“Me too,” she admits. “But think of it this way – if this works, we could be helping so many more. The children beneath Ekasya Mountain, for a start.”
“That was my promise. Not yours. You don’t need to take that on.”
She shakes her head, smiling. “Do you know how I kept going when I thought I’d lost you?”
I raise my brows in question.
“I thought of what we would say if we were facing the problem together.”
“The only way out is through.” I smile.
“Through it is. Tonight. Now. The sultis won’t last for ever on those guards.”
“Where are we going?”
“The top of the temple. But first, you’re going to need to help me with some supplies.”
CHAPTER 21
LUZ
Oh, my poor disgruntled head.
Even before I open my eyes, I know that first act will hurt. It’s an accurate assessment. At the first crack, the candlelight lances into my brain. I turn just enough to see the nightstand. The clay jar of apricot wine had been sealed yesterday evening. Now, with the candle burned low enough to suggest we’re closer to the coming dawn than the previous dusk, it lays on its side. Empty.
Memories of last night weave in and out of my thoughts, fleeting and fickle. Sitting before the hearth. Brooding. The girl lingering at the door. Me giving voice to my thoughts like a mewling amateur.
I’d shake my head in disgust. But that would just make its sorry state worse.
There’s one thing I don’t regret: something needs to be done about the Shield. Proof of concept, I believe the empirically minded refer to it.
There’s another rap at the door. Rather insistent for this early. Unless that’s not the first time they’ve knocked.
“What is it?” The words crash around my skull like an aurochs in an essence emporium.
“A message.” A muffled voice returns.
“Leave it.”
“It’s not standard protocol to—”
“I said leave it. On the floor.”
The hall goes silent.
I rise and splash water on my face, wiping away last night’s make-up. That’s not me today. A small pot of particularly potent smelling salts sits on the ledge next to the basin. I remove the lid and hold it under one nostril, closing off the other, and inhale. Vile stuff. Nevertheless, I repeat the exercise on the other side, then dab my wrists with sweet almond oil laced with violet.
My mind begins to ever-so-slowly clear as I don a fresh robe and open the door.
A dainty scroll teeters rather forlornly on the stone threshold. By the smell of it, the message is from further afield than I expected. I pop the seal and close the door behind me.
The note is rather frivolous. Seeming for all intents and purposes a family update between two sisters from Aphorain provincial nobility. Such-and-such has had another baby, such-and-such has been accepted into the Eraz’s personal guard, such-and-such will be holidaying in the Trelian riverlands next spring.
I lift the corner to my nose.
First impressions hold true. Orris root.
I select the required reagent from the shelf, lower myself ever-so-gently into my desk chair and get to work. Soon, an entirely different message sits before me.
Frivolous is the last thing one would call this one. Darzul gets straight to the point in the first line: the Regent’s forces departed Ekasya for Aphorai City earlier than we had expected.
I cover my face with my hands, allowing myself a loud, exasperated exhale. Oh, for the days when delivering the Affliction cure to the Emperor and restoring balance in the capital was a remote possibility. With our ruler’s death, the last chance of averting this war has been snuffed out.
After allowing myself a moment, I keep reading. It seems the propaganda machine has been working overtime to taint the outer provinces with a treasonous stench and Zostar’s forces have been growing in response.
Other reports are even more disturbing. Villagers’ fear-fuelled tales of a vanguard who can work dark magic, mists of smoke or shadow rising to choke or asphyxiate anyone who stands in their way. There lies the most disconcerting news of all: from what the Shield reported, these were ordinary children. Bewildered. Homesick. Terrified. Now Zostar must have finally found a way to bend them to his will.
The pounding in my skull intensifies.
The scroll concludes its glad tidings with the notification that Darzul has now left the capital and will not be returning. Other than the Brotherhood and the Rangers left to secure the city, Ekasya is now a veritable ghost town, making it even more dangerous to be gathering intelligence than before. Those who could escape being conscripted into support services for the Regent’s forces have long fled. Anyone remaining who isn’t a believer is conspicuous.
The flames left the hearth sometime in the night, but there are still a few glowing embers. I could sacrifice the scroll to their dying hunger, watch it blacken and curl and join the ashes. Keep the information close and set out to deal with this myself. But it’s getting too urgent for that. And too big.
Even my abilities have their limitations.
I swallow down the acidic taste at the back of my mouth. I’m unsure if it’s the message or last night’s overindulgence. I reroll the scroll, slip into a pair of silk slippers and close the door behind me.
It’s no surprise to find Yaita in Sephine’s old laboratory. She’s not yet given up on the cure, and while her daughter prefers to work by day, Yaita often toils in the final hours of night. This pre-dawn is no different.
“We have to act,” I announce.
“Good morning to you, too, Luz.”
I ignore that and shove the scroll on to her desk. She picks it up, almost as if it might be something encrusted with filth.
Her eyes trace the words. “We must keep a cool head.”
“No more equivocating, no more contingencies.”
She sets the scroll down, gently, carefully, dangerously so.
But I’ve started this now. Nothing shall be gained for leaving it half finished. “I don’t like our chances, but we could try to deal with it ourselves.”
She fixes me in an appraising stare.
“The Order is being willfully ignorant so as not to risk their own necks. Where has that got us?” I snatch up the scroll, using it to punctuate each point as if ticking off a list in the air. “An Emperor dying on the eve of a civil war, when he could have been saved. An army on the march to Aphorai City, no doubt to remove the true heir, the last troublesome piece from this Zostar’s game board. The beginnings of the Lost God’s terrible legacy being resurrected. Yet still, there might be time to avert the worst. Though I daresay we’ve reached the point where the risk of sending me alone is untenable.”
“They’re children. Mercy until mat—”
“Mercy is a luxury we cannot afford! The stakes are getting higher, and we need to rise with them. This is no longer merely a choice between two brothers sitting on the throne. If the Order won’t step in … and if you won’t help me … I’d venture I could find assistance elsewhere.”
Her dark eyes fix on me, shrewd and narrow.
Long moments pass.
I don’t look away.
Nor does she.
Suspicion and the rapport we’ve developed over the turns guides her to the truth. “What have you done?”
“Simply a little preemptive preparation, should it have come to this. The Order won’t help, Sephine’s no longer here, and I couldn’t rely on you deciding one way or the other. Who else was I meant to engage to ascertain whether any of this can be salvaged?”
She rises, moves to stand in front of me. She has to look up to meet my eyes, but the fire there makes her far more intimidating than another of the same stature.
“Luz, where is my daughter?”
CHAPTER 22
RAKEL
Until I lost the perfume trials, I never thought I’d enter a temple complex. Until I healed Nis
ai – when he was laid out on it in the Ekasyan temple like it was his deathbed and he was about to be sent to the sky – I never thought I’d live to see a great altar. All I knew about these places was that they were where the firebirds lit up your hard-earned prayer incense. You’d stand here, watching your money burn, hoping the scented smoke grabbed the attention of whichever magical sky friend you wanted a favour from.
It’s also where naming ceremonies are conducted. At least that’s what everyone told me. I never had one. Growing up, it was just Father and me, so I wasn’t about to see any other big family events. And just like most others in my village, I wasn’t able to afford to go as a guest: you attend the ceremony, you pay for a prayer offering. No exceptions.
Still, I know there’s one thing Ash and I will be doing very differently from a naming ceremony. Tonight we’ll be closing the top level of the temple off from the sky. Part of me is always going to find it hard to take the idea of gods in the sky at face value, but the last thing I want is for Doskai to catch a whiff of what we’re going to be trying to do to one of his so-called “children”.
No short cuts. It finally sinks in how true the talk of this place was. How ancient and grand the space is, with its five-sided walls rising thirty feet or more, the parts of the ceiling not open to the sky held up by strangely carved stone columns, like bunches of river reeds tied together. I’ve never seen anything like them before in Aphorai. It’s almost as if the inside of the building doesn’t match the outside. No matter. From what was recorded in Sephine’s notes, there’s no better place to generate enough smoke in an enclosed area.
Standing in the centre of the chamber, below the sky, thinking of all the things that have been prayed for from this space, all the people who believed their nearest and dearest were being sent to some kind of beautiful next life, all the babies that were loved and fortunate enough to have their lives blessed, I feel small.
Ash beckons me closer. “Look,” he says, pointing to the square of night above us. “It’s Esmolkrai.”
“What?”
He draws me in, my back to his chest, and points over my shoulder so I can follow the line of sight. “The serpent, remember. The bright star – there – his eye, blessed by Kaismap. Perhaps it’ll afford us better luck this time. It’s travelled a long way since we last saw it.”
“So have we,” I whisper.
Ash doesn’t reply, only tightens his arms for a moment. Then he drops them and steps to the side, regarding me with a smile that’s at least part forced.
“Are we ready for this?” I ask, trying to return it.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be truly ready.”
“Guess we should make a start then.”
“Indeed.”
I light the first of the five main braziers that stand at each corner of the room. It catches easily, already pre-laden with kindling and charcoal for the firebirds to greet the dawn in a couple of hours. I wonder if my mother was the one to do it.
Ash crosses to the next huge copper dish and does the same. We work our way around until they’re all burning, lighting up the chamber.
Already feeling the heat emanating, I roll the sleeves of my robe to the shoulder. “We have to close the roof. I’ll get this side, you take the other.”
He nods agreement and we set ourselves to the long metal handles on opposite sides of the room, cranking them round. It seems little effort to Ash, but I have to throw my weight behind each turn, stretching up on tiptoes at the highest part and almost hanging my entire body from the handle to bring it back down. Guess this is how the firebirds keep in shape.
We keep turning. And turning.
Nothing happens.
Sweat begins to bead on my forehead with the mix of heat and strain.
Still, nothing.
I push worry away. I’ve heard stories about how this works. That deep beneath the baked clay bricks of the stepped pyramid there’s a mechanical skeleton, rigged so that the roof can be opened and closed, so that the huge vents along the side of the chamber can be sealed or aired.
A deep grating sound begins, setting my teeth on edge. The next breath, the huge roof begins to close in from each side, inch by inch, until the last stars of the night are blocked from view by twin stone slabs that meet each other with a dull thud. I hope it wasn’t loud enough for the acolytes sleeping two tiers down to hear, and that the higher ranked priestesses are still fast asleep.
I drop my hands from the lever, panting. Red patches of skin have appeared where my fingers meet my palms, one of them raised into a blister. The firebirds who normally do this must have hands of leather. Or maybe the lever is just that stiff because it’s rarely used. Maybe it hasn’t been closed since Sephine went to the sky.
I turn to Ash, ready to empty the first of the five packets of powder I put together in Sephine’s lab on to the brazier coals.
He doesn’t say anything, just gives me a grim nod.
I dump the powder into each of the braziers, careful not to extinguish the flames just starting to take hold as embers. Then I mix the precise amount of Scent Keeper elixir with water, diluting it to the measurements in Sephine’s notes. The dark liquid hisses and spits, bubbling with the sickly yellow powder until the embers are coated with the stuff.
The stench is overpowering.
Some kind of sickly sweet overripeness, like every plant that ever bloomed or fruited was mixed in a vat and left to rot in the sun.
That would have been bearable, but there’s more, too. The sulphur-like powder Ash carried in a sack from the old Scent Keeper’s quarters and up the hundreds of steps to the top of the temple is rotten eggs and rust, sewers and verdigris, damp caves and rain falling on hot rocks.
I swallow down the urge to gag.
Well, Asmudtag, I say inwardly in that way I’ve come to think of as my own version of praying. You are all, as they say. So if you’re around, I could really use some help with this next bit. Even just a whiff?
CHAPTER 23
ASH
The smoke emanating from the braziers is some of the most noxious I’ve ever smelled. I have no idea how Rakel is managing to get through it. I’ve seen her gag at things that are barely half as objectionable.
It takes me back to the acrid, stinging vapours Zostar and his cronies used to release into the Room during the tests they conducted under Ekasya Mountain. It’s not the same, but even my blunt sense of smell can determine there are commonalities. My heartbeat quickens with the recognition and my survival instincts kick in, searching for the fight.
But while the enemy is on the approach for Aphorai City, there isn’t an external threat in the immediate vicinity. It’s just me, Rakel, and the smoke billowing from the braziers. The doors are barred. The roof is closed.
I’m trapped, says a voice in my mind. A younger voice.
No. I’m here willingly. I want this. I want the part of me I’ve always been ashamed of, the part I’ve always feared, to be gone.
I hoist myself on to the altar, trying to keep my breath calm and even.
“If this is anything like healing Nisai,” Rakel says, “or like out in the training yard, this isn’t going to be over without a struggle. But if it gets too much, we can stop and open the vents. Nothing says we have to get it right first time.”
She’s trying to remain positive, but I know her well enough to see through it. We don’t have time to try this over and again.
The more I breathe of the caustic smoke, the more hurt and frustration courses through me, red and blinding. I clamp down on it. Even if I deserve this curse, Zostar’s captives do not. They’re being used. And if I can lead the way to freeing them not just from the Mountain but from the very thing Zostar wants to exploit, then that’s what I must do.
I breathe deeply of the acrid fumes and let just a little of it burn into anger at the injustice of it. But I don’t let the rage consume me. A single flame, not a wildfire. Barely enough to wake the part of me that is always there in hibernatio
n. The darkness that always waits. Ready.
Itching begins along my inked skin as the shadows start to shift and weave in and out of the clouds of sulphur and strange elixir vapours. The beast stirs, riling to be set free, but I keep it contained, focused, a single plume of smoke channelled through a censer.
The edge of my vision darkens. Shadows writhe across the walls of the huge chamber, plunging to the floor and darting back up to the roof where they rear and churn, as if in fury that they’re closed off to the last of the night.
My skin burns, the beast fighting for release. Drops of blood begin to form along the backs of my hands, as if the tips of the tattooed claws are digging into the flesh. And just like smoke from incense, the shadow begins to rise from the ink.
Rakel approaches, her expression equal parts fascination and dread. She reaches out, holds her hands in the air above mine, in the path of the darkness. Closes her eyes. Breathes deep, tendrils of smoke curling around her face. Tendrils of shadow reaching from the back of my hands to her palms.
She flinches as they make contact.
My control slips, the shadow surging forth. I jerk back.
“I’m fine.” She grates from between clenched teeth.
“Are you sure?”
She nods. Jaw set in determination. “I can do this.”
CHAPTER 24
LUZ
I thump on the upper level door with the heel of my fist.
“Open up, petal.”
I wait. Nothing.
It’s no surprise. The ancient entry must be half an arm length thick. Even if I expected an attentive welcome, there’s no guarantee anyone inside would have heard.
I pull the picks from my belt and set to work on the lock. It’s heavy, stiff and rusted. A mechanism that hasn’t been secured for turns. The most fun kind of lock to pick. If you’re a masochist.
“Hurry,” Yaita snaps.
“Calm, now. Locks are like people. Rushing at them doesn’t get you in any faster.”
As if to demonstrate the point, the left pick slips and my finger scrapes the inner edge of the keyhole, snagging enough to draw blood. I’d keep working, but my hands are going to be slick with crimson if I let it flow. I tear a strip from my sleeve and tie it around the pathetically small wound.
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