Obsidian

by Lindsey Scholl

  N’vonne felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “Why would he do such a thing?”

  Chera could not hide the tremor in her voice. “I don’t know, N’vonne. I really don’t. The Prysm knows I don’t want to leave…” her voice faded for a moment, then returned with fresh vigor. “But we have to trust him. Whatever he is doing is for the good of those who love him. Of that I’m sure.”

  Trust seemed the furthest thing from N’vonne’s mind at the moment. How could she trust in the wisdom of taking away their only protectors? What was the point in providing them in the first place? She did not say these things aloud, of course. But for the first time since she had met Hull, she felt hopeless.

  Chera was already leading her back to the tents, telling her to make haste. Despite her alarm and anger, N’vonne followed. When they reached Alisha’s tent, Chera took her hand.

  “I will talk to the guides. You go to the queen.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And may Kynell bless you. Do what you can for my boys.”

  N’vonne nodded, unable to respond further. She would have preferred to return to Alisha’s company, but it was impossible to disobey Chera. In truth, she had forgotten about the queen. Lady Quinia had kept to herself since they went underground. Though she refused trepofam duty and would go nowhere near the dining tent, she had condescended to live in a two-room pavilion, keeping only an old male servant who would fetch her meals for her. N’vonne knew she had little interest in the things of Kynell, but Chera was right: she must know of this new development.

  As she approached the royal tent, she could see Quinia’s servant out front, tending a boiling kettle. His hair was just a shock of white and he was bent over almost double, but he stirred the contents with the vigor of a younger man.

  “Hello, Oren. Is the queen in?”

  Oren gave a wrinkly smile and gestured toward the door. “She is resting now, Lady N’vonne. Perhaps you could come another time?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I need to see her right away. I have some new developments to report.”

  Oren nodded, trundling to the door. He gave a low cough, then politely batted at the tent flap with a small paddle. N’vonne couldn’t help but wonder how long it had taken the queen to establish that little arrangement.

  “Yes?”

  “Forgive me, my queen,” Oren muttered. “Lady N’vonne is here. She says there are new developments which she would like to discuss with you. I believe it is urgent.”

  A groan issued from within the tent. “I cannot solve one more debate over dirty dishes, Oren. Tell her that the hosts will just have to take care of it.”

  Oren gave N’vonne an “I told you so” look before turning back to the flap. “I believe the dishes are under control, my queen. This appears to be a more pressing matter.”

  There was the scrape of a cot from inside. A moment later, the flap was pushed aside, and Quinia appeared, still dressed in her mourning robes. Oren bowed and backed away, leaving the path open for N’vonne.

  “Lady N’vonne,” Quinia said. “Please come in.”

  N’vonne curtsied then followed her inside. Quinia bade her sit on a little camp stool across from the cot, then produced some fresh bits of melon from who knew where. Only after N’vonne had been obliged to pick one of the treats off of a silver platter did the queen sit herself. N’vonne allowed her host to nibble on some melon before asking permission to speak.

  “Yes, of course,” Quinia said sharply. “We can’t play court all day in these canvas prisons, can we? Tell me what has happened.”

  N’vonne bit back a reply. Did this woman really think that her royal blood would matter when the Chasmites started choking up the tunnels? Did she not understand that all of her posturing was now nothing more than a game of pretend? She decided to take another piece of melon to cool her temper.

  “My queen,” she began, “I have been told by the Risen Ones that we will soon have additional arrivals here at Haven.”

  Quinia snorted. “Is that a euphemism for the Chasmites coming to slaughter us?”

  “No, my lady. I’ve been told that the next group is friendly, though I don’t know who they are.” She desperately hoped that Telenar and Vancien would be among them, even though their evacuation would indicate the fall of Lascombe.

  “So we will have to share our tents? So be it. I suppose we could all do with half-rations at the dining tent.”

  N’vonne swallowed. She had never had much regard for Quinia, but now the queen was attaining a new level of shallowness. A quiet voice within her told her to keep her calm and behave. After all, the woman’s world was being turned upside down.

  “There is more, my lady. I was given to understand that the protection of the Risen Ones will not always be with us.”

  Quinia paused mid-bite. “What do you mean?”

  “It is possible that Kynell might remove them from us more quickly than we had hoped. I don’t know when, but I think it will be very soon.”

  “And what if the Chasmites find these tunnels?”

  N’vonne looked at the dark stone floor, only half-illuminated by Quinia’s candle. Shadows flickered across the granite, covering part of her foot in darkness. “I don’t know what Kynell has in store for us. We must have faith—”

  But Quinia cut her off. “Faith! I’ve had enough of that. I’d rather find my protection behind stone walls and the cool steel of a sword. We’ve suffered with these ‘Risen Ones’ as you call them, but they seem ineffective at best. And now they’re leaving us? Relgaré could run a better campaign than this.”

  There was nothing more to say. N’vonne had done her duty. She stood, straightened her dress, and asked permission to leave. Quinia was taken aback by her request for such a hasty departure, but she had no objection.

  “Fine, fine. I’m sure you have much to do with this new development. Do keep me posted.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  __________

  Telenar had mixed feelings about whether to evacuate along with the other priests. He had allowed the tide to sweep him away toward Lascombe’s northwest corner, but he had no peace about doing so. He told himself that the best thing he could do now was to pray, and also that he owed it to N’vonne not to throw his life away. After all, a man could pray in the tunnels just as well as anywhere else. To stay in the city alone would be suicide. And, besides, Kynell could raise his hand at any time and stop all of this nonsense.

  Yet the Risen One who had told them to evacuate had looked quite grim. She did not say all was lost, but Telenar could read resignation in her eyes. So what was there to pray for? Victory? That seemed laughable. Deliverance? But what if it was Kynell’s will that they all perish?

  On top of these misgivings, he could not believe that he was leaving Vancien behind. He would be fine, he told himself. Well, fine in that he was with his brother and Chiyo. But what if Amarian, so recently come to the Prysm, could not withstand the lure of Obsidian? What if Chiyo were to be cut down early, leaving Vancien alone? It was all right to be separated from Vancien if they were in the same city, but to sneak underground while the boy stayed to fight? N’vonne would be furious to hear that he had allowed Vancien to face Zyreio by himself.

  The thought was sobering enough to bring him to a stop. Corfe bumped against his back.

  “What is it, Telenar?”

  Telenar looked at his young face. His shaved head was starting to grow bristles and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. Telenar wondered if he looked just as bad.

  “Corfe,” he said, scarcely believing what he was saying, “I’m not sure I should leave. Not yet.”

  Corfe shifted. He was no coward, but he wasn’t prepared to face the Chasmites, let alone Zyreio. “Telenar, if we don’t go, I don’t think we’re going to get another chance. Think of N’vonne.”

  He looked so scared that Telenar forgot about his own troubles and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I believe I am thinking of her. Which is why I need you to go d
own and tell her that I’ve decided to stay with Vancien. Tell her I love her and…” Despite his best efforts, his eyes filled up with tears. “Just tell her I love her and I’ll see her soon,” he concluded gruffly.

  Corfe nodded. “Maybe I should stay with you?” he asked without conviction.

  “No. There’s no need for that. You had better get going. Remember to find N’vonne the first thing you do.”

  “Of course.” Corfe tried not to show how grateful he was to have a mission that would justify his retreat.

  There was an awkward pause, then Corfe nodded again and ran to catch up with the evacuees. Telenar took off at a jog toward the southeast gate, praying that he was not too late.

  __________

  Three men and a fennel stood on the East Wall and watched the last Risen One fall under a Chasmite blade. The second it happened, it seemed that the entire Obsidian army knew it. They stopped surging forward and began cavorting like fiends, dancing and shouting. Perhaps it was just a reflection of his own grief, but Vancien imagined that he could also hear wails of despair. It was the most horrible cacophony any of them had ever heard. Bedge curled up beside the battlement wall, quivering.

  Amarian knelt down beside her. “Shh, Bedge,” he soothed, smoothing her brown and tan swirls until they shone. “Remember the light-god. He won’t abandon us.”

  Bedge continued to shake, so he scooped her up in his arms. Vancien and Chiyo paid him no attention; their eyes were fixed on the grim celebration. But just as Amarian was about to suggest they take refuge somewhere, Vancien pointed.

  “Look there.”

  Chiyo pulled out his range glass. “Where?”

  “There, about a hundred yards past the gate. Who is that?”

  “It’s Kynell. What’s he doing?”

  “No idea.”

  By now, both Amarian and Bedge were looking. Bedge perched her furry paws on the stone wall, her eyes round. The Obsidian army continued its celebration, oblivious to the solitary figure in front of them.

  “Is that the light-god?”

  Chiyo nodded, passing the range glass to Amarian.

  “Looks like he’s building something.”

  It was true. Kynell was pulling together pieces of the useless traps, disarming them and arranging them in a line. Then he disappeared into the gate for a moment, only to reappear with a few planks of wood, which he balanced on the traps. They watched this procedure continue until he had produced a rough table. He had dug up his first chair by the time Vancien proposed that they go to him. The others agreed.

  On the way, they saw Telenar huffing and puffing down a side street. When he caught sight of them, he looked mightily relieved. “Vancien! Thank Kynell you’re safe! N’vonne would never forgive me if…well, it’s good to see you all.”

  Vancien had never been so happy to see him. “Telenar! You came back for us!” Before the priest knew it, he was swallowed in a great hug and receiving multiple pats on the back. Even Bedge purred and rubbed up against his legs.

  “All right,” he said, attempting to pull himself free. “Now we can all go to glory together. Which I guess is where we’re going, because I haven’t seen a Risen One since I started back. Where are you all running to?”

  They told him about Kynell building the table, which piqued his curiosity just as it had theirs. “And what about the Chasmites?”

  “They’re just standing there celebrating. They haven’t moved toward the city since they defeated—” Chiyo cut himself off. “Anyway, we’d better hurry. They could start at any time.”

  When they reached the gate, Kynell was still there. He had managed to assemble nine chairs around the table. To their amazement, he had also found some food—not dried meatsticks and bread but a feast of roast, vegetables, savory puddings, and pitchers of a delicate pink juice made near Vancien and Amarian’s hometown. All five of them, including Bedge, stopped, at the gate. Kynell was just putting the finishing touches on the table settings when he saw them. He polished a fork on his tunic, which was now quite clean, and set it to next to a plate before gesturing for them to come over.

  Cautiously, they stepped outside beyond the wall. The invading army remained at a distance, persisting in its blind celebration. Bedge was the first to act with any eagerness; she trotted out in front of them, purring loudly. Amarian tried to keep up with her while keeping a careful distance. When she reached Kynell, she pressed herself up against his legs. Amarian himself arrived half a second later. Vancien came right after him, with Telenar and Chiyo behind.

  “My Lord,” Vancien began, waving an arm toward the army. “What are you doing?”

  “Hello, hello, hello,” was Kynell’s only response as they all gathered in an uncertain semicircle. “I’m glad you could come enjoy my feast. Some others should be arriving soon, I expect.”

  No sooner had the words come out of his mouth than they saw four figures emerge from the trees to their right. As they drew nearer, Vancien recognized Sirin and two of the children he had rescued, plus another munkke-trophe. The newcomers looked just as confused as they were, but Kynell greeted them in the same way, asking them all if they would be willing to stand for a bit until the last two guests arrived.

  Vancien stole a look at Telenar. Last two guests? What was he talking about? He had no idea how long Obsidian’s army would continue its absurd celebration but it could not be long. In fact, he thought he saw an ominous character pacing in front of the soldiers, vainly trying to bring them back to order. Kynell followed his gaze.

  “Oh, yes. He’ll be trying that maneuver for a while. Isn’t it true how evil fails to control itself, let alone overcome the good?”

  Vancien and the others nodded absently as they watched yet two more figures appear from the midst of the Chasmite crowd. They were not too surprised to see Gair, but there was a collective gasp as Verial came into view. She was holding Gair’s hand.

  Kynell clapped his hands. “Wonderful! We’ll just give them a moment to reach us…There!” he proclaimed, as Gair and Verial arrived, looking around for an explanation. None of them had a clue what was going on, except perhaps for Bedge.

  “If you please,” Kynell was saying, having rolled up his worn sleeves. “Would all the men and women find a seat?” He tilted his head to Sirin, the other munkke-trophe, and Bedge, who had gathered into a knowing little group. “You three have done remarkably. Your reward will come later.”

  Sirin nodded and to Vancien’s surprise, made no move to take a seat. Vancien would have asked about this, except that the munkke-trophe did not appear to take offense and Kynell was already motioning for them to get started.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Kynell went on. “You are probably all wondering why we’re gathered here in this, ah, open setting.”

  They stared at him.

  “If you will allow me,” he continued, taking up Amarian’s plate and beginning to heap it with food. “You must be starving. Here, try some of the beans.”

  Amarian was so unnerved that he could not object, nor could the others as Kynell went around the table, filling their plates.

  In the end, it was Chiyo who found his voice. “My Lord, what are we doing here?”

  Chiyo’s words had a profound effect on Gair, Verial, Teehma, and Lucio. None of them had known of Kynell’s arrival, and certainly none of them expected to see their god in person. Even now, the title “my Lord” could not bring them to the conclusion that they were actually seeing him. It was too far-fetched an idea to occur to them. But they did begin to look on him as if he were a messenger from the realm of the Prysm, which was awe-inspiring enough.

  Kynell finished the last plate and sat down, not bothering to fill his own. In the midst of his hosting activities, he had appeared very calm and efficient. Now that he was seated, he exhibited great authority. He was in command of the situation, strange though the situation was.

  “You’ve always been one to get straight to the point, General Chiyo. It is one of your gr
eat strengths, though occasionally it blinds you.”

  Chiyo frowned, but Telenar took a tentative bite of his pudding. “You set a fine table, my Lord. Although I admit that I’m amazed we can eat like this with Obsidian’s army breathing down our necks.” Then he choked at a sudden thought: Zyreio would not be above deceiving their eyes and ears. “This isn’t…”

  Kynell’s face darkened. If Telenar had wanted to imply the wrong thing, he had succeeded. “I am disappointed, Telenar. After all these cycles together, and these past few days in the streets of Lascombe, you think I would be part of an Obsidian trick?”

  “You are from Kynell,” Gair whispered.

  Kynell nodded.

  “But you can’t be one of them Risen Ones!” Lucio interrupted. It was the first he had spoken since they had left the trees. The tantalizing food had shut down his awareness of anything else for a time. Now, he spoke with sudden urgency, gravy dripping down his chin. “We saw all of ‘em get cut down by the Chasmites!”

  Kynell nodded again. “I am sorry you had to see that. It will help you to know that the ones you call Risen have returned to me. Their mission has been accomplished, though it may not seem like it.”

  Gair had started muttering to himself. He had watched the Risen Ones ride out to battle—they had been glorious. But was there some sort of chief Risen One he didn’t know about? And why would they return to him? As he tried to reason it out, he could feel his heart slowing down beat by beat until it stopped at the only solution. “You’re not from Kynell, are you?”

  Kynell watched him, waiting.

  Then, slowly, like an old man, Gair pushed back his chair and dropped painfully to his knees. Lucio, catching on, did the same and before long, they were all—even the ones who had known him in the city—kneeling before him. Their questions were momentarily forgotten; now, even in the shadow of Obsidian’s celebration, it felt right to give him homage.