by JA Andrews
“No one ever has to leave, my dear.”
“Well then, I won’t. Not for a long time.”
A warm smile spread across his face. “When you first came to us, I was worried you wouldn’t find a home here. That we would all be too…old.”
“It’s the best place I could imagine.” She fought back the lump that seemed ready to shove its way up her throat again. Everything she loved was here. “I really can’t imagine anything that would make me leave.”
“Can you not?” He studied her for a moment. “In that case, I found four new books for you.” He handed her the pile he was holding. “Alaric finished his treatise on Mallon. You can be the first read it. He’s also copied a work on Mallon that he found in Obsidian, which should be interesting.
“I ran across an early history of the Keepers shelved with the Baylonese books, the reason for which you’ll see once you read it. And I found this.” He handed her a thin book bound in dark green leather. His eyes sparkled. “A book of quotes by Keeper Chesavia. It was also shelved”—he scowled across the library toward the opposite shelves—“very wrongly with the Baylonese books. I have been looking for it for twenty-three years.”
“Twenty-three years?” She took the book eagerly. Chesavia was a bit of an enigma among Keepers but Sini had always felt a kinship to her. Chesavia was a healer and the only other Keeper who’d had an affinity for the sunlight. Sini had read all the stories about her she could find. “What have you needed for that long?”
“A turn of phrase I couldn’t quite remember.”
Sini looked at him expectantly.
He sat straighter in his chair, cleared his throat, and raised one finger. “The day is shaped not by the violence of the storm, but by the fall of the light and the voice of the rain.”
Sini waited, but he did nothing more than grin at her. “What does that mean?”
The Shield settled back into his chair. “Chesavia’s life was one hardship chased on by another. And she speaks of them frankly. I think she was fiercer than any person I have ever heard of.”
“Because she sacrificed herself to kill that water demon?”
“No, although that took great determination. She was fierce because she could always see past herself and find goodness in the world.” The Shield glanced at her. “And goodness can be harder to find than a mis-shelved book in a seven-story library.”
“She always struck me as,” Sini hesitated, “a little meek.” Chesavia had admittedly died young, but she’d never been the sort of Keeper to take charge. It had been another thing Sini had felt a kinship about.
“Indeed. But meekness can have its own form of ferocity.”
Sini smiled at the idea. “What does her quote about the storm mean?”
The Shield considered this for a moment. “I’ll let you read it and decide. We can discuss it once you’re done.”
Sini flipped through the pages, a thin hope forming. “Thank you.”
A breeze blew in the window and brushed against her cheek, distracting her from the Shield’s answer.
She glanced over.
There had been no breeze. The window beside them didn’t even open. Sini looked outside, but the view was unchanged. Nothing but a great cliff face across the valley.
She turned back to find the Shield watching her with resigned eyes. “You do feel the change.”
Chapter Four
The rest of the day played out like a hollow version of a normal day. An antsiness sat on her, and after trying unsuccessfully to read, she grabbed a broom and climbed the ramp to the highest room of the Stronghold—if you could call a place with no walls a room. Open stone arches surrounded her in all directions, allowing the breeze to blow through unhindered. She stood breathing it in, letting the silence sooth the edges of the raggedness inside her.
The valley of the Stronghold spread out beneath them, stretching north and south from the tower. It was widest here where the Stronghold was built, but still it wasn’t wide. There was room for the orchard and a low grazing hill on one side, the horse fields on the other. The white stones from the tower gathered up the sunlight and reflected it out into the valley.
To the north the tall cliffs were etched with shadows. The open grass of the valley floor led to the neatly-rowed orchard. Behind the apple trees, pear trees, and Gerone’s new thriving patch of avak bushes, the pine forest ran all the way to the end of the valley. To the south the valley lay open and rolling with low hills. A small herd of cattle and a couple dozen goats grazed. At its southern end the valley was filled again with trees. A half dozen low buildings, stables, and workshops dotted the area around the tower.
The purpose of this room was to hold the Wellstone—a round, melon-sized gem cut with more facets than she could count. It was mostly white, but individual surfaces flashed continually with bright colors the way light flashes across new snow. Each glint of color flickered so quickly it was gone before she could focus on it, except a handful which shone with a bright, pure white.
It was small enough to pick up, but she’d never touched it. The Keepers used it to store memories. Whenever Will or Alaric came back to the Stronghold they placed into it the record of where they’d been and what they’d seen. From then on, other Keepers could access the memories. The idea of sharing so much of herself with a stone felt too exposed. The fact that someday she’d leave the Stronghold and be expected to use the Wellstone when she came back prickled at her. Yet another thing she didn’t want to happen.
Threads of white light curled around the Wellstone and out into the air, then sank back into the stone. The Roven had called things like this burning stones, gems with some sort of power in them. On the Sweep the rich had hoarded them. Killien and Lukas had always worn them, trails of light dragging behind their rings or the gems that hung from chains around their necks. But Sini hadn’t seen any since coming to Queensland. The Keepers were against trapping living energy into something as inanimate as a stone.
It unsettled her that a burning stone sat here, at the pinnacle of the Stronghold. It was the sort of thing that should be on the Sweep.
The burning stones on the Sweep enclosed energy like a prison. The light that swirled inside them was trapped. The trails of light they left as they moved—another one of the things only she could see—had always seemed to Sini like bits of power that had escaped.
But the light in this stone was different. The tendrils of energy that slipped out of it before sinking back in looked almost playful. The light wasn’t trapped. It was more like the stone and the light were both the same thing.
She turned her back on the stone and began to sweep vigorously, cleaning dead leaves and dust from the corners of the floor. She finished the top and began working down the long ramp, funneling all her emotions into swift strokes of the broom, gathering dust and dirt into a growing pile. Finally, sore and tired, she swept the filth out the front door.
Exhausted, but less agitated, she carried her new books from the Shield outside. The sunlight fell on her like a warm mist and reflected off the white stones of the tower. She turned her face up, letting it seep into her. Taking the books to one of her favorite sunny spots, she pulled out the book of quotes by Chesavia. The leather cover was stamped with a pine tree, the edges worn smooth enough that she couldn’t feel the outermost branches under her fingertips.
It was organized by topic, and she flipped through, reading quotes about light and the sun.
The sunlight falls to the ground, showering the whole world with life.
Sini nodded. It was a shame others couldn’t feel the sunfire. A few pages further, her attention caught on a quote about the Stronghold.
The place I feel most at home, but am afraid I am too foreign to truly belong.
Sini’s breath caught at the sentiment and she closed the book gently. This was a book for a less emotional day.
She picked up the two from Alaric. The first promised to be enlightening. Development and Capabilities of Mallon the Rivor
- compiled from the history of the elves and the Shade Seekers. Alaric had been working on this since Sini had met him four years ago. He’d recorded everything he learned from Ayda the elf, both what she’d told him herself, and what knowledge she’d put into Evangeline when she saved her life. And Alaric had made multiple trips to the library at Obsidian, the center for the knowledge of the group of magic-workers called the Shade Seekers, a group with a loose organization and a looser moral code.
She flipped open the second book. This one promised to be even better. Written neatly in Alaric’s measured hand, the title page read:
A copy of
The History and Future of the Great Lord Mallon the Undying,
Rivor of Men, Devourer of Souls, Master of the Fallen.
By Wizendœrenfürderfür the Wondrous
Reproduced and Annotated by Keeper Alaric,
Cygnus Cycle
12th year of the reign of Queen Saren, first of her name.
The next page held two notations, both written in Alaric’s neat hand.
Author’s Note:
I, Wizendœrenfürderfür the Wondrous, First Wizard among the followers of Mallon, Holder of Secrets, Caster of Spells, and Spinner of Dreams, do hereby begin this record of the illustrated illustrious life and triumphant acts of the Great Lord Mallon the Undying. We stand today at the cusp of domination over Queensland. Few are left who stand against us, and their powers are weak feeble. In the lull before this last and most terrible storm, where Lord Mallon will march across the land like an army, a monster, a thundercloud of wrath, and the people shall flee before him as little people do frightened sheep, in this tedious time of waiting while I am in danger of growing bored enough to pull out my own magnificent beard, in this time I will endeavor to record the history of our great leader so that all of posterity will know of his wondrous deeds.
Scribe’s Note:
I, Alaric the Keeper, not ranked among the Keepers, as we have no ranks, Holder of Pens, Reader of Poorly Written Records, and Reproducer of Obvious Untruths, do hereby begin this replication of this illustrious bumbling record of the actions of Mallon, written by a doting devotee whom I knew merely as Gustav.
In this tedious time of reading this wretchedly written account, while I am in danger of growing bored enough to rewrite the entire thing from scratch and do it correctly, I will endeavor to reproduce it accurately, remaining faithful to the original form, including all spelling and grammatical errors, struck-through words, and insipid asides. I will, in addition, record all runes as written, no matter how sloppy or inaccurate. My best guess at the proper rune will be noted on the adjoining page.
This record is riddled with egregious errors in verifiable historical events. Each of these has been noted on the adjoining page, the true events recorded, and reference material listed.
I have, to the best of my ability, attempted to restrict my comments to factual errors in the text. In passages of excessive pomposity, idiocy, or blatantly poor logic, I readily admit that I have failed in this goal.
A complete record of my personal interactions with Wizendœrenfürderfür the Wondrous, more aptly named Gustav, can be found in the account of my time with him in The Final Destruction of Mallon the Rivor. As of this writing, copies are available both in the Keepers’ Stronghold and the royal library.
Throughout the rest of the book, Gustav’s writing filled the right-hand page, while Alaric’s corresponding notes almost filled the left. Sini leaned forward, amused by Gustav’s pompous opening, trying to follow his ridiculously convoluted sentences.
Mallon came to the Roven Sweep early in his life, sold into slavery with his entire family to pay his father’s debt.
Sini flinched at the words. She had known that Mallon had come to the Sweep in that way, but reading it, the closeness to her own story pressed on her uncomfortably.
Upon reaching the Sweep, his younger brother, sold with him, fell too ill to stand on the slaver’s block. When the Roven began to beat him, Mallon shot fire out of his hands, killing three Roven and gaining the attention of a nearby stonesteep. At such an immense show of power, Mallon was immediately taken to the compound of Kachig the Bloodless in Tun, where he was trained in the mystical arts by the best minds of the stonesteeps.
That’s where the similarity ended. Mallon, with all his power, was trained as an apprentice, then eventually became a master among the brightest magical minds of the Sweep, while Sini’s education was cobbled together from the books Killien could find and Lukas’s limited knowledge. Maybe if she’d studied under Kachig the Bloodless she’d know how to light a candle.
A shiver ran down her back at the thought. Kachig would have turned her into a ruthless killer. So maybe the candle deficiency wasn’t that big a problem.
There was a rather extensive, rather convoluted section describing the training Mallon had received. According to Gustav, the Rivor had instantly mastered every task set before him and bested his tutors daily. Alaric had made copious notes on the adjoining pages about the impossibility of several of Gustav’s claims. Including one that asserted that Mallon had shifted the moon in the sky to prove a point.
Mallon had studied among the countries to the south of Queensland for many years before returning to the Sweep and demanding an army. By that time, he had mastered what Gustav called liberating them from the weight of choice, but what those in Queensland called riving, from the word for when a gem cutter cracks a stone so deeply it becomes worthless. Mallon could somehow leave a piece of himself in a person, controlling whatever part of their decisions he wanted, even from a great distance. The price of disobedience was terrible pain, or even death.
With these powers, no one on the Sweep dared defy him and he soon commanded a large army of Roven—perhaps the first time the clans had ever united under one banner. Gustav named it a sublime achievement, heralding an era of peace under Mallon’s rule.
Sini shook her head over the book. Gustav couldn’t really have believed all this.
She flipped to the next section of the book, which discussed Mallon’s incursion into Queensland.
Mallon the Undying had always recognized the weakness of Queensland, her inability to protect her own subjects, and the corruption of her nobility.
Sini frowned at the sentiment. How many times had she heard Lukas complain of the same thing?
He set his mind to freeing the country of its useless leadership in an effort to turn it into a land of prosperity and safety. He was like a guiding light to the masses. A beacon of peace and tranquility.
He strove to destroy the Keepers. In his words, “They are a pestilence! A plague upon the land. A filth to be washed out! They are a disease!”
Gustav continued to list the weaknesses of Queensland, the error of her ways, the many, many ways she’d failed her people, and the uselessness of the Keepers. The wording and the tone prodded Sini uncomfortably. They were too much like the things she’d heard Lukas say. He blamed Queensland for everything that had happened to him. Blamed the local baron for not protecting him at the fair when the Wayfarers took him. Blamed the military for not guarding the borders when they weren’t stopped on their way out of the country. Blamed the queen for claiming to protect the people without doing anything substantial.
But mostly Lukas blamed the Keepers for not finding him before the Roven did, and then not even knowing he was gone.
She flipped ahead to read about Mallon’s attack on Queensland.
There is a small, vicious jackal on the Sweep that lives in packs. Like a brotherhood of tiny, rabid dogs. They’re no taller than your knee, but they’re fast and their teeth are as sharp as fangs daggers.
They circle around a prairie deer and nip at its legs, drawing only small amounts of blood at first. But the pack follows the deer, tracking it like a pack of ferocious wolves. As fierce, but in a smaller way. And they nip, nip, nip until they wear the animal down. When it collapses, the jackals swarm in and devour it.
Mallon the Undying’s
army was much like a pack of persistent jackals, nipping at Queensland’s borders until they weakened her.
Gustav’s writing style almost made Mallon’s invasion ridiculous. If she hadn’t known how many had been killed, how horribly the eventual pitched battles had gone, how much Mallon had destroyed, it would have been amusing.
Alaric’s notes along the side were sometimes laughable. (For the leftmost rune, I assume Gustav meant “strengthen.” What he wrote is not even a rune, but is perhaps closest to “fungus” with a diminutive tag. So instead of “strengthened Mallon” it reads "Mallon the Small Fungus”). And sometimes depressing. (Gustav fails to mention in his account of the “glorious” battle at Stevan’s Creek, that Mallon’s giant tore through a schoolhouse of children. Eighteen of them were killed, the remaining three terribly wounded.)
There was a gap in the book when Mallon disappeared into the elven Greenwood and all the power he had over people disappeared in the span of one sunny afternoon. The notes resumed with Gustav’s best guesses as to what had happened, and his hunt for Mallon’s body. The book ended, very unsatisfactorily, after an entry by Gustav that he had found a dwarf who might know the location of a stone that might wake Mallon from his cursed sleep.
Alaric noted again at the end that the rest of the story could be found in his own book, The Final Destruction of Mallon the Rivor.
Sini closed the book feeling unsettled. It was disturbing reading Gustav’s praise of a man such as Mallon.
She pushed the book away and wiped her hands on her pants. There was something repellent about it, and something churning deep in her gut that felt angry. Buried beneath Gustav’s babbling she couldn’t escape how much Mallon’s story echoed her own. Born into poverty, enslaved on the Sweep, trained by stonesteeps.
