Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “Aren’t they?” Silax said with a grin as his eyes glinted in the firelight. Thunder shook the refuge.

  “I got us here,” Aemetta snapped. “You are untrained and a liability. Worse than that, though, you are convinced you know what’s meant to happen next because of some random thoughts that you claim can predict the future.”

  “My visions saved our lives at the Lake of Skulls,” Silax protested.

  “Your visions are the reason Eredun is dead!” Aemetta shouted. The Feller recoiled, then his face grew dark. “You remember it now too, don’t you, Silax? What really happened at that Cynmeren camp?”

  “They stood between us and Dism Slyde.”

  “No.”

  “That Hunting Watch posed an immediate threat—”

  “No, Silax, it was you! You created the threat by attacking them,” Aemetta accused him. “Eredun was injured, you and I were disoriented and exhausted, so the plan was to find a way past any Cynmeren we encountered to avoid further conflict. Instead, you chose to sneak off in the night because of what ‘the visions showed you’. I suspect you truly did it because it gave you a chance to try your hand with the isen. You know I’m right; admit it.”

  “That’s not how it happened…everything you just described was a dream!” Silax cried, squeezing the sides of his head with his hands.

  “I thought so too at first,” Aemetta replied, “but I remember everything now. You attacked them, then when their numbers grew too great you fled, leading them right back to Eredun and me. We managed to escape the survivors from that first group, but their shrieks and howls summoned at least two other Watches to eliminate us. Then there was panic, fire soaring through the sky, an explosion…my memories of the journey to Dism Slyde end there.”

  “It had to happen,” Silax said quietly. As Keltin and Aemetta watched, the Feller’s eyes flickered for an instant with unnatural swirls of blue and green.

  Aemetta carefully backed away from him, the isen ready in her hand. “What are you?” she asked. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  “I don’t have an answer to either question,” Silax replied as an eerie smile crept onto his face, “but I know it is a gift that will lead us to Cynmere.”

  “Madness,” Aemetta whispered, echoing Keltin’s own suspicions.

  “It may be,” Silax laughed. “But whatever it is, I’m learning to trust the visions I receive because of it. You may want to cover your ears, by the way.” Before Keltin and Aemetta had time to ask what he meant, a blinding bolt of lightning struck one of the trees nearby. The burst of thunder that accompanied it shook the refuge with incredible force. Keltin blinked, the outlines of the spineleaf branches floating across his vision each time he closed his eyes. His hearing slowly returned through a haze of shrill tones, then he heard Silax chuckling to himself. “I warned you,” the Feller said.

  “How?” Keltin asked. Silax shrugged and shook his head. Aemetta stared down worriedly, saying nothing. “How is that possible?” Keltin asked her.

  “I don’t know. Something very strange is happening to us, and I can’t make sense of it,” Aemetta replied. “Between his visions and my memories…have you experienced anything unusual, Keltin?”

  “I’m not really sure,” Keltin confessed. “I dreamed about something last night, something awful, but when I try to remember what it was, my head starts to hurt almost immediately.”

  Aemetta frowned to herself, then she sighed. “We need to rest; maybe tomorrow we can figure all of this out. I’ll take the first watch.”

  “No argument from me,” Silax said as he lowered himself to the ground beside the fire. Aemetta eyed him warily, her hand drifting toward her isen more than once, then she noticed Keltin watching her.

  “Sleep, Keltin,” Aemetta said gently.

  “How am I supposed to sleep with all of this going on?” Keltin demanded.

  “You’re exhausted. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Aemetta replied wryly. Keltin doubted her at first, but as soon as he was on his back beside the fire, the idea of sleep suddenly became too enticing to resist. He listened to the storm as it raged outside their refuge until the sound of rolling thunder and pouring rain faded from his awareness.

  ---

  Keltin shivered in the darkness of his isolation cell, too afraid to move. This is a dream, he reminded himself, but the pain of his recent beating at the hands of the Venerates felt far too real to be anything other than a memory. Disrespecting Chief Harvester Stelam carried severe consequences, as Keltin had learned quickly after reporting his sins to the Venerates. Why am I here? he wondered, praying that he would awaken soon.

  “Keltin,” a familiar voice said from the other side of his cell.

  “Aemetta?” Keltin whispered. Her voice was out of place; it didn’t belong with this memory.

  “Forgive me,” Aemetta said softly.

  “What is there to forgive? Why are you here?” Keltin wondered, but silence was his only answer. He reached towards her, but found nothing besides cold stone at the ends of his fingertips. A low rumbling echoed from somewhere else in the isolation chambers.

  “I can’t go back,” she whispered into his left ear. Keltin immediately flung his hands in the direction of her voice, but once again there was only empty air and the unforgiving walls of his cell.

  “Can’t go back where?” Keltin demanded. “Where are you now?”

  “Forgive me.” Aemetta’s voice echoed from all sides at once as it faded into the distance of the isolation chambers. Then her welcomed presence was gone, leaving Keltin alone again in the oppressive silence. The low rumbling suddenly returned with renewed force, this time violently shaking the walls and floor of Keltin’s cell until he collapsed to his back. As his head struck the stone, Keltin’s eyes flew open. He stared in confusion at the ceiling above him—for one, there shouldn’t be enough light in the isolation cell for him to see it, yet it was clearly visible; for two, the ceiling appeared to be covered in old, cracked bark.

  Keltin’s thoughts cleared as he glanced around at his surroundings. Not isolation. Not even Aldhagen, he realized as he watched water droplets falling from the spineleaf branches to his left. The storm continued beyond his refuge in the Eastern Hills, though it sounded less intense than it had been the night before. It was impossible to tell exactly what time of day it was, but the shadows amid the grey of the overcast sky hinted that dawn had only recently arrived. Keltin eased himself into a sitting position and spotted Silax to his right. The Feller was standing near the edge of the shelter, stamping his foot repeatedly at a long, dark line on the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Keltin mumbled, still groggy from sleep.

  “I am preventing these from taking any more of our food,” Silax said angrily, stomping the ground as he spoke. Keltin frowned and rose slowly to his feet so he could see for himself what Silax was talking about. When he approached the Feller’s side, Keltin realized the dark line on the ground was moving—parts of it, anyway—and that it was comprised of hundreds of tiny black creatures. Silax’ foot slammed down on another section of the line and he laughed as he crushed more of the creatures into the dirt.

  “What are those?” Keltin asked, worried that they might be some new threat to match the terror of the haugaeldr.

  “No idea. Don’t care,” Silax replied. “The nasty little beasts were crawling all over me when I woke up, and they tore apart one of my last pieces of whiteroot.” He continued stamping the dirt from the end of the line to the edge of the shelter, but each time it seemed he’d killed them all, a new group of the creatures arrived to take the place of those that were dead.

  Keltin reached for his own pouch of whiteroot and found it securely tied inside his waist pocket. A sudden realization made him completely forget about the line of tiny animals. “Where’s Aemetta?” he asked as his head swung from one side of the refuge to the other.

  “See for yourself,” Silax said disgustedly, pointing towards the spot where Keltin lit t
he fire the night before. It had gone out hours earlier, not a single ember still glowed. Above the mound of ashes, a series of marks had been drawn with charcoal on the underside of the massive root arch. Keltin walked closer until he could see that the marks formed a hastily written word.

  LIES.

  “I don’t understand,” Keltin said. “What does that mean? Where did she go?”

  “She’s gone, Keltin, but that’s not the worst of it,” Silax replied grimly. “Look what’s mixed in with the soot and coals.” Keltin studied the remnants of the fire, but he saw nothing out of place at first—there were a few bits of unburned wood, but nothing else stood out. Then Keltin recognized the shape of one of the wood pieces and his hand immediately darted to the chest pocket on the inside of his shirt. As feared, the small vial of cofa was gone.

  “W-why would she do that?” Keltin stammered in disbelief as he stared at the three broken and charred vials. “Why would she leave us like this?”

  “Aemetta was right: something strange was happening to her. She was going mad,” Silax answered quietly.

  Keltin shook his head in denial. “No. There must be some reason she did this, we just don’t know what it is yet. She could be sick, or even injured, but she isn’t mad. We need to find her.”

  “You know as well as I do that if Aemetta doesn’t want to be found, we’ll never find her,” Silax said, then he pointed to the word above the ashes. “That is clear evidence to me that she isn’t coming back, and given our current situation, I call that madness.”

  “She said you were mad, though, with your visions and your glowing eyes,” Keltin pointed out.

  “I’m still here and I didn’t destroy our only remaining link to the Venerates’ protection, so who seems mad to you now?” Silax demanded.

  Keltin was about to protest, but then he began thinking through Aemetta’s words and actions over the course of the past two days. The headaches, the memories of events that never happened, the sudden outbursts, and now this….

  “Do you really think it’s possible she went mad?” Keltin asked incredulously.

  “Keltin, she is gone. She chose to be alone in a place we know nothing about with absolutely no supplies. On top of that, she has clearly renounced her faith in the Venerates, so yes, I would say madness is a strong possibility.”

  Rain poured outside the shelter as Keltin slumped to the ground beside the ash pile. He picked up one of the charred cofa vials and spun it idly between his fingers, praying that he might find even one drop still inside. There’s nothing left, he realized hopelessly. The cofa was gone. The cart was gone. Tir, Craed, and the Legionnaires were gone. Now even Aemetta was gone. Tears welled in his eyes as he stared at the remains of the vial.

  “What do we do now?” Keltin asked numbly.

  Silax glanced up from the growing line of tiny creatures and paused in his attack to take a seat by Keltin’s side. “We’ve only had one choice since we left Dism Slyde, Keltin; you know that. We continue east until we find Cynmere,” Silax declared.

  Keltin shook his head in defeat. “We don’t have enough food to last the day, and now that the cofa isn’t an option, we can’t even look to the Venerates for help.”

  “Actually, you’re wrong on both counts,” Silax replied with a grin. Keltin glared at him tiredly. “What if I could prove to you that the Venerates were still watching over our journey and that they had given us a new source of food?”

  “I would say prove it, or you’re definitely the one who’s mad,” Keltin grumbled. Silax stood, his eyes flickering briefly with color, and drew his isen. Keltin watched helplessly as the Feller loomed over him and prepared to swing the curved blade.

  Thunk. Keltin winced, then opened his eyes hesitantly to see what Silax had done. From a deep gash in the arch root just above Keltin’s head, dark sap began flowing down the face of the bark. Before Keltin knew what was happening, Silax pressed a finger into the liquid, then stuck it into his mouth. “What in the Kingdom are you doing?” Keltin demanded, certain now that Silax was mad.

  “Just try it,” Silax said patiently, although the way he held the isen made Keltin very uneasy. Keltin reluctantly placed the tip of his finger into the sap and sniffed the dark substance. It had a rich scent to it, almost like the smell of sweetbread, so Keltin decided to test the small drop on his tongue. As soon as the sap was in his mouth, Keltin’s eyes grew wide in amazement.

  “That’s incredible!” he exclaimed, scooping more of the sweet liquid off the bark and gladly eating it.

  “It isn’t food, but it will make you forget you’re hungry,” Silax smiled. “You see? The Venerates are still with us.”

  “And you saw this in one of your visions?” Keltin asked through another mouthful of the sap.

  Silax nodded. “Just before I woke up, I tasted that sap in my mind as though I had eaten it my entire life,” Silax explained. “I knew it was safe, I knew how to get it, and I knew it would keep us alive until we found Cynmere. Eat what you can from that cut—the sap dries fast and then it turns hard as a rock. I made three cuts earlier before I’d finally had my fill.” Keltin needed no encouragement to eat handful after handful of the sweet liquid.

  With his stomach full for the first time since leaving Dism Slyde, Keltin sighed as he leaned back against the amazing root that had offered not only shelter but now sustenance as well. Silax stood and resumed his fight with the persistent line of living things that had invaded the refuge. “This storm will be over in a few hours. Rest, eat more if you need to. We’ll resume our journey when the rain stops,” Silax said over his shoulder.

  Keltin closed his eyes and laughed silently to himself; as terrifying as it was to admit, he was beginning to trust the things Silax saw in his visions. Doubt still lingered in the back of Keltin’s mind, though, and his thoughts twisted around the cryptic message Aemetta left before her departure. LIES. What were the lies—Silax’ visions, the cofa, or something else? More importantly, why did she leave? He struggled with these questions, but was surprisingly hopeful that answers would be found along the way to Cynmere.

  28

  It’s time. The Mainwright’s words thundered in Ryna’s thoughts as she walked along the muddy path towards the Order of Blood. Rain dripped from the branches overhead, but the intensity of the earlier storms had passed, replaced instead by a low bank of clouds that seldom released more than a few drops at a time. Ryna pulled her hood tighter around her head; even with the storms gone, the pre-dawn air still felt cold and damp. She knew it was anxiety, though, more than the weather that was making her uncomfortable.

  Minutes earlier, Ryna had been asleep in her bed until she suddenly felt something press against her shoulder. Her eyes flew open in terror and she took hold of the bone weapon, then the Mainwright’s face emerged from the darkness. She stared at Ryna with a look of excitement and determination. “It’s time,” was all she had said, and Ryna nodded in silent understanding. She knew her task: secure the Thoughtcaster and the stone from the Cavern of the Winds. What Ryna had not figured out yet, though, were the details of how to complete that task. She felt increasingly nervous the closer she moved towards the Order of Blood.

  When the Blood dwellings came into view, Ryna’s heart pounded in her chest. She crept in silence towards the long building that Wyand told her was where the newest Bloodbrothers stayed. Since the day had not yet started, Ryna prayed that Wyand was still asleep somewhere inside. If not, Ryna realized she had no explanation whatsoever for her presence in a Blood dwelling at such an early hour. Just as she reached for the door, a sudden spray of raindrops fell around her from a breeze that gently swayed the treetops. Ryna suppressed a scream; she was already on edge, but the addition of unexpected sounds and cold water on her face threatened to make her lose her composure entirely. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself to focus and remain calm, then she quietly opened the door.

  As expected, it was dark inside the structure, but Ryna’s eyes adjusted to the dimness quickly
after she quietly closed the door behind her. Beds lined the walls on either side of the entryway, and each was occupied by a sleeping member of the Order of Blood. A set of Sreathan plate hung on the wall beside each man’s bed, and nothing more than a small chest separated one bed from the next. Compared to Ryna’s quarters, this space was unbearably crowded; she couldn’t imagine trying to sleep with so many people in the same room. Snores and the rhythmic creaking of bed racks were the only sounds Ryna heard as she made her way from one Bloodbrother to the next. Then, she finally spotted a face she recognized.

  Even in the dark, the Thoughtcaster was easy to distinguish in its place around Wyand’s neck. Ryna quickly slipped on the pair of gloves she’d brought with her for protection and reached towards the strange device, but she hesitated just before seizing it. Wyand looked so peaceful, so genuinely happy, that it was painful to imagine how sad he would be once he discovered the Thoughtcaster was gone. It must be done, Ryna reminded herself, and she forced her hand to close around the relic.

  Slowly and silently, Ryna lifted the chain over Wyand’s face and then slipped it from beneath his head. Once it was free, she watched the Thoughtcaster spin on the end of its chain for an instant before tucking it into the pocket of her robe. She was surprised by the Thoughtcaster’s weight; even with it out of sight, Ryna was constantly reminded of the device’s presence as it pulled the fabric of her robe tight against her shoulder. Now came the more difficult task of finding Wyand’s stone. Ryna delicately lifted the sheet and folded it back to the end of the bed, then she pressed lightly on each of Wyand’s pockets. Thankfully, since he was wearing nightclothes, that meant she only needed to check in four places. After finding nothing in his shirt pockets, Ryna’s hand felt something solid in his right waist pocket. Without breathing, she reached in carefully and removed the simple stone that held such unnatural power.