by Tammy Salyer
Not sure what to say about a celestial being who suffered from something akin to foresighted amnesia, Jaemus muttered, “That must be very inconvenient for her creations.”
“It is more inconvenient for those waiting for her to discover herself.”
After threading through the ancient petrified trees briefly, Jaemus began to make out the ship’s outline ahead in the dim water, thanks to the bioluminescent sea life flittering and flickering along with them.
The tub-shaped relic had been constructed from a type of metal that had long since been improved upon by Jaemus and the engineers who came before him, with portholes rising up its sides, now barely visible with the layers of sea life and sand that had partially submerged it. The Never Sea had not been calm enough for crafts to float on its surface in over a hundred anni-cycles, and Jaemus had only seen ships like this in historical records. Looking at it now, he was reminded of the boat they’d taken to Dyrrakium from Asteryss. It served to remind him that though much in Himmingaze was different from Vinnr, in many ways much was still similar.
Eyeing the sharp, ragged edges of a hole rent through the vessel’s metal hide, Jaemus wondered if it would help to wrap his head in some of the discarded steel to keep Griggory, who seemed to be better at it than the other Knights, from peeking into his thoughts unbidden. He decided not to fret about it for now, though. Too many other things going on. What did it matter?
The gaping hole that had caught his attention was large enough for a man, but too small for a slangarook. When Griggory said simply, “We’ll wait for you here,” Jaemus almost looked over his shoulder to see who the Knight was addressing, then his eyes widened. Surely he wasn’t meant to swim inside that dark wreckage.
“Nothing to worry about, nothing at all,” Griggory said. “Anything that lives in there will be more afraid of you than you are of it.”
“I very much doubt that, Sir Knight.”
Griggory creaked around until he could face Jaemus. “Mystae Bardgrim, if it’s the dark you’re afraid of, you’d better get used to it quickly. Because darkness is coming. The darkest of days is still ahead.” As Jaemus tried to take in these ominous words without visibly shuddering, Griggory’s lips split into that toothy, unsettling grin. “But at least you’ll live to see them, eh?”
Was that supposed to make him feel better? Shaking his head, he gave in and slid off Hither. As he passed her head, he suddenly felt a not entirely gentle blow on his back. He spun in time to see the Fenestros Griggory had tossed at him settling on the seafloor, giving off a mellow white glow.
“That will light your way, Mystae.”
He shot Griggory one last incredulous yet resigned look and scooped up the stone.
The twisted metal of the ship’s opening looked as welcoming as a doorway into an inferno. Holding the stone aloft, Jaemus channeled through it the words he used to illuminate his Mentalios, and was immediately blinded by the flare of light. As his eyes shut tightly, he heard the water-muffled, and more sinister because of it, sounds of disturbed sea life thrashing through the hull at the sudden bright disturbance. He quickly lowered the Fenestros and wrapped both hands around it to reduce its glow and opened his eyes, expecting to see a set of teeth or the sucking maw of a fleech about to swallow his face. But it was just empty gloom, no creatures visible that were big enough to fear. He started to relax.
Then he screeched out a torrent of bubbles when something shot by him, slapping him in the face with at least three of its who-knew-how-many tentacles as it went. He never got a good look at the thing before it had sped off into the undersea forest.
From behind him, Griggory’s chuckling passed through the water in a distorted din. “Oh, Bardgrim, Bardgrim, your face. I haven’t laughed like that in-in…”
He’d have retorted with something scathing and sarcastic if his heart weren’t now filling his throat. Ignoring the old Knight, he reached out with the Fenestros and stepped forward.
The tentacled creature seemed to have been the hull’s only remaining resident. That, or whatever else lived within was hidden, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Stop that! he chided himself. Just get the Scrylle and don’t think about how you might need a new set of clothes if something scares you like that again.
The etheric glow of star-wrought metal soon caught his eye as he scanned the interior. It was partly buried in sand, which covered the entire floor of the wreckage, as if something had done a lackluster job of burying it. He supposed something would have had to bring it in here, and again wondered what things might be hidden amid the old and unidentifiable bumps and bulges filling the hull.
Quickly grabbing the Scrylle, he decided not to wait around to find out. He held the artifact up like a sword and backed out of the ship, then swam to Hither with just two quick kicks of his legs.
When he reached Griggory’s wystic bubble, the Knight pulled him up and snatched the Scrylle from his hand. Before Jaemus could say another word, Griggory cawed, “That’s that, then. Well done, Mystae Bardgrim. Now we go to die.”
“We… what?” croaked Jaemus.
Chapter Four
The blue, white, and pale moons of Arc Rheunos painted the balcony as Ulfric said flatly, “You wish to cage Balavad.”
Symvalline stared at him, unblinking. “Yes. If we’re going to stop him, there is no other option. We’ve seen his power, and his ends. If we cannot, yet, unshackle Vaka Aster, then we shackle him until we can. Or longer.”
Without waiting for him to respond, his heartmatch rose from her cross-legged seat, readying to begin their next mission. Red-hot blooms rose in her cheeks. Was it anger that made her flush? Ulfric knew better than to think it was fear. In their seven hundred turns together, she’d only ever shown fear of one thing: threats to their daughter. Why would the simple matter of shackling one of the Cosmos’s five creators unsettle her? he thought darkly. After all, it’s been done before.
Of course he’d had the same idea, to do to Balavad what he’d been tricked into doing to Vaka Aster. The irony was too bitter to swallow, and a laugh lodged in his ephemeral throat—funny how he could still feel sensations as if he had a body of his own.
Sym was staring at him in the memory keeper held in her hand. “You haven’t forgotten how to do it, have you?”
The words nearly bled out of him: “I shall wither to dust before I forget the incantation that has turned me into this and caged the Vigil Star.”
“Then what do we need to do?”
Now that the idea had been voiced, he truly contemplated it for the first time. Without a doubt, she was right. It was resolved. “We need five Fenestrii, four of his own and one belonging to another Verity. The celestial stones themselves are the cage, like a hall of mirrors that once the Verity has entered, they can’t find their way out of.”
“We have two of Balavad’s Fenestrii here, and you said there are two in Vinnr with his forces. That leaves only a fifth. Vaka Aster’s five must be in Vinnr as well.”
“There’s one more thing of import. Whoever speaks the words to make the cage must use a Fenestros belonging to their own creator. If you or I do it, we must use a Vinnric Fenestros.”
She was about to say something, then thought for a moment. “You’re suggesting the Fenestrii of another Verity might be used instead.”
They both glanced at Isemay and Salukis. More, to be honest, at Salukis.
He’s only a child, Symvalline cautioned, using the Mentalios. He’d be no match for Balavad.
I agree. Nevertheless, before we go home, I’ll record the incantation in the Arc Rheunos Scrylle. Let’s hope it isn’t necessary, but someday, no matter what we do, it may be.
She gave a single nod. “Then you’ll teach it to me as well. As far as we know, there’s only one other Knight in existence who isn’t Vinnric: the Himmingazian. What was his name?”
“Jaemus Bardgrim,” Ulfric said, but his thoughts were spinning on a matter he’d hidden from both Symvalline and Isemay
—the fate of one of Balavad’s Fenestrii, now embedded in Eisa’s chest. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to speak of that mutilation, only telling Symvalline Eisa had sacrificed herself while opening the starpath to send him and the rest of the Knights to safety.
“There’s not just one Knight who isn’t Vinnric. There’s also us, or Salukis.” Isemay had stepped up beside them and pulled Salukis with her.
“Isemay, you…” Ulfric started, then cut himself off once he took in the sight of her. The look on her face wasn’t one of obstinance or haughtiness. Rather, she carried herself like an alert, poised bird. A sparrow, perhaps, or more precisely, a sparrow hawk.
“I what, Da?”
Symvalline stepped in. “We may need you soon in this great task that lies before us, my daughter. But do you think either of you is ready to match wills and wits with a Verity?”
To her credit, Isemay’s natural defiance remained slumbering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I just mean, Salukis and I are ordained. Deespora, what remains of her, is too. She’ll guide us as Archons, and there are many others here who can teach us things. The Minothians to fight. The Zhallahs their wisdom and the secrets of the Churss. And eventually there will be more Archons. I’m just saying, don’t forget what we are. And who I am.”
She glanced between the two of them, letting them both see the sincerity in her eyes, then said, “I’m the daughter of two of the greatest Knights Corporealis who ever served.”
Symvalline wrapped Isemay in a hug. When she stepped back to address them, there was only a slight quaver in her voice. “We must leave tomorrow, provided Deespora will open the starpath for us.” She added tersely, the strain of their dependence on the foreign Verity showing in the tenseness of her shoulders, “I’m sure it’s too much to ask we be lent the Arc Rheunos Scrylle.”
Ulfric nodded, then realized Symvalline wasn’t looking at the memory keeper and said, “We need to go to Himmingaze first. The others must be there, and if they’re not, I believe Bardgrim may be. The last I knew, he had Vinnr’s Scrylle. We need to regroup before we take on this task. And we need to know if they’re even still alive.”
Sym nodded. “To Himmingaze, then. But tonight, we celebrate the Cosmos’s newest protectors.” She beamed at Isemay, concealing well the note of trepidation that nevertheless thrummed just behind her eyes.
As expected, Deespora declined to lend them the Arc Rheunos Scrylle, but agreed to send them to Himmingaze. Or was it Mithlí who’d made the decision? There was no way to know which of the two was behind the eyes of the Archon, and Ulfric felt little need to probe.
Early the following morning, he, Symvalline, Isemay, Salukis, and Deespora traveled to Thallorn Valley before the sun rose. By mutual agreement, they’d decided not to open the starpath inside the Minothian city, not wanting to worry or frighten the people of Arc Rheunos with the wystic gateway. Those with wings flew those without to the valley, except Deespora, who was borne by a fleet-footed urzidae over the ruins of the labyrinth.
As the morning filled with a crisp pinkish light, the steeples of the Churss forest rose across the valley. The stones had already taken themselves back to the other side of the river and resettled on the opposite slopes, where they’d protected the Zhallah people for the last several hundred turns, or “years” as they were called in Arc Rheunos. The moving stone forest had done little damage to the grasses and bushes that spanned the distance between the mountain fortress of Aktoktos Gate and the opposite side of the valley, having moved in a long narrow train until it could reclaim its old space.
Ulfric and the rest of the group came to rest beside the river’s dancing water, its mild burbling filling the air with soothing sound. From the memory keeper, Ulfric found himself the focus of Deespora’s pointed stare. It was time to go, and more, it was time to say goodbye.
Symvalline caught Ulfric’s thoughts and moved to stand before Isemay, taking her hands. Ulfric was the first to speak. It was one of the hardest conversations he’d ever been faced with, and he found it difficult to begin. “We’ll be back here as soon as we can,” he finally managed to gruff. “Until we are, stay close to Deespora during your every waking moment.”
“Da,” Isemay said, her tone gentle rather than bearing the impertinence of a half-ager, “she is hardly in need of our protection right now. The people of Arc Rheunos revere their Verity.”
“True, Crumb. But it isn’t her safety that concerns me. Until this thing is done…”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Here,” he said, “I have another gift for you.” He had Urgo step forward and lean down. “I’ll need the memory keeper to speak with those who aren’t Knights, but I want you to take my Mentalios.”
Isemay drew the Mentalios chain over Urgo’s head. She looked at it for a moment, and when she looked back up, Ulfric could see her eyes glistening. “I wish I could hug you,” she said.
Feeling as if his own tears were coming, though he had no eyes of his own to cry with, he steeled his voice and said firmly, with conviction, “You will soon, Crumb.”
“Love you, Da.”
Through Urgo’s eyes, he glanced at Symvalline and saw the reticence in her expression. He knew what she was about to say before she spoke. “Perhaps I should stay after all. They could use me here, and I’m not sure Isemay should be left alone.”
Ulfric knew better than to make an argument for either case. This was her decision to make and hers alone. He’d stay himself if not for the fact that he’d never be whole again if he did.
At that moment, Urgo sensed a familiar prickling feeling that Ulfric picked up as well, like tiny bolts of lightning striking all over Urgo’s skin. The bruhawk cocked its head at Deespora, and Ulfric was about to ask her to give them a few more moments before opening the starpath—
But she was standing still, the Scrylle scepter held at her side, staring into the sky expectantly. It wasn’t she who was opening a starpath well.
Then who?
Urgo and Yggo ruffled their wings, preparing to take flight if needed. At that moment, the blazing pillar of impossibly blue light split the sky and flashed to the earth a few dozen feet away from them. Urgo’s eyelids snapped shut at its brilliance. Almost as fast as it came, it dissipated, leaving the valley as still as it had been, as if nothing had changed.
But things had changed. Eyes wide, Ulfric and Urgo gazed in the direction of the starpath.
“Oh Verities tears…” Symvalline whispered. Her arms, once more adorned with her wrist-mounted miniature crossbows, rose as if to fire.
From beside them, Ulfric heard Isemay say uncertainly, “Knight Nazaria?”
It was the lost Knight, or the thing she had become. Adorned in a Dyrrak fighting uniform, she stood with her hallowed glaive Fate Forger in one hand and a short sword hanging in a baldric at her back. Her other hand was raised, and her nine klinkí stones hovered in a circle around it, glowing with a bloodred inner light instead of the blue they once were. At her back stood a cadre of ten Dyrrak Raveners, all armed and equally battle-ready. One had only to see a Ravener once to realize that Eisa was one of them now. Their pale, nearly translucent skin was made even more striking by the contrast to their traditional black- and red-dyed Dyrrak Phase scars, which now stood out in brutal relief. Their elongated teeth and gangly limbs would have been repulsive to anyone. The worst and most striking physical change was the blank gray void of their eyes. No pupils or irises, just a uniform emptiness.
Still, Ulfric knew the moment Eisa spotted them. Her colorless lips stretched and thinned in what might have been a smile. “Knight Lutair, you survived,” she said, and her voice, though recognizable as Eisa’s, now sounded stretched, becoming a reedy hiss.
Her leather jerkin was cut low. Above the neckline, the most hideous of her transformations stood out, now alight with a wavering, internal incandescence. The words “black fire” roiled in Ulfric’s mind at the sight of the glowing ebony Fenestros embedded between her collarbones. The sk
in around it seemed to have adhered to the stone, as if melted.
“Your child as well,” Eisa continued, her gray orbs moving toward Isemay.
“What happened to you, Eisa?” Symvalline asked through a constricted throat. “What in Vaka Aster’s name?”
The ten Raveners flanking the aberrant Knight moved up behind her, tense and ready. Her free hand flicked backward, sending the klinkí stones a few inches away, commanding them to hold back.
“What in Balavad’s name, you mean,” she hissed cryptically.
Ulfric didn’t say anything from the memory keeper, trying to hide that he was “present” as well. As far as he knew, Balavad thought Ulfric still remained trapped inside his body with Vaka Aster, and it was a potential advantage he intended to keep secret for as long as possible.
Eisa’s eyes finally slid to Deespora. At one look, she mouthed the word Mithlí and immediately fell back a few paces. Her expression barely shifted, but Ulfric sensed her uncertainty, even fear. His mind ticked off options and questions in equal fervor. Was she a scout preceding an attack force? What should he and Symvalline do? What could they do? Abduct her, save her? Would Deespora help?
Save her. That was it. Eisa had been true to the Knights, in her way, for nearly as long as he had. He owed her his life many times over, and she’d have laid hers aside for him in days past. Standing up to Balavad and using the Scrylle now nested in her chest to extricate the Knights from Vinnr had been laying down her life for them. Because what she was now couldn’t rightly be called living.
He was about to address Deespora and beg her to take Eisa under her power, but it was too late. Eisa was staring into the sky, and already the starpath’s tingling celestial energy was washing over them.
