Hymn

by Ken Scholes

  And the others watched as well. If Captain Thrall had known to find her on the coast, he’d also known where she was staying in town. That meant being watched now was a fair wager. She looked from left to right, to the alleys between buildings, half expecting magicked scouts to sweep in and spirit them away to an invisible ship. But as they moved through town, nothing like that occurred. Instead, they moved silently and she watched the woman that walked ahead of her. She moved with none of that dangerous grace Winters would expect from the empire’s elite, and her shoulders were slumped.

  These women are broken in some way.

  Winters struggled with the straps of her pack and quickened her pace, trying to catch up. “What has happened?”

  The officer glanced at her. “It is of no concern to you.”

  Winters said nothing but noted the firmness in the woman’s jaw and the way she averted her eyes when she spoke. She fell back and glanced to Tertius. He regarded her soberly. Beside him, Hebda walked, his face perplexed and his eyes moving from guard to guard.

  They stopped in front of the gate to a manor on the west end of town with a view of the bay. Two soldiers opened it for them as they passed through into an abandoned courtyard. Smoke poured from four chimneys on a large three-story house, and lights beckoned from a dozen windows. Winters felt her stomach rumble at the smell of roasting meat from the kitchen entrance they approached.

  The Blood Guard separated them as they entered there, stripping away their packs and searching their prisoners quickly before ushering them deeper into the house. Winters tried to count the soldiers and Blood Guard she saw but lost track quickly as they were rushed through and up the stairs. They paused at a door, opened it and gestured Hebda and Tertius inside. Two of the guard stayed back, and the rest followed Winters and their lieutenant, taking up positions and opening a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

  The woman strode into the den and sat at its single desk, waving to the chair across from it. Winters heard the doors close behind her and she sat, glancing quickly around the room. It was lined with books and decorated with antlers, lit with lamps that gave it a warm tone. That combined with their rather anticlimactic capture painted a surreal contrast against her earlier dealings with the Y’Zirites.

  The woman folded her hands on the oak desktop. She glanced at a sheet of paper and then looked Winteria in the eye. “You were taken with two fugitives of the Androfrancine Order thought to be killed in Windwir.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, as if going through the motions. “We know there is a remnant of the Order hiding in the Beneath Places, and we know that you have been in their camp.” She paused. “I want to know everything you know about them.”

  Winters blinked. “I know very little. They are in the Beneath Places, and they wish you harm.”

  The woman scowled. “How strong are their numbers?”

  “I do not know. Not very strong.” Winters paused. “What has happened? I see it on your face and in your eyes.”

  The woman’s face went hard and cold. “I told you it is not your concern.” But the eyes that wouldn’t meet Winters’s revealed a chink in the woman’s armor. “How many soldiers do the Androfrancines have hidden underground? What other armaments did you see while you were with them?”

  Winters tried to hold the woman’s eyes. “I do not know. They weren’t plainly visible.” She leaned forward. “It’s something terrible,” she said in a low voice.

  The woman’s resolve broke, and Winters saw anguish and despair when their eyes finally did meet. “Yes,” she said. “It is terrible.”

  Winters saw the tears building and fought an unexpected panic that moved through her shoulders and into her stomach. With the woman’s armor cracking now, she saw a mountain of grief upon her bent and breaking back. She was surprised to find that she wanted to suddenly reach across the table and take the woman’s hands. Instead, she leaned forward and waited.

  “We’ve lost them both,” the woman finally said, stifling a sob. “We had the kin-raven just today. The Crimson Empress and her Betrothed are dead.”

  Her Betrothed. She didn’t initially make the connection, but when she did, she felt the room spin and go gray with the wave of utter sorrow that rushed her, washing over her, pulling her into an ocean of cold, deep grief. Oh Jakob.

  She heard the cry before she realized that it was her own and buried her face into her hands, the sobs shaking her shoulders as the memory of his skin, his smell, his laughter and his eyes flooded her. The woman across from her held back for as long as she could, and Winters heard her own sobs, quiet and guarded, given against her will.

  The initial wave of grief subsided, and she sniffed as she looked up. “What happened to them?”

  The woman’s eyes were wet and no longer held any anger. “They were murdered by Vlad Li Tam.”

  The words and their meaning struck her and brought more tears. Jin’s own father had murdered her son, and the thought of it was a knife twisting in her heart. She tried to fight this wave of grief but couldn’t. She leaned forward in her chair and wept openly.

  Finally, with shaking shoulders, she looked up. “What does this mean?”

  The woman sniffed and tried to find her composure. “I do not know. We continue as planned.” The words were hollow.

  They sat in silence, and after a few minutes, the woman stood. “We will talk more tomorrow,” she said. “You will be shown to quarters and brought food.” She wrinkled her nose. “Water for bathing as well.” Then the woman moved to the door and finally met Winters’s eyes. “Your grief surprises me, Lady Winteria.”

  Winters stood and walked to the door. “It should not surprise you. It is a horrible loss in an ocean of horrible losses.”

  Then she surprised herself and the woman when she quickly embraced her captor before leaving.

  A single guard escorted her down the hall to a small room—a guest chamber not unlike the one she’d used in Rudolfo’s manor. The guard led her into the room and showed her the small bath chamber that connected it to three other rooms.

  After the guard left to arrange food, Winters sat on the bed and stared, unblinking, at a spot on the carpet. Before this news, she’d felt the calling come upon her, and now, in the face of such loss, she was confounded by doubt.

  Bring her to the dream.

  The voice was a whisper but loud enough that she looked about the room.

  Bring her home.

  Her own voice was a whisper in the room. “Who is this?”

  The voice was old and deep, low and distant. I am …

  I am.

  Winters waited.

  I am awake. Bring them to the dream, Daughter of Shadrus, Daughter of Salome. The Time of Sowing is at hand.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  But there was no answer. And when the plate of steaming food arrived, it went uneaten upon her table. The lure of the hot water held nothing for her either, and after an hour more of pondering and weeping, Winters fell into a deep sleep and dreamed of white forests and impossible light in dark places.

  Marta

  Marta felt the vibration of the Behemoth’s engines through the warm metal wall that she leaned against, and she closed her eyes against it, willing it to lull her to sleep.

  She had her own room, as did the Y’Zirite woman they now traveled with, but the room with its soft, sponge-like cot did not appeal to her. Neither did being away from Isaak.

  The metal man sat beside her on the floor, his eyes dim though occasionally light sparked deep in those red jewels. He’d spent more time sleeping since boarding the Behemoth, though she knew it wasn’t sleep in the same way that humans slept. He sat still, the fluid line of his mouth occasionally twitching, and she sat beside him with his metal hand held tightly in both of hers.

  After a few days of slow meandering through the water to make their rendezvous with Rudolfo, they were now moving fast and, according to Isaak, southward. Still, he’d not talked much about what to
expect when they arrived.

  He’s changed a lot since the Final Dream. Or maybe it was because of the death of his creator, Brother Charles. Or all of it. Regardless, he was quieter and more aloof. And there were times when he knew things that perplexed her, not the least of which was his claim to have seen her father weeping over the loss of her in the dream.

  Of course, the weight of that knowledge made her choice to do her part that much more a worthy sacrifice in her eyes. And occasionally, she missed the man and her older brother. But not in the way she missed her mother. And not in the way that she would miss Isaak if she had turned back at his bidding and returned home.

  She glanced at him and then back to the open hatch that spilled red light into their room. She’d seen the woman, Ire Li Tam, prowling the corridor and checking the rooms as she went. The Y’Zirite Blood Guard was quiet now and Marta thought she might get up and go looking for her.

  But the metal hand twitched in hers as she started to move, and instead of standing, she squeezed the hand and settled back down.

  She’d seen the other girls all moon-faced over boys before, and she’d never really given it much thought. Now she wondered about it all of the time and played back her experiences with Isaak, looking for the moment that curiosity and compassion sparked to become love.

  I love him. She’d said it before, to Charles, and she said it to herself over and over again. But I hate him, too.

  Isaak had killed her mother and thousands of others when he’d been bent and twisted into unleashing the dark magick that brought down Windwir. And doing so, he’d started the series of escalating conflicts that engulfed her world in war.

  Still, her hatred of the Y’Zirites was greater. She knew that hating a sword made little sense when it was the hand and arm swinging it that truly were at fault. But she hated him a little; she could not help it. Swords and arms and hands all kill together.

  But she hadn’t hated him enough to leave him. The love, she knew, was stronger, and it bound her to him. She felt it in every aspect of her being, at times a comfortable fire to warm herself and at times a raging, heated conflict inside of her. And she’d felt other parts of herself awakening as well, but those feelings had frightened her and she’d left them unexplored.

  I am no different than those other girls. But as soon as she thought it, the metal hand twitched again, and she looked over at the large, silver object of her deepest affection, towering above her even as they sat together against the wall. This, she realized as she squeezed the hand back, was definitely different.

  The eyes flashed and flickered as she watched them, growing brighter. Silver shutters moved like liquid over them as he blinked himself awake. Isaak looked down at her. “Have you been here this entire time?”

  She chuckled. “Of course I have.”

  “What about our guest?”

  Marta shrugged. “She’s wandering around. I prefer your company.”

  She felt the slightest pang of loss as he drew his hand away from hers, but she didn’t resist. “Did you sleep well?”

  His eyes flickered. “It is not really sleep,” he said. “It is … a place of contemplation and reflection within the sub-aether. For purposes of internal processing, integration and restoration.”

  Marta wrinkled her nose. “It sounds like sleep.” She paused, staring at her empty hands. “Do you still dream?”

  It was odd to hear the metal man sigh. “I do. But it is murky in this place. The metal dream is gone. The Homeward dream is gone. A new dream emerges.” A shudder took the metal man. “And beneath that dream, a voice whispers and I cannot hear it.”

  This was the most she’d gotten him to say in days, and Marta sat up. “What kind of voice?”

  He blinked. “A very old voice.” He blinked again and looked at her. “Little human—” He paused at her scowl and nodded. “Marta, when we reach Y’Zir it is going to be very dangerous. I could not stop you from coming because choice is the first gift given. But I am authorized by directive to take actions necessary to preserve life.”

  She felt a spark of anger. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I will be leaving you on Behemoth until it is safe for you to join me.”

  She banked the anger, knowing it did nothing but confuse him. Instead, she changed tactics. “What will you do when we arrive?”

  “I will meet Nebios Whym there, and we will seek Lord Tam. We will take the staff from him.”

  “And what will Ire Li Tam do?”

  Isaak paused and cocked his head. “I do not know. She is sworn to aid us by her oath to Lord Rudolfo. It will be for her to determine.”

  “Because,” she asked, “choice is the first gift given?”

  Isaak nodded. “Yes.”

  Marta smiled. “Then my choice is to be at your side. Danger or not.”

  Isaak sighed again. “Lord Rudolfo would call you a formidable woman.”

  A voice from the other side of the room surprised her and she jumped. “Lord Rudolfo would be correct,” Ire Li Tam said with a dry chuckle. She looked at Marta. “Formidable indeed.”

  Marta blushed, unsure of how much of the exchange the Blood Guard had overheard. She watched the woman watching her and finally looked away. But she discovered she liked the approval she saw in her scarred face, and if she was honest with herself, even Marta felt a bit of pride in that last bit of reasoning with her metal friend. “If what you say about choice is true,” she said, “then leaving me here against my will violates the first gift given.”

  “That,” Ire Li Tam said, “is why the second gift is so important.”

  Isaak’s head swiveled quickly, his eyes meeting the Blood Guard’s. “You know of the gifts?”

  She nodded. “I studied aspects of Lunarism as a part of my training as a Daughter of Ahm, prior to selection for the Blood Guard. Both the elements suppressed in the populace and those that were adapted and integrated into the worship of the Wizard Kings.”

  The words meant little to Marta. “What is the second gift, then?”

  Isaak said nothing. Ire Li Tam waited and then spoke. “Love.”

  Choice and love. These made sense to her. She looked at Isaak and felt her face growing red as she said the words. She wanted to stop herself, especially because of the woman that watched them now. But she couldn’t stop. “I choose to go with you,” she said, “and I choose the danger because of love.”

  Isaak studied her, then studied the woman. He stood, and Marta heard whispers and groans from deep inside him as he processed her words.

  “And I,” Isaak finally said, “may choose to stop you.”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but Marta did not need him to. And she knew because of that unfinished sentence that he would indeed try to leave her behind in Behemoth and she would find a way to follow. Both would do what they did for exactly the same reason, and she felt the words alive in her stomach as she finished the sentence on his behalf.

  Because of love, Marta realized.

  Chapter

  7

  Rudolfo

  The floorboards overhead creaked with heavy footsteps as Rudolfo and his men sat around the basement’s single table, sipping steaming hot chai.

  They’d changed their clothes on the ship, dressing in the winter woolens of fishermen, just before landing at Calapia. There, at the dock, Simmons had turned them over to other friends of the Order who escorted the motley group of Gypsies down wet streets until they reached the safehouse.

  “Word of what you did in Merrique is slowly getting out,” the master of the house told them as he ushered the men into the basement. He had smiled and inclined his head. “We will do our part to spread that word, Lord Rudolfo.”

  The large open room was damp and cold, but old army blankets had been piled on the floor and the chai kettle had shown up along with a platter of bread, cheese and fruit not long after their arrival. Rudolfo nibbled at a bit of apple and looked at his men.

  Seeing the scouts and his a
cting first captain was like sudden sun after a long stretch of rain, though they were a bedraggled, worn-down looking lot. Not that Rudolfo fared much better. And all of them stank of fish and were splattered in the mud of the city-state’s rain-drenched streets. Still, this moment was a heaven he embraced as he warmed cold fingers on the hot tin mug, savoring the heat of the chai as it burned down to his stomach. Some of the men passed a flask of firespice between them, mixing it into their tins. Rudolfo licked his lips, suddenly craving the extra nudge of heat a few splashes would give his cup.

  For a time, after the bombing of the library that nearly claimed his wife and son, he’d turned to the powerful spirit. It had fogged the anguish of knowing he couldn’t protect his family until he’d found his way back to a better path. It was a time he never wished to return to. And those dark days were before his memory all of the time now since his meeting with Isaak in the belly of the metal Behemoth.

  He looked away from the flask as it moved from scout to scout, took another sip of the chai and sighed. He’d been angry since that rendezvous despite the high trust he had for his metal friend. Rudolfo’s faith, he knew, was well placed. Isaak had put himself in between Jin Li Tam and Jakob on the afternoon of the blast, and the explosion had nearly destroyed the mechoservitor.

  No, Rudolfo realized, it eventually did destroy him, when the crack in the sunstone that fueled him finally went too far and he exploded deep in the Beneath Places. He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but he knew from Charles’s report that the metal man had been protecting Neb from the Y’Zirite’s ancient mechoservitor. Isaak and the Watcher had both been destroyed, but Neb had supposedly been spared.

  Because Isaak saved him, too, like he did my son and my wife. No, Rudolfo knew he could trust the limping mechoservitor. If Jakob could be found and returned, Isaak would do it.

  Still, it angered Rudolfo to leave the path he’d chosen. He’d heard his men laud him, claiming he always knew the right path and always chose it, but the weight of fatherhood had changed him. There were right paths and best paths and wrong paths for good intentions, and he found himself changing directions too many times for his comfort. And the stakes had never been higher. The eyes of his son were ever before him, stronger now after the dream, and of everything in his life that he had lost or could lose, Rudolfo knew it was the one loss he could not sustain. Entrusting Jakob to Isaak enraged him because he was a father who should be able to protect his son.