Hymn

by Ken Scholes

  When he looked at what was left, it was very little.

  And yet she wants to sail with me and learn to fish.

  It baffled him. She had so much more work of much greater importance to do. Cut off now from New Espira with the Seaway collapsed, she was the ranking officer among her people, and they were adjusting to being a more permanent part of the colony.

  And I am a tired old man. A backward dream. There was a new dream dawning, and it was vaster than he’d ever imagined. And it was far-reaching, here upon the moon as they found a new life and began slowly relearning what they’d forgotten about themselves. And on Lasthome as they put the Named Lands back together, sorted out the remains of Y’Zir, and started the slow evacuation of the lost crèche to prepare for the death of the Grandmother Tree.

  And Isaak and the girl who watched out for him—Marta—sought a choir for a song that Isaak must write to heal a world one final time. All from Windwir and all from a series of dreams left over from a bargain made millennia ago at the center of the world.

  And from that bargain, six seeds now sped somewhere, part of a vast machine meant to keep a people with such propensity for self-destruction alive and slowly, slowly learning from their perpetual rising and falling. Rafe said one last d’jin had been spotted in the water just before the Seaway collapsed. The others that had flocked to the lunar seas had vanished some time ago, and their current theory now based on Neb’s digging and the New Espiran’s Codex was that the d’jin had left with the seeds in search of the people’s next home. But Petronus wasn’t going to wait for the riddle to be solved. After a lifetime of pursuing knowledge and protecting light, he was finished for whatever days he had left. He would spend those last days doing what he’d done in his youth, how he’d chosen to spend his days after leaving the papacy the first time.

  Petronus was going fishing. And Nadja Thrall was coming with him and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not that Petronus had even considered saying it.

  He looked at the satchel and finally picked up the toiletry kit and the book. A tap at the door brought his eyes up. “Yes?”

  Neb stepped in. “The boat’s ready.” He looked tired and even had a hint of sorrow in his eyes, but the man glowed. Winters, too, but he’d been careful to say nothing.

  Because I’m likely glowing, too. And Petronus was getting ready to leave with her now. As much as he claimed he would spend his last days fishing, he knew that fishing would likely be a secondary preoccupation for at least a few days.

  Petronus smiled. “How are you? Are you learning more?”

  Neb nodded. “All the time.” He held up the staff, and he wore Petronus’s library ring now. He’d offered to let him keep it, but Petronus had decided not to. They’d keep a communication stone for emergencies on the boat in case something came up that Nadja needed to be whisked back to the temple by kin-dragon. But the plan was that she take a well-earned leave of absence. Not that enough time had passed to let them reestablish contact effectively for her to request it or have it granted. The relay of communication stones had been dependent upon the Seaway being open and vessels being within proximity to one another. And with it gone, the crescent was now their only link to Lasthome until Neb healed the bargaining pool and reconnected the lightways between the temple and the planet they orbited.

  So much work ahead, he thought. But not for me.

  “I’m certain,” he said, “that you’ll have it all sorted out in no time.” He looked around. It hadn’t been his room for long, but he had made memories here that he’d never imagined he would make at this age, and he blushed as he looked down at the book in his hand. It had shaped his life, the teachings of P’Andro Whym. It had shaped Neb’s life, too, and they’d both found that change indeed was the truest path life took. Life emerged slowly, by accident, in secret hope and terrible fear. And that life changed until it was no longer alive. They’d learned this lesson again and again and had traded their Androfrancine robes for the robes of light fashioned from the blood of the earth. He extended the book to Neb. “I want you to have this.”

  Neb took it. He brow furrowed and the glow was gone for a moment. “Thank you,” he said. “I have something for you, too. Down at the dock. Do you think you can beat me there, or have your diplomacy lessons left you too sore to run?”

  His face wasn’t cooled off from the last blush, but Neb was gone faster than fast and did not see it. Petronus laughed and left all but the battered toiletry kit behind, racing after Neb out into the wide hallway and then down the stairs.

  The temple was busy now all the time, but soon—now that everyone was here and no one new would be coming for some time—life would settle into a rhythm. And at some point, he knew Nadja would return. They’d had one conversation about all of it two nights before, and she’d assured him that she wanted this more than anything and that she would see him to his rest. He’d cried, and it wasn’t something he’d done easily or often before. But he did—not just over the shortness of his time remaining but also the sweetness of it because of this dear, beautiful girl who saw things in him he could only hope were true. And she’d held him while he sobbed, quietly but with strength, and he could not ever remember a place of such peace.

  They would sail together, and when he was finished, she would bury him in the lunar sea that he had crashed in—a Pope who went to the moon and lived for a time within the Moon Wizard’s Tower. And then she would come home and get on with her life and build a home here based upon a dream they’d all had once together.

  Petronus smiled and ran. He caught up to Neb as they left the temple and ran into the morning sun side by side, remembering their runs in the jungle not so long ago. At the dock, he saw a small crowd gathered around a yacht that he recognized.

  The Sea Gypsy was a boat docked in Caldus Bay when hunting season brought nobles to the forests and hunting estates around the town. Rafe stood by it grinning. “The owner trusts you’ll return it in good order when you’re finished with it.” Then the old pirate glanced at Nadja Thrall with a raised eyebrow. “And you believe you can sail this?”

  She was dressed differently now. Breeches and a shirt that was loose and tight in places that complimented her. Her hair was back, and her smile was wide as she winked at him. “I can fly an airship, Captain Merrique. Besides, I have Petronus to show me.”

  No one else but him knew she was terrified of the ocean, but part of her charm was the way she steered into her fears and took delight in conquering them. She’d spent the vast majority of her life underground, seeing neither stars nor ocean until shortly before her diplomatic mission to the moon.

  “And I have this for you,” Neb said. “We put it together from what has come in so far.”

  He pointed to a rod and tackle kit. “There are also nets onboard.”

  Petronus lifted the rod and weighed it in his hands. It was sturdy, and he wondered how it would hold up against the fish here. “Thank you.”

  Winters was there as well, now wearing the same silver robes that the rest of them had taken to. And the glow was there as well. The two of them stood near to each other, some part of them touching constantly, and the ache of the Calling was lessened for all of them now that Winters and Neb had taken its lead and begun the work it required of them.

  He looked to Nadja Thrall and saw that she was full of light. Neb, too. And Winters. Even Rafe Merrique the pirate.

  And I am, too, I reckon.

  Petronus smiled. “Are you ready to sail the lunar seas with me in search of great fish and buried treasure?”

  Nadja smiled back. “I am, Father Petronus.”

  It was good, he thought, for them to see one final blush. Then he turned to Neb. “I know you will build something beautiful for the light here, Neb. You’ve come a long way from that boy who wanted to kill Sethbert, the boy who helped me bury our family.” He paused and looked at Winters as well. “Follow the dream. It’s carried you well so far.”

  They both inclined their heads, and t
hen there was a series of embraces around the dock. His nose started bleeding again as he climbed aboard and cast them off, but Petronus paid it no mind until the sails caught the wind and they were sailing down the canal and toward the sea with the Firsthome Temple vast and towering behind them.

  Nadja took a cool, wet cloth to his nose and kissed his cheek as he sat at the rudder. “It seems we’re away, darling.” She settled into his lap and wriggled.

  He chuckled. “Yes, but someone has to sail the boat.”

  “I think,” she said as she adjusted herself slightly, “we could manage to do both.” She paused and raised her eyebrows in a menacing way. “Or drown trying.”

  Petronus closed his eyes and took in the warm, floral air of the jungle that slid by. He could smell the hint of lilacs in her hair and on her skin. And there was the salt of the sea ahead of them. It was a better ending than what he’d expected for himself, between the War for Windwir and the assassin in the night and that cold blade that took his life before Ria restored it to him again and the kin-wolves at the antiphon and the crash landing here on the moon. He’d never thought he would live so long or end so well or see so much.

  Or find a love of sorts and someone to share the last of life with. It wasn’t bad at all for a fisherman from Caldus Bay.

  Then Petronus, the Last Pope of the Androfrancine Order and Lost King of Windwir, opened his eyes and laughed with Nadja Thrall in the light of another brand-new day.

  Rudolfo

  Summer crept upon the Ninefold Forest like a hunting cat, and Rudolfo welcomed it, savoring the unseasonably warm days and nights after what felt like so long away from home. He’d taken an office at the library now that the Seventh Forest Manor was full of children. It had made more sense to give them the wide-open hallways and so-long-unused rooms rather than build a school or an orphanage, and the manor had never been so full of life.

  Or noise or chaos. But they would all be settling down to bed now. Jakob, Amara and about a dozen Tam children. He smiled as he looked up from his desk and looked out of his window. Below the hill where the library sat, Rachyle’s Rest bustled more than it once did of a summer evening. Rudolfo glanced to the metal cage upon the corner of his desk. The golden bird inside slept most of the time, and he didn’t wake it now. It carried messages between him and the manor—short ones—and had recently come to tell him that Lysias would be reading to the children tonight at their request. Rudolfo would head back soon so he could catch the old general making faces and voices for the children.

  Lynnae and Chandra had already settled the manor into a routine that left its steward with little to do. And Rudolfo suspected that this is what a marriage might feel like once the draw of the flesh lessened from the exhaustion and purpose of children—and with two wives, no less. Chandra had taken up in Jin Li Tam’s quarters next to Lynnae’s, and the two of them with help from the River Woman and a smattering of others spent each morning teaching the children before letting them scatter off to play on the grounds. His father’s Whymer Maze was a favorite, and most of his meditations now were accompanied by children laughing and hiding from one another among the thorny branches.

  Lysias had taken a room within the family quarters, too, and now the only time it was quiet was in the wee hours when Rudolfo slipped out of bed to start his day with a walk in the forest. Rudolfo doubted there had ever been a time that the house had been so full.

  From the ashes of violence and desolation, this has grown up in our midst. No, he thought, that made it sound like an accident. From sorrow and loss, Rudolfo realized, I have fashioned this.

  And more than that, he had fashioned a different life. Not just for himself but for many. People without homes had come to his forest to find a home. People in need of purpose had come to his forest to make a purpose for themselves alongside his purposes. And the children without mothers and fathers had come to find the best alternative possible. And now we are a family for each other.

  He took it all in and thought of the many hands that had helped, that had even carried him here. Then he moved off through his library and let himself out the main doors.

  The sky was awash with red as the sun set in the west and cast crimson light over the houses and trees. A pair of Gypsy Scouts waited for him, and a guard from the standing army posted at the doors inclined his head as Rudolfo exited into the night.

  Rudolfo returned the gesture and took in the sunset.

  He’d told her that a sunrise such as her belonged in the east with him. And back then, he’d thought it could be true. But now he knew she was both sunrise and sunset—another hello and goodbye along a path of the same for as long as he could remember. He saw her now at the front and end of the day, a glory of color against a periwinkle sky. And that sunrise and sunset would greet him daily in the child they had made in the midst of so much darkness. Jakob, along with his collection of orphans, had given Rudolfo a different dream.

  He would not go to the moon or the deep ice caves in the polar north; he would not sail around the horn again into the Churning Wastes. If he could help it, he would not leave the Named Lands but for to show Jakob the world he would inherit.

  Rudolfo’s dream now was to live in peace with his orphans and his people and his library. The war was over, and there was a lifetime of rest—and family—ahead.

  Rudolfo straightened and looked out over the city and his manor below the hill. Then he took in the building itself. So much of Isaak was in the place. In all of us, Rudolfo thought. The metal man had been a mechanism for change in the world—change in Rudolfo specifically—and someday Rudolfo would thank him for it.

  He imagined it every now and again, and when he did, he always thought of his father reading to him as a child. It was the Story of the Runaway Prince, one he’d loved nearly as much as Jamal and the Kin-Wolves. And in it, the king’s only son—a lonely child—stole his father’s crown, sold it and squandered a small fortune upon the pleasures of the flesh thinking it would make him friends before taking ill and returning home. The part he’d always loved most, though he didn’t know why, was the part where the king sat alone watching for his son and when he came, threw him a second Firstborn Feast to welcome him.

  Rudolfo wasn’t sure why that story resonated with him. Maybe it was because as he heard it, he identified with the lonely prince. Still, he loved it, and maybe if there was time he’d keep the children up later and read them that tale. He had a copy of it in his bedroom. He’d lifted it—a collection of children’s tales reproduced from the Androfrancine Holdings—from the book-making tent that night so long ago when he’d sat in the sound of their whispering pens and contemplated his choices. It was the night that he’d realized he understood how a lamentation could become a hymn and that he knew what path he must follow to take him there. He’d followed it, and now, beneath a setting sun in the shadow of a new library, Rudolfo embraced the hymn his life had become and the lamentation that had shaped it. And he accepted all of the other points between.

  Yes, he thought, I will go and read them that story.

  And when he read it, he would imagine himself sitting and waiting for his wandering metal orphan like the father of the Runaway Prince. And when he finally one day saw the sunlight glinting from that silver skin, Rudolfo—Lord of the Ninefold Forest Houses, General of the Wandering Army and Protector of the Light—would run to his friend with arms open wide and a grateful psalm upon his lips for the light and love he’d found along that darkened road. And for the life he’d fashioned on the far side of desolation.

  Winters

  The days had been a blur of people and the nights had been a blur of heat, and both combined with the intoxication of this new place left Winters befuddled and forgetful.

  Even that morning, she’d awakened and not realized at first that she was in Neb’s room, not her own, and that she was alone. It had taken her a moment to remember she was on the moon and had a long line of things waiting patiently for her to do.

  So s
he’d dressed and she’d gone down to the rooms that had been co-opted for the administration of the temple and the people who lived there. Most stayed within the vast tower, but some opted to build on lands set aside for pilgrims.

  Neb’s desk was full, but he wasn’t at it. She was confident that he’d be in the pool, connected to the library, learning everything he could. Vast sections had been burned away, and he’d found very little reference to the Grandmother Tree or the seeds that had been sown, but he was learning more and more about the People and their long story in the universe.

  Our people.

  Petronus’s desk was empty, and Neb had been quieter since his friend had left. It seemed so long ago now that she had heard the boy Neb used to be proclaiming the old man Petronus Pope there on the plains of Windwir.

  They’d been children then, or at least it seemed so. Both had already carried a weight through their lives, but nothing like the path Windwir took them down.

  And now here we are. She looked at her desk and everything stacked upon it. She had a meeting with Seamus and the rest of the council first—and there would be at least a few new faces there as they began discussing changes in governance. She looked over to the newest desk and smiled.

  Esarov the Democrat sat, his hair flowing and golden around his shoulders and his spectacles down upon his nose as he referenced a battered book and jotted down notes. He looked up at her and smiled. “Lady Winteria,” he said. “Good morning. I’m looking forward to our meeting, though I’m sorry to reschedule it at the last minute.”

  Rescheduled? “I hope everything is okay?”

  Esarov smiled. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I wanted to be thorough in my presentation and begged Nebios for another day. He suggested that you meet him in the portico instead.”

  Winters looked at her desk again. There was more to do, but it hadn’t been scheduled—more debriefings with Sister Elsbet and the other Y’Zirites who had formally come seeking asylum the week before. They’d come with imperial ships stocked with staples enough to supply most of their new colony for a year, establishing themselves initially in an abandoned city until after the Seaway collapsed and they came seeking a truce. And Kember and Ilyna wanted to speak over lunch about establishing a communal farm near the canal. And then of course, there were meetings with the technologists to see some of the new tricks Neb had learned from the library—food, water and tool production built into the temple and waiting for them to use.