Queen of Stars and Shadows (Pathway of the Chosen)

by Cat Bruno

  “He would think she found an animal worthy of her respect,” Gregorr intoned.

  The mage remembered then that both Sharron and Gregorr had seen the animals, for the healers in Tian used the crushed bones of the great cats in many salves and tonics. Some might be underneath his bandages now. But it was not that thought that troubled him.

  “When Caryss, Sharron, and I went to the Cove to find Otieno, the girl visited. And she was marked with the same face stains as Master Ru and some of the others here. I am no fool, Gregorr, and know how one comes to be so painted.”

  With ease, Gregorr told him, “I have never imagined you to be foolish, Aldric. I would guess that Otieno knows as much. But we must learn from the mistakes in Sythia. What once was might no longer be.”

  Aldric’s brow furrowed into deep lines and he hugged his hands close. Moon years past, Syrsha had come to the temple and challenged the great cats, and had succeeded, earning the stripes they had once seen under her eye. In Cossima, her time-walking had been stable and balanced, and had not altered what had once occurred. It was not until Sythia that they had discovered that her memories could be false ones.

  “There is little way to know if she has forever altered her path,” Aldric muttered.

  The fennidi agreed, “It will be some time until she would be allowed to face the beasts. By then, maybe the rocks will have settled and the rivers calmed.”

  “We must return to Cordisia soon,” Aldric stated, with more certainty now. “The longer we are gone, the more fractured her memories get.”

  The mage thought on Gregorr’s earlier words. Syrsha was, for now, more lost than she had ever been.

  *****

  Her cotton tunic was soon damp and her hastily tied healer’s knot loosened, but Syrsha continued. The shortsword had been replaced with a curved blade, one that was not as fine as Otieno’s, but moved with greater speed. The scimitar arched deep, for it was light and narrow, but deadlier because of its speed. After a quarter-moon of training at the temple, she had become even faster and her movements nearly silent, despite her lack of swordplay.

  The temple was within sight, but Syrsha had walked toward the outer edges until she stood atop a wall of slate-colored bricks. She had not noticed the structure when they had first entered the temple for it had been built only on the eastern borders and did not encircle all of Sholin. It did not seem to have been used for protection, for it only came to her shoulder, and she had been easily able to mount it. Now, she hopped along the ledge, which were no wider than her hand.

  Tucking her scimitar into its sheath, she tip-toed further east, unbothered by the coming darkness. The trees were lusher as she moved on, no longer neatly trimmed and sculpted. No starlight could be seen, but the bright glare of Luna painted the treetops silver. The view reminded her of Eirrannia, of the Faelan Mountains, home to the fennidi and near the Tribelands. Only in memory and time-walking did she recall it to be so.

  Syrsha knew not how far she had gone, but the wall abruptly ended, as if the builders grew weary of such work. Seated on the edge, she let her legs hang from the side as she paused.

  Staring up at the moon, named Chang-a here, Syrsha again thought on the great cats. She did not think long before a voice called out to her.

  Unable to see who came, Syrsha pulled the shortsword free and cried out, “Show yourself!”

  In Tiannese, a male voice boomed, “Put away the sword, and I will acquiesce.”

  Her ears tingled, twitching as she listened. In a flurry of movement, obvious and deliberate, she sheathed the sword. As if she was constructed of air and mist, Syrsha silently leapt from the wall, and rolled to her left and into soft ferns. Jumping to her feet, she lunged forward and around the man until she had her dagger at his throat.

  “The sword is at my waist,” she breathed.

  His voice was even as he teased, “Then I need not fear the one at my neck.”

  The man did not move, nor did his words tremble or shake, for she would have known his fear. Her vision did not fog or color, and Syrsha loosened her hold on the dagger.

  Stepping back, she asked, “Did you follow me from the temple?”

  “Do I wear the robes of an acolyte?” he countered.

  Most would not have been able to see him clearly, but her vision was well-suited for nightfall, and she looked upon him with clear eyes. He was of age to her, although his clothing was much finer. A silken robe covered him from shoulder to feet. The top half was as black as his hair and embroidered with swirling dragons, gold and blazing. The bottom half was blood-red, yet the same dragons appeared, silver and shining. On his feet, he wore matching slippers, an odd choice for the forest, she thought. Tied around his waist was a sash of yellow-gold, thick and gleaming.

  “I know not what you wear, but your shoes will be ruined by morning,” she smirked.

  With indifference, he told her, “Then I will have another pair made.”

  Thick brows framed his pale face, and his eyes watched her. His hair was long, resting upon his shoulders in waves of ebony. He was no warrior, she knew, and likely born of royalty.

  “How did one such as you come to speak Tiannese with such ease?” he asked, comfortable under her examination, as if accustomed to such stares.

  Trying to match his ease, she replied, “As a child, I had a tutor from Tian.”

  “And you study at the temple?”

  “For now,” she quickly answered.

  With a nod that suggested he did not believe her, the man asked, “What is it that they call you?”

  Only then did Syrsha hesitate as she wondered if Delwin’s reach could be so long.

  “I am Jiang,” he stated before she could answer. “My family has ruled over Henan for many centuries. Ask any at the temple, and they will tell you so.”

  Otieno would not be pleased that she had allowed the man to read her so easily.

  “It grows late,” she remarked, “And I should return.”

  As she began to walk away, he ran near, catching up to her and saying, “Even without a name, I would like to invite you for dinner on the morrow. I will send someone to escort you, or I will come myself.”

  Syrsha did not slow, nor did she turn to face him. Instead, she walked on, with Jiang still at her side.

  “I am Syrsha,” she sighed, realizing he would not leave until she addressed him again.

  “To me, you are daughter to Mou-Tse, goddess of the night sky,” he sang.

  She laughed then, for his voice was not pleasant or smooth. “I get little time away from the temple.”

  “You are not there now,” he observed.

  “After the evening meal, we are allowed hours for ourselves,” Syrsha told him, although she suspected that he already knew as much.

  “The food I offer is far more pleasing than any the temple serves,” he said in an attempt to woo her. “On the morrow, I will return, just after sundown. If you grow weary of rice and fish, my invitation is open.”

  As they walked on, Syrsha watched him. Jiang stood with a straight back, although was not quite as tall. His features were finer than the men at the temple – high cheekbones, a slender nose, and thin lips. Most would think him handsome, and she would not disagree. His gait was lively, and his skin was clear. And when he spoke to her, his eyes glimmered like onyx stones.

  “Is your examination complete?” he asked, offering her a crisp bow.

  Her cheeks warmed, but Syrsha again retorted, “For now.”

  “If I return the favor, would you think me less a gentleman?”

  “I would have to think you already so, Jiang, for you have done little but watch me since I took my dagger from your neck.”

  When he laughed, his hair tumbled across his face and his own cheeks reddened.

  Smiling with gleaming, marble teeth, he teased, “I will beg for moonfall each night just to watch your edges glow. Grant me another moment of your company, and I shall go to sleep content.”

  For a moment, he remind
ed her of Blaidd, although she had only heard of his tales from afar. Although both Tribe, the two were as unalike as many. Blaidd had spent his early moon years in the Tribelands with both his mother and father before traveling to the Southern Cove Islands. He was viewed by most as a half-breed, and, although their fathers were brothers, Syrsha was not. She had never understood the distinction, for her mother had less mage-skill than Blaidd’s. Neither Gregorr nor Aldric could explain to her what made her different, and she had never asked the question of her father.

  By the time they arrived back at the temple, she had decided to see him again. Life at the temple was dull, and, without access to the great cats, she had little to do. But she did not tell him as much, and, instead began to walk toward the entrance. A tug at her sleeve caused her to stop as Jiang reached for her.

  “I have met no one like you,” he confided, his warm breath smelling of rose water as it flitted across her cheek.

  When he kissed her, Syrsha did not move. His lips were smooth as they traced across hers, and, just as quickly, he pulled back, his glance falling to his feet.

  “My apologies, Syrsha,” he mumbled, stepping back.

  After a strained moment of silence, she said, “On the morrow then,” and hurried toward the door.

  The hour was late, and, aside from the great cats, most slept. She did not return to the shared quarters, but quietly made her way to the edge of the courtyard. As near as she had ever been, Syrsha stopped, not wanting to risk another step. There, beyond the wooden fence that separated the inner sanctum from the rest of the temple, she lay down. With no bedroll, she quickly grew uncomfortable, but the sounds of the throaty purrs of the great cats was enough to make her uneasiness pass.

  There, she slept, realizing as her eyes closed that she was finding it more difficult to live as the others did.

  *****

  16

  The Litusian port was smaller than he had expected, despite the abundant trade that Tretoria offered. Azzaro’s swift ship, and Jarek’s assistance, had gotten the group to the Western town in little less than a quarter-moon. Now, they waited for sundown to enter the Academy grounds.

  Blaidd would remain aboard with the captain, and Blaze would accompany Jarek to find Kennet. It was strange to be so soon back to the Healer’s Academy, and more so to be with the Tribesman. With Pietro’s betrayal, their plans had quickly altered, and they would have little time to ready for Delwin’s attack.

  Jarek did not doubt that the King would strike soon, for he had held his hand overlong, according to many of his advisors. With Crispin dead, the coming moons would be dangerous ones. There was no one to challenge Delwin, who had the Lightkeepers as allies and the Royal Army at his command. The king would soon fear little and welcome the vengeance that the Lightkeepers promised. Even the Academy, forever neutral, would be threatened. Yet, Jarek had decided that his brother must stay, for he would not bring the boy to the Tribelands. Not after what had occurred when last he was there.

  “You should ready yourself, for the sun falls fast here.”

  He could not tell if the captain’s words were in jest or not, but Jarek nodded and headed to his cabin. They had made no stops on the voyage, and all four men were forced to wear what clothing Azzaro kept in rusting trunks. Sorting through the sea-scented pile, Jarek settled on a graying tunic and matching trousers, both large and poorly cut. Azzaro had become a wealthy man, but his tastes were simple ones.

  As he returned to join the others above deck, the captain called out to him, “You look straight out of the lower streets. Have you forgotten that you will be surrounded by healers and students wearing nothing but bleached robes?”

  With a shrug of broad shoulders, Jarek answered, “My plan is for none to see me at all.”

  It was Blaze who added, “It will be strange to visit the place responsible for my living.”

  They all knew the story of the Islander’s birth and of how Caryss had cut the babe from his mother, saving them both.

  Grunting laughter erupted from the captain, and, wiping at his eyes, he said, “I must tell you of the time that Crispin searched the Cove for Caryss, only to be thwarted by Blaze’s kin. The woman, who is your aunt, stole all of his men’s swords, some that had been family relics, and did so with an army of children. If Crispin had not had any love for the healer, he might have burned the inn to the ground.”

  At the sudden shift in his tone, they all looked up.

  With another chortle, Azzaro stated, “The woman had him between the legs, and Crispin knew it. He had gone to the Cove in secret and had to depart the same.” Still grinning, he added, “I look forward to meeting this woman when I return to the Cove.”

  “You will not be staying in the Tribelands?” Blaidd asked, his face full of questions.

  More serious now, Azzaro told them, “Someone will need to fetch the army. I hear one is waiting there.”

  They all knew what was coming, but his words caused them to quiet nonetheless. Until Jarek asked how long it would take to sail north to the western border of the Tribelands.

  “With you onboard, no more than a quarter-moon,” Azzaro proclaimed. “The waters are rougher on this side of Cordisia, and rocks and crags are nearly everywhere. In truth, I have not been as far north as the Tribelands, but I assume it is much the same.”

  “When we near, I will send word to my father. He will see us escorted safely to the High Lord’s home,” Blaidd offered.

  Around them, the skies had darkened, as Azzaro had warned. Tinted red and smelling of flowers, the southern winds, untouched by Jarek, flittered the sails. With a gesture toward Blaze, Jarek indicated to follow. They would leave their weapons on the ship, for it would be unwise to be seen with them at the Academy.

  Climbing over the side of the ship to reach the hanging ladder, Jarek said, “We will return within hours.”

  He would have said more, and, perhaps, offered a warning, but the captain was wise and nothing the storm-mage could say would have been new. For now, Azzaro and Blaidd would wait. But if the skies cracked golden, then they would search for the other two.

  Watching as Blaze pulled a cape over his head, Jarek descended, with the Islander soon following. After so many days at sea, his legs wobbled beneath him, and Blaze quickly passed him. His lower half felt as if it weighed twice as much, and Jarek swayed as he hurried from the dampened planks. He caught up with Blaze at the end of the pier, and the other man looked at him with a gleeful smirk, more so because of all the times Jarek had bested him with the sword.

  In a voice just above a whisper, he told him of the plan. They would enter from the south, after a short walk along the shore. The towering library stood in the center of the Academy’s grounds, and it would be hard to approach it unnoticed. There would be no Royal Guardsmen here, not yet, and the healers themselves posed little threat.

  A quarter-hour later, the ivory tower came into sight. Large windows reflected the faint half-moon, and the two men slowed as they neared the large, dark-stained doors. White-robed students walked the sandy pathways that curved to either side of the library, but few paid them any heed. The library was open to all, Jarek had learned upon his last visit. They entered at once, suddenly anxious and bounding up the stone stairs.

  Muffled voices could be heard, but Jarek walked on, leading Blaze toward a back staircase. Jarek knew that he would not be able to enter the catacombs without Kennet, so he first searched for him in his corner office, on one of the top floors. As soon as he pushed open the door, the librarian’s frail arms waved in surprise, scattering a heap of scrolls across the floor.

  “Hush!” Jarek hissed, pulling the door closed after Blaze followed him into the room.

  It had been difficult to make contact with the librarian, for his magics had grown strong and unpredictable. His wards were unlike any Jarek had felt, and he had been unable to time-walk past them.

  “Are you here in the flesh?” Kennet stuttered, scurrying from behind the desk.

&nb
sp; “Aye. Pietro has betrayed us all by calling upon the Lightkeepers for aid,” the storm-mage told the ill-smelling librarian. “We came at once. Kennet, I fear that he has told the King of everything.”

  His words were dire, and Kennet reacted as Jarek suspected he might.

  “Hells! They will come for the tallora!” he cried, half-falling against his desk.

  Unable to tell him it would not be so, Jarek stated, “You must gather your things and come with us, Kennet. We have little time. A ship is waiting just south of here to bring us north.” He kept his voice even, directing the erratic man as if he was a child.

  Scanning the room with shifting and fluttering eyes, Kennet cawed, “What of my studies? And my bones?”

  “Bring it all,” Jarek answered with growing impatience. “Blaze and I will help you carry whatever it is that you need.”

  “This is all too sudden,” Kennet uttered, walking across the fallen papers.

  Understanding more of the man since his last visit, Jarek curtly argued, “If you stay, you will die or be taken as prisoner to the King’s City. Delwin knows of you and of your work. Be not a fool, Kennet. We must hurry.”

  He watched as the librarian began stuffing half-torn papers into a large satchel before pouring them all onto the floor. As the discarded scrolls spread across the floor, Kennet chirped, “I only need what is below.”

  “Bring the bag,” Jarek told Blaze as they followed Kennet from the room, ignoring the librarian’s twitching tics.

  Moments later, they traversed the back stairwell. Blaze appeared uneasy as the hallway narrowed and the stony steps crumbled beneath their boots. But he did not speak. Down and down, they went, balancing themselves against a sandstone wall that felt soft against their fingertips. Across Jarek’s back hung two satchels, sea-stained, but sturdy and well sewn. It would have to be enough, Jarek thought.

  In front of Kennet, a small orb of light flickered, golden rays filling the narrow space. Jarek watched as Kennet slowed and lifted his hands to a bricked wall. When the hidden room appeared, the two hurried in behind the librarian.