Oathen

by Giacomo, Jasmine

“Shanal is many weeks’ sail to the northwest of Juala,” Kemsil said, frowning. “What hurry do we have?”

  Meena pulled off her green head scarf, revealing a short fuzz of fiery red hair with frosted white tips. It gave her the look of a winter fox whose fur had begun to change hue for spring.

  Amongst the others’ murmurs of surprise, Sanych blurted, “What happened to your hair?”

  Meena shot her a flat look. “It got digested.”

  As the group stifled gasps of understanding, she continued. “Now pay attention, and know this for truth: I intend to destroy the Dire Tome, and if you come with me now, you cannot have any other goals in mind.” She pinned Geret with a brief stare. “I’ll keep you all alive as best I can, but I can’t promise you it will be any less life-threatening from here on out. In fact, it will be more dangerous by far.” She paused and added with a reluctant shift of her shoulders, “The Cult of Dzur i’Oth desires the key I possess more than anything else in the world, and they’ll kill anyone they find in their way.”

  Several people spoke at once. “The who?” Kemsil asked.

  “How could they possibly know you have it?” Salvor blurted.

  “You just said its name,” Sanych breathed.

  Meena put her hands on Rhona’s table and exhaled slowly. “The Cult of Dzur i’Oth once possessed the Dire Tome. They used it to bring a reign of terror to Shanal. They want it back, but they need the key to free it from its prison, just as I do. When I retrieved the key from the lava tunnels of Heren Garil Sa, they soon knew of it; they’ve been tracking me ever since. Calling it ‘the book’ isn’t going to stop them from finding us. They’ve already done that.”

  “How do you figure?” Geret asked.

  “I had a few days of sun, sand and coconuts on Agmana, while I was waiting to stow away on the weekly merchant ship. I figured it out after I realized I’d been inside the garrim for only a few weeks; Scattersea legends tell of the Deep Ones living for centuries.”

  “You’re saying it wasn’t a coincidence? That the garrim was killed?” Sanych’s voice was hushed.

  “How does one go about slaying a guardian of the deeps?” Kemsil asked.

  Meena raised an eyebrow. “With magic.”

  For a moment, Sanych feared that there would be no further explanation, but this time, Meena continued.

  “There is power in the molten deeps of the earth,” she said, standing straight. “Ancient legends in Ocula Senmei, a mystical center in the far south of Eirant, tell us that once, long ago, this power was more plentiful. It could be found in the sea, the air, even within certain people. Most of that has faded away as the world ages. Only the enduring strength of the planet itself sustains earth magic, and it is only effective where the surface warms from its touch.

  “Dzur i'Oth couldn’t take the key from me unless the garrim surfaced again. Ironic: they had to save their nemesis to give themselves any chance at all at possessing the Tome.”

  “They can reach this far from Shanal?” Kemsil asked. “There’s no warming of the surface around here; we’re in the middle of the sea.”

  “It takes powerful bloodmagic enhancements to extend their reach that far from Shanal. With enough strength, they can reach even to places where magic doesn’t normally work. Each spell they’ve cast at us has cost many Shanallese lives.”

  “Each spell?” Geret’s brows lowered.

  “Heren Garil Sa’s eruption and the quake ripples that destroyed all the ports on eastern Eirant were no random occurrence. After Rhona found me on Agmana, the eastern horizon was constantly filled with shearing winds or hurricanes. Dzur i’Oth has begun driving me to Shanal. And they want me to come alone and powerless.” Meena paused, clenching her teeth, and met Geret’s eyes. “They destroyed the Kazhak because I was on board; its passengers were a potential army for the Shanallar. Collateral damage was irrelevant.”

  “They killed tens of thousands of people with quake ripples—blew up Ha’Hril’s volcano—just to wipe out the Kazhak? From Shanal?” Geret swallowed. “Do I…do I want to know about this bloodmagic?”

  “The cult’s Enforcers collect victims on raids. They’re taken to strong pockets of earth magic and drained dry to release the hints of earth that ride in the blood. In Shanal, where earth magic is already active, nearly everyone possesses latent magic in their blood. The combination of bloodmagic and earth magic drastically improves a spell’s performance and range.”

  Geret looked pale. “I’m pretty sure, looking back, that I didn’t want to know that.”

  Meena’s expression was unrepentant. “Don’t pretend that Dzur i’Oth is any less heinous than it is, Geret. That attitude will get you killed.”

  She turned to Sanych. “Were you too distracted by your search for me to put it together? The Silver Hands of Salience are descendants of those who used to wield magic. The ability to control magic becomes active sometime during their second decade. Yet only when they travel to Salience are they even aware of their gifts. Can you guess why?”

  Sanych frowned. Everyone looked at her. Her blue eyes flicked back and forth for only a moment. “The harbor…its cavern is an ancient lava dome. Salience is a volcano.”

  “I knew that,” Kemsil said, crossing his arms.

  “So, why aren’t—weren’t—there magicians on Ha’Hril?” Salvor asked. “It’s definitely a volcano.”

  Meena replied, “Hrillians don’t really embrace their magic; they’re too busy making money hand over fist from international trade and the toothspice industry.”

  Sanych recalled the sight of a dragon borne of flame, dancing over an entranced crowd. It had been the only remotely magical thing she’d seen in Ha’Lakkon.

  “The Green Dragon in Shanal is a volcano too,” Meena continued. “It lies just outside Cish, the capital.” Meena looked down for a moment. “I know it well, of old. The cult will be working their dark deeds from the Dragon Temple on its slopes, in order to have access to the strongest power they can grasp.”

  “They’ve done this before?” Salvor asked.

  “Yes.” Meena sighed. “Dzur i’Oth has drawn me back to them more than once in order to retrieve the key to the Tome. They used to assume I carried it with me; it took them a long time to realize that the immortality of my blood gave extra power to the key, that it could survive outside my body. I’m sure at least part of that informational delay was due to my slaughter of as many of them as I could find, every time I returned. But some of them were always hiding in the natural magic bolt-holes scattered across the ancient caldera. Looks like I get to play the reaper once more,” she said, her eyes flat with determination. Then she shook her head. “My failures have endangered so many lives, and now it endangers yours. I cannot ask you to accompany us, but I will accept your help, if you choose to continue.”

  Kemsil looked around the group. “I’m afraid I’ll need a bit more information first,” he said.

  Meena fixed him with her green gaze and told him how the cult had tried to kill her to gain immortality four hundred years ago. She explained how their ritual had mysteriously failed, and had imbued her with immortality at the cost of the lives of all eleven ritualists.

  As Kemsil gaped in wonder, she continued, “My husband Arisson found me and rescued me, and we managed to steal the Dire Tome as we escaped, with the help of his magic shielding. We’d hoped to destroy it and end Dzur i’Oth’s insurrection in the capital, but we couldn’t. Worse, the thing would watch us whenever we studied it. The fighting only worsened after the cult lost the Dire Tome; after Queen Anzadi was assassinated, we realized the entire country would be destroyed if we didn’t act fast.

  “We took the book to the Green Dragon, and I locked it away, creating a key with my life blood. The perverse book defends itself from other magics: no one can locate or damage it. So the cult needs me, and my key, to return to Shanal, if they ever hope to get their hands on the Dire Tome again.”

  Sanych pouted. “That’s more in ten minutes than you
’ve told me in the last three seasons!”

  Meena smiled wryly. “They can see me coming now. If you are to come with me, you need to know as much of the truth as I can give you. Even now, I am endangering you all, and the other ships that Rhona has brought. She has agreed to take us straight to Shanal, through enemy Clan waters, provided Geret agrees to continue his quest. And you know I will brook no dissent about the fate of the book, princeling.”

  Geret winced at the endearment. “I promised my uncle that I would bring the Dire Tome back to Vint, if it could be brought back,” he explained to Kemsil. “Only Meena knows what it will mean to me to give up the hope of completing that task.”

  Salvor cut his eyes over to Geret, frowning. “What does it mean?”

  “Addan, my cousin,” Geret sighed, running fingers back through his long hair. “The true prince of Vint. He’s mad, and slowly dying, and no one can figure out why. My uncle has charged me with retrieving the Dire Tome because an old priest’s journal mentioned its healing powers. I told Meena about it the first night out with the caravan.”

  Sanych recalled that night, long past, when she had walked into Geret’s tent. Understanding at last what she had seen pass between Meena and Geret, she shot a glare across the small room to Salvor, who accepted it without comment. They both knew that his manipulation of Sanych’s emotions had begun that night.

  “If you can heal people, Meena, why didn’t you just turn around and heal Addan?” she asked, turning away from him.

  “Because I can’t heal Addan. Not for more than a few minutes.”

  Geret looked hurt. “You told me that night that you couldn’t help him, and I only learned about your healing ability weeks later, when we were far from home. Why didn’t you explain then? And why can’t you heal him?”

  “I didn’t want to force you into a decision you weren’t ready for, Geret. No one likes control of their destiny taken away. As for Addan…” She sighed. “I slipped in to see him before the expedition set out from Highnave. During the time Sanych thought I’d abandoned her.”

  Sanych blushed.

  “If you’d healed him,” Geret said, his voice rising, “would you have told me? Or would you have led me out here for nothing?”

  “Would it have been for nothing, princeling? You’re an adventurer at heart. Wouldn’t you have come anyway, knowing you were off to save the world from the merciless reach of an evil cult?

  “My healing only lasted moments on Addan. He looked at me with stunned clarity, and whispered one word, before his eyes became terrified and gradually lapsed back into their staring.” She shuddered. “It was terrible to watch, and I’d not punish him with the knowledge that he was sinking back into madness again and again, unless I hated him.”

  “What did he say?” Geret asked, leaning forward, while Sanych was still digesting the fact that Meena had gone back to the palace without her.

  “‘Free’.” Meena swallowed. “Your cousin is under a spell, Geret.”

  “What?” he barked.

  “Oh, Wisdom,” Sanych murmured, her eyes flicking.

  “Do you see it, Archivist?” Meena asked, her voice quiet. “Do you see their reach?”

  Sanych felt rampant tingles shoot up her spine, contracting her scalp with pinpricks. “Wisdom…” Her breath felt thin; her eyes darted to Geret.

  “What is it?” he asked her, taking a concerned step in her direction. “Sanych, tell me.”

  She licked her lips. “Dzur i’Oth used your cousin with bloodmagic, and used me as well, to draw Meena to them. They’ve been planning this for years. They cursed Addan, then put the priest’s journal into your uncle’s hands. My quest…how did they know I would seek Meena? Am I under a spell as well?” Her breathing sped up, and she looked to Meena for an answer.

  The Shanallar shook her head. “No, Sanych. Someone probably suggested that it was too bad no one knew anything more about this Dire Tome your Magister wanted.”

  Sanych’s mouth opened, and stayed open. “Ahni,” she finally said, feeling her stomach turn. That’s exactly what Ahni said. We talked about it for hours one night. It inspired my quest. “My assistant at the Temple. Will they kill her?” she asked.

  “She’s perfectly safe, Sanych. I assure you, she hates Dzur i'Oth as much as I do.”

  “But how do you know?”

  Meena raised her chin and smiled. “I have my ways.”

  “Why would they do this, though?” Kemsil asked. “Spend years on a plot that might somehow fail to fruit, for a magical book they’ve not had their hands on in four centuries?”

  Meena met the man’s eyes. “A persistent evil must be very patient.” She straightened her shoulders and looked everyone in the eye one by one. “Now, Sanych and I want to know who’s willing to make a race across the sea with us. Anyone who wants out, we’ll leave you safely out of harm’s way.”

  Geret met Meena’s eyes. “This cult has cursed my cousin. Cursed him, and ruined his entire life! You say that the Dire Tome won’t save him, but…if I help you kill them all…will that free him?” The naked hunger for a “yes” was stark in his brown eyes.

  “Geret Branbrey Valan, Prince of Vint,” Meena responded formally, “if you help me destroy every last member of the Cult of Dzur i’Oth, there will be none to hold the spell over your cousin. You will fulfill the spirit of your pledge, if not the letter.”

  “Then I’m going,” Geret said immediately, stabbing his short dagger into Rhona’s tabletop. Meena nodded her acceptance.

  “And that means I’m going,” Salvor added in a resigned tone.

  “I’ve told you already,” Kemsil said to them, “that my life is yours now. Twice over, in fact. So I’m going too. Besides…” he added, paling, “I think I may know a small way to help you.”

  “With what?” Sanych asked. Kemsil still held many unknowns for her; she’d rarely seen him during their sojourn at Salience. All she knew was that another Jualan House had ruined Kemsil’s life, separating him from Anjoya, the woman he loved, by using the magical banns to force him into a political marriage. If he hadn’t been kidnapped by Clan Swordfish on the way to his own wedding, he’d already be a political prisoner, if a well-kept one.

  “I…” Kemsil let out a bracing breath and tried again. “I know where you can find an ancient item that will hide you from the cult’s eyes. From everyone, in fact.”

  Meena leaned on the table with both hands, her eyes burning into Kemsil’s. Her frost-tipped hair fairly quivered. “Where is it?”

  “In Juala, at the ancestral home of the House of Aldib. The family that placed me under the banns.”

  Geret frowned. “Gryme, you don’t need to come with us to get it, if you can tell us where it is. We don’t want to get you killed.”

  Kemsil shut his eyes and swallowed. “You don’t understand,” he said finally, meeting Geret’s eyes again. “You cannot retrieve the item without me. In fact, you cannot retrieve it at all. Each Jualan family that desires to be raised to House-hood must lay claim to an item of vast age, power or mystery. The Claim of House Aldib is a magical artifact called the Circuit of Sa’qal. It resides in a warded pavilion on the House grounds, and none but House Aldib may cross its threshold.”

  “But you told us you belong to the House of Jath. How are you going to get into another House’s Claim pavilion?” Salvor asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Kemsil managed a determined grin despite his fears. “Because the banns mark me as one of their own. They may have cursed me to live as a celibate fugitive for the rest of my days, but if I help you steal their Claim to Housedom, it will destroy all the power and prestige they have amassed among the Jualan Houses. Though I fear my death, and Anjoya’s despair, rather greatly, I would gladly accept it in order to destroy Aldib and free Jath from their controlling grasp.”

  Meena’s eyes sparkled, and an eager smile parted her lips. “Then let’s go get it.”

  Chapter Four

  Someone was rapping on Master Godric�
��s door again. He sighed, putting his elbows on his desk and rubbing his forehead. “Come in.”

  The thick oak door opened. “Sorry, Master,” said Archivist Ghant, a lanky man with dark red hair. “I know it’s been a trying day for us all. But there’s a box here, sent over from the palace. It’s addressed to Archivist elTiera.”

  Godric sat up. “You can just leave it here on my desk. I’ll put it with her other correspondence.”

  “Begging your pardon, Master,” Ghant said, waving in a pair of sweating workmen who carried a box nearly the size of a coffin. “It’s rather large. May I suggest your floor instead?”

  Godric’s eyebrows rose, and he gave permission for the men to set the box against the far wall. He stood and approached it, recognizing the inked script emblazoned across the box’s lid as Hrillian.

  “I thought you said this came from the palace.”

  “It did,” came a new voice. Godric looked over to see Ilvan Imorlar, the Magister’s Seneschal, step through the door with a folded letter in his hand. “By way of Ha’Lakkon. And you have my sympathies on the loss of Master Alii. He was a well-grounded advisor. The Magister will be sure to attend his remembrance ceremony.”

  “Thank you. It’s been a difficult day. This box, who sent it?”

  “Salvor Thelios, over a season ago. The troubles in Yaren Fel had it gathering dust in a warehouse for several weeks, but now that the guilds have renegotiated their power structure, trade is resuming.”

  “The expedition got out of there before the volcano erupted, then.”

  “Barely. The halt on trans-oceanic trade didn’t help matters in Yaren Fel, either. I hear Eirant lost most every harbor on its eastern shores to some massive quake ripples. Luckily, the ripples at Yaren Fel were far smaller.”

  Godric frowned. “I hope the ripples haven’t affected the expedition.”

  Imorlar gave him a wry smile. “Aside from interrupting their mail, you mean. I’d hoped to receive news from Salience by now as well.” He looked to Ghant. “Give us a moment, please.”

  Ghant nodded and ushered out the delivery men, closing the door behind them.