Heir of Autumn

by Giles Carwyn

  “He will take his place on the council.”

  “What if there is not an empty seat? Or what if he chooses to claim the seat occupied by this man, Krellis?”

  Brophy kept trying to get a glimpse of the trader’s eyes, but they were shadowed behind the mask.

  “Celidon is from the House Morgeon. He will choose to be Brother of Winter, just as his father and great-uncle were before.”

  Brophy sipped his cream, trying to find any reaction from the Vizai, but he was as still as the mask he wore and continued to stare at the stars overhead.

  “That is why the Test of the Stone works so well,” Brophy continued. “Those who want to lead must have the courage, strength, and desire. No one takes the Test lightly. No one takes it out of pride. They take it because they have to, because Ohndarien needs them. Those in power know that if someone is willing to die to replace them, then it is time for them to step down.”

  “I cannot believe that any person with that much power would give it up so easily. Tell me, when will you take the Test and seize power for yourself?”

  Brophy’s eyes narrowed. There was no reason why he shouldn’t tell this man the truth. He would be announcing his intentions right after talking to Baelandra. Yet, for some reason he held back.

  “The Test is a very private matter,” he said.

  “My apologies,” the Vizar said, inclining his head.

  “I will take the Test someday,” Brophy continued. “When there is great need.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  Brophy looked back at the Wheel. He tried to picture Celidon somewhere inside.

  “If it is not a private matter,” the merchant continued, “may I ask which house you belong to?”

  “I am the Heir of Autumn.”

  “You are a warrior then?”

  Brophy shrugged. “I’ve been trained in the sword and spear. I’ve studied every inch of Ohndarien’s walls. I know how to defend them.”

  “So you would take the Physendrian’s place if you were to take the Test?”

  Brophy shook his head. “Normally, but people have switched houses before if there is need. I could claim any spot I chose. Krellis is the Brother of Autumn, and he is a great man. He stopped the Physendrian invasion twelve years ago. I hope it is years and years before someone has to take his place. And even then, it will probably be Krellis’s son, Trent.”

  “Ah,” the Vizai said slowly, “and how do you feel about a foreigner ruling in Ohndarien?”

  “I think Krellis is a true Brother. Ohndarien prospers under his guidance.”

  “Perhaps, yet it is odd to me. You let anyone into Ohndarien as long as they agree to abide by your laws. In this case, you agreed to let one lead. It is a strange choice, and not the safest by far.”

  “We do not have laws. The council makes recommendations. The people follow them or not as they choose.”

  “Indeed. But if one refuses to follow the suggestions, one is marked. No one will trade with you or sell you a meal or a room for the night. Such suggestions are very like laws.”

  “No,” Brophy said, frowning. “The difference is that in Ohndarien, you always have a choice. That choice is what makes this the Free City.”

  The Vizai laughed again. “Ah, truly. Well, thank you. I have enjoyed our conversation greatly. I will enjoy this strange little city for as long as it lasts.”

  “Ohndarien will last forever,” Brophy said, louder than he intended.

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. She has lasted for centuries. Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Ah, but centuries are not so very long. My country has endured for thousands of years. We have seen little cities like Ohndarien come and go many times. The Vizai watched the rise of Efften and her fiery fall.”

  “You yourself said it. The Ohndariens love their city. And her walls are the strongest in the world. Our soldiers are the best trained.”

  “Ah yes, perhaps. But there are three times as many foreigners as natives inside these strong walls. Ohndarien’s armies are made up almost entirely of those same foreigners. They visit for five years to get the best military training in the world before leaving to sell their services elsewhere. Do you know the wage an Ohndarien-trained soldier claims in Vizar?”

  “No.”

  “The onus is high.” The Vizai smiled. “And all that was needed to gain those skills was to promise to serve Ohndarien for five years, then leave and never enter again with a weapon in their hands. Where I come from, there are many men of ill repute who would forget such a promise the moment it is made. What if there were many such men inside this city?”

  The Vizai shrugged, drained the last of his cream. “So you see, you are outnumbered by foreigners, you are protected by foreigners, and you are ruled by a foreigner. How long can your ‘perfect Ohndarien’ last? I think it already fades, and you are too close, and perhaps too young, to see it happening.”

  Brophy looked down at his cup. He heard the scrape of the man’s chair against the tile floor and looked up to find the slight trader standing above him. He still stared over Brophy, never once looking at him.

  “Well, young one, I thank you once again for your assistance. I apologize for my rudeness, but I must be on my way. I have another appointment. I hope you enjoyed your drink.”

  Brophy stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, sir. I did.”

  The Vizai trader never looked at Brophy’s hand, and never offered his own. Leaving a copper coin on the table, he inclined his head and moved back onto the walkway, his cloak swishing about him.

  Brophy watched him for a long moment, thinking about a father he never knew and about all the foreigners in Ohndarien.

  He glanced at the sky and suddenly remembered why he was here. The dawn was closer than he’d thought.

  Spinning about, he raced through the Night Market. He took the stairs up to the Wheel two at a time, headed straight across the gardens to the Autumn Gate and slipped inside.

  He worked his way through the tightly packed attendants as quickly as he could. A murmur ran through the crowd. A light flickered deep in the Heart. He’d never reach the front row in time. Standing on tiptoes, Brophy craned his neck and looked down.

  The ladder leading up from the blackness shook slightly. Krellis was the first to emerge, followed by Jayden, Hazel, Baelandra, and finally Vallia. Brophy couldn’t read a thing on his aunt’s face at this distance. He reached into the pouch at his side and pulled out a fistful of flower petals, preparing to throw them, but Celidon did not follow the others. With measured steps, Baelandra crossed to the torch of Autumn and extinguished it.

  There would be no Brother of Winter.

  9

  BAELANDRA CROUCHED in the farthest corner of her balcony, curled up in a ball. She looked out over the bay through the slender pillars of the balcony’s stone rail. The tracks of the tears across her cheeks were lost in the soft yellow light of the sunrise.

  She remembered the day of Celidon’s birth. It had been a difficult labor, and they feared that mother or child would be lost. Baelandra sat vigil with the other women outside Tharra’s door. She was only seventeen then, before the Test, before the Brothers left, before everything. She was both amazed and frightened as Tharra’s low moans turned to grunts and screams as she fought her third baby into the world. Death hovered about that room, but life pushed through, screaming into the world.

  Celidon was born at dawn on Tharra’s third day. Baelandra cried when she heard his first squalls from the other room. She remembered Tharra’s face, as gaunt and strained as a corpse’s, but she was beaming. She didn’t see anyone in the room except that tiny new person rooting at her breast.

  That night Baelandra longed for her chance to dance that oldest of dances. She wanted the challenge, the intensity, the pure love of that experience. But it was not meant to be, and Baelandra chose another path. That path had led her here, alone and crying once again for the dead men of Ohndarien.

  Brophy tapp
ed on the inside of the balcony’s archway. Baelandra had already heard him coming, but it was sweet of him to knock. She turned to look at her nephew, the closest thing to a child she would ever have.

  “Brophy,” she said. “You know me so well.”

  “Bae.”

  He sat behind her and put his arms around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he said, resting his head on her neck.

  “Oh Brophy,” she managed to get out. “He was so young, so very young.”

  “He might have succeeded.”

  Baelandra held her tongue, sparing her nephew the ugly truth.

  “You did. You were younger than he was.”

  “No,” she said softly, almost so soft he couldn’t hear it, “No, I am old. I have always been old…”

  The Sister of Autumn and her brother’s son sat in silence. Baelandra enjoyed the warmth of his touch for as long as she could. When the sun behind them lit the garden wall, Brophy stood up.

  “Come,” the boy said, taking her hands. He pulled her upright. “You need to sleep.”

  Brophy led her to her bed and pulled back the blankets. She slipped in and he lay down beside her. Baelandra used to hold Brophy as a child when he cried. They slept like two crescent moons, one large and one small. Her nephew found refuge within the curve of her body.

  Now he was the larger moon, and she tucked herself into his embrace. He burned so brightly and had more to give than Baelandra ever imagined. It was as if a part of her was inside him, and when she hurt, he felt it. He always knew when to come.

  “Never take the Test, Brophy,” she murmured. “As long as that man lives, never take the Test. He will be the death of you.”

  After she said it, Baelandra slowly relaxed in his arms, and her exhaustion overwhelmed her.

  BAELANDRA OPENED her eyes just before Krellis pounded on the door. Brophy woke with a start. Still sleepy-eyed and confused, he quickly looked from her to the door and back.

  Baelandra sat up slowly and slid her back against the headboard. “Would you give us some privacy, Brophy?” she asked, careful to keep her voice elegant and in control. “Krellis and I have some things to discuss.”

  Brophy glanced at the door.

  “I’ll stay,” he said.

  “No, you will not,” said Baelandra, in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Reluctantly, Brophy stood.

  The pounding came at the door a second time.

  “Go on, Brophy,” Baelandra said again. “Let Krellis in on your way out.”

  The boy slowly crossed the room. The door burst open a moment before he reached it. Krellis hovered in the doorway, panting like a winded horse. The shattered pieces of the latch skittered across the blue-white marble. His hand clenched the pommel of his short sword and his knuckles were white. Brophy stopped in the face of Krellis’s fiery gaze, but he did not back away.

  Krellis turned away from the boy and stared at her. A half smile curled the corner of his mouth.

  Baelandra regarded Krellis with a stony gaze that veiled her grief. He could surely see the tears dried on her face, but he would not see it in her eyes, not now.

  “Go on, Brophy,” she said.

  Brophy glanced at Krellis’s sword.

  “It’s all right,” Baelandra said, as if there were no tension in the room.

  Reluctantly, he slipped past the huge man into the hallway. He gave Krellis a parting glare that made her love the boy even more.

  Krellis waited a full ten seconds after the door closed before he started chuckling. “I heard there was a man in your bed.” He shook his head. “It certainly wasn’t the one I was expecting.”

  Baelandra’s rage built inside her, threatening to shatter everything, but she held her feelings in check. She used the furnace inside her to forge her words into daggers.

  “If the boy threatens you so much, why don’t you just kill him? That seems to be the way you deal with your rivals.”

  Krellis was still smiling, but the man’s jaw muscles stood out in stark relief.

  “I told you once, never speak of my father.”

  “I’m not talking about your father,” Baelandra spat. “I’m talking about Celidon. I’m talking about Samuel, Garrett, and Broed. I’m talking about every Child of the Seasons you’ve led to his death.”

  Krellis took three steps closer to her.

  Baelandra rolled out the opposite side of the bed, keeping a barrier between them. “You knew Celidon wasn’t ready. You knew he didn’t have the confidence, yet you led him into the Heart as surely as if you stuck a dagger in his back.”

  Krellis picked up the bed and threw it on its side. Baelandra had to jump out of the way to avoid being struck as it fell back to the floor upside down.

  “If you are going to accuse me of something, do it to my face. Don’t hide behind a tiny piece of furniture.”

  Baelandra’s breathing tripped over itself. For the first time, she was truly frightened of her lover. She felt it deep in her bones.

  The two locked stares for a long moment, before Krellis sheathed his sword and cracked his knuckles.

  Baelandra’s animal fear receded to the background, but she wasn’t sure if it would ever leave completely, not after what she saw in his eyes. Baelandra continued, “You can’t fool me, I know what happened in the Heart last night.”

  Krellis shook his head. “A weak man died, that is all.”

  “No, a young man died because you dangled him over a pit and cut the rope. Celidon would never have taken the Test if you hadn’t goaded him into it.”

  Krellis reached out to touch Baelandra’s face. She smacked his hand away.

  “Don’t you touch me,” she said, slow and full of fury. “You will never touch me again. We are not lovers, we are not family. I will do everything in my power to remove you from my city. Twelve years ago, I was afraid of battle. Twelve years ago, I trusted a man I should have destroyed. I will not make that same mistake again.”

  Krellis sighed.

  “Bae, I heard there was a man in your bed. I’ve told you how I feel about that.”

  “Do you actually care so much about what I put between my thighs? If you had more spies peering into my heart than my smallclothes, you would know that I hate everything you have become.”

  “Bae. That’s enough.” He used the same tone he used to chastise Trent. It was the ultimate slap in the face, to treat her like a child.

  “Get out! Get out of my home and never come back.”

  Krellis shrugged. “Very well.”

  He reached into his shirt and touched the stone buried in his chest. Baelandra shuddered as a jolt of energy shot through her own gem.

  “I will see you at the funeral then, my Sister.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “If not before.”

  Krellis turned on a heel and walked out of her room. When the door clicked shut, the Sister of Autumn bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut to hold back the tears.

  10

  BROPHY CROUCHED out of sight on the stairway until Krellis’s footsteps disappeared down the stairs into the garden. Krellis and his aunt had fought before, but nothing that serious. Brophy didn’t want to leave them until he knew everything was all right. He hadn’t liked the look in Krellis’s eyes when he came crashing through that door, but people dealt with grief in strange ways.

  Brophy wanted to press his aunt to continue their conversation from the night before, but he knew it wasn’t the time. He had been awake all night. If he was exhausted, Baelandra must be much worse.

  With a sigh, he climbed the rest of the stairs up to his room. His bed looked inviting, but he walked past it to his balcony. He needed sleep, but there was something he had to do first. Hopping up on the balcony railing, he jumped for the well-worn tree branch just outside. He grabbed it with both hands and swung his ankles around the limb. Hanging upside down, he crawled to the trunk and swung over to the bough that hung just beyond Trent’s balcony. The boys had used the tree to climb over the garden wall between
their houses for years.

  Trent should have been there last night. His absence had awakened a quiet rage in Brophy. He and Trent would have words, even if the older boy beat him up. Some things had to be said.

  Brophy swung his legs back and forth and jumped lightly onto the railing outside Trent’s room. His friend lay sprawled on his back, bedcovers and sheets rumpled beneath him. He wore the same clothes from the day before. As Brophy approached, he noticed the bottle in Trent’s hand. His limp fingers held it miraculously upright against his chest. Brophy didn’t know much about liquor, but he knew an expensive bottle when he saw one. It certainly wasn’t the cut-rate dregs Trent usually got from Stoneside.

  Brophy peered at the label. “By the winter wind…” he murmured. It was Siren’s Blood, the doom of the Silver Islands. Brophy had seen it for sale in the Long Market, only in one particular stall, flanked by two huge guards. The wine was said to be tainted with herbs that let men talk to spirits. The one-eyed merchant from Kherif who carried it told stories of how it drove the pirates of the Silver Islands mad. Brophy had always wanted to try it. Who didn’t? But he never had the money to buy such an expensive prize. The only person Brophy knew who had drunk Siren’s Blood was Krellis, and that was only a rumor.

  Brophy knelt by the bed and gently pulled the bottle away from Trent’s fingers.

  Trent awoke at once, reflexively yanking it back. The sudden move spun him sideways off the bed, and he landed hard on the floor. He jumped straight to his feet as though nothing had happened. Focusing his eyes on Brophy, he gave a magnanimous smile.

  “Brophy! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” he announced with a flourish. Brophy glanced at the floor. Trent had not spilled a single drop. “We have some serious drinking to do.”

  “This is a bad time, Trent. You should have—”

  “I know it’s a bad time,” Trent interrupted. “A very bad time. That’s why we have to drink our way from the bad time to a good one. This bottle and another ought to do it.” Trent tossed the bottle to Brophy, who caught the neck while still frowning at his friend.