by Dorian Hart
Morningstar sat up straighter. “Dralla? That name is unfamiliar to me. The goddess of night is Ell.”
“Here in Charagan, yes,” said Ozella. “But Kivia is another matter. Do you know why the Uncrossable Sea is impassable? Brechen, god of the sea, is at constant war with a divine counterpart that guides the Kivian sailors. Neither will suffer the ocean to be crossed by little mortals like us.”
“You’d think that would be something they’d have taught us in church,” said Dranko.
Ozella cackled and shook her head. “You would? Use your head, Tusky. What would the churches of the Travelers possibly gain by telling their worshippers there was a whole other set of gods who watched over people beyond the sea? How would it benefit the Church of Delioch if it became commonly known that there was another god of healing? Or the Church of Corilayna that there was another goddess of luck? Our gods wouldn’t seem so special then, would they? People might begin to doubt their omnipotence altogether! If two gods were to fight, one would have to lose, after all.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Grey Wolf glanced at Morningstar, but though her expression was grim, she gave him a little nod. The faces of his fellows told him they were happy to let him continue to take point. “What else does Parthol say in his notes?”
“That’s it, I’m afraid,” said Salk.
“That’s it?” Grey Wolf rubbed his forehead. “But that intelligence is hundreds of years old! Djaw might not even exist anymore, let alone a specific shrine.”
No one disputed him.
“Can you at least tell us where Djaw is? How far it is from the other side of the arch?”
“We have no idea,” said Abernathy. “I do wish we could give you more to go on, but Djaw could be five miles from the arch or five hundred. Obviously we hope it’s close since time is of the essence.”
“If time is of the essence,” Dranko grumbled, “we should have left two months ago.”
Ozella let out an exasperated wheeze and pointed a crooked finger at Dranko. “I’ll remind you that we five aren’t lounging around sipping wine and telling jokes when we’re not here explaining to you how to save the world. Tusky, do you know what it’s like spending twenty hours out of every day for years at a time doing your damnedest to ward off the apocalypse? Do you know the risks we’ve taken, spending time away from that effort to find out what little there is to know about the Crosser’s Maze? Do you understand that this little chat we’re having represents the largest single absence of the five of us from our efforts to keep Naradawk out in over two hundred years? That right now the fate of Spira rests on the shoulders of a wizard named Caranch who none of us have actually met in person, and we’re taking it on faith that he can keep things locked down for an hour? Yes, fine, you should have left two months ago. You should have left twenty years ago! But things are as they are.”
Dranko sat back and mumbled something apologetic under his breath.
Grey Wolf sighed. “We’re all very grateful, I’m sure. But let me sum up, to be sure I understand. We need to fetch you something that you don’t know what it looks like and which may not even be portable. Beyond the fact that it’s somewhere in a distant jungle, our only other hint about its location is that, in a foreign city whose location you also don’t know, there was, centuries ago, someone who himself might have known another hint. And in the meantime the Black Circle may already know everything about us, including our desire to get our hands on the maze.”
Grawly glanced at his fellow archmagi. “Yes, you’ve got it.”
Grey Wolf clenched his fists, his frustration rising. “And we still haven’t gotten to the worst part. In order to even start on this fool’s errand, we need to pass through an archway that’s disgorging hundreds if not thousands of invading soldiers. We’ve all heard the rumors. Yes, King Crunard has mustered armies and sent them to fight, and the Church of Werthis has sent a thousand Stormknights. But I know my geography. The arch sits at the tip of the Balani Peninsula, the least-populated region of the kingdom. They say the invasion force boiled out of Seablade Point and claimed twenty miles of land almost overnight. The shores for a hundred miles are heaps of jagged and jumbled rocks or impassable cliffs, so our armies aren’t going to mount any useful counterattack by sea. The closest city to Seablade Point is Hydra, well over a hundred miles north of the arch. I’m no master tactician, but it seems the Kivians have an ideal setup, with an unbreakable supply line back to their home country. So even if we make it through, we’ll be in a foreign, hostile country where the Kivians are staging the remainder of their forces. Am I wrong about any of this? Am I?” Grey Wolf took a deep breath following his speech and looked Abernathy in the eye. “Explain to me how this is not suicide.”
“Ah,” said Salk. “No, it’s not suicide. I’m happy to say we have information and a plan. We will provide you with—”
The ruby pendant on Abernathy’s chest flared bright red. Salk and the other archmagi looked expectantly at Abernathy.
“Red,” said Abernathy. “Caranch is still holding, and so the failsafe hasn’t—”
The color of the ruby changed to a fiery cobalt blue. Abernathy had just enough time to give Grey Wolf a look both apologetic and beseeching.
The five archmagi vanished.
CHAPTER FIVE
As much as the untimely exit of the archmagi troubled her, Morningstar could think only of a rival goddess infringing on Ell’s domain. Dralla. That name set her skin to prickling.
Ernie’s voice was predictably frantic as he leapt from his chair. “What happened? Where did they go?”
“Abernathy’s failsafe,” said Aravia. “The archmagi were counting on their absent member, Caranch, to keep the prison sealed while they were here talking with us. Caranch must have been overwhelmed.”
“I hope they got back in time!” said Tor.
“So what do we do now?” asked Dranko. “The wizards only got partway through their pep talk.”
Grey Wolf clenched his fists. “Gods damn it all! Information and a plan—the two things we need most—and those old windbags ran out of time!”
“Maybe they’ll only be gone a few minutes,” said Tor. “Maybe it’s just a small emergency, and they’ll be popping back any time to tell us what the plan is.”
“We’d better hope so,” said Grey Wolf. “Because there’s no way we can go on this journey without knowing how the wizards expected us to start out.”
“I guess we can eat lunch without them.” Ernie’s voice sounded tentative, worried, and Morningstar couldn’t blame him.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “If the archmagi come back, I’ll be in my room resting.”
Her bedchamber was dark. Though growing accustomed to the light was now part of her holy mandate, Morningstar was never so grateful that she’d spent the time to paint her room black and block the windows with opaque curtains. She stepped into her shrine-in-miniature, sat on the edge of her bed, closed her eyes, and prayed for guidance.
In a city called Djaw, seek aid at the shrine of Dralla, who is the goddess of night.
Morningstar took deep breaths, found her inner calm, and examined this idea so heretical on its surface. Dralla might be a false god, a creation of the unenlightened, worshipped in ignorance. Or maybe Dralla and Ell were but two names for the same goddess, the Uncrossable Sea no impediment to her influence. And Ozella could have been wrong about Brechen contesting with a second god of the sea; perhaps the eastern ocean was impassable because Brechen protected Charagan from invasion.
Of course, an invasion was underway regardless, so if Brechen did guard Charagan’s shores, the enemy had found a way to bypass his protection: the Kivian Arch. Sporadic goblin raids aside, Charagan had been at relative peace for centuries, and the idea of a war waged by foreign soldiers had been considered absurd until three months ago. She shook her head. The Kivian army only concerned Horn’s Company because they needed to sneak through and past it somehow. Of greater concern was Dralla, goddess of n
ight. Morningstar needed to know. She needed answers. Maybe the avatar would have them.
In the weeks since the Kivian Arch had opened, Morningstar had continued training with the avatar, learning to do battle in the Tapestry, the unbounded world made up of a million discarded dreams. There, someday, she would need to battle Aktallian Dreamborn, deadly servant of Naradawk Skewn.
Morningstar closed her eyes and fell into sleep. It was a trick she had learned, to find sleep quickly. She could now withstand the light—and would that ever stop feeling like blasphemy?—but it still felt unnatural to be awake at midday, and she could rejuvenate herself, in a small way, with short naps. The avatar was unlikely to be there, but the rest would do her good regardless.
Her dream was outdoors, on a carpet of dark grass lit only by starlight. It was the same place, the same part of the Tapestry, where she had first met the avatar. She stood alone in the cool night air.
Morningstar looked up into the speckled sky. “I wish to talk.”
I am here, child.
The avatar coalesced and hovered before her, regal, holy, suspended inches above the ground. A dark sword was in her hand, a divine nobility in her eye. As she always did, Morningstar fought off a powerful urge to kneel and abase herself.
You are troubled, Daughter of Dreams.
“I learned today that across the sea there is a goddess of night called Dralla. How can that be? Is Dralla merely another name for Ell?”
The avatar regarded her silently. Her divine features hardened, becoming unexpectedly imperious though no less holy.
I will not speak of this, Child of Light.
Morningstar frowned, taken aback. “But if there is—”
The subject is forbidden. You will discover what you must, as you traverse your world of Spira, but do not ask me about this.
Morningstar gave a slight nod, chastened. “As you command.”
The avatar stared down at her, searching, dark eyes glittering in the shadows.
You are a diligent pupil, and Ell is pleased, but you cannot serve her purpose by yourself. No single mortal will be equal to your enemy. You must recruit from your sisterhood, and train them to stand beside you.
“You could teach them better than I.”
I will not. My…interference is already testing certain boundaries. It must be you. In dreams, the sea will prove no hindrance.
A dread fell upon her. How could she recruit and train a fighting force, drawn from ranks of women who held her in such contempt? She was the White Anathema. They would laugh in her face.
Be at peace, child. The goddess knows you face great peril ahead. I am here to give you a gift seldom granted to her mortal children. Eons ago, before the gods fled from the Adversary and came to Spira, they were free to bestow many blessings upon their most devoted. Now they are enjoined from such interference, except in small ways. Some of Delioch’s chosen can channel his power for healing. Werthis elevates a select few with extraordinary fighting prowess. Corilayna has her luckbenders. And Ell herself selects from her followers those, like you, who are dreamseers.
But for your trials to come, Ell has bid you receive another blessing, one for which the need is near. When the moon and stars cast their light upon you, you will be able to weave a net of shadows to mask you and those around you from the sight of others. Darkness will be your ally, Morningstar of Ell, but be warned: should you use this gift, you will grow weary, as mortals always do when they direct the power of the divine. Use it to excess, and it will destroy you.
“I am ever more humbled,” said Morningstar. “I know I am not worthy of these gifts.”
The avatar did not contradict her. Ell takes a risk in this. It is difficult for her to grant this blessing to you. She is bound by the Injunction, and this bends its mandate even more severely than your training. But she has been preparing long for your arrival. We have faith in you, Child of Light and Daughter of Dreams, just as you have faith in Ell. We all must have faith, for nothing is preordained, not even those events that have already happened.
Morningstar struggled to understand. “How can—”
Take your gift.
The avatar placed her hand on Morningstar’s brow, and a veil of perfect night fell over her. The dream faded, and she slept on.
* * *
A knock on her door roused her from sleep. Though her room with its heavy curtains was always dark, she could feel that outside the sun was setting, meaning she had slept for hours. Had the archmagi returned?
“Morningstar, you in there?”
It was Kibi’s voice.
“Yes…yes.” Her voice sounded the way her brain felt: groggy and slurred. She hoisted herself from bed and stumbled to the door, feeling an unaccustomed exhaustion. When she opened the door, Kibi’s face darkened with concern.
“You all right? You look like you might be comin’ down with somethin’.”
She moved a strand of damp white hair from her cheek. Even after all these weeks, Kibi was still the only one in whom she had confided. What was it about the man that put her at ease? He was kindly, thoughtful, and unlikely to let a secret slip—that was all true. But also a river of quiet wisdom ran through him, an old wisdom that would not judge, only consider.
“I slept,” she said, “and my avatar came to me. She…gave me another gift.” A chill ran through her. She had so many questions. “Gods, Kibi, why has Ell chosen me for this?”
Kibi rubbed his beard. “I’m sure I ain’t got no idea. But I know Ell gave you a rough life growin’ up, gave you practice dealin’ with hardship and self-doubt. And you know what they say ’bout practice makin’ perfect.”
Struggling to find full wakefulness, Morningstar blinked her eyes. “Have the archmagi returned?”
Kibi shook his head. “Nope. We tried the crystal ball in case Mister Golem knew anythin’, but the thing just said Abernathy ain’t gonna be available for the foreseeable future. Grey Wolf figures we oughta decide what’s the plan, how long we should wait for them wizards to tell us what to do. Sent me up here to fetch you.”
In the living room Morningstar smiled as reassuringly as she could when the others showed apprehension at her unusual weariness.
“Morningstar, good,” said Grey Wolf. “I guess Kibi told you Abernathy and the other wizards are still gone, and may not be coming back for a while. We need to figure out what to do.”
Grey Wolf had Ernie’s golden bracelet cinched around his wrist.
“I think it’s obvious,” said Tor. “I know the archmagi didn’t give us much to go on, but it’s enough to get started. We should head out first thing in the morning!”
“Yeah?” said Dranko. “What about the problem of a thousand enemy soldiers standing in our way?”
“We’ll just have to come up with a plan ourselves,” said Tor. “The wizards were about to give us their ideas, so we know it’s not completely hopeless. Aravia, have you thought of anything? Can your magic help?”
Aravia, as was typical, had one of Abernathy’s books in her lap, though it was still disconcerting to see her intelligent cat perched on her shoulder. She seemed not to be following the conversation, but she looked up and smiled.
“Of course it can. The question is how, and how much.” She put down the book. “I’ve been thinking about the different stages of the problem, and the worst, it seems to me, will be after we’re through the arch. At least on this side, we have a target. Once we’re in Kivia, what then? Not only will we still be surrounded by the enemy, but we won’t have any idea where to go.”
Morningstar was about to object when Aravia added, “East, yes, I know, a jungle far to the east. But that won’t help us out of our immediate predicament.”
“Do you have a solution?” asked Grey Wolf.
“I do, but it carries risks. I can teleport us away.”
Morningstar frowned. “I thought you needed to have seen a place before you can teleport us there.”
“For normal teleportation, yes. What I prop
ose would have a…random element to it.”
“Oh?” Grey Wolf narrowed his eyes. “How random, exactly?”
“Assuming I cast the spell correctly, the distance would be randomized between approximately several inches and two hundred miles. The direction would be wholly random. But you can rest assured, we would be guaranteed to remain at ground level, as well as to materialize in open space, regardless of the other variables.”
Ernie chewed on his lip. Kibi looked down at his shoes. For several seconds no one spoke.
“That’s our escape plan?” Grey Wolf stood up and paced. “Roll out the map and pick a point at random? Couldn’t we simply wind up in some other part of the army’s staging ground? Or move five feet and be immediately captured and executed?”
“Possible. But even if the destination arch is in a city, the more likely outcome is that we’ll find ourselves somewhere far removed from any other people, assuming the population density of Kivia is similar to that of Charagan. After that, we can send someone up on the flying carpet for aerial reconnaissance, to determine where to go next.”
That was as good a plan as they were likely to devise, and Morningstar opened her mouth to say so, but then Aravia continued.
“The downside is, random teleport will require a great deal of my magical potential. And presumably I’ll be teleporting us to the vicinity of Seablade Point to begin with. And that means I’ll be of little use during the remainder of the mission—the part where we need to get through the arch. Oh, and also it’s possible that my random teleport will land us in a body of water. Fifty percent likely, if the other end of the arch is close to an ocean’s coastline.”
“I can’t swim,” said Kibi.
“Me neither,” said Ernie.
“Great,” said Grey Wolf. “Just great.”
