The door burst open. They both jumped to their feet as a dark-clad Guardian stormed in. He pointed at Parad. “You. Her Honour wishes to see you.” He tilted his head at Xhi, who was gaping at him, chicken leg in one hand and wine in the other. “Now,” the Guardian barked.
Haunted Forest, the Marshes
February 28, Cyrus
After riding for over a fortnight, the raiding party was by now deep in the woods. The Haunted Forests so far lived up to their name, and Cyrus reached for the reassuring weight of his Sheimlek on his belt—a prized gift from the Old Woman. Although he would never admit it, David had been right about the place. About a hundred of them had volunteered for the raiding party, their simple mission to enter Fallen territory and dispose of any threat. Riding deep into the night, all the light now came from their torches. Their clothes glistened with moisture and the soggy air smelled of rot and mould.
A rider galloped towards them from the front, breaking Cyrus’s gloomy thoughts. “Is it Fallen?” he asked the man as soon as he was close.
“No, not Fallen. A house.”
“What house …?” he started to ask, but the man had already left.
He repeated the question to Lehmor, who spat on the ground. “Sorcery. No one lives here.”
Cyrus wanted to ask David what his Voice made of this, but his friend rode behind them since he had no Sheimlek. Like most of their group, he wore a sword made from his new material. There was a time when Cyrus would have drooled over the light yet strong weapon, but now he would not change his Sheimlek for all the gold in the world. Swords were next to useless against Fallen.
Minutes later they ran into three scouts silently awaiting the rest of the group, along with the two bannermen. They stood at the foot of a tall stone wall, as ancient as the forest that had engulfed it. Old, gnarled trees hung over the wet stones. A river murmured softly nearby, although in the darkness they could not tell from whence it came. The moss-covered wall seemed to go on forever, making Cyrus wonder if the house might turn out to be a castle or fortress.
“Seerus,” said one of the bannermen, pronouncing his name in the melodic way of the First. “Don’t need Daveed to smell for evil.” He sniffed loudly. “I smell it meeself.”
The man was right; the entire area had an otherworldly feel. Cyrus twitched his nose at an unfamiliar, off-putting stench.
Two-horns approached them, fierce under the heavy iron helmet and the thick fur embracing his body. He rode a fine horse, a lively mare, but even she trotted carefully next to the tall wall. With a wave of his torch, he motioned them to continue their journey, keeping the wall on their left.
The twisting flames from their torches danced on the rough stone, creating unnerving silhouettes that seemed to jump out at them. Cyrus clutched his Sheimlek with one hand when the wall gave sudden way to a massive wooden door. He raised his other hand to touch the wood, expecting it to be old and half-rotten. Instead, it was as hard as the day it had been cut. The realisation that someone lived there prickled his arms with goose bumps.
Two-horns dismounted and approached the gate with slow steps. Glancing around, he banged it three times with his leather-covered fist. The sound echoed in the night, hanging in the thick air around them. For a moment everything stood still, the entire forest holding its breath.
The gate creaked open into a courtyard. A tall tower, illuminated by lit torches at its sides, stood in the middle of an immense courtyard.
Although no one was in sight, Cyrus unsheathed his Sheimlek. His heart thumped as he switched it on. He noticed out of the corner of his eye Lehmor and Moirah mimic him as they rode warily into the courtyard. The unmistakeable sound of swords being freed from their sheaths rang around him. Even the horses threw nervous looks around them, ears pricked back, as they approached the ancient-looking door at the front of the tower.
Before Two-horns had a chance to bang his fist against it, an old man with long, grey, tousled hair stepped out. Cyrus chuckled to hide his embarrassment.
The old man wore a thick, grey, velvety gown and a wide smile that somehow failed to reach his eyes. “Ah, guests,” he said, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them. “How nice, we rarely see anyone around here. Welcome, welcome. You must be exhausted. Why don’t you come in and make yourselves comfortable?”
He slipped back inside without waiting for them, leaving the door open in invitation.
Overseer Palace, Jonia, Jonian Democracies
Teo
Paul’s recent self-proclamation as Jonian Overseer had not hurt him. He lay on a comfortable sofa, before a wide window that overlooked a soft hill filled with cypresses and pines, sloping off to the sea. The Jonian Democracies had the most pleasant climate in all of Pearseus, with fertile lands, mild winters and sun-kissed beaches. As such, they had always been lusted over by a land-locked Capital that suffered winters of ice-cold winds from the north and blistering summers with scorching dry winds from the southern deserts. They had just finished exchanging the usual pleasantries, and Teo wondered if his friend truly believed he could ever pry the Jonian Democracies away from the justice. He decided to open with a blunt question.
“Do you honestly think you can succeed?”
Paul burst into laughter.
“Is that why you’re here? To convince me to hand our land over to the Harpy?”
“What’s she done to you, anyway?”
“It’s not what she’s done, it’s that she’s useless. Do you remember what our teacher used to say?” He took a self-important look and lowered his chin. “Misfortune is the consequence of improper people taking charge of serious things.”
Teo had to smile. The old man always said things like that. Teo’s father had taken him along when he went to the Marshes. Instead of having his son follow him all the way there, however, he had entrusted him to Paul’s father. At first, the other children had made fun of him. He twitched at the memory. Nowadays he would flay alive anyone who dared call him Gargoyle, but back then he had been defenceless. It was Paul who had put an end to all this; they had been best friends since.
“I do. And I came here as a friend to tell you that you’ve made your point. The justice is prepared to put this whole unfortunate situation behind her.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, and allow you a significant measure of self-rule.”
Paul waved dismissively. “The justice is prepared to hang us all in the city centre. You think I don’t know how she thinks? There’s no way she’ll let any of this slide. She’ll have her revenge one way or another.”
“Nonsense. She can be very reasonable. All she wants is to share with Jonia our common wealth.”
“What wealth? You were not here, so I don’t expect you to understand. All we’ve had from the Capital is taxation, overbearing Caretakers and one injustice after another. Our ships rot in the ports; people go hungry; our wealth, as you put it, diminishes daily. You didn’t see the riots, nor the pain the Capital has caused us.”
“The crisis is more widespread than you realise. I don’t think you’ll be better off on your own, even if you succeed in this madness.”
“It doesn’t matter. Can’t you see? It’s not the Capital’s wealth we’re after; it’s the right to take decisions for ourselves. We need our freedom, we want our freedom and we’ll have our freedom.”
Teo leaned forward and their eyes locked. “No matter what the cost?” he growled.
Paul refused to lower his gaze. “No matter what the cost.”
Teo slumped on his seat, deflated. The conversation was not going as hoped. If he could not make Paul see reason, he might as well kiss his future goodbye. He had to try a different approach.
“You do realise that the justice will hit you with everything she’s got?”
“The Harpy has her hands full. She’s imprisoned or killed her best officers, including Parad. She has no money. The South is still restless; she’s more hated by the day. What better time to strike than now?”
“W
hat about money? ‘Endless money forms the sinews of war,’ as our teacher put it; can you afford that? The Capital has more resources than all Democracies combined. Even fighting on two fronts—which she’s not—she’ll have no problem crushing you. I know the Western Democracies always fight each other; is Jonia now joining forces with them? Have you formed a joint army? Cause I sure as hell haven’t heard such a thing.”
“No, you’re right. We’re still trying to convince everyone to stick together, but there’s too much history for that. We were at war with some of these cities not long ago.”
“So, what’s your great plan? Where will you find the army you need?”
Paul flashed a huge grin. “Me? I’m not, you are.”
Teo chortled, nearly choking. “Me?”
Paul took a large gulp from an ornate gold goblet filled to the brim with aromatic red wine, watching Teo’s laughter fade. “Do you really think I’d be here if I had an army?” Teo asked with a bitter voice that betrayed his real feelings.
“I think we both know where you’d be. Which is ironic, since that’s exactly where I need you to go. Anthea.”
Teo gaped at him. “Anthea? What the hell for? And what good would it do? They’d probably put me in irons, or worse.”
Paul shook his head. “You’ll be our envoy—no one would dare touch you. You’ll visit all of the Democracies. Anthea, Scorpio… even your father-in-law.”
“Former father-in-law.”
Paul refused to be interrupted. “You’ll ask for their help against Styx. Make them see that the Harpy’s their enemy as much as ours. You’ll explain how she won’t rest until she puts down our revolt. And when she does, they’re next. She already rules over half of Pearseus. We’ve been serving as a buffer for the past three hundred years. With us gone, all that’s left between her and total domination is a few cities in the west.”
Teo leaned back, scratching his bald head. There was more to this idiotic revolution than met the eye. If there was no way to convince Paul to end the madness, perhaps he could find out more about it if he worked from the inside. He was sure of Styx’s eventual success, even if Paul was blinded by his ambition, and Teo would never bet on a losing horse. Much as he hated to betray his best friend, it was a matter of principle for him; never mix business and pleasure. Besides, he could even play one against the other. That way, he might someday rule not just Anthea, but a much greater prize: the Capital itself. His heart swelled at the thought, making his head swim; a feeling he had not had in a long time.
“I have to admit I never thought about it that way; I guess you do have a point after all,” he said with a dry throat. He sipped some wine before continuing. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing Anthea after all this time. So, what’s your plan?”
Paul examined him closely for a long while, while Teo wore his most innocent and trusting face. It must have satisfied his friend, because he next told him something that took Teo’s breath away, sending him to refill the goblet in his hand with fingers trembling with excitement.
“We attack Cypress Island.”
Cypress Island, the soft underbelly of the Capital. Teo marvelled at the audacity of such a move. It was sure to be relatively unguarded, as there had been no threats in that region since the Loyalists’ collapse.
“Who’s we?” he dared ask.
“Why, you and whatever friends you bring from the west.”
Teo pondered his next move. It should be easy enough to send Styx a message warning her of the attack, but he needed to make sure that Paul trusted him; perhaps this was a ruse to check his allegiance. He decided to tell the Capital nothing for the moment, waiting to see how this would play out.
“What do you need? And, more importantly: what’s in it for me?”
Paul laughed. “Ah, now that’s the Teo I remember. How does the position of Caretaker of the Jonian Democracies sound? With Styx’s stooge gone, we’ll need someone to co-ordinate the work that needs to be done.”
Teo pursed his lips. “Sounds great, only you need to win first. What if you lose?”
Paul nodded in agreement. “Cautious as always, I see. Fine, what do you want?”
“Gold. And lots of it, or I’m out of here.”
Once again, Paul laughed his easy laughter that endeared him to people. “I’m sure we can come to a mutually satisfying arrangement,” he said, picking another grape.
Teo smiled his widest smile yet.
Haunted Forest, the Marshes
David
David and the First spread around a long table in a hall that could house more than twice their numbers. Two-horns had posted guards outside, at the tower gate and with the horses. David felt grateful for their leader’s obvious distrust of the old man. His eyes darted around the cavernous hall, open wide despite his tiredness. The table was covered with roasted pigs, pheasants, cheese, bread and rich red wine, although they had seen no servants or cooks. Cracking jokes, the old man insisted on feeding them all, and took personal care of the guards outside as well.
Despite his hunger and the rich banquet thrown in their honour, David found it hard to eat. His head pounded, as if split in two by an ice dagger. He pondered their unusual surroundings, trying to get his mind off the throbbing pain. Long tapestries adorned with sigils covered the dark walls. Some displayed the sun, some the twin moons and others had creatures he had never seen before. One caught his eye: a forlorn man’s face, long grey hair flowing around his head. Somehow it reminded him of their host.
He pointed at it. “What’s that sigil? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before.”
The old man turned to look, then laughed. “Oh, that. Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. Just some old stuff no one cares about any more. Here, have something to eat. You’ve hardly touched your food.”
David shook his head, a polite smile on his lips. No food would go down. He noticed the amulet the old man was wearing; a silver pillar penetrating a circle above it, and the old man caught his eye.
“It’s the Iota, a symbol of the whole and the one,” he said.
“One what?”
“The One. The Unit.”
“Never heard of it, is it your god?”
“In a sense, I suppose… What do you believe in, son?”
David shrugged. “I’m not sure. Tie—a priestess I know—believes in Themis.”
“Themis is one-sided, for what good is justice without love? The Iota’s a symbol of balance. That’s what we believe in: the unity of all things; past, present, future. Everything that exists, be it in our memories, hopes, or lives. Good and evil, day and night, all pairs of opposites in eternal struggle and perfect balance. Should one upset the balance, we servants of the Iota must redress it.” He paused to fill David’s cup with more aromatic wine. “What do you think of as a god?”
David had to think. “I guess something good and just?”
The old man smirked. “The world’s not good and just, why should its god be? Unless god and world are two separate things, that is.”
“What do you believe in then?”
“I believe your way of thinking’s wrong. You think of god as an entity including only itself, standing separate from the world, gazing down upon us. We play our little parts for god’s amusement, like actors on a stage. Iotas, on the other hand, believe that the world and everything in it is divine. Everything is god. The universe includes both good and evil, positive and negative. How can its creator not?”
David remembered something he had read a long time ago in his stolen e-lib. “Christians believe in a good Creator that’s left us the freedom to accept or reject him. Evil is the rejection of his goodness, that He tolerates in order for the choice to be real.”
“Intriguing, but we’d consider that unbalanced. The Whole’s neither weak, nor strong; it’s both and neither; the balance of all things. Do you understand?”
“Not really…”
“It’s simple. Think of our symbol, the Iota. A pillar with a circle on top.” He tra
ced the amulet with a gnarled finger. “The pillar represents the unit, each and every one of us. We stand within the Whole, but also across it. The circle is the Whole; the endless; the limitless. We believe the Whole created us in order to comprehend itself. To understand something, one needs to stand apart, or they can’t examine it. It’s the same with the Whole. We’re part of it, since the Whole contains all. Yet, we’re unaware of it, or we’d never fulfil our purpose to serve as the Whole’s mirror. That’s why the pillar’s both part of the circle and outside it.”
“It reminds me of an eye. A crying eye.”
A smile flickered on the thin line that was the old man’s mouth. He broke his bread, dunking it into his wine before taking a large bite. “You should study the Iota more,” he said with his mouth full. “You’re special, you know. Soon you’ll have to choose.”
“Choose what?”
“A side. Will you side with those who preserve balance, or with those who upset it?”
David did not know how to answer, so he decided to change the subject. “I haven’t seen any servants. Do you live alone?”
The old man waved his hand, laughing. “Oh no, I could never take care of such a grand place on my own. I have my brothers to help me.”
“I haven’t seen anyone.”
“They’re away at the moment, but don’t worry, you’ll meet them soon enough. But now, it’s time for you people to rest for a while.”
He rose to his feet, and David noticed that everyone looked as exhausted as he felt. He needed to lie down. A good night’s sleep would make them all feel better in the morning.
David asked for the room next to Cyrus’s. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow and had a lucid dream. Buddha walked among a throng of people, handing out the amount of success they merited. Deserving people became highly successful, but unworthy ones lost any success they had.
Buddha approached Cyrus now, a sweet smile playing on his lips, greeting him like an old friend. “What are you willing to do for success?” he asked, as if continuing a forgotten conversation.
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