by Will Wight
Zhen hurried over. “Wait a second, now! I’m happy to invite you into my home, but not if you’re going to be tearing it apart and getting me in trouble with the Council.”
“When did they have you board this up?”
“Shortly before the Emperor’s death. My house has kept it safe enough all this time, but suddenly they worried about what would happen if I had intruders. As though I can’t keep my own affairs!”
Lucan tapped the boards with his shear. “What’s sleeping down there?” he asked again.
Zhen’s eyes grew hard. “Is this an interrogation, then?” He placed his hands on his hips, and Lucan would have bet ten goldmarks that he had knives tucked away somewhere.
Lucan took a deep breath, settling his own excitement and frustration. “I’m not threatening you. But I’ve been tracking down an answer for two years, and it could have to do with the prosperity of the entire Guild. I just want to look around, and I swear to you that I will reveal nothing to the Council.”
“You’ll have to take it up with the Architects, Gardener. I’m not taking any lumps to satisfy your curiosity.”
Zhen wouldn’t really attack him. Not in earnest.
Despite how some people thought of the Consultant’s Guild, and how some Consultants thought of the Gardeners, they didn’t kill fellow Guild members. But the Mason might draw knives to let Lucan know he was serious.
Lucan dropped his shear to show goodwill, looking up to the man who had given him Mason training as a boy. “Do you know where Shera, Meia, and I were assigned?”
“Of course not,” Zhen said, and he was the perfect mix of puzzled and offended that Lucan would have believed him.
If he didn’t know better.
“We were at the Emperor’s side until the night he died.”
Zhen’s eyes widened in horror that was likely fake. Not much happened on the Gray Island that Zhen couldn’t find out.
“I have one question remaining about the circumstances surrounding his death. I think this could help me unravel them. Now, will you help me?”
Lucan didn’t interact with Zhen much, but he thought he understood the man well enough. He loved his work and loved the Consultant’s Guild, but he loved theatricality and drama just as much. A good production was his passion.
This was a chance to take a peek behind the curtain at the most exciting tragedy since the Elder War: the death of the Emperor.
Zhen huffed out a sigh that was heavy with reluctance. “If a word of this makes it back to Yala, I will swear you threatened me. Very well, out of respect for your service, I will allow you a peek. Just a peek!”
Lucan looked down to hide his smile and scooped his shear back up to pry away nails.
There was no reason to limit him to a peek; this room had been open to Zhen’s guests before two years ago. Dozens, if not hundreds, of people had spent at least enough time in the room to walk through it.
He pried up the first board, then the second. The iron hinges of the trap door creaked as he pulled it up to reveal the simple wooden stairs leading down.
Zhen pulled a red quicklamp from the wall and brightened it. “Haven’t replaced the lights down there since we closed it off. After you, Gardener.”
Lucan descended into darkness, Zhen following after with the light.
In the crimson glow, they entered a room that could have been taken from an Izyrian coliseum, with smooth pillars holding up the walls. Four coffins rested against each other in a cross shape at the center of the room, each carved with the image of a different Kameira.
“Go on!” Zhen said. “Let’s get this over with, Reader.”
If Zhen had really been reluctant to allow Lucan to inspect the room, there was no way he would encourage Reading the coffins. Lucan strode up, resting a hand on the nearest coffin, the one marked with images of a massive, subterranean creature with a thick hide roaring from a cavern mouth: a Mountainroot Goliath.
The instant his skin made contact with the stone lid, a vision crashed over him like a storm-tossed wave.
“Preserve,” the Emperor commands, and the rock is bound together in purpose with the alchemical apparatus inside: they yearn to keep, to preserve, to fight the ravages of time and decay. The Emperor’s Intent is so strong that it wipes away all lesser investment, the wills of ordinary men and women erased before the power of the Aurelian Emperor.
But one Intent yet remains, in the same league as the Emperor’s if not quite equal.
A strong, arrogant mind demands the coffin endure, that it last for all eternity, as he intends to live forever. His resting-place will be as sturdy and enduring as the very bones of the earth.
Lucan gasped, pulling his hand back, a stinging in his head letting him know that he had stretched himself in Reading such powerful Intent. It wasn’t full-on Reader burn, not yet, but if he continued to slam his brain into the Emperor’s Intent unprepared, he was in for an unpleasant night.
“Did you find what you came for?” Zhen asked, seemingly disinterested.
From all Lucan’s research, he was certain the second voice had belonged to Alagaeus. The Soulbound to the Heart of the Earth, and one of those who had buried Othaghor.
The Regent of the East.
Lucan braced himself for the next coffin, the one carved with creatures Lucan didn’t recognize. They were like long-furred, tiny monkeys with eyes that took up most of their skulls. The engraving depicted them resting on trees, surrounded by mists or shadows.
Once again, the Emperor’s command to preserve echoed in the stone, exactly the same as it had in Alagaeus’ coffin.
The second source of Intent was different, coming from a scholarly and inquisitive mind that focused more on the alchemical devices inside the stone box than on the coffin itself.
Lucan recognized the source of the Reading instantly.
Jorin wants the alchemy to continue sustaining him at peak efficiency, the loop to remain closed to outside influence for as long as possible. The coffins can’t be airtight, lest they suffocate even in their suspended state, but air brings in all sorts of contaminants.
He invests the coffin for purity, for consistency, and for protection from the elements.
Without responding to Zhen’s repeated questions, he dashed over to the third coffin. This one was marked with a Windwatcher, an iridescent bird Kameira with shining feathers.
Once he pushed past the Emperor’s Intent, he found that of the occupant.
Her Intent was a comforting blanket and a breath of fresh air, a warm fire crackling in the hearth on a cold day.
“Keep me safe,” begs Loreli, the founder of the Luminian Order, “so that I may save others.”
Lucan broke contact, panting from the connection to these legendary Readers, his head pounding in the beginning of proper Reader burn.
Fortunately, he didn’t need to Read the last coffin. It was engraved with the clear image of three winged lizard-like creatures among the sky. Cloudseeker Hydras.
This was the tomb of Estyr Six.
Lucan fell backwards onto the floor, catching his breath, letting the remaining fragments of the visions swirl around in his mind. The implications of this room’s existence were just beginning to settle onto him. And the High Council had ordered it sealed up.
“Boy, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to have the Architects knock you back down to a recruit and give you to me.”
Zhen loomed over him, his mustache dangling.
“The Regents,” Lucan said. This was a Guild secret, but their custodian should know what he was guarding.
Also, Lucan needed to let at least one other person know, as insurance in case Yala decided to murder him for this. “They’re asleep in these coffins.”
Zhen snorted out a laugh. “No, they’re not. Those are Awakened weapons made from Kameira. They’re dangerous, that’s why they’re sealed up. Light and life, boy, you made me think you were going to find something worth my time down here.”
&n
bsp; Lucan looked up and met the old Mason’s gaze.
Zhen went from confident, to questioning, to nervous. “Not…not weapons?”
Lucan shook his head.
“…Urg’naut swallow me up and spit me out.”
Zhen offered him a hand up, which Lucan took. “Now, I know I don’t need to tell this to a Gardener, but…”
“I was never here,” Lucan finished.
He would keep his mouth shut.
At least until he confronted Yala.
Chapter Nine
Some Soulbound report that they hear the voices of their Vessels only weakly or rarely. Some say they have never heard a “voice” and consider it strange when other Soulbound refer to their Vessels as conscious entities.
This report intends to prove that all Vessels suited for combat have disproportionately strong wills. I submit that a history of violence affects the Awakening process in volatile, perhaps even disturbing ways.
—internal report from researchers of the Magister’s Guild, copied and recorded by Consultant Miners
present day
Estyr Six hovered in the air in front of Shera, the wind roaring as her powers raged out of control.
Rather than floating in a calm circle around Estyr’s head, her three Hydra skulls made chaotic loops, buzzing around her like a trio of bees. The Consultants had given Estyr a bed, but now the frame was nothing but kindling, the blanket and pillow shredded so fine that they filled the air with a blizzard of white fuzz.
Estyr’s skin was covered in rough scars and lumps of newly healed skin. Half of her head was missing hair. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead, blank and soulless, and her body hung limp in the air as though she dangled from an invisible hook.
The most powerful woman in the world was being twisted like a puppet, at the mercy of her own powers.
Jorin stood in front of Shera, a shield on his arm, bracing himself against the force of Estyr’s Vessels. Shera knelt behind Jorin, surrounding herself in a light mist of Bastion’s Veil, which helped her resist the mad Regent’s out-of-control Intent.
He shouted something, and Shera took that as the signal.
She withdrew a heavy length of chain from a bag that Jorin had prepared for her. The links had words and symbols carved into every exposed inch, which Jorin said helped focus his Intent. He had worked on these for days, ever since Estyr’s first caretakers had barely escaped from this room with their lives.
Shera released the chain, letting it spin through the air in Estyr’s direction. She didn’t bother putting much effort into the throw; Jorin had made it to wrap around Estyr, so it would.
The chain twisted in the air as though the Vessels had grabbed it and pulled it closer.
When it drew close, the chain came to life and latched on to Estyr, binding her arms to her body. The Regent had torn her loose patient’s gown to shreds just like her bedding, but now she was mostly clothed by the chain.
The winds died down a little, and the skulls lost some of their intensity.
Shera had been prepared for this. Needles flew from her hands. Most of them missed; needles never flew well under the best circumstances, much less in a wind whipped up by a Soulbound’s wild powers. But a handful stuck into Estyr’s skin.
They were the needles she usually carried as a Gardener, but unlike the usual paralytic, they carried a custom solution that Jorin had ordered from the alchemists.
Estyr’s eyelids fluttered. She dipped closer to the ground for a moment, but the Hydra skulls flew closer and she bobbed back up.
Her Vessels were fighting back.
Braced behind his shield, Jorin pushed forward. Now that Estyr’s powers had weakened, he could crawl closer, pulling out a pair of manacles from his coat. With a surge of effort, he lunged forward and snapped them around Estyr’s wrists.
She dropped like he’d cut her strings.
The three skulls bounced and rolled as they hit the ground, and there came a soft pattering as all the rest of the debris fell as well.
Jorin didn’t quite catch Estyr, but he supported her so she didn’t break her nose against the ground. Her eyes were closed now, her breathing deep and heavy, but every breath rattled in her chest.
Now that the noise from the out-of-control Estyr had quieted down, the door at the top of the stairs cracked open. A few Consultants peeked in, ready to retreat at any sign of whirling missiles.
They had contained Estyr in a sub-basement beneath the library headquarters of the Consultants. The room had once been meant as a prison, so bars separated the bottom of the stairs from the one holding cell that took up half the room.
The bars would hold no one anymore. They had been warped, bent, and snapped by the unconscious Estyr.
“Bedding for the Regent,” Shera ordered, and the Consultants vanished.
Jorin had melted to the ground with Estyr, cradling her head on his lap.
Shera’s limbs trembled, her joints ached, her throat felt like she’d swallowed knives…and none of that had anything to do with the effort of wrestling a mad Regent.
Bareius had warned her about the side effects of taking the Champion potion, but she had underestimated the “flu-like symptoms.” Especially since she had been given no chance to rest in the days since.
It had been chaos after their escape from the Imperial Palace. Pure chaos.
They’d managed to retreat to Rainworth, and now the town bulged with Independents. There was no way their location was a secret. They could be attacked any hour, and there were endless preparations required for them to stay ready.
She had no time to sleep and no time to wrestle with her illness. Which meant she also had no time to deal with an out-of-control ally.
“We need to take away her Vessels,” she said. Exhaustion and sickness made her voice rough.
“We can’t,” Jorin insisted. “They’re the only crutch left for her mind. You still have—”
“Yes, I know what crutches are. I understand. But I have to know: is her mind ever coming back?”
Under the effects of alchemy, Estyr’s body had knitted itself together before they’d even exited the tunnels.
Mostly.
She was hideous from the scars of the rapid regeneration, and some of her skin had grown discolored or ill-fitting, but she was alive. Her body functioned.
If she hadn’t been a Soulbound, she’d have woken up already.
But in the absence of her consciousness, her Vessels had taken over. For a few hours a day, they raged mindlessly, lashing out with their power. This sub-basement had already been a prison with centuries of Intent, and Jorin had reinforced that or they would have lost the whole building.
The only reason the Hydra skulls hadn’t killed Jorin and Shera through all their protections was the alchemy that Jorin kept pumping through her veins at all times. When Estyr woke, she was only at a fraction of their normal strength.
“Her mind is…” Jorin’s mouth worked as he looked for an expression that she would understand. “…not steering the ship. Our little Hydra friends have taken the wheel themselves.” He kicked one of the skulls, which skittered across the ground. “If we send them away, maybe Estyr steps up as pilot. Maybe nobody does, and the rudder goes lonely. And maybe someone else grabs at that empty wheel.”
He made a circular sign against Elders.
“Is that a possibility?” Shera asked sharply. If Urg’naut could slip into Estyr’s empty mind and use her powers against them, Shera would have to remove that risk.
Even if she regretted the necessity. From a practical perspective, Estyr was possibly their most valuable asset. From a less objective viewpoint, Estyr was a hero of the Empire and a person Shera liked. She didn’t deserve to die here.
“Search me and you’ll find me empty,” Jorin said. “It’s leaning on too many factors to count, including which of the Great Elders waxes and which wanes.” He lifted his shadeglasses to rub at his eyes. “We need Loreli.”
That had been his refr
ain from the moment they’d brought Estyr down to this prison. They had exhausted the capabilities of medical alchemy, and Estyr’s Champion body had inhuman powers of recovery anyway. But even all that wasn’t enough to restore her flesh completely or to bring her mind back.
They had sent messages all over the Consultant communication network, but Loreli was in disguise. Maybe if they had Navigators, they could beat Loreli to her destination and then find her. But their one Navigator-class ship, Bastion’s Shadow, was needed in a hundred different places at once.
“And we can’t take away her Vessels?” Shera asked again.
“They’re her flesh and bone as much as they ever belonged to Hydras. We separate them from her, and we’d be breaking her shins and asking her to walk home.”
Shera stumbled for the stairs, trying to remember if she’d ever been this exhausted. Blankets and pillows were folded in a neat pile on the bottom stair, and she hadn’t even noticed the Consultants enter. She was dull when she needed to be sharp.
“We can’t survive another earthquake,” she said. “Keep her under control or we’ll have to lock the skulls away.”
“This new blend’s got her tied tighter than a newborn calf,” he assured her, but he’d said the same thing the last time.
“We need her back. We’ll collapse at the first attack if someone doesn’t lead us.” She said it sharply, looking back to Jorin, hoping to prod him into action.
He didn’t look like he’d even heard her. He stared down into Estyr’s warped face like a man on the verge of tears. “You know she was reigning herself back.”
Shera’s joints ached and her throat burned. She wanted to continue this conversation about as much as she wanted to swallow a glass of sand.
“I’ll hear it from her when she wakes up.”
He went on as though he hadn’t heard her. “She could have spread everyone across the stones like hot butter in the snap of a finger. If she let herself off the leash, that Champion couldn’t have touched her. But then she and I would have been the only ones walking away. She held herself back for you.”
