The Vastness

by Hausladen, Blake;

  I was still sitting there when I saw a hawk circling the city. It kept at it through the afternoon, and continued to be there the next morning. A smell caught my attention while I watched its endless circling, and I looked down to see that a blue-gray mold was growing upon the shaded side of every plant and tree. Had I missed this detail? Was this why the fields were empty and the province had chosen to exhaust itself by pillaging its neighbors? It was blight like none I’d ever seen.

  Standing up was hard after so long. I was hungry, too.

  The hawk was still there. This was as impossible as the blight, and I began to wake up. The vivid ghost, the spirit beneath the sea, and the volcanoes. Magic was tumbling across the land, unbidden by songs.

  The spirits were stirring. Something had woken this third spirit—the Vastness. Me, perhaps? The spirits as I knew them no longer made sense. Who was this third? Was it the father of the Earth and Shadow or their escaped prisoner?

  It did not matter much, though. I did not have the faculty for mystery, or for self preservation. I’d been fool enough to repose in the path of advancing Hessier, while a bird that would not tire circled overhead.

  “I need that bird,” I said and started back toward the city.

  I found the tallest gatehouse along the city wall, and spent the rest of the afternoon goading the lieutenant on duty to take a shot at the hawk. He missed as did one of his men. His captain arrived, looking up at the bird, and before long they were taking bets against each other.

  Several hundred arrows went up, some at the risk of those below. Entire troops started shooting at the same time, and when the bird was finally struck, I was the first man moving to fetch it. But it didn’t fall. It kept circling with an arrow stabbed clean through its breast.

  Hessier.

  But it couldn’t be. A few from the crowd called the soldiers to hit it again, and I added my voice to theirs. The hawk shrieked once and again, twisted itself in midflight, and broke the arrow in its talons. It swooped around, pulled the broken halves free, and dropped them above the soldiers.

  They wouldn’t shoot at it after that, and soon the bird was being watched by the entire city. The sun began to set and the city’s celebrations came to an end. I watched for two days from my spot along the river while men who needed to be tending to fields began to return.

  Still the hawk circled.

  “I’ll get you, yet,” I said and wandered beyond the city walls until I found the plot of land where the city burned its nameless dead. The Shadow was strong there, and I pulling hard upon him. I could not get any more hold of his power at first that I could aboard Soma’s ship, but the struggle was not in vain. I needed only the smallest song. I waited for the hawk to pass overhead, sucked the Shadow from the ash piles, and sang my small song.

  feather burn

  A tail feather burst into flame and the rest of its greasy plumage became a bright ball. It shrieked, fell like a stone, and hit a muddy patch of field nearby. I could hear the city cheering while I hurried to find it.

  A small trail of smoke guided me, and I found the thing struggling to get free of the mud. It froze as I approached and looked at me.

  It was Hessier. Its eyes. The soul of a man was bound inside. It radiated the cold touch of strong magic. It looked at me as though it knew me.

  In all my 1,400 years I’d never been strong enough to consider such an unnatural magic. A million vile things done in my name but never an abomination like this.

  I crushed the bird’s head with a rock, sat down in the dirt, and cried.

  Geart was perfect. The names of the animals alone had eluded me for a millennium. He had eclipsed me.

  “Damn you!” I yelled and struck the bird again and again until all that was left in the mud was bits of guts and feathers.

  Had Geart caught Dia? It seemed she had escaped, but this magic—

  No. If he had Dia and the children, he would not have thralls here searching of the cinnabar mines. One Vesteal child’s bones were enough to make a score of perfect Ashmari and sweep Zoviya aside.

  The eyes of the bird would be his. He has seen me kill his bird.

  You fool. Geart has seen you. You are Vesteal. All he needs is to catch you.

  I stood and I ran. I found a man with a horse, killed him for it, and I rode it until it went lame and collapsed. I kicked it and ran down the road until I became aware of how utterly lost I was. I was not certain which direction I’d gone. The forested road could be anywhere.

  Overhead, two hawks circled.

  Then I heard the snort and crash of a charging caribou.

  55

  King Barok Vesteal

  The Middle Third of Spring

  The living wore ribbons and the dead broiled with wafts of black ash. Down the ancient road we moved like a bejeweled and angry snake. I was not sure who was mad and who was sane—the boy-king playing with death or the cult that followed him.

  To the right and left of my carriage rode the undead shells of my best friends. Rain puttered their burning armor and hissed on the hundred, it added a rolling menace to the dancing snake.

  I would have screamed if I could have sat up to get breath enough for it. Ugly sleep stole me instead.

  Days rolled as we wove down into Trace’s wide Kogan Valley and the spring mud of it fields. Yet the men sang and found new ways with each sunrise to add color to their armor and the horses.

  All of us were mad.

  The line of carriages came to a halt beneath the fortress of Almidi, and I did not want to open the door. I waited in the dark, hoping for quiet.

  They opened without me and sunlight blasted in.

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” cried a woman.

  I was squinting to get a look at her when a second figure rushed in to take me by the hand and tugged me along.

  “Were you there for it?” The large man asked as he hauled me out into the drizzling rain.

  “Kuren?” I spluttered. “Madam Oklas?”

  “Dear boy, so good to see you. Were you there when the Chaukai set fire to the mountain? Of course you were. You should have seen it from here. It lit up the entire coast. It must have been blinding up close.”

  The pair was accompanied by the Oklas brothers and Nace. Generals from Thanin, Khrim, and Abodeen stood nearby looking out of sorts.

  Their greeting had me on my heels, and while Regent Oklas looked apologetic, he did nothing at all to prevent it or the hugs that followed. Madam Oklas took me in her arms with such vigor my back cracked and my feet came off the ground.

  “Oh my,” She said. “I need to be more careful, baby and all.”

  I could not tell by looking at her, but the Regent’s smile was flushed and beaming.

  “Barok was there when it happened, sis,” Kuren said, genuinely embarrassed. “No need to go on about it.”

  From my left around the carriage Fana approached saying, “I think it’s marvelous.”

  Evela, Lilly, and the rest of those in the carriages enveloped us. There was much hugging and carrying on. Evela took center stage for a time, accepting greetings from the Arilas and generals before demanding a hug from Madam Oklas.

  “Thank you so much for all your letters,” she said to Evela. “I treasured every word. The Pormes will be overjoyed to attend Rahan’s coronation.”

  The conversation moved quickly to the health of Evela’s son, baby names, and other such things. When at last there was a gap in the conversation, I heard the hissing of the nearby soul irons. I’d considered a new name, Chaumari, but “free warrior” did not ring true to me. Soul-iron was more fitting.

  Everyone was gapping at me.

  “What was that, my king?” Nace asked, while I collected concerned looks from all around.

  “Chaumari, he said,” Kuren whispered.

  “Oh, Barok,” Fana said. “What a wonderful name for them.”

  “It is not. We have murdered our friends and made them into weapons. They do not seem free to me. They are akin to Hessie
r.”

  “‘Bind’ is not the verb of the song that made them,” Fana said. “It is one of the words I took from Sikhek. ‘Marry’ is the verb of this magic, and it can only work upon the willing. Their lives and memories are not erased as with Hessier.”

  “That does not make them any less dead. I should not have said the word out loud. I despise it and do not want to hear it again.”

  The sound of the hissing flames grew louder and Leger and Gern came into view around the back of the carriage. They were flaming-eyed devils in Chaukai armor old and new, yet they peered around at us as if embarrassed by the pain their existence was causing me.

  I was not prepared for this black comedy. I growled to suppress tears and looked for a way through the crowd.

  Nace paced along and took my arm. “Perhaps we should return to discuss our plans? Errati and the rest should be sailing in any time now.”

  His words felt foreign—what plans? I stumbled along with him up into the fortress and through to a windowed study overlooking the harbor. Ships of all kinds were at anchor offloading the armies of our northern allies. A great ship was among them, fresh arrived. Its deck was lined with heavy chests.

  Nace handed me a cup of mate. I sipped it while the mundane details began to bang on me harder than the terrors of our magic.

  “Our plans,” I said and spilled some of the mate as I turned.

  Everything I was about to ask for was already laid out upon the room’s broad tables.

  “The road agents are assembled?” I asked as I caught up.

  “I interviewed them all yesterday. They know their destinations and the names of every man they are to find. All we are waiting on is the chests of coin and your go ahead.”

  I studied the maps and names. Nace looked unsure and pointed me at a mirror. I looked bad. Black eyes, matted hair, and clothes I could not recall putting on. The grizzly thing in the mirror reminded me of the way Leger looked the day Sikhek put him upon my carriage beneath the Deyalu.

  “Errati had worried what would become of you after so many days unattended upon the long road.”

  “I was mumbling to myself when I got out of the carriage.”

  “You did make an impression. The generals were terrified. The rest love you too much to judge.”

  “Help me find a bath before Errati gets up here? I’ll never live this down.”

  “Too late,” Errati said from behind us. “Fear not. Erom alerted me to your state. A bath is being drawn. Follow me and we’ll discuss matters while you sort yourself out.”

  I was being managed again, and the constancy of the need for it was galling.

  “Entirely my fault,” Errati said. “You can dismiss me later. Please get moving, my King. You’ll want to see the treasury agents off.”

  He was right about that, and the inspiration of our plans drove me beyond my shame. Three cups’ worth of Errati’s handling later and I strode out onto the sweeping battlement that overlooked the town and harbor.

  Soul-irons in groups of two and three stood watch in town and upon the walls of the fortress. Organized below were the sixty-three men and horse that would carry out of my most daring plan yet. I could scarcely hold all the details in my head at once. The riders looked ready and in no need or encouragement. Each looked the part of a sniveling tax collector—the road agents of the fallen treasury.

  “Remember, sirs, for generations the noblemen of the Kaaryon feared men like you. You are hated, and they are not expecting you. Who sent you?”

  “Alsonelm,” They replied.

  “What will you accept for payment of the back taxes everyone owes?”

  “Silver only.”

  “Go then, sirs, and remember to drop your coin if someone tries to kill you. They’ll want the silver more than your life.”

  They saluted me and started away. I wished more than anything to ride out with them and be there as they sowed the seeds of our grand stroke.

  “Do you remember the day, Nace, when you first had the idea beneath the silver stairs?”

  “Like it was this morning.”

  I laughed and shook his hand. “Farewell then, sir. Rahan and I would give anything to trade places with you.”

  “No deal,” he said, shook Errati’s hand, and made his way down.

  Leger joined us as we watched them melt into the city’s traffic on their way south and east.

  “You’ve not shared much of this plan with us. That grin has me curious. Spill.”

  “No. It’s better than conjuring an orchard or brigade of cavalry from thin air, and that is all I will say.”

  “You’re not going to tell me?”

  “No, Not today.”

  “How long are we delaying the march south for them?”

  “Three days. Long enough for them to set the trap. Have the army ready for a force march. We’ll want to make up the ground.”

  “We should move on to Alsonvale now before they assemble the Kaaryon’s levies.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about the levies much.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “You’ve not changed, Barok.”

  “Neither have you, I’ve been told,” I said, and coughed as a bit as a waft of his ash was dashed into my face by the sea breeze.

  “Serves you right,” he said, and the soul-irons in earshot chuckled. The sight sat wrong in my guts.

  Leger saw me trembling. “I would hug you if I could.”

  I choked, half weeping.

  Errati put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m not a hugger, sorry.”

  “Gah, blast you both. Come, I can fake being sane the rest of the day at least. Let’s find a spot where you won’t start things on fire and get the men sorted.”

  “Three days of drills? The entire army? The provincials will hate it.”

  “I know. I’ll let you give the order.”

  The rumble of flames I got in response sounded angry but close enough to laughter. It was sure to be a grand day.

  On our way down to a wide field, warmed by the returning sun, I was nearly content when a sad voice called my name. It was Lady Jayme, and I waved her trough the ring of Chaukai.

  She bowed her head to hide her wet eyes. “We do too much.”

  “I know,” I said. “But all would be lost without it. We have wrapped ourselves in a culture of sacrifice that will see no good end. Can I count on you to tell me another way forward if you think of one?”

  She nodded, and then hesitated. I waved her to continue.

  “My son, Barok. Is there any word from the Priests’ Home?”

  She knew the answer. We all did. She was feeling the same madness that spun my mind in ugly circles.

  “His name is Burhn?” I asked.

  “They took him before he knew me.”

  “He will love you still,” I said.

  She clutched me and I her as we wet each others’ shoulders. “We’ll get them back,” I said.

  The blue glow I’d seen so many times began to crackle upon her skin.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  “It is the flipside of the Shadow’s effect upon the soul. Mothers burn blue with Her sadness. It will get hot enough to kill us before too long. Her kindnesses are as cruel as the Shadow’s malice.”

  I could say nothing in reply. She kissed my cheek and left me to my grand day.

  56

  Dia Vesteal

  Harmond

  Not everyone who fled Verd was ready for the cold. It set in as we got out into the middle of the immense lake and beyond the warmth of the spring feed river. We had to stop and gather the boats together to share around what extra clothing had been brought. Those not at the oars huddled together in the center of the broad boats, and Harmond got them working rotations through the cold pegs of that dark night.

  I fell asleep to the smell of caribou oil lanterns, and we were close to needing to light them again the next evening when we reached a shore of towering pines. Harmond guided u
s a river and a small village crammed around a single boat landing. The stench of caribou oil was replaced with smoked fish, and I enjoyed a skewer of kabobs while we made camp in the trees behind the village. Each boat was leaned against a pair of trees, and families huddled under them as the dark gray sky threatened rain with long rumbles. Harmond and Ghemma were the only ones watching the clouds. The rest looked back the way we’d come toward the homes they might never see again.

  Clea liked the quiet and the dark beneath our boat. The rest of those who’d shared it got to work building a fire. I napped with my happy girl resting upon my belly until her brother started kicking her.

  “Be nice,” I said.

  “Sorry?” Harmond said and stepped into view. No one else was around.

  “Not you,” I replied and pointed at my belly. “I didn’t hear you approach. Is all well? Where is everyone?”

  “Can we speak with you? The group ... we have some questions. There is someone here you may know.”

  I had to lean forward to get a look at them a distance back in the trees. All those who could sing were there, with a noticeable addition. The man had his back to us, but I know him by the shag of his hair and the heavy sealskin coat he wore.

  Burhn.

  “Help me up,” I said, and Harmond obliged with a strong hand. He had hold of his club. The expressions of the group betrayed the same threat. Burhn’s tales of me, whatever he’d said, would be different than what they’d heard from me.

  The group collected around the small fire before the boat.

  “Hello, Burhn,” I said.

  “Dia,” was all he had in reply.

  Harmond said to me, “You can start with your name.”

  I gave them the truth and told them everything. One after another, they sat down as I told my tale. The ears of every Chaukai must have been burning, but I did not care. I had been alone too long. These refugees had worn my daughter’s blood, and I did not have the strength for clever half-truths.

  The Mother Yew in the forests of Enhedu, the Song of the Earth, our war against the agents of the Shadow. I told them everything, including Burhn’s role in things. He did not contradict me.