by Ken Scholes
She was like nothing he’d seen before. So young and yet easily a hundredfold more intelligent than any of the Androfrancine scholars he’d known during his time in the Order. The young ambassador was richly versed not only in her own culture and history but that of the Named Lands, the Empire of Y’Zir and the deeper history of the times before: the days of Frederico—the fallen, fugitive czar who had called the New Espirans to their work—and before that, aeons of myth from what they would consider the time of the Elder Gods. The Outward Journey of the People, she called it. And she told the stories from those times with eyes that shone with the same wonder he suspected his own held.
Now I’ve gone from avoiding meals with her to longing for them. More than that, he’d taken most of them with her. They’d also walked alongside the Temple Canal and talked about the future. And now, they flew to the moon.
Ahead, the green of the jungle ended and a sea that matched the color of the sky stretched out to blur into an indistinct horizon. Petronus scanned it, his heart lurching with nostalgia that took him back to a childhood spent fishing on the waters of Caldus Bay. When he was young, he’d longed to escape his father’s trade, and by the time he was in his forties, he’d come back to it. It was more honest, easier on the heart and soul, than the backward dream he’d served within the Order.
Three black specks in the distance caught his eye and he squinted at them. His vision was much stronger now than it had been even in his youth—yet another gift from Aver-Tal-Ka’s sacrifice—and Petronus could just pick out the dark sails as they flew closer. “There are ships in the sea,” he said, glancing to Nadja.
Her face paled and her brow furrowed as she scanned the horizon. “I don’t see—”
“I see them,” the captain said. His hands moved quickly over the instrument panel, and Petronus felt the slightest tickling in his feet as something deep in the vessel buzzed to life. “Let’s hope they didn’t see us. We have the sun in our favor.”
The vibration built until Petronus felt it in his ears. He knew the mechanism he heard was beyond anything he’d seen during his time within the Order and that it was the device that allowed the New Espiran ships to move about the skies of Lasthome unseen by the people they observed.
He felt Nadja’s hand upon his shoulder. “They are Y’Zirite ships,” she said.
Petronus nodded. “Aye.” He looked at her. “Is it safe to get a better look?”
She looked to the captain, raising an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“We wouldn’t want to get too close, but yes. I think it’s safe.”
Already, Petronus was calculating what he could of their odds against the Y’Zirites. He started with his own resources and then worked from memory through what he knew of their new allies. From the standpoint of numbers, he needed count no further. They didn’t have the capacity to face down even one ship, let alone three. Not by sheer numbers. And despite the mechanical wonders Petronus had seen on their vessel and in the hands of its crew, he’d not seen a single weapon.
They were over the sea now, and the ships were clearer in his vision—two frigates escorting a troop transport, the decks crawling with uniformed men moving with intent. Petronus measured their speed and checked the distance to the mouth of the Temple Canal they sailed for. He could see it from this altitude but suspected they were still several hours from sighting it themselves. Still, the Firsthome Temple behind them was a landmark that dominated the horizon, making it easy for the Y’Zirites to find it.
“They definitely have us outnumbered,” Petronus said. He glanced to Nadja. “Certainly you have the means to defend yourself?”
Her brow furrowed at his words. “Means, yes.” She paused, and he read in the line of her jaw how uncomfortable she was. “But we avoid those situations at all costs. Our work in the world depends upon being hidden observers, gathering knowledge for the Time of Sowing. We do not interfere.”
For some reason, the firmness in her jaw and the sudden hardness in her eyes started a low-grade anger guttering in him. “So what are you going to do?”
She said nothing and looked away.
Finally, he repeated himself. “Ambassador Thrall,” he said, “what are you going to do?”
She met his eyes. “I will return you to the temple and then withdraw the airship.”
He blinked and felt the anger growing along with his surprise. “You’re withdrawing?”
Now she repeated herself. “We do not interfere.”
“Surely,” he said, “it is time to consider changing that tactic.” He heard coldness in his voice. “You yourself say that the fulfillment of Frederico’s Bargain is near. Your noninterference could harm the success of your work here.”
She shook her head. “We will avoid interference and continue to observe quietly. We will record whatever transpires here for entry into the library.” Her tone was firm, but her eyes were unsteady, glancing away again.
Petronus opened his mouth to ask her to reconsider, then closed it. The New Espirans would have been useful, but he did not need their resources to deal with this new threat. He needed the silver crescent that lay in his room back in the temple. Neb and his steel kin-dragon would be more than enough to handle the three wooden ships. But Nadja’s cold resolve on the matter caught him off guard, especially given how familiar they’d become over the past several days. Of course, it made sense that duty would come first for the girl.
I was just as resolved in my loyalty to the Order’s work. He’d already started aggressively climbing the hierarchy at her age, and it was that commitment to the letter of their law that carried him.
Petronus found the anger dissipating as quickly as it began, and he sighed. “Okay. Then it’s best you get me back now.”
He saw something like relief pull at her face, though she tried to mask it. Her mouth was firm, but her eyes betrayed the hope that he wasn’t disappointed in her. She glanced away and to the captain. “Take us in.”
He wasn’t sure why, but Petronus felt the need to somehow reassure her. He lifted his hand and settled it upon her shoulder, though he found no words to accompany the gesture. He kept his hand there as the ship banked and the massive structure of the Firsthome Temple loomed ahead of them, and as they turned, he felt the woman shift on her feet, brushing her body against his as she found her footing. Only this time she did not pull away.
And still Petronus did not lift his hand. He stood with her, his mind busily recounting their weak numbers and wondering how quickly Neb could be back to them, and he left his hand where it rested. Something about her warm skin beneath it soothed and stilled him, and it struck him suddenly that he’d never felt anything quite like that before.
Why does touching her give me peace?
Petronus did not know, and as he asked himself he felt the urge to remove his hand, drop it to his side.
But he resisted that urge, and when Nadja Thrall looked over her shoulder to smile weakly at him, he smiled back and then found himself surprised by that as well.
Neb
The sun hung low in the west when Neb slipped from the forest and onto the coastline two leagues east of town.
He cleared his voice, eyes moving over the rocks to his left and right. “Are you here?”
Neb started when the man appeared. “Yes, Lord Whym. Commander Pardeau bid me watch for you. I am Endrys Thrall, captain of Amal’s Perspective.”
The man wore a New Espiran uniform beneath his black cloak. His hood was thrown back to reveal short red hair and bright blue eyes. Neb saw the resemblance immediately, even as he connected the names. “You are Ambassador Thrall’s brother.”
The captain nodded. “Yes.”
Neb scanned the beach again and the sky above it. There was no evidence of the airship, though he knew it couldn’t be far. He looked back to Thrall. “How much assistance can you render?”
“I can provide transportation, but my orders are to not interfere and to gather relevant information for the Sowing.”
“Yes. And we know where Winteria bat Mardic is. We also know where she will be in a few hours.”
Neb felt his eyebrow raise. “Where?”
“The Y’Zirites are holding her in one of the larger manors, though she appears to have significant freedom. She’s called for a meeting this evening. By way of voice magicks.” The captain’s face had the same flushed excitement Neb had seen in Nadja when discussing Named Lands history. His eyes were bright. “It’s the dream.”
Neb felt a moment of loss. It was something he’d been meant to share with her. It had been his calling, as the Homeseeker, to open the Firsthome Temple. Instead, Petronus had played his part when Isaak and Winters dreamed the Final Dream and gave the old pope what he needed to translate the People’s story and open the tower’s doors. He’d missed it, locked away with Amylé within the temple. But he’d heard it described, each time with an awe and wonder that was palpable. He found himself wishing desperately he could’ve shared it, not just with Winters but also with the others.
It’s one more reminder that I am not one of them.
Neb swallowed the sudden sadness that washed through him and looked at his silver robes. “I will need more suitable clothing. Is that something you can help with?”
“I can.”
“And you’ve offered transportation. Just how far will that offer carry us?”
“Anywhere in the Named Lands for now,” Thrall said. “But ultimately to the moon if that becomes necessary.”
Neb inclined his head. “Thank you, Captain Thrall.”
He returned the gesture. “I am pleased to meet you, Lord Whym, and to do my part in the Bargain’s fulfillment.”
Neb blushed at the man’s sincerity. “It is a mutual pleasure.”
“Now,” the man said, “if you’ll wait a few minutes, I will have more appropriate clothing brought to you.” Before he’d finished speaking, Endrys Thrall was gone and Neb stood alone upon the shore. He stood still and listened to waves licking at the rocky coastline and wind murmuring through the pines behind him. The thought that he was just a few hours from seeing her settled into his stomach with an ache, and he wondered how she would look at him this time. The terror on her face there in the Machtvolk Territories had haunted him. But maybe with the clothes, without his skin and eyes and hair burning white, she would not be afraid.
And maybe she had seen worse since then. It was hard to imagine worse, the memory of her naked form covered in the bleeding cuts of Y’Zir still hard upon him. He remembered those same blades upon his own skin and the screams they’d raised from him, staked out in the Churning Wastes as the Blood Guard sought to stop the antiphon.
He heard the softest clearing of a voice behind him and turned. A woman stood before him now, dressed in the rough clothing of a villager. She held a bundle of clothes under her arm and a pair of low boots in her hand. “Lord Whym,” she said as she inclined her head.
He took the clothes she offered. She placed a small cloth purse on top of them. “If you’re quiet,” she said, “you should have no problem. The Y’Zirites have little will to fight or police left now, and they’ve become complacent. Their behavior with Lady Winteria has us curious, so we will be near you even if you don’t see us.”
It had Neb curious as well. He was certain some of this change was Vlad Li Tam’s handiwork, though he’d not spent enough time in Ahm’s Glory to hear everything that had transpired. Something dark beyond the plague that ravaged the empire, he knew—something that was whispered in tones too soft to hear. And of course, some of it was Winters herself and the dream she’d shared with them.
He forced his mind back to the woman in front of him. “I’ll do my best to keep hidden,” he said.
She smiled briefly. “I will see you in town.”
He returned the smile, and as she turned and moved for the tree line, Neb caught the hem of his robe between his thumb and forefinger, touching the slick fabric and willing it to shrink, pulling itself tight against his skin so that he could slip into clothes that smelled faintly of fish and wood smoke. After pulling on the boots, he turned for the town and made his way back, his white hair tucked beneath a fisherman’s cap.
The town was less quiet than Neb imagined it would be. The streets were drying beneath rays of sunlight slowly choked by clouds, and people were out in it, talking at their fences and from their doorways.
“She is speaking tonight down at the dock. About the dream.” He heard hope in the voices and light in the eyes, though once they glanced at him as he passed by, they went quiet and looked away.
Neb had never visited Caldus Bay before, though he’d heard Petronus speak of it plenty of times during their grave-digging work at Windwir. It was easy enough to spot the inn where the old man had spent his last thirty years drinking and composing off-color limericks with his friends. And once Neb stood before its door, the smell of fresh roast pork and newly baked bread set his stomach to growling. He touched the purse at his belt and slipped inside.
He took a small table in the corner and watched the room. It was busier than he would’ve expected, with sailors making up about half of the clientele and a scattering of local loggers and fishermen who created a natural border splitting the room. In another corner, two old men fussed over a game of Queen’s War. The innkeeper and his wife worked the bar, sending a young woman Neb suspected was their daughter out into the room with platters of food and tankards of beer.
Neb checked his purse and, satisfied with what he saw, ordered the roast pork. They served it with hot potatoes covered in molten cheese and with a baked apple drizzled in firespice, its hot cinnamon flavor a perfect companion to the tender meat. Neb ate quietly, chasing the food with a crisp, pale ale, while he listened to the room.
At one point, a man with a lute took up another corner and started playing and singing quietly as the patrons kept his tankard full with pours from their own. Neb heard familiar songs of love and loss under the dull mumble of the crowd, and the sense of quiet community that overcame him was as warm as the nearby fire. He ate slowly and savored the island of peace until he saw people gathering up their coats as the air filled with excitement.
Neb paid and followed them out into the evening, suddenly aware of the ache in his stomach.
I’m going to see her. And afterward, he would talk with her though he didn’t know what exactly he would say.
The crowd gathered along the docks and shore, and he pushed his way through them to take up a place where he could see the elevated portion of the high dock where a small group stood around wooden chairs. Neb saw several Y’Zirite soldiers posted at points nearby, their watchful eyes scanning the crowd. And he saw Winters, though it still took him by surprise to see the mud and ash of her faith replaced with the scars of her cutting. Beside her, he saw two other men, and one of them sank his heart, bringing a lump to his throat.
Brother Hebda is with her. He’d hit the man he’d thought was his father for so long the last time he’d seen him. Learning that he’d been deceived, even left intentionally behind to watch Windwir fall, had snapped something off in his heart and flooded him with rage and he’d broken Hebda’s nose with his fist. Now that anger, over time, had turned to sorrow those few times he let his
mind wander back to the man.
Neb swallowed. I will have to face him, too.
Another man tried to introduce Winters now, his voice largely lost on the excited mumble of the crowd. When he gave up with a sheepish smile and Winters took the railing, the crowd swelled to their feet with a roar, and when the woman spoke, her voice rumbled out under the power of voice magicks. It raised the hair on Neb’s arms.
“We’ve been told,” Winteria bat Mardic said, “that change is the path life takes.” She paused. “And the dream we have shared marks this as a time to embrace change and choose a different path than those we’ve chosen before.”
As she spoke, Neb felt her words resonating within him as her voice marched out over them and into the gathering dusk. She spoke of the dream, and as she did, he found himself swept up in the wonder of it and in the wonder of the woman she had become. She was confident, articulate, passionate and … beautiful.
She spoke for at least thirty minutes before her wandering eyes found his and recognized him. He watched her take hold of the rail, her face flushed as she stumbled over her words. And when she smiled, Neb felt the heat rising in his own cheeks.
When she found her voice again, it was heavy with emotion. “My people have waited for their new home for thousands of years, huddling in the north while our dream unfolded. Now at the conclusion of those years of dreaming, I know that it was larger than the Marshfolk who dreamed it. Our call homeward was broader than my people.”
She glanced at Neb again, and this time her smile turned playful. “The way to the moon is now open,” she said, “and I call upon Nebios Whym, the Homeseeker—no, the Homefinder—to come and tell us of it.”
There was a buzz of whispering as all eyes turned in the direction that Winters now stared, and Neb blinked, paralyzed by her unexpected invitation. But when she raised her eyebrows to him and her smile widened, and when he heard the excited murmuring around him as the crowd fell back to leave him a path to the dock, Neb took a deep breath and made his way to her, eyes still locked on hers.
