Silence of the Soleri

by Michael Johnston

  “Do you know why I left Harwen?” Sarra asked without preamble. She simply cut to the heart of the matter. Time was in short supply, after all.

  “What?” Merit asked, still shuddering, still fighting to stay conscious.

  “Why I left Harwen. Did you ever learn the truth?”

  “Truth?” Merit asked.

  “Yes, the truth. I left to save your brother,” said Sarra. “I wanted you to know before”—she was briefly at a loss for words—“before this ends. I need you to know that I didn’t give up on my family. I didn’t want things to go the way they did. After I left Harwen, I reached out to you. I assumed your father hid my scrolls, but when you were older?”

  “I ignored the letters. I never broke the wax. I’m sorry. I knew only what Arko told me. He said that leaving was your idea, and that you had chosen to go. I guessed there was more to it. There were whispers of another woman, one he truly loved.”

  “Don’t,” said Sarra. She raised a hand.

  Merit was surprised that the near mention of that other woman, her father’s mistress, could still bring hurt to her mother. She knew so little of Sarra, so naturally she had questions. She’d heard Ott’s explanation of Sarra’s leaving, but she hadn’t fully accepted it.

  “Again, tell me why you left Harwen? I’ve heard your son’s version of it, and a bit of yours, but I don’t know if I believe either. Instead of leaving us, why not simply hide your child? Let the butcher’s wife raise the boy. Keep him close at your side but stay at your throne, and with your family. Stay and be queen. Why did you leave us? That’s what I’ve always wondered, and what Ott’s story did little to explain. Why did you leave? Was it all about Ott? What about your daughters, your husband, and your kingdom too?”

  The questions gave Sarra pause. “I couldn’t stay,” she said at last. “I wore the crown, but I was not queen, not his queen. I could not stand the insult. I know that other women accept such things, that Arko’s mother had lived with Koren’s mistress. I couldn’t do it. I could not stand the shame. You cannot understand what it’s like to be a girl from a poor and dishonored family, a small house from an even smaller kingdom. We were gnawing on fish bones when the Harkans came to escort me to Harwen, to meet the great king and stand in his mighty hall, to be the arranged wife of the man whose father stood against Tolemy, against a god, if you believe in all that. I wanted his acceptance. I needed it more than anything I had ever desired.”

  “Yet you were denied?”

  “Always. Remember, the emperor arranged our marriage. Your father saw me as Tolemy’s proxy, a punishment of sorts—nothing more.”

  “I guessed at some of this. I was ten and six. Girls of that age are sensitive to such things. I’d heard rumors about the other woman. I just thought…”

  “You thought … what? That it did not matter that my husband loved another, had loved her as a child, and loved her still on the day he died? It mattered to me. I wanted to be his equal, his queen, the one he valued above any other, not some peasant girl from a nowhere island in the Wyrre. But he never treated me as anything else. Our marriage was a burden, an awful edict from an unkind emperor. I was no prize. I was a penance. And to make matters worse, to make the insult complete, the girl—that bitch, Serena—was born in the Wyrre. Her father was bred from slave stock in the southern reach, but he was said to be the best scribe in the city. He was called on to tutor the boy who would one day be king, and he brought his daughter to live with him in the Hornring. Serena. The honey-haired girl who wrecked my kingdom. I never had a chance with the king, and he never gave me one. I was just another casualty in his little war, you see. The man was stuffed full of defiance. He didn’t serve in the priory. He did not observe the Devouring. And he certainly would not fuck the woman Tolemy named his wife.”

  “You’ve said that twice,” said Merit. “I feel for you. I’m sorry, but some admired his determination. They saw strength in it. He was the one man who never bent the knee, never surrendered. If it will offer you any comfort, it was only the commoners who worshipped him. In his own eyes, in my father’s estimation, he was a failure. He failed to stand against the empire. His father had done that. He failed at his own marriage and he knew it, Sarra. He knew he failed you, that you wanted more. Is that why you sought your own power, your own place beyond Harwen?”

  Sarra seemed restless now. She paced, her hands pressed to the golden robe. “Perhaps,” she said, her red hair as luminous as the golden robe. She’s beautiful, thought Merit. How could any man reject her?

  Sarra spoke softly when she continued, “There was only one place I could go, one place where even a king could not touch me. Mithra shelters all who see His light—or claim to, at least. I saw little of Mithra, but I took full advantage of His protection.”

  “You found what you wanted?” Merit asked.

  “I found what I needed, what I still I need. Ott was only the excuse I had long sought. The last shove that sent me toppling over the edge. I did not want to leave my daughters, but I could not take you with me. You belonged to the king. If I’d left with you and your sister, Arko would have chased after me. It was the only way out, I’m…”

  “Don’t apologize,” said Merit. “I’ve never done it, so I can hardly expect you to do it either. After all, I am your daughter, and I’ve committed my share of sins. I’m sure you’re aware of them.”

  The distant sound of breaking wood reverberated throughout the room. The mob had entered the tower, and their footsteps beat against the stair. Merit eyed the heavy wooden door. “There must be some way out of this place,” she said, voice trembling. “Why else would you bring me here? Why not hide in the limitless depths of the palace?”

  Sarra nodded, but her eyes were mournful, her face paler than usual. She did not speak.

  The door rattled.

  “We should go,” said Sarra, almost absently, as if death did not wait beyond that barrier.

  They ascended a set of stairs, feet shuffling over sand-covered winders. They entered a chamber and the men of the Kiltet closed the door, the wood sealing shut with a whisper, the bolt sliding home with a thud, the sound of footsteps chasing Sarra, the crowd howling at her back.

  63

  Solus. In all her ten and six years Kepi had never once seen the empire’s capital. She’d heard plenty about it. The city was said to shine like the sun itself. The stories all claimed it was a marvel to the eye, its walls polished like marble and sculpted by men whom the gods themselves had trained, whose skills and talents were lost to time.

  However, the Solus she saw didn’t look much like the one in the stories. As a matter of fact, it didn’t look like much at all. Perhaps it resembled a campfire someone had forgotten to stamp out, but that was the best image she could summon. Smoke obscured most of the city. Only the faint outlines of the ramparts were visible, a pair of pylons, and the last of Mered’s soldiers, hurrying as they fled toward the city gates.

  Kepi rode near the head of the Feren column, not far behind her scouts, racing with Ferris and his sworn men. They’d followed Mered’s army, hounding them through forest and desert, trading arrows while the red soldiers rode back-to-back to fight off the oncoming riders. There were casualties all around, but Mered’s forces had refused to slow their retreat and the army of Feren had nipped at their heels. She’d pursued his army, but she had not overtaken them, not until they reached the walls of Solus, where Mered’s soldiers were forced to narrow their ranks to pass through the city gates. His army piled up against the wall and the Ferens galloped into their ranks, cutting at them from behind.

  Perhaps the retreating soldiers hoped the wall’s defenses would protect them. There were archers on the pylons. They cut loose with a great volley, but the shafts struck bronze armor just as often as they hit Feren mail.

  As she came upon the gates, a gust of sand swept over the city, blinding her opponents, blinding everyone. In the confusion, the red soldiers struck at their own and the Ferens did the same. They f
ought amid the sand, the soldiers in red half retreating, half fighting, clashing here, escaping there. The bowmen on the wall had all but given up. The gates were open. Mered needed his men. The doors to the city yawned and Kepi bolted toward them, the kite flying low beside her horse. She felt the air on its wings. Her thoughts wavered and she saw through the kite’s eyes, saw herself and Ferris. Up, she willed the creature, and it soared above the wall. The archers sent shafts chasing after it. The kite wheeled, carving a great arc in the sky before descending upon the bowmen. It took hold of one, lifted him from the wall, and tossed the man at his own soldiers. Three more followed him in close succession.

  “Kepi!” Ferris knocked into her horse.

  No, she realized. She had bumped into his mount and nearly sent the two of them tumbling to the ground. He held the reins to her horse. Ferris placed them in her hand. “This is no time for daydreams.”

  “I…” She’d seen through the kite’s eyes. There was no way to explain it, so she gave her horse a good kick and rode off. They were at the wall and Mered’s men were all around them. In fact, one slipped between Ferris and Kepi, but the kite swept the man from his horse with unearthly speed, making it seem as if he’d vanished from the saddle. Even the horse was confused; it bucked and turned, searching for its master.

  An arrow struck her saddle, wedging itself into the heavy leather. There was a shield tied to her mount and she unslung it and held it above her head as they rode beneath the wall. She gripped the horse with her legs and let go of the reins. She needed her sword arm free, and the other held the shield. Ferris had done the same and she saw some of his men copying the move. They would not pass easily through the walls of Solus, even with Mered’s men in their company and the sandstorm obscuring the view. The fortifications above and beside them swarmed with soldiers: archers nocking arrows, footmen tossing stones or lobbing them with slings. A jar exploded into flame as she rode through the gates. It burned more soldiers in red than silver, but such was the day. The Ferens had thrown the imperial retreat into complete disarray, and they were determined to keep it up.

  “Keep the fight here, at the doors,” said Kepi. Though they’d passed into the city, the Feren riders needed to reverse their charge and block the red army’s advance. It was the only way to make certain the gates stood open. Sooner or later they’d close those doors and she’d have no way to open them. The mechanism appeared to be hidden within the pylons, and she had no means to breach the towers, and no time to attempt it.

  Kepi turned her horse, galloping into the oncoming soldiers, veering left and right, avoiding the men in silver, striking whenever she saw red or bronze. Ferris turned too and his sworn men followed. All in all, a hundred or so Ferens lingered at the gates, making a mess of things and hacking at every foe who passed. They danced between the oncoming riders, allowing the Ferens to pass while they blocked every soldier in red who came within their reach. It didn’t take long for their foes to respond. A portion of Mered’s army halted their retreat, formed up a squad, and came charging at Kepi and her company. However, this only had the effect of causing more confusion, which made the scuffle at the gate even larger, delaying both sides from passing through it.

  If it were not for the kite, the battle might have tipped in favor of the red army, but the mere presence of the creature had caused a stir. Some stood on the wall and simply gawked at the thing. They were the first to be tossed from the walk, but not the last. Though arrows struck the great bird, the creature was undeterred, perhaps even unharmed. It flung soldier after soldier from the ramparts and it did so with deadly aim, hurtling the bronze-armored warriors at the red ones, toppling man and horse in a single strike. It cut through rows of soldiers, sending men fleeing in all directions. Out of sheer exasperation, the gates were at last closed. Perhaps the men who operated them feared the kite would allow only the Ferens to pass, which was exactly what it had done.

  The Feren Army had entered Solus.

  Kepi steeled herself for a fight.

  She assumed Mered’s armies would stop this host of invaders from pouring into their city. Any rational man would bar the Ferens at the gates, but the armies of Mered rode off toward their companions, leaving little or no one to thwart the Feren charge.

  “Strange,” said Ferris. “They must have orders to march straight back to Mered’s side. He’s let fear overcome his judgment.”

  “Let’s not worry over the reasons,” said Kepi, her horse turning this way and that. “We are in Solus and they’ve closed the doors behind us, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Aye,” said Ferris, “we should ride.”

  Kepi knew that victory was the only key that would allow them to leave, so they took up their pursuit, galloping into a city that was already packed with invaders. Armies of mercenaries roamed the streets, looting and burning the houses of the wealthy, and the sand-dwellers were everywhere. The city was awash in flame. Men ran this way and that, carrying buckets to douse fires while others lifted spears to chase after the sand-dwellers. There were caravans piled high with stolen loot, packed up and headed out of the city, toward some other gate, she guessed. The outlanders clashed with the soldiers in red and blue and yellow, but there were simply too many intruders in the city and not enough men to protect it. The defenders were split between the battle, the looters, and the fire.

  As far as she could tell, they were losing on all three fronts.

  The fighting was all around them, but Kepi rode through it. She pursued, and the armies of Mered fled toward what she guessed was the Waset. A tall white wall rose in the distance and there, at its base, stood the main force of the Protector’s Army. She knew them by their amber mail, but just beyond that patch of bronze, barely within the grasp of her view, she saw a small force, almost impossible to perceive at such a distance, but she glimpsed them: four or five hundred men, their armor as black as the night.

  64

  A loud thump announced the mob’s arrival. The crack of an ax striking ironwood followed soon afterward, ringing in Sarra’s ear, the wood shattering, voices penetrating the door. The hacking would be slow. Blackthorn did not easily split, but it could be sundered if enough force were applied over a long enough period of time, and it did split. Hours passed and more doors fell, one after another, hitting the ground with what seemed like the regularity of the bells that chimed in the square. Soon there would be no more hours, no more doors to break down, and no more stairs to climb.

  The nameless servant of the Kiltet set Merit down on the floor of the last chamber, the highest room in the tower.

  “Rest,” said Sarra, then she turned to one of the spy holes in the tower wall. The flames outside were brighter, the sky darker. Mered would fight on; he had his army and the Protector’s too, but Sarra saw little point in it. There was hardly any city left to defend.

  She pressed her back to the tower wall. The cold stone chilled her skin, and her heartbeat slowed. She slumped to the floor and sat shoulder to shoulder with her daughter.

  “I have food,” she said. The chamber had a chest and she knew there were provisions in it. Sarra went and opened the box. She set out a cloth and placed dried meat on it, jars of amber.

  “We could have a proper meal,” she told her daughter. “Just you and me, just this once.”

  Merit opened her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked. “Yes,” she said. “It’s been some time since I’ve eaten.” Sarra put the cup to her daughter’s lips and Merit drank.

  “One last meal,” said Sarra. She offered Merit a bit of meat, tearing off a strip for her to chew. Sarra took one and she offered another to the man from the Kiltet. He gnawed at the meat as he pressed his back to the jittering door. A loud thump rang out as some ax or club struck the wood. Sarra ignored it. I just want one moment, one meal with my daughter.

  “You look like shit,” said Sarra.

  Merit grinned.

  “It’s nothing that won’t heal, but you may want to take some time to rest when this i
s done.”

  “When what is done?” asked Merit. She was clearly in pain, barely conscious by all appearances.

  “All of this, all of Solus really.”

  The strike of an ax rattled the door.

  “This isn’t the first time the rabble has come for me,” Sarra said, “though it is the first time they’ve come after the right person.”

  “You’re talking about the last day of the year?” Merit asked, her voice soft, distant, her eyes fixed on the wall.

  “I was supposed to stand on the wall.”

  “I know.”

  “But it wasn’t me. They tore apart a priestess, a girl who shared my features.”

  “Are you confessing?” Merit asked. “There’s hardly any point in that.” She seemed more awake, more aware. Perhaps the amber had done her some good.

  Sarra offered her daughter another drink. “I’m not confessing. I’m just pondering the last few weeks. Perhaps I’ve been living on borrowed time. Maybe the crowds were meant to take me that day, but I cheated death, deprived Him of His prize.”

  “I thought Horu could never be robbed.” Merit reached for the dried meat. She could barely chew.

  “My point exactly,” said Sarra. “Maybe these last few weeks have just been an afterlife of sorts, a chance to make things right.”

  “To meet your daughter?”

  “Yes. I didn’t want to leave this world without seeing your face or Kepi’s.” Her voice went quiet. “I suppose one is more than I could wish for. At least we have this moment. One meal. One hour. Just the two of us, here, at the end of it all. If only…”

  “Kepi were here?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would have liked her. She has a fierce soul. I saw her in Feren and she had the look of a queen, a true queen. They say she is Kitelord, a rightful ruler of Feren.”

  “I know. I know it all. I’ve heard every bit of news there is to hear about the both of you. It was only your faces I missed, and your voices too. I’ve forgotten Kepi’s. She was six when I left, so I see that six-year-old. Is she still that girl? Would I know my own daughter if she stood before me?”