White Star Phase: Book One of the Ascendants Chronicle

by Scott Beckman

  Krudah fell ill himself and the pain of vomiting agitated his sore voice such that, once again, he couldn't speak. Arvad took command in his stead, issuing whispered orders when necessary. Slither derided him for it, in her way that simultaneously seemed joking and serious.

  Lightning flashed at Acceplor's crimson edge, though too distant for concern. When the Red Star's light reclaimed the landscape, the caliphs discovered a number of wooden shacks not far from their position. Krudah took the lead from Arvad and approached the shacks with Czallah in hand and the caliphs at his back.

  A stone circle between shacks had no evidence of a recent fire. Krudah pulled open the door to the first shack quickly, thinking to frighten any occupants, but found it empty. The rest were likewise abandoned. Slither's closer inspection found nothing of value and she sighed her displeasure to the others when they gathered around the stone circle. "Nary a tool nor a weapon nor a footprint," she said. "This place been dead and empty a long time. Whoever left it took everything they had with them."

  Krudah got the caliphs' attention and gestured back the way they had come, then waggled his two fingers like a man walking. One of the new caliphs spoke up. "The Praether." Krudah nodded and pounded his fist into the flat of his other hand. The young caliph stared. "You want to crush it?" Krudah gestured to the surrounding buildings. "Here?"

  "We haven't seen any sign that she yet pursues us," Aelida said.

  "Don't be daft," Zethyr said. "Just because we haven't seen her doesn't mean she isn't there."

  "Very well, but how do we mean to have the advantage here?" Aelida asked. "Do you have a plan, Krudah, or is this simply as good a place as any?"

  "We hide in the buildings," Zethyr said. "Leave a lookout on one of the rooftops. When the Praether enters the village, we come out all together from all directions."

  "Nah," Slither said. "Wouldn't be enough advantage. What say we make up false beds in the shacks? Let her think she found us asleep but when she goes in, we shut the door behind her and keep it closed. Cut us some holes in the walls and stab her," she mimicked the action, "until there ain't nothing left to stab at."

  "She'll be expecting lookouts," Arvad said. "We would have to sacrifice one or even two of ourselves to lure her into the village to make that plan work. I think we can make a strategy that doesn't require any such loss of life."

  "Straw men, then," Slither said. "We got enough of the brush, to be sure. Make it up to look like lookouts. Lure her close."

  Krudah snapped his fingers and pointed at Slither. "You like that idea?" Zethyr asked. "I never would have thought Slither would outsmart the rest of us."

  "Not that plan," Arvad said, "but something about it. The brush?"

  "Ay," Slither said. "Something about that."

  Krudah put his fingers together in a pyramid shape and wiggled them. Arvad grinned. "Fire. We set up the place to burn. Lure the Praether inside, then set it off."

  "How?" Aelida asked. "The brush is dry and will burn quickly, but it won't light so fast that the Praether couldn't get away."

  Krudah knelt down and drew shapes in the dirt. The others crowded around the see. First, he sketched the shacks with the stone pit at the center, then he scrabbled a circle around the entire drawing.

  Arvad laughed. "I admire your boldness, General."

  "I don't understand," Zethyr said.

  "We don't burn her," Arvad said. "We just light up a perimeter fire so she can't get away. Then we trust ourselves to win the day."

  "That's it?" Slither said, crossing her arms. "I think my ideas be better for it. Who's with me?"

  Krudah shook his head. He tried to speak but couldn't, then wrote the words in the dirt. Aelida read them aloud. "She's the trickster."

  "He means he doesn't trust us to fool her," Arvad said. "And if she doesn't fall for the ruse, she'll have the time and opportunity to set up her own traps for us."

  Slither began to speak but Zethyr suddenly held up his hand, earning the group's attention. "This village," he said. "Completely empty. What if this is the trap? We haven't seen her pursuing us but maybe that's only because she's been ahead of us the entire time."

  "Ha," Slither scoffed. "You think that terrible creature been building us a little village to find? Like a carpenter? I ain't afraid of no carpenters."

  "Of course not," Zethyr said. "But it's such an obvious landmark that she'd know we'd come to it."

  The caliphs looked at each other in sober silence. Krudah held his breath and listened to the wind. Another sound, barely audible, registered; a faint breathing, like a predator drawing breath before it pounced. He drew Czallah and the others followed suit.

  "Form a circle around the fire pit," Arvad said.

  They did as he commanded. The shacks stood silent, shaking slightly in the wind. Beyond, the Red Star illuminated the vast landscape of flatlands and dry brush. Nothing moved.

  Yet Krudah heard the breathing again, louder than before. A hissing intake of air, followed by a long, slow release.

  Intuition turned him just in time to behold the Praether, painted in black ash, rising up from the stone circle, arms raised. Krudah scrambled back but couldn't shout to alert his comrades. They only knew it was there when the Praether spun in a frenzy, lashing out with blades of light from the gemstones in its fingertips that cut through all they touched.

  The caliphs' circle broke apart but all save Krudah had been struck. They stumbled as they sought to escape the Praether's furious assault, dropping their weapons and crying out in pain.

  Krudah swung Czallah down toward the Praether's spinning shape but the blade passed through and struck the ground. The Praether kicked the weapon out of his hands and pushed him back, its gemstone blades piercing his broad chest. He caught its arm and twisted with it as he fell, taking the Praether off balance and bringing it to the ground with him. It raked his arm with its claws of light, turning the skin and flesh to ribbons, but he held on, screaming. His wife's face flashed before his eyes and he saw her reaching to him, offering to take him along to the halls of Skor.

  I'm not finished yet.

  At last, Krudah released the Praether. His arm fell to his side, bone exposed from elbow to wrist, unresponsive.

  The Praether scrambled away but Aelida stood above it, and she drove a spear through the creature's back, impaling it into the ground. The relief Krudah felt was short-lived, however. The Praether reached backwards with such force that its shoulder bones snapped and it took hold of the spear with both hands. After only a moment of straining, the Praether broke the shaft in half, scattering shards of wood. It pushed itself up and off the remaining part of the spear, hissing and trembling.

  Aelida loosed a Skor-Adal battle cry and plunged her knife into the Praether's neck. The Praether seemed unaffected, and it struck Aelida in the chest with such force that she tumbled back into the darkness and was still.

  Several other caliphs had recovered and moved to gather their weapons. Krudah watched through bleary eyes as they approached the Praether with shaking but determined steps. Even with its broken shoulders and the knife sticking out from its neck, the Praether regarded them with a challenging gaze and Krudah did not think his caliphs had the advantage. Yet as Arvad came near enough to strike, dragging a useless leg, the Praether took a step back.

  "This. Is not. The last. Of it."

  Krudah's last sight before the darkness took him was the Praether as it turned to mist and vanished.

  Mourisiel X

  A Royal Family

  Royal Prince Vakara paced at the foot of his four-post bed. One of his concubines, a girl half his age, lay naked on the sweat-stained sheets. The White Star’s light beyond the open balcony window had begun to fade from brilliant white to soft yellow as it neared the horizon.

  “Stop that,” the concubine said, eyes flittering open and closing again. “You’re making me anxious.”

  “I am thinking.”

  “Well, stop.”

  Vakara glared. “I
sent for you in the hopes that you might take my mind off of things. What good are you if you can’t do that?”

  “You seemed to think I was pretty good just a moment ago.”

  “Anyone can be good at sex,” Vakara said.

  “Anyone can be taught to be good,” the concubine said, “but I graduated at the top of my class.”

  “Is that a pun?”

  The concubine smiled. “Not an intentional one.” She yawned, then propped herself up on her elbows. “If you can’t calm down, I can’t sleep. So what is it? Put voice to your thoughts and get them out of your head.”

  Vakara sighed. “If I could talk about it with you, I would. You know I don’t keep secrets from you except when I have to.”

  “You’ve told me your secrets before.”

  “I should not have.” Vakara and the concubine shared a look. The prince relented and sat on the side of the bed. “My father’s illness has worsened. Axhair says he won’t last the cycle.”

  “What, do you care now? I thought you despised the old man. It wasn’t so long ago you told me you couldn’t wait for him to die.”

  “It isn’t his death that concerns me.”

  “So what then?” Vakara stared out the balcony window at the setting White Star and didn’t answer. The concubine touched his hand. “Are you nervous about taking over the throne? It’s all you’ve dreamed of for all these years.”

  “I don’t fear the throne,” Vakara said. “I fear it will be kept from me.”

  “Your siblings?”

  “They may be thinking of ways to secure power after father’s death but no, I’m not concerned with them. I’ve won in those struggles before. They know I’m the strongest. The cleverest.”

  “Do you think your mother…?”

  “No,” Vakara said, rising. He went towards the balcony but stopped, distracted by his reflection in the armoire mirror. He flexed his muscles and touched his naked torso. “I am the strongest of my family,” he said, “but strength does not rule Mourisiel any longer. The honor of my family name has been bartered away. My right to rule has been forsaken in my father’s pursuit of some vainglorious dream.”

  The concubine watched from the bed, brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Vakara said, clenching his fist. “I can’t tell anyone. If anyone discovered that I know…”

  “What is it that you know?”

  Vakara looked away from the mirror. He blinked as if waking from a dream. “I’m sorry. I’ve told you too much.”

  The concubine slipped out of bed and crossed to Vakara’s side. She kissed the prince softly on his shoulder. “Your secrets are always safe with me.”

  Vakara turned and softly touched the concubine’s face. He kissed her on the mouth, then wrapped his fingers around the concubine’s neck. Vakara held his face against the concubine’s, felt the girl’s last breath against his lips, and then let the body tumble to the floor. Vakara sighed and stepped back into the beam of starlight from the balcony, feeling its heat.

  A full sweep of the starclock passed before Vakara called for a servant to take the body away. The diminutive old woman asked no questions. As she dragged the concubine out of the room, she passed the Royal Prince Amdara in the doorway.

  “Tsk tsk,” Amdara said, stepping into the room. “Falyn, wasn’t it? I never thought you’d let her go.”

  “The more I love someone, the more enjoyment I get from killing them.” Vakara grinned. “You’re lucky I have no love for you, little brother.”

  Amdara shrugged. “Is it so lucky? More and more these days, I think that whatever waits for me after death might be happier than this world and this time.”

  “Share your depressed philosophizing with Pasala. I would rather not hear it.” Vakara sat at the armoire, straightening his hair in the mirror. “I’m not dressed. Leave me.”

  “Our sister has had Tyromon cook up a dinner of emner and gaffins. She was going to send a servant to let you know but I said I could use the task to get my mind off of things.”

  “Gaffins?” Vakara asked. “I thought we were saving the last of them for father’s funeral.”

  “Pasala is impatient.”

  “She is trying her best to be cunning, that’s what she’s doing. She thinks to get us all in the same room so she can fill our ears with her dopey plotting. I have no need for it. I’ll send for the meal and have it here.”

  Amdara wandered into the beam of starlight and gazed out the window. “She comes into my room sometimes at night. Mostly she talks about how much she misses mother and how much she hates you but sometimes she talks about father and the majordomo and the throne.”

  “She has you believing her, does she?” Vakara shook his head. “I knew she’d get to you eventually.”

  “You have no plans,” Amdara said. “Who else…”

  “I have plans,” Vakara said, cutting him off. “I just don’t tell you about them because I don’t need anyone to help me see them through. You and Pasala might need me but I certainly don’t need you.”

  “Would it hurt to work together?” Amdara asked. “We have everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

  “I said I don’t need you.”

  Amdara sniffed and went to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “Whatever it is you’re plotting, I hope you succeed.”

  In the mirror, Vakara watched Amdara shut the doors behind him, then put his head into his hands.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  Pasala and Amdara ate in silence in the Harivaz palace’s grand meal hall. Set for forty, the table’s plateware was dusty and tarnished. The chandeliers were unlit and only the sconces beside the doors offered meager light.

  Vakara cleared his throat as he entered the room. His siblings looked up; Amdara slow and languid, Pasala quick and sudden. Vakara crossed toward them, affecting a bored look. “I’m hungry after all. You haven’t eaten everything, have you?”

  Pasala shook her head, a mere twitch. “Another meal,” she shouted, “for the Crown Prince.” In an adjacent room, a servant went to work preparing a plate. Pasala gestured to the seat at the head of the table between herself and Amdara. “Have a seat, brother.”

  Sighing, Vakara lowered himself into the chair. Amdara returned to his meal but Pasala stared at Vakara until he felt her eyes and glanced her way. She smiled. “I’m glad you’ve come.”

  “I won’t be glad of anything,” Vakara said, “until I’ve had my fill of gaffins.”

  “No,” Pasala said, pointing her fork. “You won’t be glad of anything until you have the throne.”

  Vakara’s eyes narrowed. “There was a time, not long ago, when the throne was all you wanted for yourself as well. Why the sudden setting of that star?”

  “Because even though you are cruel and terrible and the very worst brother I could ask for, you are nonetheless my brother, a Mourisiel, and I would rather die than see anyone outside this family sit on daddy’s throne.”

  Vakara scoffed. “I see your bones, Pasala. I always have. You fear what will happen to you when father dies.”

  “Don’t you?” Pasala asked. “Who knows what the majordomo will do when his word is law? He could have us imprisoned or exiled or worse. I can stand a life without the throne, but I will not abide a life without the luxuries of my birthright.”

  A servant came and laid down a steaming plate before Vakara. The prince blew on an oblong gaffin and popped it into his mouth. “Fret not, sister,” he mumbled. “I won’t let it happen.”

  “You will, though,” Amdara said, eyes on his plate. “Because that is your plan.”

  “You don’t know anything about my plans.”

  “You’re cleverer than I am,” Amdara said, “so tell me if I’m wrong, but your surest path to the throne is to let the majordomo take power and do what he will with us once father can no longer stop him. He’ll need you, at least for the first cycle, and while you play the puppet, you’ll search for the opportunity to k
ill him.”

  “He doesn’t need us,” Pasala said. “He only needs you. And that’s why we need you.”

  “You’re putting a lot of misguided faith in my love for you,” Vakara said. “What do I care what he does with you?”

  “You may be the clever one,” Pasala said, “but we’re not idiots. We don’t expect you to help us for nothing.”

  “So what are you offering?”

  “Theina,” Amdara said. Vakara paused chewing and stared. “We know where she is.”

  “How can you?” Vakara considered taking his plate and storming out but something in the earnest look in his siblings’ eyes kept him. “The majordomo has her locked away.”

  “I’ve been naughty,” Pasala said. “I found something in father’s chambers. A passage. There is a whole world underneath the palace, Vakara, and the majordomo has hidden Theina away there.”

  Vakara shook his head in wonder, then laughed once with more violence than mirth. “The damn fool. He thinks he is protected from Aris so long as he has her and so long as she lives, but if we take her from him…”

  “Exactly.” Pasala’s eyes burned. “And we can do it. The three of us. Then we’ll have the leverage we need to set Aris on him, and he’ll have to flee our palace and our rule.”

  Vakara’s eyes narrowed to a glare. “Why share this with me? What are you plotting, sister?”

  “A return to the way things used to be. He’ll kill all of us if he has to, and we can’t stop him. But he can’t kill you. You have to be part of this with us. You just have to. Otherwise it won’t work.”

  “So you think I’m less likely to kill you than he is. That’s all this is. A play for survival.”

  Pasala scowled. “Does this information earn us nothing from you? Not even our meaningless lives after you are king?”

  Vakara popped another gaffin into his mouth and grinned. “I guess we’ll just have to see. First things first, though. Show me where he’s hidden Theina.”