Realm of Ashes

by J. D. L. Rosell

  Enthralled by the dusk mob, I startled when someone grabbed my arm.

  Fear and fury coursing through me, I turned and lashed out, striking my captor with quick blows to the nose then the leg. I didn’t even look at his face until after he’d cursed and sprang back, one hand to his face. I didn’t recognize his features, shadowed as they were under a hood.

  Not caring about propriety, I hauled up my chiton and ripped free the knife Nomusa had given me, then held it before me in what I hoped was a menacing manner. My lips pulled back in a snarl. “Stay away from me!” I hissed.

  The man glowered at me. Blood trickled between the fingers of the hand held to his nose, while the other had disappeared inside his coat. “They didn’t mention you were a feral minx,” he snarled, his voice nasally from his dripping nose.

  “They?” I demanded.

  A blue glow emanated out from the sleeve of his upraised arm. My blood went cold. I didn’t need to see the full tatu to know it was an unblinking eye. The mark of the Underguild.

  “Tyurn’s balls,” I said faintly.

  The man leered at me. “Now you understand. Be glad the Undermaster wishes to extend you an offer, or I would cut you down where you stand.”

  The Undermaster — Kalindi, I suspected from what Talan had told me. It seemed the Underguild’s usurper had taken a new title.

  I glanced at the vagrants who shared the alley with us, but they were backing away, fear plain on their faces. I glanced back at the Guilder and didn’t lower the knife. “Go ahead. Tell me Kalindi’s offer.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “The Undermaster,” he said with emphasis, “knows of your association with the traitor Talan Wraithsbane. He doesn’t hold this against you. But he does ask one thing in return for his forgiveness.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s simple, really. Tell us where he is.”

  I almost laughed. Strange as it had developed, my loyalty to Talan was as strong as to Xaron, Nomusa, or any of my family. There was no chance of me letting slip his location, even if I’d known it. But flat refusal could bring the ire of the Underguild down on me, and at a time when I needed to move about the city freely. “And what will you do with him if I tell you?”

  The Guilder grinned, revealing a bit of blood that had seeped between his yellowed teeth. “Show him a traitor’s punishment.”

  Cutting off the hands was traditional. But I suspected Kalindi wouldn’t stop there. I wondered what Talan had done to warrant the threat.

  “I’ll consider it,” I said finally, reviling the necessary lie.

  “Don’t take long. The Undermaster is not a patient man. And you wouldn’t want to give him a reason to show his displeasure.” With one final leer, the Guilder turned down the alley and disappeared.

  The vagrants who had been there before had melted away, leaving me alone in the alley. On the main street, the dusk mob had passed on to cause destruction elsewhere. I heaved a sigh of relief. But I wasn’t safe yet. Cautiously taking to the street again, I kept my knife out as I ran to the Laurel Palace gates.

  9

  Eyes in the Night

  Agmon Brandheart, Foremost of the First Wardens, quickly rose as a leader. A commander and a soldier, he embraced Tyurn’s Gift, and gathered the other wardens of humanity scattered across Telae to his side. Boldly, they went out to meet their enemy.

  Famine had gathered legions of his own to his banner, both human and daemon, for many longed for the power he promised. Many more filled the daemon god’s war tents than Agmon Brandheart had managed to gather.

  Even still, they met on the battlefield. Wearing the form of a great scaled beast, Famine flew over the armies, and wherever the daemon-god went, no warden could stand before him.

  Agmon Brandheart, most noble of humanity, called a challenge to Famine. But the daemon only laughed and continued his slaughter elsewhere. No matter how Agmon challenged him, Famine would not face him.

  - The Seeds of Famine, a translation from the Lighted-tongue; by Oracle Kalene of deme Hull; 881 SLP

  Sleep was long in coming.

  Foremost on my mind was the Guilder’s threat. I worried less about myself than Talan, though I knew the threat meant he was safe. Still, how long would he remain that way with Kalindi bent on revenge and the reach of the Underguild at his disposal?

  But even that threat felt almost insignificant when I contemplated the one rising, hidden, for all of us. Famine sought to break back into our world, into Telae. And Eltris believed he would do so when Vusu’s control slipped. I wondered if I’d done the right thing now, putting a shaft in his side. Yet how could I have done any less? Vusu would destroy Oedija just as surely as Famine unchecked.

  But there remained Eltris’ belief that Vusu somehow held Famine in check. How a man, even a powerful warden, could leash a god, defied my comprehension.

  But I couldn’t think about any of that. Not Famine, not Vusu, and especially not Talan. Though I didn’t know what danger I posed to the city by straying into the Pyrthae, it was warning enough for me to try not to dream.

  But not enough to stop trying to channel.

  I pushed the worries from my mind and set into Eltris’ exercises. My body gathered a warm energy as I rolled my awareness through every limb, every digit, even to the thin skin of my scalp, imagining my focus like a ball of light wherever it traveled. But the warmth was not the thrumming heat of radiance, and when I tried to open myself to the Pyrthae, my locus remained stubbornly closed.

  I sighed and set into the mental exercises, trying to clear my mind of my lingering worries. But no matter how I insisted on emptiness, thoughts clung to me like barnacles to a ship’s hull. If Talan was safe from Kalindi’s henchmen. If I dared Oedija’s streets again when riots and thieves ruled them by day and Guilders, Seekers, and Silks haunted them by night. If the stubborn old Master Augur would ever tell me everything I needed to know to stop Vusu and Famine. If we even had a prayer of a chance of stopping the daemon god.

  Sometime in the midst of my worries, I was carried into an uneasy oblivion.

  I blinked my eyes open to daylight, surprised I’d fallen asleep. It felt as if I’d just lain down, though I didn’t feel terribly tired. No dreams of soaring through the Pyrthae greeted me, nor glimpses of Talan as a flame or otherwise. Perhaps the augur’s exercises had worked. Even knowing it was for the best, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

  Rising, I looked in my wardrobe and found, to my pleasant surprise, that Hyrol had found the note I’d left for him and supplied me a full closet of chitons, trousers, and tunics, as well as a oil-treated cloak. I didn’t hesitate in grabbing a pair of tunic and trousers and, after securing my knife, I pulled them on.

  But when reaching for a chiton to pull over them, I paused. Seeker wardens, Guilders, and Silks haunted Oedija’s streets, to say nothing of the common cutthroats and cutpurses. If I was to wander the streets by myself, I had to give myself the best chance to run.

  Tightening my jaw, I took only the cloak and closed the wardrobe.

  Walking downstairs, I entered the atrium and found my days were gathering a pattern. Galene the clerk waited to take my account once more.

  “First Verifier,” she greeted me with a disdainful glance at my clothes.

  “Galene,” I said pleasantly. “You look as well as could be expected.”

  After exchanging several more biting sentences, I dispensed of her with flippant haste, then set off for the Laurel bridge. Though fear crawled up my throat and tightened it, I knew I had to go out onto Oedija’s streets again. I had to read more of my ancient texts, then do my due diligence to the Order rooting out corruption. I wasn’t sure either would pan out. But trying was better than cowering inside my room.

  Filled with nervous energy, eager to ease the guilt I felt toward Nomusa, I settled on my Verifier task. But though the command ultimately came from Orhan, I wouldn’t do as the Preservist leader desired and find some scapegoat for his corruption charg
es. I aimed to investigate where the rotten heart of Oedija’s corruption pulsed.

  Orhan’s estate was located in the center of the Petaled Fence, the richest part of deme Iris. The community was sprawled over a hill that afforded views of both the ocean and the distant mountains, and separated it from the rest of the inner city by an intricately carved stone wall and guards at its gates. Ordinary residents were not permitted access unless they had received invitations.

  But as I reached the gates, I thrust my Verifier medallion at the guards, hoping my position would be enough. After exchanging a look, they grudgingly admitted me, and I entered the Petaled Fence for the first time. Walking a little ways down the wide street paved with black-veined, white marble, I craned my neck to spy Orhan’s manor near the peak of the hill, rising nearly as high as the Laurel Palace to the west. Though it wasn’t as grand or opulent as the Wreath’s homestead, which stretched over half a mile with its interior gardens, it said much of Orhan’s sense of his place in the world.

  I took pains to ascend to it by covert ways, or as covert as I could manage in an unfamiliar place. Available alleyways to sneak through were lacking in a district of manors and the reputable shops that serviced them. So instead, I opted for taking a wide arc through the district, avoiding the main thoroughfare on which Orhan would no doubt have eyes posted and approaching from the backside of the estate. There, I found a perfect stake-out spot, a conveniently located Eidolan sanctuary with an open balcony facing out toward the Low Consul’s estate, with an open view of his back gate. After stopping by a shop to pick up a peering glass, I made for the balcony, and through frequent and generous donations to the offering plate, the oracle and his acolytes let me be.

  Yet for all my troubles, I was little rewarded. Though I watched those coming and going from the estate, I didn’t see anyone suspicious enough to follow when they left. Not even Valemish priests came to the Low Consul’s manor. Though I wasn’t surprised that Orhan was discreet, particularly in broad daylight, I had hoped for more.

  In the frequent pauses between Orhan’s visitors, I practiced Eltris’ techniques, telling myself that there was little use in wasting time while I waited. A flimsy excuse; I couldn’t deny that I burned to channel as easily as Xaron and Talan did. Had not duty and guilt called, my desire would have shut me indoors all day to work at it.

  But as the grains in the sandglass slowly counted the afternoon away, I left off both of my pursuits with a heavy heart. A day with nothing accomplished was a sore blow at this stage. Yet I couldn’t think what else I could do. With evening approaching, I stole back to the Aviary for the night.

  I began the next day much the same. Though the oracle and acolytes gave me odd looks, they didn’t complain when I put another handful of cullets in the offering place. Morning came and went. Though I watched Orhan’s entrance with rapt attention, not even permitting myself to stray into Eltris’ exercises, I found no visitor worthy of pursuit.

  As the noon bell rang in the sanctuary tower, I turned from my vantage point and left. Mulling over the problem, I could think of no better way to catch Orhan in his corruption that wouldn’t be reckless. No doubt I could convince Xaron to sneak into the estate, but I had only vague ideas of what I’d have him look for. There was little point in risking it until I did.

  Little knowing what else I could do, I made for Tomes and pushed guilty thoughts of Linos aside. There would be time enough to visit him once I had answers. With Platon as my usual accompaniment, I read The Seeds of Famine. The book had, however, wandered into the territory of aggravating. For reasons beyond my understanding, it now strayed through the minutiae of the Hunger War, detailing the number of troops on each side, which notables joined which army, where the important battles took place, and the like. Dutifully, I waded through the mundane events, searching for useful scraps, and coming up short.

  Only one detail stood apart from the rest, the same question that bothered Agmon Brandheart: why Famine avoided confronting him. I dared to hope that, whatever was the reason, it would be the key to defeating him once more.

  But the hope of that answer couldn’t keep me down there forever. Turns later, with an aching back and neck, I left the library. Blinking as I stepped back into sunlight, it took me several moments before I spotted the man walking down the cobblestones in coarse, brown robes too poor for even an Acadian.

  “Hilarion, do a tumble!” I called to him.

  Xaron turned and, recognizing me, grinned.

  “You’re rather pleased with yourself,” he observed with a wry smile as I approached. “Yet a jape comes to mind when I see you as well.”

  I glanced down at myself. I’d almost forgotten that I’d forgone the chiton that day, and my tunic and trousers were visible beneath my cloak. “I’m going through a wardrobe change at the moment.”

  “I can see that. I can’t say it’s flattering, but at least it suits you.” He gave me a wink.

  I ignored his words and pulled him into a hug to whisper in his ear. “Are you here for what I think you are?”

  He hesitated and glanced around as he pulled away, then nodded slightly.

  “I want to come with.”

  “No!” He scanned the area nervously again. Though no one was nearby, he continued in a quiet voice. “No, Airene, you can’t. You’re too prominent. You’d draw the wrong attention.”

  “And you don’t draw attention?”

  “A different kind. I’m a laughingstock. No one really pays attention to where Hilarion goes. But a Verifier means serious business. You only go where there’s something to be sniffed out.”

  “I suppose,” I admitted grudgingly. “Fine. I’ll leave you to it for now. But it won’t be long before I force the issue.”

  His lips tightened, but he didn’t deny it. We both knew the dangers we faced. Once I gained control over my channeling, Xaron couldn’t object any longer to learning to protect myself.

  I squeezed his hand briefly. “Come to the Aviary soon. You haven’t seen what a dump they’ve put us up in.”

  “Nomusa says it’s a ruby in the rough, once you carve the crud off it.” Xaron grinned. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Then come tonight. We can make an evening of it. Since I’m stuck behind walls then anyway.”

  He shrugged. “Can’t argue with that. I’ll see you then.”

  Then he turned and went to his warden training, leaving me to turn away.

  My predicaments rolled round and round in my head as I slipped down the streets back to the Laurel Palace gates. A steady drizzle, barely more than mist, had quickly covered the city and obscured the streets. I pulled up the hood of my cloak and peered around, more on edge than usual, as I could only see people a dozen feet away from me. Yet I was growing adept at avoiding troublesome spots in this new cityscape, circumventing the places where I’d seen or heard of thieves frequenting. Rumors, which had always made my ears perk up, now took on a greater interest. The wrong warning could leave me sprawled in an alley somewhere.

  Even so, I doubted I could have avoided Guilders if they sought me. Why they might be quiet put me ill at ease. My fears whispered that they’d caught Talan, and had no more use for me. But reason asserted itself; more likely, they’d seen no signs of communication between us, and had no orders to push the issue further.

  Still, I couldn’t help wanting to search for him. And not only to make sure he was safe. I missed his voice, his warm touch. I missed the safety I felt in his presence. But I wouldn’t endanger him by seeking him out, not for those reasons. I sighed, and forced the desire to recede to the back of my mind.

  Reaching the gates of the Wreath grounds, I mulled over where to go. It felt long since I’d spoken with Jaxas, but I didn’t have anything in particular to report. True that I’d learned more of Famine; but that the daemon god sought to come to our world was hardly news. Everyone who had heard the tales of the Hunger War knew that was Famine’s desire. There was little point in wasting the Archon’s time, e
specially when I wasn’t sure how welcome I’d be.

  Instead, I turned to the bridge and made my way across. But at the turn to the Aviary, I kept going straight, and headed instead for the broken dome looming out of the mist.

  Entering inside the Conclave, I found the place transformed by the showers. Water slicked the stone steps and filmed the benches. The few Servants still present huddled miserably within the few unbroken alcoves, while the honors wore flat expressions as they hurried to and fro, droplets trickling down their shaven heads.

  I stood for a moment just inside the doors, staring at the small door behind the Archon’s dais. I couldn’t recall if the Demos Council door was kept closed in times when they weren’t in session. But I hadn’t been studying it for more than a minute before the door opened, and the Low Consuls began to file out. Feiyan left first, and the rest of the Equalists with her, while Orhan and the Preservists followed after.

  Not wishing for any trying interactions just then, I pulled my hood down further and stepped into an alcove. I found myself watching Orhan. The middle-aged, portly man took each step slowly, careful on the slick stone, but his resolute smile never left his face. A thought began to itch in the back of my head, then whittled away into an idea. A smile of my own found my lips. Orhan’s eyes darted toward me, and I looked away, hoping he hadn’t recognized me. I didn’t look back until he and the others had filed out of the great double doors.

  Nomusa and Jaxas came last, lingering behind the rest and speaking in a low conference. I wondered what they spoke about, and if Nomusa would keep it secret. I hadn’t forgotten about the figure in the red cloak in the Laurel gardens.

  Stepping out from the shadows, I caught both of their gazes and strode toward them. “Evening.”

  “First Verifier Airene.” Jaxas’ eyes were flat and unreadable as he gave me a respectful nod. “You just missed session.”