Of course, this was all a facade. The way the lots fell was, in truth, the result of bribes, trickery, and murder. It was a game. The winner was always the most ruthless and conniving player.
—from Dawn of the Third World
27
The Choosing was held in the temple of the Red Palace. Located at the pinnacle of the dome above the Great Soltayne’s halls, it was only used by the Great Soltayne except on the day of Choosing. The golden dome was set on pillars, leaving the horizon exposed in all directions so that the Sol might radiate upon every inch of the temple. At the eastern and western ends stood statues of Arayeva, identical to the graven image in Salla’s chambers but more than twice the size. At the center of the dome was a flaming golden Sol intricately etched into the floor.
As they entered, Salla removed his fine robes, handing them to Ashi, and joined the other tribal chieftains, who wore simple white tunics and knelt in reverence around the golden Sol.
Ashi and Kale joined the several hundred attending servants, families, and tribal council members crowded around the soltaynes. The rest of the Yan Avii people crowded in the streets of Vlyanii—one great teeming mass radiating from Arayeva’s temple like rays of light.
A tense anticipation hung over the entire city. Kale felt as though he could sense it on his skin, breathe it in the air. The temple was a flurry of murmurs as the Yan Avii waited for the High Priest to commence the Choosing.
“According to lore,” said Ashi, “the three sets of Choosing stones were etched by the First Soltayne himself, when he was chosen to lead my people from their plight in the Wandering Dunes. The stones are kept in a sacred chest opened only by the High Priest the morning of the Choosing.”
“I wonder how high the price was for the sets of stones that came out of the chest this morning,” whispered Kale.
“I suspect you could ask Xander Mynah. Now do you sense her, Sky Blood?”
Kale reached out with his sense. Kirra was a Lumeni. She had discovered her ability to manipulate light during her years of slavery in Jurka. In a desperate attempt to hide from her abusive master, she had discovered how to bend light around herself, in order to walk the earth unseen.
It was important that Mynah believe his plan was working until the very end. So, according to Salla’s plan, Kirra would switch the stones, invisibly, only before Salla’s lots were cast. She must have been somewhere in the temple, but he could not sense her. The cloud of minds around him made it difficult to fixate on anyone in particular. “If all this is a farce—”
Ashi grabbed hold of his wrist. “Kirra is here, Sky Blood. Now you must be silent.”
Light poured into the dome, and the room grew quiet as death. At the apex of the dome hung a fixture of mirrors, which captured the midday light of the Sol and beamed it to larger mirrors set between the pillars supporting the dome, making the entire temple glow. Flashing light shone upon all their faces, and Kale had to close his eyes it grew so intense. When he opened them, the light had passed. It was midday, and time for the Choosing to begin.
The High Priest strode to the center of the golden Sol. Three temple maidens followed, dressed in flowing golden silks with a pair of golden Sol medallions covering their otherwise bare chests. Each maiden carried a black satchel containing one set of Choosing stones. The High Priest took each satchel, and the maidens moved to the edge of the circle.
The priest held the stones above his head and looked to the sky. Everyone in the room, wordlessly, dropped to their knees and gazed up. Priests standing at the edge of the dome lifted their hands, signaling below for the entire city to kneel in prayer. The Red City was still, as though the entire world had drawn its breath.
“Our beloved, Arayeva!” The High Priest’s wispy voice filled the room and carried out to the city beyond. “Light of lights, who came to us at the edge of the world, who led us up out of the Wandering Dunes. May your light shine upon your Chosen this day, and may he lead us into many more years of prosperity.”
A great moaning sound rose up from the streets and filled the room: “Arayeva, elenyal Soltayne! Arayeva, elenyal Soltayne! Arayeva, elenyal Soltayne!”
The entire city recited the prayer as one, asking that Arayeva select her Chosen. The Priest dropped his gaze to the chieftains kneeling at the edge of the golden Sol. “Let the Choosing begin.”
Silence abandoned the temple in a great rush, replaced with loud speculation as the soltaynes were paired up for the first round of divinations. There were only ten surviving soltaynes—one having died in the night, the other deathly sick (which was viewed as the curse of the Sol). This meant that the Mynah and Rajii chieftains won their respective rounds by default. Salla Burodai was first paired against Dol Yarah. Salla’s stones fell with three sols and two luuns, and Yarah with only one sol. Salla won, and Yarah cursed angrily as he left the circle.
“The former Great Soltayne’s successor usually goes out in the first round, unless paired with especially unblessed chieftains,” said Ashi, smiling as her triumphant prince returned to his spot at the edge of the circle. “Yarah will be seen as a disgrace among his tribesmen. I told you Kirra was here, Sky Blood. She is doing her job well.”
Kale nodded curtly, but he was frustrated. He could not sense her. However, while a Morph might be able to mimic a Lumeni outwardly, one could not take on her Lumeni ability. The stones had fallen in Salla’s favor. And Kirra was the only Lumeni he knew who could have switched the stones in the middle of the entire temple.
“You must believe me and focus on what is most important,” said Ashi. “Do you sense the chancellor’s Morph in the temple?”
“No,” said Kale, again frustrated. He had always thought his gift inadequate. It was so dependent on the openness of the mind he was trying to infiltrate. “She is well trained. And she could be anyone here. Do you really think the chancellor would attempt an assassination so publicly?”
“This is his greatest opportunity. If Salla should die, it would be seen as a curse from Arayeva for seeking to succeed his father. All the chancellor must do is make it look like a curse.”
After the first round was complete, the losers competed for the remaining two slots in the second round, a chance to correct any human error in the divinations. When the final eight had been chosen, the lots were cast for the second round pairings. Two of the three sets were identical—five stones, each containing a sol and luun rune on either side. The third set contained only two stones, each with eight runes.
“This is as important as the castings,” said Ashi. “The pairings can determine everything. This is when the soltaynes begin to see whose bribes were the greatest, and whose spells came out strongest.”
“Spells?” said Kale.
“How else did you think the stones could be made to fall at command?”
“Something with their weight, I suppose.”
Ashi chuckled. “You Sky Bloods are so full of yourselves. Your magic is not the only kind in the world. Ours is simply more subtle.”
Other kinds of magic? Yes, Kale knew this to be true. His mother had told him so. His search for the godstones was rooted in this belief. But he had never known the Yan Avii wielded a magic all their own. For centuries, the chancellors’ Morphs had hunted down Watchers around the world, and yet magic had persisted in other forms. It seemed spells were beyond the scope of Metamorphi senses.
Salla was paired with Yuli Bartol, the only tribe that had never borne a Great Soltayne. Salla shrugged as heads began to turn his way. “The Sol must be playing games,” he joked, inspiring several chuckles from the other chieftains. Salla had clearly been better liked among the soltaya than his father.
Salla cast his stones, and won again, arousing laughter from the whole room at Yuli Bartol’s expense.
It was in the middle of the laughter that Kale noticed the pair of servants standing behind Xander Mynah’s attendants. The two stood with marginal distance between them, whispering. They bore the Mynah insignia tattooed on their left
shoulders, as all Mynah servants did, but Kale sensed something awry. The boy’s skin was brown and blended in, but the girl was pale, her hair nearly silver it was so fair. A Southern Islander. It was not unthinkable that a fair-skinned slave would wind up in the Red Palace. Kale himself was posing as one, and yet…
“You ever see those servants in the Red Palace before?” he said, gesturing across the room.
Ashi shook her head.
“I think I found our Morph.”
Kale threaded his way along the edge of the crowd, near the pillars of the temple. Xander Mynah won his round against Ferdan Zora, and the Mynah tribal representatives cheered. The two servants followed suit. In the midst of the cheer, Kale felt a mind open up to him.
You didn’t kill him, Kale.
The Southern Islander stared forward as she cheered, eyes watching intently as the High Priest began casting the pairings for the third round. The field of soltaynes was now down to four. When Kale turned back, the boy she’d stood with remained, but the girl had vanished. He retreated to the outer edges of the crowd. There she was, the Southern Islander, standing beside a great pillar.
Keep your eyes on the lots. It was Kirra the Morph, only in a new form. She sidled up near him, close enough to speak, and they watched from the back of the crowd.
You didn’t kill Salla.
“You lied,” Kale murmured. “Kirra’s not dead.”
Well, I needed you to feel desperate. But it doesn’t matter now.
“True, because there’s no way you’re getting anywhere near Salla now.”
“No, Kale,” the Morph hissed out loud. He wondered if she had intentionally used a voice so like Kirra’s. “It doesn’t matter now, because you had to be the one to do it.” Now the lots are in motion, and I cannot give away my identity. But you can still do something. Just let Mynah win.
“And why would I do that?”
Because an alliance between the chancellor and the Yan Avii might be the end of the world.
“Why would a Morph want anything less?”
The traitorous Morph did not answer the question. She kept her head low and faced away from the Mynah servants.
I must return to my post. And then, she was gone.
Kale weaved back to Ashi’s side and silently considered the Morph’s intentions. This time, he had been ready when she opened her mind to him. He could tell that she believed what she said. The Morph was not doing the chancellor’s bidding. She was attempting to undermine him. Kale noted the caution with which she regarded the Mynah boy as she returned to his side. Kale sensed that he, too, was a Morph.
Kale was so tired of all the games. The Watchers would deal in due time with the chancellor. But they could not do it without Kirra and the godstones.
“You spoke with her?” said Ashi.
“I was mistaken. The chancellor has not betrayed Salla.”
Ashi moved forward. “That’s it, I’m telling Salla what’s going on.”
Kale took hold of her wrist. “Do you trust the Sol?”
Ashi glared at him. “You know I am a believer, Sky Blood.”
“And you believe she has chosen your prince?”
“You know I do.”
“Salla has two more lots, and then he will face the ultimate test. The last piece of Mynah’s plot. His mortality is already plaguing his mind.”
“How do you know?” said Ashi.
“Because the wall around Salla’s mind is not as strong as it once was. He is strained, and his acting must be at its very best. We cannot place another burden on him. The Morphs will not harm him, I promise you.”
Kale hoped he was right. Still, he could not determine the Morph’s full intentions. Why couldn’t she kill Salla herself? Who was she working for, if not the chancellor? Was this all some ploy of Xander Mynah? Or someone else?
The stones were cast, and the crowd cheered. Xander Mynah would advance to the final round.
Ashi hissed. “If this turns out wrong—”
“It won’t,” said Kale, clasping her hand. “You told me to trust, not hope. Now it is your turn. Trust the Sol. And trust me.”
“Trust you? Pah!” Ashi shirked his grasp with a jerk of her arm, but she remained where she stood.
Kale stole a glance at the Morph. She was speaking with her comrade in adamant hushed tones. He could sense vaguely that he was upset with her for disappearing. And he sensed she regretted upsetting him. “I win only if Salla wins,” Kale said. “That is the only way I get Kirra.”
Ashi muttered to herself in her native tongue. The stones were cast, and the crowd cheered, laughed, murmured. Salla Burodai would advance to the final round. The temple maidens collected the stones and returned them to their satchels.
Salla raised his hands, chuckling, and approached the High Priest, who surveyed him with a raised brow and ever-stoic eyes. “Good Priest. You have served my family faithfully these many years. You taught me to pray. Taught me the truths of Arayeva from my boyhood.” Kale could detect a hidden meaning: Salla despised this priest, and not just because he had his hand in Mynah’s purse.
“That is the man who condemned Vashti to death for practicing sorcery,” whispered Ashi.
“And so,” said Salla, “I ask that you allow me to withdraw from the final lot. The stones have fallen strangely in my favor. But I do not wish to appear zealous for the throne that could never rightfully be mine. Tradition is tradition. No successor has ever been Chosen.”
Salla acted the scene brilliantly, and even Kale was half-convinced of its verity for a moment.
The High Priest smiled with thin lips. “The lots fall exactly the way Arayeva wills them to fall. Our Sol has chosen her final chieftains. Let the final lots be cast.”
“Very well,” said Salla, with a bow.
Mynah smiled. Everything had gone exactly as planned. Mynah had hoped for this outcome all along. But only Kale, Ashi, and Salla knew that things were about to change course.
Salla and Mynah knelt at the center of the flaming golden Sol. The High Priest handed one satchel of stones to each of them. Mynah’s eyes sparkled. His lips moved inaudibly to all but Salla, but Kale could sense the unmasked meaning: A rousing speech, Burodai. But you know Arayeva curses liars.
Salla simply smiled innocently. The world had gone still with anticipation. Every eye was on the two men in white robes at the center of the temple. Below, the streets might have belonged to a ghost city they were so silent. Over a month of prayer and supplication for the right outcome ended now. In unison, the soltaynes cast their stones upon the floor.
For Salla Burodai, three sols and two luuns.
For Xander Mynah, five sols.
While the temple cheered, Mynah’s deep bronze face turned pale. All observing must have thought it surprise, or even joy, at his victory. But Kale knew Mynah had not intended to win this round.
The High Priest’s face was similarly ashen. Salla’s was fixed in a modest smile of relief. The High Priest recovered and addressed the people. “Arayeva has chosen Xander Mynah, chief of the tribe of his name, to be our next Great Soltayne!”
The priests at the edge of the dome relayed the message to the city below, and the entire city chanted a prayer of gratitude to the heavens. Smiling, Salla stood and raised Mynah’s hand high in the air. “Your Great Shepherd!”
A cry rose up in the temple and the city below. But as the people cried out, the temple maidens came to the center of the golden Sol, each carrying a golden goblet.
The final divination, Kale thought.
The High Priest shook his head at Mynah, but there was no going back now. The High Priest addressed the temple, masking as best he could the quaver in his voice. “To ensure there has been... er... no human interference in the casting of the lots, the Chosen must pray and select the goblet blessed by our Sol. Two of the goblets of wine are poisoned, and will bring an… agonizing death to any who approach the Great Saddle against Arayeva’s will.”
Mynah lifted his hand
s in prayer and lifted his gaze toward the heavens. The prayer was not long, for it was futile. Xander Mynah had made sure of that. It was the last piece to his plan. Only Mynah had not intended to be the one to win and drink from the three equally poisoned goblets of wine. He had meant to let Salla win—and then die—to shame the Burodais once and for all, the curse of Arayeva fixed upon his rival tribe without doubt.
But Kirra had switched the final stones in Mynah’s favor.
Mynah chose the goblet from the maiden at the center, raised it high, and drank deeply. The effects were immediate. Mynah lowered the goblet, and the poison began to take hold. His hands trembled. The goblet clattered to the floor, spilling wine upon the golden Sol. And then Mynah, his mouth frothing, lurched forward, upon the High Priest, grasping desperately at the belt of the holy man’s robes. The priest shoved him away, but Mynah stumbled back holding the priest’s sacrificial knife.
If Mynah could not have the throne, then he would be sure not to let a Burodai have it either. Kale and Ashi each sprang into action, but they were attendants and were far from the center of the temple. Kale shoved his way through the swarm of panicking tribesmen.
Mynah leapt at Salla, who, like all the soltaynes, was unarmed and kneeling in his white tunic. He tried to scramble to his feet, but he stumbled, and Mynah was upon him. There was nothing anyone could do, it all happened so fast.
But then, the Morph boy—the one who had stood at the Southern Islander’s side—appeared as from nowhere. He moved so fast, so unexpectedly, Kale did not even realize who it was until it was over.
The Morph boy, wearing Mynah’s insignia—the one tribe who stood still as their chief tried to murder Salla Burodai—drew a guard’s blade and leapt into the center of the temple. In one swift movement, he deflected Mynah’s sacrificial dagger, sending it flying across the temple. And then he ran the soltayne through the chest.
Xander Mynah bled out on the golden Sol, his mouth bubbling with poison and blood. With his last breath, he muttered, “Burodai bastard.”
The Shadow Watch Page 25