Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “So that’s why you danced with me,” Wyand grumbled with a sour expression.

  “Not entirely,” Leighelle replied with a wicked grin. “I’ve told you before I think you’re handsome; after seeing you dance, I’m sure several of the Handsisters in that group share my opinion. And once they’ve all had their time with the Thoughtcaster, I’m certain at least one of those beautiful girls would love to dance with you next.” She winked at Wyand, then pulled him into motion once again towards the waiting Handsisters.

  ---

  Steam swirled around Ryna’s face as she hid her anger behind a cup of Melsca. Another blue flash from Wyand’s stone erupted from the other side of the room, followed by sounds of surprise and excitement from the mass of Handsisters that had him surrounded. Ryna knew what they were doing—after using the Thoughtcaster herself, she knew all women had ways of getting the things they want from men. Leighelle’s blatant manipulation of Wyand was infuriating, and Ryna struggled to keep herself from pulling him away from the group of giggling, pretentious liars who currently held him captive.

  She looked away for an instant and noticed Eyrie nearby, regarding the group of Handsisters with the same level of disgust Ryna felt towards them. At first, this pushed Ryna to a new level of seething indignation: how could Eyrie be angry at the Handsisters when she used the same trickery on Wyand herself any time she was near him? Then a series of conflicting thoughts arose in Ryna’s mind and her anger faltered. Eyrie was responsible for exposing Ryna to not only the truth of the Cultivators, but to the truth about herself as well. Without Eyrie, I wouldn’t even be in Cynmere, Ryna admitted, and she suddenly felt ashamed of her anger.

  To Ryna’s relief, Halwen returned a moment later with food in hand. As much as Ryna strived to smile and focus on her friend, though, it was too late—Halwen had noticed where Ryna’s attention truly was. “Now that it’s almost time for Wyand to leave, you should go wish him safe travels before it’s too late. Ask him to dance,” Halwen urged her. Ryna stared at her incredulously, then she looked back at Wyand and actually considered the recommendation. Another pulse from the stone wiped away her courage, though, and Ryna lifted the Melsca to her lips once again.

  “Perhaps later,” Ryna said after feeling the warmth of the drink reach her core. She endured the bitterness that followed without flinching.

  Halwen just smiled and shook her head. “Well, I’m going to dance. Whether you ask him or someone else, you should come too.” Knowing what Ryna’s response would be, Halwen turned away before there was even time to answer. Ryna lost her in the crowd almost instantly.

  “She’s certainly embraced our customs quickly,” Eyrie said from Ryna’s left shoulder a moment later. Ryna spun to face the Bloodsister, who nodded towards Halwen with a knowing smirk. “I noticed you haven’t joined in the festivities yet, though. What troubles you?” Eyrie asked.

  “Oh…nothing really,” Ryna lied. Eyrie raised a skeptical eyebrow in reply—she was not an easy one to deceive. Ryna decided to offer a half-truth instead of the real reason for her discomfort. “You win,” Ryna sighed. “I just don’t see the need to have a festival that lasts an entire day. I understand how significant it is to be sending the Thoughtcaster into the desert for the first time, but I just feel unproductive.”

  “I felt the same way as soon as I got here,” Eyrie agreed, to Ryna’s surprise. “There’s only so much to be done at a festival; a few hours is long enough. Besides, you and I have already experienced the Thoughtcaster for ourselves, and that’s one of the main draws for everyone else here.” She eyed the group of Handsisters angrily, though she never addressed them by name.

  “Exactly,” Ryna said in disbelief of how close Eyrie’s thoughts echoed her own, both the spoken and the silent.

  “I have an idea,” Eyrie said suddenly. “I was going to wait until later, but there’s something I want to show you. Halwen, too.” Eyrie turned towards the dancers and waved to catch Halwen’s attention. Halwen waved in reply, then frowned when she realized Eyrie wanted her to abandon the thrill of the latest song. Halwen shook her head fervently, then motioned for Ryna and Eyrie to join her in the dance. Eyrie’s hand lowered slowly as she watched Halwen twirl away again in a blur of white robes. “Perhaps she’s embraced our customs a little too well,” the Bloodsister muttered. “No matter; just you and I will go, then. Come on.” Ryna cast a final glance at Halwen, then she took another long sip of Melsca before following Eyrie through the crowd.

  After leaving the main hall, Eyrie led Ryna up the corridor that opened into the clearing above. Droves of people had gathered here too, and they laughed and danced with the same energy as the crowd below. Fires burned throughout the area, and food cooking over many of the flames added delightful smells to the smoke that drifted past Ryna’s face. Eyrie wove a path between groups of people enjoying the festival, until Ryna finally realized where she was going. “The Council Chamber?” she asked. Eyrie nodded as they neared the base of the towering scarwood that overlooked the eastern end of the enormous clearing.

  No one else was in the Council Chamber today; they were all out enjoying the festival. Eyrie marched across the silent space until she stood proudly beside the Woven Wall. “Take a look,” she said with a smile, and Ryna approached the Wall. She moved from one Kindred Order to the next, but her eyes found nothing significant.

  “I don’t understand,” Ryna said with a confused laugh. “What am I looking for?”

  “Her,” Eyrie replied simply, pointing to a section of the last two rings that belonged to the Order of Blood. There, Ryna found a name she recognized.

  “Celina!” she exclaimed. “I thought it would take days for her to be accepted as a Bloodsister.”

  “Normally it would. I spoke with the Voice of War yesterday and she approved my recommendation. I had the privilege of adding Celina’s sima myself late last night,” Eyrie explained. Ryna was too stunned to speak; she stared at the sima with a mixture of surprise, sorrow, and pride. “I wanted to make certain she became a Bloodsister before I left for the Plateau Desert, in the event I don’t come back,” Eyrie added.

  “Thank you, Eyrie,” Ryna said quietly, still struggling to speak through her emotions. Then she suddenly remembered one of Cynmere’s customs that perfectly conveyed what she was feeling. “To your health, Sister,” Ryna said earnestly, though it felt strange to refer to anyone by such a term. She lifted her cup of Melsca towards Eyrie as a sign of respect.

  Eyrie smiled, but sadness shone in her eyes as well. “To your health, Sister,” she replied. They each took a long sip of the drink, waiting for its sweetness to give way to inevitable bitterness. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll be nearby,” Eyrie said quietly over her shoulder as she turned away from the Woven Wall.

  Ryna gently traced each thread, every knot, every twist of Celina’s sima; they had spent so many turnings together that Ryna knew she could recreate the pattern with her eyes closed if she had to. Then she noticed another name nearby that she’d overlooked at first—suspended between the same two rings that held Celina’s name was a sima that read ‘Wyand’. It was strange to see his name woven since the men of Cynmere did not practice Lar’ymb Sada themselves. They needed to know how to read the Knot Language, but any sima they chose to wear were purely for utility, not identification.

  He leaves tomorrow, Ryna reminded herself, and she realized with sudden alarm that if Eyrie was worried about not coming back from the Plateau Desert, that meant it was a possibility that Wyand wouldn’t come back either. He had shown kindness to her when no one else had, and all she had done in return was betray his trust by stealing the relics he’d sworn to protect. Ryna knew she had to speak with him soon, she just had no idea what to say. As the steady beat of the drums echoed from the clearing, though, a thought occurred to her that required no words at all. With a final look at Celina’s sima, Ryna turned away from the Wall and spotted Eyrie peering out across the lake through one of the small openings at the edge of
the Council Chamber. “I’m ready when you are,” Ryna called to her, and together they made their way back to the main hall.

  As the music and dancing continued throughout the day, Ryna sat on one of the long benches and carefully observed the movements associated with each song. She kept her cup of Melsca filled, and its comforting warmth slowly added confidence. Even though she still believed this festival was an enormous waste of time, now Ryna had a goal: she would dance with Wyand before the day was over. The idea still made her laugh any time she thought about it, but she knew it was the only way she could spend time with him today. Ryna hoped he would view it as an apology, a thank you, and a farewell without her being forced to say anything.

  Halwen stopped by after each song, both to fill her cup and to try to entice Ryna to join her for the next dance. Ryna shook her head dozens of times until she finally felt comfortable enough with the movements she had seen to attempt them herself. Halwen asked again, and this time, Ryna stood and smiled at her friend. “All right, Halwen. I’ll try it,” Ryna said before gulping down the rest of her current cup of Melsca. Halwen clapped and jumped with excitement, then led Ryna out into the mass of people waiting for the music to begin again.

  As the first few drumbeats filled the space, something stirred in Ryna’s core. She moved the way she had watched the others move, but more than that, she could truly feel the music for the first time instead of just hearing it. The shrill, humming tones of the stringed instrument—a “falasnera,” if Ryna remembered correctly—sent chills across her skin as the notes seemed to tell a story all their own. Ryna’s body became a part of the rhythm, and she found herself synchronized not only with the song, but with everyone around her. Memories of what she’d seen and felt in the Thoughtcaster flooded back into her mind, and Ryna realized that the pulse of this song resonated with many of life’s natural rhythms. “This is incredible!” Ryna laughed as she and Halwen spun past each other.

  The next few hours were a blur of movement, sound, and laughter for Ryna. When one of the songs ended, Ryna cheered for more with the rest of the dancers. A small voice in the depths of her mind asked if it was right for an Unwoven to feel this kind of joy, but the voice was easily ignored amid the overwhelming sound of the crowd. As the Songbrothers and Songsisters adjusted their instruments and sipped cups of their own, Ryna looked around the main hall to see if Wyand was anywhere nearby. She at last caught a glimpse of him, but he was seated against the wall again with scores of people still waiting to access the Thoughtcaster. Ryna frowned, realizing dusk was rapidly approaching and that she didn’t have long to seek him out. The drums started once again, though, and she felt her body already moving to the rhythm. The next song, she promised herself. I’ll ask him to dance the next song with me.

  When the last notes played, Ryna raced across the main hall with a singular purpose, though her progress was slowed due to the sheer volume of people contained in the space. A young Dawnsister was speaking with Wyand as Ryna approached, but the girl’s words failed mid-sentence when Ryna burst through the crowd, panting and wild-eyed. Without a word, Ryna reached out and took hold of Wyand’s hands. Before he or the waiting audience could protest, Ryna and Wyand were already back into the center of the Main Hall.

  “What was that?” Wyand demanded with a laugh.

  “Just dance,” Ryna breathed, and to her relief, he stayed with her as the music began. They slowly fell into the song’s pattern, swaying together from one beat to the next. Wyand was quick to introduce more intricate steps as the tones from the falasnera increased their speed, but Ryna kept up with him easily—she had studied these movements well. Wyand smiled and clapped as she twirled in front of him, then took her hands as they spun from one part of the hall to the next. The singers began their deep, rasping chorus as another falasnera joined the first and the song escalated to a frenzied pace. With a final flourish from the musicians and the dancers, the song ended and was followed instantly by hundreds of elated cheers.

  “That was the best of the night by far!” Wyand exclaimed, still clinging to Ryna’s hands as he laughed with her. He suddenly raised his brow skeptically and smirked. “Even though you already stole it from me once, did you want to access the Thoughtcaster? Is that why you chose to dance with me?”

  “No, I’ve already seen enough from that,” Ryna replied hurriedly as the cheers began to subside. “My reason for dancing with you was simply to dance with you. It could be a long time before I get another chance.” Wyand’s eyes grew wide with surprise—clearly, he expected Ryna to have some other motive like all of the other people he’d suffered throughout the day. His face grew red with embarrassment and he quickly looked away, but Ryna could see that he had been touched by her gesture of friendship. Wyand opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped and frowned at the sound of a strange murmur growing within the crowd.

  People began running over to the openings on the northern side of the Council House as the sound grew louder, then Ryna heard a word shouted above the confusion that quickly spread from one mouth to hundreds—FIRE. In an instant, the celebration ended and was replaced by panic. Ryna still clung to Wyand’s hand as they both dashed to the nearest opening that overlooked the lake. The dark of night had settled onto the water’s calm surface, but the far shore shone like daylight. Flames soared into the sky near the entrance to Cynmere and appeared to cover most of the area that belonged to the Order of Stone. Several boats filled with people raced across the lake towards the blaze, and Ryna knew that was where she and Wyand needed to go too.

  Returning to the mooring posts proved to be a chaotic yet thankfully brief experience. People pressed through the entrance of the Council House with ever-increasing volume as more and more of the Cynmeren shook away the Melsca’s lingering effects and sought boats to the mainland. Once clear of the structure, Ryna and Wyand joined the stream of festival-goers as they sprinted down the winding trail to the boat landing. Guards from the Order of Stone lined every twist in the path and urged people forward with shouts of “Keep moving!” and “Get to the boats!” Many still slowed whenever the flames came into view—the incredible size and intensity of the destruction was difficult to ignore.

  The subtle smell of the torches along the path was overpowered by dark billows of smoke that spilled across the lake, obscuring sight and choking every breath with the scent of burning spineleaf. Shouts, screams, and coughs filled the air any time the smoke blew in, adding even more disarray to an already tense situation. Ryna pulled the hood of her robe around to the front of her face to shield her mouth and nose, but the fabric offered only minimal improvement. Through a brief gap in the blinding clouds of soot and ash, Ryna spotted a boat nearly filled with people. “You two, here!” a Stonebrother shouted from the mooring post, and as the smoke returned, he guided Ryna and Wyand to the waiting vessel.

  At least twenty people sat in the boat, and those facing Ryna each had an oar at the ready and a look of anxiety. Since all of the rowing spots were occupied, she and Wyand sat in the middle of one of the benches facing forward and waited for the boat to launch. “Send three more!” the Stonebrother called from the shore, and Ryna felt the boat sway a moment later as more people boarded behind her. “This one’s full. Ready all!” the Stonebrother shouted as he too leapt into the boat, and at his command every oar splashed into the water. “Way all!” he cried, and the rowers pulled in unison.

  Whether from the pace or the relentless smoke, the lanterns at the front and rear of the boat struggled to stay lit as Ryna and Wyand sped across Cynmere’s central lake towards the Order of Stone. The Stonebrother issued more commands to guide the rowers, but his most common shout was “Faster!”. While the fire had seemed enormous from the Council House, Ryna began to understand the true extent of its destruction the closer the boat moved towards shore. She realized suddenly that she was still clinging to Wyand’s hand; she thought to let go at first, but another look at the flames made Ryna’s grip tighten. Wyand glanced at her worriedly
, but he didn’t object to the small comfort of the gesture.

  Dark forms of workers dotted the shore as people scrambled in seemingly every direction along Cynmere’s main path. In the woods beyond, flames soared above the tallest treetops, replacing the stars with millions of swirling embers. Trees cracked and groaned in the inferno as people shouted, but one noise was eerily familiar to Ryna. Beneath all of the chaos, the sound of an endless, low-pitched wind emanated outward from the depths of the forest—its roar was identical to that of a forge burning at white heat, although this was many hundreds of times louder. In a strange way, Ryna was fascinated by this fire just for the near-limitless power she knew it could yield.

  “Drop right!” the Stonebrother shouted, and the boat swung sharply as oars along the right side stabbed into the water and remained fixed there. When Ryna faced the Council House again, the Stonebrother continued directing the rowers. “Run it back!” he commanded, and Ryna felt the boat slide backwards onto the shore. “Hold all! The rest of you, disembark to the rear. Join a water team until directed otherwise. Move!” Ryna jumped up from her seat and turned to face the blaze once more. She gripped Wyand’s hand a final time, then released it and stepped off the boat.

  “Here!” a tall Stonesister called gruffly from the edge of the lake. Ryna recognized her from the group of eight that was present at Cynmere’s entrance on the day she arrived with Eyrie. The woman thrust two empty wooden buckets into Ryna’s hands, then she did the same with Wyand. “Fill them, then pass them to the next person in the left line,” she said, pointing towards two chains of people that extended towards the blaze. “Go!” Ryna scrambled across the sand with Wyand close behind her. They plunged the buckets into the cold lake and then raced to hand them off as instructed.

  “Old Ones be praised! I don’t think I could’ve kept running the buckets for much longer,” a young Axesister exclaimed over the roar of the fire as Ryna approached. As soon as Ryna’s hands were free, two empty buckets appeared in the hands of a Bloodbrother at the end of the right line, and Ryna rushed back to the lake to repeat the process. She and Wyand passed each other numerous times as they ran to and from the water’s edge, forming a grim shadow of the rhythm they had shared while dancing. This song had no story to it, though; the notes and melodies were absent, replaced by sounds of destruction, panic, and suffering.