by Giles Carwyn
Shara had chosen to return and complete her training. She still wondered if Baelandra had known what choice she would make and simply waited for Shara to say it rather than forcing her to return. What would Baelandra have done if Shara chose to abandon the Zelani training?
The two icons of Ohndarien walked past the respectfully silent crowd to take their places behind two of the simple stone chairs.
The last woman to enter wore her dark brown hair cut short like a man. She was painfully thin, with a harsh, angular face, the least attractive Sister by far. She always looked like she was in pain.
“That’s Vallia, Sister of Winter,” Shara whispered. “Once they have taken their places, the Brother and Sister of Autumn will offer a gift to the others.”
Father Lewlem tapped his shoulder, and his wife let go of his sleeve. He turned to Shara and bowed slightly. “Daughter of my heart. Please keep my wife company for a moment; Krellis wished to introduce me to your council.”
“Of course.”
Father Lewlem shuffled through the milling crowd. Shara was left holding on to his wife’s sleeve, not sure if she should let go.
“Excuse me,” she asked the downcast woman. “I never heard your name.”
The tiny woman suddenly turned around and grabbed the front of Shara’s dress, pinching her nipple and twisting as hard as she could.
“Listen, you barbaric slut,” she hissed, staring right in Shara’s eyes. “I will be that man’s last wife.”
Shara nearly punched the little woman in the face. A year ago, she might have, but her Zelani training kept her in check. She couldn’t make a scene, not here.
“Don’t go prowling around him like a cat in heat,” Lewlem’s wife continued. “I don’t fear your Eastern sorcery. I don’t fear whatever magic you have tucked under your skirts. If you touch my husband, I will kill you in your sleep.”
Shara took two deep, steady breaths. She breathed the pain and anger into her power. When she opened her eyes again, the Ohohhim woman took a quick step backward and let go of Shara’s nipple.
“You misunderstand me, lady,” Shara said, every word flowing from the fiery maelstrom contained within her body. “If I were attached to Lewlem as a Zelani, you might lose some of his attention, but you would gain something far greater. I would teach him to give you pleasures you have never dreamed of. And he could receive from you ten times what the normal man can contain. You would lose the husband you know, but you would gain an emperor among men. Do not waste your threats on me, Mother. I could be the greatest thing that ever happened to you.”
Lewlem’s wife stumbled backward. Shara caught her by the arm and gently set her back on her feet. She carefully took the foreign woman’s sleeve.
“Look, Mother, the council is about to convene.”
AN HOUR LATER, all old business before the council had been decided and they agreed to call a short recess before beginning any new discussions.
Shara directed Lewlem’s wife out of the building toward the refreshments. Lewlem’s wife stood beside Shara, meek and quiet as before. Flush with power, Shara could feel everyone’s eyes on her. She felt their desire, men and women both, like a hundred strings she could pull at will.
She saw Krellis and a young man with coal-black hair and a silver vest chatting under a plum tree. She recognized the tall, thin man, but couldn’t recall his name. He was of the Blood, a Child of the Seasons. His name was…
Celidon.
She remembered him now. He was the third son of the absent Brother of Winter, his older brothers had sailed away to find their father and the other Lost Brothers and never returned.
Shara noticed Father Lewlem on the far side of the clearing and nudged his wife in that direction. Shara had been holding on to the deaf-mute wife’s sleeve for the past hour and a half. Her shoulder was starting to ache with the strain. The old man noticed them immediately and weaved his way through the crowd to join them. His wife latched on to his sleeve immediately.
Shara smiled at the ambassador, immediately pleased simply by his presence. “Father, what do you think of our council meetings?”
“Very good. Very good.”
Shara wasn’t going to let him get off that easily. “No, please, tell me what you really think. Be barbarically blunt.”
The old man clapped twice in appreciation. “All this argument over issues is delightful, but isn’t it like lifting your skirts and inviting a public debate? Aren’t you embarrassed?”
She laughed. “No, not embarrassed at all. We appreciate candor.”
“I see that you do. Please, child, continue with your tale.”
She nodded. “The end of Ohndarien’s tale is one of tragedy and triumph. A few years after Ohndarien’s walls were completed, the ruling families began to feud over the power and wealth of their new city. To prevent a civil war, the children of the ruling families locked their parents into a cave below this very hall, refusing to let them out until they resolved their differences. The parents refused to reconcile, and there they stayed.” She paused. “You see, we believe that leadership is a duty, not a privilege. Only those who can work with others should be allowed to rule over others.”
Lewlem cleared his throat. “What a tragic story.”
Shara suddenly felt her control of the situation crumble. Had she offended him? The story must be anathema to a culture as steeped in hierarchy as the Ohohhim, but if he wanted to understand Ohndarien, this tragic tale was at its heart.
Father Lewlem shook his head. “I have heard of this cave and the Heartstone that is kept inside. Is it true that this stone is a legacy of Efften? It is said to possess terrible power.”
“Donovan Morgeon’s family saved the stone from destruction when they fled the doomed city. They brought it here while Ohndarien was being built. I have never heard it called terrible before, but only a Brother or Sister of the Seasons could answer that for sure.”
The childlike smile left the ambassador’s face. The old man suddenly looked ancient. “It is hard for one to recognize evil when it surrounds him every day.”
The old man’s demeanor had changed completely, but Shara could not guess why.
“Have I offended you in some way?” she asked.
“No, child,” the old man said. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
The old man turned and walked away. His wife followed him, and Shara let the woman’s sleeve slip through her fingers.
A trumpet announced that the council was about to reconvene. Shara walked around to the east side of the Hall and joined the other Zelani students. Caleb raised an eyebrow as if to ask her what happened. She ignored him, fearing that she had done something terribly wrong, but not sure what.
Concentrating on her breath, she watched the hole to the Heart, for the first time frightened of what might be down there.
The Brother and Sisters soon returned to their places. Krellis waited for the last of the crowd to filter back inside. When the hall was settled, Krellis called for petitions in his deep, booming voice. Several people stepped forward, but Krellis’s eye fell on Celidon, the young man in the silver vest.
Celidon stepped out of the crowd and stood in front of the council.
“Yes, Celidon, what have you today?” the Brother of Autumn asked.
The young man took a deep breath before speaking. “With your permission,” he started. His voice was soft and difficult to hear as he spoke the ritual words. “I would give my blood to the blood of Ohndarien. I would make her troubles my troubles, her joys my duties. I would put my life in her service forever.”
Hazel closed her eyes and bowed her doughy head. The snowy-haired Jayden rose to her feet, her hand clenched in a fist. Vallia’s left eyebrow twitched. Baelandra held her composure, her bearing attentive and concerned as always.
“Brothers and Sisters of the Council,” Celidon continued. “I would attempt the Test of the Stone and take up my father’s legacy as the Brother of Winter.”
Tentatively r
eaching out with her power, Shara looked deep within the young man’s eyes and saw nothing but fear.
6
BAELANDRA CAREFULLY made her way toward the top of the Hall of Windows. The meeting had ended hours ago, and the crowd had drifted from the amphitheater. They would return at sundown to hold vigil while Celidon faced the Test.
Baelandra remained behind, forcing herself to chat with an endless queue of petitioners who sought a moment of her time. She wanted to scream, wanted to call the lightning down on Krellis’s head, but she just smiled and nodded, playing the part she knew so well. As soon as she could, she slipped away from the stragglers and went in search of Brophy. There was only one place he could be, on top of the Hall.
It was a dangerous climb up the stairs. They curved up the outside of the vaulted amphitheater to the intersection of the four main arches at the crown of the building. The path was ridiculously steep, and there was no handrail. It was a climb for the young. She’d done it herself many times in another age, before the Test of the Stone, before she became a Sister of Autumn and so many weights had been laid across her shoulders. None of the other Sisters would have tried it, but Baelandra had always been the reckless one. It was in her blood. She was of the House of Autumn after all.
The bay glittered in the dying light. She could see the entire city, from the Windmill Wall to where the locks disappeared into the mountainside. She could see men working the quarries beyond the northern battlements and soldiers training with the trebuchets tucked into the towering arches of the Water Wall.
Taking a few deep breaths, she continued upward. The steps grew less steep as Baelandra neared the top of the arch. It was always strange to see the stained glass up close. It looked normal from up here, just shards of glass held between thin lines of copper. Yet from below, those tiny pieces became a dazzling painting of light.
For a moment, she was that young girl again, wild as a stripeback cub, following her older brother and his friends up the steep steps for the first time. Brydeon had been quiet at that age, a watcher. Mother and Father thought Brydeon would never take the Test of the Stone. Certainly Baelandra would. The fire burned brightly in her from the moment she could cry. But not Brydeon. They thought he was destined to become an academic.
But Baelandra had never believed that. She knew why Brydeon watched. He waited, storing his experiences like a miser hoards his coins. When their father was killed by a rock lion, Brydeon was there. He took up his father’s spear and slew the beast, silently and efficiently.
Brydeon wasn’t quiet because he was timid. He simply didn’t waste anything, not motion, not words, nothing. He took the Test the same way, never spoke of it until the day he stood before the council and announced his intention.
Oh Brydeon, she thought, how has the world become so backward that I remain to lead and you have disappeared?
But you left me Brophy, she thought, my sanity. You left a little piece of yourself to remind me what life had been before I grew up.
Brophy stood exactly where she thought he would be. The boy loved the view from the roof of the Hall. Some days he would spend an hour or more staring to the north, sitting next to his father’s torch.
The hall’s warden, Charus, was responsible for keeping the four flames alive, but the warden hadn’t carried a bundle of branches up the steps in years. Brophy had taken it upon himself to stock fuel for the fires of his missing father and uncles.
Baelandra made no sound as she watched Brydeon’s son sitting next to his torch. Brophy’s golden curls shifted in the soft breeze. She paused, content to wait until her breathing returned to normal before she spoke to him.
He stood like a statue, his hand over the torch as the flames engulfed his forearm. After a few seconds, he yanked his hand out and shook his fingers to cool them.
The Children of the Seasons were taught to use their minds to increase their resistance to the elements. Brophy had always been particularly good at resisting heat, but he was doing more than practicing his lessons. Baelandra knew how pain of the body could sometimes lessen the pain of the heart.
She scuffed her slipper to let him know she was there.
Turning, he saw her and smiled. Brophy moved to one side of the blue-white marble arch to give her room, and she sat next to him. Brophy offered his hand, and she took it, staring at it for a moment. Her fingers looked so small, a girl’s hand in a man’s. It seemed only yesterday that his pudgy fist was tiny in her palm.
“Still practicing your lessons?” she ribbed him. Brophy was like his father. His instructors could find nothing bad to say about him. He was quiet, efficient.
“I wasn’t studying,” he said. “I was just…”
“Playing with fire?”
He gave her a half grin.
“How long?” she asked him.
“Almost fifteen heartbeats.”
“But you burned yourself.”
“No.”
She inspected the arm he’d held over the flame. The skin was slightly red and some of his hair had been singed off.
“I’m thinking that only counts as twelve.”
He gave her a token smile and took his hand back, hid it behind his side.
“What do you see when you sit up here for hours?” she asked.
“Ohndarien.” He said the word like it was the name of a girl he loved.
“What about Ohndarien do you see?”
“Everything. I see all of her. Sometimes I travel the streets in my mind. I start at our house and cross the bridge to the Night Market. I climb the stairs to the Wheel and walk through all the gardens. I splash in the fountains, visit my teachers, ask them questions. Then I go to the Long Market, see what’s new, talk to people from all over the world. I visit the blacksmiths on Stoneside. I eat dinner in the Citadel’s great hall, listen to the soldiers tell stories.”
He glanced at her, smiled a little, then turned away again.
“I can’t actually walk around the city and see everything I love in one day, so I do it all from here.” He paused, and they watched a galley slip through the vast floating doors of the Sunset Gate. Baelandra squeezed his hand.
“I wish I could see the world through your eyes, Brophy,” she murmured. “It is a much more beautiful place.”
“If anyone taught me to see this way, it was you.”
“I don’t think anyone can teach something like that.”
Brophy didn’t reply. They sat in contented silence, two birds perched on a wall.
“Do you think Celidon will pass the Test?” he asked quietly.
She wondered if he could read her mind. Or had she read his?
“I hope so, I truly hope so. I will help him where I can.”
“Celidon is quiet, but he’s not dumb,” Brophy assured her.
That was exactly what she thought about Brydeon, so long ago. Her brother had held back, waiting for that moment when his words or movements would be flawless. Celidon held back because he was afraid. She prayed she was wrong about him the way her parents were wrong about Brydeon.
“The council could use another Brother,” Brophy said, “at least until the others come back.”
She nodded cautiously. “Yes.”
“I’ve been thinking about something for a long time.”
Her stomach lurched. Don’t say it, she thought. Please, Brophy, don’t—
“I’m ready to take the Test.”
She turned to the north, looking to the horizon with him. She knew she would hear those words someday, but not so soon. He was still a child. She waited several breaths before she spoke. When she did, her voice was steady, neutral.
“That would be very brave. Are you certain you are ready?”
He looked down at her hand in his. His lips pressed together.
“I don’t…” he began, stopped. “I’m not sure if I’m old enough, but Ohndarien is missing something. I’ve felt it ever since I can remember. The city isn’t whole. And if…something happens, I’m afraid Ohnd
arien will need more than swords to defend her.”
“I see.”
“I want to bring us back to the way we were before the Brothers left.”
Baelandra closed her eyes. “I want that as much as you, but you can never go back, time always moves forward.”
“I know, but something is wrong. There is a foreboding.” He looked at her. “Don’t you feel it?” He turned back to the northern horizon. “If the Brothers wanted to come back they would have done it already. And if they can’t come back…Isn’t that worse?”
Baelandra knew Brophy wasn’t just talking about the Brothers. He was talking about his father, the father who never returned for him, the father who never sent word.
“We’ve been waiting too long,” Brophy said. “The torches burn, but nothing changes. It’s as if we are stuck in winter, and the spring will never come unless we do something. Ohndarien is missing its shield, its sword, and there is no one to protect us if something should happen.”
“Something like what?” She felt a chill on the back of her neck, like a cool breeze, but there was no wind.
He seemed about to say something, but shook his head, then looked at her. “I wouldn’t take Krellis’s spot. I could become the Heir of Spring or Summer, if they would accept me. We need more Brothers, not less.”
She knew she had to speak, but Baelandra took great care choosing her next words. This might be the only moment she could influence his decision.
“Your father would be very proud of you, Brophy, but I don’t think he would want you to do this.”
It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened.
“I’m not a child,” he said quickly.
“I know you’re not. You’re nearly a man, one of the few men of the Blood we have left. I have known for a long time that this might be your decision. But I ask you, as a favor, wait a little longer before you face the Heartstone.”
He let go of her hand and stood up.
“I’ve made up my mind.”
She let out a long breath.
“If that is what you’ve decided, I will not stand in your way, but I would like you to ask yourself one question first. Why are you doing this?”
