by Tammy Salyer
Jaemus clapped his hands together and shook them as if waving in victory. “Yes! We’d like to go home. And well, yes? Do you think your Vaka Aster the Magnanimous might be persuaded to, oh I don’t know, put in a good word for us with the Creatress? Or Lífs, if I should use the formal name. It seems that as a peer, Vaka Aster may have a bit of sway among the star-walking elite. And since you share your, erm, brain with her…”
The vibrations of the melodious pillars had faded to a low hum Ulfric felt along the fine hairs of his arms and neck, as well as deep in his bones, but were no longer audible to the ear. He relished the serenity this brought him, a feeling he’d often wished he could bottle and take with him everywhere he went. Jaemus’s words bordered on irreverent, though his tone was all seriousness—at least as serious as he ever really sounded—but Ulfric took it with more magnanimity, to use the ’Gazian’s word, than he might ordinarily have.
But how to explain to him that a Verity was not a being given to granting wishes? Vaka Aster had brought them here instead of leaving them behind, after all. She must have had some reason for that choice, whether they knew what it was or not.
He tried the indirect route and had to hope his tone was convincing. “You must learn to trust things you do not yet fully understand, Jaemus. We call this ‘keeping the faith in the fight.’” Even as the words dissipated in the air, he realized he sounded as disingenuous to his own ears as Jaemus’s face showed they did to him.
“Is that right…What exactly does ‘fight’ refer to? From what I’ve learned, your Order’s primary role is to stay out of fights—though you don’t seem to be good at it. It appears you lean more toward solitary confinement and”—he looked toward the opening to Stave’s smithy—“creating an excessive volume of sharp objects.”
“No, you’re taking it too literally. What it means…” He paused to think it over, realizing he’d never had to define the aphorism aloud. “To the Knights, the fight we all face is the temptation to give up. We fight to stay true to our convictions, and our duty, despite all the battles time brings us. It’s choosing to remain strong in our certainty that whatever happens is surmountable, and that together as Knights, and even alone, we will never be beaten as long as we remain faithful to this certainty.” That certainty used to be Vaka Aster’s fidelity to us and to Vinnr. But is it really? Has it ever, really, been so?
Jaemus’s face grew thoughtful for a moment. “So you mean it’s just a saying that reminds you to keep up hope despite whatever odds you face.”
He’d never thought of it that way, but it fit. “Exactly.” Jaemus’s astuteness once more caught Ulfric off guard, and he decided the man deserved a straight answer. After all, he liked the ’Gazian. Dropping his klinkí stones into a pocket and straightening his tunic, he said evenly, “Regarding Himmingaze—the Verities aren’t given to involving themselves with commoners’ affairs.”
“According to what you’ve told me, the Glister Cloud is hardly a ‘commoner’ affair,” he countered.
And Ulfric had no argument for that. His own dilemma was nearly identical to Jaemus’s: he needed Vaka Aster to send Safran and Stave after Symvalline and Isemay, and Jaemus needed her to send him and his people home. Maybe the maker would help if Ulfric asked, yet the ’Gazians wish for Vaka Aster to try influencing Lífs’s realm…well, that was surely unprecedented and presumptuousness. Worse, wasn’t it similar to Balavad’s own actions, if not his ends?
What did he have to lose by asking, though? He already intended to reverse his agreement with Vaka Aster, ask her to interfere when he’d explicitly forbidden her to—as much as any man can forbid any celestial being anything. He would help Jaemus, too, if he could.
Before he could give the ’Gazian a response, the largest of the pillars rang with a drawn-out base note that rose up the walls of the inner courtyard and could be heard throughout the fortress. A clapper inside linked to the main fortress doors, and the pillar’s chime indicated a visitor.
He’d known the people of Asteryss would spot the smoke from their hearth fires and realize the Knights had returned, but they’d come knocking sooner than he’d expected. They had rung for entry rather than trying to break their way in, which was a good sign. How good remained to be seen.
Ulfric ran his thumb over his Mentalios and watched the ’Gazian attempt to think of another tactic to entice him to bring Vaka Aster into their affairs. What should I say to him to keep him from setting his hopes too high? he wondered. A moment later, Safran’s voice came through the Mentalios.
We’ve had a messenger from Arch Keeper Beatte.
One moment, Ulfric said. He looked meaningfully at Bardgrim and tapped his Mentalios. “Focus on the mindlink, Jaemus. You’re here and part of our affairs, for now at least. May as well get comfortable with it.”
He scowled but reached for his own lens readily enough. “Speak, oh spritely Stallari.”
Ulfric asked Safran to continue.
The Arch Keeper has requested an audience with Vaka Aster at Aster Keep.
Beatte wasted no time, Ulfric thought. She’d accused him of betraying Vinnr last time they’d met. Whether she’d been aboard Balavad’s warship with all the other Vinnrics or not, she’d no doubt heard the tale of all that had happened there. The Knights and Ulfric had fought the usurper and his forces as hard as the other captives. It was enough, apparently, to sway Beatte toward a more favorable opinion of them. How long it might last was another matter.
He could imagine the many dozens of requests the kingdom’s leader might choose to make of Vaka Aster, and none would be unreasonable. Except, again, Verities were not in the business of granting wishes, and the Knights were not in the business of serving as ambassadors between her and commoners. The Ivoryssian high seat was just a new tangle in a web already filled with them.
Everyone, he sent. Join me in the meeting hall. We have much to discuss.
Chapter Eleven
Jaemus followed Ulfric to the meeting chamber through the main hall. Though he’d been in it before (while exploring the fortress to find somewhere to hide from Stave) the size of it was enough to take his breath. Himmingaze’s floating cities had large meeting spaces, but his definition of “large” was limited to space that held no more than a few dozen people. You could fit a few hundred in Vigil Tower’s main hall, with room for a dance troupe and a feast as well.
This meeting chamber lay was at the base of Vigil Tower. The soaring primary tower itself was topped by a domed oculus Jaemus had marveled at from the other towers. It was the largest of four that rose from equidistant points around a white-stone inner curtain wall, itself wide and long enough to contain a small village within it. A covered clay-shingled parapet ambled along the top of the wall. The three smaller steepled towers were tall enough to observe the entire city of Asteryss from. Jaemus knew this because he’d walked every nook and cranny he could since arriving, trying to find places Stave was sure to not be.
Safran and Stave beckoned to him and Ulfric to sit with them at an oblong table beneath a tapestry depicting a forest filled with animals. They were of all shapes and sizes, running through the trees and flying through the sky, a scene beyond Jaemus’s wildest imaginings. Above the scene, the rays of Halla, the Vinnric shining daystar, beamed over all. Everything about the tapestry, from the fibers it was woven from to the flora and fauna it contained, awed him. Was this what Himmingaze had once looked like, before the Glister Cloud and its endless storms had nearly drowned the entire world?
“Just waiting on Roi to finish checking the catacomb wards,” Stave said. “Kórb?” As Jaemus pulled out the seat next to him, Stave held out a bumpy-skinned green fruit the size of his fist. The twinkle in the Knight’s eye was not lost on him.
He took it with a flat: “Don’t mind if I do.”
Safran gave Stave a stern sideways glance, then sent to Jaemus: We harvest them from our own trees in the courtyard. Have you seen them? They are only as tall as a new sapling, something like our S
tave—she shot the short Knight another glance, this time while grinning—but they grow fruit during every season. We never run out, but they’re so delicious that we never grow tired of them either.
“Do I just—”
No, through the Mentalios. You need to practice. Arching her thin eyebrow at him, Safran coached: Remember, think of what you mean to say and let the words form. But know your own mind so that what you send is what you intend to send. If you want me to know about rain, don’t let your thoughts dwell on how you feel about rain or something that’s happened to you while it was raining, or you’ll send that and I’ll know more than you mean for me to.
He’d had a similar lesson once or twice in the last few days and knew exactly what she meant. As she’d told him about the kórb fruit tree just now, he’d gotten a perfect image of it in his thoughts, even down to the color and shape of their leaves, the gnarly bark of their sturdy trunks, and the type of insects that made their homes in the tree’s dense branches. More than just words were communicated in these marvelous mind lenses, but that was the danger. Controlling what you sent, and to whom, was where a level of mental discipline took over—and he’d yet to fully master that. Trying to communicate with the other Knights had been more than a little embarrassing as his thoughts at times were more naked than he’d intended. Still, he’d endure a thousand embarrassments for this amazing ability to speak with his mind.
Just bite into it, or does it need to be…? He paused, trying to think of the word he was looking for.
Peeled, came Mallich Roibeard’s voice, and Jaemus turned to see the palest of the Knights enter through the hall’s main door. He equaled Jaemus in height and walked with the calm assurance of a man who rarely found anything surprising. Jaemus found that when Roi’s steady topaz eyes came to rest on his, they had a way of instantly putting him at ease.
Yet despite the Knight’s composure, Jaemus saw the lines of tension in his face when Ulfric began addressing the group aloud.
“Acolyte Irrick of the Conservatum delivered a missive from the Arch Keeper today, as Safran has told you. Beatte requests, ‘humbly’ she puts it, to speak with Vaka Aster. The Ivoryssian court and Conservatum are planning a mourning ceremony for the city tomorrow and wish the creator to attend.”
Are they aware that you are Vaka Aster’s vessel now, Stallari? Safran sent. The few I spoke with on Mount Omina seemed either too in shock or too confused by what occurred on the usurper’s warship. I’m not convinced they completely comprehend what’s happened to them, or to any of us.
Ulfric said, “It’s hard to say. I haven’t wanted to mingle with the commoners to find out. Being the vessel is too…burdensome.” The Stallari’s face drew into a scowl, then smoothed as he went on. “The exact words in Beatte’s message were, ‘Vaka Aster and the creator’s representatives.’ Many people of Ivoryss were defiled by the usurper, consecrated like the Raveners from Battgjald, and conscripted into Balavad’s army. That along with coming through a starpath would rattle even a Knights’ wits.”
“It makes sense, it does,” Stave said. “Beatte and the rest of Ivoryss must be in a state trying to put things to rights. Asteryss was hit hard by that mongrel Verity. They’ll be looking to their creator for guidance and, more than that, reassurance that they’re safe from this happening to them again.”
Ulfric nodded. “The invitation sounds genuine, but we can’t give ourselves to confidence in the commoners or the Arch Keeper in times like these, nor can we meet Beatte’s subterfuge with openness, lest we give ourselves into a trap.”
Safran’s features were dour. Aye, she sent. That and Beatte will want to know she still rules. With Vaka Aster’s return, her leadership will be dependent upon knowing she is favored—and the rest of the realm knowing it too.
“She seeks Vaka Aster’s endorsement,” Roi stated matter-of-factly.
Yes, I believe that is her intention. Choosing her words with intention, Safran went on: The people of Ivoryss have suffered. As short-lifed commoners, their loss sits with them differently than our own, and we should honor that. From the towers, we’ve all seen the damage to Asteryss and how diligently they’re working to reorder and rebuild this city, despite their recent losses. It is no wonder that they wish to grieve together and give this tragedy its due weight.
Her gaze moved around the table to each of them. Jaemus felt an uncustomary need to keep silent, enamored by her calm authority and wisdom.
And perhaps, she continued, we also should be honored to be invited to join. But the question is, after the events that transpired upon Balavad’s incursion, and the Arch Keeper’s quick condemnation of the Stallari, what do we truly owe her, or this kingdom? After a moment to let that sink it, she finished. We can’t give her the audience she seeks. Their troubles are theirs to deal with. We can heal our own griefs privately.
Jaemus wasn’t sure if he was hearing it through the Mentalios or if he’d simply come to know the Knights well enough, but he seemed to discern the sorrowful whisper of Mylla.
Roi and Stave were nodding again in agreement, and Roi said, “And the risks right now to Ulfric are too severe. The people of Vinnr have faced fears they could never have been prepared for and now bear the stain of those fears. It isn’t abnormal they would remain suspicious of all. The nature of Beatte and those Balavad imprisoned is now complicated and steeped in unknowns. We should remain sequestered until we better know their temperament and intentions.”
Each Knight appeared to be in agreement without needing to say it. Jaemus had quickly grown used to their subdued and controlled reactions and assumed the matter was settled. Therefore, he was surprised when Ulfric spoke up.
“Despite the commoners’ grievances with us, real and imagined, we can’t ignore this invitation.” He glanced at Safran. She did not scowl, but the fine wrinkles around her eyes tightened. “As you say, we should be wary of the Arch Keeper’s purpose. Balavad’s spies were diligent before the invasion, and though Battgjald has fallen, the Scrylle tells us any Verity’s living creations can endure if they aren’t present when their realm is lost. Who’s to say Balavad’s spies are no longer among us—or part of her own court? We don’t know the full extent or consequences of what’s been wrought.”
He tapped his knuckles on the table, and with a final hard rap, he said, “For this reason, we will accept the invitation to their grieving ceremony. Safran, I would like only you to accompany me.”
“Ulfric, we won’t be able to protect you—” Roi began.
“You won’t need to. Between Safran and I, and the Fenestros we’re taking with us, Beatte’s court will have little power to keep us against our will. And I believe it’s crucial that we see, that I see, what we’re dealing with. I can’t risk sending anyone to Arc Rheunos until we have reliable safety here.”
The three Knights said nothing, though the air had grown thick with unease.
Ulfric continued, “You can use the Fenestros to speak for us, Safran, and channel all that happens back to Vigil Tower at the same time. I will attend as myself, at least long enough to see who they think I am, and imply Vaka Aster doesn’t wish to meet. We need to know what the commoners know and do our best to discern their plans for the future, if possible even before they do. It’s the only way we’ll be able to keep control of the situation.”
It has been hundreds of turns since I politicked, Safran mused. And the commoners may find my voice, such as it is, unnerving.
“Politics are politics,” Stave said disdainfully, “and I don’t suppose anyone could be tricky enough to learn to speak out of more than two sides of their mouth. Not even Beatte and her peons.” He chuckled bitingly. “Well, that is unless they can also speak through a Fenestros, that is.”
Safran chuckled soundlessly. I see your tolerance for rulers and their courts has not lengthened commensurate with your life, love.
“The exact opposite,” he agreed.
She grew somber again, agreeing with Ulfric reluctantly. I suppose i
t makes sense I speak for the Order. After all, I played these political games in the courts of Vinnr long before Beatte was a wisp of thought in Vaka Aster’s designs. If anyone can get Beatte to reveal her aims, it will be me. But, Ulfric, why mask the fact that you’re now the vessel?
Ulfric took a bite of the kórb he’d peeled. “I’ll avoid being known as the vessel for as long as I can. I need to be free to move, to breathe. Once the commoners believe me to be the living vessel, they will barrage me with requests for aid and audience—just like Beatte has. You will all be forced to fend them off perpetually, endangering and distracting us from what we need to be doing: finding Symvalline and Isemay, and finding a way to unmake this cage.”
Everyone at the table nodded knowingly.
“If they don’t perceive you as the maker, Ulfric, how will you escape if the politicking breaks?” Roi, ever the practical one it seemed, asked. “Vigil Tower’s outer wall is already breached, and we don’t have the time or means to restore it.”
The sour expression on Ulfric’s face showed his distaste for the whole affair. “They won’t attack their own Verity.” He scooted the goggles he wore up to his forehead, flashing his uncanny, swirling eyes for everyone to see. Jaemus had gotten used to the unusual sight in Himmingaze, but for the Knights, it was clearly something new.
Roi finally nodded in agreement. “You’ll reveal your true nature if needed. I don’t envy you. But we are vulnerable with the loss of the Vigilance and the means to travel by sky, though it seems as if their own sky fleet is now decimated. Our wards in the catacombs have never been breached. But they know about the interrealm wells now. They could have a force waiting for anyone who shows up at the Omina well. Never in a thousand turns have there been so few of us to protect the vessel.”
