Knight Exiled: The Shackled Verities (Book Three)

by Tammy Salyer

  “I will not,” Symvalline promised.

  The journey continued.

  Chapter Six

  Walking through the Churss gave Isemay plenty of time to feel her sorrow, but the stone forest struck her with awe and took some of the sting out of it. The towers of rounded stones, glittering with flecks of a different shimmering substance, rose like monoliths, thick boulders at their bases and tapering toward the tops. Vines and other flowering flora climbed the stone towers, creating a canopy of green and gray and multicolored blooms that was unlike anything she’d ever seen. The Churss was alive with birdsong and the hum of different insects. It could have been a treed forest for all its growth and life, but for the fact that these “trees” were nothing but rock.

  “Should we worry about any dangerous animals?” she asked the Zhallahs, not really believing anything threatening could live amid such a strange and beautiful landscape.

  “We try to stay away from the urzidae when they’re rearing their cubs. They are protective,” Mura said. “But the Zhallah live harmoniously with the Churss and its other creatures. It keeps us safe, and we are grateful.”

  Salukis, who seemed to travel on foot grudgingly, asked, “What is the Churss like where you’re from?”

  “Our forests have trees,” Isemay said. “And in the Howling Weald there are still dragørs who will eat anything that’s smaller than they are, which is everything, but we don’t have anything like this in Vinnr. At least, not that I know of.”

  The farthest she’d been from Asteryss was Magdaster, in the north, which was bordered by the Howling Weald, a vast forest spanning the entire north of Vinnr. But she’d been too small then to remember it and had spent the last few years begging her parents to take her back. The rigor of studies at the Conservatum had kept her in place, however, and her parents had grown too busy to take Isemay traveling and more and more preoccupied with maintaining cordial diplomatic relations with the problematic Arch Keeper Beatte, who pressed all the time for more access to Vaka Aster’s vessel.

  But I’m traveling now, farther than I could have dreamed, to a place even more fascinating than even the Howling Weald, in its way.

  They crossed a wide stream using a series of perfectly placed boulders in the water as their bridge, then their path bent to the right into a denser stand of stone towers, where the foliage grew thick and heavy and the light dimmed. In the gloom, Isemay’s toe hit an unseen rock.

  “Oof!” She stumbled forward, planting a hand accidentally against one of Salukis’s folded wings. Its velvety texture felt smooth as water under her palm. “Sorry about that,” she murmured.

  He looked over his shoulder to check on her. “All right?” After she nodded, he looked toward the sky and said, “Bit of light, please.”

  A slow grinding sound, like a knife sliding across a whetstone, began above them. Startled, Isemay looked up and gasped. Above and around them, the tower had begun to move. First the capstones arched sideways away from the path they were following, the tangle of vines and mosses clinging to them shifting with ease, then the base stones too began to slide across the forest floor. Isemay gave out a squeak of fear and pushed her back against Salukis’s, staring wide-eyed as the living rock forest went about complying with his request.

  He took a step away and turned to face her. “You really don’t have Churss, do you? Don’t worry, Vinnric, they are friends to those who are friends to the Verities. And to us Zhallahs, of course.”

  “S-so Mura told me. I just didn’t imagine…this.” She had no trouble now understanding how the Churss protected the Zhallahs. Any people who could command the very stones of the realm would have, it would seem, nothing to fear.

  Light flooded their footpath, and Mura led on. Isemay quickly got over her fright and reached out tentatively, then eagerly, to run her fingers over a few of the boulders as they passed. The stones felt like nothing but stone, except for a faint tingle in the tips of her fingers, like one felt when touching something recently lightning-struck. Or something consecrated by a Verity.

  “It’s wonderful,” she whispered.

  The Arc Rheunosian sun, not terribly different from Halla, was directly overhead when the spaces between the stone towers began to widen, and Isemay noticed more and more footpaths branching from the one they were on. Soon, she could hear the sounds of people, voices, instruments, typical village sounds of banging, cutting, building. They passed a few sparsely spaced stone huts that were arched like phanx mounds, with open window frames and doorways hung with woven screens. This must be the outskirts of their village of Maerria.

  Before they reached the village proper, three more Zhallahs could be seen coming from ahead. Once they saw Mura and Salukis, they rushed toward them. Isemay grew still behind Salukis, trying to prepare herself for becoming the object of inquiry she knew she was bound to be.

  The trio had two animals unlike any Isemay had ever seen with them, standing about knee-high with ropey black fur so long and thick it was hard to tell where the things’ legs attached to their torsos or even where their eyes were in the lumpy mat. Horns curled down the sides of their heads in a corkscrew pattern, and stumpy, fluffy tails whisked behind them. The creatures spotted Salukis and bounded to him, jumping up excitedly and making noises that sounded to Isemay like sheep choking, but Salukis responded to them by smiling and scratching their heads between their horns.

  A woman hurried to Mura and wrapped her in a relieved embrace, and a tidy, neatly dressed older-looking man stopped short, eyeing Salukis. “Reckless, son, very reckless,” he said.

  The other man spoke up. “Your mother wants me to clip your wings, Salukis Engzu. You had us all worried to death.”

  Salukis grew sheepish, at a loss for words, and for the first time, Isemay realized he was nearly her age, not the confident adult he played at being.

  The woman, her skin a mellow sunflower color, released Mura, whose own color had changed to match. “Neeka and Ballion and the other children told us what happened.” She gave Mura a glance that spoke of something deeper than disapproval. “After Dwoon…I don’t know how you could do this, Mura. And now Onni and Cylli…”

  “I’m sorry, mother, I am. I know better. But it’s just…I don’t know how to explain it. I feel closer to Dwoon when I’m out there. Like maybe someday…someday he might come back.”

  The woman hugged Mura tightly, neither of them speaking. Isemay looked away, feeling as if she were infringing on a moment she had no business in.

  “But you’re home safe now,” Mura’s mother said after a moment. She let go of Mura and turned to look curiously at Isemay. “Please, introduce us to this young, ah, woman?”

  Mura held her hand out to Isemay. “Mother, Browan, Drevor, meet Isemay of Vinnr. Daughter of two members of the Archons of her realm and protectors of their Verity, Vaka Aster.”

  Their eyes fell on her, and with a deep breath, she stepped forward. “Hello.”

  The one named Browan, Salukis’s father, stepped forward and held his hands up with his palms splayed before Isemay. She didn’t know what to do. Mura stepped forward and pressed her palms to his, intertwining their fingers, then looked to Isemay. “It’s our way of welcoming each other.”

  She let go, and Isemay, a bit shyly, copied the gesture. His hands were very rough.

  “Welcome, Vinnric,” Browan said. “We Zhallahs are very sorry to hear about the circumstances in which you were introduced to Arc Rheunos. But come with us. We’ve been waiting for you so you can meet Archon Raamuzi.”

  He turned and began to walk up the path. Isemay looked uncertainly to Mura, who gave her a reassuring smile and beckoned her to follow. As they passed the man called Drevor, he reached out a hand and pinched Salukis’s ear, tugging painfully. “You have some very serious apologies to make to your aunt.”

  Salukis groaned. “I had to do something to try to help the Vinnrics!”

  “And now you’ll have to do something to build a new wall around Phaemee’s garden,�
�� his uncle promised.

  Salukis groaned louder and followed behind.

  As they walked, the village grew around them. Assorted rock homes and other structures rose from the ground and protruded from the Churss at all levels in ways that seemed as if they were as natural as any other part of the stone forest. Some of the structures soared so far overhead that Isemay had to crane her neck to see them. She wondered if the rocks that seemed to be their primary building material were “living” in the way the towers seemed to be. Did they actually have to build or did they simply ask the rocks to create homes, a smithy, and various storage structures and other buildings? Based on Salukis’s groan at his uncle’s promise he’d be building a garden wall, it appeared probably not.

  Zhallahs bustled about the town, some flying amid the high structures, some walking along the earth, the men all winged and the women all smooth-skinned and multicolored. Everyone stopped to stare curiously at Isemay as she passed, and she did her best to remain stoic like her father, to seem as if she were more than a frightened and isolated foreigner. She assured herself that their leader would know how to help her mother. And if the leader, whom they called Archon Raamuzi, didn’t, she would return to the valley that separated her from her mum and keep going into the mountains beyond until she found a way. They wouldn’t hold her here against her will if she chose to leave, would they? If she was lucky, her father would speak to her again soon through the memory keeper. The moment she had a chance, she would try to contact him. She hadn’t known the pendant was capable of such a trick, but it was a thin string of hope she now clung to.

  In the village’s center, they came to a circular open-topped wall that spanned wide enough to contain the whole party she now walked with and then some. Churss towers crowded the wall at every angle, and platforms jutted out from their sides, rising up their heights, giving even more people the option of viewing inside the wall from above. Birdlike creatures, most feathered but some not, of many varieties lined the top of the circle, facing outward like sentries. A round entryway made of a massive Churss boulder containing a natural hole through its center served as an entryway.

  Isemay’s party passed inside, and she found the ground was covered with a densely woven mat of living vines, creating a soft, spongy surface to walk on. A woman sat in the center, surrounded by several older Zhallahs. At the entrance of Isemay’s group, everyone turned to them.

  “The visitor from Vinnric,” the woman in the center said and rose from her seat on the ground, using a stout wooden staff to assist her.

  Isemay’s eyes fixed on the staff. Its head contained a single perfectly round orb. It was the color of alpine water and shot through with lines that looked like lightning. It was a Fenestros, it had to be.

  The woman began walking toward her, and Isemay noted her coloring was the same as the orb’s, her hue steady, not shifting like most of the women Isemay had seen. It gave her a wystic aspect, as if she was a Verity’s living vessel. Isemay hoped for a moment that she was, but she knew it was unlikely.

  “Don’t be afraid, young Vinnric. We are a peaceful people,” the Archon said, still approaching, and Isemay realized she’d come to a halt.

  She made herself move forward again and met the woman in a few strides, then held out her hands the way Browan had shown her. Deespora grasped them with her free hand, staring into her eyes. “They’ve told me your name is Isemay. You may call me Deespora.”

  “Are you…just a person?” Isemay asked and instantly felt foolish. What kind of question was that?

  To her relief, Deespora gave her a small grin. “No more, no less,” she confirmed. Her voice was as cool as the tone of her skin, but not unfriendly. “I see my appearance may have led you to think I was the vessel of Mithlí. Sadly, I am not.”

  “I’m sorry if that was rude,” she said shyly. “The Fenestros…” She looked meaningfully at Deespora’s staff.

  The Zhallah leader followed her gaze, then nodded. “Come, sit with us. Everyone here would like to know more about how you came to be in Arc Rheunos.”

  She led Isemay’s group to where she’d been sitting, and they took their places among the other Zhallahs. Salukis was rubbing his ear, and Mura looked stricken with sadness and perhaps guilt.

  Isemay had the impression that the assembled Zhallahs were a kind of council. At Deespora’s prompting, she told them what she knew about the goings-on in Vinnr: the attack by an airborne enemy that came after her da had met with Balavad of Battgjald, Knight Evernal’s warning that the Knights protect Vaka Aster’s vessel at Mount Omina, the avalanche that had nearly overcome her and her mum followed by the menacing Battgjaldics who’d been about to attack them, and then their sudden starpath trip to this realm. The Zhallah council members asked her many questions about Balavad, none of which she could answer, and she chided herself inwardly again for paying so little attention to important affairs. What kind of Knight would she be one day if she couldn’t even focus on what mattered?

  One of the council members spoke up when her story was through. “The Menace is threatening realms beyond ours now.”

  “So it seems,” Deespora agreed. “Salukis Engzu, tell us what you learned when you followed the Vinnric woman, Isemay’s mother.”

  Salukis sat up straight. “The Minothian guards were so distracted that it was fairly easy for me to sneak up to the tower on the outer gate walls, where they were holding the Vinnric. They’re about as smart as—”

  “Don’t inflate the story with hubris, Lukis. Just tell us what happened,” his father warned.

  Salukis’s face flushed red to match his ear. He went on, this time humbly. “Archon Tuzhazu came to question her, but she didn’t tell him much. She asked him to release her and to let her use the Arc Rheunos Scrylle and a Fenestros so she could return to her realm.” Salukis paused, thinking. “He was on edge about something, I couldn’t tell you what, and when she wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he threatened her”—he looked quickly to Isemay—“but he didn’t hurt her. He just said he had time because the Equifulcrum was still days away.”

  With a weight of seriousness in his expression that made him appear older, he looked at Deespora. “Archon Raamuzi, I think it’s true. Tuzhazu is going to use the changing of vessels at the Equifulcrum to make the Minothians believe he’s the new living Verity, and then he’s going to spread more lies among them about us. The Minothians are too foolish—they’ll believe he’s the Everlight and follow any command he gives, even if it’s to harm us here in Maerria.” His voice cracked as he finished.

  The assembled Zhallahs listened in silence, and Deespora regarded him steadily. “Did you hear Tek Det say they were going to attack us?” she asked.

  “…Not in those words,” Salukis said.

  “Salukis, we will be safe in the Churss, as we have always been,” she assured him.

  “Deespora,” an older Zhallah man said, “what if the Minothians find a way to overcome the Churss or to control it? What if the Menace has given them a new weapon?”

  Another man nodded in agreement and said, “Eventually we will need to unite our peoples again. It is not fate’s wish that we hide forever. Does the Scrylle offer any ideas on how to protect ourselves from Balavad or other Verities who mean us ill?”

  Isemay caught the glance the man who was speaking shot her.

  “No, Poolan,” Deespora said. “But what more could we need but the Churss and all the life of Arc Rheunos to assist us? Life will always face death. If it is the Verity’s will that we be subsumed by the Minothian throne-sitter, then that is our fate.”

  “But it is not the Verity’s will,” a woman objected. “And more of our children have been taken. We can’t just forget them, we must—”

  Deespora held up a hand, cutting her off. “We shall discuss that at another time. For now,” she looked to Isemay, “we will see how we can assist our guest.”

  Seeing her opportunity, Isemay didn’t hesitate. “Help my mum. Get her out of tha
t place so we can go home.”

  The Archon looked at her sadly. “I wish we could.”

  Desperately, Isemay cast a look toward Mura, whose own expression looked stricken.

  Mura said, “Her mother saved Neeka from them. Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “And she killed a Deathless,” Salukis blurted.

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Killed a Deathless Guard?” Deespora said, her tone grave.

  “Yes, he was going to attack us. She—she did it to help us get away.”

  “The Vinnric should have submitted before she took another’s life. The Arc Rheunosians do not kill. That is our deepest, most cherished law.”

  Isemay didn’t like the accusation in the Archon’s tone. “My mum and I are not Arc Rheunosian. When someone tries to hurt us, we stop them in whatever way is necessary.” As she said it, she could feel the judgmental stares of the older Zhallahs.

  Deespora’s mouth turned downward, carving deep lines in her face. “That leads to one thing. War. And war is death and suffering. Does your realm accept suffering as a way of life?”

  “No! But how is submitting any better than suffering?” Around her, the group peppered each other with mutters and grumbling, driving home how foolish her hasty words were. She flushed and tried to backpedal. “I’m sorry, but I’m just trying to understand why you won’t help someone who helped some of you…” She trailed off, feeling slightly ill. These people weren’t going to help her. They seemed not only unwilling but possibly incapable.

  Deespora’s tone evened out as she spoke. “Understand, Isemay, that your ways and our ways are not the same. We are a peaceful people. Even the Minothians, though their peaceable ways have become warped since the Menace visited our realm. Fighting them won’t change them. Nor will we allow ourselves to become the violence we shun, even to live. You’re too young, and not one of us. It may be that you don’t have the wisdom to grasp what I mean. Nevertheless, our only masters are time and the Verities. Refusing to submit to them leads to suffering. Accepting them allows us to live in harmony with them.” She reached into an embroidered bag that was slung over her shoulder. “Now, there is something I can do for you.” Her hand emerged holding a narrow silvery scepter.