Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Wyand suddenly appeared by Ryna’s side. “Forgive me for interrupting, but Eyrie said I should speak to you now if I had anything left to say.”

  Halwen glanced at him with the beginnings of a wry smile. “Here to apologize for flipping my cage?”

  “Not at all, actually,” Wyand laughed, and Halwen attempted to join him. “I wanted to say thank you for showing me that the Cynmeren way of life was worth exploring. I was afraid at first, but seeing you try their customs and always find joy gave me the courage to do the same.”

  Halwen rolled her eyes. “I just like dancing and Melsca, remember?” she said with a grin.

  Wyand’s eyes grew wide. “I just realized—you and I never danced!” Halwen shook her head sadly. “I wish we had,” Wyand whispered.

  Halwen took his hand. “Thank you, Wyand,” she breathed. “And thank you…for sharing the truth with me…with everyone! It’s going to change things for the better. I know it will.”

  Wyand leaned forward and held Halwen close as tears now fell from his eyes too. He stood and stepped back a moment later. “I’ll go,” he said with a pained frown, then he turned away.

  Ryna’s hand shot up as fast as it could to take hold of his wrist. “Stay,” she commanded quietly, and he thankfully knew it was not a subject for discussion. Wyand walked back to the scarwood root and knelt by Halwen’s right side as Ryna knelt by her left.

  “What happens now?” Halwen rasped after a few minutes in silence.

  “I don’t—I don’t know,” Ryna stammered, unwilling to admit that anything needed to change. We can just stay here! she screamed inside her thoughts, but then she realized that Halwen’s pain was only increasing with each passing second.

  “I can explain your options, Halwen,” Eyrie said softly, stepping forward from the darkness. Halwen nodded faintly before another fit of coughing seized her. “I can take you far from this place using the scrid, then we will build your death fire. When the pain at last becomes unbearable, you will fall into that fire and be free.”

  Halwen shook her head. “Here,” she said between coughs, glancing at Ryna.

  Eyrie nodded uncomfortably. “That is the…other…option. One of us can end your pain for you here, then take your body elsewhere to burn it.”

  Halwen nodded emphatically. “I want that. I don’t…want to burn alive.” She turned to look at Ryna, whose stomach turned in anticipation of what she knew was coming next. “Can it be you, Ryna?”

  Ryna felt herself go numb. She’s all I have left! Not yet! her mind shouted. She’s suffering and this is her last request, another part of her mind reasoned. Ryna’s heart began to race as she glanced from Halwen to Wyand and Eyrie for some kind of support. They were waiting for her answer, just as Halwen was.

  Without conscious thought, Ryna reached up and pulled the knife out of the scarwood root; sweet sap gushed from the opening and darkened the dirt below. With the blade shaking in her fingers, Ryna stared at Halwen. “I know this is hard,” Halwen whispered. “I need you, Ryna, one last time.” Ryna exhaled and steadied the blade with both hands until it was pointed directly at Halwen’s chest, then she slowly began to slide her hands forward. She paused, stricken by the pain of what she was being asked to do, and glanced into Halwen’s eyes.

  I can’t do this!

  “Please, Ryna,” Halwen begged, and Ryna drew in a deep breath. Her muscles tensed.

  It’s time.

  “Ryna, wait!” a woman’s voice shouted from the forest, and Ryna let out her breath in a ragged sigh. Shaking uncontrollably, she dropped the knife into the spineleaf needles and gazed into the shadows along with everyone else. A woman emerged, clad in robes as dark as the night itself, with a cowl and veil to obscure all but her eyes. Those eyes, however, were all that Ryna needed.

  “Aemetta?” Ryna said uncertainly, her mouth quivering as she spoke.

  “Smokedweller!” Eyrie hissed, and in an instant, she had a knife in each hand and a Watch helmet on her head. Then Eyrie tilted her face towards the sky and issued three deafening howls that were undoubtedly heard by every Cynmeren in the camp. Dozens of responding hoots and clicks echoed through the trees as the glow of other Watch helmets drew closer.

  The woman held out her palms to show that she was unarmed, then she lowered both the veil and the cowl. Aemetta met the gaze of each person in the group, her calm expression marred only by the steady trickle of tears running down her face.

  “Aemetta!” Halwen gasped. Aemetta’s lip shook when she heard Halwen speak and she stepped towards her friend. Eyrie leapt forward to stand between Aemetta and the others, knives at the ready. “Let her…pass,” Halwen demanded, and Eyrie’s stance wavered for an instant.

  “You know her?” Eyrie’s distorted voice asked.

  “We do,” Ryna answered numbly, unable to think amidst the torrent of emotions raging within her. “She was cast out with us.”

  Eyrie hesitated, then she slowly edged aside so Aemetta could pass. “I’m watching you,” she growled as Aemetta walked by, but Aemetta gave no indication that she even heard the threat.

  “Halwen,” Aemetta sighed as she gripped her friend’s hand. “I prayed to see you again, but never like this.”

  “At least…you’re here now,” Halwen said with a pained smile, then she tilted her head towards Ryna. “You were right, Ryna. She found us.”

  Ryna nodded, thinking back to the panic of their escape from the Lake of Skulls and all that had been lost there. “How?” she whispered. “How are you here, Aemetta?”

  “That’s not important now,” Aemetta replied. Ryna and Aemetta looked up suddenly as a group of Cynmeren with spiked oars at the ready leapt onto the scarwood root and prepared to descend onto the perceived threat. Eyrie clicked three times in rapid succession and the Cynmeren held their positions on top of the enormous root. The command then echoed back into the camp as each group of Cynmeren came to a stop.

  Halwen let out a gurgling cry as her face contorted with pain and the glow seemed to surge beneath her skin. “Do it!” she shrieked.

  Aemetta passed Ryna the knife. “I just wanted to see her again before she was gone,” Aemetta said softly. Ryna stared down at the knife; its presence in her hand felt like she was holding the sparkling end of a piece of white-hot iron. She wanted to throw the awful thing, to end this torment, but she knew the only way to do that was to put an end to Halwen’s pain first. Ryna lowered the tip of the blade to Halwen’s chest and paused, unable to force the knife any closer. Then, to Ryna’s surprise and horror, Aemetta’s hand curled around the base of the knife handle and gripped firmly around Ryna’s own hand. Ryna’s confused gaze shifted to Aemetta; in that instant, Aemetta pressed down with her full strength.

  Unable to look at what she had done, Ryna stared at the pool of scarwood sap on the ground beside the root. Even without seeing it, though, the sound of Halwen’s death was impossible for Ryna to escape, and she knew it would be burned into her memory forever. Halwen let out one long breath that was quickly followed by a sound like water pouring from a pitcher, then there was only silence. Unchanging, permanent silence. A thin stream of the poison’s yellow glow swirled into the clear pool of scarwood sap, and as Ryna watched, it was soon joined by a surge of dark red. She shut her eyes then and sobbed.

  “It’s done,” Aemetta whispered as she squeezed Ryna’s hand. Ryna at last released the knife and pulled her hand away to cradle against her chest. Stunned, she looked up at the gash in the scarwood root and was amazed to find that sap no longer flowed from the deep wound—it had fully healed, and the tip of a new root tendril had formed in its place. Ryna shut her eyes once more and let the tears fall freely.

  A moment later, the sounds of fabric shuffling rapidly and tense whispers seemed to surround her. Ryna looked away from the scarwood hesitantly and discovered that Aemetta had been seized by two Bloodsisters, while Halwen’s body was being carried away by two Bloodbrothers. Wyand stooped down to help Ryna to her feet, then they bo
th stood beside Eyrie.

  “How many are with you?” Eyrie demanded.

  “I am alone,” Aemetta answered simply.

  Eyrie paced in front of her, clearly irritated. “Where is your camp?”

  “I have none.”

  Eyrie stopped. “How did you find us?” she asked loudly.

  Aemetta regarded her with a look of surprise. “Your people think they move in silence, that they use the darkness to conceal their location. I hear their silence even now. I am the darkness.”

  Eyrie’s head tilted thoughtfully to one side, then she slammed her knee into Aemetta’s stomach. Aemetta slumped forward, held in place by the two Bloodsisters, then she quickly stood upright with no indication of pain visible on her face.

  “Stop!” Ryna cried. There had been enough violence for one day, and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing another friend so soon.

  “Quiet,” Eyrie cautioned, then she slipped the Watch helmet off and approached Aemetta again. Aemetta squinted in the dim light, then she suddenly smiled. “Does something amuse you?” Eyrie asked dangerously.

  “You must be Eyrie,” Aemetta said. “You look just like your sister.”

  Eyrie’s step faltered, then she leapt forward, blade at Aemetta’s throat. “What did you say?”

  Aemetta continued to smile, seeming to ignore the knife. “Cailla told me to look for you. She’s alive, and a fighter just like you. She also needs your help, Eyrie.”

  ---

  “Slow down,” the Voice of War commanded, her bleary eyes blinking rapidly to clear the last remnants of sleep. “How can there be any sort of resistance force waiting within Dism Slyde itself?” Ryna stood with the others and heard the conversation, but none of the words stayed with her. Her mind had frozen in place the instant Halwen died—nothing being discussed could possibly mean as much to her as that.

  “As I was trying to tell you, Cailla discovered a way to escape the effects of the cofa,” Aemetta explained. “She now leads the group that seeks to escape from Dism Slyde.”

  Eyrie laughed scornfully. “Why should we believe anything you say?”

  “How else could I have recognized you and known both your name and your sister’s?” Aemetta countered. Eyrie opened her mouth to reply, but then she realized there was no other explanation except that Aemetta was telling the truth. She frowned in silence as Aemetta continued. “Besides, I’m part of the Shroud Legion—do you really think I would have allowed myself to be captured without a fight if I didn’t want to be?”

  “Eyrie makes a point, though. How do we know you are cleansed of the Murk’s influence and not still working for the Cultivators?” Tilia demanded.

  “It has been six days since the last time I consumed the tainted food. Is that not long enough to purge its effects?” Aemetta asked.

  “It is,” Tilia replied. “There are many, though, who continue to cling to their false beliefs long after the Murk is gone. The poison may be gone from you, but its stain on your mind may yet linger.” The Voice of War peered into Aemetta’s eyes, but she seemed to find no answers. “It doesn’t matter for now; lies or truth, I want to hear what you have to say. Tell me more about this resistance,” Tilia ordered, the note of skepticism easy to hear in her voice.

  Aemetta ignored the Voice of War’s doubt. “I’m not certain when it all started; perhaps the knowledge has been passed from one woman to the next for many turnings. However it happened, Cailla somehow became aware of the cofa’s effects on people and swore to never consume it again.”

  “How can that be possible within Dism Slyde?” Tilia demanded. “Every scrap of food there is filled with the Cultivators’ poison.”

  Aemetta smiled. “Cailla is smarter than that. She found something edible that has escaped the Venerates’ touch, though to call it ‘food’ is questionable. She works as a nysk Handler, you see, so she has ready access to what they eat. It’s a horrid-smelling slurry called ‘slatfyne’ that grows along the bottoms of rivers; the idea of a nysk eating it is nauseating enough, but for a person to eat it…that sort of thought can only come from true desperation.”

  “Is that how you claim to be free of the Murk as well?” Eyrie interjected. “My sister shared her secret with you—one of Dism Slyde’s most elite and trusted fighters—a secret that would certainly lead to her death if it was ever revealed…is that what you’re asking us to believe?”

  “Not exactly,” Aemetta said with a dismissive wave. Eyrie’s eyes shone bright with indignation, but before she could speak, Aemetta continued. “I was freed of the cofa’s effects simply because my group ran out of it after we left Dism Slyde, not because I’d been eating the slatfyne. Only with the cofa gone did I remember all that Cailla had told me, and all of the horrors that had been hiding within my own mind.” She noticeably ignored Eyrie as she focused instead on Tilia.

  The Voice of War studied her, a look of keen interest smoothing out many of her weathered features. “What did she tell you?”

  “Cailla works in secret, planting ideas in the minds of the women around her—ideas that are buried by the next meal, ideas they currently believe are only dreams. In the depths of their thoughts, though, all of the women she has spoken to know that these dreams are the truth. She told me that the cofa is a poison, that the Venerates are liars, and that the High Conduit is something far worse.”

  There was silence among the Cynmeren as they stared at the Smokedweller who’d just renounced her faith. Ryna prayed that Aemetta’s words were sincere and that this wasn’t just some elaborate plan to gain trust from her enemies. Tilia moved closer to Aemetta. “The horrors in your mind that you spoke of…are they related to the High Conduit?” the old woman asked quietly. Ryna couldn’t be certain, but in the dim light it appeared that the Voice of War’s hands were trembling by her sides.

  Aemetta nodded uncomfortably. “Nothing happened to me while I was there, thank the Kingdom, but my quartermate was…less fortunate. She would be summoned to the High Conduit’s chambers at strange times, usually in the darkest part of the night, and when she returned, she was always confused and frightened by whatever had happened. She spoke of terrible encounters with the old man, of being forced to disrobe in front of him, and of the ‘gift’ he claimed to have for her. I never knew what that meant and she didn’t understand it enough to explain it. Whatever it was, each time it occurred, I cradled her head as she wept and waited for morning. This went on for many nights. Then, just before I was called to find Cynmere, she was chosen to be one of the Sacred Vessels—I didn’t see her again. The worst part is that I thought all of those nights spent comforting her were dreams until the cofa was out of my system.”

  “If any of this is true, why wouldn’t you reveal the High Conduit’s behavior to all of the Penitent Faithful and stage an uprising?” Eyrie demanded.

  “We were always forced to forget before anything could be done,” Aemetta replied sadly. “Now that I can remember it all, I recall your sister telling me to remain strong but silent, no matter what happened. Besides, others have apparently tried to speak out before and they were never seen again.”

  “Lies,” Eyrie spat.

  “Enough,” Tilia said softly.

  Eyrie turned to the Voice of War. “Sister, she’s clearly—”

  “I said enough!” Tilia shouted, and the entire camp was still. To Ryna’s surprise, tears welled in the corners of Tilia’s eyes, and a look of terrified familiarity pulled the shadows deep into the creases of her face. “Forgive me, Eyrie, but I am certain that this woman speaks the truth. I know all too well what she has experienced, and it pains me to know that the same evil continues to this day.”

  Eyrie bowed her head respectfully. “I understand, Bloodsister.”

  “No,” the Voice of War replied, “thank the Kingdom, you do not.” She paced slowly in front of Aemetta, nodding to herself every few strides as though struggling to confirm her own thoughts. “I spent many turnings with the Penitent Faithful—I was one of
them, and in time, I was selected to become one of their Sacred Vessels. I gave birth to one child without issue who went on to live in Aldhagen, but the second…the Venerates rejected him and, by extension, they rejected me too. I returned to Dism Slyde a failure, and I began my service with the Protectors. Many months later, I was captured by the Cynmeren during a failed patrol of the Plateau Desert; it wasn’t until the effects of the cofa wore off that I remembered the awful things I had suffered while I was in Dism Slyde.

  “Your story, or rather the story of your quartermate, echoes with my own memories. The man you know as the High Conduit had just assumed his role, replacing the old High Conduit who—I realized later—had died. Unknown to my conscious mind at the time, the new High Conduit had taken a special interest in me, and his intentions were twisted and sinister. By the typical process, women are taken to the Hall of the Venerates to fulfill their role as Sacred Vessels—so it was for my first child—but I was never actually selected a second time. Instead, the High Conduit selected me in secret, and when my pregnancy had run its course, he attempted to sneak me into the Hall with the other Vessels. The Venerates realized something was wrong, so they rejected the child after it was born. It was his child, you see—the first son of the High Conduit himself.

  “I didn’t remember it until much later, but the Vessel Guards managed to rescue the boy from the Lake of Skulls. When we arrived back at Dism Slyde, they immediately took me and the child to the upper levels of the Holy Spire. At first, the High Conduit appeared disappointed to see his own son, but as soon as he held the child, I saw pride in his eyes. He thanked me, though I had no idea why at the time—I simply thought I had failed as a Sacred Vessel. He dismissed me then, but as I was leaving I heard him name the boy; it’s a name that has stayed with me ever since. He called him ‘Ansund’.”

  Ryna didn’t understand the significance of the name, but Aemetta gasped. “Ansund?” she whispered, clearly astonished by what she had just heard. “The Draeden is your son?”