by L M R Clarke
“Let’s go,” she said, “and I’ll give you something for the pain.”
Emmy barely listened, but found herself propelled back through the encampment, past rows of soldier-slaves receiving orders from their leaders. Everything was a blur until they were back in the healers’ building, in a canvas-curtained enclave, and Rel’s hand was upon her wound.
A coldness as stark as the burning brand shook Emmy from her fugue. She winced as the new pain dove into her arm, but within a moment it was gone. Rel removed her hand and spread a musty-scented unguent over the wound. Emmy blinked several times and shook her head. The coldness. It was real.
In her shock from the brand, boldness took her. She shot out one hand. It clamped around Rel’s wrist, and Emmy caught her eyes. They were dark and green and clear, but something lingered within them. Something strange and powerful.
“Who...who are you?” Emmy asked.
Rel gently released Emmy’s talons from her wrist and returned to applying the healing paste to the fresh brand. “What a strange question to ask when you already know the answer,” she said. “My name is Rel and I’m head of the tsimi. Once I held a life-debt to the Althemerians, like you, but now I’m free.”
Emmy shook her head. That wasn’t what she meant. She knew those things. What she didn’t know was what the strange coldness was, and why it blossomed when Rel touched her. She didn’t know why the same coldness had flowed through her when she held Zecha, broken and wounded on the boat. She didn’t know what the word Uloni meant, or why Rel had asked her about an attack when they first met.
“That’s not what I meant,” she began.
Rel’s voice cut across Emmy like a blade. “It’s time for work now.”
Emmy’s shock deepened. Rel stood and walked a few paces away. She clamped the tiny pot of unguent hard in her claws. “Your pain won’t return. Now get back to work. We have much to do.”
Rel pulled the curtain aside and disappeared from the enclave. Emmy stared as the curtain settled again. Her stomach churned more than it had during the branding.
There was something more to this. The coldness was real. She’d done something on the boat, and now Rel had done something to her. Emmy shuddered at the thought of what it could be. Magic? But magic wasn’t real. It was impossible.
Emmy stared at her hands, then at the cooled site of her brand. She snorted and turned her face from the brand. Until now she’d thought a lot of things were impossible. She’d never believed she would get away from Krodge. She’d never believed she would be taken as a slave. And yet, both had happened.
She shook her head. “I need to get out of here.”
Emmy looked at her brand again. Beneath the greasy unguent, the two twined serpents stared, their burnt eyes dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Mantos
The Queen’s Palace towered high above the rest of Kubodinnu, rising from the capital city like a gleaming opal spiral. Many windows curved along the walls, glinting in the pale evening sun. On the lower levels, the windows were joined by fine statues of past rulers, hewn into the stone. Each had a hand that reached outward. Some wore expressions of compassion; others were solemn. Some were cold. All wore winding serpents around their necks.
The expression of the current queen fell into the latter category. Queen Valentia surveyed her subjects from the grand windows of council chamber, watching the specks hurrying about their daily business. Her own serpent wound down the length of her arm and back up again.
Mantos clenched his fists under the table. He wanted, more than the moons themselves, to disappear into the swirl, to escape from everything. He didn’t want to be in this palace, among strangers. Yes, he had his mother and Fonbir, but it wasn’t his land. He had no freedom. But what choice did he have? Mantos suppressed a choked laugh. It’s not like I can go home.
“Your brother threatens us all,” the queen said, still looking through the glass.
Unsurprisingly, she spoke her own tongue. Mantos, as heir, had taken great pains to learn the many tongues of the lands outside the empire. Not to mention for my letters with Fonbir, he thought. Closer to the language of Metakala and Selama than Masvam, learning Althemerian had been an unexpected challenge.
“You have had enough time to heal,” Queen Valentia continued, turning to look at him. Her serpent slithered upward. “Now it is time to act.”
Mantos swallowed. Those gathered at the table shifted in their seats, straightening as the queen spoke. There were the two princesses, Fylica and Valaria. To their left was Fonbir. Mantos and his mother lingered at the far end of the table. Standing aside, cloaked in black, was Bomsoi. Guards in ceremonial robes stood at the door, unwavering.
When Queen Valentia spoke again, Mantos’ stomach tightened. This was it. She was about to ask him to open his own veins and spill all his secrets.
“Masvam forces are rutted in our northern forests,” the queen said. “They claim lands they have no right to. They murder my subjects.” She turned, her eyes lingering in deep shadows. “You’re going to help me stop it.”
Mantos looked from the queen to Fonbir’s compassionate face, then to the twin glares of the princesses. The walls closed in, pressing him back and back. Hundreds of cycles of Tiboli rule in the Masvam Empire weighed upon him, but so did the truth of his brother’s betrayal. Faced with a diverging path, sweeping off in two directions, Mantos licked his lips. He tried to speak, but all he mustered was a dry croak.
Princess Fylica tutted and rolled her eyes. “Pathetic.”
“Fylica,” the queen snapped, “if you do not behave in a manner more suited to the council chamber, I will send you out. Treat everyone with respect, even your enemy. To do less is to become low.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the princess replied. She bowed her head, but when her mother looked away, she bared her teeth at Mantos. There was no compassion or learning in the princess’ eyes.
Still bereft of words, Mantos sought Fonbir, who ventured a soft smile. The skin around his white eyes crinkled in a way that set Mantos’ heart fluttering. At least I have one friend on Althemer.
His mother cleared her throat and rose. Two friends, he corrected.
“Your Highness,” Phen said. Her hands gripped Mantos’ shoulders, the pressure a comfort. “My son is not yet well. But, even as mere as I am and as absent as I have been, I was still the Masvam empress for some time. Bandim behaves as his father behaved, and he will do as his father did. He seeks to overwhelm the north of your island. He will establish a foothold and push out from there. If that happens, you will be overrun. I have seen it happen many times.”
Princess Valaria sat forward, her expression solemn. When she spoke, her words were commanding: “We cannot allow the Masvams to infringe on our sovereignty.”
She was spun from the same thread as her mother, her black armor burnished and obsidian. Most striking of all were her eyes, for they were bright green and ringed with black. Built from iron, she was not to be trifled with. Though Bandim wanted to do more than trifle with her, Mantos thought. Had our father’s marriage pact for him gone through, Valaria would have had no choice but to surrender her sovereignty.
“We must push back,” Valaria continued. She jabbed a talon at Mantos. “And you must tell us everything you know. You were the heir apparent, not him. You would have been at the center of your father’s plans. There’s no guarantee that Bandim will carry out the plans of his father, but it’s the only possible intelligence we have. You must tell us everything.”
Phen’s hands clenched tighter on his shoulders. Mantos suppressed a frown. He knew it all. He knew the plans, the strategies, the weak points. He had lived it, breathed it, been it, for so long. He’d killed the Queen of Selama, slit her throat from ear to ear under her flaming banner, all in the name of his father’s plans. Mantos dug his claws into the edge of the varnished table. All in the name of power and glory. All in the name of Tiboli.
Tiboli. His family name. The name he’d
lived with all his twenty-one cycles. The name he was expected to uphold, to protect, to cherish.
But why should he? His brother had killed him. There was no loyalty there. Bandim had acted so quickly that Mantos had no insight into his brother’s schemes. He could continue their father’s work, or he could begin work of his own. In truth, Mantos didn’t know what his brother would do.
A pact with the Althemerians might be the only way to save the countless innocents living under Bandim’s rule. Would the folk be allowed to practice their belief in Nunako freely? Or would they now face persecution under the heel of Bandim and his Dark beliefs?
There was no way he could know. Mantos swallowed the lump in his throat. If he betrayed his brother, he might save his folk. But if he betrayed his brother for the Althemerians, he might submit those same folks to subjugation under Althemerian rule. They held life-debts. What was to stop them yoking all the empire under that same law? The Althemerians could save the Masvams from the tyrannical rule of Bandim and place Mantos on the throne, but he would be nothing more than a puppet. Ten cycles was long enough to bring an empire to its knees.
That was, of course, dependent on Bandim being a tyrant. Perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps he would be just and honorable.
Mantos squeezed his eyes shut.
Honorable rulers didn’t kill their brothers.
Queen Valentia walked from the window and lowered herself into the seat at the head of the table. The jewels strung between her horns tinkled, but their cheerfulness was out of place in the chamber. She sat back and laced her talons together. Her serpent’s tongue flicked out.
“If you don’t tell us what you know, the blood of Althemer will be on your hands.” Her grey eyes pierced him. She raised her arms, showing her many bracelets. “I have killed and, in the eyes of Ethay and Apago, I am a sinner. But I atone for my sins with good works. I help other nations and their folk. You are also a sinner, Mantos Tiboli. But as the gods teach us, good and selfless deeds wash away sin. Help us, and your soul may be cleansed.”
It took all of Mantos’ self-control not to laugh. What the Althemerians did was far from offering help to other nations. They were slavers, through and through.
Bomsoi stepped forward and waited. The queen gestured for her to speak. When she did, it was in a voice that commanded all attention.
“It’s more than your own salvation, Mantos,” she said. “There are strange things happening in the world. I expected as much with the Lunar Awakening, but...” She paused, her eyes flashing. “There is something more.”
Mantos watched her as she spoke, looking for any sign of trustworthiness. His mother trusted her, as did Fonbir. She held much sway in the Althemerian court. But who she really was, Mantos didn’t know.
“As you know, Your Highness,” Bomsoi continued, “I’ve spent many cycles studying the holy books of many faiths. Not just the Book of the Twin Serpents, as you commanded, but the Gospel of Nunako, and many others. However, none are as dangerous as the Book of Divine Tears. That is the book of the followers of Dorai.”
Fylica pressed a kiss to her clenched fist and set it on her heart. A sign to ward off bad spirits, Mantos knew. He’d seen others do the same.
“The followers of the Dark are fools,” Princess Valaria said. “Their false god means nothing.”
“I’m afraid, Your Highness,” Bomsoi said, “it’s not as simple as that. The Book speaks of a divine reckoning: when the moons lie equal and the sun is at its closest, if the True Believer asks for my return, it will be granted.” Bomsoi paused, as if the words she was to speak pained her. “On the day of the Lunar Equality,” she continued slowly, “Bandim Tiboli brought the goddess Dorai back into this world.”
Mantos froze. The nightmares. The prophecy. Bandim.
Dear brother, I will find you...
The prophecy was something he’d learned of, through so many cycles of tutelage under his masters. Old Master Abe, behind his desk of piled parchment and books, had spent much time lecturing the Tiboli siblings on its dangers, even before they gendered.
“We know that the goddesses Nunako and Dorai once walked this world among us,” old Abe had said. “The evidence is found in many written sources, so we know it to be true.”
Bandim had yawned theatrically and rolled their eyes, trying to bring Mantos in on the disrespect. Mantos hadn’t reacted, instead keeping eyes and ears on Abe.
“It is also written,” the old master continued, “that one day, the goddesses will return to this world, and bring about great destruction.”
Bandim had waved a dismissive hand at the master’s face and rolled their eyes again.
“Yes, yes, and the world will end,” they said. “We’ve heard this so many times in temple. But it means nothing. Why are you teaching us such folly?”
Abe, gnarled as he was, stretched to his full height and unfurled a long talon towards Bandim.
“Ignorance is your greatest enemy,” he said. “And you have much ignorance within you, young princeling. You should look to Mantos as an example. Mantos does not dismiss what is difficult to understand, but instead works towards understanding.”
That comment snapped Bandim’s temper like straw.
“Mantos, Mantos, Mantos!” In a swift movement, Bandim shoved piles of books and parchment from the master’s desk. “Mantos the perfect! Mantos the wonderful! Well, when we gender and I become the male, we’ll see who’s so perfect then. I’ll be the prince and you’ll have to listen to me when I tell you this is folly!”
Bandim had stormed from the room then, a more typical ending to a lesson than Mantos or Abe would ever have liked. Old Abe had stared at the pile of scrolls and tomes on the floor, then looked to Mantos.
“Ignorance is truly your greatest enemy, Mantos.”
The true meaning of his words hadn’t rung true until now. Mantos closed his eyes. Bandim is ignorance, he thought. I cannot ignore this, for I will be just as ignorant.
Valentia’s voice returned Mantos’ attention to the council chamber.
“Bomsoi,” the queen said, “does this mean what I think it means?”
The broad female nodded. “I’m afraid it does, Your Majesty.”
“Oatutkubis,” Fonbir whispered. “The Demon Who Rides the Sky.”
The moment of silence that followed spoke volumes. The two princesses shared a glance, their faces lined with fear. Phen slumped into her seat, adrift on despair. The queen and Bomsoi were entirely still. Fonbir caught Mantos’ gaze, his white eyes willing strength across the table.
Mantos knew the details of Oatutkubis inside and out. It was another of Abe’s lessons, saved for when Mantos was the heir apparent. It was his duty, the old male said, to learn the beliefs of allies and enemies alike.
“We believe Dorai is a fallen god,” Abe had said, “vanquished from the land by Nunako due to the corruption of her spirit. The Althemerians, and those who share belief in Ethay and Apago, believe that what we call Dorai is no god, but rather is Oatutkubis, a demon from the depths of the underworld. Ethay and Apago banished Oatutkubis long ago, binding him with a thousand chains. But it has always been their belief that one day, Oatutkubis would return, helped by the sun, the moon, and the corruption of hearts.”
This prophecy was well-known and widely believed among the followers of Ethay and Apago, in much the same way as the Lunar Awakening and the return of Dorai were considered inevitable by believers in Nunako’s Light. Mantos suppressed the shiver that threatened to shake his spine and shook his head. There was one figure who’d never believed, though. The one at the center of all this despair.
“It isn’t possible,” Mantos said. “He couldn’t. Bandim had no faith. He never believed in the prophecy. Why would he bring it about?”
Valentia scoffed. “Is it not true that your brother became enamored with what you call ‘the Dark’?” she asked. “To me that suggests he has found faith, as twisted as it might be.”
Mantos kept a firm hold on his breathing
as that thought sank in.
“I thought—we all thought—the folk who worshipped the Dark were nothing more than misguided fools,” he said. “That no one had the power to return Dorai to this world. It was a prophecy that was written, but couldn’t come to pass in our lifetime. Could it be possible that Bandim, who had no time for religion, has become so religious?”
“Many things are possible with faith,” Bomsoi said. “Bandim Tiboli believes in Dorai and, as you know, is one of two—he believes he is the One of Two.”
Realization dawned on Mantos. One of Two. They were both One of Two, by the strange occurrence of their eggs being laid together.
“Bandim has returned Dorai—or Oatutkubis—back to this world,” Bomsoi went on. “I can feel her presence. It’s weak, but she will grow in power. If Bandim can harness that power, we are all in grave danger.”
“If,” Mantos repeated. “That is a word not to be underestimated.” He narrowed his eyes and pinned Bomsoi with a glare. “Where is the proof?” he asked. “How do we know? The only evidence we have is what you say, and words written in texts from long, long ago. Who exactly are you, Bomsoi? Why should I believe you?”
Valentia broke in with words like knives.
“Your belief is not my concern,” she said, her eyes piercing. “And the Stranger does not need to prove herself to you. She is my most trusted advisor and sees more than any of us can see. You, on the other hand, are the enemy and my prisoner. Whether you believe the Stranger or not, you will do as I command. And I command you to listen to her and obey her wishes.”
Before Mantos could retort, Bomsoi stepped forward, the heavy folds of her black cloak cocooning her.
“I need you, Mantos,” she said. “The solution to this isn’t as simple as taking back your crown. Your brother has delved into powers that will cause great destruction. You were brought into this world together and share a bond, just like the bond that once was between Nunako and Dorai, and exists between Ethay and Apago. You must help me stop him. You are bonded in life and in death.”
