by Ashley Capes
Notch nodded.
“Our guide was Lady Casselli. A dangerous woman, though one perhaps better to have as a potential ally.”
“But she’s not a member of the royal family?”
“No. Her House is certainly well-regarded, however. Second in influence.”
Notch exhaled. Already he was making in-roads. “Will that make it easier for me to visit this Library of Souls? Or for your search?”
“Perhaps. So long as the wrong people do not have a chance to use you too often as a piece in their endless struggle for power.”
“You don’t make it sound like something we can avoid.”
“If we keep our wits about us, it should work out.”
Notch took a drink, the tart water refreshing enough. Not enough to dispel his concerns, but still welcome at least. “And what is the Library of Souls?”
“A place where the most knowledgeable Greatmask users have stored their lore over the generations.”
“They’d let me use such a place?”
Alosus chuckled. “No. But I believe they’d let you pose a single question – and no more, but it’s a good start.”
“But only if I remain a novelty?”
He sighed. “I believe the royal family will actually have questions for you. They may not be ones you wish to answer.”
“I bet you’re right about that, Alosus.” He finished the water. “Who will come for us?”
“It’s hard to say. The Mare number in dozens.”
“Dozens?”
“Acknowledged. Doubtless more exist, but Vinezi’s father – the king – has taken many wives, nearly all who have borne sons and most of whom now have their own families.”
“Then succession is a problem, even before Marinus died.”
Alosus nodded. “It is worse now with his children no doubt squabbling amongst themselves even before they begin to contend with their uncles, aunts and cousins.”
“Who do we want to talk to, then?”
He spread his large hands. “Those most removed from Marinus perhaps; depending on what we share with them.”
Notch straightened; something that should have troubled him before became apparent at Alosus’ words. “What of his immediate family? Are we in danger if we reveal our role in Marinus’ death?”
“Publically his sons might seek to punish us, but privately they would be pleased. We have cleared a path to the throne.” Alosus sighed. “It is hard to read the situation. As I understand it, the old king did not approve of his eldest son’s ambitions.”
“Private approval of our actions doesn’t mean we wouldn’t be publically beheaded.”
“True. But revealing the full extent of what we know to the right rivals might buy us allies.”
“Only if we can be sure everything hasn’t already been shared by the Ecsoli who left before our ship,” Notch said. “This is becoming more of a gamble than I’d expected and I wasn’t exactly expecting an easy path before.”
“Let me lead; I will gauge the situation, depending on who agrees to see us.”
Notch laughed. “That I will gladly do. And feel free to smooth over any mistakes I make if you have to translate. Even before having to wrestle with the Old Tongue, I’m not one for matching words with vipers.”
“I will do my best.”
Footsteps approached. Alosus turned back to the door and Notch followed suit. A page, dressed in silver and blue, appeared and announced their visitor in a high-pitched voice. “Prince Ren Mare, Third Son of the First Son of King Walerian Mare.”
Notch glanced to Alosus. The man mouthed the words ‘be wary’ before bending to one knee. Again, Notch took his lead from the big man, sucking in a breath as he did so.
Time to roll the dice.
23. Ain
Two weeks had passed with no word from Jedda and Majid.
Ain knew the only thing that kept him from pacing every moment was juggling the bulk of the apprentices and coordinating the collection of rock salt, among other duties. And still Raila wouldn’t send another party – though concern was clear in her own agitation, the way she looked north continually, or her shortness with the other Elders.
A wagon bed crunched to a halt before him.
Ain wiped at sweat on his brow, then hauled a block into the wagon. It settled with a thud. Back at the Cloud it would be crushed into much smaller pieces, but not everything they took would need to be broken down. Other men and women worked the plain with shovels, loading huge hessian bags which would then be man-handled into one of the other two wagons. So far, they’d collected enough to comfortably salt the square and protect the stronghold, but nowhere near enough to ring the entire oasis. Nor would they seek to do so; it would take too long.
“We should head back, Pathfinder,” one of the men said. “Sun is starting to dip.”
“Sands, already?” Ain dumped a few more pieces into the bed and pulled his gloves off, then put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Workers across the white plain turned and started back toward the wagons, others lifted their final shovel load into the bags before gathering to lift them.
Ain jogged to the lead wagon, climbed atop, drank deeply from his flask and started the camels moving.
Time passed swiftly, the sun starting to slide toward orange just as they reached the oasis and its precious water. As he steered the wagon to the makeshift quarry nestled behind the stronghold, Ain examined the homes. Faint glimpses of smoke from cooking fires, parents calling children home – all seemed well.
Warm light glowed in his own windows. He worked quickly to unhitch and lead the camels to the grazing pens, then he unloaded the salt before crossing the square to his front door, where he hesitated. How would Jali react this time? Another screaming fit? Or utter indifference – both seemed likely based on recent behaviour. “Sands, stay firm beneath my feet.”
He opened the door.
Silaj smiled at him from where she was tending to the herbs with a cup of water. Half were flowering, little reds, yellows and pinks mixed in with the green. Jali was sleeping in his crib, his expression one of peace. “How go the plants, Herb-Master?” he asked with a grin, keeping his voice low.
“Wonderfully, actually,” she replied, also speaking softly.
He kissed her forehead. “How are you both?”
“Better than you, I think,” she said. “A dark cloud has followed you in. I saw your expression as you opened the door. It has only been two weeks, Ain. What if Jedda and Majid had to travel all the way to the Ranges? They could be weeks more from returning.”
“You’re right, of course. It’s hard not to worry.”
“I know.”
He moved over to the crib, its wooden frame quite a luxury in and of itself, and leant over to check on his son.
Jali’s features transformed into a frown, though he did not wake.
Ain swallowed and moved away without a word.
“Is Jali well?” Silaj asked without looking up, her attention fixed on the rosemary.
“Still sleeping.”
“Good. Why don’t you rest a while?”
The peal of a bell stopped his words. It echoed across the Cloud, dark and booming. “The storm bell,” he cried.
“Is it really a storm?” Silaj asked, dashing to a window. Ain joined her. The darkening skies were clear – it was no monster storm. But people were gathering to the east. Where the Sea Beast bones had once rested.
The storm bell was being used to sound an alarm.
The walkers were coming for the last of the bone, just as feared.
He took Silaj by the shoulders. “Take Jali below, bolt the hatch and take the tunnels if I do not return.”
She gripped his hands. “How do you know it will be safe?”
“There’s no bone here,” he said. “They’ll head for the stronghold and our trap. This will be over quickly. I hope.”
“Don’t be a fool out there, Ain. Come back to us.”
Jali s
tarted to cry and he kissed Silaj. “I promise.”
In the streets, he charged to the edge of the Cloud. A low-lying sand storm approached – much wider than the last. His pulse doubled. Just how many cactus-infested creatures lurked within? And how had they approached so swiftly, without being seen sooner? He wasn’t going to be able to ask them. The creatures would soon hit the jagged mess of stone that had been spread before the Cloud, but would the plan work?
Raila and Wajam were urging people into their homes, to be prepared to use the tunnels, the old escape routes from ancient clan struggles. Warriors were preparing themselves and heading to the stronghold, while others, led by Wayrn, were spilling salt through the streets and the square – most of it concentrated around the stronghold. Bowmen lined the rooves.
“Ain, to the stronghold,” Raila shouted.
He nodded, dashing toward the building. There he helped Ade spill more salt, spreading it generously.
“Think this will work?” she asked.
“I want it to.”
“As do we all, Pathfinder.”
When the last of the salt had been poured he turned for another bag but there were none left. Raila was waving them into the stronghold. Within, the bones were sealed behind stone and mud brick, a final defence.
Ain climbed to the roof, crowding in with Raila, Ade and the others, many of whom stood with bows ready or with feet upon large pieces of stone – much of it rock salt. Men and women also lined the rooves of other buildings, their own makeshift weapons ready. When the walkers came, they’d face quite a barrage. If the Sands willed it, they wouldn’t need to use the hunks of stone, providing the salt did its job.
He hefted his own piece of rock salt and waited.
Wind rose, whipping up sand as the dark mass neared. Ain affixed his face wrapping and rolled his shoulders.
Raila shouted over the wind. “On my signal we fall back to the tunnels.”
The swirling sand neared, yet the buildings diffused it. He could see the silent walkers striding forward – at least, most of them were. Some were stumbling. One reached out to grab at another, knees wobbling. The apparently unharmed walker shrugged the hand off and continued as the first shuddered to the salt-strewn ground.
None offered so much as a turn of the head for the homes and other buildings – even when stone hailed down, those that kept their feet had eyes for one thing only: the stronghold.
“It’s working,” someone cried as another pair of walkers collapsed.
Ain gripped his hunk of rock salt as the first few corpses reached the heavier concentration of salt, where their steps slowed, faltering. More and more crossed into the line of heavy salt and fell by the time they arrived at the building. One corpse reached for the barricaded door, fingers stretching.
An arrow pinned it to the ground.
It twitched and hints of green slowly started shrivelling to black.
Soon, dozens of bodies littered the space before the building. Yet more and more came. Ade and the other archers were knocking the walkers down, hunks of rock sending the corpses tumbling to the ground. When the creatures hit the salted earth with fresh wounds – or at least tears in the skin – they ceased moving quicker.
Ain heaved his own stone when one corpse drew near. The block tore a gaping hole in its shoulder, revealing the cactus beneath the skin. It did not topple, but its legs were weakening – the wounds it had taken from Wayrn’s traps beyond the Cloud were obviously enough.
A few cheers rose from the rooftop when the numbers seemed to have thinned.
But the jubilation did not last.
“Look,” Wayrn called. “Something’s happening.”
Bulky shapes, hard to see clearly in the haze, were appearing from the rear of the remaining corpses. Each seemed too broad for a single man. Ain squinted. More walkers, scores and scores of them – and the reason they appeared too broad? They were carrying their fallen brethren.
“What now?” Ain glared down at them.
No-one offered an answer; he probably wasn’t heard over the wind.
But he did not need one.
The purpose of the creatures quickly grew clear. The first pair of walkers dumped the bodies they’d carried onto the salted sand. And then the next, and then another group, until half a dozen fallen corpses lay across the earth.
They were building a bridge of corpses.
24. Seto
Seto let his head slip into his hands, a groan escaping as he leant his elbows upon the polished table. He looked up after a moment. In the soft lamplight, Giovan and Lavinia’s expressions were bleak. “Have you put her somewhere safe?”
Giovan nodded, looking to Lavinia, who offered more detail. “Stefano is watching over her, trying to figure out the song, trying to discover how this could have happened.”
He looked up. “Your husband is being careful, I take it?”
She smiled, a brave gesture it seemed. “Of course. He knows what I’d do to him if he got himself turned to stone.”
“Yes, yes. Well, let’s set that matter aside for now, I suppose. Giovan, you wanted to update me?”
“I did. One of Holindo’s teams found something. You remember we thought some of our Ecsoli had fled?”
“Indeed.”
“I don’t think that’s the case anymore. Two of my Ecsoli from the original search party were found near the harbour... they had been de-boned.”
Seto straightened. “De-boned? Like fish?”
“It’s unpleasant, sire. When we lifted them they flopped about. I had to carry one to the barracks,” Giovan said, his jaw tightening.
“Gods, why? What new terror can this be?”
“One of the remaining Ecsoli tried to explain but it didn’t make sense to me. I’ve arranged to have that Ecsoli woman brought here; the one without a house.”
“Bethana.”
“Right. Her Anaskari is the best among them; Holindo thinks she’ll be able to explain it, too.”
“Very well. She is waiting nearby?”
“She should be. The Lord Protector was bringing her to the council room.”
Seto stood, wincing at the ache in his knees. Blasted body; how much longer did he have before he was bed-ridden? Feeble and useless, someone spoon-feeding him damnable mush? “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”
The ache had receded a little by the time he reached the council room, but he still took a chair rather than stand, as Danillo and Bethana of Casa Nemo were doing. He waved everyone else into the high-backed seats. “Sit, all.”
He regarded Bethana. The tall woman appeared fit, unlike those Ecsoli who had let internment wear them down and her dark eyes held the same deep bitterness they did upon her defeat. “It seems some of your fellows are making good on their promises.”
“Of course. They seek their freedom,” she said, and Seto had to admit Holindo and Giovan’s assessment of her language skills had been accurate. She bore no true accent but there was a lingering formality to her words.
“Yet you yourself did not join the search?”
“I will assist you now.”
“Assuredly,” Seto said. “But I’m afraid I cannot happily skim past your reluctance to help before. It is disappointing.”
She smiled, resting her bound hands on the table. “Are you calling me a spy, King Oseto?”
“I am trying to discern whether you will speak truthfully when I ask about these false Ecsoli and their bone-harvesting.”
“I will speak truly, and I leave it to you as to whether you believe my motives for remaining behind while others searched.”
“Very well. What strange motive do you offer for refusing freedom, land, and perhaps even dignity?”
“Nothing strange; I simply do not wish to make my home in Anaskar.”
Now Seto smiled. “Alas, my lady – we are not planning to send you back to the Land of the Sun.”
“Nor will I ask it. Ever. There are lands beyond your desert, lands where I will not be scorned
. That is my price,” she said.
“She has been quite a studious prisoner,” Danillo explained. “Elida, who has been teaching her Anaskari, has been talking of Holvard.”
“I see.” Seto stood, moving to a nearby sideboard where he poured himself a glass of fire-lemon. He drank and exhaled; a fine batch. “Very well, let us test your veracity. Help us understand and then stop what is happening here in the city and we will enable your travel to Holvard.”
“I have your word on that?”
“As king.”
“Swear it by Ana.”
Seto did so and Bethana nodded. “The Ecsoli your people have been seeing are imposters, as you suspect,” she said.
“How are you certain?” Giovan asked.
“The bone-harvesting.”
“Go on,” Seto said.
“In Ecsoli, it is a foul act committed only by the very worst degenerates. Untouchables. It is punishable by the stripping of family name, holdings, and future. More, it is often a death sentence for the entire extended family of any individual caught.”
Seto set his drink down, raising an eyebrow at her. A piece of her own history? “Go on, Lady Nemo.”
Her jaw remained set. “It is a desperate way to gather a tiny amount of power; the bones are used like small towers to conduct and focus the power for those without masks or armour. Not enough to threaten a city, but as a stepping stone toward something better.”
“How does this prove that the Ecsoli are false?” Danillo asked after a moment of silence. “There is no record of such practices here in Anaskar. Only Ecsoli could have brought such darkness to our shores.”
“Someone has taught whoever it is,” Bethana said, shaking her head.
“For that you have even less proof than your other claims,” Seto said.
“No. I know it because the targets have been true Ecsoli only.”
Seto narrowed his eyes. “Why would that be so?”
“Because the vast majority of those who are still here, who refused to return to Ecsoli are like me – members of House Nemo. Whoever is doing this, feels no remorse attacking Nemo, we who are seen as less than human.”
Another moment of silence before Seto took his seat once more, leaning close to Bethana. Her face revealed no trace of guile that he could detect, only tightly controlled anger and... self-recrimination? “All you say still points to someone from Ecsoli being behind this, you know that. What else gives you such assurance?”
