by Ken Scholes
I was so close. If she’d finished, the Child of Promise would’ve been given a full lifespan and Vlad Li Tam would be dead. That truth had been kept carefully from the boy’s mother and from all but the smallest handful of the faithful. The unfinished kin-healing left the boy with only forty years to fulfill his calling and an enraged Vlad Li Tam—now somehow in possession of the staff of Y’Zir—unleashing the army of his pain upon the city she grew up in.
“And last,” the magister said, “we have the matter of the dream.”
She looked up and met his eyes. Then, she swallowed. “Yes. What do we know?”
“We know from our experience with the Watcher that the mechoservitors can greatly enhance the range of a small dreamstone. And we believe the Androfrancines discovered a large-enough stone that, combined with the mechoservitor, could reach their party on the moon … along with the rest of us.”
Yes. Ria remembered it well. She’d spent her life using a combination of blood magicks and meditation to resist the dreaming that was in her bones by birth. They were ghosts of a time when her people served the Abominations who had disdained their heritage and were a distraction from the gospel, according to Sister Elsbet and the regent. But none of that training had prepared her for the power of that Final Dream.
She shuddered at the memory of it, her stomach turning as those feelings of awe and curiosity and hope saturated once again. “Have you had any luck locating the stone?”
He nodded. “We know where it is. But we do not know if it survived the blast, and we do not know how far we’ll need to tunnel to reach it. The Androfrancines were thorough in collapsing that section of the Beneath Places.”
If it was intact—and if somehow the Watcher could be restored—their best hope of reversing the damage of the dream was to counter it somehow with a different dream. Because combined with Tam’s work, this dream of her little sister’s was devastating. For the first time in centuries, there were people abandoning the faith. In their last meeting, Gwendolyn had told her about desertions in the navy and ships bound for the Moon Wizard’s Ladder.
Called home by my sister. She remembered one of her early conversations with Winters. She’d shared the gospel’s truth with her, that the Machtvolk home was not some place they would someday find but was the place they had already found, deeded to them by Xhum Y’Zir. Home was for taking, she’d told her, not for finding. And yet Winters had found something—whether or not it was a home remained to be seen—and she’d shown it to the world in some powerful way that transcended mere dreaming using the machines and magicks of the Abominations.
She shuddered at the blasphemy and forced her attention back to the meeting. “I hope we can counter the Final Dream’s effect.”
Gwendolyn offered a weak smile. “The Daughters of Ahm are at work on it. If the magisters find the stone intact, we will be ready to use it.”
Ria nodded. “Good. Is there more?”
“No,” Onell said. “I believe that brings us current.”
Gwendolyn nodded her agreement and the two of them stood. They recovered their coats from pegs near the door and let themselves out into the night.
Ria watched the lamplight and the shadows it cast, ignoring the stack of papers that awaited her attention. She felt uneasy and used one of Elsbet’s mind-quieting techniques to trace the feeling back to the root.
The dream. No, more than that. My sister. Winters had been there, her voice strong and true, calling them home. Calling me home, Ria realized.
She shook it off and slipped out of her uniform and into a sleep shift. Then she knelt beside her bed and cut her left thumb for evening prayer. She closed with a long intercession on her sister’s behalf and then crawled into bed.
She was nearly asleep when the scream rang out through the camp and Ria sat upright, drenched in a cold sweat and disoriented.
She heard shouting outside her door even as the camp went to third alarm and finally singled out one voice that boomed out over the shouting of the guards. “Oh my queen,” the voice cried out, racked with grief. “Oh my queen.”
Ria knew the voice and went to the door. “Ezra?”
She opened it to find him in the cold mud, held down by two guards. The old prophet wore his sleep shift, his long white hair tangled and his milky eyes wide. Tears wet his face and beard, and his sob was a gout of steam on the winter air. “Let him go,” she told the guards. “It’s Ezra.”
The officer of the watch approached—a man she vaguely remembered was called Garyt. “Release him,” he said.
The old man stood, his lower lip quivering. “Oh my queen,” he said again.
Ria reached out and took his hand. “I’m here, Brother Ezra.”
“I’ve had a most terrible dream.”
She squeezed his hand. She’d known Ezra since girlhood, though his visits to Y’Zir were sporadic. He’d spent most of his life here in the north, planting seeds quietly among her people and preparing for their return to their service of House Y’Zir. “Tell me.”
He took a ragged breath. “Only you, Lady.”
She shot the guards an angry glance, then drew him into the cabin and closed the door. “Tell me,” she said again.
Ezra took a deep breath. “We’ve lost them. We’ve lost them both.”
She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Lost who?”
“The Child of Promise and the Crimson Empress,” he said. “I saw fire. I saw Blood Guard taking their own lives in dishonor. I saw Regent Xhum weeping in Sister Elsbet’s arms.” He paused. “I saw Tam laughing and the Great Mother dancing with her knives in grief and rage.”
Ria wanted to assure him it was simply a nightmare, but she knew better. Ezra swam the aether like no other, and it had fed him the truth too many times for her to discount it. Still, she couldn’t believe it was as it seemed. “Take heart, Ezra,” she finally said. “You yourself have often told me that our dreams are not always what they seem upon the surface of them. Who knows what interpretation to attach to this?” She pulled him close to her and felt his body tremble in her strong arms. The old man wept openly now, and she found herself soothing him the way she thought a mother might soothe her child. “This dream may be a warning. Or it may be revealing a fear to shine the light of your faith upon. It need not be true in its simplest sense.”
Not this dream. Nor my sister’s dream.
But the sobbing old prophet in her arms and the memory of that massive white tree whispered to her that she might be wrong. Winteria the Elder, Queen of the Machtvolk, closed her ears against it and bent her will toward blind faith.
Petronus
Petronus watched the young man, Nebios, and felt what he imagined must be like a father’s pride. He’d studied him for most of the morning, sitting in a corner of the room while they talked, and he marveled at how Neb had grown.
He remembered the boy he’d found, made mute by the Desolation of Windwir and plotting Sethbert’s murder—an act of foolishness that Petronus had saved him from. Those had been among the darker days, the bones of Windwir scattered in a charred forest marked with rubble and craters while the armies of the Named Lands gathered for war.
Neb had proven himself then, taking over command of the gravediggers’ army when Petronus came out of hiding and took back his rejected papacy.
But now he is seasoned. Harder. He watched the line of Neb’s jaw and read the intentions there as Neb discussed the terms of a treaty he’d had no idea possible until early that morning. Neb had asked pointed questions and gotten the same answers as Petronus. And Nadja Thrall was forthright as far as Petronus could tell, though she firmly but politely refused to discuss the location of New Espira. “Its location is irrelevant to the present dialogue,” she repeated each time.
But the rest, she’d told them. A third player in a game of Queen’s War. And we only knew of the second player after Windwir fell. Until Petronus had seen Vlad’s notes, he’d never considered the possibility of an Y’Zirite Empire growing
in a crèche of its own, deep in the southern hemisphere. He’d not even known of the crèches until he’d seen them from the moon and realized the tucked-away corner that he’d called home was one of four that could be seen on an otherwise scarred and empty world.
So it shouldn’t surprise me that the others may be occupied. Still, it did. But more than that, the New Espirans themselves surprised him with their airships and their knowledge of the Named Lands.
“We’ve been among you for thousands of years,” Nadja had told him over dinner on the day they’d met. And she’d been able to support the statement by listing a string of facts that he suspected were more accurate than some of the Order’s own chronicles. “It is our version of your service to the light, observing and seeking to understand and document the world as it was and as it is now. It’s called the Time of Tending and Gathering.”
And they’d managed to stay hidden while they did it. But they’d been effective at the work. He’d actually blushed when she quoted one of his speeches that even he had been fond of during his papacy.
He heard his name across the room and brought his focus back to the moment. Neb was watching him, waiting for a reply.
“I’m sorry,” Petronus said. “My mind wandered.”
“I was letting Nadja know that you absolutely can speak on my behalf on matters going forward until I finish my work back…” Neb paused, and Petronus saw the hesitation pass over his face. “On Lasthome.” The young man stood.
Nadja stood as well, inclining her head. “Thank you, Lord Whym.”
Neb blushed. “Just Nebios,” he said. “Or Neb.”
Petronus noted it and then noted her smile and pursed lips. No. She would not call him that. Not in public.
It was, as far as he could tell, the boy’s first mistake in the interaction, though it would cost him little. A bit of awkwardness was to be expected. Men like Rudolfo had their entire lives to learn their kinghood. Neb’s office was much more convoluted, and it impacted the very core of his identity. He could be forgiven wanting to be treated as normal. Still, despite that, when it came to the terms of the New Espirans’ access to the temple, he’d been direct and matter-of-fact, asking for exactly what he needed in return. He’d been impressive.
Petronus stood as well and approached them as Nadja gathered her papers from the table. She smiled at him as he did, and he returned it. “Are you taking lunch?” she asked.
Petronus shook his head. “I need to speak with Neb—Lord Whym—before he leaves.” He turned to the tall youth. “I’ll see you to the roof then?”
Neb nodded and slung his pouch. “Thanks.”
They left quickly and made for the winding circular stairway that took them up the levels of the temple. “It sounded like it went well,” Petronus offered.
Neb chuckled. “I think so. Did you see the letters from Frederico?”
Petronus nodded. “They seem to be an impressive people. They’ve certainly followed his instructions. Quite carefully, it seems.”
Somewhere below them, Petronus was certain they were already unloading the saplings for the library. It had been one of the first items discussed, and she’d shown them one of the slender white trees rooted into a clear glass orb. “All of our work, everything we’ve gathered and tended, is here,” she said stroking the tree. “We have more Downunder.”
They would integrate them into the library. According to Nadja, the library would take the information. But it would not dispense it without the administrator’s approval. Of course, that would be easier to get now that Neb knew where the staff was.
If he can take it from Vlad. Nadja had shared some of what his old friend had done with the artifact, and none of it had surprised him but much of it had left him sick at heart. “So you’ll go to Y’Zir, then?”
“Yes. I’ll find Isaak and Lord Tam.” He paused. “I also need to find Amylé D’Anjite.” And then he sighed, and Petronus heard a resolved sorrow in his voice. “At some point, I need to meet with Winters, too, and talk about all of this.”
“Yes,” Petronus said. “You need to meet with Winters soon. You are her Homeseeker, after all.” He saw uncertainty and fear wash over Neb’s face and knew he was still shaken by his most recent encounter with the Marsh Queen. Still, he did not know the best way to reassure the awkward young man. “The meeting with Winters will be fine.” Then he added, “But be careful of Vlad Li Tam.”
Neb nodded. “I will.”
They were silent now for a time, running the stairs like they’d run the jungle not so long ago. As they ran, Petronus noticed the little things. His breath was more ragged now, and he felt a dull ache in his joints. Still, he had no trouble keeping up. But he paid for it more than he had a week ago, and he knew this was the beginning of an end he wouldn’t be able to escape a third time.
They reached the top, and both flopped down to lap water from the cool pool at the center of the temple’s rooftop garden.
Neb stood and moved to the edge. He smiled. “I’ll keep you informed through the crescent,” he said. “Now you should go have lunch with our ambassador.”
Petronus stood with a chuckle. “I’m sure she’s busy enough without me.”
Neb arched an eyebrow. “You do see it, don’t you?”
Petronus blinked. “See what?”
Now it was Neb’s turn to laugh, and he laughed long enough for Petronus to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he looked at Petronus. “You have to see it.”
And in that moment, Petronus did, and the realization brought heat to his face. “I’m old enough to be her grandfather. She’s just enamored of my place in history.”
Neb smiled. “She’s enamored of something.”
“And that reminds me,” Petronus said, gruffness entering his voice. “Let her call you Lord Whym. It’s who you are.”
“It feels … wrong.” Neb met his eyes. “But yes. I know. Now go have lunch with her.”
“I’ll have lunch with her after you’ve spoken to Winters,” Petronus growled, waving him off. When Neb grinned and made the call, it sent shivers down Petronus’s back. But it was the reply that lifted the hair on his arms as something large cast its shadow over them.
“Be safe,” Petronus said.
“I will,” Neb said. And then he leaped.
Petronus watched the kin-dragon catch him and draw him into itself. Then he watched Neb fly south for the Ladder.
He thought of the woman below, Nadja Thrall, and for a moment considered finding her, sharing another meal with her.
But instead, Petronus went below and sat in the library, watching the New Espirans as they planted the seedlings into the soft loam of the massive room in the shadow of the much older trees. And as he watched, he wondered how much of what waited for him in this orchard of knowledge he’d have a chance to see before his time ran out.
Jin Li Tam
Jin Li Tam closed her eyes against a hundred aches and pains earned from a day spent hunting and cursed how close they’d come to finding her prey.
She looked at the body sprawled to the side of the alley, amazed by the amount of blood. The left foot was bent at the ankle, and there’d been enough force that the Blood Guard’s head cracked open when she struck the wall. She’d likely died upon impact. “This was the first, then?”
The Y’Zirite officer nodded. “The other two are farther down the alley, Great Mother.”
Jin saw that the woman clenched something white in her hand, and she bent to remove it. It was a crumpled bit of paper and she smoothed it out, reading the words printed upon it in V’Ral, the language of Y’Zir. She looked up. “This is one of the tracts they’ve been finding around the city.”
The officer nodded. “Yes, Great Mother.”
She looked at it again. He’d been tied to the tracts in some way, she’d suspected, and had been surprised to learn her father wasn’t manufacturing and distributing them himself to lend power to the terror he wrought. These Lunarist prophecies had persisted in Y’Zir since
the earliest days in one form or another, though there had certainly been a resurgence of literature strategically distributed to key parts of the city just before Vlad Li Tam’s arrival.
No, she realized, he wasn’t writing their prophecies.
He is fulfilling them. She shuddered at the thought, but it made perfect sense. Her father had trained her since childhood to look around her for the people she could use for whatever work he set her to. Some of those people were weapons, he’d taught her, and some were shelter or information or an opportunity for misdirection.
“He is involved with these Lunarists in some way,” she said. “We’ll find him by finding them, I think. Where are the witnesses?”
The officer nodded to a group of people standing under guard. “They reported that it was an old man with a silver staff. There was a young woman with him that they had seen in the area before.”
“I’ll want to question them tonight,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes, Great Mother.”
She studied the witnesses. “I will also want to question any of these Lost Children of Shadrus that we can find. They are our best path to finding him.” She whistled for her squad, and when they’d gathered around her, she launched into a gentle run, mindful of the ache in her legs.
The sun burned hot and low in the sky as she ran through the city of Ahm’s Glory. They ran in formation, a dark wing that swept around her, always between her and whatever passersby they encountered. The city was far quieter now, though the bells and whistles of alarm still rang out from time to time. Of course, the city had buried or burned two-thirds of its population now because of the plague. Many others had already fled, and now, as she ran the streets, Jin Li Tam occasionally saw wagons being loaded or slowly making their way out of the city, weighed down with the lives of those who fled.
But where will they go? The plague had spread out from here—still spread even—to the other cities, and she suspected it wouldn’t stop as long as her father held the staff.
But none of that bothered her. She loathed the loss of innocent life but had no love for this empire built on blood.
