Queen of Stars and Shadows (Pathway of the Chosen)

by Cat Bruno

  “You speak of blood magic,” Blaidd interjected.

  Shaking his head frantically, Kennet muttered, “Oh no. This comes not from the Great Mother. Few speak of the magic that Caryss’s daughter smells of.”

  “Why must you speak in such a way?” the High Lord growled before Jarek stepped between the two men.

  “Kennet, we know not what you infer.”

  “Can you not taste the smoke on her skin, Jarek?” the librarian asked.

  “I can neither smell, nor taste anything!” Jarek huffed with rising agitation.

  With a laughing snort, Kennet explained, “I read a book from Tian once, although it had been poorly translated by the time that it arrived at the Academy. Tiannese magic is not unlike your own, Jarek, for it draws upon Elemental power. I do not have the book with me or I could tell you more. There is air and water, fire and earth. And the fifth, I cannot recall, but I shall later, no doubt.”

  Hopping from foot to foot, Kennet hummed, “To travel so far, she must have burned a city to the ground.”

  The silence that followed his words sliced through the great hall like a storm of ice. Skin prickled anew, Jarek remembered Syrsha’s last visit, just days before. When she had gone, a mist of shadow had trailed her, stinging his lips and tongue. And tasting of embers.

  “Where are the others?” Jarek murmured, although no one heard his query.

  From beside the girl, a man’s voice rang.

  “Her life pulse steadies, but she will sleep for hours yet. Lolla has repaired her cheek better than I thought possible. Queen Ohdra, the girl should be moved to a bed where she can rest comfortably.”

  Tipton’s words were welcome ones, necessary ones after what Kennet had warned. Jarek would have moved to Syrsha’s side, but her father already had the girl across his arms. With some relief, Jarek watched as the High Lord exited the room. Ohdra and the rest of the fennidi followed. Blaidd, Blaze and Azzaro stood near the windows staring at the sleeping great cat. Only Kennet and he remained on the far side of the room.

  “You are afraid of the girl,” the librarian said, without malice or accusation.

  Unable to deny the words, Jarek sighed, “I have never much liked fire.”

  “Moon years ago, when I thought I knew much, I counseled her mother against trying to find the High Lord. Later, at the Rexterran Prince’s villa, Syrsha visited, although she was not in flesh. She was younger then, but not by much. From then on, I understood that Bronwen walked a path of her own, one that I must not seek to alter. All that she sought was for her daughter to choose her own way, without god or man to tell her what it must be.”

  “Why tell me this now?”

  Clear-eyed, Kennet said, “I have learned much since then. Of the Tribe and of the gods. Of those we call the Ancients. Cordisia once belonged to the immortals, Jarek. It was given as gift to those of us who must die. And what is it that we do with that gift? We try to keep it for ourselves and kill those who would share it.”

  When Jarek said nothing, Kennet continued, “How long do you think that gods will let us battle before they reclaim the land?”

  To that, Jarek answered, “War strikes every land; few live in peace. Not even the gods.”

  “The gods are worse than any, mayhap,” Kennet agreed. “The girl is both. As are you, storm-mage.”

  “I am no god,” Jarek protested, hands raised.

  “I know none other who can claim blood and bone of both Cordisian gods and Lysandian gods.”

  When Jarek said nothing, Kennet added, “It seems foolish to fear the girl when only you can kill her.”

  “Heed your words!” Jarek fumed.

  Without showing any concern, Kennet shrugged. Jarek departed then, searching for where Syrsha had been taken. Outside of Conri’s rooms, he found Conall, pacing and silent.

  “Is the High Lord with her?” Jarek asked.

  With a quick shake of his head, Conall replied, “He has gone to strengthen the ward.”

  “Can I see her?”

  Conall opened the door, although Jarek figured that he might not have needed the Tribesman to unlock the ward. Kennet’s words drummed loud in his head as he walked to where Syrsha slept. As he sat beside her, his gaze fell upon her face.

  “Claw marks, from the great cat, I would guess,” Conall stated, hovering behind him.

  The slashes had been stitched with black crosses, tightly sewn, although dried blood still edged the markings. On the other half of her face, blue-black lines swept over her cheek.

  “What do the ink stains mean?” Jarek pondered aloud.

  “Among the Bears, such markings proclaim a great victory. Perhaps it is so in Tian.”

  “When I look at her, I cannot help but think of Caryss,” Jarek admitted, knowing that Conall would feel the same.

  Quietly, the Tribesman said, “I had not thought it would take so many moon years for her return. Or that her mother’s killer would still fly free.”

  “A Crow was killed on the battlefield that day. I watched it myself.”

  “Aye. The Rexterran used an atraglacian dagger to fell the Crow. But he was not High Lord, and Kyran has gone unpunished.”

  “You would have acted differently,” Jarek told him, half-questioning.

  “Conri promised the girl that vengeance would be hers. I would not have made that same vow,” Conall admitted.

  “Such a death will attract the attention of the gods,” Jarek warned.

  Conall hesitated, and Jarek worried that he had gone too far.

  Finally, with Syrsha lying asleep between them, Conall stated, “Most do not understand how little choice the Tribe has had. Even mortals have more freedom. Since our birth, we have lingered between god and man, controlled by one and feared by the other. It was not until Caryss chose her own path that the High Lord began to realize that he might do so as well.”

  For moon years, Jarek had sought one answer. Now, he asked.

  “What was to come of the babe?”

  Conall did not need to ask whom Jarek mentioned; she lay at his feet.

  With a glance to the door, Conall answered, “She would have been his queen.”

  The Tribesman did not refer to his brother.

  “And all memories of her mother would have been locked.”

  “Yet Conri has not been punished for his insolence,” Jarek breathed.

  “Our father is unpredictable,” Conall sighed. “But now that the girl has grown into her power, he will want her even more.”

  Now angry, Jarek hissed, “Then why let her return at all?”

  Between them, Syrsha stirred, mumbling and rolling from side to side.

  Before Conall could answer, Syrsha’s eyes flittered. Faded green stones stared up at them.

  “Sewn into my bodice is a rune,” she stammered, the words nearly indistinguishable.

  Neither man spoke.

  Struggling to lift her hand, she uttered, “It must be removed if I am to heal.”

  As she scratched at the top of her bodice, Conall bent toward her.

  “Here, just beneath the moonstones.”

  “Help me remove her dress,” Conall told him.

  After they pulled the gown from her, Conall tucked a blanket to her neck, as if she were a child.

  “Uncle,” she whispered. “I know not how to be Wolf.”

  Had he been alone to hear the words, Jarek would have wept. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought of Caryss once again. Syrsha’s admission lessened the ache from the healer’s death.

  *****

  Her face was a slate of white as she directed the men to pull back. Even though the command had been spoken in Tiannese, Gregorr understood it well enough, as did Aldric, Otieno, and Sharron, who all immediately leapt across the wall. The fall to the arena floor was high enough to take the air from him, and Gregorr choked as he rushed to where Syrsha last stood.

  Behind him, Otieno’s boots kicked at the clay. Ashy fog circled him, dusting the diauxie’s cheeks with flake
s of dirt and sand.

  “Where has she gone?” the Islander screamed as he spun.

  “The great cat has disappeared, too,” Aldric mouthed, slowly joining them, with his hands pressed to his stomach.

  Sharron knelt on the ground, sobbing into her fingers.

  “What treachery is this?” Otieno roared, searching for swords that he did not have.

  Gregorr stayed silent for he knew not what Syrsha had planned. The girl who had, moons before, slept at his side in comfort, had not told him what would happen on this day. The realization pained him, yet he guessed where she had gone. And understood why she had not confessed what it was that she tried.

  “Otieno,” the fennidi called, his name seeped in the sounds of the forest. “The treachery was hers alone. None but Liang know what has occurred, I would guess.”

  “She told me that you would have questions,” a voice rang out.

  “You!” Otieno howled, running for the woman.

  Aldric intervened, reaching for Otieno’s arm and pulling him from Liang.

  To the gathered group, the Tiannese woman said, “I would just as soon have this conversation elsewhere, for you are not the only ones with questions.” With a sweep of her hand, she added, “Look around. Syrsha vanished in front of hundreds of eyes.”

  “Were the mercenaries hers?” Aldric asked.

  When Liang nodded, the mage stated, “You knew of her plans.”

  The woman’s face colored with anger.

  “Half here think Syrsha a god. The other half think her yaoguai. If we stay any longer, we will be accused as well. Now, please, all of you, come with me.”

  Gregorr noticed the orange-robed masters huddled near the Emperor, who was now surrounded by chain-armored men.

  “We should hurry,” Gregorr warned suddenly.

  Sharron was lifted from the dirt by Otieno, and they followed as Liang led them from the arena. Once the group entered the halls of the temple, they began to run. Gregorr did not need to speak with either man to know that trusting the Tiannese woman had not been easy, yet their choices were few. With luck, they encountered no one as they raced for the temple entrance. The diauxie had never moved so fast, Gregorr thought, eying him as he lunged for his stashed swords. With his bow returned, Gregorr breathed more slowly now, although he knew not where Liang was taking them.

  As if she understood their thoughts, Liang breathlessly explained, “Syrsha had hoped that many in attendance would travel West with us. Gaunghai is but a two-day ride from here.”

  Having heard the port name from Aldric, Gregorr glanced at the mage, who quickly said, “I know nothing of this. I only booked passage for five. Other ships have been put on lease, however.”

  “Syrsha feared that you would intervene if she had told you of her plan,” Liang offered weakly.

  “How can you be certain that it worked?” Otieno spit.

  They ran southeast, and although Gregorr had never visited the central square himself, he realized that she led them to Dengxi.

  “You are right, Otieno. I know nothing of mage-craft. But Syrsha begged me for help and vowed me to silence. There is a man in Dengxi who will be able to explain what has happened,” she told him.

  “If you lie, Liang, your death will be swift.”

  After Otieno’s threat, silence covered the group. None spoke, not even to ask how far they must run. If the Emperor’s men followed, it was at a distance, for they met no one until they neared central Dengxi. Gregorr pulled at his hood, covering his face and lacing his cloak tightly. In the temple, he had been gazed upon with more interest than fear. But it was not always so, even in Cossima. As the bricked road widened, the group was forced to slow and weave around carts, animals, and people. They could not hide their entry, for Aldric was not fully recovered. None noticed him, for he was the size of a child, yet Tiannese glances stared upon the Islander with curiosity.

  Only when they exited the square did the streets narrow again. The hour was late, and darkness surrounded them, for no lanterns hung like they did blocks earlier. Otieno marched behind Liang, then Sharron and Gregorr. Aldric trailed, a broadsword hanging at his hip, although his hands could not wield it.

  From the mage came a hissing sound, as if he had been stung.

  “The air smells of blood and bile!” he cried aloud.

  “We are nearly there, I think. She only showed me once, but I remember that broken sign,” Liang called, pointing toward a cracked sign hanging from an unhinged chain. Black-penned Tiannese letters ran along it.

  Several steps later, she stopped outside a faded door with split wood and a rusting knob.

  “I do not know his name,” she said, turning to the group. “But he is not unlike Aldric, or so Syrsha had me believe.”

  Stepping around Sharron, Aldric said, “We will not enter.”

  “I am only doing what she told me I must if we faced danger. In truth, I know nothing of this man. Or if the Emperor or the temple elders want us for questioning,” she explained. Louder, she added, “Flee from here if you must, and I will tell none what I know.”

  Before any could react, the door pushed open, creaking unevenly until a gray-hooded man appeared.

  With a slight bow, he spoke.

  Moments later, Liang said, “He asks if we have come for the girl.”

  The curved sword was in Otieno’s hands as fast as a flame might flicker.

  Again, the man spoke, rushed words spilling from his lips as he lifted his hands in peace.

  “He asks for Aldric, for the mage, so that he might explain what Syrsha required him to do.”

  “Let him speak, but do not sheathe your sword,” Aldric commanded.

  From there, the man chattered at length, only pausing to allow Liang to translate his words. Before Aldric could tell the others what he heard, footsteps neared, pounding loud against the broken bricks. The dark mage retreated, pulling open the door and gestured for them to follow him inside.

  “Those are wood-soled boots,” Liang whispered as she stepped toward the open door. “The Emperor’s men come.”

  Unlike in other lands, those in Tian rarely wore full boots. The knowledge was enough to drive them into the dark mage’s home. When the door closed behind them, the room filled with golden light that pulsed as thin candle flames danced in the air. Huddled close, Aldric told them what Syrsha had attempted. Twice the diauxie interrupted, but he was quickly hushed by Sharron.

  “She has gone home,” the healer gasped, reaching for Gregorr’s hand.

  Many questions followed, and while the dark mage could not promise that Syrsha had succeeded, he had no reason to fear that she had not.

  “What was promised to this man?” Otieno had asked.

  “Gold, much of it, which has already been paid. And safe passage from Tian.”

  “How did she pay?”

  With a shrug, Liang told them of the stolen gold cuff.

  “You know how men like him behave,” the mage had reminded Otieno, which only further angered the Islander.

  For the next few hours, they waited, hidden in the dark mage’s cluttered and messy room. The Emperor’s men had searched the streets, but none had come to the door. Later, as they considered what they must next do, Liang could no longer bide her tongue.

  “Syrsha’s reason for time-walking was two-fold. She needed to quickly return to Cordisia, but her reason for coming to Tian had not changed. She needs an army, as you know, and hoped to sway many to join her. That is why she chose the dress, to become legend enough to follow far.”

  “It is not as if we can just roam the streets freely and lead a parade of people from Dengxi to Guanghai,” Aldric snorted.

  After further discussions, it was decided that one of the dark mage’s acolytes would accompany Liang and Gregorr, who could disguise himself as a child, into the city square. They would seek news of the laohu battle and determine if it was safe to depart. While the group waited for the mage to outfit his assistant and Liang with proper clothi
ng, the Cordisians and the Islander conferred.

  Gregorr promised to return in short time. The others must wait.

  Liang’s face had been powdered, and she now wore a plain, traditional robe, sashed just under her chest. The dark mage’s acolyte did not speak, although the mage insisted that he could. Gregorr suspected that the tiny man was half-mad, but he accompanied him all the same. Liang would whisper to Liu, the acolyte, what he must say as they visited the alehouses that lined the off-central streets. Gregorr, for his part, would make certain that neither fled. For that purpose, several poison-tipped darts lay in a pouch at his hip.

  Otieno had argued against the plan, and Gregorr had not disagreed that the addition of so few men did not warrant staying in Tian any longer. However, the idea had been Syrsha’s, and, in the end, they had decided to see what might come of it.

  Night had come, and most of the vendors had wheeled their carts from the square. Like any town of size, Dengxi had taverns, and the trio entered several, with Liu chatting with the other patrons. Soon, it became clear that the story of the laohu battle was on everyone’s lips. And, as Liang had warned, Syrsha was seen as both god and ghost.

  By the night’s end, Gregorr concluded that only the mad and half-witted would board a ship to fight at her side across several seas.

  Silver had been given to nearly a dozen men, with instructions to send those interested to Gaunghai, where ships waited.

  As the taverns emptied, Gregorr told Liang that it was time to return. Without argument, they departed.

  “We have done what we could,” Liang murmured in reassurance. “With gold, she could buy an army.”

  Quietly, Gregorr sighed, “With time and coin, anything can be bought, but we have neither.”

  Her words like the hiss of a snake, Liang said, “Did you not hear the mage? What Syrsha does not have, she can take.”

  “She would be little more than the enemy she seeks to conquer,” Gregorr countered.

  “In Sythia, a woman takes what she must.”

  Gregorr did not answer. Instead, he pulled his cloak higher, hiding the smile that wrinkled his face. Liang, dressed once again as a Tiannese lady, would never be such again. Even now she pulled at her skirt, yanking it to above her knees so that she could walk with haste. She reminded him much of his fennidi kin, where women fought alongside men. A fennidi woman would not long survive in Tian, he figured.