

  “My apologies for the intrusion, Garindor. We have visitors from Kion who require your expertise, and it is a matter of urgency.”

  “A matter of urgency, eh?” The man adjusted his spectacles. “And asha too, by the look of some of you. As my expertise lies in the past, which requires no hurrying, it’s a strange petition indeed. I am sorry for my assistant, Yarrod. He has been ill the last few days and should’ve been resting.”

  “I will see to that immediately, Lord Garindor,” Althy promised. “You all go ahead while I tend to him.”

  Garindor led us deeper into the house, which was filled with the oddest assortment of contraptions and bric-a-brac. Three-headed statues stared coldly down at us from high shelves, and small paintings depicted scenes of both cruel and unusual beauty—a magnificent giant of a deity stomping on an army of dying soldiers, seven-tusked elephants burst from the ground to destroy crops and livestock—all painted in bright, almost garish colors. Cruel-looking weapons of old decorated the walls.

  Garindor smiled at our reactions. “This was why I chose to sequester myself from the rest of the city. Isterans are a kind and noble people, but they do not understand why I keep these instruments of destruction, even if only for study.” He sighed. “I abhor Drychta policy as much as they, having lived through many of them myself. But it is difficult to rid yourself of
a festering that has been ingrained into your very bones. It is not a contradiction to try to make sense of a culture that you criticize with all your being. Would you mind if I smoke? I have some very good Adra-al cigars.”

  None of us minded, and Ludvig even accepted one. “We were told you know much of asha mythology,” he began, puffing at his cheroot.

  “Ah, that I did. It was one of the reasons I was chased out of Drycht. To venerate women, they said, is to diminish men. How one can lead to the other is a question they have not yet answered, if you discount the threats on my life when they had nothing else to say.” Garindor settled himself on one of the ratty chairs in the room, toeing a few parchments out of the way, and indicated that we should do the same. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Tea.”

  “Tea?” Garindor leaned forward, his eyes wide. “Begging any offense, milady, but I have heard of you. You are the Dark asha who tames daeva, as Sakmeet had…but you tame the fiercest daeva. They call you Tea of the Embers—a sign of respect, of course. Your azi is mostly responsible for such a title, being quite a striking creature. It is an honor to meet you. Lords Kalen and Khalad I know of, and the famous Rahim Arrankan! Queen Deira has been looking forward to your arrival.”

  The Tresean beamed.

  “Altaecia is well known here; I know many doctors who can attest to her healing arts. And it is rare to have two more beautiful girls in my household, much less asha of such distinction.”

  Likh squirmed. “I am an asha, but I am not a girl, milord.”

  Surprised, Garindor regarded him more closely. “I was not always a good man in Drycht, my dear,” he said, his voice kind and honest. “I can only profess to be better now than I once was. Had you been born in Adra-al or Rasha you would not have had an easy time, but I am glad Kion thinks differently. You are very beautiful, either way.”