A Season of Rendings

by Adam J Nicolai

  The spectral soldiers dropped their weapons, devolving instantly into mass panic. The dark of the dragon clawed for the sky. None of it mattered. The cataclysm caught them all.

  Helix forgot to blink, to breathe. An instant of utter devastation seared itself into his mind:

  Flesh blasted from bone. The dragon's wings framed against a tsunami of fire. A chorus of final, silent screams.

  Then it all vanished. The memory of a soul-crushing inferno became a simple sunrise, and the ruins of Kesselholm stood as they had for millennia: silent and empty.

  23

  i. Helix

  Cataclysm.

  It was the only word that fit, the only word that even came close to describing the raw power that had levelled Kesselholm and annihilated both armies, and it had been running through his head all day.

  The wall of fire, racing across the blasted plain. The screams. The swirling sky. When he'd heard about the final days of Or'agaard in church growing up, when he'd pictured the apocalypse they always promised would come, it had looked just like that. Towering. Inescapable.

  Cataclysm.

  Once they'd been sure it was safe, they'd retreated to the guard tower, out of the sun, to endure the day. Helix had expected Seth to demand anew that they abandon this madness, that any plan which even had a chance of unearthing a spell capable of that kind of destruction had to be flawed. Stunned and speechless, part of him had wanted Seth to protest—had needed him to. But Lyseira's brother was too weak, the skin of his back still too red and tortured, to argue. He'd simply lain behind the stairs, out of sight with his face to the wall, and waited for Lyseira to rest enough to heal him.

  Angbar, too, implored them to rest. And Helix had tried. But that word—

  Cataclysm.

  —wouldn't let him. He was no stranger to lying awake while his friends slept, but this was worse than remembering the clerics' sneers as they'd sentenced him to death, worse than the nauseous light of the arc hounds' eyes. It was total. Absolute. Promising not only to kill him, not only his friends and family, but every living thing he had ever encountered. To utterly scour the face of Or'agaard.

  Why? Why even use a chant that powerful? And the automatic stumble in his mind as it fought to even accept the premise of the question: That was a chant? One person did that?

  The word and the questions eventually drove him to his feet. Now he sat with Iggy, the only other one awake. Neither of them spoke, staring instead at Kesselholm's baking courtyard from the comparative safety of the guard tower's shade.

  The shadows shortened as highsun came on. Helix realized he was parched.

  "You have any water?" he asked, but Iggy shook his head.

  "I brought what I had back to Chuckler this morning. The heat bothers me less than it does you lot—I made good time."

  This didn't surprise Helix. It just meant there would be no food or water until Lyseira woke. They were fully dependent on her, now, to survive this place. "He's still at the last tower?" Helix asked, trying to put simple thirst—and memories of cataclysm—out of his mind.

  Iggy nodded. "I warned him to make for the hills if he doesn't see me again tomorrow. It'll mean we're dead." He fell silent as the shadows thinned beneath the unrelenting sun. Then, staring out at the ruined walls, he said, "How can they sleep after that?"

  "I don't know." The words scraped out from the desert in Helix's mouth, his tongue sluggish and heavy. He waited for Iggy to go on, but there was nothing more to be said. The question spoke for itself. Responses roused themselves in his mind—things like, Do you think one of these wardbooks will hold the chant that did that? or That could never happen now, though, or You pushed for us to do this, Igg. Are you sure? Are you really, really sure?

  Ill-formed and fragile, all of them. They ran into that word (cataclysm) and fell to dust on his tongue. He kept his silence, sagged against the stone, and eventually slept.

  The hours passed in fitful starts, beneath towering walls of fire, until an argument woke him.

  He lurched to a sitting position, bleary and disoriented, trying to remember where he was. The courtyard had fallen dark—night had come on while he slept.

  "But you're assuming it's even possible," Syntal was saying.

  "It has to be possible," Seth threw back. "Why would he make you fight a monster you couldn't kill?"

  "It's not about killing it. It's already dead. There has to be more to it."

  "Besides"—Angbar, now—"if we face it head-on it will murder us."

  "So it's just coincidence that all the chants are for combat." An uncharacteristic thread of sarcasm wound through Seth's words.

  Syntal gave an irritated sigh. "Obviously, I need to hit it with spells from the third wardbook. I'm not arguing that. But there's something more to it. I can't just blast the thing until it dies—it's already dead."

  Helix gained his feet. They were all there, huddled in the light of one of Angbar's chants. "You still mean to do this, then." The protest was little more than a whisper. He was vaguely surprised to hear his mouth make it.

  Seth looked at him. "I already tried. They won't listen."

  "Iggy?" Helix fixed his friend with a beseeching stare. "Why show it to us? Why make us see it, except as a warning?" He threw a hand toward the endless miles of death beyond the tower entrance. "It did that, Igg! How can you still―?"

  Syn cut him off. "It was scary, I know, but―"

  "'Scary'?" Helix sputtered. "'Scary'?"

  "Listen to me! We can make sure that never happens. That chant—that . . . cataclysm, whatever it was—that was far too powerful to be in the fourth wardbook. If Lar'atul even scribed it, it can't possibly exist before the tenth. So we decided―"

  "We'll never open the tenth wardbook." Iggy met his eyes. "No matter what Ordlan Green wants, no matter the cost. We leave it sealed. That"—he gestured vaguely toward the courtyard—"will never happen again. Ever."

  The tension in Helix's chest lessened. It's something. "But how can you be sure―?"

  "We can't," Seth said. "We can't be sure of anything. It's not a real answer."

  "But there's no going back from this." A weariness pervaded Syntal's voice, as if they'd already covered this ground. "The Fatherlord is trying to learn to chant, and we already know from Marlin that there are other ways to learn. He doesn't need the wardbooks for that."

  "It's not a question of whether to press on," Lyseira said. "It's a question of whether we can get to the tenth book—to keep it safe—before anyone else can."

  "But . . . the books all give clues to the next one. If we just hide the clues―"

  "Then we don't know," Iggy said. "We don't know if it's safe or not. Maybe the clues are the only way to find the next book—maybe they're not. The Church has Communion, they can compel the truth from people . . . there are other ways for them to get the information they need. The only way to be safe—to be sure—is to get there first."

  Helix sought out Lyseira's eyes. Angbar's. Seth's. They really have been over this, he realized. "So we don't open the tenth."

  "Never," Iggy promised.

  Helix heaved a sigh. It wasn't the resolution he might have hoped for, but the truth was, it was more than he'd expected. "Well, thank Akir for that. So what's the plan?"

  After two more hours of debate, they had one.

  They would split into two groups, flank the dragon, and harry it with chants until they figured out its weakness. Each group would stay close to its tower, ready to dive out of the way should they draw the dark's attention. If things went badly, they would retreat to the underground passage or a Rising, as they had the night before.

  The plan seemed sound enough to Helix, but he could tell Syntal had reservations. She insisted there was an element missing—some component of the test tied to the specific spells she'd need to use—but since she couldn't articulate anything specific, she dropped the argument. Angbar had to spend the night studying, as he apparently hadn't even learned the Ves spell yet, and
he also wanted to try to learn one of the chants from the third wardbook if he had time. Lyseira retreated to pray and meditate. Seth joined her, while Iggy took one last walk through the ruins, "just to make sure."

  That left Helix alone with his thoughts. He found himself wishing he had something to add—some insight or ability he could contribute, something beyond his perpetual role of being the weight around the group's neck. That's a harsh way to look at it, he thought. None of them see it that way. But it didn't matter. He did.

  They had risked their lives to save him back in Southlight, and now they risked their lives for Syntal and Iggy's bizarre quest. But all of them were useful in a way he wasn't. No one needed metalwork crafted or a prank pulled, and those were about the only two things he could do reliably. He could still barely hold his own in battle, even after all the fights they'd had. He was lucky when he could even manage to hold on to his sword.

  Well. Not his sword, of course. They'd found it in the cave, all those years ago, right next to the first wardbook and Lar'atul's remains. That made it Lar'atul's sword—the man who'd written all these books, by whose whim his cousin was so enthralled. He'd known this in some sense, he supposed, for a long time, but now it truly hit him.

  I'm carrying Lar'atul's sword at my hip.

  He slid it out, rested it on his lap. In truth, the weapon was no less a curiosity than Lar'atul's book. Despite untold years in a grotto beneath Pinewood Lake, it hadn't rusted. Its craftsmanship was beautiful—both elegant and deadly—and Helix had borrowed from his father's stash to replace the rotten leather on its grip years ago, restoring it to full utility.

  He hefted the weapon, experimentally slashing the air with it. It was perfectly balanced. Then he tilted it toward the floor, examining the strange marks underneath the guard. He didn't know First Tongue, but he recognized it when he saw it. These marks weren't in that language, nor in Bahiran. Stranger still, they swam when he looked at them, scurrying out of focus like bugs on a distant wall.

  Were they always like that? He couldn't recall. He hadn't paid the marks any mind since he was a child. He thought to ask Angbar or Syntal to take a look, see if they could make any sense of it, but they were busy preparing, and the matter wasn't urgent. After tonight, he thought. If we survive.

  Strange, that that addendum was so common now. If we survive. It had gone from being something he heard about in Night stories to a regular, daily consideration. He wondered, briefly, if life would ever be safe for them again.

  Iggy returned. Lyseira and Seth rejoined them. Syntal finished her preparations and reached fruitlessly for the black ring she used to wear, a nervous habit she couldn't kick.

  "I just hope you're right," she murmured to Angbar, "and last night wasn't our only chance."

  "It wasn't," he promised. "Watch and see."

  It was almost time. Helix made a few more casual swings with Lar'atul's weapon, then sheathed it. Just as he started to pull his hand away from the grip, he felt it thrumming.

  He squeezed it, thinking it was somehow rattling in the sheath and he could calm it, but the idea was as wrong as it was ridiculous. "Syn," he murmured. "Lar'atul's sword is humming."

  "What?" She came over, touched the grip. "Take it out."

  He did, resting the blade against his left sleeve while keeping the grip in his right. The quiver was invisible to the naked eye—but he could also hear it in the air's quiet ringing, feel it in the thrum of the hilt.

  "Has it done this before?"

  "No, I don't―" Wait. It had done this before, he realized. "Actually, I think it did. Last night. I noticed it, but figured I was just imagining things. With everything going on, you know, I didn't . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head.

  "Do you think it means―?" Syntal started, and a soldier's phantom manifested in the tower doorway, dashing through her for the stairs.

  "Told you," Angbar said.

  "M'sai," Iggy said tightly. "It's happening."

  "All right. Gather to me," Lyseira said.

  Helix put the sword away. Its mysteries would wait.

  "I don't think you should pray until we see the dragon," Seth said to his sister. "I've seen these kinds of miracles before—they aren't indefinite. You could pray over us now only to have the blessing fade before the dragon comes."

  "No," Lyseira said. "Now."

  They gathered in a circle around her as she closed her eyes and prayed: a stream of worship, a desperate plea. Helix felt a subtle heat steal into his bones, as if he'd slipped into a warm bath.

  "All right." Iggy glanced at the courtyard, already filling with phantoms, and then to Angbar. "Ready?"

  With a furtive lick of his lips, Angbar nodded. As they started for the underground passage, Syntal took his arm. "Remember," she said. "It's fire—like the cataclysm. It has to be."

  Angbar nodded again and pulled away. He and Iggy vanished down the stairs. In a few minutes, Helix glimpsed Angbar's chanted light from the ruins of the far tower. It flickered twice: We're here. Syntal produced her own light and passed a hand over it once: We see you. The far light flickered once more. We see you, too.

  Then, in tense silence, they waited.

  The first attacks came, the first invisible arrows and muted bugles. Is it the same as last night? Helix wondered, feverishly. He couldn't tell. It felt the same. It had to be.

  Men on the walls crumpled. Shouts echoed through the courtyard, heard not with his ears, but his memory. An empty section of the wall remembered erupting, hurling the soldiers at the ramparts to their deaths. The enemy appeared in the breach. The Kespran soldiers swarmed like blood clotting to a wound.

  And the dragon roared, turning his blood cold.

  ii. Angbar

  "There it is," Iggy said.

  "I see it." Angbar spun up the mantras in his mind, setting his consciousness just on the edge of Ascension, so he could finish the transition at will. He'd never tried this kind of preparation before, but he hoped it would work—there would be no time for the kinds of failures he'd suffered in the past.

  Iggy nocked an arrow but didn't pull the string. The two of them watched as the dragon's dark tore into the invading force's soldiers. Syntal would attack first—that was the plan. They just had to wait for it.

  It's fire—like the cataclysm. Syn's words rattled in his mind. She thought the killing spell had to be the fire chant. It was the only thing that made sense, she'd said, based on the clue of the cataclysm. She had asked him to learn it, and he'd promised to try—but it had proven too complex. He still barely had a grasp on the spells from the second book; the third was simply over his head.

  Unfortunately, he'd never quite gotten around to telling her that.

  The dragon reared back, the air in front of its mouth suddenly shimmering with heat haze. The soldiers caught there died with muted screams. Then it flickered, like a flipbook skipping pages, and was suddenly in the air.

  Beneath it, the ground detonated in a geyser of flame. Tongues of fire licked at the dark's feet as it beat its way up.

  "She missed," Iggy growled. "Damn it."

  "She shouldn't have," Angbar said. "It was there, on the ground, I don't know how it could've―"

  "It's going for them." Iggy grabbed his arm. "Come on!"

  The dark wheeled in midair, banking easily back toward the other group's guard tower. Syntal hit it with another spell as it came—the cyclone this time, which caught it in midflight and drove it upwards. It missed its landing and was forced to swing wide outside the keep's walls.

  "Nice one, Syn!" Angbar whispered fiercely. But the dark was already circling back, roaring. The delay bought them precious little time. In seconds, it was back above the courtyard—and Syn hit it with a bolt of lightning that slammed it to the earth before it could line up its fire breath.

  Iggy winced, but even he could see the beauty in Syn's attacks. "She's really good at this," he admitted.

  The dragon scrambled about, righting itself easily for a blast directly
into the guard tower. Then it flickered again—one second there, the next in midair—and another flame geyser missed it as it made for the sky.

  "Again!" Angbar said. Once was a coincidence. Twice was part of the test.

  "That's four chants now. She'll need some breathing room." Iggy drew up and let an arrow fly. It soared for the dragon's flank, which faded as it struck. The arrow ricocheted off of empty air; as it fell, the dark's flank rematerialized. "Didn't even notice it. Angbar."

  He was ready. He pushed off from the mantras like the dragon pushed off from the ground to seek flight, and the world leapt into brilliant clarity. He became an untethered consciousness afloat in a sea of concepts. There was no "ground" or "sky," there was hardness, opacity, color. The Pulse was damaged here, irregular like Syntal had described, but still powerful. Informing everything. He gave it something new to say.

  "Ves."

  He didn't remember raising his hand, but the light leapt from his outstretched finger all the same. He forced himself out of Ascension, pushing his consciousness back into his skull and slamming down the lid. The mundane world returned, the scents and sights of a curtain thrown over reality.

  "It noticed that," Iggy said.

  The dragon glanced their way, dead eyes gleaming, before turning back to the far tower.

  "Sehk! Hit it again!"

  But Angbar had already Ascended. Iggy's words became pure information, tumbling through the concept of the air. "Ves."

  Again the light struck home, and again the dark ignored it. The air in front it shimmered with heat haze, the memory of a breath of flame filling the tower—but there were no screams this time.

  "They're all right," Angbar breathed. "Lyseira's blessing―"

  "They're sitting ducks in there," Iggy snarled. He fired off another shot, then another. "Hey!" he screamed. "Hey! Over here!" Angbar let loose another Ves.