Queen of Oblivion

by Giles Carwyn

  The Carrier directly in front of Brophy removed his helmet. The soldier’s curly black hair was cropped short, but his face had been powdered like any other high-ranking Ohohhim. “Oh ordered this,” he said without a trace of irony. “Those who resist Oh’s wisdom shall be watched. Those who defy Oh’s example shall be punished. Those who attack Oh’s chosen shall be slain,” he said, quoting the ancient scrolls.

  “You claim to speak for Oh?” she hissed. “I did not realize that the priests recognized you as his latest incarnation.”

  The man winced from the look she gave him. He was a young man, still in his thirties, with a stern face and powerful build, but he was still an Ohohhim, pushed from the womb with someone else’s sleeve in his hand. Arefaine thought he would back down immediately, but his jaw clenched and he held his ground.

  “Oh’s will on this issue is clear. I am the senior member of the sacred Carriers of the Opal Fire. I was third in the divine queue behind His Eternal Wisdom and the Opal Advisor, who have both passed into the darkness of Oh’s cave. The burden of justice now falls upon me.”

  Arefaine felt her temper twist inside her. So he meant to defy her directly, ignore the emperor’s wishes, and cut her out of the divine queue. The emperor had disregarded tradition and named her regent before his death. Customarily, the Opal Advisor stood as regent until the next emperor was found and had come of age, but the advisor had been slain alongside the emperor. This man would have been third in line if the emperor hadn’t given express orders to the contrary.

  “You seem to have forgotten that His Eternal Wisdom named me regent upon his death.” A quiet shifting rippled through the crowd. “Who are you to deny the Voice of Oh?”

  The First Carrier’s lip curled into a snarl. “It is you who deny His voice. You deny his very existence. You cannot hide your nature, your ambitions.” He said the word as if it were the most vile thing imaginable. “The Opal Empire will not follow your sleeve, daughter of traitors. You will not corrupt us with your lust for power, your contempt for Oh’s example.”

  Arefaine fought down her temper. She could kill this man in an instant, but his death would mean nothing. She must find a way to kill the words he’d spoken, the superstitions he lived by. Every member of the crowd hung their heads, embarrassed by the unseemly confrontation. How could she reclaim Oh’s authority in their eyes? The First Carrier gave her the barest flicker of a smile as she hesitated to respond. He raised his sword over Astor’s head.

  “Swing that sword and you will die,” Brophy said. His injured face held the same feral look he’d had back in the boulder field above Ohndarien. Arefaine could feel the emmeria surging within him. The First Carrier’s sword quivered, but he did not lower it.

  “I know why the emperor chose her as regent,” Brophy continued, barely contained. “He told me himself before he died. You are the one consumed by asris. You are the one lost in the dark, chasing your own sleeve.”

  Arefaine felt a surge of pride to have Brophy standing at her side. Oh’s Chosen should not have to defend herself. Brophy understood that better than anybody.

  “I do not fear you,” the First Carrier replied. “I do not fear the filth of Efften that flows through your veins.”

  “You should fear me,” Brophy said, seeming to grow larger.

  The Carrier had trouble speaking, but he got the words out. “You may kill me. You may kill everyone here and run to hide behind Ohndarien’s walls, but there is a queue of millions behind me who will remember this day. Nothing you can do will turn them from Oh’s path. The emperor’s murder will be avenged.”

  Arefaine’s heart lurched as she saw what was about to happen. The Carrier’s blade flashed as he moved, but Brophy was faster. He hammered a fist into the Carrier’s jaw and the man’s sword fell from nerveless fingers. The blade clattered across the stones as the would-be executioner crashed to the ground.

  The other Carriers drew their weapons.

  Brophy whirled and drew his sword, crouching low. A single line of blood trickled down his forearm.

  Arefaine seized the moment and turned to the crowd. “Enough!” she shouted; her voice echoed off the distant cliffs. “His Eternal Wisdom chose our path. Oh showed him what our future holds, and I am humbled that he chose me to lead us through that darkness.”

  Arefaine paused, sensing the crowd’s reaction. Their emotions were mixed, but fear predominated. That was fine. Fear was an acceptable place to start. The four remaining Carriers were paralyzed in indecision, unsure where their duty lay.

  “My sleeve is here for those who wish to follow it,” she continued. “Those who doubt me may seek Oh’s voice on their own.”

  Arefaine scanned the faces in the crowd. Brophy stood beside her like a volcano waiting to erupt, his hands quivering with rage. The Carrier farthest from her slowly lowered his weapon and knelt before her. The crowd of sailors, courtiers, and pilgrims quickly did the same. The three other Carriers were the last to bow, planting their foreheads upon the dock in front of them.

  Arefaine felt a surge of triumph, but kept it from her face. She turned to Brophy and nodded. He gave her a slight bow, still struggling with the rage boiling inside him.

  “Arrest that man and strip him of his uniform,” the first Carrier to kneel said, pointing at his companion who had defied her.

  Two Carriers walked over and turned the man onto his back. Brophy gasped and rushed to the man, felt for a pulse on his limp neck. The side of his head was caved in. His jawbone fell away from the rest of his face, hanging by a few tendons. Swallowing, Brophy looked down at the blood on his fist.

  Arefaine narrowed her eyes, hesitating only a moment before she turned to face the assemblage. “Such a fate awaits all those who defy Oh’s will,” she said. They bowed again, keeping their foreheads firmly on the ground.

  Chapter 5

  Brophy knelt next to the man he had killed and forced himself to stare at the bloody mess. Howls of black emmeria roared through his head, and he hated it, loathed what it had made him do, but his venom only added to its strength. He could still feel the sensation of impact lingering on his fist. It had felt so good to strike him, a rush of pure joy, and he ached at the loss of it. He wanted more.

  Arefaine began giving orders, telling the onlookers to prepare the ships for departure. The four Carriers took the body away, and Brophy couldn’t look them in the face.

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his father’s spirit light in his fist. Brophy was stronger than the black emmeria. He knew he was, and he had to resist it. Slowly, the roaring faded to the background, leaving nothing but an acid pit of regret in his chest.

  Arefaine’s light fingers touched his shoulder, and a gentle warmth seeped into him, soothing his bitter emotions until he felt empty and raw. Brophy reached up and squeezed her hand.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “No,” she said. “Thank you. What you did was of the utmost importance.”

  “But at what price? That man is dead, and I still can’t control myself.”

  “That man’s death was unfortunate, but necessary. And you will learn that control. In time. You’re already so much stronger.”

  Brophy rose, looking once more at the blood on his knuckles. He and Arefaine were alone on the dock with the Ohndarien prisoners. “We need to get them out of here,” he said.

  Arefaine appraised him carefully. The young woman who had been crying over the emperor’s body a few minutes before was nowhere to be found now. “Are you sure that is wise? A few deaths might prevent a war between our peoples.”

  Brophy glanced over at Astor. His cousin met that gaze, tense and unsure. “There won’t be a war,” Brophy said, rising to his feet. “We won’t allow it.”

  Arefaine paused. She was scared. He could see it in the slight tension around her eyes. But her doubts and fears seemed to make her more regal, more determined. Once again, he wondered if he could accomplish the task the emperor demanded of him. Coul
d he make this woman fall in love with him?

  “I am afraid you are overestimating our ability to countermand a thousand years of tradition,” she said, choosing each word carefully. “The divine queue does not change direction quickly. Imperial blood has been spilled; millions of Ohohhim will want him to be avenged.”

  Before Brophy could protest, she held up a hand. “But I will leave their fate up to you. I see no justice to be found in their deaths. The emperor was killed by his own superstitions. Not an Ohndarien sword.”

  Brophy glanced at Astor and the rest of the Lightning Swords. “I’ll send them back to Ohndarien. The emperor said there would be trouble there soon.”

  Arefaine looked over at the prisoners, and Brophy feared for a moment that she would disagree with him, but she nodded. “Do it quickly. The very sight of them breeds bad blood.”

  Brophy nodded and she left him on the dock with the prisoners. Brophy watched her ascend back to the ship, her every step infused with grace and dignity. He knew where she was going, back to her chambers to bathe and reapply her impeccable makeup. You must teach a lost child how to love, the emperor had told him. Anger surged through Brophy at the memory of his conversation with the Ohohhim ruler. Someone should have taught the emperor how to love. The man had sacrificed his own life on the altar of Oh’s wisdom and expected Brophy to manipulate Arefaine into doing the same. Just as Scythe manipulated Brophy into a Nine Squares champion, Brophy was supposed to twist Arefaine into a mindless, white-faced martyr.

  But Brophy hadn’t played Nine Squares the way Scythe wanted, and he didn’t intend to play the emperor’s game either. Love couldn’t be taught. It could only be shared.

  “Brophy,” Astor whispered, breaking him out of his thoughts.

  Brophy turned, pulled his dagger from his belt, and cut Astor’s bonds. He helped his cousin to his feet. Wincing, Astor rubbed his wrists.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  “Thank Arefaine,” Brophy said.

  “She couldn’t have stopped that swordsman in time.”

  Brophy gave him a grim smile. “Don’t be too sure of that.”

  Astor gave him a skeptical look, but didn’t push the issue. “What are you going to do with us?”

  Brophy looked down the line of Ohndarien soldiers. They looked back at him, grim and determined. “I’ll take you back to your ship and send you back to Ohndarien.”

  Astor nodded. “May I speak to you alone for a moment?” he asked.

  Brophy led him down the dock until they were out of earshot.

  “It won’t be that simple,” Astor started. “I came here for…” He paused. “For selfish reasons. But they came here for the Heartstone. Those men are determined to reclaim what should never have been stolen. They’ll never walk away empty-handed. They’ll keep coming back until they reclaim Her or until they are dead.”

  Brophy took a deep breath as he felt the anger rise within him. He glanced at his father’s soul light resting on his palm and squeezed it.

  “They want the Heartstone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well, I’ll give it to them.” He handed Astor his dagger. “Cut them loose, I’ll be right back.”

  Astor eyed the blade suspiciously, but he took it and returned to the prisoners.

  Brophy walked back to the emperor’s flagship. He went belowdecks and headed for the emperor’s bedchamber. A pair of Carriers guarded the door. Brophy walked right past them into the room. The imperial guards followed him, with their hands on the pommels of their swords, but they didn’t stop him. He walked to the silver cabinet at the far side of the room. He could feel the emmeria swirling within. With a grunt he picked up the heavy container and balanced it on his shoulder.

  The Carriers stepped into his path, ready to draw their blades.

  “You’d better come with me,” Brophy said. “You’ll want to see this as well.”

  He headed back to the quay, enjoying the hard work of carrying the silver cabinet. The Carriers followed him silently.

  When Brophy reached Astor and the Ohndariens, they were already untied and busy rubbing the stiffness out of their limbs. Brophy looked down the line of dirty, battered, and exhausted Ohndarien soldiers. He watched their faces. Each of them held that Ohndarien fire behind their eyes. They’d lost, but weren’t defeated. It gave Brophy a sense of fierce pride, and he wondered if he’d lost his own fire, his own indestructible love for Ohndarien.

  He set the cabinet on the dock, and it thumped loudly. “If you want the Heartstone, there She is. Take Her.” He flung the doors open. The Lightning Swords flinched away. Astor’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled into a snarl. They all felt the weight of the black emmeria swirling within the Heartstone and the other containment stones in the cabinet.

  “This is what you came for,” Brophy said. “Come take it.” Nobody stepped forward.

  “That’s—” Astor started.

  “That’s the black emmeria. You can feel it in your bellies. You can feel it in your hearts, in your very skin.”

  Astor nodded, and Brophy looked down the line of Ohndarien soldiers. He could see the disgust etched into every face. Even the two Carriers held themselves differently. Their eyes were hidden by their helmets, but their bodes were tense, repulsed by foul magic. “This is our enemy. Not each other, not the Silver Islanders. This is what we are fighting. This is what caused the Nightmare Battle. This is what drew the corrupted to our walls. This is what I held in my dreams for so many years.”

  Brophy closed the cabinet doors with a clang and felt a palpable sense of relief sweep through the crowd.

  “I understand why you came here. I appreciate what you risked to do so. But the Heartstone does not belong in Ohndarien. She was not created to make our city great. She was created to imprison and eventually destroy the black emmeria. There is only one place that can happen: the isle of Efften. And there is only one person who can do it: Arefaine Morgeon. We’re going there to fight this evil. To destroy it.” He looked to the Carriers. “That is what the emperor gave his life for. That is why he named Arefaine regent.”

  He looked back to the Ohndariens. “Is there anyone here who wants to stop me from doing that? Is there anyone here who knows better what must be done?”

  The frightened soldiers shook their heads.

  “Let us help you,” Astor said suddenly. “Let us fight by your side.”

  A chorus of agreement rose from the assembled Lightning Swords.

  “Yes!” one said. “This is what the Lightning Swords were assembled for!”

  Many more joined that sentiment, calling out that they would sail to Efften to put down the threat forever.

  Brophy felt a surge of pride at the strength of their conviction, their immediate understanding of what must be done.

  “Please, please, listen to me,” he said in a low voice.

  The Lightning Swords fell silent, and Brophy looked at all of them.

  “I am honored by your offer, but the emperor’s blood is on your hands. I know you did not want that to happen, but it did. His death has made a very difficult task even harder. And your presence makes it harder still. I need you to go back to Ohndarien. Protect her as you can. Arefaine and I will see this through.”

  No one said anything.

  “Go on.” He pointed up the shore where the Carriers had found their ship hidden. “Tell the council what is happening here. Let them know what is at stake.”

  A flurry of murmurs ran through the Ohndariens.

  “There must be something we can do,” one of them said.

  “There will be,” Brophy assured them. “This fight is far from over. But right now I need your swords on top of Ohndarien’s walls.”

  Slowly, they nodded and left, their footsteps heavy and sullen. A dull pain lodged in Brophy’s chest as he watched them march up the dock. He longed to go with them. Back home. Back to Shara. But he couldn’t return to her like this. Not yet. He looked at the bloodstains on the dock f
rom the man he’d killed. The black emmeria still had him. The Fiend was still out there, laughing, and Brophy would have to force a reckoning with that man before he returned to Shara’s arms.

  Brophy glanced at Astor, who lingered behind the others. As though reading Brophy’s mind, he said, “Are you sure you can do this?”

  Brophy shot a glance at the backs of the Lightning Swords as they walked into the mists that swirled past the ship’s rail. The two Carriers were only a few feet away and Brophy leaned close to Astor so they couldn’t overhear. “No. I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Wouldn’t it be safer to return the stone to Ohndarien until things have calmed down?”

  Brophy winced, remembering the emperor’s words. Ohndarien will soon fall to treachery from within. There is nothing that either one of us can do about that now. “That’s no longer an option, Astor.”

  “Why? These Ohohhim are practically in open revolt. Ohndarien is the safest place for Her.” Brophy smiled. Looking at Astor was like looking into a mirror. The simple earnestness in his eyes was Brophy all over again, before the years of nightmare, before his soul had been stained. His cousin was overflowing with belief, hope, things Brophy could barely remember. There was nothing but anger left inside him, rage and fierce determination.

  “It’s not about keeping Her safe anymore. We’ve run out of time for that.”

  “Then let me help you. Dress me as a Carrier. I don’t care. Just let me help.”

  Brophy smiled. “A few hours ago, you were going to kill me.”

  “I know,” Astor said, glancing at the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I, Astor. So am I.”

  Astor waited a long moment, perhaps trying to find the words to convince Brophy to let him come along. Brophy waited. Astor nodded.

  “If I can’t stay, what else can I do?”

  Brophy glanced around. The Carriers stood at a distance on either side of the silver cabinet. Arefaine was still belowdecks. There was no one else around. “Actually, there is something very important I need you to do.” Astor nodded. “Before he died, the emperor told me Ohndarien was in danger of being betrayed.”