by Jae Waller
I padded down the hall barefoot, passing portraits of the Parr family. One caught my eye. A boy with cropped dark hair and a smooth face, wearing a black coat with the elk sigil on the sleeve and braided red cord on the shoulders. The engraved plaque on the frame said Nerio R. Parr. Antoch’s son. Even if he enlisted as young as possible, he’d be past twenty by now. Parr must’ve been younger than me when he had Nerio.
The hall doors were all shut, but I found the kitchen at the far end and spent a few minutes marvelling at it. Compared to the rest of the manor it was rough, with dull floorboards and soot stains in the brick fireplace, but everywhere I looked there were copper pots, glazed ceramic dishes, and iron tools I didn’t know the name nor use of. Yet it took some searching to find actual food. I finally discovered pérossetto rolls and slices of dried apple in a cabinet. I filled a pewter mug with water and stared out the murky window at the overgrown lawn while I ate.
The sheets and blankets were filthy from all the dirt worn into me. I scrubbed them in the kitchen, wincing from the cuts my fingernails had made on my palms at Se Ji Ainu. I was nearly done drying the sheets when I remembered it was Iannah’s day off. She expected me in Caladheå at noon. I peered outside and swore. Already late morning.
I left the unfolded bedding in the white room and hurried out a side door. The road was littered with willow leaves and broken twigs — not far off how my head felt. I braided my hair while I ran. It was shaping up to be a hot day, humid even on the Roannveldt.
Iannah was leaning on a tree at the bottom of Colonnium Hill. “You look like hell,” she said.
“I’m aware, thanks.” I doubled over panting, rested my palms on my knees, and flinched.
She took hold of my wrists and inspected the wounds. “What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter. Look, I can’t stay long. I have to go see Marijka.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Koehl.” Iannah gave me a look. “Last week Parr sent me looking for you. This week you’re late for the first time. What’s going on?”
I sighed. She’d kept my secret about being Rin, at least, when any other soldier would’ve seen my kinaru tattoo as a link to Suriel. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”
We stopped at Natzo’s, bought cold noodles in hollowed-out wheat buns, and took our lunch to our favourite park in Bronnoi Ridge. Iannah said it was harder for people to eavesdrop in plain sight. We settled in the shade of a sprawling alder. Her perfectly flat Antler expression tightened as I told her about the past week and the planned meeting, leaving out only what I swore to Suriel I’d keep secret.
“You’re walking a dangerous path,” she said when I finished.
“It’s our best chance. I have to try.”
Iannah sat back against the alder, rubbing her bare arms. The heat had driven her to discard her coat on the grass. “What was Suriel like?”
I twirled a leaf. “Confusing. Not angry like everyone thinks. He . . . let Tiernan live after the shrine fire. For me.”
“Huh.” She looked up into the rustling branches. “His army’s plenty willing to kill people.”
My hand stilled. “Actually — maybe you can help me there.”
“Killing people?”
“Nei, listen. I think Parr’s source is the Corvittai captain. Suriel wouldn’t let anyone else negotiate for him. It must be someone Parr trusts, maybe someone he fought the Rúonbattai with, who knows he and Tiernan were friends.”
“Parr knows a lot of people, soldiers especially. The military is his entire life. Everyone says the war with the Rúonbattai never left him.”
“Still, could you look into it? I want to know who it is and how they earned Suriel’s trust. There’s no point asking Parr again. I’m not sure I want to see him again anyway.”
Iannah frowned as she picked up her waterskin. “Did he do something to you?”
“Nei!” I rolled onto my front so my face was muffled by grass. “I . . . uh . . . kissed him.”
She spat water over her breeches. “Why?”
I tore up a clump of grass and threw it at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“He’s thirty-eight, Koehl. He’s twice your age.”
“Tiernan’s thirty-two and you never said that was a problem.”
Iannah held up her hands. “Do what you want with whoever you want. But if I was negotiating with Suriel, I wouldn’t want any distractions.”
“What, you don’t think I can handle it?”
“You can’t handle some little cuts.” Her lips quirked up at the corners.
“Ai, just you watch.” I tackled her. She flipped me onto my back and we rolled across the grass until she pinned me down, one hand on my arm and the other on my ribs, my skirt tangled around my legs. A Ferish woman with dark curly hair shot us a dirty look and pulled her son close.
With sunshine warming my skin and grass tickling my neck, Se Ji Ainu felt a world away. If this was to be the last time I saw Iannah, I wanted to remember her like this, the way her hair glowed red and she only ever smiled with her lips pressed together as if she had a secret.
26.
SILENCE & STILLNESS
I tracked down Airedain at Segowa’s stall, saying only that I didn’t know when I’d be back. He jabbed my ribs and gave me a tight hug. I clung to his skinny frame, hoping he wouldn’t hear news about me like he had about Nokohin. Then I braced myself and headed north on the hike to Marijka’s home.
Her yard was empty. “Hello?” I called.
“Over here,” Marijka’s voice drifted from down the creek.
She was on the shady bank braiding reeds picked from the shallows. Vivid green ropes sprawled across the grass. I sat next to her and dangled my feet in cool water, a relief from the muggy air.
“It’s hard to be inside,” she said. “A few months ago I didn’t think my house was lonely, but when I know what I’m missing . . .”
The knot in my stomach tightened. “Tiernan’s still gone?”
“Yes. Though three days is nothing. He disappeared for months after I refused his first marriage proposal.”
I hugged her. It didn’t feel like the right time to tell her about my trip to Se Ji Ainu, but we only had a day. I couldn’t help checking over my shoulder as I talked.
“You can choose not to meet Suriel tomorrow,” I said. “He doesn’t know who you are or where you live. But I don’t know if he’ll give us another chance.”
“Do you think he’ll keep his word about not retaliating?”
“Maybe. You were at Crieknaast’s military hospital last week, healing the soldiers opposing him. If he didn’t kill you for that, I don’t see why he would now.”
She sighed, twisting reeds with deft motions. “I understand why you can’t tell me his secret. Breaking an oath to a spirit is never a good idea. So if you believe he has good reason for wanting to reach the void, I believe you. But it’s more complicated than just figuring out how to open a rift.”
“What else is there?”
“When Tiernan and I . . . had our fight, I asked if he had burned his research for any reason besides marrying me. He admitted he doesn’t know how to close a rift. He didn’t want people crossing back and forth between shoirdrygen. That gets complicated fast.”
“But if you opened one to the void — there’s nothing there, right? It’s between worlds.”
“Which also means it might touch every shoirdryge. Then if every version of Suriel gets a mage to open a rift, the void would become a network between worlds, like the tunnels through the mountains. Millions of years from now, all these rifts could still be open. There’s no saying how other shoirdrygen might develop over time or what might come through to our world.”
I sucked in a breath. It seemed obvious spoken aloud. “Maybe Suriel has a way around that. Maybe he can seal a rift, just n
ot open it. Saidu are meant to repair things.”
“Perhaps. We don’t know enough.” Marijka set down another reed braid. “So . . . I suppose we ask Suriel tomorrow.”
•
We met the next morning outside her house. Marijka just shook her head. Tiernan wasn’t back.
“I can ask Suriel to come again later—” I began.
“No,” she said. “Every day we lose is another body I have to patch up in Crieknaast. Or one I can’t fix.”
She didn’t talk much on the way. My attention stayed northeast, listening for the rustle of leaves. All I heard was the squelch of Anwea and Gwmniwyr’s hooves on the muddy creek bank. Mist steamed away as sunlight heated the rainforest.
“Hang on,” I said hours later at the first glimpse of rotten stumps. I slid off Anwea and passed the reins to Marijka. “Careful with her. I don’t think horses will like this.”
I’d never shown Marijka my attuned form, but of all itherans, I didn’t mind her knowing. I closed my eyes and sank into my other body. Paws, bushy tail, silver fur — and a wolf’s sharp senses. Anwea’s startled whuff of breath felt like it was right next to my ears. A fresh scent burst from the ferns she trampled.
I pushed away the part of my mind aware of Marijka’s gaze and focused on the valley ahead. Running water, scampering rodents, singing wrens two leagues away. I smelled the hot blood of rabbits deep in their burrows, but not of other horses or humans. So Suriel hadn’t brought any Corvittai. I shifted back before Anwea got any more disturbed.
“It’s beautiful,” Marijka said. “Your wolf form.”
I half-smiled. It was a lot of things to me, but beautiful wasn’t one of them.
We rode into the valley, pushing into a mat of fireweed speckled with purple buds. The few alder saplings looked sickly, their leaves bruised, their bark weeping pitch. A ring of blackened stumps marked Tiernan’s wall of fire that protected us from Suriel’s rune last winter.
The place still felt wrong. Now I realized why. The loggers had fled during spring in the Storm Year. Fireweed quickly took over, helping the valley recover as it always did after disasters, usually forest fires. In late summer, near the end of the storms, the edim-saidu that managed the region’s plants had died. The rainforest cycle got stuck in recovery. Stumps stayed half-rotten, woodchips underfoot stayed intact, trees couldn’t grow.
All that moved was the creek, carrying leaves that whirled and dipped in the current. The clear sky curved down to the horizon like a blue bowl laid upside down over the world. Anywhere else, the mild, still heat would’ve been perfect. Here, the motionless saplings looked like watching ghosts.
I dismounted and peered at the sun high overhead. “It’s noon. Suriel’s meant to be here.”
Marijka reached out, feeling the air. “I don’t sense any magic. If this is a trap, it’s well hidden.”
“Suriel!” I called. “I’ve brought the mage!”
Silence. Stillness. I approached the loggers’ buildings on the bank. My hand thrummed tense as snare wire as I touched a sun-bleached plank door. Nothing happened. Tiernan must’ve done something special to trigger Suriel’s rune. Or it didn’t work anymore.
Inside the dim room, cool, damp air filled my lungs. Mildew-stained bunks lined the walls. Old bootprints crossed the dirty floor. I checked the other plank buildings — a kitchen with a square of soot where an oven once sat, a shed with pegs to hang tools, another shed of empty crates. Everything must’ve been looted. I found only a few black threads snagged on splintered wood, then gave up and headed back outside.
Marijka held out a handful of soggy alder leaves. “These must’ve fallen into the creek recently. They’re still intact.”
I looked upstream. The logged area continued on beyond a bend of the creek. I swung onto Anwea. “Let’s go see.”
We rode along the reedy bank until the forest edge came into view. Between us and the wall of healthy trees, wind-thrown saplings crossed the ground. One lay with its crown in the water. Its leaves were torn off, roots scoured clean of dirt, bark drenched like water had been flung up from the creek.
I shivered. “It looks like Suriel came this far and stopped. But I’ve got no idea why.”
“Maybe something happened back in the mountains?”
“Maybe.” I gazed over the treetops at the eastern range, stark against the blue sky. If we left, we might not get another chance to talk with Suriel. And if he found another mage, that person might not care about closing the rift.
“What do you think?” Marijka said. “Do we wait for Suriel to return?”
I shook my head. “Something’s gone wrong. I want to know what before we do anything else.”
•
I accompanied Marijka home, then rode on toward Caladheå alone. Asking Iannah if she’d heard anything from Crieknaast seemed like the safest way to start. If needed, I could pry Parr for info. Slowly, I was fitting iron links into a chain that made sense, but so many pieces were missing.
At the edge of North Iyun Bel, overlooking Caladheå, I realized what I’d missed. Suriel could only be stopped by one thing. Other saidu.
I’d assumed every saidu in this part of the rainforest was dead. But the creek kept going, from mountains to sea, unlike the dried-up river through the wasteland. Snow and rain fell, fog came and went, the well Tiernan dug worked as intended. I’d never had a vision into another world the whole time I lived at his cabin. A water spirit lived here somewhere, repairing the barrier so I couldn’t see through it.
I swung Anwea around. It was a solid hour to the nearest stretch of creek, but I had to be sure. She cantered back up the path, veered off through the underbrush, and plowed into the cold water. It churned around her, splashing against my calves.
How could I talk to a spirit that had no interest in humans? I called out, not surprised when nothing responded. I lifted an arc of water. Nothing. I tossed my weapons and purse on a high shelf of the bank, slid off Anwea, and plunged underwater. Minnows skittered through the murk. I kicked off the bottom, stirring up silt.
Maybe the anta-saidu would pay attention if I didn’t go away. I stood waist-deep in the creek and waited. And waited. Anwea wandered downstream out of sight. A duck swam past, probably wondering what I was doing. My legs ached with cold.
I climbed dripping onto the grass. Wotelem had said an Iyo elder could sense saidu. I sat cross-legged and tried to meditate. Heat shifted across my head as the sun moved through the sky. A thrill of trepidation shot through me when I sensed motion in the water — but it was just Anwea returning.
If the anta-saidu did nothing except its duty, I’d have to interfere. I braced myself against a cottonwood, lowered my mind into the creek, and pushed against the current, forming an invisible wall. Slowly I spread it wider. The immense weight felt like it was crushing my skull. Sweat ran down my back. I imagined Isu, my mother, and Emehein all watching. Waiting to see if my antayul training paid off.
My wall reached both banks. Water flooded sideways into the forest, leaving the rocky creek bed bare. Anwea snuffled at empty air around her. Rivulets ran past her hooves.
Then, like a punctured waterskin, my wall ruptured. Anwea galloped onto the bank as the creek rushed down its bed toward her. A twisting column of water rose from the surface. I gasped. For once, I was sure I hadn’t called it by accident.
“Do you . . . understand me?” I asked, but the column just kept twisting.
There had to be a way to ask it about Suriel. I called a flat plane of water, like a floating tabletop, over the soaked bulrushes. Matching it to my memory of Tiernan’s maps, I formed spires for the eastern mountains and bumps for the lower slopes across North Iyun. I blew on the map, sending ripples through the mountains around Se Ji Ainu.
Something nudged my mind, pressing inwards. It felt different than sharing control with other antayul. This was deeper, slower, stronge
r. The ripples continued west across the watery slopes. Halfway along the map, a miniature column rose from the creek. The ripples struck it, then receded. So I was right — the anta-saidu didn’t let Suriel enter its territory.
“But Suriel’s come here before—” I began before remembering speech was pointless. Maybe he snuck in to set the rune on the loggers’ building. It didn’t really matter.
As I wondered how to ask why the anta-saidu didn’t want Suriel around, it began showing me something else on the map. It raised another miniature column in the foothills near Crieknaast. A second water spirit in the creek, one west and one east.
The map warped, starting in the eastern range and radiating out. It sizzled and steamed. Mist coalesced and rained flecks of ice. The Storm Year — earthquakes, volcanoes, snowstorms. Then, abruptly, the east column disintegrated. That anta-saidu must’ve died in the storms. Suriel had been able to move freely around Crieknaast because the saidu there was dead.
Before I could ask anything else, my map dissolved. The pressure in my head eased. The saidu retreated, fading into waves. I felt a stir underwater as it glided upstream. Odd. Maybe I’d always sense its presence now, just like my mind learned how to see the shoirdryge.
I retrieved Anwea and spurred her into a canter along the bank. Suriel might not have gone back to Se Ji Ainu. Maybe Marijka and I could track him down.
Then I rounded a bend. Anwea pulled up suddenly, her glossy brown hide foamy with sweat. Tiernan stood on the bank ahead, hand on his sword hilt, staring at us. Twigs stuck in his tangled hair like he’d been sleeping on the ground.
In the distance, slivers of white light shone through the foliage. He didn’t seem to have noticed. Maybe my crashing through the forest had just woken him.
“Leave,” he said.
“Tiernan—”
“You knew what would happen if you told Maika about Suriel.”
“I didn’t know you’d storm off and leave her alone for four days! Where have you been?”
