by E. J. Godwin
2
Premonitions
To forget the path behind
is to darken the one before us.
- Telai, 13th Grand Loremaster of Ada
A SOUND LIKE thunder rocked the clear dawn sky.
Always sensitive to the slightest omen, Telai woke instantly. Wrapped in her blankets on the cold, dew-speckled grass of her campsite, she watched a stream of fire cleave its way between the fading stars.
She extracted herself and jumped to her feet. Save for a coal-black mare stamping out her nervousness against the turf, no other sound or movement disturbed the empty solitude.
The line of fire narrowed, the rumble mellowed. At last it faded into the glow of the horizon, leaving nothing but a trail of fume to mark its passing.
Telai waited breathlessly, every nerve tensed. A faint, echoing report reached her ears—a vicious, unforgiving sound, as if the land had been violated. It sent a chill into her bones no warmth of daylight would soon cure.
A deep nicker from Eiveya, her companion for many years, broke the spell. Telai, her braided, platinum-blond hair tangled from sleep, approached and spoke a few words of comfort. She had served as Grand Loremaster of Ada for only two years, and age had not yet mellowed her passion to discover the secret behind Ada’s long history of war with the Hodyn. Now, as she traced the smoky path of this fallen star, she wondered if anything from the past mattered anymore.
Telai inspected her hands, noting the calluses earned by endless miles of riding—a testament to her search for the truth. On her right hand, a dark ruby set in a silver-trimmed gold ring reflected the growing light. She had earned that, too. But she knew a decision lay in her future, when she must risk everything to become the first Loremaster in history who dared challenge her country’s most cherished beliefs—or else accept her place as only one more historian in a long line of successors.
She clenched her hands and looked up. Her instincts seldom failed her. Somewhere beyond the fiery path across the sky, she would finally cross that line.
She gathered her belongings, only lingering to give Eiveya the attention she deserved: food and water, a quick brush-down, lifting those saucer-sized hooves to check for stones or loose horseshoes. Telai knew her quest depended on these brief delays. Yet before the first limb of the sun brightened her troubled brow and lit the fire of determination in her light brown eyes, she had saddled Eiveya for another day’s ride.
One soft word was all it took to urge the big horse forward. Telai let Eiveya set her own pace, shifting the reins now and then to keep their course to the east. To their right, beyond a quick-flowing river, a lonely summit broke the rolling green of the central plains—a grim, barren cone that after all these years still cast a pall of fear, a hint of some primal memory best left undisturbed. Telai, who cared nothing for these unspoken taboos, had slept nearly in its shadow.
High winds stretched the trail of smoke across the sky until it faded. Clumps of heather, small groups of trees, here and there a trench carved deep by spring storms, all slowly passed as she rode, their shadows shrinking then growing again as the sun arced overhead. She let Eiveya drink at every opportunity, conserving the animal’s strength for whatever fate lay ahead.
The sky had mellowed with the approach of evening. Eiveya stopped, suddenly and without a word from her rider.
“What is it, girl?”
Eiveya neighed and tossed her head. Telai peered ahead at a gap between two distant patches of woodland. No, she told herself. If any Raéni scouting party allowed the Hodyn to get this far into Ada, Soren would never let them forget it.
She dug in her heels and resumed the journey. The saddle-like gap between the woods widened, took on clarity. A distant gleam on the edge of grass and sky beyond caught her attention, and she urged Eiveya into a trot.
Again the horse jarred to a stop, forcing Telai to grip the saddle horn to keep her balance. She stifled a curse and scanned the horizon from north to south. Beyond the inexplicable gleam yellowing in the westering sun, she saw nothing to explain Eiveya’s caution.
Telai dropped from the saddle, stretched, then reached inside her saddle bag for the hard wafers she often carried on long journeys. She took a few steps toward the distant reflection, chewing thoughtfully.
Another nervous whinny interrupted her. Telai walked back and stroked the animal’s muscular neck. “Trying to get my attention?” she asked, her voice mingling with the breeze. “We’ve got to work on our communication skills, sweetheart.”
The mare perked up her head and ears and stared directly toward the woods to their left. Telai’s smile faded to a puzzled frown.
“What in Hendra’s name has gotten into you?”
Eiveya turned on the spot and tore into a gallop, neighing fiercely. The impact of the horse’s flank knocked Telai to the ground, where she lay for a moment gasping for breath. Then a strangely accented shout brought her back to her feet in an instant.
A man approached from the direction of the woods, his steps cautious, hands spread wide in a gesture of peace. Close at his side walked a boy nine or ten years old, presumably his son. They wore gray, full-length body suits with silver and blue emblems at the left breast; the child’s hung like a tent, while the man’s suit was torn and stained with blood along the sleeves and ankles. He sported a stubble of beard beneath a dark glance and tangled, medium-length brown hair: decidedly rugged and handsome. The child was an endearing picture of sandy locks, and blue eyes widening in mingled fascination and dread.
The man spoke again, a complex, burdensome string of syllables alien to her experience. But she heard the desperation in his voice, and noticed how he kept the boy close to him.
A sudden tumult of galloping horses turned their heads. A cohort of Raéni soldiers had rounded a corner of the woods to the east, speeding directly toward them. The man leaped in front of his son, and the riders came to a stop, churning the soil.
With a shock Telai recognized their leader: Soren, Master Raén of Ada. No higher military authority existed beyond the Overseer’s.
He wore leather leggings and a short tunic, with small, colorful badges along the sleeves. His hair, white yet not quite the white of age, lay thin and straight upon his shoulders. In his weathered face sparked eyes keen as a winter storm. It was a face Telai had seen many times since her childhood—a message of pride, bravery, and a loyalty that would not shrink from taking a stranger’s life if duty required it.
With wiry hands gripping the saddle he slid to the ground. Two others followed, a young man of average height and a dark-haired, sturdy woman, while the remaining pair rode wide to the left and right to prevent escape. The stranger blanched as the Raéni swept out their swords, curved blades burning like gold in the sun as they surrounded him.
The newcomer glanced at Telai as though she represented his one hope, her trust already established. Soren harshly demanded the stranger state his purpose, but the man only offered a few unintelligible words, shaking his head in frustration. Soren’s fingers twitched on his sword while the other two Raéni stood behind the stranger, ready to carry out their master’s command in an instant.
The boy, trembling, sent a glance of his own at Telai—one that mesmerized her. She stepped forward, her struggle between truth and myth forgotten, and placed her hand on the old man’s shoulder in a silent plea for mercy.
“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen,” Soren replied. He turned and pointed, and Telai followed his arm to where the gleam that had first caught her interest was fading into the dusk.
“Do you know what it is?”
“A metal ship of some kind, one that fell from the sky,” he said. “It’s badly damaged.”
“A ship? This far from the ocean?”
“It had windows in front like a captain’s cabin—so it’s only a guess.”
Telai studied the gleam on the horizon again, then turned and approached the newcomers.
“Have a care, daughter of Garda!”
“They’re only afraid, Soren. I would be!”
Telai stopped a few steps away, careful not to alarm them. She saw the emblem on the man’s clothing in more detail now: a blue, marble-patterned disc, circled by three green arrows joined head to tail. Sharply-formed, metallic runes or letters underscored the emblem in a neat row, flashing amber in the sun.
She met the man’s brown gaze and offered a tentative smile. “Telai,” she said, placing a hand on her chest.
The stranger must have heard the tremor in her voice, but he did not smile or appear to take any comfort in it. A short nod was the only sign he recognized her words as a greeting. He sent a meaningful glance at the blade in Soren’s hand.
“Soren, please lower your swords,” said Telai. “You outnumber him five to one.”
No change softened the Master Raén’s hard exterior. Patience had rewarded Telai’s efforts many times, however, and she waited until the old man nodded at his companions. They lowered their swords, yet left them unsheathed except for Soren, who slapped his own weapon home and stepped forward.
He barked out his name, touching his chest as Telai had done. “Caleb Stenger,” the stranger answered clearly, copying Soren’s gesture.
The old Raén exchanged stares with Telai. “Does that mean his name is Caleb, or Stenger?”
“How should I know?” she whispered. “Maybe it’s both.”
Soren humphed. “Must be insufferably proud of himself to have two names.”
She introduced herself again. “Telai,” the stranger repeated.
The boy still clung to his father. Telai, forestalling Soren before he could frighten the child with his gruff ways, crouched down in front of him.
Curiosity brightened the young face. “Warren!” he shouted cheerfully, and stuck a thumb to his chest.
Telai could not help but smile. Then her jaw dropped as the boy left his father’s side and hugged her around the shoulders.
Such a strange smell! Not a disagreeable one, yet it didn’t seem to belong, an odor even the far-reaching mariners of Trethrealm might not recognize. But it didn’t really matter. An irresistible warmth, haunted by an echo of longing, stole into her heart.
Telai stood. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Soren.”
“That will be for the Overseer and the Council to decide, not us.”
“I know that. Just remember that many villagers would have seen his ship fall from the sky. There’s no telling how they’ll react.”
“I know what my duties are, Loremaster. No harm will come to them before we reach Ekendoré.” Telai pressed her lips in annoyance, nodded, and walked off to find Eiveya.
The mare soon responded to her call, and Telai smiled as Eiveya followed leaderless at her side, nuzzling her with those huge nostrils. All was forgiven. Yet by the time she returned, Soren, his gestures more animated with each effort, was having considerable difficulty convincing the stranger that his son would have to ride with someone else.
Caleb Stenger, his face clouded with anger, walked over and mounted Telai’s horse with ease, ending their doubts about his horsemanship. Warren followed, using his father’s arm to hoist himself into the saddle.
Telai’s cheeks burned at the man’s presumption. Soren only cracked a faint smile. But she knew better than to challenge a father’s protective instincts, and Eiveya was a docile creature, tame to any experienced hand. Soren offered to let Telai ride double with him, and she reluctantly agreed.
At last they departed. Soren headed northeast, back the way they had come, taking advantage of the light while it lasted. Telai wrapped her arms firmly around her rider, doing her best to ignore the chill of fear creeping back into her bones.
The first stars were emerging. She glanced at Warren, then stared ahead, the ruby ring chafing her fingers as if in mockery.
3
Ekendoré
Each dawn that gleams in Wsaytchen’s silver towers
is proof my work is not in vain.
- Garda, 18th and 20th Overseer of Ada
A GENTLE BREEZE stirred the curtains of Caleb Stenger’s small room at the inn. He sat up in bed, his sleeping gown and brown tousle of hair dampened from sweat, and waited for the sun’s power to erase the cruel memories that had invaded his dreams.
Warren slept in a small bed by the other window, his slow breathing faint from across the room. The face beneath his tousled locks was as serene as an angel’s.
To Caleb, it was a lie.
He rose from his bed and sat in a chair by the north window, hoping to find distraction in the grand view outside their third-story room. The city of Ekendoré was still asleep; the only person within sight hurried over the cobblestone streets, his arms wrapped tightly against the chill. Caleb saw himself down there, a stranger lost, seeking shelter and comfort in an alien world.
Warren stirred and mumbled something incomprehensible. He had seldom spoken during the long months since the crash, and only in toddler-like bursts of wonder or surprise. Yet sometimes he spoke more fluently during sleep, and Caleb had often stayed up late at night to listen for any word or phrase that escaped the child’s dreams.
Caleb had visited nearly every doctor in Ekendoré by now, the best Ada had to offer. But in time he realized he was only torturing himself, and stopped subjecting his frightened child to all their prodding and poking and bloodletting. If there was any chance of saving Warren, Caleb would have to find it himself.
He rose from his chair for a stretch. “Time to get up, son.” They washed and dressed; afterward a servant arrived at the door with their breakfast, and set it on a small table by the east window.
After they finished eating, Warren occupied himself with a wooden puzzle, while Caleb remained in his seat to enjoy the soft breeze drifting through the open window.
He had no heart for another lesson. He wanted to escape the mind-numbing chore of learning their history, and take Warren on a long journey of exploration in the vast, soul-stirring prospect outside his window—one last chance of reliving those happier days with his adventuresome little friend.
Across the street a narrow lake mirrored the dawn, its waters held in place by a dam that marked the limit of Ekendoré’s cultural and political district. Beyond lay only farms and villages; massive, cloud-crowned peaks rose on either side, guarding a long, swiftly widening valley that soon lost itself in the rising sun. Tall against the pine-clad foothills to the left rose a palace of white stone; the new sunlight gleamed fiercely in its windows and silver crowns, and brought the towers and buttresses into sharp relief.
Perhaps this was nothing more than an enchanted dream, Caleb mused, and he and Warren were still passing the countless stars in a chemically induced, near-death sleep. But this world was too real, too full of sight and sound and smell and touch, and too vivid a contrast to a world far away, both in time and place.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, surrendering himself to a few minutes of sleep before his instructor knocked on the door.
♦
Telai negotiated the steep streets and familiar turns as though wearied by a long journey. The pallor of a restless night still held sway beneath the dark blue hood of her cloak, and the prospect of another day of mind-numbing instruction almost turned her back home. Yet when she lifted her bleary stare to the east, she managed a smile. The poise and glory of Ada’s most beloved city never lost its charm.
She still remembered the awe on Caleb Stenger’s face when he first glimpsed Ekendoré, miles away where it looked more like a crown than anything people had a right to live in. It was her first glimpse into this man who fell from the sky.
Almost an entire winter and following spring had passed since she had been ordered to teach Caleb Stenger their history and culture. The previous instructor who had taught him their language was more than capable of this, but the rulers of Ada saw things differently. The Council’s excuse—that he might come from a powerful nation, and they needed to give him every opportunity to beco
me a citizen of Ada—sounded so politically trite and petty to her now. The Council still hadn’t decided the day of his Judgment. What were they waiting for?
People greeted her in passing as she threaded a way along the busier thoroughfares, and she made an effort to return each courtesy. But her thoughts kept drifting. When she finally reached the inn she could not remember one person she had spoken to.
Telai opened one of the double doors, then cursed as she stumbled near the threshold. That old dog always picked the most inconvenient spot to sleep! But she crouched down to rub his big, soft ears, a penance she had observed a dozen times by now.
She headed up the stairs to the top floor. The Falling Man, they kept calling him—some in mockery, others simply out of habit. She smiled at the memory of their first meeting. How her heart had pounded! But he was no god, or a demon, only an ordinary man. Yet no matter how well she knew him by now he was still from a strange place, with a son who had suffered from their strange devices.
Telai walked down the hallway to the north side and knocked on the last door on the right.
Her student yanked the door open. “Come in, come in—you’ve got to hear this!”
She threw back her cowl and brushed a few loose strands of hair behind her ear as she crossed the room. “Peace, Caleb Stenger. I didn’t sleep well last night.” She dropped her satchel on the table. “Where’s Warren?”
“Oh, yes. He’s found a new friend. He’ll be back soon. Don’t you want to know what I just heard from the Council of Nine?”
“Don’t tell me—”
“Yes! They’ve scheduled the Judgment for tomorrow.”
She sank into a chair. “At last! I wonder what finally changed their minds?”
“I have no idea. I’ll just be glad to get out of this prison they keep calling an inn.”
“Not the most flattering thing I’ve heard. But I can’t say I blame you.”
