by Scott Rhine
When Anna returned to her cell at dusk, she noted one key difference. The small back door, several feet above the ground, had been opened a crack. Waiting for the guard outside to begin snoring, she made her exit. The only question was where could she flee? The entire fortress was leaving at dawn, and all the local farms were smoking ruins.
While pondering, Anna acquired a spare dagger from the numerous supply wagons. Getting caught with a knife of any kind would mean a death sentence for Anna, but she didn’t intend to face a trial. Hiding the small dagger under her apron, Anna walked directly to the Togg family home, which was located upstairs from their family business. Their shop was enormous, containing six working forges, one for each of the six recognized sons. When she asked to see Ashok the patriarch, the servants didn’t want to let her in. Only when she threatened to pound on the front door until the constables showed up did they usher her into the front office. Even this late, Ashok Togg was in his office, counting money. He had the same face as his youngest child, but the eyes were pinched and mean. The hair was disappearing, but his powerful arms and soot-spotted clothing said that he still kept a hand in at the forges himself. Anna found herself able to respect him for this. The only sign of extravagance that the wealthy merchant possessed was the fine gold chain dangling from his vest pocket.
The patriarch seemed harried tonight. All of his goods were being sold to the traveling army, but he was haggling for more gold and less of the worthless paper scrip. Ashok barely glanced up at her as she came in. “What’s the matter, girl? Did he get you with child? Expect nothing from my clan. I washed my hands of him long ago. I knew he’d never amount to anything.” When Anna refused to budge, he added. “There may be an opening in my sister’s house for a scrub woman, but I can’t promise anything.”
Bolstering her courage and using the pent up anger from her interview with Lady Nerissa, Anna said forcefully, “I’m not here for me. I’m here for Baran and your clan, you heartless old coot.”
The pen stopped writing, and he pointed the feather tip at her. “Hold a civil tongue, or I’ll have the guard on you.”
“Your son needs you.”
“What for? Has he run out of other people to criticize?”
Anna softened her tone. “He bears the Defender of the Realm. He’s going into battle in the north. And like it or not, he has the name you gave him. Kragen will stop at nothing to get the blade, including using me. If I thought they had a prayer of succeeding, I’d kill myself to prevent them. But once I’m gone, who do you think they’ll use to get to him?”
The patriarch stared at the young woman for a score of heartbeats. Then he rang a bell by his desk. She gripped her dagger u her apron.
Instead of the protective servants, one of the youngest sons appeared, one of the twins. Ashok snapped an order at him as if he were an employee. “Kirak. Get your brothers and all the war gear we still have. Get the emergency gold, too. Send your families to safe places in the hills. We’re going on a journey.”
“Most of it is already loaded on the wagons. Are we going to the capital, Father?” asked the tradesman. Anna recognized the voice as the one that had talked to her guard.
Ashok shook his head. “No, we’re going north.”
“Was it something the girl said?”
Ashok sighed. “She’s only the messenger. The words are from my father. We have to reach Baran to tell him the rest of the family secret. Pretty soon, we’ll be the only ones he’ll be able to trust.”
The powerful merchant took the gold chain out of his pocket and gave the brass key at the other end to his son. “Let the girl carry the Family Burden for a while. You may want to get her a disguise as well.”
Kirak bowed and escorted her to one of the storage rooms. When they were alone, Anna asked, “Thank you, but why?”
Kirak paused. “Two reasons. First, writing on a piece of paper doesn’t change blood. I gave Baran his first broken arm, and I’ll be damned if that guild is going to sell him out for a piece of metal. Father just needed a gentle reminder, and you provided one.”
“And?” Anna prompted gently.
Kirak blushed. “You look a lot like our mom did. None of us could leave you in the hands of House Kragen. I don’t care if it costs us every coin we ever made.” It was her turn to color slightly.
“What’s this family secret?” she asked.
“The first Togg rescued a stranger from bandits, getting wounded three times in the process. The stranger healed him with a drop of his blood on each injury.”
“The Traveler.”
“Our fates are bound to his.” Kirak opened a small strongbox in the center of the storeroom floor, underneath a spare anvil. Inside were three tiny, perfect rubies. She drew an involuntary breath when she saw them sparkle in the tiny box. They were tied together by a chain of sesterina. “Gorgeous,” she gasped.
Kirak nodded. “We jokingly call these Baran’s Family Jewels. Father calls them the Burden. Try them on.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You have to. It burns us to try. They’re a sacred relic. We need you to carry them to Baran.”
Hand trembling, the escaped bond servant lifted the necklace from its cradle. The precious metal felt cool to her touch. Kirak let out a breath he had been holding. “When the kings cut out my grandfather’s tongue for the message he spoke, three drops of his blood fell to the floor. Where they struck, the gods transformed them into flawless rubies as proof that his words were true and would last longer than any man there.”
Anna folded the jewelry carefully into the tiny pouch she carried around her neck, the one that held her betrothal ring and her father’s signet ring. “I’m honored by your trust.”
“You’re family now, too, Anna,” he said. Then she started to cry again, but a better type of tears than she had in seven years.
Chapter 13 – Antechamber to the Halls of Eternity
Tashi was lost at the crossroads of half a dozen paths. Distances were distorted, and not every road stayed where it was if he glanced away. Voices and symbols bombarded him, making thought impossible.
Behind him a fussy, male voice said, “Come in. I’m here to take your measurements.”
As he turned, Tashi found himself in a chamber, facing a well-groomed man with a measuring tape around his shoulders. Everything about tailor spoke of culture and precision. His posture was ramrod straight, and his white hair was pulled back into a perfect topknot. He was dressed in a crisp, blue kalura covered with stars. Sticking out of his top pocket was a magnifying glass, useful for examining fine stitch work. His leggings and slippers were of velvet so black that his lower half vanished from time to time.
“You’re a tailor,” Tashi observed.
“That depends on you,” the member of the Dawn race replied with mild amusement. Communication involved more than the spoken word. Tashi experienced flashes of a judge and a monster. Any of the representations could have been equally valid, depending on the context. Accuracy in expression seemed very important to this creature.
“You’re not a god; they’d never take on a servant’s likeness. An angel?” guessed the sheriff.
The tailor inclined his head and blinked his eyes in silent assent. Tashi pressed onward. “I must be in the Halls of Eternity then.”
“They are one continuum adjacent.”
“So this is the foyer?” joked the sheriff. The tailor didn’t smile. It could have been Tashi’s imagination, but he thought he saw the stars on the man’s tunic flicker like real ones. “Um, can you tell me which road to take?”
The tailor remained immobile.
“Right,” muttered Tashi. “You’re with the gods and don’t want my quest to succeed.”
“How nice of you to be able to judge an entire species on the basis of one silence. I’m conspicuously neutral in this matter, following the Law in all regards. Your inquiry was too ambiguous.”
The indignation interested Tashi, so he decided to pursue it. “Neutral?
How am I supposed to believe that?”
The tailor stared at him with dark eyes. “This passage is my home. You’re a guest in it, welcome or not. Under the ancient code of hospitality, I can’t allow a guest to die here.”
Tashi said, “You’re afraid I’d leave a permanent stain on your nice carpet, or at least stink up the kitchen.”
“There would be unpleasant repercussions. Be assured that I shall not lift a finger to help you any more than absolutely necessary.”
“How shall I force your answer or ensure your action when I have need of it?”
“Force isn’t possible.”
The sheriff wore his bst gambling face. “I can wait. At the moment, I’m enjoying my ease in this haven. I haven’t been able to relax for many months now, and I find a certain unhurried air to this place.” The words seemed to come more from the Abbot of the Spirit Temple than the Sheriff of Tamarind Pass.
The remark caused a slight frown to crease the tailor’s forehead. “There is a way to bargain fairly if both parties are willing. You have accumulated some small amount of time dilation at this threshold because of the days that passed you by in the Holy City. But your leeway is not without limits.”
“Dilation?”
“Your transition shall appear to others as the blink of an eye. The longer you dally, however, the more effort your journey shall require.”
Tashi sobered rapidly. “What do you want?”
“A trifle, really. You have in your possession a token, a coin from our realm.”
A number of his possessions had made the crossing with him, his armor, and symbols of office among them. Tashi felt in his pockets; the coin was still there. A quick peek, however, told him that it was now a pale, warm disc with no markings. “It changed forms.”
“When magic things translate, they often adapt form to keep their meaning. But the essence remains the same. That token is currency here, and represents a promise by one of the Ascended. In exchange, I would provide you with services of equal value.”
Tashi shook his head. “I can’t give you this token. It’s been borrowed from another with the promise of return. I’ve never broken my word of honor.”
The tailor nodded. “Certainly, or you would have discorporated already.”
“Would you consider a promise from me?” asked the sheriff.
The tailor considered a moment. “Let me take a few measurements first and see what will be necessary.”
The man gestured, and Tashi took a step forward, noticing for the first time the three mirrored panels in the center of the room.
The sheriff regarded himself from several angles at once with confusion. “That’s not me.”
The tailor smiled. “It’s your core self-image. Not that much is different from the true physical, really. Those who do heavy, physical work generally know their external selves better. You even kept a lot of the scars. You merely appear a little younger, and the tattoos are gone.”
“What does that mean?” Tashi asked with distress when he noticed the absence.
The tailor shrugged. “Only you’d know. But an educated guess would be that you either never fully accepted them or you no longer feel a need for them. In a practical sense, this means you’re now free from the protection and constraints of that man you call your Master. You’re now on your own.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tashi answered automatically.
The tailor inclined his head in approval.
“Will sething I acquire here carry over into the mortal realm?” the sheriff asked.
“Truth persists, although the form may vary.”
Tashi scratched his head. “That means that people could choose their forms here and wear them over. It’d help explain how the Dawn folk shift shapes. But why did my Master become an old man?”
“You’d have to ask him that.” The tailor took off his tape and held it to Tashi’s shoulder blades. “Where are you going?”
Tashi answered, “Away from the Stair.”
“That’s not a destination.”
“I wished my master to the Stair. I suppose the easiest place to go would be the place he left.”
“Not the easiest, but it makes sense from the standpoint of matter conservation. It’s also the quickest equation to balance. There are two roads that could be used for that end. The first involves self-discovery. This is the path your Master chose and takes years of preparation.”
Tashi ignored the slight. “Why can’t I do as he did?”
“He follows the way of Water and you follow the way of Stone.”
“You don’t answer many questions directly, do you?”
“You don’t like to think much, do you?”
Tashi winced at the criticism. “I’m strong, but too brittle? How so?”
The tailor seemed to ignore him while taking more measurements. “Have you committed any major crimes?”
Tashi chuckled. “What do you consider major?”
“Ever killed anyone?”
“Forty-one,” he replied. The tailor arched an eyebrow and began marking with chalk.
“Your office shields you from most of the fallout.”
Tashi considered. “All but three of the killings were criminals. Another two were traitors, my own men who tried to kill me.”
“Self-preservation is allowed. And the final one?”
“Why do you want me to remember this?” snapped Tashi.
“That first path would probably kill you. Certainly you’d wish yourself dead. On the high road you re-experience everything you’ve ever done.”
“The low road it is, then,” Tashi decided.
“I’ll need to custom-make a dampening device to aid you.”
“Dampen? This won’t suppress anything I’ve learned on the Holy Mountain will it?” Tashi asked.
“You’ll remember everything with crystal clarity. However, instead of experiencing overwhelming events all at once, the device will spread them out over a longer period so that you may better process them.”
Tashi grunted. “What will this device look like?”
“It is a defense, so the appearance of armor seems appropriate for your comprehension level.”
Tashi looked down. “But I already have a set.”
“Your psychic resistance is almost nonexistent. I’ll infuse your current symbol set with pure Eog, the living substance of this place. To you, it’d look like glass. It’ll buffer nearly any mental or magical assault. The attack will still hurt, but what reaches you will be like the overflow washing over the top of a dam. The more it absorbs, the darker it gets.”
“What happens after it reaches some upper limit?” asked the sheriff warily.
“Damage will flow through to you. Because of our chosen construct, it’ll most likely manifest as physical wounds. But if you stick to the path, you should live.”
“Hey, is this why all the glass in the City of the Gods is black?”
Grief flickered in the tailor’s eyes for a moment before he continued. “Over time, as it releases the energy back into you, it will grow lighter and more transparent.” The tailor removed Tashi’s armor, slipping it off over the head and arms. Tashi felt paradoxically chilly without the metal pressed against him. The tailor stood with the chainmail draped over his arm like a tea towel.
The sheriff asked the question he had been dreading. “What promise do you require?”
“That you never kill another person again, not even in self-defense.”
Tashi looked startled. “How could I finish my quest?”
“You are allegedly the pinnacle of philosophical and fighting prowess of your era. Find another way.”
“Forever?”
“For as long as you carry the armor.”
“If I find someone else willing to bear the burden?”
“The blessing and the consequence shall transfer."
Tashi wouldn’t refuse, but struggled for another way. “Why this price?”
“A coin must cost something
to the giver to have worth.”
Tashi closed his eyes. “And if I inadvertently break my word and someone dies by my hand?”
“The armor will unleash all of its stored negative energy into you at once, most likely killing you. The choice is yours.”
The sheriff nodded slowly.
“You need to say the words, so there can be no shadow of doubt.”
Once Tashi spoke the oath, the tailor placed his fingers on Tashi’s chest. Using a single, well-manicured nail, he excised a small disc of flesh from the left pectoral. When he finished, there was no blood, only a pink, tender area to remind him of his oath. The tailor retired to his private workroom to spin enchantments of spider webs and glass.
Only when Tashi stood in the mirror room alone did it occur to him to ask what the low road entailed.
Chapter 14 – The Way of Air
The switch wasn’t instantaneous. After Jotham disappeared from the Temple of Sleep, there was silence for several beats. Zariah and the soothsayer were both confused. The giant guardian perched over the Door swiveled its eye to search for the intruder, but the stage in front of the Door was empty. The rings of bunk beds were still infested with humans like ticks on a deer. Lacking a target, the guardian continued to watch, pretending to be an immobile work of art.
