Storm of Chaos

by Andy Peloquin

  Knots tightened in her shoulders and back as four young men stepped from the crowd. They wore plain knee-length shendyts and simple tunics, leather sandals, and headbands of cloth dyed bright crimson. The absence of kohl made the anger in their eyes seem darker, deeper.

  Issa raised a clenched fist and brought her company of twenty Indomitables to a halt just two paces from the four Earaqi youths.

  “You cannot do this!” protested one. “He has done nothing wrong.”

  “He is accused of murder,” Issa replied. She kept her voice neutral, suppressing her emotions, but tried to maintain an air of authority. “Like all citizens of Shalandra, he will stand trial before the Pharus and the Keeper’s Council to answer for—”

  Fire blazed in the young men’s eyes. “Rot that! The Child of Gold preaches peace, not violence.”

  “Tell that to the dead Indomitables found in the alley behind his dwelling,” Issa snapped. “Or to the Keeper’s Blade crucified in Murder Square.”

  Dark mutters ran among the crowd, and the people at the front of the line shuffled from foot to foot. Tension hung so thick in the air Issa could cut it with a knife. Fists clenched, faces hardened, and shoulders tightened.

  Issa didn’t bother to speak to the crowd—she could not sway the minds of five thousand angry Earaqi. Yet if she could convince these four men to move out of her path, to let her through and do her job, the crowd might follow their actions.

  “You say you follow his message of peace?” Issa spoke in a voice pitched low for their ears only. “Then prove it. Right now, the people behind you are one wrong word away from violence. How would the man you call Hallar Reborn feel if your actions led to that violence?”

  The four men didn’t flinch from the intensity of her voice, yet they exchanged hesitant glances.

  Issa pushed on—they were so close to seeing reason. “The Pharus has no reason to want him dead. If anything, it’s in the best interests of Shalandra to let your Child of Gold continue to spread that message of peace. He will stand a fair trial and if he is innocent, he will be acquitted.” She stepped forward. “But if you don’t move aside now, you will force my hand. I have my orders. The blood of every man, woman, and child that suffers will be on your head.”

  Indecision warred in their expressions, doubt written in four pairs of dark eyes.

  “Ask yourselves,” Issa said, “what would Aterallis do?”

  The simple question drove home the final nail. The defiant glares softened, replaced by grudging acceptance. With a little nod, the four men moved out of the road.

  Shocked whispers and mutters ran among the crowd. They hadn’t heard Issa’s words, but they could not mistake the young Earaqis’ actions for anything but compliance.

  Issa marched forward, her company of Indomitables following in synchronous step. The sound of their booted feet echoed loudly in the silence as they came abreast of the four youths. The Earaqi let them pass without complaint or contest.

  A moment later, the crowd parted as if by an invisible hand.

  Issa refused to let relief show on her face. She kept her spine stiff, her head held high as she marched up Death Row, through the thousands of Earaqi. Those in the rear didn’t know what had transpired, but they imitated those in front of them and stepped aside.

  Knots formed in Issa’s shoulders as she led her Indomitables up the main avenue and through the gate to the Artisan’s Tier. There, thousands more people lined Death Row to watch the procession. Yet the faces that stared at her lacked the open hostility and belligerence of the Earaqi—instead, the Intaji and Zadii looked on with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

  Issa let out a long, shuddering sigh as they reached the Defender’s Tier without incident. She risked a glance over her shoulder. The Earaqi had followed their procession up the hill and now clogged Death Row. They stood unmoving, defiant statues carved of flesh and bone, their eyes following her as she helped lead their Child of Gold to judgement.

  Through the gates, Issa caught sight of a company of Blades waiting on the Warrior’s Path. Lady Callista stood at their head, her face set in a grim mask of stone.

  Issa’s gut clenched. That can’t be good. The Lady of Blades wouldn’t attend to this matter personally unless things were a heartbeat from spiraling out of control.

  She brought her company of Indomitables to a halt before Lady Callista and saluted. “Proxenos.”

  Lady Callista inclined her head. “Prototopoi.” Her words held none of their usual familiarity; out here, she was once again commander of the Blades, highest-ranked military authority in Shalandra, and Issa was nothing more than a humble trainee. “I will escort the prisoner the rest of the way to the palace, where he will give answer before the Keeper’s Council.” A hint of anger cracked Lady Callista’s stony façade.

  Issa understood her presence. The Necroseti had set their sights on Aterallis; Lady Callista had come to ensure due justice was served.

  “Yes, Proxenos.” Issa saluted and stepped aside to make way for their captive.

  “Callista.” Aterallis’ face broadened into a beatific smile. “It has been too long.”

  Lady Callista’s expression shifted, a hint of sorrow flashing in her eyes. Yet it passed so quickly Issa almost thought she’d imagined it. The Lady of Blades motioned to the Ypertatos at her side. “Bring him.”

  As the two Blades moved toward Aterallis, Lady Callista’s eyes went to Issa. “No trouble?”

  Issa shook her head. “He talked the people down.”

  “I did not do it alone,” Aterallis said.

  Issa looked at the man, who stood calmly between the two broad-shouldered Blades.

  “In her position, many more experienced soldiers might have attacked.” Aterallis nodded to her. “She stood her ground but gave the people no reason to turn hostile.” The strangely angelic smile returned to his face as he turned to her. “You speak with the voice of one beyond your years. The Face of Justice shines through you. When the Final Destruction comes, you will be the first to feel the Long Keeper’s embrace.”

  From anyone else, those words might have been a threat. Yet Aterallis’ tone held no menace or warning. Instead, it echoed with a blissful joy, like a man eager to embrace his family after returning from an odyssey.

  Issa had no answer; what could she possibly say to that? Yet the words dogged her steps as she followed Lady Callista, Aterallis, and the Blades up Death Row toward the Palace of Golden Eternity.

  * * *

  “Issa.” A familiar voice filtered into her sleep-numbed mind. “Issa, wake up.”

  Issa’s eyes snapped open and she sat upright, every instinct on full alert.

  Etai stood over her, worry etched into the lines of her face. “Lady Callista sent me to summon you, Issa.”

  Issa blinked the sleep from her eyes, her mind struggling to piece together her surroundings. Memory returned with wakefulness. After delivering Aterallis to the palace, Lady Callista had ordered her to a small sitting room to await the outcome of the trial.

  Did I actually sleep? The sofa had been surprisingly plush, the velvet soft on her face. The single lamp in the room had lulled her into a gentle sleep—well-deserved after nearly two days of non-stop exertion.

  Yet one look at Etai’s furrowed brow and dark eyes drove all thoughts of pleasant rest from her mind.

  Issa’s gut churned. That can’t be good. She leapt to her feet and scrubbed all traces of exhaustion from her face. “Where is she?”

  “In her office.”

  The disquiet echoing in Etai’s voice sent a chill down Issa’s spine. She hurried from the sitting room and strode through the simple stone corridors along the western side of the palace until she reached Lady Callista’s office.

  The two Keeper’s Blades on guard let her pass without hesitation, and Issa pushed open the Lady of Blades’ door.

  Lady Callista sat in her heavy armchair, her golden face somehow looking pale, ashen. Her strong features drooped into a frown t
hat filled Issa with worry. For the first time, the indefatigable Lady Callista actually looked exhausted.

  No, not just exhausted, Issa realized. She recognized that look—she’d had the same one the night after Tannard beat her savagely, the night she’d come within a heartbeat of quitting the Keeper’s Blades. Defeat.

  Lady Callista spoke in a quiet voice. “The Keeper’s Council has found Aterallis guilty of murder.”

  Issa’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “They proclaimed the evidence against him ‘too overwhelming to ignore’.” Outrage cracked through her stern, calm façade.

  “That’s horse shite!” Issa snapped.

  Lady Callista’s shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “The bodies were found in his warehouse, as was the cart used to bring Kellas’ body to Murder Square.” She shook her head. “Add to that the bloody knife…”

  “All of which could have been planted!” Fire burned within Issa’s chest. “I’ve heard him speak and there’s no way he could have done it. If we go through with this, the consequences—”

  Lady Callista surged to her feet and slammed her mailed fist onto the table. “I know the consequences!” she roared. “Don’t you think I understand what could happen when we carry out this order? I read the reports of your fellow Blades and the Executors. I heard the accounts of the Indomitables that accompanied you. Only the Keeper’s mercy kept the situation from turning to violence.”

  She seemed to suddenly deflate. The strong, confident Lady of Blades disappeared, replaced by a tired, disheartened woman that slumped back into her chair. “Now, when the people hear that we are going to execute him, they’re going to riot.”

  A shudder ran down Issa’s spine. Images of horror flashed through her mind: all those familiar faces in the crowd twisted by rage, clenched fists stained with blood, angry shouts echoing from a thousand throats. The streets of the Slave’s and Cultivator’s Tiers would run red. The violence of the Fifty-Day Revolt would pale in comparison to what awaited them now.

  The moment passed, and once more Lady Callista’s strength and will asserted itself. “But we have been given our orders.” She squared her shoulders and lifted her head. Steel hardened in her face, her eyes growing flinty. “The Keeper’s Council has overruled the Pharus’ objections. We have no choice but to obey. I cannot go against the Pharus, much as I despise his command. The situation in Shalandra is too grave to risk open defiance against the Council in this matter.”

  Issa wanted to protest. Every fiber of her being revolted at the thought of what she had to do. She hated the Keeper’s Council for forcing their hand. Yet Lady Callista was right. It was one thing to maneuver in secret against the Keeper’s Council, but open defiance was another matter entirely. If they didn’t carry out this order, the city would have a whole different manner of problems.

  At that moment, with the threat of widespread rioting and violence hanging over their heads, the city couldn’t afford for its governing bodies to be divided. If things turned ugly, it would take all the resources of the Necroseti, the Indomitables, and the Keeper’s Blades to get things in hand.

  Despite everything that screamed for her to disobey, Issa straightened and snapped off a smart salute. Loyalty to her commander, to the Lady of Blades that had earned her devotion and respect, trumped her personal desires. It had to. Without that, she would be forced to oppose the order she knew was wrong—oppose Lady Callista.

  “What are my orders, Proxenos?”

  Gratitude filled Lady Callista’s eyes. For a single heartbeat, she fixed Issa with that strange gaze, one filled with far more emotion than expected from a superior officer. Genuine emotion danced across the Lady of Blades’ face—Issa didn’t understand it, but she accepted it. Now, when the situation was at its most dire, Lady Callista deserved strong subordinates to support her. Issa would want the same in her situation.

  The moment passed and Lady Callista’s face hardened. Once more, she assumed the role of commander, collected, authoritative, confident. “At sundown, you are to join the company of Blades and Indomitables that will bring Aterallis to Murder Square, where he is to be executed.”

  Ice seeped into Issa’s bones. Me? She’d half-expected this, yet to hear it aloud sent a chill down her spine. I’m to help lead an innocent man to his death.

  It went against everything she stood for—she’d joined the Keeper’s Blades not only to give her Saba and Savta a better life, but out of a genuine desire to serve Shalandra—yet she swallowed her feelings and kept her face a studied mask of calm. “Yes, Proxenos.”

  For the sake of Shalandra, she would follow her orders.

  Lady Callista saluted. “Go, Issa. And may the Long Keeper have mercy on all of us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What do you think?” Aisha asked. “Could it work? Could mixing Shadow Root with the Whispering Lily somehow balance out its effects?”

  Tension thrummed within her as Briana’s face scrunched up into a frown. Kodyn shot her an encouraging smile as she waited in breathless silence.

  After a long moment, the Shalandran girl gave a little shrug. “Maybe. I’ve never heard of Shadow Root before. I’d have to run some tests on it to see what it can do and what happens when I combine it.” She held out a hand. “May I see it?”

  Aisha reached into her pouch and drew out the gnarled brown root Imbuka had given her. Briana took it and studied it closely, turning it over in her hands, even peeling off a small portion of the root’s skin and the yellow flesh beneath with a sharp fingernail.

  “Give me a few hours to look it over,” she told Aisha. “If nothing else, I can always consult the Secret Keepers.”

  “Thank you!” Aisha threw her arms around Briana’s neck and pulled the girl into a tight hug. Warmth flooded her, relief soothing the tension knotting her muscles.

  “In the meantime, I think you’ll want to hear what Hailen found in my father’s journals.” Briana turned to the younger boy with an encouraging look. “Show her that bit about the pendant.”

  Hailen’s eyes brightened. “Oh yeah!” He flipped through the pages to a section near the back of the journal and gave their contents—more of the coded cipher Aisha didn’t understand—a quick scan. “So the Arch-Guardian only put down a few entries into the journal. Judging by the dates, he’d only just begun studying it.”

  The boy’s brow furrowed as he read over Suroth’s notes. “He called it a Dy’nashia, which, if I remember correctly, is the Serenii word for…” He felt silent for a moment, his mouth moving to sound out the syllables. “Repository, I think. Not so much like a physical storehouse like a granary or vault, though. More like a place where energy is collected.”

  Briana spoke without taking her eyes from the root. “He likened them to canopic jars. Jars used by the Dhukari to store their organs during the mummification process.” Now, she glanced up with a grin. She had pushed up her white Zadii headband and donned a pair of jeweler’s spectacles, with thick lenses that made her almond-shaped eyes appear three times their normal size. “Only, instead of viscera, it stores the energy of your spirits.”

  Aisha held up the pendant to Kodyn. “What color is the stone?”

  Kodyn’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Humor me,” she pressed. “What color is it?” Curiosity burned within her; she had to know if he could see it, too.

  “Black,” he said. “But there’s this thread of blue-white swirling through it.” He glanced up at her. “It’s quite pretty, actually. Like the light in your eyes.”

  Heat rushed to Aisha’s cheek at Kodyn’s compliment, washed away by a cooling sense of relief. “Good, I couldn’t be sure.”

  “Sure of what?” Kodyn cocked an eyebrow.

  “That I wasn’t the only one that could see it.” She held up her hands and, clasping the pendant tight, summoned Thimara’s spirit to her fingers. “Tell me, do you see anything now?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Kodyn said, “I mean,
there’s your fingers, the calluses on your palms, and…” He trailed off as Aisha shook her head. “Is there something I should be seeing?”

  “No, I guess not.” Aisha let out a sigh and released her grip on Thimara’s spirit. The blue-white spark stopped dancing between her fingers, sizzled up her arms, and returned to the pendant—the Dy’nashia. “Because of my Spirit Whisperer abilities, I can see the Kish’aa—the same light threading the stone. But the spirits only become visible to you when they’re absorbed into the pendant.”

  Kodyn nodded—more an agreement with her than genuine understanding. “Sounds fair enough.”

  Aisha forced a smile. For a moment, she’d dared to hope that telling the others about the spirits might somehow open their eyes. A foolish thought, but she still felt disappointed that it hadn’t worked. But at least they can see the light of the Kish’aa in the stone. Warmth flooded her and her smile grew genuine as she stared at the spark dancing through the pendant. It’s proof that I’m not crazy, if nothing else.

  She had to give Kodyn, Briana, and Hailen credit. They’d accepted her words without hesitation, throwing their full support behind her. She didn’t know why she hadn’t told them the truth before—she could only write it off as “not the right moment” only so many times. Now that they knew, she felt better than she had in a long time.

  She turned back to Hailen. “Is there anything else in Suroth’s journal about the pendant, this Dy’nashia?”

  Hailen frowned down at the page. “A few bits and pieces, really. References to the one Serenii text where the Repository was mentioned, but that’s pretty much it.” He shot her a wry grin. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t have the abilities required to unlock the stone’s true purpose. Kind of like with this.” He hefted the long, cylindrical black stone, the one he’d found in Suroth’s study. It hadn’t left his side since that day.