by T L Greylock
It was said in the Seven Cities of Bellara that everyone who saw what was behind the sea wall of Onaxos was dead. Naturally Albus didn’t go in for that sort of generalization. Onaxos had stood on that headland for longer than most cities on the Anerrean Sea, and most of the cousins of its time had been turned to ruins in an era when recorded history was in its infancy. Therefore, logic—and a large quantity of sarcasm—would dictate that, indeed, most of the eyes that had seen beyond the sea wall belonged to dead men and women. But Albus was equally aware that he had not met an individual, not in Arconia, not in Licenza or Cancalo or Vienisi or anywhere on the roads between those four cities, who could say what lay behind the great wall. Onaxos was, in short, something of a mystery, an insular city, notorious for shunning foreigners.
As such, when the rowboat passed through the iron wall, so thick they rowed through twilight, the sounds of the waves pinging off the iron around them, that Albus took in everything he saw with the weight of the Lordican and his fellow scholars on his shoulders.
Or so he intended. In reality, when he caught sight of the colossal statue straddling the harbor inside the sea wall, Albus’s jaw dropped open and he could not have been sure of the color of his own eyes in that moment.
“Gets your attention, doesn’t it,” Keleut said, that expression of amusement curling her mouth as she watched Albus gape.
“It’s remarkable,” Albus managed. His gaze roamed up the statue’s legs, taking in the image of a being split in two, the right half clothed in the thick folds of a heavy robe, the left half in armor. A raven perched on the right shoulder, while the left hand grasped a trident taller than the statue. Albus craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the statue’s head, noting the tiny forms of birds flitting and soaring over its mane of curly hair. Just like the body, the head, too, was divided down the middle, the right half that of a man, the left a woman. From that distance, though he could make out faint differences in their countenances, the overarching impression Albus had was of equal and shared sternness.
“Taalo and Toora,” Albus breathed. “The twin gods of Onaxos.”
“I’m glad your scholarly learning hasn’t failed you,” Keleut said with a snort. “But I didn’t bring you here to tell me about this lump of stone, as big and impressive as it might be.”
Albus tore his gaze from the face of the gods. “Why did you bring me here?”
Keleut smiled, giving Albus a decidedly unpleasant sensation, and a persistent rumor about Onaxos he had first heard as a child came back to him in a rush that sent a fresh wave of nausea roiling through his belly: the twin gods had a taste for blood. Specifically the blood of naughty children who had pilfered one too many sweets, but Albus, as they passed beneath the Twins’ legs, could not quite shake the distinct notion that Keleut intended to make some sort of sacrifice out of him.
With the twin deities behind them, Albus could properly study the city of Onaxos for the first time. Built predominantly out of grey stone, it rose out of the headland in neat layers, each slightly smaller than the one below. But the dominant feature was a spire that rose from the highest level, jutting up from the city like a needle, grey and imposing and wrapped in white smoke.
The rowboat put in at a pier and Keleut jumped ashore to speak quickly with a uniformed man waiting for them. He nodded at her words, asked a single question, and then beckoned for a subordinate, a bare-chested man wearing a trident across his back. More words were exchanged, and then Keleut’s pirates and Albus were waved onward and allowed to disembark. The trident-wielder led the way—as three other identically armed men fell in behind them—but he did not take them to a road or a wagon or even horses. Instead, Albus found himself, where he would have expected a wide thoroughfare adjacent to the port in any number of cities, confronting an exceptionally large trough of water. He might have said pool, except it was not decorative, that much was certain, and the water level was far below where he stood. The word canal came to mind, a word only, as Albus had not seen the distant city of Eresii which was said to be built on water and have canals instead of roads. But even with that kernel of knowledge, Albus was uncertain, for the trough before him was hemmed in on all sides by sturdy iron walls. It seemed incapable of transporting anyone or anything.
One by one Keleut and her crew were ushered over the side of the trough and down a ladder. Albus peered over the side to see them climb into a slender craft with a brightly colored awning spread over it to block the sun. Albus clambered after them, nearly tripping on his hem not just once, on the ladder, but a second time as well as he made his way over the side of the boat as ungracefully as a fish flopping on dry land. One of the trident-wielding men steadied him, and Albus was very grateful that the soldiers of Onaxos were either selected for their stoicism or had it trained into them.
As Albus squeezed into a seat near the rear, machinery trundled to life, the iron walls on his left and right rose even higher to match the height of the wall in front of them, and a sudden rush of water from behind the boat caused him to turn in alarm. The wave proved harmless and Albus studied the trough for a sense of where the water was coming from—as such it took him a moment to realize the water level was rising at a considerable speed, raising the small vessel higher and higher until it drew even with the top of the starboard and port walls.
They drifted there for a moment and then the wall at the front of the trough began to drop and disappear into the water—and at last Albus understood what was happening.
Propelled forward by two sets of oars, the vessel moved into the second trough and Albus watched in fascination as the process was repeated—water flowing in, the boat rising to the water level of the third trough, and so on.
And so on. And on.
It turned out that while imminently fascinating, traversing to the top of a very tall city by such a method lost its charm after two or three repetitions, even for one so curious as Albus.
Albus decided Keleut had not made the journey to the top on her previous visit, evidenced by the drumming of her fingers on the bench she occupied and the increasing ferocity with which she turned her attention to the bare-chested man shouting orders and directing their progress.
There was one further—fleeting—moment of interest when the next trough, Albus had lost count, curved, demonstrating that they would, in fact, curl their way around each level of the city, but beyond that it became a tremendously dull experience and Albus could not imagine making the journey again or, the horror, on a daily basis.
When at last they emerged in the final trough, high above the rest of the city with only the spire reaching higher, Albus sighed.
“At least I shall never do anything half so tedious again.”
Onaxos had other ideas.
***
“How many stages?”
The words hissed out through Keleut’s clenched teeth and she took a step toward the young woman in the hooded robe who stood before the pirate captain, hands folded neatly in front of her stomach. The young woman smiled, creasing the blue paint that covered her left cheek, and Albus was left to translate the Seycherran to Bellaran, the language of the Seven Cities, conveniently spoken and understood by this acolyte of Taalo and Toora. For reasons she had yet to explain but he could guess at, Keleut had told Albus she wanted him to act as translator despite the fact she was perfectly capable in Bellaran.
“Eighteen. The same as the number of labors performed by our beloved deities.”
“And this,” Keleut gestured to the still figure seated cross-legged in the middle of the circular room, “is which stage?”
“The third,” the woman said after Albus translated the question. She smiled again. “Meditation.”
Albus glanced down the short, narrow hall that opened up into the round, domed chamber. A latticed silver door obscured little. A single shaft of light spilled down from the ceiling, coming to rest on the seated figure’s knee. There was a faint odor of burned incense.
“And how long will i
t last?”
The woman’s pleasant smile faltered for the first time since being given charge of the visitors. “The meditation? Or the entire cleansing process?”
Keleut seemed to debate whether she wanted to clarify the question or strangle the woman. Albus stepped in.
“My employer is not accustomed to waiting and has important business with the Wisdom. Can the cleanse not be resumed another time?”
Clearly the suggestion was horrifying. The young woman put a hand to her mouth and then made a hasty sign against her chest with the fingers of her other hand. “And defy and defile the commands of Taalo? Unthinkable.”
Albus looked at Keleut, aware of the woman’s growing impatience. “Then perhaps there is another Wisdom who is not spiritually engaged at the moment.”
The young acolyte had regained her composure, but a tinge of prejudice had crept into her expression. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. All five Wisdoms are undertaking the cleanse. They do it communally once each season.”
Albus frowned. “You mean to say the rulers of Onaxos withdraw at the same time and are fully unavailable? What an utterly asinine way to run a city.” The words were out before he could think about them. “What if the city fell under attack? What if half the lower levels were on fire? You mean to tell me the Wisdoms would remain locked away in their meditation chambers and do nothing?”
To his disbelief, the woman smiled, as though Albus were the asinine one. “Not rulers,” she said. “The Wisdoms are representatives of Taalo and Toora, their guides here in the mortal world. Only the divine Twins rule in Onaxos.” The smile grew and her cheeks flushed with something Albus recognized as fervor. “And in the event of any catastrophe, Taalo and Toora will provide for us.”
A snort from Keleut, hastily disguised as a cough, nearly gave her away. To preserve the lie, Albus quickly turned to mumble a translation she didn’t need.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked in Seycherran. Keleut wasn’t even looking at him. Her attention was fixed on the acolyte, derision radiating from her gaze.
“You have an agreement with this person, correct?” Albus asked, gesturing to the figure behind the latticed door. Keleut didn’t answer. “You were expected. There must be some prior arrangement we can call on.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wondering how likely she was to turn on him for his next words. “Would it be so difficult to wait?”
The pirate captain did not turn to Albus. Instead, she grinned wolfishly at the acolyte. “Let’s see your Wisdom meditate through this,” she said in Seycherran. While her words might not have been understood, her actions were all too clear.
Turning away, Keleut marched down the tunnel, reared back, and stomped her foot against the dully gleaming door. The sound shattered the stillness around them and reverberated down the tunnel. The acolyte gasped, clearly unprepared for such profane behavior. Albus, torn between laughing and cringing, produced a strangled sound and wondered if the Twins would provide a cell—they had not provided an armed guard, demonstrating a trust in strangers Albus thought rather foolish.
Keleut brought her boot down on the door a second time, and then a third, until at last the figure within stirred.
Albus nearly choked on air. Blinking furiously, he peered down the tunnel, his mind telling him he had not seen what his eyes insisted manifested in the moment the figure rose from its seated position, telling him it was impossible. Impossible, because a human being could not be transparent, not even for so brief a moment.
If Keleut noticed, she gave no indication, a fact that only added to Albus’s discomfort. Logically it would suggest he had imagined it. But his mind was not the sort to imagine things outside the realm of possibility. Perhaps the seasickness had altered his brain. Perhaps the salt spray endured for so many days had affected his vision. He had no time to dwell on it further. The Wisdom was speaking.
“Who disturbs my communion with the gods?” The voice was calm and cool and wholly unidentifiable as either male or female. And yet there was a sharpness to it that suggested this dignified response to Keleut’s interruption was tightly controlled.
For a moment, there was silence, and then Albus came back to life, suddenly recalling his purpose there. He rushed down the tunnel to stand at Keleut’s side and keep up the charade of her ignorance.
Keleut spoke in Seycherran, keeping her voice low. “Tell,” she hesitated, “them, tell them we had an agreement. Tell it my name.”
Albus straightened and drew a deep breath. “Wisdom, may I introduce Keleut, daughter of Nestor, of Seycherra. She has come by your invitation and demands the audience you promised her.”
The Wisdom looked back at Albus from the other side of the latticed door, pale unblinking eyes and smooth skin just visible beneath a deep white hood. Albus had never before seen a person so easily defy both male and female physical characteristics. He swallowed and wished for Eska. She had no more experience dealing with Onaxians than he did, but she had a talent for reading people he did not.
“Seycherra.” The Wisdom moved the word around their mouth like a particularly delectable morsel of food—delectable and foreign, Albus realized. He wondered if the delay was due to the deep meditative state the Wisdom had so recently withdrawn from or if there was a true ignorance. “Yes.” Though spoken with a sudden brisk authority, this was hardly convincing either way. “But you are mistaken, I have made no such invitation and I have never heard the name Keleut, daughter of Nestor or no.” It was not a threat, not yet anyway, but Albus understood the situation was becoming increasingly delicate. He resisted the urge to glance at Keleut, aware still of his need to impress her. Though they were allies in this moment, and on strange footing, he would not presume to imagine the pirate captain would not abandon him if it meant saving her own skin.
“You are Wisdom Isopho, yes?” he ventured.
“I am.” The serene answers continued, but the Wisdom’s eyes were far from kind.
“Tell them I have a letter,” Keleut said.
Albus pressed on. “She can produce evidence of your correspondence.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the Wisdom said.
For a moment Albus dared to breathe easily.
“You are strangers here and cannot be expected to know our customs and laws,” the Wisdom went on, the face and voice as blank as ever. “Even so, to disturb a Wisdom who has entered into a cleanse and communion with the Twins is to ask for a swift and harsh justice.” The gaze shifted over Albus’s shoulder. “Applicable equally to all who are guilty.”
With mounting horror, Albus turned to catch the young acolyte’s expression crumple. Her hands went to her throat and she gasped as though in physical pain. Perhaps she was. Tears began to course down her cheeks and she fell to her knees. But there was no protestation, no argument, only blind, willing acceptance.
The Wisdom reached a hand up to the wall beside the latticed door and Albus, feeling Keleut coil beside him like a snake about to strike, tried to maintain his composure.
“You yourself said we cannot be expected to know the law,” Albus cried out. “We have trespassed, yes, but surely your Twins are merciful to those who do not know the wonders of their divinity.”
The Wisdom said nothing and pulled a lever installed inside the round chamber. With a clang, a gate slammed shut behind them, blocking the entrance to the tunnel. Keleut’s hands clutched at the latticed door and she seethed with fury—and yet somehow managed not to burst out in Bellaran. Then again, her feelings were perfectly clear, especially after she uttered a few choice insults in Seycherran. The Wisdom merely turned their back and settled once more into meditation pose, no longer concerned with the trifles of the physical world, and moments later Albus heard the slapping of sandaled feet on stone as guards rushed in, tridents drawn.
They were handled gently, all things considered, and Albus made a mental note to read up on the doctrine of the Twins if he ever passed outside the confines of the sea wall agai
n. Toora was, without a doubt, a martial being and Onaxos had a bloody past, but Albus knew the Twins held equal sway and Taalo was said to be a compassionate sort—as compassionate as a celestial being could be when it came to the foolishness of mortals. Their hands were not even bound, though Albus rather thought this had to do more with the fact that the guards were quite convinced, rightly so, by the superiority of their tridents than any spiritual kindness.
Albus, Keleut, and the acolyte were led down the spire’s central staircase and out the door they had come in. But instead of descending through the city via the water troughs, they were gestured into a litter—were there no horses in this city?—borne by four men with blind white eyes. A ritual blinding, Albus realized as he noted the identical scars splitting each eye socket down the middle. He grimaced and boarded the litter without complaint. The acolyte wailed, but then, she’d been wailing every step of the way. Predictably, Keleut spat at the nearest guard and tried to disarm him. She got one hand on the trident and the other around his neck before the guards descended on her, bringing her to her knees without shedding blood. She screamed her frustration and swore Seycherra would bring fire and vengeance to Onaxos, and it was in that moment that Albus, perched in the litter, realized what the pirate captain seemed to have known for some time: they were not being taken to trial, they were not being brought to a cell to await judgment. Their fate had been decided the moment the Wisdom pulled the lever.
His heart racing, Albus made room for Keleut as she was bundled, kicking and screaming, into the litter.
“What do we do?” he whispered to the woman, sure the fierce pirate would have a way out. Pirates always had a way out. The litter lurched to life and the wailing had stopped. The acolyte, blue paint streaked, nose sniffling, cast a look of disdain on Albus.