War of the Bastards

by Andrew Shvarts

  So we just sort of strolled in, tethering our terzans to a hitching post outside the benn and following Syan in on foot. But just because we didn’t get held up doesn’t mean we didn’t make a splash. By the time we set foot on the polished cobblestone that made up Benn Devalos’s streets, it felt like everyone in the city was watching us. Some of the braver ones, heavyset men with pointed beards and stern-looking women with beads in their hair, actually hung out on the streets to stare. Most of the others just watched from the safety of their windows: gray-haired elders shaking their heads, young men and women whispering, kids pointing and gaping. I was starting to recognize common Izterosi qualities: olive skin, orange eyes, sharp features, and black hair glowing with multicolored strands. And there was something else they had in common, too. None of them looked happy to see us.

  Which I guess made sense. I mean, none of them had ever seen someone who wasn’t Izterosi before, much less a crew of two Volaris, two Westerners, and a Zitochi, much less a crew that looked as ragged, messy, and battle-scarred as we were. They’d probably reconsider that no-guards policy after we left.

  No one said anything, though. Not until we crossed into a round little plaza outside of that wide hall, surrounded by plants that looked like bright red palm trees with watermelon-size berries. Waiting for us at the end of the plaza was a severe-looking group of older Izterosi, arms folded across their chests, faces etched with deep scowls. Their zaryas buzzed over them in a swarm, with a low hum that felt kind of menacing.

  A woman stepped forward from that crowd, and I knew right away this was Syan’s mother. Her face was almost identical, just twenty years older, with a crinkle of crow’s feet by her eyes and deep furrows in her brow. And there was something about the way she held herself, a proudness to her manner, like there was absolutely nothing you could say that would remotely faze her.

  But if this was Syan’s mother, why didn’t she look happier to see her daughter? Why did she look so pissed?

  “Syan Syee,” she said, her voice hard and furious. Four zaryas, four, fluttered over her, two above each shoulder, jerking back and forth with a crackling energy. “What in the name of the Sunfather is the meaning of this?”

  I looked to Zell and Ellarion for support, but they looked just as confused as I felt. There was something we were missing here, something Syan hadn’t told us, something big and awful. I looked back around, at the benn sprawled out behind me, at the faces staring from the windows, and a horrible truth twisted in my gut. Those people hadn’t been staring at us with hate in their eyes. They’d been staring at Syan.

  “Syan? What’s going on?” Trell demanded, suddenly alarmed. “Was this not approved?”

  But Syan just ignored him. “Mother,” she said, and there was a quiver to her voice, a weakness that made my blood run cold. “Please. I can explain everything if you’ll only listen. These are great leaders from the Stillands. They’re—”

  “Not where everyone can hear you!” her mother cut in, and the hum of the swarm of zaryas behind her rose to a drone. “Inside the hall. Now.”

  “Um…” I said, hoping someone else would jump in and help, maybe offer some insight, but the wagon was rolling and there was no turning it back. The elders ushered us into the hall, that big three-story building, with Syan sheepishly following. I turned to Lyriana, my expression hopefully communicating What do we do here? But Lyriana just shook her head and followed. There was nothing we could do, not until we knew more, maybe not even then. We’d come all this way. We had to see it through, one way or another.

  The hall was simple, simple as a room built of slick magic stone could be. Fires flickered within perfect glass orbs, mounted in recesses all along the ceiling. A semicircle of elevated chairs lined the room’s back wall, and we stood on the cold floor in front of them as the elders took their seats. Their zaryas settled down, slotting into small round grooves in their chairs, where they spun idly in lazy circles. There were seven other elders, husky men with bushy eyebrows and slim women with thick metal necklaces, but none of them spoke. It was clear Syan’s mother ran the show.

  “Now then,” she said, once we were all in and the doors shut tight behind us. “Tell me, daughter. Who are these stillanders you’ve brought into our benn?”

  “These are the great leaders and rebels of the Kingdom of Noveris,” Syan said. “The former King, Elric Kent. The true Queen, Lyriana Volaris. Archmagus Ellarion, the greatest of their mages. They come here seeking our aid.”

  “Our aid,” Syan’s mother repeated, her face curdled like the words were rotting in her mouth. “What could they possibly need our aid for?”

  “Your Majesty,” Lyriana cut in, putting on her best voice of regal deference. “If I may be permitted to speak, I—”

  “My title is Elder Syee,” the woman replied, her voice hard as a hatchet. “And the only thing you’re permitted to do, girl, is stay silent and know your place.”

  Lyriana stepped back, stunned. I was, too. I don’t think anyone had ever dared to speak to Lyriana like that.

  “Mother, they come seeking our aid in their war.” Syan was stumbling over her words and looking way, way too pale. I’d seen Syan stare down Jacobi and battle a storm of monsters, but I’d never seen her look even one-tenth this scared. “A terrible usurper sits on the throne, building an army of abominations. We can help these rebels turn the tide, restore peace, and put a stop to the horrors ravaging their land.”

  “And why would we possibly do that?” the Elder Syee replied. “For millennia, our people have stayed out of the affairs of stillanders. Why would we change that now? What would we have to gain? What could possibly justify such a monstrous breach of our laws?”

  “Respected Elder, if I may.” Trell stepped forward, head bowed low. “On behalf of Benn Selaro, I apologize profusely for any part I played in this. I had no idea that these stillanders were unwelcome. I was merely a guide, and I mean the people of your benn no ill will.”

  “You may merely be a guide, boy, but you are no fool,” Syan’s mother replied. “You know the laws of our people. You know stillanders are forbidden from setting foot in our sands. And I’m sure you knew that you ought to consult with your own benn’s elders before taking on a job like this.” Her gaze narrowed. “You knew this was wrong, and you let your greed blind you. I have no sympathy for that.”

  Trell stepped back, hand clutched over his mouth, eyes watering. My breath caught in my throat. Just how screwed were we?

  With Trell cowed, the Elder Syee turned back to her daughter, and I swear the air in the room dropped ten degrees. “Syan Syee. Daughter of mine. Enough talk. Where is your brother?”

  “He…he…” Syan tried and then she broke, collapsing to her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry. He’s dead. I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save him. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Syan’s mother’s zaryas spun furiously in their slots. The other elders leaned back in their seats, like they were bracing for an explosion. For one moment, her face had an emotion besides indignation and grit, a look of real anguish. Then she pulled it in, hid it behind a snarl, and there was only the cold anger again. “You stupid girl,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “You stupid, selfish, miserable girl.” And even though I knew I should be scared, and I was scared, I also felt pissed, because what mother dared talk to her kid that way? What mother looked at her own child with that much venom and hate?

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” Syan begged. “I’m sorry!”

  “So this is what it’s come to, you ungrateful cur,” the Elder Syee growled. “You dragged your brother onto your fool’s crusade. You got my boy, my sweet wonderful boy, killed. And now you come to us, violating our people’s ancient laws, dragging stillanders into our benn to…what? Get revenge? Is that truly how low you’ve sunk?”

  “It’s not about revenge!” Lyriana cut in, and I guess she’d decided not to know her place after all. “It’s about saving the world. It’s
about Zastroya!”

  The whole room went silent. The zaryas stopped spinning. The elders looked from one to another, perplexed, and the Elder Syee composed herself, folding her hands neatly together in front of her face. “And what would you know of Zastroya?”

  “It’s the end of everything. The Storm That Will Consume the World. And it’s somehow connected to Miles and his bloodmages.” Lyriana stepped forward, which, bold choice. “I know you’ve seen it too, that you’ve all been dreaming about it. I know the dreams started around the time Kent took over. I know—”

  But the Elder Syee cut her off with a laugh. “Is that what she told you?”

  Lyriana looked at her, then at us, then finally at Syan. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry,” Syan whispered, unable to even look up. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Then it seems we are all victims of my daughter and her passions. That no matter how we scold and guide and punish her, she just drags more and more people into her madness.” The Elder Syee shook her head. “Tell them, daughter. Tell them the truth.”

  My heart was pounding, my hands shaking, and I desperately needed to get out of this room. How had this all gone so wrong, so quickly? What had we missed all this time?

  I wanted Syan to answer, to tell her mom to piss off, to assure us that everything was okay. But Syan just sat there, face hidden, breath ragged, unable to speak. So her mother sighed wearily and spoke for her. “Of course. You can lie to Kings and Queens, but the one thing you can’t do is tell the truth.” She turned to Lyriana, looking at her less with fury and more a profound pity. “We have not all been dreaming of Zastroya. I’ve never dreamed of it in my life. The only person…the only person…who dreamed of it was her. My daughter. The lunatic.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “It’s a tragic illness, the madness.” The Elder Syee shook her head. “Syan’s father had it, and his grandmother before him. First come the dreams, terrible visions of death and chaos, tormenting them every night. Then the hallucinations, vivid nightmares all around them even when they’re awake. Soon enough, they don’t know what’s real anymore. They kill themselves. Or others.”

  It hit me all at once like a punch in the gut, like the air had been sucked out of the room. Syan had been lying to us. This whole time, she’d been lying. This wasn’t some special mission for her people, it was just her own personal obsession. And her people couldn’t care less. Syan had led us out here, into the desert, away from our Kingdom and our cause, on a wild dream at best and a total lie at worst.

  That answered that question. We were completely screwed.

  “I’m not mad, mother,” Syan insisted, with the labored desperation of someone who’s had to say this all too many times. “The dreams were real! Zastroya is coming!”

  “We tried to help her, to comfort her, to convince her that her delusions weren’t real,” Syan’s mother went on. There was love in her voice, buried somewhere deep, but it was smothered under layers of anger and disappointment. “I’d braced myself for the worst. But never in a thousand years did I think she would be foolish enough to venture into the Ghostlands!”

  A murmur ran through the room, and Trell burst up to his feet, jerking away from Syan as if he’d just learned she was carrying the plague. “I didn’t know!” he yelled, sounding equal parts furious and terrified. “I swear it! I swear! I would never have helped this blasphemer!”

  “I needed to know the truth,” Syan said. “The dreams kept calling to me, telling me to go out there, to the prison.”

  “To the Nightmother!” Trell howled, and I was honestly a little worried he was going to get violent. “To the demon, the destroyer! You went to her!”

  The Elder Syee ignored Trell, going on as if he wasn’t even there. “When my daughter returned, wild-eyed, raving, talking of what she’d seen in the Ghostlands, my heart broke in half. She was beyond helping, beyond redemption. There were some in this room that felt the compassionate choice would be to end her. But that is not our way. So I banished her instead.” The Elder Syee’s eyes flared bright. “I never thought she’d return. I never thought she’d find more ways to break our laws. And I never thought she’d drag my sweet innocent boy into her madness.”

  “The Nightmother sends warnings of the end,” Syan said. “She showed me the lands of Noveris, and the abominations, and the usurper King. She showed me the symbol!” She turned back to us, her eyes wild, and I had the horrible realization that this was her trump card, the moment she thought it would all turn. “Look at Lyriana’s tattoo, mother! It’s the symbol I drew. The symbol I always drew. You recognize it, right?”

  A hushed silence hung over the room. The Elder Syee squinted at Lyriana’s tattoo, and I could see a flicker of recognition. “Yes, I suppose that does resemble it.”

  “Well, there you go!” Syan said. “I was telling the truth. This is all destiny. This is the Nightmother’s will. Our people were meant to join flames, to fight together!”

  But the Elder Syee’s face was still cold as ever. Maybe colder. “So you got this girl to tattoo your symbol onto her arm. And you thought that would convince me?”

  “What?” Syan said, and I could see the exact moment it crushed her. “No. I didn’t…I didn’t convince her of anything. She had the tattoo when I met her….”

  “It’s true. It’s the ancient symbol of the Titans. I got it months ago,” Lyriana said. “There is truth in your daughter’s words. The visions—her visions—they led her to me.”

  “If you really believe that, you’re as delusional as she is,” the Elder Syee said.

  “Look. There has clearly been a mistake made here,” Lyriana said in her most perfectly mannered diplomatic voice. “But I believe we can still work something out. Forget the past. Let us talk as the leaders of two people….”

  “No. There will be no talk,” the Elder Syee said. “Your presence here is a violation. My daughter’s presence is a blasphemy. There is only one outcome here. I spared you once, daughter. And I have lived to consider it my greatest regret.” She closed her eyes. “You all must face the sand’s justice. For my son’s sake, if nothing else.”

  “You betray his memory,” Syan whispered.

  The Elder Syee sat forward. “What was that?”

  “You heard me,” Syan replied, and now there was something new in her voice, an edge, a fury, a gathering storm. “Kalin came with me because he believed me. He had not seen the dreams, but he trusted in my words, in my passion. When all of you turned your backs and cast me out, he stood with me. And when he died, he died fighting to save others. To save stillanders.” She rose to her feet, standing tall to stare her mother down. “You may remember him as the sweet boy you held in your arms. But I remember him as the proud man who fought for his beliefs, no matter the cost. If he were here today, he’d be standing by my side. And he’d hate who you’ve become.”

  The Elder Syee pulled in her breath through her teeth, and I’ve never seen anyone look more enraged. The air hung heavy, tense. The other elders stared at her nervously. For one long endless minute, no one spoke.

  “I wish you’d died,” she said at last, “and he’d lived.”

  The Elder Syee’s zaryas rose up, bursting out of their grooves in her chair. They spun wildly in the air in front of us, spooling around each other like fishing rods drawing in their catch. There was a loud sucking noise, like the world sharply drawing in through a straw, and then I was on my knees, gasping, hacking for breath that wouldn’t come. My lungs burned in my chest, and the sides of my head felt like they were being crushed by an invisible vise. I’d expected a blast or a strike, a fireball or a wave of ice. But this was worse, so much worse.

  She was pulling the air out from the room around us, drawing it out of our lungs. She was suffocating us where we stood.

  The others went down all around me: my father clawing at his throat, Lyriana helplessly flailing, Zell dragging himself forward by his knuckleblades, teeth clenched in a furious grimace. But t
he Elder’s zaryas just kept whirling, all four of them, faster and faster, and that horrible burning feeling got worse and worse. My vision blurred, flared red. My body felt like it was on fire from the inside. I hit the ground face-first, gagging, gasping, and the last thing I saw was Syan lying next to me, her face bloodless, her eyes wide with a broken resignation.

  I’m sorry, she mouthed to me.

  Then the darkness took us.

  “TILLA.”

  Hands shook me. A voice, familiar, called my name. I felt only pain, and swam through a murky darkness.

  “Tilla!”

  With way more effort than it should have taken, I opened my eyes. I was lying on the ground, I think, on something soft and sloping. There was a wide blue sky above, and a figure leaning over me, his face blurry but familiar. I let out a groan and blinked, and he swam into focus. Zell.

  Zell.

  Memory rushed back to me like water pouring from a breaking dam. I wanted to shoot up, to scramble to my feet, to look around and figure out where in the frozen hell we were and why I was still alive. But I was in way, way too much pain to do that. My lungs still felt like they’d been hollowed out with a carving knife, and my throat was dry and scratchy. The sides of my head throbbed. Every inch of my body hurt.

  So instead I just sort of lay there and moaned. “Why…How…What?”

  “We’re alive,” Zell said, and I felt the warmth of his hand clenching mine. “She didn’t kill us.”

  “Not right away,” another voice, Ellarion’s, said from somewhere nearby. That was enough to get me up at least a little, rolling over onto my stomach and pushing myself onto my hands and knees. I was on sand, coarse sand as black as nightglass. This wasn’t like the blacksand beaches back home, though, where it sparkled all pretty in the light. This sand was a deeper black, darker, like it was pulling in all the light around it. That sand stretched out around me as far as I could see, an endless stretch of charred desert that somehow strained my eyes to look at. Behind me, maybe fifty feet away, the sand gave way to what looked like a cliff face, dropping down into a crater; besides that, there was nothing, not even dunes, just a forever sprawl of sandy night. And that’s just what I could see. Worse was the feeling in the air, a sweaty, sticky tangible magical energy, curdling my stomach and making my eyes water. If it was bad in the desert on our way in, it was so much worse here.