by James Stone
Magmaya tried her best to ignore her, but her words were nestling themselves in her head. ‘I have something else to tell you,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Do you know what happened twenty years ago, Nurcia?’
‘Many things, I might imagine.’
‘The Kytherans came.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Well?’
‘We do believe they’ve returned.’ Magmaya smiled.
Nurcia’s battered face contorted. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘They have larger armies than us,’ Magmaya said. ‘They’re better armed. They have more allies.’ She paused. ‘I just want you to know that if Vargul Tul did take Orianne and even thought about heading south, they would’ve arrived and wiped him clean off this earth.’
‘The same may yet happen to you.’ Nurcia shrugged.
Magmaya almost laughed at that. ‘What?’
‘The southerners may be all-powerful, but they’re not gods; they’re not the right or wrong in this world,’ she explained. ‘They may come to see Orianne as more of a threat to their power than the Mansel could’ve ever been. After all, Orianne is chocked full of demagogues and aristocrats. What’s a bigger threat to peace than dogmatism?’
‘You’re foolish to think that,’ was the only reply she hazarded. Her threat hadn’t even left a cut. Sometimes, she felt as if her every word had been stolen from her.
‘Perhaps,’ Nurcia began. ‘But that’s beside the point. What I care to know is when I’m being brought to Mansel.’ She frowned.
That frown stripped all the strength from her. She doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she reminded herself and forced herself to spit, ‘Confess.’
Nurcia groaned. ‘I’ve confessed time enough already. There is no more truth this world needs from me.’
‘As chancellor of Orianne, I beg to differ.’ Magmaya grasped at air. Her title emboldened her, but it had no effect on the turncoat.
‘What I confess doesn’t matter now, I am already incriminated,’ Nurcia said.
‘It matters to me!’ she roared. ‘It matters to the old books. It matters for your legacy.’
‘Now you are sounding like Kharon Vorr,’ she said. ‘Legacy this, legacy that. Talk to me again about legacy once you’ve met the southerners.’
‘No.’ Magmaya shook her head. ‘We shan’t be seeing one another again.’
Nurcia nodded and began flaunting her nudity about the room, catching the gazes of the guards.
Magmaya sighed, turned away and said, ‘They say you bowed to Tul when your village was taken.’ She paused. ‘Why in the world…?’
‘My father was a cock,’ she remarked. ‘And his cock was all he thought with. I was glad when Tul killed him.’
‘And you were glad when your village was sacked?’
‘I remember not being pleased at first,’ Nurcia admitted. ‘But once I found Vargul, I understood why. Perhaps you will too one day.’
The chancellor slapped her for that, and the traitor’s cheek glowed a deep red.
‘You think you haven’t cut me enough?’
‘There’s still time in the day.’
‘It’s a shame you don’t have all day then, isn’t it?’
‘If I were you, I’d quiet down,’ Magmaya’s voice was fire. ‘I’ve a few days left. I might yet change my decision about what I’m doing with you.’
‘I invite you to.’ Nurcia smiled. ‘Let it be known, though, I have watched you for as long as I can remember.’
‘Your time watching me has finished.’
‘My time watching you was long enough,’ she said. ‘I’ve all your secrets hidden away. If I happen to be displeased with this decision of yours, a slip of the tongue might make one spill.’
The traitor leaned forward, so close to Magmaya that she felt consumed by her. The guards leapt forward as Nurcia pressed her mouth to her ear, rasping as she was torn away, ‘Your false brother was a quiet boy.’ She moaned, ‘The same was true when I was plucking his eyes out, vein by vein.’
‘Get her away from me!’ Magmaya screamed, and the guards pinned Nurcia against the back wall. ‘What kind of god would want this?’
‘My god.’
‘Your god would have you murder them?’ Magmaya scorned. ‘Kill Albany? Try for Rache?’
There was silence for a moment as the guards began to bind her in chains, fastening her to the wet walls, but Nurcia still had some talk left in her, it seemed.
‘Yes, he would,’ she said after a moment and shrugged. ‘And I did.’
The snow spilt from the sky like it really was the end of days; it had started slowly, but by the afternoon, it had littered the Deadfields with an ocean of orange-red ambience.
The falling star ripped across the faraway seas faster and faster as it grew closer and closer, clawing its way east. Occasionally, it would catch the light of the moon or the white of the sun, and streaks of molten silver would rush across the mountaintops. The star had become so intertwined with the horizon, it had become part of Ranvirus itself.
And beneath it, the chancellor’s company thundered on wearily. The Deadfields were beginning to reek like something feral again, and she couldn’t help but shake the idea that something terrible was closing in on them. Then again, it had been a day like this when Shalleous and her had ridden to die. One of them had even succeeded in doing so.
‘We’re walking into certain danger,’ the old knight said as he reared over to her, but Magmaya just sat high in her saddle. While she was still deathly afraid, her fear of the cold had become more bearable. The ice was melting all around her.
‘Of course, we are,’ she said, her gaze not leaving the knight. ‘But we’ve been alone for too long, Siedous. We ride on.’
They carried onwards across the glittering skyline. Magmaya turned, noticing small waterfalls breaking through the ice from the Sultide beyond and across to the Deadfields. She watched crooked trees bend from the cliffs at impossible angles, gasping for a taste of the sunlight high above. She watched their gnarled roots claw from the soil, frozen in opaque mounds of ice.
The old books told that when men had first travelled to Ranvirus, there hadn’t been an inkling of life; there had been no grass, nor geese, nor trees that chimed; there had been only ice and ruined pyramids made of glass and stone. Perhaps buried beneath her they were still there. Perhaps they were the answers to all her problems; perhaps there was a cure for Rache, a poison for Nurcia, and ship that would take her south. All she had to do was give herself over to the cold again.
By the time she crawled out of her daze, Magmaya realised her deer had begun to clamber up the mountainside; the company was already a quarter of the way up the precipice. Hooves clung to the ground beneath them as if they were embedded in it, riders peering on into the snow. But all the chancellor saw was an endless curtain of white upon a mountainside that had been skewered so much by the incline, she could hardly figure out which way was up.
The chasm on Magmaya’s left grew deeper as they ascended, and the path thinner. The company were forced to split duly into ranks of two or three, but soon enough, the path was swallowed by a wall of stone, and from then on, each man rode without a partner.
Magmaya spared a glance down the abyss below, eyeing the trees which might have well-been needles from where she was. A single misstep would send her tumbling a thousand feet downwards, but as if by some miracle of the nameless gods, the deer drove onwards, relentless to the unpleasant lashings of rain.
The higher they climbed, the more Magmaya felt the warmth of candlelight beat against her back as if it was calling her to stop, to turn back and ride home. With every breath, she thirsted to draw the silver blade from her hip and strike at the shadows of Nurcia around her. But without borrowed light, Moonbeam had no shine, and Magmaya reasoned it wouldn’t even cut its way through the sleet. No longer did the warm, red glow of the falling star guide their way, but inst
ead, cold spears of white light beckoned them to nowhere.
And with each upturned stone, Magmaya’s belly still throbbed like something putrid was festering inside, and every strain resounded throughout her like a hurricane. All the old knights had been incessant on passing down stories of their battles and tales of their scars, but Magmaya dreaded the day she’d be telling the world how her greatest trophy had come from a misplaced kick.
The racket of crunching ice beneath the deer ceased as the icy path met the rigged mountainside that had hung above for so long. It seemed, at last, the end was in sight as she spotted a thin silver crag, spearing the shore below.
And that’s when she saw it: a crooked shadow cast across the valley. The vessel was a hulk of brass and iron, pearls and rubies, seeping through the mist and dwarfing the mountainside. Tendrils of cold steel rained down into the ocean like entrails from a beached whale, while the red fires from its braziers bellowed up into the heavens.
The chancellor’s heart pounded, and her stomach ran warm with anticipation; it was no pearly mass of the gods’ reckoning, but it was a human thing fashioned from the same metals she herself wore. And though Magmaya hated to say it, it was undeniably beautiful; it was undeniably beautiful and undeniably ancient like the Age of the Technomancer made flesh.
‘Gods,’ said Magmaya as her eyes began to water. A cacophony of gasps and whispers erupted from the men behind, but they were nothing; they were less than insects in the sight of something so colossal.
‘In all my life, I never convinced myself I would see such a thing again…’ Siedous told her, trailing off.
‘I want to meet them.’ She gestured to the shimmering figures that stood alone on the shore, stumbling from their landing boats. Magmaya couldn’t quite make out what they looked like, though; she could only watch on with intrigue as they marched on the ice like shining pearls.
‘They don’t know we’re here,’ the knight whispered breathlessly. ‘Don’t act hastily, my chancellor. They may be dangerous yet.’
Magmaya nodded, and yet, she still couldn’t tear her eyes from it all. Her passage to the shore seemed to have taken an age, but only the nameless gods knew how long the starry men had travelled to get to Ranvirus. What lives had they lived upon that barren metal craft?
And who even were they?
A gust of wind tore about the mountaintops, sending the deer reeling and screeching. The company retreated out of sight and rallied by a fallen tree. The snow howled and battered their flanks, but all Magmaya could think of was the armada of pearly men standing stoically about the water.
‘Siedous,’ she started again, ‘we did not travel halfway across the Deadfields to stretch our legs. We must ride to them with goodwill.’
‘When I see armoured men spilling down the mountains on horseback, I’m likely not to see them as friends,’ he remarked.
‘And what did the men of Orianne do upon the southern-people’s arrival all those suns ago?’ Magmaya asked. ‘Did we run and hide then?’
‘They walked to us,’ he answered, ‘we gave them meat and mead, and in return, we got a bastard boy.’
‘These southerners seem different,’ she asserted herself, but Nurcia’s voice was ringing through her head: the same may yet happen to you. She shook the thought away. ‘Besides, have you forgotten we’re still at war? Fighting on another front is the opposite of what the city needs. We’ve little meat left to share, I know, but we have no means to turn these people down.’
One by one, the deer and their riders trickled over the mountaintop like an army of ants on a canvas, the vessel looming overhead, blotting out the glaring sun above. In the distance, across the thick, white plains, the strange men grew larger, yet no more discernible as their armour looked as if it was changing from green to blue, and blue to purple with every passing moment.
The clatter of hooves thundered through the mountains, throwing up snow and dirt with each step. Magmaya felt the wind rush out of her soul and for a moment, she rather quite enjoyed feeling nothing at all.
As they approached the shore, she was able to make out a few details on the vessel: crinkles and intricate murals plastering its broadsides; it was an articulate configuration of brass scarcely wrought by human hands.
This isn’t at all what I remember the last ship looking like, she thought. Then again, I was only a child then…
Siedous rode on ahead for a moment, before she saw him slow and followed suit. Soon enough, the columns before them began moving as the strange intruders turned from colourful specs to people, standing in rank about the haze. The entire company became sheathed in the shadow of the mountainside, and yet, the men before them weren’t; they were seemingly glowing against the darkness of the snow.
Silhouettes danced across the ice as they approached, and it quickly became clear the southerners were heavily armoured—rainbow light glistened off their breastplates as they stood solemn and faceless against the snow. They clearly numbered in their hundreds—a block of armoured might against a horde of unkempt cavalry. If conflict broke out, Magmaya’s men were to be no match.
Siedous edged a little farther forward, bracing himself from the storm. ‘Make yourselves known!’ he called; his face was grim and broken as if had fought a thousand wars. By the state of him, he might well have done.
A silence took to the world, and with bated breath, the Orianne and Tyla waited. Magmaya felt her stomach twist and her heart break as finally, the veil of snow fell between them, and the ranks stood forward, letting the onlookers revel in their divinity.
Their faces were nowhere to be seen, though, encased behind flowing masks and towering headdresses, giving the illusion they stood two heads taller than any man the north mustered.
And then, their ranks parted slightly as two more of their kind stepped through to face Magmaya, silent.
One removed his helm with an elegance she might’ve heard of in a faery story, as the handsome prince stole a fair maiden from a blazing tower. And this prince was not to disappoint—he was perhaps the most beautiful man Magmaya had ever seen. He had amethyst pools for eyes and swords for cheekbones which cut her when they caught the light, all while burning silver hair ran long down his neck, lashing against the snow. Yet at the same time, there was somewhat of a homeliness about him; in those pearly eyes, there was violence.
She watched as he moved his gaze furtively from Magmaya to Siedous, and from Siedous to her men. He took a step back and looked to the taller man beside him with a tenacious nod, emotionless, before readjusting his helm.
And then, he stepped forward with a certain elegance too, although there appeared to be an unspeakable weight resting upon his back as he did. And as he approached, the chancellor could make out a large, sweeping falchion fastened to his hip, flaming with angel’s wings and talismans.
He reached nimble fingers to his helm and unsheathed it, and in that moment, Magmaya had never been more mistaken. For this was truly the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His flowing locks were as shimmery as the snow, and his eyes were like obsidian; glassy and black. His fur cloak snapped against the wind, and he beamed with kind lips like he’d stepped out of an age-old painting.
‘Who are you?’ Siedous called through the storm.
‘We’re the truth.’ His words seemed to melt away as he spoke them.
‘And who is the truth to Ranvirus?’
‘Fabius Uliana, Lord Commander of the Divinicus,’ the angel replied. ‘Castellan of Inamorata. And the south.’
The truth, Magmaya’s mind raced. Nurcia had said there was no right or wrong, but here it was, standing before her—with a cloak! She thought back to the cramped girl sat alone in her cell and remembered how she’d decided what was to come of her. She was beginning to change her mind.
Ten
Something like lightning had run through Magmaya as she’d watched the shadow of the pearly vessel cut through the horizon, scattering lights from its burning b
raziers across the snow. All those years ago it had been so much colder, and the rain had been unrelenting, but the wonder was all the same.
She remembered how the books which had given her height had tumbled from beneath those little feet, and how she had clattered to the floor amid a heap of trinkets and papers, elbows raging and back stinging. There had been footsteps as she struggled to stand, but Magmaya found no such luck as the papers insisted on sliding beneath her again and again, bruising her fingers as scrawny, yellow hair fluttered into her eyes. Her face had glowed red, and footsteps had rung about the corridors.
‘Gods,’ a voice called, ‘Magmaya!’
It was the tall lady Kharon had spent so much time with, shrouded by the light of the moon. She was pretty, Magmaya had remembered thinking, but she looked different to everyone else—different to Orianne. She was an intruder.
‘I fell,’ Magmaya stuttered, and a huge hand reached down to steady her.
‘It’s all right, girl.’ She’d taken it, got to her feet and bent down to dust off her dress. ‘What were you doing?’
‘Trying to look out,’ she answered with a dribble. ‘The… the ship.’
The woman smiled. ‘It must have been quite the shock, seeing it come here.’
‘Angels.’ Magmaya ignored her and pointed out to the vessel. It was nestled beneath the mountains, balanced on a crystal sea as if the winds would capsize it at any moment.
The woman’s smile faded. ‘No, no. No angels. Only us.’
‘Kharon says that angels come down from the heavens,’ Magmaya had insisted. ‘Like you did.’
‘We came from the seas.’ She cocked her head nimbly. ‘We ran away from the angels.’
‘Where did you run from?’
‘The Silver City,’ she had said. ‘Well… it isn’t quite a city. And it isn’t quite made of Silver. But the angels have disappeared from there now, anyway. Soon, we’ll be going back.’
‘The priests say we have to pray to angels. Not run away from them,’ she’d groaned.
