The Temple Road

by Kirby Crow

  “I don’t give a rat’s fart what you’re told. His life will not be brief.”

  “Because you will not have it so?” Jochi exclaimed. He shook his head. “Is that all it takes to change the laws of nature: the king of Rshan putting his boot down?”

  Liall poured himself another cup of wine. “I have more than that on my side, I think.”

  “Yes. Ulan. And the ambition of the Ancients.”

  He was not at all surprised that Jochi had figured that out. Liall finished his cup in one draught and poured another. He had no wish to harm Jochi or to make an enemy of him. Enmity was not necessary, and it would not please Scarlet. “Whatever you think you know, you will keep it to yourself.”

  “Sire, I will not.”

  Liall slammed the cup down so hard that it broke. “You will! Because you’re a Setna, I know you can’t help interfering, but there are places I can send you where all hope of meddling would be lost.”

  Jochi folded his hands. “Like the grave, sire?”

  Liall could not hide his shock. Was that what Jochi thought of him? “You truly believe I could murder you, kinsman?”

  “No,” Jochi said after a long, cold moment. “You would not go that far, I think. But you may not yet know what lengths you’re capable of, sire. That’s why I tried to speak to Scarlet. I wanted to ask him to help you accept the inevitable before you do something that you will not forgive yourself for.”

  Oh, I’ll forgive myself. You just watch and see. It’s not my own forgiveness I’ll have to worry about, but my gentle countrymen, once they are denied a war and handed a shameful peace instead.

  “I’ve heard quite enough dire predictions for one day, Jochi. Like it or no, you will stay away from Scarlet until we return to the Nauhinir at the end of Greentide. The time will pass quickly once you’re back among your own at the Blackmoat. At the very least, you’ll have eager listeners to hurl your conspiracies at.”

  Jochi’s upper lip curled in a sneer. “The truth is not a conspiracy. What, pray tell, did you say to your general when she asked why you brought a Hilurin on campaign? Scarlet is neither soldier nor servant. Why did you bring him?”

  Jarek had not asked. “I did not want to spend so long away from the arms of my beloved. Is that so difficult to believe?”

  “A man can have more than one purpose for his actions. Alexyin believes that your true reasons for going to war have nothing to do with uniting the kingdom, nothing to do with destroying the Ava Thule.”

  “Did you not see the blood steel retrieved from Sul?” Liall answered warily. He prayed Alexyin was that short-sighted, to guess half the riddle but not all of it. “The Ava Thule have defiled Ged Fanorl. What kind of king would let that sacrilege go unanswered?”

  “There are many ancient artifacts from Ged Fanorl among the great houses of Rshan. It could have come from anywhere.”

  “But it didn’t. It came from the corpse of an Ava Thule. They took it from inside the mountain.” Liall sat back. “Enough. Whatever my reasons, the army is mine to command. Would you like to see how I do it?” He slipped a short knife from his belt and hurled it past Jochi's face at the wooden post by the ger entrance. It struck and held, the thin haft quivering in place. “Like that. A king commands and his subjects obey. Some, at least.”

  Jochi lowered his voice to a scandalized hiss. “Sire, it is forbidden for a Hilurin to enter the mountain. The Ancients issued that decree long ago.”

  “They seem to have rescinded it.”

  “Ulan would not be the first renegade of his kind.”

  “You, of all people, should know that I don’t need reminding of that, but Ulan has had every opportunity to betray me and has not. Don’t tell me what is forbidden for me to do. Who made these rules? Perhaps it’s nothing more than a story. You don't know everything, Setna.”

  Jochi’s eyes moved back and forth as if he were reading lines from a page, and Liall could see the man totting up the clues in his head, making connections. “You seek the magic of the Shining Ones, the power that our earliest texts say still lives inside the mountain, buried deep in the foundations of the rock. You want to use it to extend Scarlet’s life. Sire, it is forbidden to do such a thing!”

  “Who forbids?” Liall scoffed. It was useless to deny it further. “The Ancients? They want this even more than I do, if that's possible. Or the Shining Ones, who haven't been seen for thousands of years? Perhaps it's only the Setna brotherhood who would like to forbid it. Luckily, I'm their king, too.”

  “You're my king, but you're not my conscience, nor Scarlet's. Right now, I'd like nothing more than to take Scarlet away from you and put him on a ship straight back to Byzantur, by force if necessary. But...” Jochi swallowed hard and looked away. “But I’m also a servant of the crown. I know that what Rshan needs is a king with his mind and his heart here, not across the sea. Scarlet is a dangerous distraction for you, my lord. Politically, he's brought you nothing but dissent and infamy. He impedes your marriage, your alliances, and the security of your throne. If I were less loyal, I would keep my tongue and say nothing, but my conscience compels me to tell you the truth: what you plan to do is dangerous and possibly mad. This thing you desire could kill him.”

  “It won’t kill him,” Liall said grimly. “He will not die. I won’t allow it.”

  Jochi gaped at him. “By the Shining Ones, you really do think you’re the master of everything, don’t you? Scarlet said that you believe you can order the universe to your liking. But not this, sire. This borders on madness. The life accorded to your t’aishka is the one he must be content with, and you must be content as well.”

  “Ulan doesn’t think so. He says it can be done.”

  Jochi strode forward. “After what an Ancient did to Scarlet, I cannot believe that you would place him back in the same peril all over again!”

  “Have a care,” Liall warned. “What I do, I do for him.”

  “No, you do it for you because you could never bear to lose at anything,” Jochi said with contempt. “The great King Nazheradei, last of the Camira-Druz. Nothing must oppose you, no one must triumph over you, not even death. Scarlet is content with his fate. He grieves at the thought of being parted from you, but of death, no, he has no fear of that. You're the only coward here.”

  Liall’s chair crashed back as he rose. “And why should he fear it, since his life is little longer than a bird's and just as innocent? I’m the one who will have to remain here alone, without him, with my heart ripped out of me and only half of my soul intact. What is there for me when he dies? What...” Liall broke off, gasping, his hands curled into fists, as he realized he wanted to leap over the desk and throttle the life from Jochi with his bare hands. He wouldn’t have imagined the berserker rage could stir against a man he considered his friend, but fear and anger are close bedfellows. He was so afraid of losing Scarlet that he was ready to kill anyone who stood in his way. Even Jochi.

  Madness, he says. Perhaps he's right. It also makes not the slightest difference.

  “Leave me,” Liall choked. “Get out.”

  The noise had already brought guards inside the ger. They surrounded Jochi.

  “My lord, please,” Jochi begged. “Don’t do this.”

  Theor took Jochi’s arm and shook him. “Enough! Obey your king and keep your mouth closed.”

  “Take him out,” Liall commanded. “Put him... keep him under guard. Keep him away from everyone.” He fixed Theor with a ferocious glare. “Do you understand? He is not to speak to anyone, and ser Keriss is not to hear a word of this.”

  “I understand, sire.” Theor nodded to the guards, who bound Jochi’s hands behind his back.

  “Please,” Jochi said once more, his face anguished.

  “I thought you were his friend,” Liall said. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am. Please believe that I am. That’s why I’m begging you not to do this. Please. You will regret it, sire!”

  Liall turned away so he di
d not have to see the look in Jochi’s eyes. “Take him. Leave me.”

  When they were gone, Liall poured another cup of wine with shaking hands. He drank it all and wiped his mouth. He went to the far end of the ger and poured water into a basin from a copper ewer and splashed his face. The water must have been very cold, but he couldn't feel it. He found a towel and buried his face in it, exhaling through the soft thickness of material, striving to control the beast leaping in his blood.

  Calm. Calm. Jochi can't do anything under guard. Nothing has changed. There is no enemy here. Be calm.

  When the rage subsided, he dropped the towel, righted the chair he had thrown, and sat down, feeling weak and drained. He had only a few moments to collect himself before the flap was thrust aside and Margun appeared, wild-eyed and pale.

  “My king!”

  He could see Margun's mouth moving, but the words were dim, reverberating from a far distance. He seemed to be looking at Margun through a keyhole, the edges of his vision clouded dark.

  “Sire!” Margun strode forward and took Liall's shoulder, shaking him urgently. “My lord, can you hear me?”

  Liall forced the last of the berserker away with such strength that he felt faint. The room reeled. “What is it?” he slurred. “What's amiss?”

  Margun’s hands were trembling. “Ser Keriss. You must come at once, sire. It is very bad.”

  Liall heard the screaming across the ward long before he reached Scarlet’s ger. He broke into a run. Tesk attempted to stop him, blocking his way.

  “Sire, wait!”

  “Stand aside!” Liall raged. He tried to push past Tesk.

  Tesk seized his arm and spun him around. “Nazheradei!” Tesk was pale, his expression grim and frightened. “Cousin. You can’t help him. And... and you don’t need to see...” Tesk’s chin turned toward the ger as the screams reached a pitch. “Shining Ones help him,” he whispered.

  Liall threw Tesk aside and dove into the ger.

  Inside, it was lunacy. Esiuk and two other curaes struggled to hold Scarlet down as he screamed and thrashed on the pallet. Liall felt bile rise in his throat as he saw Scarlet's hands. He shoved a curae so hard that he heard the man's head crash against a wooden chest.

  He knelt beside Scarlet and reached for him. “My love... t'aishka. Oh gods...”

  Scarlet continued that tormented screaming, and Liall seized Scarlet's face between his hands. Scarlet batted weakly at Liall's arms. Between the edges of the melted flesh of Scarlet’s hands, Liall could see the white bones moving.

  “My love, it's me. It's Liall. It's your wolf. Look at me!”

  Something in his voice must have gotten through. The tortured cries failed and Scarlet went limp, looking up at Liall through glazed and suffering eyes.

  “I'm here. I'm here,” Liall kept repeating. Scarlet lapsed into semi-consciousness, moaning pitiably. There was movement in the ger. It hardly registered with Liall. He could only stare at Scarlet's ruined hands in horror. He's crippled, he thought in despair. Even if it heals, he will never use his hands again.

  “My poor love, poor boy,” Liall's voice broke, his heart torn. “What happened? How did you do this?”

  “Out.”

  Ulan towered over them, his back hunched to fit inside the ger. His moonstone eyes were luminous with glow. “Leave us.” He gathered the men inside the ger like a child gathering toys, pushing the guards and curaes out easily, but leaving Margun and Liall.

  Ulan’s knees bent. He crouched beside Scarlet. “Release him.” His great hand circled Liall’s wrist. “Nazheradei king, let go.”

  Liall found himself obeying.

  “Poor creature,” Ulan murmured, bending low over Scarlet, his voice like a rumble beneath the earth. “The magic is not delicate. It got away from you. You have not yet learned to direct your power. Give the magic to me. I will show you how to take the pain away.”

  Liall sensed danger in Ulan's words. “You can heal him?” His voice was a croak.

  Ulan ignored him. The Ancient laid his massive, gnarled, hand gently over Scarlet's forehead. “Speak the magic,” he crooned, a deep, comforting hum amid all the other terrible sounds. “Speak the words. I, Ulan Farseer, will be your channel.”

  Should I stop him? Liall asked himself in agony.

  Scarlet began to whisper, and Liall recognized the words Scarlet had sung at his parent's grave, the withy-charm to Deva.

  Scarlet's voice was weak, wracked with pain, only half aware. “On danaee... Deva shanii...” he whispered raggedly.

  The ger flooded with light.

  Drifting

  IT SEEMED to Scarlet that he floated for a long time on a bed of cold mist. There were motion and sound, but muted, as if the world were behind a thick curtain. He was aware of being moved. He heard voices and saw blurred figures through slitted eyes filled with sand. There were thoughts but no dreams, only a wooden kind of sleep that was more like death. Words spoken to him were ghosts, moth-fluttering over his bed. His body felt wrapped in wool, deadened and limp.

  He drifted.

  After a long time, he realized he could feel his fingers. He curled them into hooks, feeling his nails catch on something. Was it cloth? Grass? Where was he? He tried to open his eyes and found he could not. His lids felt nailed shut. His body was molded from lead. He shook with the effort of trying to move and blacked out completely. After an unknown time, he swam up from the depths and tried again. It was easier this time to clench his hands, and he forced his eyelids to open.

  He was in a strange, gray room, the corners blurred and shadowy, the ceiling high. A blue glow was to his right, and he rolled his head on the pillow to look at it. It was a lamp by his bed.

  Liall was by his side, holding his hand. “Scarlet,” he whispered.

  Scarlet saw tears on Liall’s face. He tried to speak, and the darkness swarmed over his vision. He fought it until his eyes cleared. “I want to sit up,” he said. His voice was like the croaking of a raven.

  Liall’s strong arms went around him, helping him.

  Scarlet coughed and blinked. He stared at Liall. The king was haggard, several days growth of white beard on his chin, shadows like bruises under his eyes.

  “You look terrible,” Scarlet whispered.

  Liall looked away and his shoulders shook. Scarlet realized that Liall was crying.

  “I thought I'd lost you,” Liall said. He rested his forehead on Scarlet's. “I thought....”

  Scarlet pressed his hand to the back of Liall's head. “I'm here.” He tried to swallow and coughed again. “Please... water?”

  Liall helped him drink. It was water stirred with honey and strange herbs.

  “I've been feeding you this for days, drop by drop,” Liall said. “Ulan said it would keep you strong while you slept. Here now, enough. You'll be sick.”

  Scarlet fell back gasping on the pillows, Liall groped for his hand and placed small kisses on it. “I was so frightened. I thought you'd die from the burns. At the least, I thought you'd never use your hands again.”

  “Burns...” Scarlet murmured. He looked at his hand that Liall held. “I was... I remember I was angry. They took Jochi away and then...Margun. Where's Margun?” He had a terrible fear that he'd harmed Margun. It was possible, he knew. At sea, he had fired the enemy ship from across the water, and then there had been Melev. Margun might be dead.

  “Did Margun hurt you?” Liall asked. His tear-streaked face went cold. “Tell me the truth.”

  “I was trying to reach Jochi. I think I fought with Margun. Is he well?”

  “Margun is fine. And so is Jochi,” he said quickly, anticipating the next question. “What do you remember?”

  Scarlet swallowed. “Not much. I was arguing with Margun. I was so angry with him. And then my hands...” Scarlet held his hands up and gasped. His skin was perfect and unbroken. “I was burning. I did burn! I remember the pain.”

  Liall nodded. “You were very hurt. Ulan came.”

  “Ulan?”


  “An Ancient.”

  Scarlet blinked, then sudden panic gripped him. “Here? Why? Send him away!”

  “Hush, all is well.” Liall sighed and kissed his forehead. “Please don’t tire yourself. You don’t have the strength to be cross with me, so please don’t.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Ancients go where they will. We do not command them.”

  “You can.” Scarlet’s mouth trembled. “Tell him to leave.”

  Liall held his hand and stroked it. “No need. He is gone. You spoke a withy with him, and then you both seemed to be swallowed up in light. When the light faded, you were healed, but you would not wake.” Liall exhaled shakily. “It feels like I've been holding my breath forever. I've been so afraid.”

  Scarlet feared he knew the withy Liall spoke of. The Song of Deva, the powerful charm sang for the dead. It wasn’t forbidden to share the words with one who was not a Hilurin, but it felt wrong that an Ancient should know it. A faint memory came to him, and he recalled the broad, strange, face of the Ancient through a cloud of pain. “I thought he was a Shining One come to take me to the Overworld. How long have I been...” he faltered. Have I been asleep? In the Overworld? Dead? What happened to me? “Have I been like this for long?”

  “Ten days.”

  Scarlet felt a wave of pity. “Oh, Liall, I'm so sorry. You must have been—”

  “Half-mad, yes.” Liall took Scarlet's hand and pressed it to his cheek, turning his head to place kisses on the inside of Scarlet's palm. “I thought I would go mad. No one could answer me. No one knew when you would wake. I sent for a Setna curae all the way from the Kalaxes, who said he destroyed two horses and the rudder of a ship getting here, but he didn't know what had befallen you, either, save to say it was some magic.”

  “Poor horses,” Scarlet murmured.

  Liall's chuckled helplessly, the shadows under his eyes nearly black. “Only you would worry about the damned nags, t'aishka.”

  Scarlet smiled, but he felt himself slipping into a deep, comfortable drowsiness. “Think... I need to res' a bit more.”