Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “What did you see?” Wyand asked, placing the relics back within his Sreathan plate.

  “Provenance. The Old Kingdom,” Keltin said quietly. “And the truth of Kingdomturn. Why would the Ven—the Cultivators lie about everything?”

  Wyand shook his head sadly. “That’s one of the mysteries that not even the Thoughtcaster can answer. All I know is that the Cultivators are broken, and that they’ve enslaved the people of this world since the beginning.” Keltin trembled and reached for his pouch of ice viper tails as he stared blankly into the fire once more. Wyand sat beside him in patient silence until exhaustion at last began to take hold. “I’m going to rest now,” Wyand said with a yawn. “If you want to talk or need anything, I’m right here.” There was no reply from Keltin, only a nod. Wyand unfolded a blanket and collapsed on top of it, unaware of how tired he actually was until the back of his head reached the soft fabric. In the twilight between awake and asleep, Wyand thought he heard a whispered thanks from Keltin. Whether it happened or not, Wyand took comfort knowing that he had provided answers during a period of Keltin’s life that overflowed with questions.

  41

  The sound of muffled voices drifted into Wyand’s ears as he slowly regained consciousness. Though the blankets had felt comfortable when he first settled down, sleeping on the hard boards of the storeroom floor while wearing the Sreathan plate left Wyand’s back very sore and stiff. With a grunt, he sat upright and peered towards the door—it was morning, albeit barely, based on the faint grey light that spilled around the doorframe. The fire had long since gone out, and Wyand suddenly realized to his embarrassment that he was the last person to awaken. “Forgive me,” he said in a rasp as he fought through his grogginess to stand and fold the blanket.

  “You needed the rest. We all did,” Aemetta said from the door. “If you’re ready, though, Hirst has something to show us that may speed along the process of leaving this place.”

  “You don’t have to sound so eager, even if the prospect is exciting,” Hirst said with a hint of indignation. “She’s right, though—the longer we stay here without finding answers, the more people will die needlessly in this conflict.” Wyand put the blanket aside and rushed to join the others with an apologetic bow of his head. Hirst smiled, then opened the door and led the way to the edge of the steaming river.

  They walked upstream past the huts and storerooms until no other buildings remained; Hirst paused suddenly and wrapped the cloth over his eyes once again. “Daylight can be painful once the film starts to form,” he explained, then they continued along the path. Wyand glanced at the sky—the sun wouldn’t rise for at least another hour and there was barely enough light to see the stones underfoot, but Hirst seemed relieved to have the cloth in place.

  They followed the river to the base of a mountain where the water spilled from a ledge nearly thirty strides overhead. Wyand looked up and found that the path narrowed and switched back and forth until disappearing out of sight over the ledge. Despite the precarious terrain and the cloth covering his eyes, Hirst’s pace never slowed as he stepped from one stone to the next. “May I access the Thoughtcaster?” Hirst asked suddenly, still walking up the path.

  “Here? Now?” Wyand stammered as he glanced worriedly down the face of the cliff.

  “I meant to ask sooner, but yes, now is as good a time as any,” the Pathshaper said with a shrug. “I know a great deal about the future, but very little about the past. Experiencing the Interface would be very interesting.” The cold wind whipped against Wyand’s face as he passed Hirst the Thoughtcaster and the Stormheart in speechless amazement. Without slowing his pace, the Pathshaper slipped the ancient chain around his neck and gripped the stone from the Cavern of the Winds. Wyand lifted a hand to shield his eyes but was startled when the typical flash didn’t follow a moment later. “How does it work?” the Pathshaper asked, flipping the stone from one hand to the other.

  Wyand’s mouth fell slack. “Usually, as soon—” he began, but without warning, the stone flared with a blinding burst of light. Something wasn’t right, though; the Stormheart pulsed and flickered in Hirst’s hand and the man’s entire body shook with enough force that he was in danger of falling off the path. Uncertain what was happening, Wyand and Carnan leapt forward to steady the Pathshaper, and Aemetta pried the Stormheart from his rigid grasp. Once the stone was free, its light faded instantly and Hirst’s shaking subsided. He slumped in Wyand’s grip, then breathed in deeply and stood as though nothing had happened.

  “You’re still here!” Hirst exclaimed weakly. “That’s…wonderful. I feared I was too late.”

  “You were only linked with the Thoughtcaster for a few seconds,” Wyand said slowly. “Too late for what?”

  “A few seconds?” Hirst smiled, ignoring the question. “Excellent! Ha! Time moves very differently there, it seems. I felt like I was gone for many days.” His eyes grew distant. “The corruption of the Interface is…unexpected. Terrifying, yet strangely intoxicating.”

  “Too late for what?” Aemetta repeated sternly.

  Hirst’s thoughts seemed to clear. “I found their weakness,” he said with a wicked grin. “The Cultivators are susceptible to forces—incredible forces—that I never could have conceived. The power of trapped lightning, the power to pull metal from one place to another: these are the tools we will use to defeat them. I researched everything I could find in the Interface for ways to make the Cultivators fail, and it always came back to a combination of those two forces.”

  “Sounds like magic to me,” Carnan muttered.

  “Whatever it is, it unfortunately doesn’t help us in freeing Dism Slyde,” Aemetta pointed out. “Besides, unless the Guided know where we can find something that will produce those forces, Carnan is right—it’s basically magic.”

  Hirst shook his head. “I don’t know of anything on this world that can do what I saw,” he admitted, then he pointed to Wyand. “But he does.”

  Wyand felt his heart racing, and before he could stop himself he uttered the secret he’d kept hidden since his assessment. “I do,” he said quietly. Everyone’s focus shifted to him; even Hirst lifted the cloth so he could peer at Wyand intently. “This,” Wyand said simply as he took the stone back from Aemetta. He removed the Thoughtcaster from Hirst’s neck and demonstrated the stone’s ability to pull the metal chain towards it. “I’ve seen it kill one of the Cultivators. That’s the reason I was forced out of Aldhagen.”

  Everyone was silent, then Hirst chuckled. “That’s it, then. We have the means of ending their rule permanently.”

  “They aren’t our primary concern—not yet,” Keltin said suddenly; it was the first time Wyand had heard him speak that day. “It is good that we have a plan for the Cultivators, but freeing Dism Slyde must remain our focus—you said that yourself, Hirst. After speaking with Aemetta and Carnan this morning, I understand the role the cofa plays in keeping the Penitent Faithful, as well as the people of Aldhagen and Locboran, under the Cultivators’ control. We need a united force of all the people of Crimorrah if we hope to defeat the Cultivators, so the first task is eliminating the cofa itself.”

  “Very true,” Hirst responded with an apologetic nod. “I let my thoughts run ahead of me, please forgive that. It’s an easy thing to do when you’re given frequent glimpses of the future. Come, we must hurry.” He deftly removed himself from both Wyand’s grasp and Carnan’s, then continued up the path without delay.

  They soon reached the ledge over which the fast-flowing water spilled down into the valley of Crolun Raigh, but to Wyand’s surprise, a large stone structure waited above the cliff and spanned the river ahead. Whatever this building was, it blended seamlessly into the snow-covered mountains that surrounded it. As Wyand walked closer, he saw windows spaced along the length of the building and a set of doors attached to its southern end, but beyond those features there was no evidence of stones that had been stacked, mortared, or altered in any way. Impossible though it was to imagine, this
place appeared to have been carved rather than built.

  When Hirst reached the doors, he took hold of one before pausing and turning to face the group. “Welcome to the Vestry of Taerius—Crolun Raigh’s most sacred location.” The door swung open silently despite its size and apparent age, and Wyand was the first to follow the Pathshaper into the darkness that waited beyond. Within the first stride, Hirst lifted the cloth from his eyes and let out a contented sigh. The unwavering blue and green glow bathed his face in its eerie light amid the shadows of the Vestry. The constant howling of the wind across the mountains beyond faded to a whisper; the shift to silence and still air was jarring, but the sudden warmth was welcome in Wyand’s opinion. His footsteps and those of the others echoed against the solid stone walls and ceiling, but nothing else stirred within the cavernous space.

  A long, stone table with simple split-log benches dominated the main chamber, and a darkened hearth filled the northern wall. Aside from a few unlit torch sconces, there were no other furnishings to be seen. Where the warm river flowed beneath the Vestry, steam rose from the floor and caught the few rays of pale sunlight that now crept in through the windows. Hirst led them to a smaller chamber on the left side of the hall that contained three chairs and a tall cabinet. He stopped in the center of this room and pointed to a closed door on the western wall. “The river originates from a hot spring just on the other side of the that door, and it is in that spot that Taerius mastered his grasp of the Visions. The Vestry was carved many turnings ago to honor him and the legacy he left behind,” Hirst explained with pride. “All Guided visit the hot spring—the Vision Pool, as we call it—any time we seek clarity.”

  “Is that what you wanted to show us? The Vision Pool?” Aemetta asked.

  “It would serve no purpose in your case—the pool only benefits those who can receive Visions,” Hirst replied.

  “Then why did you bring us here?” Aemetta demanded, clearly growing weary of Hirst’s confusing actions.

  The Pathshaper smiled at her warmly, though his eyes blazed with an unnerving surge of light. “Patience. All I ask of you is patience. I said it would serve no purpose in your case, Aemetta, but the same is not true for him.”

  Wyand, who had been looking at the door to the Vision Pool, glanced at Hirst and suddenly found the Pathshaper—and everyone else—staring at him. “Well, I’m certainly not Guided!” he exclaimed awkwardly.

  “No, not Guided,” Hirst said with a gaze of wonder. “Something much more important. Every Guided who has ever lived knows your name, Wyand; it has been whispered to us since the beginning. You are the Visions’ Focus—the center point around which all possible futures revolve. Your arrival here is the culmination of Taerius’ final Vision, and what you learn today will ultimately lead to establishing contact with the Old Kingdom.”

  Keltin, Aemetta, and Carnan said nothing, but their expressions screamed with unspoken questions and shock. After the proclamation Hirst had just delivered, Wyand knew they would never view him the same way again. “Regardless of what I may or may not be, sending me to the Vision Pool won’t change anything—I don’t receive Visions,” Wyand said.

  “You have in the past, and you know it,” Hirst declared. Wyand started to protest, but then he remembered the strange experience he had in the cage on the night he met Fadian. Still, that had occurred while he was asleep, so it was easy for Wyand to say it was nothing more than a dream. Then he thought back to the episode at the Council House—the terrifying image of the dead Stonebrother, his charred sash rippling in the breeze—and Wyand suddenly understood that had been a Vision.

  Wyand now shared the stunned expression of everyone else in the room. “How can that be if I’m not Guided?” he asked quietly.

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Hirst admitted. “Your connection to the Visions is impossible for me to truly comprehend. All I know is this: you will receive Visions from time to time, but they will not consume you as they do with the Guided.”

  Wyand felt like he was outside of his own body, watching helplessly as events unfolded around him. “What do I need to do?” he heard himself ask.

  Hirst grinned eagerly. “There are nightclothes in the cabinet behind you. Change into a set of those and exit through that door when you are ready. The Vision Pool will only be a few strides away when you step outside—do not fear what you see once you arrive there. Take as much time as you need. The rest of us will be waiting in the main hall.” The Pathshaper turned to leave but Carnan seized his arm.

  “That still doesn’t explain why we’re here,” the Stonebrother pointed out.

  Hirst’s smile faded abruptly and his eyes flared with light. The display was so intimidating that Carnan—stoic, battle-hardened Carnan—released his grip instantly and was forced to look away. “You are here because I need you here and, more importantly, because Wyand needs you here,” Hirst said quietly. “Whatever comes next, I know it will involve all of you.” Hirst then disappeared into the main hall, leaving Wyand in awkward silence with the rest of the group.

  “Old ones watch over you,” Carnan said with a small bow of his head. Beyond the confusion and frustration that lingered on the Stonebrother’s face from being caught off guard by Hirst, Wyand thought he saw traces of respect. Before he had time to study Carnan further, though, the Stonebrother spun away to follow Hirst.

  “We’ll be waiting,” Aemetta called over her shoulder as she, too, returned to the main chamber. This left Keltin, whose sunken eyes and atypical silence spoke of unimaginable hardship in the days since Wyand had last seen him. Without a word, Keltin stepped forward and seized Wyand in a firm embrace.

  “What would a rock breaker know about Visions of the future?” Keltin laughed quietly over Wyand’s shoulder.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Wyand admitted as tears formed both from having his oldest friend back and from the absurdity of their current situation.

  “When there’s time, you’ll have to tell me the story of how a simple miner from Aldhagen became the hope of everyone on this world,” Keltin said with only a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  “Only if you explain how you found your way into Dism Slyde’s most feared group of fighters,” Wyand replied with an equal measure of skepticism. Keltin stepped back, and for the first time in many weeks Wyand saw him smile. Nothing else was said, just a final nod of understanding shared between the Legionnaire and the Bloodbrother that proved all was forgiven. Then Keltin was gone.

  Wyand was motionless for a few seconds, lost in the happiness of finally reconnecting with his old friend, but then he thought of all the people fighting and dying in the war between Cynmere and Dism Slyde. He prayed that Eyrie was somewhere calm, safe, and far from battle; he knew he had to act quickly if he hoped to keep the war from spreading further than it already had. Exhaling with determination, Wyand opened the cabinet and found a set of nightclothes that appeared close to his size. After changing quickly, Wyand hung the Sreathan plate on the pegs where the nightclothes had been and made certain to keep the Thoughtcaster and the Stormheart with him. Before another barrage of doubts and questions could blur his focus, Wyand flung open the western door and stepped out into the snow.

  Within a stride, Wyand’s teeth were already chattering. He thought he’d known what cold was when he first arrived in Crolun Raigh wearing his armor, but what he felt now while wearing nothing more than nightclothes changed his definition of frigid. The steaming river looked increasingly inviting, but Wyand knew he needed to find its source, not simply jump into the nearest patch of warm water. Ahead, the river flowed through a narrow gap in a wall of living stone that Wyand prayed was the final obstacle between him and the Vision Pool. He trudged on, the wind biting at his skin and snow mounding in front of his feet as he walked, until he arrived at the gap in the rocks.

  A thin strip of muddy ground at the base of the southern cliff was Wyand’s only means of passage without trying to wade against the current in the river itself. He pressed his back
against the stones and slid forward carefully, but when he at last reached the end of the gap, Wyand stopped abruptly. Beyond the opening, a small valley with sloping edges covered in snow merged with the high mountains beyond. In the center of this alcove, the path ended at a steaming patch of water ten strides across, but the Vision Pool was not what brought Wyand to a halt.

  From the windswept heights to the nearest patches of deep snow, thousands of robed figures stood in silence with their glowing crystalline eyes fixated on the Vision Pool. Wyand had expected to be alone when he reached this sacred place, but then he suddenly realized that he still was. “They’re all dead,” he whispered, walking forward and looking at row after row of bodies that had been carefully placed waist-deep in the snow. Many of the Guided looked as if they could still be alive, but the faces of most were waxy and gaunt, their flesh shrunken and brown with age. Even in death their sightless eyes peered through him, searching for answers, probing for secrets to shape the future to the will of the Visions. Wyand shuddered and focused solely on reaching the pool in front of him.

  Not wanting to make this experience any longer than it needed to be, Wyand slipped off his boots and tested the water with his numb toes. The heat was delightful—not enough to scald, but more than enough to combat the chill that gripped his core. He slid into the bubbling pool until he found a ledge at just the right height to leave only his head above water. Wyand sighed and smiled with relief, but one glance at the legions of Guided reminded him that his purpose here was to find answers. Putting aside the urge to relax in his newfound warmth, Wyand frowned and stared at the rolling surface of the Vision Pool. He waited for his mind to shift as it had when he received the Vision at the Council House, but nothing changed for several minutes. Frustrated, he shut his eyes and strained to focus even more on opening his mind to the Visions and whatever knowledge they might bring.