by Tammy Salyer
“Cage Balavad,” Roi mused. “And you retained the knowledge of how this can be done, Stallari?”
“Five Fenestrii are needed. Four of his own, one belonging to the maker of the cage. Symvalline and I have two Battgjaldic Fenestrii, we know two more are in Vinnr. Eisa… has one. One of Balavad’s servants was left behind in Vinnr and has been taken as his new vessel, so now we know that even though his realm was destroyed, he may have other Battgjaldics lying in wait, maybe spying, maybe ready to be taken over by Balavad and used as his vessel. In Vinnr, in other worlds. The fifth Battgjaldic stone may be with one of them, and finding them should be another of our missions, once we’ve achieved this one,” Ulfric confirmed.
That was an optimistic statement, Mylla thought, her own doubts echoing the other Knights’. Cage a Verity who was not only present in a way Vaka Aster had not been in ages but who also knew the rite they could use to shackle him? She’d been ready to face whatever challenges Knighthood could throw at her when she’d joined the Order, or so she’d thought. But this was beyond a challenge. This bordered on pure madness. Yet it was clear why Ulfric and Symvalline suggested it. What peace could there be if Balavad wasn’t, as Symvalline had said of Eisa, “dealt with” once and for all?
“Say more about the Fenestrii belonging to the cage maker,” Jaemus said. “You mean that if, say, I were to call up the cage, the final Fenestros would have to be from Himmingaze?”
“That’s exactly right,” Ulfric said. “Which means all of you will have to learn the incantation, and we’ll have to go to Vinnr armed with multiple options for who will be able to perform the rite when it comes to it. Namely you, Bardgrim.”
The green-skinned ’Gazian gave a polite laugh, as if to acknowledge a joke he hardly found funny, saying, “I’ve just finished freeing one Verity from her constraints, in a manner of speaking. Wouldn’t it be a little, er, presumptuous for me to turn around and do the opposite to another?”
Mylla could see Ulfric was about to speak, but Safran jumped in, “That’s fair, Jaemus. You’re not of Vinnr, and you’ve done more in the last few weeks for our people than, I think I’m right in saying, any Knight has ever done before. If you wanted to sit this fight out, none of us here could blame you or find fault. You’ve your own realm to look to now.”
This argument didn’t settle well with Jaemus. His mouth puckered and his brow wrinkled in an expression that spoke of inner turmoil. Mylla sensed that Ulfric wanted to argue, but he didn’t, and no one else disagreed with Safran.
Finally Ulfric added, “But you should learn the cage anyway. Just in case. And Mylla will have to teach us all the unmaking spell as well.” His eyes fell on her, that stern gaze just as weighty from within the memory keeper as it had been in his full presence. It didn’t help that Urgo was also eyeing her. Was it true Ulfric could see through the bruhawk’s eyes? What must that be like?
She shook off the curiosity, as a subject of even graver consideration needed airing. “If we had the Fenestrii of the other realms,” she began cautiously, “our chances of both rescuing you, and thus Vaka Aster, and caging Balavad increase, correct?”
“As we’ve seen,” Symvalline said, giving Mylla a considering look. “Are you thinking we ought to try persuading the new Archon from Arc Rheunos to collaborate with us?”
“That’s a thought, yes,” Mylla acknowledged. “But I had a different realm’s celestial stones in mind. You see”—she took a deep breath, finding it harder to reveal her true heritage than she’d anticipated—“the rite to unmake the cage wasn’t the only memory that came to me while I was lying at the bottom of the Never Sea.”
Chapter Nine
For the next hour, Mylla spun a wondrously ominous and shocking tale. Shocked at her revelation, Ulfric frowned. Of course. Of course she was not from Vinnr! He couldn’t believe he’d missed it. She had been brought to the Conservatum as an orphan when he’d already been fourteen hundred turns old and thought he’d seen it all. Even by that point, he might have called himself “worldly,” but “jaded” would have fit just as well. If nothing else could have confirmed it, his simple inability to see the obvious showed him he had been a Knight too long. What if the Ærdens had been hostile to the Vinnrics, and Mylla had been sent as a spy? He’d suspected nothing, not once. Fortunately for them all, she’d been a mere lost and orphaned traveler, and had grown to become as faithful to the Knights as any he’d ever served with. Yet, as he’d already accepted when this war with Balavad had begun, he knew he needed to move on. He was far beyond ready.
The shock was broken by Stave. Wearing a bemused grin, he turned to Jaemus and clapped him on the back. “Well, isn’t that the goat that drank its own milk, novice? Here you thought you were the first Knight from another world to be adopted and ordained by an outside Verity, but all this time it was our Mylla after all! Heh!”
Jaemus, looking confused, merely said, “That’s fine with me. It’s not like I can pee lightning now or anything.”
Stave couldn’t resist. “You sure about that? You are still the first—that we know of—to be… what did you call it, Griggory? Twice ordained? Maybe you should give it a shot, huh?”
“Mylla,” Safran said, bringing the conversation back to heavier subjects, “are you sure? These memories weren’t a sort of fanciful vision that was brought on by being lost in the Never Sea? Or by Balavad?”
Mylla looked to the ground and toed a loose rock, like a child struggling to accept a rule she wasn’t sure she liked. But then, to Ulfric, she’d always be a child. He and Symvalline had both been fond of her when she’d come to the orphan homes in the Conservatum, so young, so shy, clearly traumatized but unable to recall her past. A Yorish merchant caravan had found her cowering by the roadside along the Great Province Byway, tattered and malnourished. Mylla hadn’t spoken to the Yorish, and it took her months to speak to the acolytes who’d cared for her in Asteryss. But when she did begin to speak, to the astonishment of most, she’d used Elder Veros steeped in a strange accent. That, along with her dark eyes and hair, had led all to assume she was a Dyrrak. Even after she began to talk, the only thing she’d seemed to recollect was her own name: Mylla Evernal. It was not one of the Six Noble Lines of Dyrrakium, but that was no reason to believe she was anything but a commoner of the empire.
Ulfric recalled now how she’d seemed so simple to the acolytes because she’d reacted to everything, from the foods to the people and buildings to the sky itself, as if it was all a wonder she’d never seen before. For her first year at the Conservatum, they’d believed she was feebleminded and had been preparing a future for her that would have fit her abilities. But the fact that she could read the Elder Veros runes perfectly and learned every new concept almost instantly belied a soft mind, and before two years passed, everyone could see she was, in fact, quite gifted, mentally and physically. As gifted as any chosen for Knighthood, Ulfric had thought then, which had planted the seed in his mind early that he might one day ask her to serve in the Order. It had been the reason he’d paid such close attention during her formative years, and from his removed station, he’d quietly influenced and nudged her in that direction during her acolyte tutelage. That and her strict self-discipline and quickness to adhere to new rules and customs were so pronounced that it had reinforced the belief she must have been from Dyrrakium to all who knew their strict and rigid customs.
Maybe he had sensed something was different about her then, but he would not for the life of him have guessed it was her true background.
Ærden all this time. I’ve served beside a member of the Lost Realm and had no idea. It was such a wonder that Ulfric wasn’t sure if he was more awed at the uniqueness or bothered by his own short-sightedness.
A more recent memory whispered through his mind then, unsettling him. The last thing he’d read in the Arc Rheunos Scrylle, like the words of a prophecy. Where the Five Flames have burned, Fimm’s final vessel will sing the Syzyckí Elementum.
Mylla glanced around
. “I know it’s a shock. Believe me, none of you are more surprised than me. But, please… don’t stare at me like that. I’m still me, Mylla, Knight Corporealis of Vinnr.”
“I’m sorry, Mylla, we didn’t mean to. It’s just…” Safran said.
“We are all the more inspired and buoyed with even greater hope by your truth,” Symvalline said matter-of-factly, though still with warmth. “You’re our sister and companion, and all of us are indebted to you for many reasons. Nothing has changed.”
Mylla smiled gratefully, then glanced at Ulfric. He knew why. She was seeking his affirmation, as she always had, like a daughter more than a pupil. He fit a smile to his memory keeper visage, which took a moment to feel natural.
“As Symvalline said, this changes nothing. I would embrace you if I could, Mylla,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “But you see the door this opens for us, don’t you? If I got to Ærd, perhaps I could—”
“Go to Ærd?” he cut in. “The memory you mention, the battle you were in, there is a great deal of danger in going to the Lost Realm. We know almost nothing about it. The Vinnr Scrylle mentions it only once.”
“I’ll go with her,” Griggory said, surprising them all.
Mylla’s eyes darted to the eldest Knight uncertainly. At that moment, the Glisternaut Captain Cote Illago approached. The Himmingazians had been waiting patiently for Jaemus since Ulfric and Symvalline arrived. They had very little understanding about what was going on—the newly risen sun, for example, something that had been missing from this realm for over seven hundred turns—and Jaemus was the most likely of any of them to be able to explain things.
Cote said something quietly to Jaemus, who then turned to the rest of them. “Excuse me a moment,” he said and returned to the Glisternaut ship with Cote.
Mylla picked up where Ulfric had left off. “We know Balavad was there, or his Raveners were. We know a war like what is about to occur in Vinnr already happened there. If I go, I may find answers to questions we don’t even know to ask yet.”
She was gathering momentum in her argument, pushing harder to go the more she spoke “And the Ærden artifacts would cement our advantages. Could even a Verity break through a shield if we built it from the celestial stones of a third realm, possibly even a fourth, if we were to get the Arc Rheunosians to help too? We might be able to face Balavad head on with that much strength in our hands.”
“But we don’t know, Mylla. That’s not something we can know without attempting it, and if we failed, we would doom the Cosmos,” Ulfric argued.
“And we’d be splitting up, further weakening our advantage,” Mallich pointed out.
Safran was circumspect, her concern for Mylla clear in her face. Ulfric could see her wrestling against words she wasn’t sure she wanted to say until she did. “And if you went, Mylla, how would you get back? We could use Vaka Aster’s Scrylle to open the starpath to Ærd, but we keep it with us. You’d be trapped.”
“Then… then I’ll be stuck there—unless I do find the Ærd artifacts. And if I don’t, you’ll have to come get me when… whenever you can.”
Despite the hesitancy in Mylla’s voice, Ulfric could see the determination in her eyes. She’d already made this decision. And did he really want to dissuade her? That prophetic line from the Arc Rheunos Scrylle chewed at him. Fimm’s final vessel… the Syzyckí Elementum. What did it mean?
Symvalline spoke to him, using the Mentalios. Ulfric, I can feel you’re troubled, and it is more than just concern for Mylla’s safety. What is it?
He wondered if it was worth bringing up. None of them knew what the Syzyckí Elementum truly was. Why worry them with another unresolved and potentially unresolvable quandary? We can talk about it later, Sym, he said. Then aloud: “Mylla—”
“I’m going,” she cut in. “You can’t understand, but I have to know where I came from.”
“And I agree,” he said kindly. “We have no right to stop you.”
Her eyes flashed surprise, followed by gratitude.
“When will you go?” Symvalline asked.
Mylla dropped her head slightly and held out her hands. She flexed her fists, once, twice, as if assessing her own strength. Then she looked up. “I can’t think of any reason to wait.” Looking in Griggory’s direction, she asked, “What are your thoughts, Knight Dondrin?”
In answer, he nodded, tightened his ratty robe, and said seriously, “I believe Himmingaze has seen all it needs of me.”
Mylla took a long breath, then reached toward Symvalline. “Let me see Vaka Aster’s Scrylle. I’ll record what I learned from Balavad’s Scrylle about how to unmake the cage inside it, as well as I can remember it. You’ll all have it then.”
Symvalline retrieved the Scrylle from inside her satchel. It fell to her to carry it, naturally, as one of the older Knights and as an acting surrogate for Ulfric. She passed it and the Fenestros to Mylla.
She took the artifacts and joined them to each other, closed her eyes, then opened them and peered into the scepter. In a few moments, she blinked, snorted a sigh through her nose, and removed the celestial stone. “It’s there. I-I think it’s right,” she said, then passed the artifacts back to Symvalline.
Ulfric said, “If you find the Ærd Scrylle and can open a starpath, meet us in Vinnr. Sooner, rather than later, we’ll have to return there and finish this.”
“We only just got you back, Mylla,” Safran said and stepped up to hug her.
“And you too, Griggory,” Mallich added.
The eldest Knight, in his casually strange way, said, “But there’s more time now. Half a cycle ago, there was none, but now there is some.” At Mallich’s confused look, he added, “We won’t be gone long,” as if that was something over which he had control.
“And we’ll drink many a draft of Yorish wine when you return. It’s been far, far too long, old friend,” Mallich said and gave him a Yorish gesture of companionship.
Stave had stepped up to Safran and wrapped an arm around her waist. To Mylla, he said, “This time, try not to be gone for half a thirty-night, eh? We haven’t told you the stories about our new novice yet, and trust me, they are worth telling.” He gave her a smile and a wink that on his twisted and scarred eyebrows looked like a caterpillar hunching its back. “And one more thing. When you get back to Vinnr, take a look beneath the dais where the vessel used to stand inside the sanctuary on Omina. I left a little something for you, I did.”
Mylla smiled back, though it was strained, and thought about asking what he was talking about, then decided to leave it. She stepped closer to Griggory and nodded at Symvalline to show she was ready. As Symvalline prepared the starpath and the tingle of it began dancing on all their skin, Mylla said, “Tell Bardgrim I’m glad he got his world back. Maybe now I’ll get mine. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
Chapter Ten
Jaemus returned to the group in a bit of a daze. The starpath well had opened once again, but as unbelievable as it was, he had started getting used to such occurrences. As they had been discussing when he left with Cote, old Griggory and Mylla Evernal had gone.
As he stepped up, the remaining Knights looked toward him. “To quote our unusually ghostlike leader, what did I miss?” he asked.
As the Knights briefly filled him in on Mylla’s plans, the Glisternaut ship engines began rumbling. Moments later, the ship whisked off.
Stave gave Jaemus a surprised look. “Your ride’s leaving without you, novice.”
With his gaze lingering on Cote’s departure into the miraculously bright horizon, Jaemus said simply, “I decided, or well, I was told that I can do more good with you than by staying here. In Himmingaze. My home, in case that wasn’t clear.” He brought his attention back to the suddenly quiet group. “After all, what good is being turned into a lightning-peer if I don’t find a use for my newly begotten gifts? Perhaps Balavad isn’t fond of lightning. Or pee.”
Their laughter should have lightened his mood—at least
they seemed to finally be understanding his quirks of humor—but it didn’t.
While Mylla was sharing her surprising revelations with the group, Cote had asked him to come speak to the rest of the crew, including Vreyja and her ilk, to help them more fully understand what he’d just done—and more to the point, to help them figure out what they were supposed to do now that Himmingaze was transformed. They could all see how it had changed, but more than that, it was a feeling, a sense of safety when for their whole lives they’d constantly felt under threat. Maybe it was a sense of hope, or liberation.
Whatever it was, the group was ready to go home, so he put the facts to them as straightforwardly and swiftly as he was capable.
Long ago, their realm had been doomed to destruction by the self-serving actions of the ancient Mystae, protectors of the vessel of their Verity Lífs, aka the Creatress. “Yes,” he’d said, speaking to just the Glisternauts, “I know that most of you assumed the Creatress cult was mere superstition and myth, but as you’ve all seen in the last few Glister cycles, it isn’t. The Verities are as real as we are. They are, in reality, ur-real, the original reality.” Their confused and crumpled brows warned him that he shouldn’t delve too deeply into theory, and he got back on track. “And thanks to the intervention of our friends from Vinnr, Himmingaze has been restored and the Glister Cloud will threaten us no longer.” (Looking back, Jaemus realized he hadn’t given himself credit for saving the world. Of the many changes he’d undergone lately, or that had been foisted on him, that had to be the biggest.)
The obvious questions for the Himmingazian citizens were then: So what do we do now, and what do we tell the rest of the ’Gazians, given their long, long history of denying there was any such thing as the Creatress?
And they expected him to know the answer to that?
Apparently. So, he’d done his best. “I suppose the first thing we need to do is speak to the Council of Nine Crests. Aside from the truth—that the Creatress and all the old lore associated with her are real—what other reason could there be for us all to now be able to look into infinite heavens that were simply not there yesterday? What else would explain the disappearance of the rain and lightning?” (Again, looking back, he wondered if he’d jinxed himself by giving voice to this question, because, as it turned out, imaginative Council members could come up with many other reasons for the wonders that had befallen the world. And they weren’t complimentary to Jaemus at all.)
