Shadows of Ivory

by T L Greylock

  Aurelia returned the vial to the man, who clamped his fist around it, his posture still ramrod straight.

  “What is the most valuable substance in the earth, Master Tarvonos?”

  “Diamonds. Gold. Any number of precious things.”

  “A true statement, but I encourage you to think of it another way. That which is precious is not always valuable.” Aurelia looked over her shoulder and gave a nod to the men.

  The torchbearer, his gaze still as blank as an artist’s canvas, held his torch out at an angle. The first man clamped the vial into a pair of iron pincers, extended the vial so it angled toward the torch, and, with a second pair of long pincers, twisted the cork stopper free.

  The blast of flame and heat sent Albus stumbling backward. Aurelia, composed as ever, reached a hand out to steady him. As the cloud of fire billowed away, Albus stared at the shattered remnants of the vial at the feet of the two men. Their expressions had not changed, indeed, they seemed to look right through Albus, heedless of how close they had come to losing their eyebrows—or worse.

  For a moment, as the last of the heat shimmered around Aurelia’s face and his heart pounded in his chest, Albus could have been convinced of the power of her gods. But then his mind reasserted control. Albus, after all, was a man of science, of learning and knowledge—even if he had nearly jumped out of his skin.

  “Would I be right, princess, in assuming this is the root explanation for the eternal flame at the temple on Mount Vierassos, sacred to the ancient sphinx goddess?”

  “You know your history, master interpreter.” Aurelia bestowed the praise like a teacher would a student.

  “For a long time now,” Albus went on, “scholars have theorized that a substance, clear and undetectable, like air, emitting from the earth and sparked by lightning, could burn as the Sphinx’s flame does. But the priests and priestesses do not grant access to the temple and the flame to outsiders. And no other instance of this has been recorded.”

  Aurelia smiled. “We call it aeras, which means like air, just as you said, and its presence in this soil is what gives the grass its unique color. Can you imagine, Master Tarvonos, a world lit by this instead of by candles that die out, wood that must be labored for, or oil that spills and leaves the air black with smoke?”

  Albus could, in fact, imagine it.

  “How is it gathered and stored?”

  Aurelia waved a hand. “I will let one of our engineers explain the details, if you insist.”

  “But is it safe?”

  She let out a little laugh. “It is a gift from Taalo and Toora. Of course it is safe.”

  Albus felt himself recoil and tried not to let the visceral reaction show. Her blithe dismissal was chilling. He hurried to turn the conversation before she noticed his discomfort.

  “And the cities and kingdoms who have accepted it in trade? How are they using it?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “The properties of the aeras is explained to them, but the rest is up to them, of course. I would not expect or allow them to tell Onaxos how to use iron. Would you?”

  “Of course not. Tell me, princess,” Albus said, “do you know if the Bellaran cities have traded for your aeras?”

  Aurelia’s mouth tightened in displeasure. “They have so far rebuffed our representatives. Your people seem intent on clinging to their beeswax and their oil.”

  Her words brought Albus some relief—to think of such a powerful substance in the hands of some hapless trade minister or curious chancellor made him shudder. Use of the aeras needed to be studied, and, if implementation was desired by the Archduke or the other six rulers, the Lordican and the other institutions of learning in the Seven Cities ought to be responsible for—or a the very least involved in—developing a plan to do so. But here, in Onaxos, he wasn’t Bellaran. He was a self-imposed exile enamored with Seycherran culture.

  “They will, I’m sure, see the error of their ways, princess.”

  Albus saw her smile, saw the way she beheld the world—already at her feet. He wondered if he could push her from the platform and if she would fall far enough to break her neck. And how long he would live after doing so. Albus lowered his gaze, afraid his thoughts might be written across his face as though in ink.

  “And now, Master Tarvonos, it is time to show you the second secret,” Aurelia said.

  They rode the platform back to the surface, once again in the company of the first of the silent, shirtless workers. When Albus tried to thank him for his attentive care of the mechanism and the pulleys that kept them safe, he, as they had all done before, stared straight ahead and gave no sign that he had heard.

  Aurelia turned sharp eyes on Albus. “They are not accustomed to being addressed.” It was the first hint of anger he had seen from her. Under its influence, she seemed older.

  “Forgive me, princess.”

  “And they do not speak.”

  Do not. Can not. Albus’s mind made the jump from one to the next instantly and the slight twitch under Aurelia’s right eye told him she had not intended to say as much as she had—and that he was right.

  A sudden gust of wind caught up Aurelia’s mane of straight white-blonde hair as they crested the top of the chasm and returned to the sea of grass, and when the breeze faded and her hair had settled once more about her face, her usual expression—pleasant, kind, just ever so slightly bored—had returned.

  They continued their journey across the Plains of Naxos in silence, following the gorge south until the sea of grass swallowed it. What occupied Aurelia’s mind, Albus could not begin to contemplate. For his part, he could not stop thinking about the aeras, his mind seizing upon methods of safely harnessing and controlling the substance to provide a new source of light. He could think of one or two scholars at the Lordican with whom he would very much like to consult on the subject—but the second secret of Onaxos served as a sharp reminder that he might never return to his beloved Lordican again, or if he did, it might be a smoking ruin.

  When the litter halted for the second time, Aurelia’s good humor had fully returned and the smile she gave Albus was bright and brilliant as she slipped through the curtain once more.

  “I can’t decide,” she said, “which will be the greater surprise.” She laughed and disappeared.

  Albus could not quite imagine anything offering as great a shock as the aeras mine, but that was before he stepped out of the litter.

  Aurelia was standing on yet another precipice. But instead of a gorge cutting through the sea of grass, she overlooked a valley—a massive, shallow bowl in the Plains of Naxos—filled with that same grass.

  Albus gaped. He would freely admit it if Keleut were to ask him later.

  “I must admit, princess, this is most spectacular,” he finally managed, a very long silence later.

  “The Second Spears of Naxos, Master Tarvonos,” Aurelia said, sweeping one hand over the valley, as though she could contain the army in a single gesture. Perhaps she could.

  Albus watched for a moment, trying to take in the very large quantity of warriors wielding tridents and long rectangular shields. Just below the precipice they stood on, a training ground had been marked out with white and blue flags. A cohort of warriors was drilling, moving in unison, their shields flashing, tridents arcing and stabbing in perfectly timed movements. Beyond the training field, pairs worked one on one. Even from that distance, Albus could see they were not gentle with their comrades. And beyond that, a small city had been built in that strange blue-green grass.

  The structures were simple and impermanent, single story huts arranged in neat rows. Albus could see more figures milling between the buildings. They were all, as far as he could see, men.

  “I don’t understand,” Albus said for the second time that day. They were not words he enjoyed. “Onaxos doesn’t have this kind of population. Nor can it support it.”

  “Didn’t,” Aurelia said. “I have shown you my father’s life work, now I show you my mother’s.”

&nbs
p; “An army?”

  “Not just any army. These men do not feel as you and I do, Master Tarvonos. They are immune to cold and pain, even to hunger. They can march longer, swim farther, climb higher. You met some of them at the mine, though those men are the ones who are not up to standard.”

  “Up to standard?”

  Aurelia shrugged. “If they cannot meet certain specifications, they are sent to work the mines instead.”

  “But where do they come from?”

  “They were not born as you or I were born, Master Tarvonos.” She said these words as easily as Eska might casually remind Albus to stop reading for a moment and eat something. “They were crafted and bred in the waters of our most holy spring. They do not drain the city of resources. They have everything they need here. The Plains of Naxos provides game, and the river beyond,” she said, pointing to where a ribbon of water gleamed near the horizon, “offers up fish and water for these warriors of Toora and Taalo.”

  Albus, a man of science, was not limited by views of men and women as creations of divine beings. But the notion of breeding men to die in war was abhorrent. And yet that was not what made him go pale as he looked out over Aurelia’s army.

  It was that moment, with the sea of grass whispering around him, with Aurelia next to him smiling out over her holy warriors, and as the horde roared at the sight of her, that he realized she and her brother were no different, not at the heart of things, than the Wisdoms they scorned. They were all fanatics. Cult-like in their convictions. The only difference that mattered was that the twins intended to act.

  ***

  “We need to leave this place.”

  Keleut frowned at Albus, though whether she was more irritated by being woken in the middle of the night or by the words he was speaking, he could not say. She made no move to open the door further and her face filled the narrow opening, braids clinking against the wood.

  “Albus, go to bed.”

  She stifled a yawn and made to close the door, but Albus thrust a hand out. Grimacing as his knuckles ground against the frame, he begged Keleut to listen.

  The pirate contemplated him for a moment and Albus was reminded of the day they met. Whatever understanding they had come to in the days since, whatever rapport they had established, he was reminded that she was still a pirate, grim and fierce and unafraid of bloodshed. He could still see the shock on the face of the man she had slid her knife into with such nonchalance. For an instant, Albus was once again standing on the deck of the merchant ship, feeling the swell of the ocean waves as a man bled out at his feet, and Keleut, daughter of Nestor, could decide his fate with a single word. But perhaps he could speak that word and decide hers.

  “Please.”

  The hardness in her eyes remained, but Keleut opened the door just enough to let him inside the chamber—nearly identical to his own—in the Macedonos house. She wore a sleeveless tunic and trousers—and boots.

  “Do you sleep in those?” Albus’s question slipped out with a great deal of regret chasing after it. He very nearly clapped a hand over his mouth as she shut the door behind him.

  Keleut’s gaze narrowed further, if that was even possible.

  Albus fumbled for words that might placate her. “I suppose it’s practical to be dressed for action at all times.” He tried to smile.

  “What do you want?” Her voice was flat, her face closed off.

  Albus swallowed and took a deep breath. “You ought to have come with us today. I do not think I can properly convey to you what Aurelia showed me.”

  “You know I had work to do here, letters to write so Seycherra can begin preparations.”

  Somehow the thought of Seycherra preparing for war was not nearly as frightening as it had been a matter of days ago—not after seeing Onaxos’s preparations.

  “Keleut. The twins have an army.”

  “Good. That is what I came for.”

  Albus shook his head, trying to order his thoughts into something that might persuade her. “The men, they are shells of men, they do not speak, they do not feel pain or hunger as you or I would. They have been bred like dogs for the purpose of dying for Taalo and Toora. They are enslaved to a divine cause.”

  Keleut raised an eyebrow at mention of the warriors’ immunity to physical limitations, but not, Albus realized, for the reasons he had hoped. He shifted tactics.

  “Do you remember trying to speak to the Wisdom Isopho or the acolyte who died? The single-mindedness? The strict adherence to beliefs? The inability to conceive of any thought or idea not born from their gods?”

  Keleut nodded slowly.

  “Aurelia and Aurelian are no different. They accept nothing but their own view of the world.”

  “Single-mindedness can serve a purpose, Albus,” Keleut said. “If it means they will be unwavering allies, then I have no objection to whatever strange beliefs they hold.”

  Frantic now, feeling the tide of Keleut’s need for vengeance pulling against him, Albus dropped to his knees. The Seycherran woman stiffened at the unexpected act of submission. “Please, Keleut. Please hear me. The twins mean to see Onaxos returned to the glory it knew in a more ancient, barbaric world. They will stop at nothing to achieve this. And your attack against the Seven Cities will serve as the ship from which they launch themselves upon the world. Do you want to see Seycherran children worshipping Taalo and Toora? Do you want to see your homeland turned into a city of white stone and mindless slaves? Do you want to answer to a pair of pale-haired demagogues who act on principles you cannot understand?”

  As he spoke, he thought he saw something shift in Keleut’s eyes, and in the silence that followed, he held out hope that she had not merely listened, but that she had truly heard him.

  Keleut crushed that hope the moment she opened her mouth.

  “I, too, am single-minded, Albus. The Seven Cities of Bellara must know that the world has not forgotten the Alescus.”

  She moved past him. Albus reached for her knees, willing to prostrate himself and beg if that was what it took. She sidestepped him neatly and Albus, on his hands and knees, felt the cool night air slip into the room as she opened the door.

  Hopelessness was not a feeling Albus was accustomed to. In the Lordican, there was always a solution to a problem. Always a workaround or an alternative or an equation that made everything right. And yet as Albus struggled to his feet, his body suddenly too heavy, too cumbersome, he could see no solution. Never before had his mind felt so tired.

  Keleut waited by the door. Albus’s feet carried him there slowly, and as he stepped into the light beyond her chamber, he turned to look at her.

  “Two things I will say to you now, Keleut, daughter of Nestor,” he said, his voice soft. “You are not like them. You carry rage and pain and the burden of your people, but you are not like them.” He took a breath, feeling again something of the certainty he had known on the sea wall. “The second is this. I may be your captive and I do not expect to survive this path to revenge, but know that I will fight you. With words, yes, but with tooth and nail if I must.”

  He expected an angry retort. Or at least grim dismissal. What he got was a smile tinged with something that might have been sadness as Keleut shut the door, leaving him alone to question his conviction.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “He’s never been here in his life.”

  “I never imagined it would be beautiful.”

  The sprawling ruins of Elysium lay before Manon and Luca. It was not the dark-faced cliff looming behind that made it beautiful, nor the sparkling river that flowed swift and furious to the south, nor even the constant cloud of mist and spray created by the thunderous waterfall that joined cliff and river—though all these things played their part.

  It was the way the once proud palace, razed by human hands, was now entangled so deeply with nature, as though it had always been thus. Soft moss crept across crumbled walls. Stalwart trees grew from cracked plazas, their exposed roots holding dominion over the s
tones. Twisting vines coiled down from broken arches, like a memory of the stones long destroyed.

  Luca shifted next to Manon, his hand dropping to the hilt of the knife on his belt. She glanced over at him, alert to danger, but the look on the hunter’s face did not indicate the presence of a threat. Instead, he looked out across the ruins of the Alescuan palace with trepidation. Reaching for the knife, she realized, was a reflection of his unease.

  “What is it?”

  “My gran’s stories of stone circles and ancient things,” he began. He flushed a little. “She spoke of folk wandering where they didn’t belong, of the power of those places and what befell those who trespassed. I respected the stories because it seemed the right thing to do, not because I ever felt any of that power.”

  Manon studied the young man’s face, the way his brow creased, the way his eyes shifted over the ruined palace. She wondered if she ought to have found a way to make him remain in Arconia—or slipped away in the dead of night—but she withdrew the thought immediately. The dismissal startled her. Once she would have preferred to be alone because she found the presence of others a hindrance. Now she found she would not have wished to be in the shadow of the dead kings and queens without his steadiness beside her.

  “And now?” she asked.

  Luca didn’t answer immediately and she could see him searching for the words to explain. “For all the beauty of this place, it’s not a happy one.” He looked at Manon. “Sometimes I can feel a Carrier’s power. Not always. I didn’t with you. But sometimes it’s like there’s a thread between us. Not tugging, not pulling, not painful. Just a connection.” He returned his gaze to the ever-changing rainbow hues of the spray surging off the waterfall. “I feel that here. Stronger than I have ever felt it.”

  “Each of the thirteen kings and queens Carried,” Manon said. “They were masters of their craft, among the most powerful Carriers of recorded history. I suppose some of that power could have leached into the stone and earth of Elysium.”

  Luca nodded, but, after the slightest hesitation, he looked at Manon once more. “By accident or deliberately?”