Beyond the Shadowed Earth

by Joanna Ruth Meyer

  The physician shook her head. “Two days. Perhaps three, if the gods are kind.”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Anger flooded Eda like an ocean tide. “Get out.”

  “Your Imperial Majesty?”

  “The gods are never kind.” Eda clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms, the fingers on her left hand pressing into the wound she’d made at the sacred pool, hardly scabbed. She felt the skin break anew, the blood drip warm. It hurt, and the pain grounded her. “GET OUT!”

  The physician bowed low, and quit the room.

  Eda burst into Niren’s bedchamber, unprepared for the stark horror of the form laying in the bed.

  Gray. Niren looked so gray. Everything about her was drained of life, her body still between cream sheets, her dark hair a stain on the pillow. Her face was shrunken, and veins showed blue and spidery on her hands. The marks on her forehead where Tuer’s Shadow had touched her were purple-black bruises. There was little difference, now, between Shadow Niren and the real one.

  Eda collapsed to her knees beside the bed, folding Niren’s hand in her own. All at once she was crying like she hadn’t in nearly a decade. Tears poured down her face, soaking through the thin sheets.

  She had learned long ago that crying gained her nothing but pity and scorn, so she’d stopped crying, even behind closed doors. Now she’d given in and she felt horribly weak. That made her angry.

  She took a long, long breath, and bent to kiss Niren’s cheek, waxy and cold beneath her lips. Her resolve sharpened. “I’m going to save you, Niren. Gods and ghosts and vows be damned—I’m going to save you.”

  She came into Domin’s rooms without waiting for the guard to announce her. Domin was sitting cross-legged at a low table, halfway through a glass of wine and dressed only in a pair of loose silk trousers. He started at her arrival, blushing horribly.

  Eda didn’t care. She grabbed his ear and hauled him upwards, forcing him to look at her. There were crumbs on his lips. His breath smelled of alcohol and honeyed mangoes.

  “Y–Y–Your Imperial Majesty?”

  “Where is the stone, Domin? Why does my temple still languish half-built in the desert when you promised me you would find the stone?”

  Sweat popped out on his brow. “Your Majesty, there is no stone—”

  “LIAR!” She flung him bodily against the wall and he hit it with a satisfying crack, his head jerking sideways, blood bursting from his temple.

  But she wasn’t finished. She came toward him, drawing the dagger from her waist.

  He shrank back. His scrawny, coddled frame was no match for her menacing height or her strength or her weapons practice in the dead of night with the retired captain of the guard whom she bribed heavily to keep up the illusion of her helplessness.

  She pressed Domin into the wall, palm splayed across his chest, her other hand holding the dagger to his throat.

  “Please, Your Imperial Majesty,” he whimpered, actual gods-damned tears rolling down his miserable cheeks. “It isn’t my fault. I can’t control what the others do.”

  She ground her jaw. “Tell me something useful. Now. Or I swear on my parents’ graves I’ll slit your throat and leave you to wallow in a pool of your own blood.”

  “Rescarin means to depose you.”

  That wasn’t really a surprise. She adjusted her grip on the dagger. “When?”

  “Soon. Before the Feast of Uerc. He has documents. Witnesses.”

  “What documents?”

  Domin shuddered, his eyes wild. “I haven’t seen them, Your Imperial Majesty. But he says they disprove your claim to the throne.”

  “Could you get them? Bring them to me?”

  He took a breath. Two. “I think so.”

  “Can you do it or not?”

  “I can, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Good. I need them by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? But—”

  She applied the tiniest amount of pressure to the dagger. “Tomorrow. Swear on your life, Domin Odar-Duen, if you value it.”

  “I swear on my life, Your Imperial Majesty. I won’t fail you.”

  Eda withdrew her dagger and rewarded Domin with her most dazzling smile. “No, Domin. I don’t expect you will.”

  Eda was just swinging up onto Naia, her guard already mounted, when Ileem appeared in the stable courtyard, a light blue head scarf wound about his cropped hair.

  Dawn glowed red on the horizon, and terror made her heart seize.

  Ileem grasped her bridle. “I only just heard about your friend. Wherever you’re going, send me instead. I’m sure you’d rather stay here, be with her. Please, Eda.”

  Eda shook her head as Naia danced beneath her, sensing her anxiety. “It has to be me. There isn’t time.”

  “Then let me come with you.” Ileem jerked his chin at a stable boy, who bowed and disappeared back into the rambling whitewashed building to fetch him a horse.

  “I can’t wait,” she said.

  Light flooded the courtyard, shimmering in the folds of Ileem’s blue and gold robes. Eda caught the sudden scent of citrus oil and sun-warmed figs. His eyes bored into hers. “I’ll stay if you tell me to.”

  Her body screamed at her to go, go. Niren’s life depended on it. But her traitorous heart whispered that it would be nice to not go alone.

  Eda pulled Naia away from the stable, nudging her toward the gate. “Come, then,” she called back to him.

  Their horses ran, hooves pounding the hard ground, long legs eating up the miles of desert that stretched endlessly ahead. The only thing that marred the dirt were rocks and scrubby bushes and the occasional ironwood, jagged and black against the colorless sky. The rush of air made the heat easier to stand, though Eda could feel every inch of exposed skin slowly burning. She tried to let her mind go blank, tried to just focus on the wind and her horse and the mad pace of her heart, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Niren. Eda whispered a prayer to Ahdairon, the wind goddess, to lend them speed.

  But their mounts couldn’t keep running indefinitely, and Eda and Ileem were soon forced to pull them back to a walk. Glancing behind her, Eda realized that she and Ileem had vastly outpaced her guard. She wasn’t sorry, but she knew they’d better let him catch up.

  “How much farther?” said Ileem, loosing a water skin from his saddle and taking a long, long draught.

  Eda undid her own water skin and followed suit. The water was warm, but it tasted sweet. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “A good six or seven hours, due south. I think.”

  “You’ve never been there before?”

  Eda shrugged. “It’s an ancient holy site. Raiva’s Well. Although anyone who knows anything about the gods knows that Raiva—”

  “—is supposed to be on Od somewhere,” Ileem supplied.

  “Perhaps it dates back to the time before the continents were formed.”

  Ileem patted his stallion’s neck, and Eda noted his long arms glistening with sweat. Her thoughts turned to soft lips in softer moonlight, and she rubbed her own arm to distract herself from the heat spreading up her neck.

  “Why are you seeking Raiva?” Ileem asked.

  “Because Tuer will not hear me.”

  “When we get to the well, I’ll invoke him for you.”

  “Does he come every time you call?” Anger and jealousy rankled her. She had promised Tuer everything, even more than Ileem had offered. Why did Tuer snub her?

  “No,” said Ileem tightly. “Not every time.”

  “But he does speak to you? Tells you what he wishes you to do for him?”

  “He speaks to me in visions and dreams. In stories and songs. In the words of others and the fire of a sacrifice. He speaks to me in many ways, but not always when or how I wish him to. And you, Your Imperial Majesty? Does he speak to you?”

  “Only once, long ago when I was a child.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “And you want him now to save your friend’s life.”

>   Her chest hurt. “Yes. Raiva is second only to Tuer in power. Maybe she can do something for Niren.”

  “The gods are at work there, aren’t they?”

  Eda nodded, wholly miserable.

  “Somehow, Niren’s life is bound to the temple. That’s why you want it built so quickly. That’s why you’re so angry with your Barons for halting construction. And that’s what had you so frightened last night.”

  He saw so much, when no one else saw anything at all. “Yes.” The word was hard and tight inside her throat.

  “Why is Niren’s life bound to the temple?”

  This time she told him the truth. “I offered it to the gods as earnest, in case I didn’t fulfill my end of the bargain.”

  He waited, correctly assuming there was more.

  “I pledged my life in service to the gods in exchange for being made Empress. They required an earnest.”

  “Building the temple is your way of serving the gods.”

  “Yes.”

  He adjusted his headscarf, the cuff on his ear blindingly reflecting the sun. “Did you ever consider that a temple isn’t what the gods want from you?”

  “The temple is just the beginning. I’m going to reintegrate religion into the Empire, restore the priesthood and the holy days. All of it.”

  “But what does that mean, personally, for you?”

  The question bit deep. Eda tried to consider it from all angles, but it only made her frantic, frustrated. “I’m serving the gods in the only way I know how. I’m not going to give up the Empire and become a priestess or join the monastery in Halda and dig holes in the dirt every nine days.”

  “Even if that’s what the gods want from you?”

  Eda peered across at Ileem. His face was unreadable. “If it was, then why would they make me Empress?”

  Ileem shrugged. “To see if you really meant the words of your vow.”

  “I really meant them,” Eda snapped. “Why else would I be out riding in the desert in the heat of the day?”

  His eyes pierced down to bone. “Because you’re afraid there’s really nothing you can do for Niren. Because you don’t know what else to do with your guilt.”

  A hot wind tore across the scorched earth, making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She ground her jaw, and in that moment thought she hated him.

  “I’m not blaming you, Eda. I understand. It’s how I felt when I killed that man in Denlahn. Restless. Angry. Guilty. It’s why I made my pilgrimage. I found healing in seeking the gods. That’s what I would wish for you. Anger doesn’t solve anything. I just—I just wanted you to know I understand.”

  She let out a breath, and he was forgiven again.

  “I’m going to keep my promise. I’m going to help you finish the temple and save Niren. I know that’s why Rudion sent me here.”

  “But will it be soon enough?”

  His face grew hard, his eyes drifted away from hers.

  She didn’t blame him. She didn’t know the answer, either.

  “Tell me about the circumstances of your taking the crown,” he said.

  Eda’s hands tightened around her reins. “My father named me his heir before he died. I ousted the traitor who dared claim my birthright and ascended the throne.”

  Ileem didn’t answer right away. He rubbed his mount’s neck. “What’s the truth?”

  It spilled out of her, without her really meaning it to. “The truth is I don’t know who my father is. I saw my opportunity—I made my opportunity. And then I seized it.”

  “And the Emperor?”

  She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him everything. “He was poisoned.”

  “So we blame it on Rescarin. We prove he murdered the Emperor and have him executed. Simple.”

  Simple. But even so, a sense of danger twisted through her. “Ileem—”

  He raised one hand to forestall her. “We have an alliance, Eda. I would never betray your secrets. I help you take down Rescarin, and you consider marriage. Then together, we serve our god. That was our bargain, wasn’t it?”

  She thought once more of the taste of his lips in the moonlight. Her whole body warmed. “It was, Your Highness.”

  He smiled.

  Chapter Ten

  THEY REACHED RAIVA’S WELL JUST AS THE sun was beginning to sink in the west, sending long blue shadows across the desert. Eda’s guard had caught up to them by then, and she dismounted and handed him her reins without a word. Ileem followed suit and went to stand beside her.

  Raiva’s Well was deceptively simple on the surface: an octagonal dome with a metal spire on top shaped like a tree. Somehow the metal was untarnished by age; it flashed and danced in the slanting rays of the sun. The dome itself was supported by eight marble columns, the designs once carved into the stone worn away now by sand and time. As Eda and Ileem drew near, a set of narrow steps came into view. They spiraled down to the next level: a stone floor and another eight pillars. More steps led down to the next level, and the next. Eda couldn’t see how many levels there were—the bottom of the well was swallowed up in darkness.

  She’d come prepared with lanterns and oil, and she filled and lit two, handing one to Ileem and keeping the other for herself. They descended into the well as the last of the sunlight slipped beyond the horizon.

  Eda felt very much like she was being swallowed, climbing down and down into the earth as the sky grew ever farther away. The air became increasingly cooler as they went on; the sweat dried on her face and arms, and she began to shiver. The stairs were not wide enough for two, so Ileem came just behind her. His lantern light mingled with hers, sending shadows spinning wildly, making her feel as though a thousand dead souls were dancing round them as they continued their descent.

  And then suddenly they were at the bottom of the well, a simple bare room, twenty feet square, with a shallow pool of water in the very center. Wax drippings lay mounded all about the pool, and the water itself was thick with coins. It was more than a little disappointing, less impressive than the sacred pool just outside the city.

  Still, she’d come all this way. Perhaps appearances were deceiving.

  Eda paced around the room, lifting her lantern high, while Ileem came quietly behind her. She studied the carvings in this last set of eight pillars: birds and beasts marched round them in endless loops, with trees between rows. There were three empty sockets in the center of each pillar where jewels might once have been set to represent the original three Stars.

  Other than that, there was nothing down here but dust.

  Eda knelt beside the fountain with a frustrated huff, and Ileem knelt beside her. It was strange and almost unsettling to have him there, to not be alone in her supplication to the gods. She drew out her pouch of ashes and oil and smeared part on her forehead and part against the edge of the pool, then handed the pouch to Ileem, who did the same. She cut her palm with her dagger, a new wound to join the one that was barely scabbed, and let her blood drip into the water. Dimly she was aware of Ileem slicing into the map of scars on his own palm, of his blood spilling out to mix with hers. She stared at her reflection, her dark eyes and shadowed hair, mingled strangely in the lantern light with the coins mounded under the surface. She wondered how many supplicants had come here, how many had left empty-handed. Beside her, Ileem closed his eyes, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  “Raiva,” said Eda quietly to the water, “hear my supplication.” She shut her eyes, too, and crouched back on her heels, waiting, the cut in her palm pulsing like a second heartbeat.

  She didn’t expect anything to happen.

  But a light touch on her shoulder made her start and turn. A tall, tall woman stood there, her hair mingled strands of beech-tree white and ash-tree brown, bits of shimmering jewels flashing on her forehead. Her skin was dappled, like sunlight through forest leaves. She was dressed simply, in a white robe girded with a violet cord, and her eyes were very dark.

  Eda stared, so startled she nearly tumbled backward i
nto the water.

  But the woman came forward, took her hand, drew her to her feet. Up close she was several heads taller than Eda. Eda gaped up at her, unconsciously pulling her hand away.

  “What is it you would ask of me, daughter of the dust?”

  Distantly, Eda wondered if Ileem saw her too, or if he was still kneeling in prayer at the side of the pool, unaware that Eda’s had been answered.

  “You have a request,” the goddess said gently. “Speak. I will hear it.”

  Eda scrambled to find her tongue. “I—my friend is sick. I think she’s dying, and—it’s not a natural illness.”

  “You seek a cure.”

  Eda nodded.

  The goddess—Raiva—touched Eda’s forehead, and Eda felt a sudden intense heat boring into her skull. It burned and burned; she thought it would split her apart. Raiva drew her hand back again, and the pain was gone.

  Eda took a sharp breath.

  The goddess frowned. “We have met before.”

  “We have not, my lady.”

  “But I know you. You are gods-touched.” Raiva circled her, her white robe leaving a trail in the dust. “You bear my mark.” Raiva turned to Ileem, who was indeed still kneeling by the pool, oblivious to her presence. “As your friend bears his.”

  For a moment, Eda stared at Ileem’s shoulders and had the feeling that she had strayed somehow into the realm of the gods, that he would not see Raiva even if he lifted his head. “He made a vow to Tuer. I made a deal with Tuer.”

  “A deal you do not honor.”

  “I’m trying,” said Eda desperately. “I just need more time to build the temple, time Niren doesn’t have, and I never thought it would really mean her life. It can’t. I won’t let it.”

  “And if the gods have need of your friend?”

  “What use do the gods have for a mortal?”

  The goddess lifted her shoulders. “They treated with you.”

  Eda bit back a curse. She felt it would be deeply, deeply wrong to swear in front of a deity. “Can you cure her?”