White Star Phase: Book One of the Ascendants Chronicle

by Scott Beckman

  “You can kill me,” she said, “but you cannot destroy me.”

  Arvad drew his knife again. “I bet I can.”

  The thrall shook her head. “I have sacrificed a hundred thrall to the demon that pursues you. I will sacrifice many more if I must. These lives are meaningless except in their service to Zor.” She held up a hand. “Before you waste your energy, let me give you a demonstration of my power.”

  Lightning burst out of the thrall’s hand and struck Arvad in the chest. He had no time to react; by the time he realized what had happened, he lay in the brush with the smell of his own seared flesh strong in his nostrils. A wide hole had been burned straight through his chest and when he arched his neck to look, he could see the ground through it, even though his vanished heart pounded in his ears. Arvad felt no pain, but the fear of death clutched him, twisting his insides.

  The thrall knelt beside Arvad and placed her hand on his gaping wound. He stared, jaw agape. “How?”

  “How can you speak?” she asked. “How are you breathing? Simple.”

  Arvad blinked and found himself standing before her, her hand raised as before the lightning attack. He touched his chest, whole as before, and felt his racing heart.

  “Your mind can be manipulated," the thrall said. "For as long as you remain in lands controlled by Zor, you can be made to see and feel anything I desire.”

  “An illusion.”

  “Yes and no. The nature of my power is not something you need understand. Only accept that I control your mind if I will it.” The thrall lowered her hand. “Now we can return to the others. You will tell your companions what happened here. You will make them understand that I am a god unlike any they have served. Command them to abandon their faith in Skor and surrender their loyalty to Krudah in favor of Zor. Do so and you shall be rewarded with powers like those I have showed you.”

  Arvad shook his head in wonder. “What are you?”

  “I am like nothing you have ever known.”

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  The White Star was a brilliant rent in the sky at the horizon and the Red Star had begun to show its face when Krudah woke. The others were up, waiting on him. He flung a brush scavion off his shoulder and sat up, blinking the weight of sleep from his eyes.

  “General,” Arvad said. Krudah looked at his caliph, who stood with Aelida and Zethyr just beside him, grim-faced. “The Eye of Anyr rises. It reminds me of a saying you’re fond of. Live by the White, fight by the Red, and love by the Blue.”

  Krudah hesitated. Arvad’s words were not a saying but a war chant, a rhythmic cry before battle. Arvad glanced toward a dark-eyed thrall nearby, the only one of the hundreds that surrounded them who stood, and Krudah understood. He asked no questions, only rose to his feet and took up Czallah from where she lay in the ground near his blankets. With a deep breath, he gave Arvad a nod.

  Arvad drew his scimitar and slashed it across a thrall’s exposed back. Her blood sprayed black in the Red Star’s light and her white bone shone. The other thrall rose, dream-like.

  “Kill them all,” Arvad cried.

  Krudah and his caliphs moved through the thrall, cutting and chopping at their defenseless limbs and torsos. They died in dumb silence, and those who survived scattered and fled.

  With blood running down his chin, Krudah felt a momentary thrill, but the sight of the carnage brought back his last memories of his wife and disoriented him. He dropped Czallah and wiped at the blood on his face, increasingly desperate to be clean but feeling more and more that he might never be.

  Zethyr grabbed Krudah’s shoulder. “General! We have to go.”

  Lightning flashed in the empty sky, striking within the ranks of the fleeing thrall. The half dozen who were struck turned as the others ran past them, staring back at the caliphs with dead, black eyes.

  Krudah sobered at once and led the way, running from the black-eyed thrall. Meon pulled Slither along against her will, the blood-crazed caliph wanting to continue the battle. Slither calmed only when a burst of white lightning erupted from a thrall’s fingertips and passed just over her head, singing her hair.

  They ran until the White Star had fully set and the landscape dimmed under the Red Star’s rule. Then they lay on their stomachs among the scrub brush and looked back the way they had come until certain the thrall had not pursued them.

  In a hushed tone, Arvad explained his experience with the thrall guide. “Whatever he was, he didn’t die with the body,” he finished. “He travels by lightning, and can take any of the thralls as a host.”

  “He ain’t the only one,” Slither said. “There’s a whole crew of them lightning-slingers.”

  Krudah nodded. “Now we hide,” he said. “We use the dark. We make our way in shadow.”

  Mourisiel IX

  Plotting and Planning

  Fiskahn saw torchlight before Torye and Razhier arrived. He set himself at the back of the small, square room to wait.

  Razhier entered first, grinning wide, and his mother came behind, scowling. She wore the clothes of a commoner, her hair tied back like a tradeswoman, but the slight scar on her chin and the predatory look in her eyes told a different tale.

  Her title was Oathen; one who served the Mourisiel royal family as a hunter of dangerous game. Many Mourisians prided themselves on their archery skills but Oathen were the best among them. Torye herself had a reputation as both an exceptional tracker and a legendary shot but few knew that she had once used those skills against the Mourisian royal family as part of a rebellious tribe on the country’s outskirts. The resistance had been put down violently but Torye had survived by swearing her life in service of the same royal family she had fought to eliminate.

  Fiskahn knew her history because Torye had briefly been a member of the court. Razhier’s father had been a palace advisor and he had brought Torye to social functions after she became pregnant. She and Fiskahn had rarely spoken, as it would have been unseemly, but he had always respected her disdain for the royal family.

  Torye cupped her hands and blew into them for warmth. “You didn’t say it was so cold down here. I would have dressed differently.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Fiskahn said.

  “I regret it already,” Torye said. “The only reason I’ll stick around to hear what you have to say is because I’m dreading that journey back.”

  “Well, thank you regardless,” Fiskahn said.

  “Nowhere to sit?” Torye asked drily.

  “We’ve never thought to bring chairs,” Razhier said.

  “These meetings should be brief,” Fiskahn said. “We wouldn’t want to get too comfortable.”

  “All right then. Out with it, old man.”

  “How much do you already know?”

  “That you’ve heard Theina’s name in court and think her alive. That’s it.”

  “Well,” Fiskahn began, “that much is true. I have heard her name and from important lips. But there is another part of the story that I find even more interesting.”

  “What part is that?” Torye asked.

  “I saw a man strike down a member of the Mourisiel family and walk away untouched. He gave orders that only a Mourisiel should be allowed to give.”

  “So?”

  “There are whisperings in the court, have been for some time. They say old Qataga didn’t trust any of his children to rule. Some think he chose another to take his place, someone outside the family. If true, the Mourisiel family is already out of power. Assassinating them might not make any difference in the nation’s power structure at all.”

  “I don’t care a whit for your petty rebellion. That’s not my business anymore. If you have a plan for rescuing Theina, I’d love to hear it, but I’ll not help you kill anyone.”

  “I hope that will not be necessary," Fiskahn said. "I have a close friend in the guard who did me a favor by searching the dungeons for Theina. She’s not there. If she lives, she’s being held in a different part of the palace. I believe she might be
held by the mysterious man I witnessed. Finding him is the first step to saving Theina.”

  “I’m no help to you in that regard,” Torye said. “You’re the one inside the palace. You find out who he is.”

  “My presence in the palace is limited. There are perhaps six rooms where I am allowed to be. I cannot wander the halls openly, nor am I much of a sneak. You, on the other hand, may have the very skills necessary to infiltrate the secret parts of the palace.”

  “You think highly of me, old man. My skills are better suited to the outdoors.”

  “You’re the best hope we have,” Razhier said. “You might be the only hope Theina has.”

  “What about Aris?” Torye asked. “He could do this.”

  “There’s no telling when he’ll be back,” Fiskahn said. “No telling how long Theina will be alive. Besides, his way would be bloody and chaotic. You know him. He might save his daughter but the loss of life could be astounding.”

  “Imagine if we could save her and have her waiting here for him when he gets back,” Razhier said. “Imagine it! He would have to side with us then.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Torye said. “He’s not one for causes.” She looked at Fiskahn dubiously. “What’s your plan then, old man? I can’t just break in and wander around the palace hoping to find something. You must have a suspicion as to where this mysterious man resides.”

  “I’m afraid not. I’ve seen drawings of the palace layout but don’t recall any secret rooms or passages.”

  “So you don’t have a plan?”

  “Nothing sure, but I think we should start with old Qataga. He is still our patriarch, so long as he lives. If he has secrets, he keeps them close.”

  “His quarters, then.” Torye shook her head. “That’ll be the best guarded place in the whole damn palace. I’m certainly not well suited for that. If it was easy to get into his chambers, Theina would have succeeded.”

  “She got close,” Fiskahn said. “She got inside the room. If she did it, you could.”

  “She got herself caught,” Torye said. “I’m not about to repeat her mistakes. Come on, Fiskahn. You’ve got to give me some reason to believe that any of this is doable. What about this friend of yours in the palace? This guard who searched the dungeons for you? Who is he?”

  “Only an acquaintance, a young man I’ve charmed with conversation at parties. I risked a great deal asking him to search the dungeons. He is still loyal to the Mourisiel family and does not know I am not.”

  “Do the guards rotate their roles?” Torye asked. “Will there be a time when he will be the guard outside Qataga’s room?”

  “I don’t know, but I could ask.”

  Torye nodded. “Let’s start there. Give me an advantage, Fiskahn. Something that Theina didn’t have. Maybe I’ll try it then.”

  “Mother,” Razhier said. “Maybe we can’t give you a reason to believe you’d have better odds than Theina had, but can’t we convince you that it’s worth the risk? She could be in danger.”

  “We already thought her dead,” Torye said. “We’re prepared for that possibility.” Razhier’s jaw fell open. “Listen, you know I’d do anything for you, but you’re asking me to throw my life away. You don’t want your mother dead, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” Razhier said.

  “Talk to that guard,” Torye told Fiskahn. “And get me an advantage.”

  Camarei X

  Still Alive

  Valkil opened his eyes. Ahlaha lay beside him, facing away. The White Star had begun to set and the Red Star had become visible in the sky. Dimmer than its white sister, the Red Star imbued the oasis with a soft crimson hue. All was quiet save for a single Qati rowing out into the waters, oars splashing in time.

  With a deep sigh of relief, Valkil sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. “I’m alive,” he whispered, then chuckled. He still did not feel ill, despite the time that had passed since touching the red feather. “I’m alive.”

  “Yes,” a nearby Qati whispered.

  Valkil started. “You’re a ghost, you are.”

  The Qati was the same young woman who had met Valkil and his group at the edge of the oasis. She sat cross-legged, bow and arrows beside her. “You asked our most respected elder for our tribe’s most valuable property and offered only vain tricks and lies as payment. The elder touched you with a false feather. You may deserve to die but we are not remorseless killers.”

  “I think I preferred when you couldn’t speak Camarein,” Valkil said drily. “You lied about that, by the way. Don’t go thinking you’re any better than I am.”

  The Qati tried to hide her smile. “Maybe not.”

  “You think this is funny?” Valkil ran his hands through his hair. “By the stars, I thought I was going to die. I really believed it.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  Valkil shrugged. “I don’t know. Worried about my companions. They went on without us to face the therill.”

  The Qati’s eyes widened. “Therill? You should be worried about them. They will be dead by now, surely.”

  “Slow down with all the optimism, girl. You’re not helping.”

  “We have seen the therill,” the Qati said. “They scout us.”

  “Have they ever attacked?” The Qati shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? You didn’t think the people of Camarei deserved to know about their return?”

  “We do not leave the oasis. It is forbidden.”

  “By who?”

  “The elders. They say the world outside is too dangerous for us. If we drink waters from any source other than the oasis, we will die.”

  “I doubt that very much,” Valkil said.

  “What will you do now?” the Qati asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Valkil said. “Aioni and the others are far ahead of us but I should go after them.”

  “What about the sigil?” the Qati asked.

  Valkil stared. “How do you know about that?”

  “You talk about it in your sleep.”

  “What do I say, exactly?”

  “That there is a sigil. A stone. Golden light.”

  “Yeah, that’s about all there is,” Valkil said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “There is a stone not far from here,” the Qati said. “Foreign to the oasis. There is a sigil carved into the surface. We do not know what it means. Our elders say it was left here a long time ago, a marker for those who would come after, but nobody came.”

  “Show me.”

  “I will,” the Qati said, rising. “But only after you wake your wife and tell her you will not die. She will be happy to hear it. I will leave you to your celebrations and return later to take you to the stone.”

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  Some time later, Valkil stood before the engraved monolith with the Qati warrior and Ahlaha behind him. The stone’s dark, marbled surface appeared wet but when Valkil touched it, running his fingers over the symbol carved into the surface at eye level, he discovered the wetness was only an illusion. He glanced back at Ahlaha. "It's exactly the same as the one in my vision."

  "What does it mean?" Ahlaha asked.

  Valkil blinked and saw another monolith, similar to the one before him, standing alone at the end of a shallow valley. The vision disappeared as quick as it came.

  "I don't know what it means," he said. "But I know where the next one is."

  "How?"

  "I have seen it. Just now. The stone, it put the knowledge into my head."

  Ahlaha furrowed her brow. "Are you certain? This is hard to believe, Val."

  "I thought you said the Moridah believed in visions."

  "Yes, but not telepathic stones."

  Valkil went to her and took her hands. "I am certain of this, darling. I don't know what is hidden at the end of this series of waystones, but something wants me to find it."

  "Instead of going after Malquin? He and the others, they need our help. Don't forget the therill, Val."


  "I have not forgotten them.” Valkil spent a moment considering. "Damn it, you're right. Let's go after Malquin and the others. This stone isn't going anywhere."

  The Qati warrior extended her hand. In her palm lay a folded black cloth. Valkil looked at it dubiously. "Is that what I think it is?"

  "Yes," the Qati said. "A red feather of the pairu daza. Brush the tips of your arrowheads against them. Any living thing they touch will be doomed to die. Therill or man."

  Valkil took the black cloth carefully. "Thank you. What can I offer in return for such a valuable gift?"

  "Kill the therill," the Qati said. "Frighten them back into whatever holes they've been hiding inside all this time. If you do, you will protect your lands and ours."

  "I will," Valkil said. "I swear it."

  Skor-Adal X

  The Trickster

  The caliphs skirted the edge of the thrall-occupied brushland until they found its western edge, then turned north. They stayed close, the berry-picker's bobbing heads sometimes close enough to see on the eastern horizon, but avoided contact. When the Great Islandic, Acceplor, passed in the distance and blotted out the Red Star's light, they moved slower and more cautiously in the darkness. Yet if the Zor Elites pursued them, they did not find them.

  Krudah had not forgotten their other pursuer, the relentless creature they thought might be the Praether. He made it Zethyr's primary task to watch the way they had come, and Zethyr reported back often that he had nothing to report.

  The dried foods and insect limbs they had brought with them from the forests ran out and were replaced by the small animals and venomous, hard-shelled bugs of the brushland. They did not dare build a fire and instead ate their meat raw. Several caliphs suffered from the strange diet, vomiting up their meals, but they did not slow the others down. Illness was weakness and that was not Skor.