A smile touched Ishfahel’s lips, all at once gentle and sorrowful and hopeful. “I wish you well upon your quest.”
Don’t go, I wanted to cry out, only because the goddess was so gracious and lovely; but she was already turning, tendrils of mist swirling around her as she made her retreat, taking the rain clouds with her, laughing children chasing after her in vain as her strides grew longer.
“Well!” It was the dockmaster’s voice that broke the reverie. He scratched his head. “Never seen that before.” He glanced up at our ship. “What’s the nature of this quest of yours anyway?”
We looked to Jahno to answer. He might not be our captain, but he was the Seeker, and it was him whom Ishfahel had addressed.
Jahno drew a deep breath. “Well, we’re still piecing it together,” he said apologetically. “But I think we’re the defenders of the four quarters who are meant to slay Miasmus upon its rising.”
The dockmaster gave us another once-over, looking dubious. “Good luck to you, my friends. I reckon you’ll need it. We’re clean here on Verdant right now, but I’ve seen the poor mad fuckers infested by those things.”
The remaining casks were filled and nailed shut in short order and hoisted back aboard the ship. I helped in the effort of wrestling them into the cargo hold, marking the lid of the barrel that contained Ishfahel’s blessed water with a bold X with the point of my belt-dagger.
“So at least we’ve got a barrel full of god-spittle,” Evene remarked. “That’s something, isn’t it?”
I gave her a cool look, misliking her irreverent tone. “Do you imagine such a jest commends your character?”
The tattooed woman opened her mouth for a tart reply, then shivered unexpectedly and wrapped her arms around herself. “No,” she whispered. “I envy you your surety of purpose, shadow; I envy your training and the bond you share with your Sun-Blessed princess. I have none of those things. I am a failed thief, an escaped convict, and a reasonably good barmaid, none of which remotely qualifies me for attempting to save the world.” In the dim green glow shed by the flitting ooalu moths, her gaze was bitter and shadowy. “At least your god gave you words of prophecy and the gift of status. As you so kindly noted, my god fucked me under false pretenses and sent me on my merry way.” She shivered again, searching my eyes. “At first it was a lark to imagine myself chosen for a higher purpose. But the more real this business of the Scattered Prophecy becomes, the more terrified I am. Do you blame me?”
I sheathed my belt-dagger, feeling guilty. “No. But Ishfahel’s blessing was meant for all of us.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Evene mused.
“Yes.”
She gave me a crooked smile. “I’ll try to remember it. Thank you, shadow.”
I nodded.
That day we sailed past another several dozen isles. Rejuvenated by the rainfall, the wyrms swam strongly, heads low, the bits clamped tight in their jaws, the action of their powerful tails leaving twin trails of wake behind them. Date Palm Isle, Forked Rock Isle, Mussel Isle … I lost track of the names of the islands and the gods and goddesses who held aegis over them, although I daresay Zariya committed each and every one of them to memory. I did not think I needed to do the same. We were bound for the Caldera at the very heart of the Nexus, a hollow semicircle ring of an island, the basalt husk of a volcano that had exploded long ago, before the children of heaven had fallen from the skies. There in the deep ocean in the center of the Caldera, the Oracle of the Nexus abided: Kephalos the Wise.
There we would seek the Oracle’s counsel.
We reached the Caldera before nightfall. Myriad small, deep harbors were staggered all around it, nestled at the bottom of steep crags with switchback trails leading to the top of the ring.
After conferring with the Elehuddin, Eeeio and Aiiiaii simply made for the nearest harbor.
There was a Mad Priest there on the wharf.
A prophet of Miasmus, I suppose I should call him; at any rate, he had been afflicted. Who he had been before it happened, I never knew. The prophet held up one hand as we glided into a berth in the harbor, and his entire palm was suppurating with the mark of the black star, lines extending up his fingers and wrist, angry red infectious streaks rising the length of his arm. “They come!” he cried in a shrill voice. “Sun-Blessed and Shadow, Seeker and Thunderclap and Opener of Ways! Kill them and seize their spoils as your rightful prize! Kill them all and let the blessed darkness rise!”
Everyone ignored him. The Nexus was a place all unto itself and the Caldera all the more so. Those who dwelled here wished to preserve it as it was; those who came as pilgrims had no desire to alter it.
Even so, I was uneasy. “Shall I kill him?” I asked Jahno, fingering the hilts of my weapons.
Essee clicked in disapproval.
“No.” Jahno frowned. “He has offered us no violence, shadow, only words. We cannot kill him for words.”
“It might be a mercy,” I suggested.
He gave me a sidelong look. “Perhaps, but it would be a violation of the decree that Kephalos the Wise has laid over the Nexus. All are welcome here. There are many harbors. Let us seek another.”
As we made our way around the coast of the Caldera toward the south, Aiiiaii looped her coils around to lift her head and call out an apologetic trill. “She says they should have recognized the smell of corrupted flesh,” Jahno translated. “They will make sure there are no such afflicted souls in the next harbor.”
At the next harbor, however, the wyrms raised an alarm; and the next two harbors afterward. It was not until the fifth harbor we attempted that we found a safe berth for the night.
“That seems rather a lot of Miasmus-afflicted,” Zariya said soberly. “Is that usual here?”
“No.” Jahno looked troubled. “But as you saw, their message has gained no purchase here.”
“That would not matter if there were enough of them to attack us in strength.” I turned to Tarrok. “How many assailed Trask’s shores at once?”
The tall man shrugged. “No more than a dozen at any given time. Trouble was their message was finding an audience.” He scratched his bearded chin. “And I worry that it still is. There hasn’t been any news out of Trask for a year or more.”
Kooie spoke, his yellow-gold eyes catching the setting sun’s light to gleam crimson, his fingers augmenting his words.
“He says things are growing worse and this is only the beginning,” Jahno said. “But we need to do this, and together we are strong and courageous and compassionate, my brothers and sisters.”
I was still thinking about the prophet. “What if I’d just cut his arm off?” I held up my hand, forestalling Essee’s disapproving glance. “No, I mean, is it possible to free one of the afflicted from the children of Miasmus if the spider isn’t lodged in his vitals?”
“I’ve seen it attempted,” Tarrok admitted. “But I fear that the afflicted never recover their wits, and you have to be damned quick about killing the creature afterward, because they only need a minute or two to recover and seek a new host, and they move lickety-split once they do. And it takes fire to put an end to them.”
Remembering Vironesh and myself stooping over the pulsing sea-spider, I felt a little sick.
Keeik glanced toward me and whistled, hands signing too swiftly to follow in the lowering light.
“He says that we will harm no innocent victims unless our hands are forced,” Jahno translated. “But if the prophets of Miasmus do attack us, we must let Khai kill them. Yah, I agree. But no one is killing anyone tonight,” he added. “Tonight we rest aboard the ship and give thanks to Ishfahel the Gentle Rain. Tomorrow, we will seek to consult the Oracle of the Nexus, come what may.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, even Essee, the tendrils of her mane stirring with quiet sorrow.
FORTY-FOUR
In the morning we ventured ashore.
It was a matter of considerable debate whether to take the rhamanthus seeds with us or leave them abo
ard the ship. Although I was reluctant to leave them, the coffer was awkward to carry, and bringing it was likely to draw more attention to it. In the end it was the sea-wyrms who decided the matter, assuring us that one or the other of them would attend the ship at all times.
Thus reassured, we set out. There were a dozen porters with sturdy little donkeys offering to transport pilgrims or traders—honest or otherwise—up the steep, craggy paths and across the island to the Oracle. We hired one for Zariya, who was quite taken with the novelty of riding astride.
“It’s almost as though I’ve got my own strong new set of legs, my darling,” she remarked to me. “Why did I never try this before?”
I smiled at her. “I doubt you would have been permitted. I don’t recall seeing any women save your sister and her priestesses riding in Merabaht.”
“True.” She looked pensive. “My entire family would be utterly appalled by everything about this journey. I only pray I have the chance to share the scandalous details with them one day.”
The narrow streets were lined with shops and taverns and thronged with all manner of people. I tried to keep a sharp eye out for any prophets of Miasmus, but it was nigh impossible in such a crowd. Simply keeping track of our companions was difficult enough. We made one stop at a fabric shop, where Jahno and Evene haggled over the sale of the bolt of Barakhan silk that had been Prince Heshari’s courting gift, for the chance to consult the Oracle didn’t come cheap. Zariya looked a bit wistful at seeing the iridescent fabric vanish into the depths of the shop, but it had been her idea to sell it when she learned that our company was short of funds.
“And now I suppose one might say that Barakhan has contributed its piece to the fulfillment of the prophecy,” she remarked when Jahno and Evene emerged with a considerable purse.
“If we get counsel,” Jahno cautioned her. “It’s always a gamble, yah? We’ve sought it before and received none.”
Zariya patted her donkey’s neck. “I’m feeling hopeful, my darlings.”
It took a good half an hour to navigate the winding maze of streets and arrive at the large square known as the Pilgrims’ Plaza, where at last the crowd thinned. I began scanning once more for prophets or pickpockets. Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw a blurred figure darting toward Zariya.
By all the gods, it was fast! The startled porter let go of the lead-rope and the donkey shied; Zariya slid sideways in the saddle. Even if she’d been an experienced rider, her legs lacked the strength for a proper grip.
“Catch her!” I shouted, drawing my weapons and placing myself between Zariya and the figure.
A young man blinked up at me; but no, he was looking past me. He’d flung himself to his knees and his arms were outstretched, a long, slender sword lying on his upturned palms.
“My queen!” he cried in ecstasy. “I’ve found you! I pray you accept my sword into your service!”
I stared at him in pure astonishment, the weapons in my hands momentarily forgotten. The young man’s sparkling eyes, which were gazing fixedly at Zariya, were the aquamarine hue of the sea. His skin was tan, his long hair a shining gold. He wore a leather vest without a back and a double set of narrow, transparent wings sprouting from his shoulder blades vibrated on either side of him with a low humming sound.
“I should have guessed,” Jahno said in disgust behind me. “It’s a goddamned mayfly.”
I had absolutely no idea what that meant.
Flexing my hands on my hilts, I took an offensive stance. “Who are you and what do you want?”
The young man tore his gaze away from Zariya and met mine with an effort. “I am Lirios of Chalcedony Isle,” he said humbly. “And I do but seek to find my one true queen and serve her. The blessed goddess Selerian the Light-Footed, daughter of Eshen the Wandering Moon, bade me seek her in the presence of the Oracle.” He transferred his gaze back to Zariya, smiling a broad white smile. “And here she is!”
At a loss, I glanced over my shoulder at Zariya.
She was still upright in the saddle, steadied by Kooie and Tarrok, and looking bewildered.
Jahno came forward. “May I ask how old you are, Lirios of Chalcedony Isle?”
The young man cast his gaze downward. “I am very nearly nine years of age,” he admitted. “I know it is old to be mated.”
“Yah.” Jahno blew out his breath. “Well, I don’t think you’re meant to be mated to your queen, my young friend.”
Lirios glanced up, crestfallen. “No?”
“‘From the Nexus comes the Quick, who will recognize his queen,’” Jahno quoted wryly, putting out his hand. “I do believe you have just completed the company of the defenders of the four quarters. And as the Seeker of the Scattered Prophecy, I offer you welcome.”
Lirios ignored his extended hand. “My queen?” he asked Zariya. “Do you accept my service?”
Zariya glanced at Jahno, her brow furrowed. I felt an unwarranted pang of jealousy that it was to him, and not me, that she looked for counsel; but no, that was foolish. He was the Seeker and I knew nothing of mayflies. “I confess myself on uncertain ground.”
Jahno nodded. “Yah, my great-grandfather never had the chance to write about Chalcedony Islanders,” he said. “The lifespan of the males is three times shorter than that of the women. Their lives are short and fast. Everything about them is … well, quick.” He grimaced. “And very, very energetic and earnest.”
“Once we have found our queens, we are loyal unto death,” Lirios added humbly, still kneeling and offering his sword on outstretched palms. “I do not know yet how I am meant to serve you if we are not to be mated, but Selerian the Light-Footed does not make mistakes. I know that you are my queen, my true queen. Do you accept my service?”
“Ah … yes, of course,” she said in a bemused tone. “Thank you, Lirios.”
He bounded to his feet and sheathed his sword, narrow wings vibrating at an excited pitch that made my eardrums itch. “Thank you, my queen!” He paused. “How shall I call you?”
“She is Her Sun-Blessed Highness Princess Zariya of the House of the Ageless,” I informed him.
He gave me a sunny smile. “Then I shall call her that.”
“Zariya will suffice,” she said in a reserved manner.
So it was that our company increased by one before consulting the Oracle of the Nexus.
The number of pilgrims who might consult the Oracle at any given time was eight. As the Seeker, Jahno decreed that the six chosen defenders—Seeker, Sun-Blessed, Shadow, Thunderclap, Opener of Ways, and the Quick—should be among them. The Elehuddin debated amongst themselves and chose Essee and Kooie to complete our company of pilgrims.
Priests and priestesses of Kephalos the Wise escorted us to the innermost ridge of the Caldera. Below us, in the cupped hollow of the isle, the blue sea looked calm and serene. We descended the path to the ledge below with care, Zariya yet astride her donkey, the porter leading it impassively. I helped her dismount when the priest indicated she should do so.
I would have stayed by her side, but a robed priestess shook her head at me and urged me onward.
“I will be fine, my heart,” Zariya said breathlessly, propping herself upright on her canes. “Go, and learn what you may.”
One by one, we arrayed ourselves along the ledge. The sea beneath us began to churn as the Oracle rose from its depths.
Although Jahno had described it to us, and I had seen many octopi caught by the Elehuddin in our weeks at sea, nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Kephalos the Wise. An octopus, yes; but one as vast as a mountain, looming out of the sea, water streaming from the mottled red skin of its great, bulbous head. Tapering tentacles as thick as tree trunks at their base arched into the air with sinuous grace, their pale undersides lined with a double row of hundreds of suckers, each one larger than my hand. It had eight eyes, as black as ink and deep with wisdom, and eight beaked orifices ringing the edge of its underbelly.
All eight tentacles streaked out at
once, and it took a considerable effort not to reach for my weapons as one wrapped around my waist. Although Kephalos was gentle, I could sense the tremendous strength in its limb. The pale suckers flexed and moved independently of one another, but didn’t latch on to me.
We had been told to search our hearts for the question we most desired answered, that we might pose it to the Oracle. “How can I best protect my lady Zariya from harm?” I asked; at the same time I spoke, I heard bits and pieces of other questions, the words overlapping with clicks and whistles from Essee and Kooie.
“… meant to use the rhamanthus seeds?”
“… find the key piece missing from the Scattered Prophecy?”
“… hell am I doing here?”
“… destroy Miasmus?”
“… serve my queen?”
The Oracle of the Nexus closed its eyes, taking in our questions, then opened them once more. One deep black eye regarded me, and Kephalos the Wise opened the beak in its nearest mouth-orifice and loosed its tentacle from around my waist. “The tools you need have been given to you. For you I have no counsel.”
Disappointed, yet oddly unsurprised, I listened to the overlapping bits and pieces of its answers.
“A way is not always a door. Remember this.”
“For you I have no counsel.”
“No.”
“That which you seek lies in the possession of those whose lifeblood is trade, and value the worth of a thing more than the thing itself.”
“The answer to your question abides in the words of the Scattered Prophecy.”
“For you I have no counsel.”
It was to Zariya whom the Oracle spoke at greatest length. I shook my head, trying to clear out the cacophony of its eight-fold response and concentrate on the words it spoke to her.
“Your childhood illness has impaired the flow of energy that would allow you to channel the sun-fire of the rhamanthus. You must seek healing among those who dwell amidst a thousand forms of death.”
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