Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  Hirst waited for a moment to see how Wyand would respond, but when he was met with more silence, the Pathshaper turned with an understanding nod and left the small hut. Wyand stared after him, unable to think clearly for many long minutes. “They’re not dead!” he declared aloud, but even his own voice now carried doubt. He lay in quiet denial for what seemed an eternity before a new thought at last pushed through the battling waves of confusion and grief. If they sacrificed everything to free the Penitent Faithful, then to honor them, I must be willing to sacrifice whatever is needed to finish the task and free everyone else. Wyand slowly began to grasp what that could mean for him, but that only hardened his resolve. If destroying the Cultivators and their lies meant losing his own life, at least he would die defending the truth.

  47

  Ryna bolted awake as she felt the scrid carrying her cage come to a stop. After spending an entire day worrying instead of resting at the Distant Watch camp, it had been shamefully easy to succumb to the temptation of sleep when night fell and the scrid glided across the endless sand once more. As the cage began to flip, Ryna had just enough time to take hold of the wooden slats to avoid slamming against what was now the bottom of the cage. After shuffling out into the night, Ryna was startled to find herself standing between two large mountains that were tall enough to block out all the familiar stars of the northern sky. Confused, she turned to Eyrie, who still sat atop the scrid.

  “Is this Dism Slyde?” Ryna asked quietly as many of the other scrid began lowering their cages.

  “Not quite,” Eyrie replied. “This is as close as we dare venture, though, without fear of alerting the Smokedwellers prematurely. If I understood Tilia when we spoke earlier today, the entrance to Dism Slyde lies just on the other side of this mountain.” She pointed towards the western peak, then continued. “This will be the staging point for our scouting efforts until we can learn more about the situation with the Smokedwellers. When these mountains first came into view, I tried to tell you, but I don’t think you could hear me….” Eyrie’s voice trailed off, clearly expecting some sort of answer.

  Ryna nodded, too embarrassed to reply, and she instead decided to focus intently on helping with the setup of one of the large tents nearby. How could you let her catch you asleep! Ryna scolded herself bitterly as she worked in silence.

  “Ryna?” a voice called softly from the darkness to the east. Ryna turned, expecting to find one of the Cynmeren requesting assistance with some other task, but then she realized with a chill that this tent marked the extreme eastern end of the camp. Ryna’s eyes jumped from one patch of shadows to the next, but she couldn’t see anyone at the base of the mountain. She took hold of the isen at her waist and risked a look at Eyrie.

  “You heard that too, right?” Ryna asked, but Eyrie only shook her head. Though the Cynmeren could move in almost complete silence, the actions required to establish a camp were comparatively loud by their very nature. Compelled to prove her sanity to herself, Ryna walked slowly towards the mountain. A knot of fear wound itself tightly in the pit of her stomach and the isen trembled in her hand as she moved several strides away from the camp.

  “Ryna,” the voice said again more clearly. This time, though—to Ryna’s alarm—it was behind her. Ryna spun, isen ready, and searched frantically for whoever had spoken. Then she finally spotted movement at the edge of a waist-high boulder she had passed only seconds earlier. She leaned forward cautiously and a pair of familiar eyes suddenly met her own. The figure’s veil dropped, and there was Aemetta.

  Questions assaulted Ryna’s mind with such fury that they robbed every word she could have spoken. She stared at Aemetta, speechless, until at last sheathing the isen and kneeling to wrap her arms around her. A soft grunt from Aemetta made Ryna pull back, though, and that’s when she noticed the blood on the side of Aemetta’s neck. “Do you think you can get me into the Cynmeren camp without any arrows flying towards me?” Aemetta asked. “I’ve tried to dodge enough arrows today.”

  Ryna removed the thin cloth from her head and then the Watch helmet as well. “Of course,” she promised as tears of relief and worry, fear and happiness coursed down her face. She supported Aemetta as they both stood and began the tense walk into the Cynmeren camp. “How did you find us? How did you get so close?” Ryna whispered.

  Aemetta scoffed under her breath. “I tried to tell Eyrie this once before: what the Cynmeren call ‘silence’ is actually quite loud by the standards of the Shroud Legion.” Aemetta lifted her chin smugly for an instant before a thin smile betrayed her true feelings. “It was all by chance,” she whispered, which completely wiped away any trace of her feigned superiority.

  Ryna marveled at her friend and then, whether it was from nervousness, joy, or both, she was struck suddenly with the urge to laugh, too. She stifled this, thankfully, as several of the closest Cynmeren had already drawn bows or lowered the tips of their oars when they saw Ryna accompanied by a figure shrouded in darkness. Ryna and Aemetta lifted their hands to show there was no threat, and still Ryna suppressed a smile. “How did you know it was me?” she asked just before they reached the tent.

  “What other person dressed as a Cynmeren would be willing to ride in one of those infuriating cages?” Aemetta countered bluntly.

  “Ryna, wha—Aemetta!” Eyrie exclaimed, then her voice became worried. “Where’s the rest of your group?”

  “That is a…complicated story. I’ll explain it in exchange for someone tending to this,” Aemetta pulled back her hood and revealed the gash on the right side of her neck. “I discovered a few hours ago that not even I can avoid every arrow.”

  Eyrie sucked air through her teeth at the sight of the wound. “They’re still setting up the sick tent over here, but the Handsisters are close by.” She supported Aemetta’s left shoulder while Ryna supported the right, and together they made their way to the group from the Order of Hands. A growing crowd trailed behind the mysterious Smokedweller who had invaded the camp, and word of the visitor soon reached Tilia. By the time Aemetta’s first bandage was in place, the Voice of War had to force her way through a ring of people several layers thick.

  Tilia removed her helmet and frowned at Aemetta’s injury. “Are you able to speak?” she asked. Aemetta nodded. “Explain what happened, if you can.” As Aemetta began, Ryna was frightened by how weak her friend’s voice sounded—perhaps the arrow wound was even worse than it looked. Soon, though, the tale of her travels with Wyand captured Ryna’s full attention as well as that of the rest of the crowd.

  Aemetta explained that the first few days away from the Cynmeren camp had gone as planned, with Wyand sharing the truth of the Thoughtcaster with many members of the Distant Watch. Things fell apart, however, when they moved into the high mountains. As Aemetta described the surprise attack by the Penitent Faithful, Ansund stepped forward from the crowd, his eyes glowing faintly. “Forgive me, Aemetta,” he said earnestly, and her jaw hung slack in shock as soon as she saw him. Noticing her surprise, he added, “The Visions led me to the Cynmeren after I fled from the thunder stones.”

  Aemetta nodded slowly when she heard his explanation, but her eyes were still wide with disbelief as they stared at the Draeden. She continued, somewhat shaken, and told of the sudden arrival of the group of Cynmeren from the north. When she mentioned Crolun Raigh, it was everyone else’s turn to be stunned. “You not only met the Eyeless, they took you to Crolun Raigh? And then they let you leave?” Tilia exclaimed. Apparently—as the Voice of War clarified moments later—no one from Cynmere had ever seen one of the Eyeless or the location of their cult and returned to tell the story. The existence of Crolun Raigh was wrapped in so many layers of doubt and mystery that most people only viewed it as a legend, but that would be the case no longer.

  Though fascinating, Crolun Raigh was not the focus of Ryna’s attention. “Who did you say went with you to Crolun Raigh?” she interjected as the Cynmeren whispered among themselves about the Eyeless.

  Aemetta l
ooked puzzled at first. “Wyand, Carnan, Laersi”—she inhaled sharply—“and Keltin! Oh, Ryna, I don’t know what I was thinking, but with everything else that’s been going on it didn’t occur to me until just now that you haven’t seen him since our Casting. He’s been in Dism Slyde this entire time. Well, most of it.”

  “You can chat about him later,” the Voice of War said sternly, and Ryna noticed that Tilia and the rest of the gathered Cynmeren were waiting for Aemetta’s story to continue. Ryna bowed her head and stepped aside, embarrassed for the second time that night. She heard Aemetta describe the brief stay in Crolun Raigh—the terrifying encounter with a man called Silax in the mountains, the formation of the plan to raid Dism Slyde by water—but Ryna’s mind was stuck on the fact that Keltin was alive. Part of her still seethed with rage whenever she thought of him and the events that led to her Casting, but she realized that hearing his name had inspired an unexpected and profound feeling of happiness as well. Ryna struggled to understand her emotions as Aemetta told of the terrifying journey to Dism Slyde and the perils of the great northern ocean.

  “When we finally reached Dism Slyde it was nearly sunset,” Aemetta said. “We waited until darkness set in, then we moved into the marsh. It took us the entire night to pull the cofa, but when the end was in sight, I broke away to find Cailla. I knew the tainted food had to be destroyed as well, and she was the only person among the Penitent Faithful I could trust.”

  “You found her?” Eyrie asked hopefully.

  “I did,” Aemetta replied slowly and with a pained frown. “There were complications, though. She had been summoned to the High Conduit’s chambers that night, so I had to burn the food without her. No one saw what I did, and I was able to sneak back into the women’s quarters during the chaos that followed. Cailla eventually returned to her room, and that’s when I finally revealed myself. She wept from the pain of what she had just endured, but her tears soon gave way to joy when she realized what we had accomplished during the night.

  “A look of horror came over her face a few moments later. When she was leaving the Holy Spire, she said a man had been carried past her in the direction of the High Conduit’s chambers. She didn’t know what was happening at the time, but she had recognized that it was Keltin; now she understood that he’d been captured and would be blamed for the destruction of the cofa. We were devising a plan to free him when there was a commotion in the women’s quarters.” Aemetta winced as a Handsister lifted one of the bandages and applied some sort of healing cream directly onto the gash.

  “Cailla leaned into the hallway and saw the Conduit’s guards dragging dozens of women from their rooms to be taken to the Spire,” Aemetta said after catching her breath. “It was common for one or two women to be summoned each night, but we knew this was something else. I wanted to fight the guards, but Cailla said my task was more important than dying courageously. She led me quickly to one of the side passages and explained how I could safely reach the mountains. I begged her to either let me stay or come with me, but she insisted that she needed to go with the other women and that I had to remain hidden for as long as possible.

  “I reluctantly made my way into the shadows of the narrow corridor. After a few strides I glanced back, and before I knew what was happening, the guards had seized Cailla and were hauling her back to the Spire. From that moment on, I made it my sole mission to free her and Keltin from captivity. Less than an hour later, all access to the Holy Spire was ended and guards were posted at every door. I kept watch from the mountains, studying the Spire for some means of entry and monitoring events as Dism Slyde moved closer to total anarchy. As feared, Keltin was put on display and tortured constantly for the loss of the cofa, but even his blood isn’t enough to satisfy the Penitent Faithful now—they demand answers and have received none.

  “A large force returned yesterday, and that’s when things really started to escalate. Finding that the High Conduit had sealed off the Spire, and without the cofa to warp their minds any longer, many of the Penitent Faithful began to speak out against him. This caused tensions to spread between opposing factions until violence at last broke out. In the confusion, I moved close to the Spire during the night and waited for the guards to be distracted by the fighting as it pushed towards them.

  “I saw an opening, but I quickly learned that my impatience had clouded my judgement. Yes, the guards outside the Spire were occupied, but I hadn’t accounted for more of them waiting within. As soon as they saw me, they sought to bring me down. I managed to retreat, but a volley of arrows rained down on me as I ran. One of them caught my neck, and so, here I am.”

  There was a long pause as everyone—including Ryna—tried to comprehend all of the information Aemetta had just relayed. That was more than Ryna had ever heard her friend speak in the seven turnings she’d spent with her; then again, nothing as eventful as Aemetta’s recent journey had happened during their time in Locboran. The Voice of War had listened intently to Aemetta’s story and now stood massaging her forehead. “Those poor women,” she whispered so quietly that Ryna almost didn’t hear her, then Tilia lifted her head. “The Murk is at last destroyed, but the Thoughtcaster is lost,” she said in a hollow voice, seemingly repeating what she had heard in an effort to accept it as reality. She sighed, then looked to Aemetta once again. “What of the Stormheart? And what of Wyand, Carnan, and Hirst?”

  Aemetta shook her head faintly, attempting to move her neck as little as possible. “I’m uncertain. The last I knew was that they had finished destroying the cofa and needed time to escape. I can only assume since they aren’t on display with Keltin that they at least made it back to our boat if not all the way to Crolun Raigh by now.”

  “That would be a blessing, if so,” Tilia replied. She began pacing slowly beside Aemetta’s makeshift bed. “With the cofa gone, Dism Slyde has been destabilized. We need a way to fix that and free the captives quickly or the damage will be irreversible. We can’t simply move in and demand that they stop fighting—then there would likely be even more bloodshed….” She muttered to herself, mulling each of the options and their ramifications.

  “I have an idea,” Ansund said suddenly, and at the sound of his voice every eye was upon him. “But I will need some help.”

  Before the Draeden had time to finish the last word, Eyrie had already stepped forward. “I’m going with you,” she declared; it sounded more like a statement of fact than an offering to volunteer. The Voice of War studied the young Bloodsister closely, but this time she did not deny Eyrie outright.

  Whether it was from witnessing Eyrie’s determination or from some other driving force Ryna didn’t understand, she found herself stepping forward as well. “If she’s going, I’m going,” Ryna said with certainty. She felt Tilia’s eyes assessing her now, but still the Voice of War remained silent.

  “If you approve of this, they will be all I need,” Ansund said to Tilia a moment later.

  The Voice of War looked at the two women with a mixture of worry and pride before turning to the Draeden at last. She eyed him skeptically. “Before I agree to anything, you’re going to explain this plan of yours.”

  “That’s easy,” Ansund replied. “I’m going to bring my father exactly what he wants.”

  ---

  Ryna’s pulse quickened as the Draeden led her and Eyrie closer to Dism Slyde; he had cautioned them of what was waiting for them in the valley, but even his most graphic description had not prepared Ryna for this kind of horror. Lining both sides of the valley were hundreds and hundreds of dead Cynmeren, their heads removed and their bodies bound to stout posts. The grotesque display was enough to make Ryna want to scream, or vomit, or both, but Ansund had demanded that the two women remain silent no matter what they saw.

  The plan was incredibly simple, although terrifying each time Ryna thought it through and realized she was a part of it. She flexed her wrists against the loosely-tied bonds that only looked as though they held her arms in place—hopefully the Smokedwe
llers would see her as nothing more than a Cynmeren prisoner and ignore her bindings long enough for her to reach the Conduit’s chambers. Ansund expected the Smokedwellers would be so distracted by his return that they would ignore Ryna and Eyrie entirely. His word carried great power amongst these people, so if anyone could gain access to the Holy Spire during a time of such turmoil, it was him.

  Moving through the canyon felt like a form of torture—every sound elicited a jolt through Ryna’s entire body and being surrounded by the dead sent her imagination into a frenzy. At any instant, she expected a barrage of arrows or a rolling billow of smoke to hurtle towards them from the northern end of the valley. But, as dawn drew closer and the path dipped lower beneath the layer of fog, there was no evidence of the Penitent Faithful anywhere. “The lookout points are abandoned,” Ansund whispered softly. “They would have seen us by now otherwise.” Evidently this was an unsettling observation for him, but in Ryna’s opinion it would have been far worse if there were unseen people watching her every move from high above.

  After rounding one of the many twists in the canyon, what lay ahead caused Ryna to gasp despite Ansund’s instructions. An enormous gate set into a wall of stone stood open before her, but its size and beauty weren’t what had taken Ryna’s breath. The bodies of Smokedwellers littered the ground leading up to the gate, many with arrows bristling through their dark clothing. As the massive archway passed overheard, Ryna was pained to see the carnage repeated on the other side of the Gates of Contrition. “Ignore them,” Ansund hissed. “We need to move quickly.”

  Echoes of distant fighting crept into the canyon when the Holy Spire at last came into view. As Ryna arrived at a section of the path which overlooked a much wider valley, the scene of an ongoing battle spread across the landscape in front of her. Several masses of Smokedwellers were clustered tightly around the base of the Spire, their positions protected by the remains of destroyed carts and fallen nysks. Arrows streaked across the sand from their bows towards openings on either side of the valley, while others soared to the Spire from archers concealed within the walls of stone.