by Ken Scholes
No, I’ve been thinking about their queen. Or about myself.
And now, in the predawn gray of a winter morning, they stood outside in the cold hoping for some word from him. For all of his uncertainty, Neb found something he could be sure of now. These people had spent thousands of years dreaming toward a new home and deserved to know what had been found for them.
“I need to see them,” Neb said.
“Yes. Are you finished eating?”
He nodded. “I am.”
The mechoservitor led him out and when they reached the manor gates, he saw the crowd gathered there. Some held candle stubs, but most just stood in the dark, waiting silently. Seamus stood at the head of them along with eleven others—a mix of elderly men and women.
Neb felt the hem of his sleeve and rubbed it, bringing the silver body sheath in close against his skin to keep in the heat. As he stepped up to the gate, he thought he heard his name called from far away, but just as he bent his ear toward the sound, Seamus raised his voice.
“Behold, O House of Shadrus,” he shouted, “Homeseeker is now Homefinder and Home is now found. Wash ye away the vestments of your sorrow and gather ye now for Homecoming.”
The quiet crowd came to life with a roar, and Seamus stepped back and joined them. Neb watched them and was surprised to note that some of them did not bear the dirt and mud of Marshfolk but instead, the scars of Y’Zirite cuttings. It puzzled him, and he turned to Hezekiah with a raised eyebrow.
“These are members of House Li Tam, cut during Lord Tam’s kin-healing. They are converts as a result of the Final Dream.”
Neb looked back to them and saw the same wonder and joy that he’d seen on Seamus’s face. And I am a part of this. The idea of it staggered him.
They quieted, and he knew they were waiting for him to say something. And in that quiet, he realized it was Petronus’s voice he’d heard, distant and far away, from the crescent in his pouch. But Petronus would have to wait.
Neb took a breath and raised his voice. “It is true,” he said. “Home is found. I’ve seen it.” A murmur washed over his audience, moving out like a ripple in a pond. “It is…” Neb called up memories of the jungles and the blue sky, the birdsong and monkey-chatter. “It is beautiful,” he finally said. Now the murmur moved toward a roar, and Neb raised his hand to quiet them. “Even now the queen prepares your path home,” he said. “It will not be long before you will set out for it.”
The voice in his pouch was more urgent now, and he glanced to Seamus, his eyes asking if this was enough. The old man nodded and turned to the crowd. “The Homefinder has much work ahead of him. We must let him rest.”
As the crowd began to disperse, Neb drew out the silver crescent and held it to his ear. “Petronus?”
The voice on the other end was excited. “Nebios? Can you hear me? We need you up here.”
“I can hear you,” he said. “What’s happened?”
Petronus chuckled. “We have houseguests. And they know where your staff is.”
“Houseguests?”
“Yes,” Petronus said again. “Houseguests.”
Neb scanned the tree line just beyond the manor, calculating just how many leagues he could put behind him before he called down his kin-dragon. As much as it might add to the moment to have the beast come for him here, in front of these people, Neb just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“I’ll be there in two hours,” he said.
The officer of the watch took a step forward with a raised hand. The look on his face told Neb he wasn’t keen on him leaving just yet. “I’m sorry,” he told the officer. “I’m needed elsewhere.”
As he said it, he pulled from the suit he wore and felt the strength surging into his body. A dull light built from it, casting a feeble glow about him that would guide his feet until he was a safe distance from town.
Neb started out at a walk then broke into a run, building speed as he made for the road that led south out of Rachyle’s Rest. When he’d put five leagues behind him at a full run, he called the dragon down and held his breath as it folded him into itself and gave over control to Neb.
Houseguests. Who know where Lord Tam and the staff is.
Nebios Whym turned his snout south for the Seaway and willed his wings to carry him home, listening as his speed cracked the sky behind him.
Marta
Kings, Marta realized, are much shorter outside of one’s imagination. That was her first thought when Rudolfo and his companion cautiously entered the room. Her second thought wasn’t of the king at all but of the woman that walked beside him, her eyes wary like a cat’s and her hand resting upon the hilt of a scout knife. Her exposed skin was a lattice of scars, much like Winters, but these marks were worn differently. Marta marked her instantly as dangerous.
The king himself looked haggard and worn, his eyes ringed and dark. He wore nondescript clothes with the exception of the low scout boots.
“You’ve called for parley,” he said, “and I am here.” His eyes found Marta where she sat in the corner. “Who do I hold parley with?”
Isaak chuckled. “Forgive me, Lord Rudolfo. You don’t recognize me.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I recognize the limp, but I would be sure.”
“I am Isaak; it is the name you chose for me when you found me in the ruins of Windwir.”
“If so, the limp is the only thing recognizable about you.”
“It is so, Lord Rudolfo. Recent events have … changed me.”
Rudolfo’s eyebrows arched. “You match the description of the Y’Zirite mechoservitor designated the Watcher. Though you are much newer in appearance, I’m told.”
Isaak nodded. “I was reconstructed by the Bargaining Pool in keeping with the more robust template the Watcher provided. Aspects of the Watcher exist within my submemory.”
Rudolfo’s eyes met her own again. “And who are you?”
Surprised by his question, she hesitated before answering. “I am Martyna. Marta. Of Mayhap Falls.” She wasn’t sure what else to say, but his eyes held hers and were expectant. “I travel with Isaak.”
Rudolfo seemed satisfied by her answer. His eyes left hers, and she shuddered at the fierceness she’d seen there. “If you are Isaak, you will remember the first words you spoke to me.”
“Llew etiuq kaeps nac I,” the metal man said.
She watched the man’s eyes widen. “Isaak?”
The metal man inclined his head. “You saw me in the dream as well. With Winters.” He paused. “And Jakob was there, too.”
“Yes.” The look on the Gypsy King’s face at the mention of his son was a mixture of anguish and joy. But only for a moment, and then a look of resolved control returned to his face. “I believe you. So how is it that you come to me in dreams and in metal beasts rising up out of the ocean? What is happening, Isaak?”
Isaak’s voice lowered, taking on a reverent tone, as if he was quoting something sacred. “The metal dream is fulfilled and the Book of Dreaming Kings finalized. The Firsthome Temple is unsealed, and the Seaway is open for the House of Shadrus to return.” As he spoke, his eyes flickered red, casting shadows in the dim-lit room. “The terms of Frederico’s Bargain are nearly complete and the People are nearly restored.”
Most of the words were lost on her, and it seemed they were also mostly lost on Rudolfo. But Marta suspected that the woman that stood with Rudolfo understood some of it from the look on her face. Still, Isaak continued. “These events mark great change in the path, and they’ve arrived at terrible cost. The light is vaster than we ever knew, and many have been called to serve it with their lives.”
Rudolfo cocked his head. “Why do you tell me this?”
Isaak offered what Marta knew was his closest approximation to a sigh. “Because the light requires service of you, Rudolfo.”
She noted the absence of his title and knew that with Isaak, there were no accidents.
There was anger in Rudolfo’s voice and eyes. “I’ve gi
ven your so-called light enough,” he said. “My son is my light now; I serve only him.”
“Your son,” Isaak said slowly, “is the light of the world. The gospels of Ahm Y’Zir are not completely false in their promise. Lord Jakob and Lady Amara represent the last generation separated from their heritage. Their children will have full dominion restored to them.”
She watched the words working their way into Rudolfo. When he spoke, impatience rode his voice. “You speak to me in riddles, metal man. If you are Isaak, then speak plainly with me.”
“Do not go to Y’Zir, Lord Rudolfo. Stay in the Named Lands and lead your people. I will see Lord Jakob and Lady Tam home.”
The surprise on the king’s face was nearly violent. “Stay?”
The metal man continued. “General Orius cannot be trusted. A dark and terrible ending is coming for the Y’Zirites, and if he had his way, he’d add the spell to that darkness. The Named Lands needs someone not bent on revenge at the helm. Someone with clearer vision.”
“You do not think I’ve an eye for revenge as well?”
Isaak shook his head. “Not like Orius. Lady Tam once observed that she found your interest in rebuilding the library at a time of war a trait that made you distinct from all others in her eyes. I concur. You think first of what you can build and restore, not what can be torn down or destroyed. You have vision, and the Named Lands will need that vision in the days ahead.” He took a step forward and slowly raised his hand, settling it upon Rudolfo’s shoulder. “Lord Jakob needs a home to return to, and I would only trust his father with that task.”
But Marta knew the real issue wasn’t Isaak’s trust in Rudolfo, but the reverse. And she could imagine that being asked for the kind of trust Isaak requested—a trust that let someone else do a task that you knew in your very bones to be yours—was a defining moment for the man she saw before her. She watched his eyes narrow as he thought about it. “What assurance,” he finally asked, “do I have that you will be successful?”
“There is no assurance I can give you. I can only ask for your trust in the dream and in me.”
“The dream is impressive in its scope,” Rudolfo said in a low voice. “But my trust will be in you if I offer it.” He glanced at the woman beside him before looking back to Isaak. “I need a moment to discuss the matter.”
Isaak nodded and moved toward the cabin’s hatch, gesturing for Marta to follow. She left her place in the corner and joined him in the corridor as he pulled the hatch closed.
Isaak sighed, and his voice was heavy with grief. “I ask more of him than anyone should ever ask a father. And more than any should ask of him especially. He’s paid a great price in all of this.”
Marta reached out a hand, pressing it against his shoulder. “You have, too.” She closed her eyes against the grief that threatened to become anger at the thought of Windwir. He killed my mother there. No, she realized, he’d been used as a weapon. In the same way that the Androfrancine general, blinded by his wrath, wanted to use the same spell against the Y’Zirites.
Isaak looked down at her, and she saw the silver tears leaking from his red jeweled eyes. “We have all paid too much,” he said.
When the door opened and Rudolfo stood before them, his posture spoke of anger. But his eyes held resignation in them.
“I will stay,” he said. He glanced to the woman beside him. “But Ire Li Tam has sworn her blades to my service, and she will go with you bearing my grace. With what Orius has coming it is not safe for her to stay in the Named Lands.” His eyes were cool and level, meeting Isaak’s directly. “Swear to me upon your dream that you will see my son home safely.”
“I swear to do my utmost, Lord.” Isaak’s voice lowered. “But swear to me that no matter what you hear, you will not come.”
Now, Marta noted the absence of the name and knew referencing only the role was every bit as intentional as earlier. And Rudolfo noticed it as well, his voice trembling as it rose in volume. “Of course I swear it. He is everything to me, Isaak. See him home.”
There were no other words. Marta thought there would be. Or that they would embrace. Or that he would whisper words of farewell to the dangerous woman she now had to share the Behemoth—and Isaak—with for the voyage ahead.
No, Lord Rudolfo, King of the Ninefold Forest Houses and General of the Wandering Army said nothing as he strode deliberately to the hatch at the end of the corridor and ascended from the throat of the beast to walk his new path.
Winters
Winters walked the shoreline at low tide, slowly breathing in and out with the waves that licked at the rocks and sand. She’d tried to sleep after her conversation with Tertius, but in the end, she’d tossed and turned to the point of frustration, finally letting herself out into the cold night to walk the coast away from the town and its small Y’Zirite outpost.
As she put each foot in front of the other, she bid her breath go in and out as her mind worked at the knot it had been tangled into.
“Your mother came into the care of the Office for the Preservation of the Light from an undisclosed source,” Tertius had told her. “She came speaking little Landlish and specifically seeking the lord of the House of Shadrus—Mardic, your father.”
Those first words gave her little to work with, but the dread had started growing nonetheless. He’d gone on a bit before she’d interrupted.
“Came from where?” she asked.
Tertius had shrugged. “We don’t know. Somewhere in the Beneath Places we think, not long after Neb came under our care.”
“Tertius,” she asked. “Who was my mother?”
He had sighed. “We believe she was a Younger God. Some of your very elders—your Whymer Seers—saw foreshadowings of her in the Book of Dreaming Kings, though they were never in full agreement.”
“How is that possible?”
He shrugged. “How is Nebios Whym possible? And T’Erys and P’Andro before him?”
For the next several hours, she’d mined what she could from the old man, but his mind had wandered into detail that she had little interest in and glazed over the more important matters or lacked clear recollection of them. In the end, she’d learned very little.
I am the daughter of a Younger God.
And so she walked the beach and let the ocean teach her how to breathe.
The weight of this revelation surprised her. She’d felt different, set apart, her entire life as the daughter and heir of Mardic and as the first Dreaming Queen for her people. But this sense of difference was more alien to her, and it conjured up memories of that night with Neb.
He terrifies me. She shuddered as she remembered the fire in his eyes and the heat of him, burning white with light, as he laid his hands upon her wounded flesh.
What had Ria called him? Abomination. And she’d felt the sting of those words in him, cutting him like knives.
She’d not used that word, and she’d not had the same hate in her voice, but the fear of him upon her face was too closely related to not be another knife.
And now I am what I fear. I am Abomination as well.
Only there had been no explosion of light. Her hair had not turned white. No, instead, she felt more alone than she ever had before. She’d not known it was possible, and suddenly she found herself wishing Neb were with her here.
Her fear of him was gone now, swallowed by the guilt she felt over letting it drive her for too long. And now, her terror was replaced by a sense that he of all people would understand the sea of emotions she now swam as a result of what she’d learned about herself. In his case, he’d learned that Hebda wasn’t actually even his father. At least for her, Mardic and Salome were actually her parents even if one of them was a Younger God in hiding and placed among her people by the Androfrancines. With those kinds of revelations in the offing, it didn’t seem to take much deception to set one to questioning everything. She found herself, as she walked, full of sorrow, doubt and questions.
Tertius had been light on answe
rs and seemed to find the mystery of it all to be akin to the awe he experienced regarding the Book of Dreaming Kings. For the old Androfrancine, it was a part of his sense of wonder regarding her people. And after that hour of trying to get answers out of him, she’d started to find his excitement over the mystery of it all the more infuriating than the secrecy leading up to him finally telling her. He’d known she was unhappy when she’d climbed up from her bedroll, strapped on her knives and left to walk the beach.
Winters checked the sky. The sun would be up soon, and being seen was not in her best interests. Her scars didn’t allow for her to be incognito, and Hebda and Tertius had not wanted her to leave in the first place. But she couldn’t stay there with them any longer in that cramped space—not with her head bursting with questions there were no answers for. She’d hoped the walk would help. It hadn’t.
Sighing, she turned back and moved up into the tree line, away from the shore. As she went, a rumbling like distant thunder caught her ear and she looked up. It came from the north, but the sound grew steadily louder, and it was unusual enough that she stepped back onto the shore and craned her neck. Something large and dark moved quickly through the sky. It slowed as it approached the scattered lights of the town, and she noted that the thunder was more a whisper now as it climbed and then hovered.
It was too dark to see exactly what it was, but it was much larger than anything that had any business being in the sky. Whatever it was hung there for a full minute, nearly quiet now, and she watched it, less afraid than she thought she would be. She felt some apprehension, certainly, but alongside that caution, she felt an inexplicable curiosity. More than that, she realized. I’m drawn to it.
She walked toward it now, squinting up and seeing nothing but a massive dark patch against a darker sky. She’d left the tree line entirely and no longer watched her surroundings.
Winters couldn’t take her eyes off whatever it was that hung there, and for all she couldn’t see, she could sense. There was an ancient majesty about it blended with something familiar, and the sense of it all was so jumbled that she couldn’t sort out exactly which senses were guiding her. Smell, she thought, and perhaps the sound of a quiet heartbeat somewhere buried amid the buzzing that she now thought could be wings. It was shifting now, and then slowly moving south out over the water. Once it was far enough to sea, she heard the thundering again and scanned the predawn sky for where it had vanished.
