by Jen Williams
‘Greetings,’ said Aldasair, bowing slightly. ‘You are very welcome here.’ He looked to the other women, who looked less certain. ‘You are all welcome in Ebora.’
The woman pressed a hand to her chest and bowed more formally. Now that they were closer, Aldasair could see that her clothes were slightly different to the other agents’. Her fitted leather coat, scuffed and carefully oiled, looked more like a beloved personal item than a uniform, and she wore a small bracelet of green stones at her wrist.
‘Thank you, Lords of Ebora. I am Agent Chenlo. I have brought these women here on the suggestion of your own Lady Noon.’
‘Ah, Agent Chenlo, it is an honour finally to make your acquaintance.’ At her surprised expression, Aldasair smiled encouragingly. ‘Each fell-witch who has made it to Ebora has told us how you have assisted them in their journeys. That you insisted that they come here, to us.’
‘It sounds like you fair badgered them into it,’ said Bern. He was flexing the hand with the stone in it, as if it pained him.
‘There was little other option, since the Lady Noon destroyed the Winnowry.’
‘She hates being called that,’ said Bern. ‘And the Winnowry deserved everything it got.’
Agent Chenlo held up her hands. ‘Of course. I merely meant that there was no system in place for these newly free women, but Lady – Mistress Noon indicated that there might be places for them here. I have done what I can to make sure they made it to you safely.’ Lowering her voice, she folded her hands neatly in front of her. ‘There is another matter, my lords. One that more directly concerns Ebora. Perhaps we could discuss it in private?’
Aldasair nodded formally. ‘Of course. Norri, please show our new guests to the section of the palace we’ve put aside for them. Agent Chenlo, please come with us.’
The receiving room was full of bright sunshine. Rather than the steaming pots of tea Aldasair had had prepared during the winter months, tall bottles of a chilled and watered wine stood in the centre of the table. As Agent Chenlo sat in the offered chair, he poured some into a shallow glass drinking bowl; a present from Sen-Lord Takor of the Yuron-Kai.
‘Thank you.’ Chenlo sipped the wine, and allowed herself a small smile. ‘Cold wine after a long, hot journey. It is most welcome.’
‘What is it you wanted to say?’ Rather than taking a seat, Bern stood by the door, his hands behind his back. He did seem to find it difficult to sit still, currently. Aldasair fought to keep a frown from his face, and turned back to Chenlo.
‘My lords, let me be clear. I am not here to speak in any sense for the Winnowry. It is, in any way that truly matters, a thing of the past. But there are certain consequences of its actions that I believe you should be aware of.’
‘What is there left of the Winnowry? Can you tell us that?’
Chenlo curled her hands under the glass bowl. ‘Your Lady Noon was quite thorough in her destruction. Many of the men and women who caused the Winnowry to function in any sense were chased away, or killed.’ Her face was as smooth as a summer lake as she said this. ‘Mother Cressin, who was the figurehead of the order, killed herself, and much of the building has been destroyed. There are a handful of the faithful left, a few still living at the site, and, from what I’ve heard, arguing over who gets to be the next “Mother”, although what that actually means when the cells all stand empty, I do not know. But they are a sad sight, zealots clinging on to something that no longer exists.’ She hesitated, a flicker at her jawline betraying some discomfort. ‘However, you should also know that a few of the fell-witches did return.’
‘They did?’ Aldasair sat back slightly in his seat. ‘They returned to their prison?’
‘As I said to the Lady Noon on that day, these women do not have homes to go to, and are not necessarily welcome anywhere else. It is not a pleasant truth, is it? I tried to send as many your way as I could, but there were those who could not face the journey, or were simply too frightened to come to Ebora.’ At that her gaze flickered to Aldasair and away again, and he understood. The Carrion Wars were not so easily forgotten. To many humans, Ebora would always be home to those who had once swarmed down across the plains, massacring every human in sight. ‘Those who returned currently exist in an uneasy peace with their former captors.’ She drained the last of her wine, the tattooed muscles on her throat working as she swallowed. ‘I do not pretend to understand it.’
‘You feel no loyalty to the Winnowry? Were you not one of their most senior agents?’
At this she looked directly at Aldasair, as if daring him to call her a liar. ‘It is a hard life in the Winnowry, Lord Aldasair, and I am sure your Lady Noon would tell you that you do what you can to survive. I did what I could, once I had some freedom, to keep those around me safe. But I am no fool. I can see the ending of a thing. I have no loyalty to the debris of the Winnowry.’
‘Yet you continue to work to keep others safe,’ said Aldasair, softly. Before she could answer, he continued. ‘And I suspect you are still here on Winnowry business.’
‘In a sense. There was, as you know, a plan to steal one of your unhatched war-beasts.’
‘We’re aware of it, yeah,’ said Bern, dryly. ‘A Winnowry agent calling herself Tyranny Munk came to us with a mouthful of lies, burned half our forest down, tried to kill our friends, and made off with one of our war-beast pods.’
Chenlo placed the empty bowl on the table. ‘Yes. For what it’s worth, I argued against this plan. Tyranny has always been unpredictable. Violent.’
Aldasair reached out for Jessen instinctively. He could feel her nearby, in the palace grounds somewhere. She was enjoying the sun and he took comfort from her contentment.
‘You do realise,’ he said to Chenlo, ‘that what Tyranny did was no less than an abduction? A war-beast pod is not simply some valuable artefact. It contains a life that is an extension of Ygseril, our tree-father. That life is kin to our war-beasts, and, by extension, us.’ He tapped his fingers lightly against the table. ‘If Noon hadn’t taken the matter into her own hands, it is likely that Ebora would have been forced to go to war with the Winnowry also . . . once the Ninth Rain was over.’
‘You have news, don’t you?’ said Bern. He had crossed his arms over his chest. ‘What happened to Tyranny and her little gang when they escaped us?’
‘She did not return to the Winnowry itself. They weren’t so foolish as to hide something so valuable and dangerous within a place that can be found on any map. Instead, she and her charge were hidden at one of the Winnowry’s lesser-known bases.’ Chenlo took a breath. ‘My lords, your war-beast pod hatched. The creature lives, and is healthy.’
Aldasair swallowed. He felt his own shock reverberate through the link he shared with Jessen, Bern and the others, and felt their reactions, distantly.
What is wrong? Jessen was close, and Sharrik had joined her. He could feel it.
‘By the stones,’ said Bern. He had finally joined them at the table, his green eyes bright with emotion. ‘A new war-beast? What is it?’
‘That, I am afraid, I do not know,’ said Chenlo, an edge of bitterness to her voice. ‘What I do know is that Tyranny rebelled. With her war-beast, she destroyed much of the remote Winnowry base, and killed a large number of agents.’
‘Her war-beast?’ spat Bern. ‘What do you mean, her war-beast?’
‘We do not know much about Ebora, truly, but everyone knows about the legendary bond between war-beast and warrior. By all reports, Tyranny has bonded with her war-beast.’
Aldasair poured another two bowlfuls of the cold wine. When he was done, Bern picked up the bottle and took a swig from it.
‘That murderous liar, bonded to a war-beast.’ Bern shook his head. ‘Imagine what will happen when Vostok hears about this.’
‘My lords, that is not all. After Tyranny destroyed the Winnowry base, she left with her war-beast and a handful of loyalists, and made her way to Jarlsbad. Once there she attacked a small kingdom known as Tygrish, decimating
their standing army and taking their royal family prisoner.’ Chenlo grimaced slightly. ‘She has since declared herself and her war-beast queens of Tygrish.’
Bern gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘She’s done what?’
‘That is . . . extraordinary,’ said Aldasair.
‘Truth be told, Tyranny has never been especially stable. I imagine you know something of her background?’
‘Vintage told us that she was once a gang leader in Mushenska. A feared and dangerous one at that.’
Chenlo nodded. ‘And that need for power, that need to be recognised as a leader, never really left her. Sneaking around as an agent, having to pretend to be something else – these things riled her. Now she is acting out all her greatest fantasies, and with the Winnowry gone, there is no one to pull her back into line.’
There were a few moments’ silence. It was possible to hear, through the tall windows, the sounds of children playing in the palace gardens.
‘My lords,’ Chenlo cleared her throat, ‘this is a problem of the Winnowry’s making . . .’
‘A giant pile of shit of the Winnowry’s making,’ added Bern.
‘But I do not think I need to tell you how this could impact on Ebora. Tyranny rules by virtue of her war-beast and has crowned it alongside her.’
Aldasair nodded slowly, a tight worm of worry growing in his chest. ‘It’s an enormous insult to Jarlsbad, not to mention an act of war, and with a war-beast involved, we are complicit. And this, just as we were reaching out to other nations for help.’
Bern frowned. ‘But surely they will see this has nothing to do with Ebora?’
‘It’s not that simple, Bern. Any goodwill my people had earned was destroyed during the Carrion Wars, and we have failed to protect many during this current Rain. Now, one of our own has taken land by force. It will not take much for everyone else to turn against us.’
Chenlo nodded solemnly. ‘For what it’s worth, I am sorry to bring you such tidings, lords.’
Aldasair smiled, and rose from his seat. ‘We are very grateful, Agent Chenlo, and grateful also that you thought to bring us news before you had even had a chance to rest – my apologies. I’ll have someone take you to a suite of rooms where you can wash the dust from your boots.’
When Chenlo had left, Aldasair pulled another bottle of wine out from under the table and refilled his glass bowl.
‘What do you plan to do?’ asked Bern.
‘Speak to Vintage when she gets back,’ he said immediately. ‘She spent the most time with the woman, so I’m sure she’ll have a few opinions.’ He swirled the wine in its bowl. ‘Let’s hope no more problems crop up in the meantime.’
Chapter Five
Fell-Longsprite
A tiny girl, no more than five years old. She hid behind her mother’s skirts when we came, but her grandmother dragged her out, screaming. These people are farmers. The child cannot control her ability and already they have lost animals and crops, have suffered burns themselves. The women are pale and watery-eyed, as if they have suffered through some sort of war, and the mother turned away when the girl screamed for her.
Agent Lin was agitated by this collection in a way I had not seen before. I have considered reporting her but she grew calm again as we reached the south coast.
As for the girl – her given name is Longsprite – my hopes are small things. The life of a five-year-old girl within the Winnowry is a particularly horrific one, with no human contact and no care. If she lives through it, I do not know how much she will remember of her previous life. In a way I hope she doesn’t remember: doesn’t remember her grandmother dragging her out into the light, doesn’t remember her mother turning her face away.
Some details about the life of Longsprite of the plains: she lived in a conical yurt, the felt of which had been passed down through the women of her family for generations. Her family’s prize possessions were two fine bay horses, which were kept away from the child when her abilities manifested. Her mother had a tattoo on her arm of a snake, which made me think of Yuron-Kai, and my not-home, but I prefer not to dwell on that. Her people were afraid of our bats. When we took her, it began to rain.
I struggle to record much here. She was five. She had barely begun to have a life to speak of.
Extract from the private records of Agent Chenlo
The light was ghostly and weak, but it was enough to see by – although Hestillion was rapidly wishing she hadn’t bothered.
The light-filled frond, which she had torn from the fleshy walls of the corpse moon, clung octopus-like to the end of her stick, casting a glow that did not so much reveal the cavern they were in, as paint it in fuzzy shades of grey and silver and green. All around her, Behemoths loomed, crammed together on the cavern floor, cushioned on spindly insectile legs that created deeply unnerving shadows. Vast oily shapes glistened and pressed in on all sides.
‘It’s like being inside something rotten,’ she murmured. ‘Like looking at the innards . . . of a frog.’
The Jure’lia collective was not as still or as silent as she had expected. Despite the queen’s malaise, some of her skittering creatures were still busy enough. As she walked slowly between the giant ships, Hestillion saw spider-mothers of various sizes crawling over the surface of several Behemoths, clustering at the places where the oily skins of the ships had yet to heal completely, or slipping in and out of ragged holes. To Hestillion’s eyes their movements were a little erratic, but it was clear that they thought they were supposed to be doing something.
‘You’re still trying to fix things, even if you’re not sure why.’ She held up her makeshift torch to get a better look at a churning cluster of spider-mothers. Distantly, she recognised that she was no longer so repulsed by them, and her other hand stole up to touch the blue crystal at her chest. ‘What use is it all, though, if the queen never commands us to fly again?’
Since the queen had grounded them, Hestillion had largely spent her time exploring, or flying small distances with Celaphon. The humid forest that pressed on either side of their hiding place was strange, filled with odd, Wild-touched things she had decided she did not want to dwell on, and she’d been forced to go further afield for her own food and supplies. She had taught herself to hunt, in small ways; had built traps and chased down rabbits; had learned to forage. At first it had felt humiliating – that the Jure’lia’s inactivity had forced her to scramble for food with her bare hands. But eventually, as she became skilled with her spear and learned where to find what she needed, her self-sufficiency became a point of pride.
But it was time to get things moving again. Time to find out what she could about the Jure’lia’s inconvenient hibernation.
She walked on, her leather boots making barely a sound against the stone. Celaphon was asleep within the corpse moon, a giant dreaming mind looming behind her – it was oddly reassuring – while the queen continued her endless vigil at the broken memory crystal. It was almost possible, despite the scratching presence of the Jure’lia in her head, to feel herself alone. Just ahead, the line of hulking Behemoths ended and a great wall of darkness hung beyond them. Curious, Hestillion headed towards it, wondering how deep into the flesh of Sarn the cavern burrowed.
She walked on for some time, long enough to wonder if the place was endless, until the landscape around her began to change. Ahead of her, the rocky ground dropped away, creating a huge shallow basin in the rock, wide enough so that all of the Behemoths could have crouched in it side by side, and stretching far enough back that Hestillion was unable to see its end. Nestled in the space were countless rounded shapes, each nearly as big as Celaphon and glowing, ever so slightly, from within. They were all wrapped in tattered layers of trembling greyish foam, and the core of each was encased in smooth green moon-metal.
‘By all the roots, what is this place? What are those things?’
Eggs, Hestillion realised, the knowledge dropping into her mind like a cold, wet stone. The queen had mentioned them once, might
even have spoken about laying them within the flesh of Sarn, but Hestillion had not made the connection with this dark, dank place. She held up the glowing frond and tried to count them, but it was impossible; row upon row of the Jure’lia eggs marched back into the darkness, their tiny glowing cores becoming indistinguishable from the motes of flying colour behind Hestillion’s eyes.
Hesitantly, because being in such direct contact with the Jure’lia was still unnerving, Hestillion reached down through the network she shared with them, seeking out their collective memories. The shattered piece that had been the memory crystal was jagged and discordant, sending shards of glass down a link that should have been smooth and strong, but she saw enough to make some sense of what she was seeing. When the Jure’lia came to this world in their travelling forms, they used the last of their energy to deposit their eggs under the skin of the land, where they would be protected, and then they underwent the seismic change that transformed them from their travelling forms to their harvesting forms. From that point onwards, their only goal was to change this world to suit the eggs, so that they would eventually hatch and leave for new spaces of sky and land, taking with them the fragile network of memories that held the Jure’lia together as one thing. In her mind’s eye, Hestillion saw worlds other than Sarn harvested and smothered in varnish, until their inner temperature rose enough to hatch the eggs. Here, then, in this hidden place, the eggs had been waiting for thousands of years, their cycle interrupted by a world that dared to fight back.
