The tunnel opened into the side of the wide cavern above the top tier. My yurt was on the far side and Aden and his few Ashmari stood close around the iron door. One of them turned and looked toward us, perhaps catching the chill of air or potent Hessier.
“Kill them Geart,” I said. “The Spirit of the Earth loves you. Kill them and we are free.”
“She will die, too,” he said before his magic began to move. The quality of the world changed. The air began to vibrate as his songs snatched through darkness and slammed at my ears. A ball of blazing light began to emanate from Geart’s chest as he stepped out onto the tier, but was promptly extinguished as one magic and then another tore back and forth. I spotted Aden in that failing light. He had Clea in his arms and all the men of the Priests’ Home packed around him.
“Give me the child and I will allow you to serve me,” Geart said to them.
I lost track of the ground and the ceiling. Had the earth itself been unmade? I felt for a moment as though I were floating, until sparks and then lightning arched between Geart and Aden, tearing at them both
“Clea,” I screamed, but my voice was soundless in the din of the terrible magic. I could not judge light from dark or up from down, but I could see Clea clutched in Aden’s arms, her blood spread across his face.
“Serve me,” Geart said again and his grip upon me faded to nothing.
Then all the magic ceased as if there was none left in the world and everything began to right itself. Wispy snow poured in through the tunnel in the wall behind us, and the cavern came back into sharp relief. It was in ruins. Aden’s acolytes and Ashmari had been decimated. Some were no more than scraps of bone and meat. The rest were on their knees. Aden was the last standing. He trembled lightly, his battered form lit by the glowing furrows dug into the walls and ceiling. Sparks fell from each wide gash.
In the quiet, Geart and Aden stood looking at one another as though encased in glass. The tortured stones around us hissed and popped. I took a step away from Geart. Nothing happened. I could not judge how long the stalemate would last, but could not give up the change. I stepped around Geart and ran along the tier and down to Aden. He did not register my approach until I took hold of Clea. He’d cut off her arm at the elbow, and clutched the severed arm in one fist. His lips were wet with blood.
“He will be the end of everything,” Aden said as I slid Clea into my coat. “Do not do this.”
I pried Clea’s arm from his fist, turned without a reply, and sprinted up.
Geart slumped to the side. He was savaged. His forehead and one of his eyes were caved in, and I could see his right hipbone and several of his ribs. A yellow flame sputtered in his chest cavity.
His black eyes tracked me as I started by. They were lonely though—the same terrible look he’d had the day Soma first mended his soul atop Urnedi Keep.
“Geart?”
“They must all be stopped, Dia. Help me.”
“I cannot. You would become a tool of the Shadow.”
“Until the end I will serve Him. It is the only way.”
The stalemate was ending. Already their touch was growing upon me. Behind me, Aden cackled. He was moving, sucking upon his fingers as he lurched toward us.
“You need my daughter to win?” I asked and he nodded.
Whispers scratched at my ears, and I would have listened if not for the heat in my hand. I clutched my darling girl’s severed arm instead and struck away all the promises the Shadow had waiting for me.
I opened my hand and dropped the bloody bit of Vesteal at Geart’s feet.
Aden shrieked and shambled at us with blazing black eyes. Geart, teetered from side to side, his opened chest and skull sizzling from new heat.
“Farewell, Geart,” I said and hurried up through the tunnel to where I’d left my pack and sled. I shouldered it and started to climb up the long slope toward ridge and valley beyond. It was hot inside my coat, my back wet with sweat. My heart pounded up into my throat.
I closed my eyes and stood still. My entire being screamed at me run, but run I could not. I got hold of my last good breathing tube, and slowly swayed from side to side, venting my heavy coat. The cold bled in, and I took my first calm breath of air.
Then the long march began. Behind me Geart and Aden began to tug again upon the world. The sky darkened, and a shriek of hot magic knocked every fleck of tussling snow from the air above the long slope. The ground shook.
One foot and then another. It was all I could do. The long valley that reached west between the tall mountain came slowly into view beyond the top of the ridge, and a wind as cold as Bayen’s hell pushed up at me. I cinched my hood tighter, breathed through my tube, and walked until the slope bent at last away from me.
When I sat myself down upon the sturdy sled, I spent a desperate moment adjusting Clea safely into her wrap before I leaned forward.
Behind me, something changed.
Geart’s icy touch punched me, and my weight threatened to topple forward off the sled. The contraption did not care about my predicament and began to move down the soft slope. I went blind and felt nothing at all until a blast of cold air pried my hood open for a moment and shocked me awake. I had wits and balance enough to cinch it closed.
We raced down until the last of the black touch fell away and all that remained for me to contend with was the snow and ice of the mountain’s long glacier.
I laughed, worked at steering the sled, and dreamt of the things I could have said to Aden.
42
Sikhek Vesteal
I knew the day for Soma’s attack must be close when the Chaukai stopped coming to question me about the magic I could sing for them. They had stopped harvesting my blood after only a few days. They’d learned it was not what they expected. I was Vesteal still, but Geart’s magic had changed me. My blood would be of no use to Soma.
Thus left alone I slept, ate, and used the bucket in the corner. Anger came in small waves as I recovered, but the emotion only exhausted me. It was quiet in my cells below the keep, so my thoughts could do nothing but wandered around the dark corners of my prison.
How many people had suffered this and worse at my hand? I’d called it millions once, and as I thought through all the many centuries I had tortured Zoviya, the number seemed low. Each length of tithe road alone had consumed tens of thousands of slaves, and the pit beneath the chancellery and a dozen other places of power had collected souls for centuries.
When Colonel Graves arrived with forty men bearing war hammers and ropes, they found me sitting in the center of my cell. A fresh gag and blindfold were tied in place. A silver collar was fitted around my neck, and I was led out with spears leveled against me from every angle.
I was brought to a halt, and someone took hold of my left wrist. The blindfold was removed, and I was face to face with Soma. She was a statue, her grip a circle of iron. The riverside streets around us were packed with new boats and throngs of sailors wearing fresh gray wool coat stripped blue with needle-punch felting.
“Men from Dahar, Wool from Abodeen, and indigo from Thanin. You have been busy.”
She said nothing and produced a small unstopped iron vial.
“You picked a good morning for it, Admiral, but the fog I conjure for you will not last long.”
“It does not need to last long. Just until we cross to the flotilla.”
“Very well. If my skin grows cold, the Shadow has taken me and you will need to be swift.”
Soma was not moved by my willingness. The men with ropes and spears tightened and pressed. This satisfied her, the silver collar was removed, and she poured the vial down my throat.
The cold touch of the Shadow swept through me as if I’d been shaken awake. The savage emotions raged bright and bitter but dulled as fast as they had come as the power began to leave me. I seized the words and let fly the song.
AIR COOL
AIR cool
air cool
air
I nearly col
lapsed into the ropes and spears as the Shadow’s touch left me, but the song had been powerful. It began as a gust and swept down through the city and out across the harbor. The outbreak of cool air knocked the slow waves back, and fog billowed up into a thick bank. I seized all I could of the Shadow from the bleak city and managed one more verse.
air cool
The sweeping wafts of fog began to twist and colder and warm air mixed. Thick steam devils curled up toward the overcast sky and the bank of fog washed over the city.
Soma gave the order and the fleet of small boats started into the water.
I expected each moment to hear the Shadow’s vile whispers from the dark cold places as I was marched aboard a heavy barge.
Nothing. His touch became a dusty memory as the churn of the countless oars filled my ears. I expected, too, the terrible pain of the poisonous mercury I’d consumed. Nothing.
What am I if not Hessier or man?
Their move was a bumbling affair. The crafts bumped and collided with each other, unsure of the right course in the fog. There were enough fishermen and yellowcoats amongst them to sort it out, though, and they began to make across the bay. The effort should have been inspiring or comical. All I felt was the failure of a forgotten thing.
“Bring him,” Soma said over the noise, and I was hoisted to the front of the barge.
“Are you ready to sing again?” she demanded, two vials in hand.
The answer was no, but the ropes and spears encourage me to nod.
Tussles of the Bergion’s breeze began to bat down the fog. A steam devil came into view ahead of us and it held on a moment more before it lost its energy and fell. The fog became a patchy brew, and Soma grabbed me by the hair, “Be ready.”
I waited to see the flotilla. It should be straight ahead of us, but with each stroke we churned through higher and higher waves.
“We’re outside the bay,” I said. “Where did they go?”
The last of the fog fell away, and the flotilla appeared, twenty boat lengths further out.
“They dropped they chains and pulled up anchor,” I said. “Should I sing now?”
She did not answer. One moment drew onto three as our clever opponents drifted back from us. They had anticipated the attack and were letting the breeze push them away to the northeast. They had not gone far, but were out of Soma’s reach.
The first bolt from a ballista struck the prow of a longboat and smashed it to tinder. The armored men aboard sank from view before they could cry for help.
“Steady on the oar, keep your pace,” Soma called.
“We are too far away for me to set them on fire,” I said. “You know this.”
I expected her to come apart as defeat beat upon her, but she kept her calm as though their disadvantage was of no concern. She studied her surroundings; speed, wind, and current perhaps, and ordered a small turn to the east. This aimed us away from the flotilla as more bolts and stone hiss and splashed at us. Those who’d never sailed were dismayed at our course. But then we got further beyond the harbor walls and the wind and waves began to push us north. We began to close, and the Yud’s aim grew more accurate. One boat after another was struck and lost, but on we surged.
“Get your song ready,” she said.
I tried. I reached out for the words, but as it had been aboard the Kingfisher it was as though something held me.
Details became fuzzy. A vial was poured down my throat and Soma slapped me.
“Sing!”
wood burn
The forward corner of the flotilla caught fire, but that was all.
“Drink another.”
“Something has hold of me. I can find the song.”
“Do not try that excuse again. This is your doing. Sing or I’ll shred your soul and feed your body to the deep.”
“It is true,” I tried to say. “There is something else.”
We were sprayed with bits of wood, as the stone smashed away a wide section of rail. A bolt smashed through our side, somewhere astern.
I found myself upon my back, pinned beneath her knee. She unstopped the second vial and poured it into my eyes and mouth.
My hearing went first, then my sight. I felt her shaking me, but that too faded. Something held away the touch the Shadow. I worried Aden was aboard the flotilla but felt none of the cold that would come with his presence.
I was calm. I closed my eyes and dreamt of the battle around me. I could see the points of lights that were the souls of the sailors and soldiers. The Yudyith platform was a solid white square. Soma’s boats closed like a blizzard of angry fireflies and our barge was one of the first to reach it. I was carried onto the flotilla. Many died as Soma’s men pressed their way across.
Then the square divided, our quarter of it drifting away from the rest. The Yud had been ready and had cut away the burning section we’d boarded. We were trapped. I should have cared a great deal, but the enthralling dream of lights was too sweat a vision to leave. Slowly it expanded, as if I was lifted up, and my view was yanked far to the south. I saw two points of light racing away from a vast darkness.
I felt the great presence again beneath me. I tried to focus upon it, but my dream continued as though I’d been tied to a mast and forced to watch. The darkness that pursued the two small lights swelled, and its quality was too familiar.
This was no dream.
“Dia,” I said and my eyes opened to a deck washed with the terror of battle. My chains had been removed and I lay in a pile of wreckage. Flames rose high in the air on the far side. Soma’s men were moving the other way, clamoring back into their barge. Behind them, the Kingfisher and a score of fresh ships swooped in.
“Soma,” I shouted, “Dia and the children are alive. They escaped the Bunda-Hith. They are alive.”
She crossed and hefted me up. “Tell me what you see. Are they safe?”
“They are alive but pursued by Hessier. She flees into Berm, toward Verd. Geart is there. He is after her.” I tried to say more but the vision grabbed and twisted me again and again.
Each time I came back, screams and smoke filled the air. The burning flotilla was coming apart. Soma and her men were gone. Their points of light were aboard the Kingfisher and it had dived with the rest of her new ships after the unmoored flotilla. One after another Yud ships tried to cut ties and escape, only to be smashed by her fleet. On Soma went, yet she did not engage the main platform.
I did not understand this until I remembered the condition in the gulf farther from the coast. It happened all at once then that the flotilla broke apart from the strain. Men died by the thousand as the rolling waves of the deep waters carried over their low-walled ships. Soma’s had not attacked to board them. She attacked to get them to pull up anchor and force them out into the deep. The Yud were finished.
I began to roll and my head struck something. The searing pain of fire woke me from the vision to a burning desk that heaved over in the rolling ways. I caught once last glimpse of the Kingfisher’s sharp prow smashing over a Yud ship, before I hit the water.
It got dark as I sank. I thought to swim, but the power that gripped me did not care what I wanted.
The dark depths swallowed me whole.
43
Dia Vesteal
Caribou
The sled’s strong blades dug into the soft snow and kept us from plunging headlong down the valley. Somewhere behind us, Geart continued to reach out, but his grip dwindled in stages until it was no more than a tickle of frozen spider’s legs upon my neck. I leaned right when I could and kept us as far up the slope as possible. The valley’s descended slowly west, and there was little doubt that Verd and its tithe road waited for me at the bottom.
He would be after us. Would Geart think to use a sled? Our trail down the valley could not be missed. As I thought about this more, I laughed. There was no sled that could support his weight.
He would find my daughter’s missing limb and make new Hessier or Ashmari out of the acolytes tha
t had survived. They would not weigh as much.
It didn’t matter. I could not be terrified by conjecture. I set aside the thoughts of what chased us and focused on the long slope. The sled did not like being tipped left, and threatened several times to slow to a halt. I’d be walking soon enough, but every moment on the sled put space between him and my children. I needed to find the bottom of the valley and trust that I could find what must be there—Verd and the northern tithe road. I had a hunk of fat that could see me through for two, maybe three days.
Little Clea did not mind these details, whatever the case. Her plump mother made milk enough for two. She filled herself on a single breast and slept while I guided my fine sled down. When we reached a long level slope and slide to slow halt, I sat for a long moment holding her. The sun warmed the back of my black sealskin and the welcome depths of sleep beckoned. Standing took a great deal of breathing and a fair amount of cursing. We could not spend the night upon a barren slope, and shelter was not going to come to us.
I pulled the sled across and up the lip of a ridge. The glide down the far side kept up until Clea had soiled her wrap and the light was leaving the sky.
I was not finding what I needed to make things right for us. I’d expected a cabin, a cave—something roughly a day’s march away. Shelters must have been built all along the route, and the valley’s long slope must be that first leg down. It had taken Burhn forty-four days to travel to Verd and back. He would not have spent a night outside. The Shadow’s Hessier could manage it with ease, but not his acolytes.
Could I have covered one day’s march with an evening’s time on a sled? The longer I considered it the more I became convinced I’d covered many days of marching.
When the slope evened, and the sled came to a halt a second time, I used the last of the day’s light to climb up onto the next rise and get a look down into the next sweeping section of the valley. I searched the barren rolls for anything that was not made of snow or rock. There must be places they sheltered, if only I could find one.
The Vastness Page 39
