by J M D Reid
“True,” Fingers muttered. “Still . . .”
“No,” Ōbhin said. “You accepted coin and contract. You work for Dualayn. And he put me in charge of you. You stay here.”
“Fine,” Cerdyn grunted. “We’ll stay.”
“But . . .” Bran said, his eagerness fading from his face. “We can be helpful.”
“Would anyone care for my opinion on the matter?” Dualayn muttered.
“Not one bit,” Fingers grunted. He looked Ōbhin up and down. “Fine. No arguin’.”
“But,” Bran said again. He quivered. “They’ll need our help. They’re goin’ to dangerous ruins and—”
“The front gate’s unguarded,” Fingers cut in. “Return to your post, boy. If you make me march over there, I’ll grab you by the scruff of your neck and drag you like a pup.”
“Fine.” The youth slouched off.
“We’ll pack food and supplies, Avena,” said Hajina. “Kaylin got it in her head to cook up a feast.” A sad expression entered her face. “She won’t know what to do with herself away from here.” Then her face tightened and she spat on Dualayn as he stuffed the last of his clothes into the travel chest. The cooks whirled and marched into the east wing.
“I’d like to leave tonight,” Ōbhin said to Miguil. “Could you hitch the horses to the wagon?”
“Tonight?” Dualayn protested. “But we’ll only get a few . . .”
His words trailed off as Avena glared down at him.
“Sorry, sorry, forgot.” He rose. “I’ll go write those letters.”
Avena gave a satisfied nod.
*
They wouldn’t get far, but Ōbhin wanted to be away from the mansion. It no longer felt like a home. Discovering the horrors in Dualayn’s basement laboratory had broken the place. Despite the warmth lingering as the sun lowered to the western horizon, a chill seemed to gust out of the house. Like a last, wheezing gasp of something dying.
Ōbhin thought he’d found a place to protect. To belong. Where he could walk a path that would lead him from the misty darkness of his crimes of two years ago. But it wasn’t ever this place.
It was her.
Avena.
He glanced at her sitting on the wagon bench beside Miguil. She wore her hair in those two tails, looking adorable. He found himself smiling, admiring the porcelain white of her pale neck, its graceful curve vanishing into the neckline of her airy dress. She wore a light blue one with no petticoats.
Excitement rippled through him from the kiss. The same giddy delight he’d experienced in those days after first making love to Foonauri. That freshness of new romance. He wanted to keep kissing Avena, to find a quiet place and share something majestic with her.
But he couldn’t do that here. Not where she’d been so thoroughly betrayed by her mentor. His gaze slid to the sulking, portly man sitting by his traveling trunk in the wagon bed with Ōbhin. He held his primer for the Recorder in one hand with his journal spread open on his lap.
Miguil drove the team towards the open gates where a sullen Bran and cheerful Smiles awaited. Ōbhin slipped onto the edge rim of the wagon bed, the narrow board digging into his backside, and studied the thing masquerading as Smiles.
“We’ll hold down things here, don’t you worry,” said Smiles. “Me ’n Jilly will make sure you ’n Avena got someplace to go once you return.”
Ōbhin nodded, coldness swelling inside of him. The thing was here to guard Dualayn, and yet hardly gave any resistance to coming along. It had pretended to be the devoted husband. To be Smiles. The real one wouldn’t have abandoned his wife.
“I know you will,” he said, almost wanting to believe that the real Smiles wasn’t dead. It was so easy to slip into that delusion. “Take care of your wife and the others.”
Smiles grinned back in his friendly, relaxed manner. Ōbhin fought back the pain.
“You sure I can’t come?” Bran asked. “I get not bringin’ Dajouth, but I’m not annoyin’ like he is. Am I, Avena?”
“No, no,” she said. “But you need to watch out for your mother and the others. Be strong. Maybe you’ll impress Hajina.”
His back straightened. “Really? Has she ever said anything about me?”
“Maybe,” Avena said in a coy way. “We’ll return as soon as we can.”
Ōbhin glanced at another travel chest, this one bound tight in iron chains and secured with an amethyst jewelchine lock. In a swaddle of soft sheets and pillows rested her brain. If anything happened to that box . . .
We’ll fix you, Ōbhin thought. Lausi, let the winds sing to us with your Swift Tone and guide us to the answer we need to save her.
Miguil flicked the reins. Goodbyes shouted around them from the maids and cooks. Ōbhin found Fingers lingering in the back, arms folded, watching with stoic grace. Their gazes met. A single nod was all that needed to be said.
Then Miguil turned them west onto the lane and they were clattering away from Dualayn’s estate.
The road would bend to the north and skirt the Porcelain. There it would intersect the main highway heading west from Kash. After three or so days of travel, they’d reach the Upfing Woods. Another day to travel south into its heart and find the ruins.
As they rode, Ōbhin glanced at Dualayn. He was going from book to book, examining something. “You do know how to find this antenna, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Dualayn said. “In the Hall of Communication.” He lifted his gaze, his upper lip swollen from Avena’s slap. “You see, the gems function through a signal that resonates through the immaterial. Eight standing harmonics.”
“The Tones,” Ōbhin said. “What was once one was broken by disharmony and separated.”
“That is . . . a creation myth for them,” Dualayn said with care. “Either way, the Tones, these standing harmonics which are probably amplified by the moons, each vibrate at their own specific frequency. Not one any human can create. Luckily, they don’t use all the possible ones. Not even close. There are plenty of frequencies not in use. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Other . . . musical notes being played.”
“Okay,” Ōbhin said, struggling to understand. He knew music scales. There were more than eight notes. “Your point?”
“That she is broadcasting on her own frequency. No one else uses it, so there shouldn’t be any signal interference,” Dualayn explained. “What she’s experiencing is degradation since I did not fully sculpt the obsidian antenna correctly. That is my mistake, but I only have the work of my friend in Democh and my translations from the Recorder’s description. Once I have my hands on the proper antenna found in Koilon, she won’t have any of these problems. I promise. She’ll live a normal existence.”
“Except I’ll have obsidian in my head!” snapped Avena from the driver’s bench. “I have the Black’s forbidden gem in my skull connected to my nerves by black iron. It’s going to leach into my blood and taint my soul.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” said Dualayn. “Perhaps I should have done a better job of stamping out these beliefs you picked up from the Daughters of Compassion. Obsidian isn’t forbidden for any logical or sound reason. It is no different than any other gem.”
“Except you have to use black iron wires to make it work. The poisoned metal that scars the world! The Black unleashed it in the Shattering.”
“Child, no one possibly knows fully what happened back then. It was three thousand years ago. Yes, something happened to change obsidian and separate it from the other seven gems, but it’s not some mythical clash between invented beings.”
“Invented?” Avena’s head whipped around while Ōbhin shifted. “Elohm is invented? The Creator of All, who put that miserable, shrunken soul into your body and filled you with all the Colours to give your existence meaning, was invented?”
Dualayn sighed and glanced at Ōbhin. “You see, the Daughters who raised her indoctrina—”
“Ōbhin, gag him, please. I’m tired of hearing his offensive speech.”
Ōbhin d
idn’t necessarily disagree with Dualayn about Elohm. The Tones were the truth. The harmonic resonances that powered the gems had their own . . . Well, “personalities” wasn’t quite the word. Their own quirks. They were elemental forces personifying Fire or Water or Fatherhood. However, his stomach curdled listening to Dualayn’s constant attempts to justify his actions.
Ōbhin found a rag and rolled it into a gag. Dualayn stared dully at him. “If you gag me, people will wonder. All I have to do is make a commotion, and you shall be arrested. I have powerful friends, and I don’t just mean Grey and his Brotherhood. I want to help Avena as much as you do, but there are limits to what I will endure.”
“Then don’t antagonize her. And if you do draw attention to us, remember, I can draw my blade in a heartbeat. I’ve killed better men than you.”
Dualayn shivered. “Indeed. My apologies. I forget. I just keep hoping that we can put this past us.”
“I doubt that’s possible,” Ōbhin said, tossing the gag at the man. “She’s the only thing keeping you alive. Remember that the next time you claim her god isn’t real and that what you did to her was no different from setting a broken leg.”
Dualayn stared down at the gag and sighed.
“We will find it,” Dualayn said. “The antenna. While we didn’t excavate far, lucking out and finding the Grand Library from the start, there were passages leading from it. I hope we can find intact streets. It will be dangerous, but I am willing to do it.”
“Facing death’s always a powerful motivator,” Ōbhin said, sitting down on the scholar’s traveling trunk. He leaned over. “Keep studying your notes. Make sure we find it fast so we can be done with you.”
“You shall understand once the anger dies down,” Dualayn said. “I promise. We will one day—”
“Ōbhin,” Avena said, her voice low and deadly.
His hand dropped to his sword. Dualayn swallowed and clamped his jaw shut.
For the next two hours, they rode in silence. As darkness descended, they approached one of the small farming villages outside of Kash. It lay far enough that they weren’t in danger of being swallowed by the avaricious city and its ever-growing need for land.
*
Ninth Day of Patience, 755 EU
Avena sat beside Miguil as he drove the wagon west again, the sun rising behind them. She hadn’t slept well at all. She had spent much of the night staring at the traveling chest containing her mind, half-afraid that if she fell asleep, she’d wake up in a jar, merely a disembodied brain divorced from the world. Forever blind and deaf, bereft of touch and taste and scent.
She gazed in a groggy daze at the fields they passed. Mostly buckwheat and barley with patches of vegetables: squashes, edamame, turnips, and radishes. The plants appeared wilted, stunted. She hadn’t realized how little rain had come this year. Drought gripped the region.
Every house had green flying from pendants hanging off the eaves of thatched roofs or pinned to doors. Children in rough-spun linens raced by, the boys waving flags of ragged green or holding knots of verdant color tied to makeshifts swords they swung at each other. Girls wove the emerald cloth into the twin braids falling in bouncing tails of browns. Farmers tied the cloth to the sleeves of dusty felt coats or linen shirts, and wives pinned green ribbons to their aprons.
People glanced at them, brows furrowing. A simmering anger brimmed in the air. Worry over her own body and her mind losing connection with her flesh dwindled. The king was increasing taxation when he should be giving the commonfolk relief. At least here. Maybe in the Colony, the lands to the south, or in the farms to the north of the city where she was from, the fields were prospering. But the central lands were not faring well. Ponds were little more than puddles, lily pads drying on cracking mud. Instead of rills, gullies held puddles teaming with tadpoles wriggling for life in increasingly dwindling spaces.
Something had to be done. She leaned back, remembering the work Deffona and Refractor Charlis were doing. Attempts to stop both the riots and the king’s ambition to control the mines of the Border Fangs. Those mountains were a dark haze on the horizon. They would grow sharper as they traveled farther west.
Dust on the horizon announced a column of riders approaching. Her stomach tensed. She glanced back in the wagon where Ōbhin sat, his hand casually resting on his sword as he gave Dualayn a meaningful look. The odious man swallowed and then looked back at his books as he leaned against the wall of the wagon bed.
Would he say something? Metal glinted. The riders wore armor. As they neared, the pendants with Lothon’s colors snapped from atop lances: the white stag on the field of blue and green. Crown knights wore full plate armor with tabards adorned with their personal coat-of-arms. Behind them marched a column of infantry soldiers in chain armor, shouldering long pikes that bristled like a forest.
“Good day, sir knight,” said Miguil when they reached the column.
The captain reined up before them, his troop passing. He had the visor of his bascinet helmet raised, his ruddy face dominated by a bushy, brown mustache. “Goodman. How have you found the road?”
“Dry and dusty.”
The knight-captain glanced at them. “I don’t see many goods. You returning from the market?”
“We are heading to the Upfing Forest to conduct a scientific inquiry into the nature of the Red Heart of the Forest,” said Dualayn without looking up. “I am Dualayn Dashvin of Kash, financing the expectation. These are my servants.”
“I see,” the knight-captain said. “A foreign bodyguard? Can you rely on a Tethyrian not to be too inebriated to swing a sword?”
“He is Qothian, Captain,” Dualayn said. “A loyal and honest man. He has served me well. I have no complaints about him or the protection he has given me.”
Avena held her breath, noticing Ōbhin’s hand casually resting on his sword pommel. Then she glanced at Dualayn. A fuzzy tingle rippled through her fingers. She clutched at her skirt, a bead of sweat running down her face, catching the dust that billowed up from the soldiers tromping by.
“Dangerous going into the woods that deep,” said the knight-captain. “And the road west is growing unsafe these days. I could provide an escort, at least until the forest edge. More and more farms are lying fallow as farmers think there’s more profit to be found in robbing the merchants who come to buy their crops.”
“That’s not necessary,” Avena said, her voice tight. “We’ll be fine. Ōbhin is more than a match for brigands.”
“Quiet, woman,” the knight-captain grunted. “I’m speaking with your master.” His gaze slid back to Dualayn while Avena bristled. “I am sure your man is good, but he is only one man. I would be glad to give you an escort. A pair of knights.”
A pair? Avena’s hands clutched at her skirt. Her heart pounded fear through her veins. If Dualayn could get alone with those knights and reveal the truth, he could be spirited to safety. He’d escape justice then.
“It is a tragedy,” said Dualayn, “that so many have been driven to hardship by drought and taxes.”
The knight-captain snorted, ruffling his mustache.
“But I do not wish to separate your command. I am confident in Ōbhin’s skill. He used to protect the kings of Qoth, you know. He is versed in tactics that would surprise even you, Captain.”
“I am loath to let you pass without an escort. I fear I must insist. For your own safety.”
Avena’s stomach sank when she heard the gallop of hooves. One of the knights trotted up, his armor jangling. He waited for the last pikeman to march past then swung around the wagon to reach the front and confer with the knight-captain.
A tension mounted in Avena. Ōbhin could take off Dualayn’s head in a heartbeat, but he couldn’t fight a column of soldiers. There would be no putting off this knight-captain. How long before their escort discovered that Dualayn was their prisoner? They would all hang if the twisted, disgusting man said the wrong word. She didn’t want to see Ōbhin die. She racked her brain for something
to do. To say. Anything that could let them travel on without an escort.
“There are three armed men we detained who claim to be your servants, Master Dashvin,” the knight-captain said. He pointed down the road where another pair of knights escorted three riders. Avena squinted and blinked at Fingers, Bran, and Dajouth. All three wore their uniforms of padded gambeson, Fingers at their lead.
“Oh, yes,” said Dualayn. “I asked them to catch up. Sent them on an errand. As you can see, I have four guards to protect me. All skilled men who’ve fought bandits and protected me during the Troubles. So there’s no need to waste the time of your two knights.”
The knight-captain studied the three guards. Fingers rubbed at his sweaty forehead, his knuckles swollen, Bran had an excited smile on his face as he almost bounced in his saddle, while Dajouth grinned as his eyes fell on Avena.
She groaned beneath her breath.
“Very well,” the knight-captain said. “I will entrust you to your servants. I hope you are not stained by the darkness in the Heart of the Forest.”
“My thanks for your concern, Captain. Next time I am in Kash, I shall recommend you for an award for your diligence, um...”
“Knight-Captain Dovayn,” he said, fighting a smile then inclined his head. “My thanks.” He heeled his destrier and clattered down the road, his three knights falling in behind him. They cantered towards the column to catch up, leaving a drifting pall of dust behind them.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Ōbhin once the knight was out of earshot. “I told you three to stay and protect everyone.”
“You told us not to leave with you,” Fingers said then shrugged. “Besides, I don’t work for Dualayn no more. I’m a free agent. Decided I’d ride this way. Check out the red forest.”
“Yes, yes!” Bran said, bouncing in his saddle. His horse snorted and looked back at him. Bran didn’t seem to notice. “We have supplies and food and our armor and binders. We can be a big help.”
“No Smiles?” Avena asked, a yawning pit opening in her stomach. “I thought he would come if you four did.”
