Hymn

by Ken Scholes

Watching her, something broke inside of him that he’d tried very hard to keep unbroken. It was worse than Ria’s knives upon him or upon his family.

  Because my blades had carved my children into this shape long before Windwir fell. The destruction of the Androfrancines and the rise of the Y’Zirites in the Named Lands had only taken those cuts and gashes deeper and farther.

  Vlad slid his hand down the staff to kneel beside his forty-second daughter. He no longer saw the other woman, unmoving and nearby. And he no longer cared who might find them there. All he saw was this daughter of his that he had broken, and the weight of it now broke him.

  He dropped the staff and pulled her to himself, resisting her fists and nails and feet as he did. “Oh my daughter,” Vlad Li Tam said in a quiet and mournful voice, “things are not what they seem.”

  Then there were hands upon him, and he looked up into Elder Reeve’s wonderstruck face. “The kin-dragons are flying again,” the Lunarist said, his voice full of awe.

  Others had joined the old man, and Vlad Li Tam resisted when two younger men pulled at Jin Li Tam. The priest’s warm, reassuring hand on his shoulder made it easier to let her go. And when others came and took him by the elbows, raising him back to his feet, he let them guide him. He was dimly aware of them also carrying the girl from the kin-dragon, but it was a detached awareness.

  Because Vlad had seen in his daughter’s eyes and heard within her sobs and snarls something that had flooded him with a realization he’d never quite laid hold of before. And now he knew just what kind of darkness and pain he was responsible for in the world. And Vlad Li Tam knew he deserved something far worse than death because of it.

  Chapter

  8

  Neb

  Neb watched from the shadows and calculated, startled that Vlad Li Tam had so simply separated Amylé from her kin-dragon and Jin Li Tam from her blood magicks.

  No, not Vlad. The staff. He saw it in Vlad’s hands and nearly raced out from the alley to grab it up when he saw the old man lay it down to take up his daughter.

  But by then, he’d seen the people slipping out into the street to help them. And he’d seen something they had missed. When Vlad had pulled the magicks from Jin Li Tam, there’d been a sparking and popping in the air above them and the slightest shimmering of something large and invisible hovering over Ahm’s Glory. Whatever Vlad had done with the staff, it had affected it, revealing for the briefest moment a vessel the approximate size and shape as the New Espiran airship anchored near the Firsthome Temple.

  They’re here and watching as well. He looked around the street and saw no other onlookers. Only the small group of people gathered around Vlad. And that group was beginning to move up the street now, away from the direction Jin and the Blood Guard had come from. Neb broke from the shadows once they were farther up the street and pressed his thumb and his forefinger together, feeling the slick, warm cloth.

  Hide me, he willed the blood of the earth, and it complied. It flowed over his body and turned the light away from him as he moved into the street to follow.

  Neb wanted to simply take what he’d come for, but if Amylé’s ambush, a kin-dragon dropping from the sky, had failed to separate the old man from the staff, Neb wasn’t certain he could do any better, even in this vulnerable moment.

  And I’m not certain that I should take it from him now. The realization surprised him, but the ships earlier pressed at him, the memory of the wood breaking beneath his massive, plunging body. The Y’Zirite knives had marked them all with its gospel, and that violent blood cult already sailed for the moon. Vlad Li Tam’s brutal work here reduced that threat. And it was work that wouldn’t have to be done later by someone else.

  Neb sighed. Like me.

  He followed them as they moved down back alleys and deserted streets, entering abandoned buildings only to leave them through back entrances for another Whymer Maze of streets. As Neb went, he sensed others went with him, though he couldn’t confirm it. He kept watch for scout-sign, but Renard had trained him in the Churning Wastes, and the only cities he’d run there had been the fused glass-and-metal ruins left deserted other than the occasional Androfrancine expedition for millennia. It was nearly impossible for him to pick up much in a living city, regardless of how little life actually showed.

  So he continued and hoped that if his instincts were correct, it was the New Espirans and not the Blood Guard that shadowed them.

  The shops and houses above them on this street were becoming increasingly of a higher class, and Neb realized they’d moved across several districts within the city. This section of Ahm’s Glory was less run-down, though the shops themselves were closed and the streets were empty.

  The small group moved down an alley and slipped into a door. Neb waited to a count of twenty, picking out the guards nearby within the shadows. He watched, then checked behind him before drawing a breath and slowly releasing it.

  Reveal me. He pressed the hem of his sleeve as he said it, and the silver material loosened back into a robe. Then Neb approached the door, keeping his hands visible as he did.

  He spoke slowly. “I seek audience with Vlad Li Tam, Lord of House Li Tam,” he said in a low voice.

  Startled, the first guard replied in a language that Neb didn’t comprehend. Furrowing his brow, he tried again. Peace. No fear. I seek the man you shelter. Vlad Li Tam.

  The guard’s eyes went wide, but not wide enough. Sighing, Neb rubbed the hem again and felt the material heat up as the robe grew brighter, driving out the shadows in the alley. He felt the fear rising in the guard and tried again to reassure him. Peace. No fear.

  The man’s face was white—as was the face of his companion—when he slipped behind the door. He was back in a moment with an old man.

  The man’s Landlish was broken and accented, but his eyes were full of wonder. “You’ve come for Lord Tam?”

  Neb nodded. “Tell him it is Nebios Whym.” He swallowed before he said the next words, still uncomfortable with their taste in his mouth. “The Homeseeker.”

  The man said something to the guard and then motioned for Neb to come inside. He left Neb near the door, disappearing up a flight of stairs. When he returned, five minutes later, he motioned for Neb to follow. He led him up the carpeted stairs and deeper into the house until they reached a large dining room that had been turned into makeshift living quarters. Jin Li Tam and Amylé D’Anjite were both stretched out on sofas, still unconscious. Vlad sat slouched in a chair in the corner holding his staff.

  He looked up as Neb entered, and their eyes met. The old man’s were bloodshot and buried in dark hollows, his skin stretched out and yellow like ancient parchment. Tam had been old when Neb had last seen him back in the ruins of Windwir, but he’d not been frail.

  He is dying. And Neb knew it was the silver rod clutched tightly in his fists that was slowly killing him.

  “Nebios Whym, is it?” Vlad chuckled and then coughed.

  Neb studied the room. “Father Petronus sends greetings from the moon.”

  The old man didn’t laugh this time. His eyes narrowed. “How is that old wolf?”

  “He is dying,” Neb said. He nodded to the staff. “The tools of the parents are not toys for the children.”

  “We’re all dying,” Vlad said. “Some of us more slowly than others.”

  Neb said nothing.

  Vlad’s jaw was grim as he tried to sit up in the chair. “I suppose you’ve come for this,” he said as he lifted the staff.

  Neb nodded slowly. “I have. It is needed elsewhere.”

  Their eyes met again. “I’m not finished with it yet,” Vlad said. “But I will be soon.”

  Neb had seen enough of the city to see what the enraged old man had already accomplished. He’d seen the bodies smoldering in piles outside the city, victims of the plague Tam had unleashed. And he’d seen the toppled statue in the courtyard, the look of loss and despair upon the faces of the Y’Zirite populace and soldiers.

  Neb chose
his words carefully. “With respect, Lord Tam, it was made for a higher work.” But even as he said it, he wasn’t certain. The desolation he’d seen here in this city was nothing compared to the massive grave of Windwir. He’d watched it fall and he’d buried its dead. And beyond that knife upon the world, their knives had also cut him and cut the woman he loved. The scarred old man before him was effectively taking the blade out of Y’Zirite hands.

  Vlad smiled. “Who is to say that this work isn’t as important as yours?” Despite his discomfort with all of it, Neb had been called to a work dreamed about and pointed to for thousands of years. Careful planning had gone into each step along the path of revelation, though from his present viewpoint it was clear that the planning and prophecy had not been enough. In the end, he’d not unsealed the temple; Petronus had. And in the end, the staff had not fallen into his hands but into the hands of Vlad Li Tam.

  Vlad continued. “Not all of the work to be done was written into Frederico’s Bargain or hidden within your Marsher dream,” he said. “There could be no way of knowing exactly what that work would look like over so long a stretch of time.” He sat up straighter in the chair, his eyes taking on a ferocious and intelligent light. “But my house and I were born and groomed for that work, and it will go faster if you aid me in it. When we’ve finished, I’ll gladly give over the staff.”

  What Neb saw in the man’s eyes told him already what his answer must be, but also told him that it was an answer best considered elsewhere and given at another time. “You would have me help you destroy the Y’Zirites?”

  Vlad nodded. “At least the part that makes them dangerous. It is not far off now. Or did you intend to flee to the moon and leave us to contend with them?”

  The question’s edge cut him. Because it’s true. I’ve not thought at all about what is left behind. He’d stopped three of their vessels, but he’d not be able to stop all of them, not unless he spent his days and nights patrolling the seas surrounding the Ladder.

  “You have the power,” Vlad Li Tam said, “to help me end this.”

  Neb blinked, surprised at the conviction he suddenly felt. “I’ll not use my heritage in such a way.”

  Vlad shrugged. “Then I will give you your staff when I’m finished honoring my own heritage and the love that led me to it and placed it within my hands in the first place.”

  Neb knew there were no more words in this moment. He wouldn’t interfere with Tam’s work until he had to. But he knew better than to pretend that he wasn’t complicit. He might not be crushing the Y’Zirite’s backs himself, but he wasn’t preventing it, either. And all of it brought a heaviness to him that pulled at his shoulders. I need you, Petronus, he prayed toward the moon. Then he looked to Amylé where she lay on the couch. “The girl is not well,” he said. “I can take her with me and see to her.”

  Vlad smiled, though it was strained with pain. “No,” he said. “You may not. But I will tend to her when she wakes.”

  Neb met the man’s eyes once again, reading bemusement and resolve there. More than resolve, he saw danger there. A kind of mad abandon to the exigencies of war that told him Vlad Li Tam would do anything, kill anyone, sacrifice everything to finish the work he’d undertaken. His daughter could not stand in the way; neither could a kin-dragon with the element of surprise. And though the man said he’d lay it down when he finished, Neb knew in that stare that he would likely have to take the staff. Because Vlad’s work might be of the sort that could never be finished.

  I should say something. He felt his jaw stiffening as he spoke. “Finish your work, Lord Tam. I will come back for the staff in one week’s time, and when I do, you will lay it down.”

  Neb turned away and did not wait to be escorted out. And when he reached the street, he’d already determined his next steps. First, he would seek out the New Espirans here and parley with them. He would convince these new allies to help and to keep watch over the staff until his return.

  Then he would rise to the heritage that had been his before the mantle of godhood settled upon his shoulders. The heritage he’d discovered in the wide, dark eyes of a Marsh girl and in the glossolalia that had rolled from her tongue as the dream had taken them together so long ago on the edge of Windwir’s grave. He would find his queen, his love, and help lead her people homeward.

  Then, when Vlad Li Tam’s week was up, Nebios Whym would return to Ahm’s Glory as a god and take back the staff of his office.

  Winters

  The dark basement of the house was a stark contrast with its bright, well-furnished upper stories, and Winters was surprised that her guards had brought her here.

  She’d awakened after sleeping fitfully, bathing quickly before dressing and eating the breakfast that awaited her. The halls were crowded with Y’Zirite soldiers and Blood Guard now as another day of occupation began. Winters kept an eye out for Tertius and Hebda as they moved through the house, but she did not see them.

  And when the guards had locked her into a cider cellar that had been converted into an Y’Zirite cutting chamber, she’d felt a sinking in her stomach. Still, she sat on the bench beside the table with its straps and buckles and blood-catchers, and waited.

  The lieutenant did not make her wait long. When the woman entered, her uniform had been replaced by long dark robes. She laid her knives upon the table and took the other chair, facing Winters. The officer’s face showed little evidence of any sleep. Her eyes were still hollow and dark, her skin pale and giving her Y’Zirite markings a pink glow in the dim-lit chamber.

  “I am required,” the lieutenant said, “to learn everything you know about the Androfrancine remnant.”

  Bring her to the dream. That’s what the voice had bid her do as she lay grieving the loss of Jakob. And the memory of that voice brought a calm to Winters now. She opened her hands in her lap and offered a weak smile. “I’ve told you what I know.” She paused. “What is your name?”

  The woman blinked. “I am Lieutenant Erys of the Seventh Imperial Brigade.”

  Winters lowered her voice. “Erys,” she said. “I’ve told you what I know.” She nodded to the knife and table. “This won’t get you any more from me. As you can see, I’ve been beneath your knives before.”

  Erys nodded. “You participated in the Mass of the Falling Moon. It is a great honor to take the sins of the people.”

  “It was a great honor to protect my people from that blade,” Winters said. “We follow the dream, not the knife. Not the blood.”

  Recognition and surprise washed the woman’s face. She remembers the dream. Erys glanced to the knives now before looking to Winters. “There have been a lot of cuttings.”

  And what has it brought you? Winters didn’t ask the question. She knew she didn’t need to. The woman had likely asked it of herself as soon as the news of her empress’s death—and by it, the death of her faith—had settled in. “There has been too much bloodshed,” Winters finally said. “It is time for a new way.”

  The lieutenant’s shoulders slumped. “We need it.” She regarded Winters a moment, her lips pursed. “I trust you’ve heard the news regarding Chancellor Rudolfo?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve not.”

  The woman sighed. “He’s poisoned General Yazmeera and her senior officers. He escaped the Divided Isle and is suspected to be en route to Y’Zir.”

  Does he know about Jakob? It was the first thing she wondered, and it started her heart to breaking yet again. She met the lieutenant’s stare. “What does that mean for you and your people here?”

  Erys shrugged. “I await orders from Y’Zir. My commanding officer was in attendance at Rudolfo’s Markday Feast.”

  “So you are in command here now?”

  The woman nodded. “I am. From the eastern borders of the Entrolusian Delta to the southern edge of the Prairie Sea.”

  Winters leaned forward. “You could let me go about my work.”

  The woman also leaned forward. “What work is that?”

&nbs
p; “To bring my people home,” Winters said, sitting back in the chair. “You were there. You saw the tree, Erys.”

  Yes, Daughter of Shadrus and Salome. Bring her to the dream.

  Winters felt her breath catch at the whisper and felt the awe of that voice raising gooseflesh on her arms and legs. She’d spent her life in service to the metaphysics of her people’s dream. She’d seen visions and spoken in unknown tongues, but none of those experiences prepared her for this voice in her head. The experience that had come the closest was the Final Dream, and she knew that somehow it was that dream that awakened this new voice. “You heard me there and felt the wind as it lifted the seeds and dropped them like snow upon us as we gathered in that place.”

  Erys blinked, and Winters saw her eyes were full of tears. “Yes,” she said. “I saw it. We all saw it.”

  It suddenly struck Winters that not only had they seen it, but surely they’d talked about it. Especially in the light of recent developments. “And what do you make of it? You dreamed it. And I am here now.”

  “The Daughters of Ahm insist it is a product of the Abomination.”

  “The Daughters of Ahm also insist upon the shedding of blood.” Winters wanted to push harder, to remind the woman that the Daughters of Ahm had also insisted that their Crimson Empress would heal the world, but she could not use that loss so directly. It violated the sanctity of Jakob’s life to use his death to manipulate this woman.

  But bringing her to the dream was another matter.

  Winters took a breath and released it. “Erys,” she said, “I do not pretend to know what this new dream means. But the old dream—my people’s dream—brought it about, and we have all shared in it. The moon has been opened to us, and I am gathering my people to take them home.”

  The woman shook her head. “I cannot release you, Lady Winteria. It is not my choice to make.”

  “It is absolutely your choice to make,” she answered. “But do not make that choice now. Instead, send me away under guard—manacle me if you must—but let me be about my work.”