by James Maxey
They stepped from the dragon gate as she spoke these words. Immediately a mob of filthy men and women in ragged clothes rushed toward them and threw themselves groveling at their feet.
“Knights!” a woman cried as she stared up at them with tears in her eyes. “Please! We’re humble pilgrims seeking to reach the temple! Have mercy!”
Sorrow sighed, reaching for the purse on her belt. The woman’s left arm was nothing but a bandaged stump. She felt pity enough to spare a few moons.
The woman shook her head as Sorrow produced the coins. “It’s not moons we want. It’s protection. We’ve all attempted the journey and been turned back by violence. We’ve lost everything but our lives.”
Slate nodded. “We were warned of bandits.”
“Bandits?” the woman said, shaking her head. “There are no bandits on this road. The Storm Guard shows no mercy to their ilk.”
“Who has reduced you to this state?” asked Slate.
“The Storm Guard themselves! They place barriers in the most narrow gap of the mountain pass and demand a toll to pass. Even if you pay the price they demand, they still take from you anything of value.”
“They took my daughter and stripped her bare before me,” said a man with an empty eye-socket. “She was only eleven. I tried to protect her honor, but they beat me and tossed me into a ravine, leaving me for dead. I almost wish I had died when I hear her terrified cries in my dreams.”
“You may journey with us,” Slate said, his voice trembling. “We will protect you from such atrocities!”
“Hold on,” said Sorrow. “We aren’t the only warriors to travel this road. From what I understand, the temple is defended by hundreds of knights. Why don’t they protect the pilgrims?”
The one-eyed man shook his head mournfully. “Tempest forbids them to intervene. If the knights were to take action against the Storm Guard, Tempest would direct his wrath against the temple itself. The first priority of the knights is to protect the One True Book from harm.”
“The code of the knight requires him to be a defender of all men of virtue,” said Slate. “Protecting a book is no excuse for turning a blind eye to the suffering of fellow men.”
This is why I buried the poor fool.
Sorrow jerked her head to the left, but of course, Avaris was nowhere to be seen. Sorrow grimaced. She’d thought that her iron helmet might hide her senses from the elder witch.
Of what use is a warrior who takes pity on the suffering of others? He lacks the hardness required to do all that is needed to achieve victory.
Sorrow didn’t answer, partially because she’d learned her lesson about talking to herself, and partially because the opinions of Avaris didn’t matter. What Avaris took for Slate’s weakness, Sorrow saw as his strength. She’d worried he would stand in the way of her goals. Now, she realized, he’d be key to achieving them.
She looked up the mountain. “We’ve many miles to go,” she said, placing the coins back into her pouch. “Together we shall reach the temple, and no thug with a barricade is going to stand in our way.”
“Forward,” Slate cried, his voice a strange mix of optimism and outrage. Sorrow smiled. If Gale was right, and sanity was merely the capacity to grow numb to outrage, Slate might prove crazy enough for her needs after all.
THE FIRST THIEVES they encountered were shopkeepers along the way. Bamboo shacks selling noodles and barbequed rock lizards were scattered along the route. In most of the world, such a simple meal would require the exchange of a few coppers. Here, a single bowl of noodles cost an entire moon. Sorrow was tempted to test Slate’s temper, to find out if she could provoke him into stealing to feed the score of hungry pilgrims who traveled with them. Instead, while she contemplated what she might say that wouldn’t seem like outright manipulation, he surprised her by producing a bag of coins and buying food for everyone.
“You shouldn’t pay these thieves such prices,” she said, as the pilgrims hungrily slurped noodles.
Slate shrugged. “Brand gave me a purse before I departed and insisted I keep it, just in case I found myself in a situation where I’d need a few coins. I won’t miss money that wasn’t truly mine to begin with.”
“So you’re just going to pay the toll when we encounter the Storm Guard?”
Slate nodded toward the old woman stirring the pot of noodles. “These people didn’t threaten us to gain our money. They had something we wanted and offered it to us for a price. Perhaps an unfair price, but we had the option to move on.”
“But the Storm Guard have something we want as well,” said Sorrow. “If this is your attitude, why shouldn’t they be allowed to set a price?”
The one-eyed man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, “There’s the treaty. King Brightmoon granted Tempest control of a few islands south of here in exchange for a promise that the path of the pilgrims would remain open. The Storm Guard ignores the law because no one dares to punish them.”
Slate had his helmet off, looking lost in thought as he nibbled absent-mindedly on a lizard thigh. He glanced at Sorrow, who still had her helmet on, and asked, “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’ll do it later. You know why I don’t want to reveal my head in front of others,” she whispered.
“Right,” he said. “Sorry.”
THE MOUNTAIN PATH they followed was barren of vegetation. When night arrived, they had nothing to use to build a fire. The pilgrims huddled together beneath an outcropping of stone, shivering as the wind howled up the steep path.
Slate lowered the coffin he carried to the ground and sat beside it, pulling off his helmet with a weary shake of his head. Sorrow stood before him.
“Aren’t you weary?” he asked.
“Not as much as you might think,” she said. “My armor has done most of the walking. I’m just kind of along for the ride. Except for my wings feeling bruised, I’m still pretty fresh.”
He nodded. After a moment of silence, he asked, “Why are you here, Sorrow?”
“I told you on the ship. I’ve been rethinking a lot of assumptions in my life.”
Slate stared at her. “It would be easier to judge your words if I could see your face.”
“Who appointed you as the judge of my words?”
“I fear... I fear that you may not be undertaking this pilgrimage with the best of intentions.”
“Allow me to try Brand’s little trick. When you say you mistrust my intentions, you mean you mistrust your own.”
Slate cocked his head to the side as he puzzled over her response.
“I saw your expression when that pilgrim told you that the knights didn’t defend travelers. You’re wondering if I’m right, and if the code of the knight in Poppy’s book isn’t just a romantic fiction. The body you’re carrying in that box belongs to a knight who certainly failed to live up to Poppy’s standards.”
“What do the actions of others have to do with my intentions?”
“Because, at heart, you share the same basic emotional quality that defines Gale and myself. You still have the capacity for righteous anger. You might be mad that the Storm Guard abuses pilgrims, but you expect evil from them. However, the idea that supposedly good men stand by and do nothing... that outrages you.”
“What if it does?” he asked.
“You find yourself in the same position I’ve been in ever since my grandmother stood on those gallows. You’ll come to see that the true problem with the world isn’t the wickedness of a few, it’s the unthinking acceptance of the many. You either surrender in the face of their apathy, or you let the anger build inside you until you have no choice but to fight.”
“Fight who? Brother knights whose only sin is inaction?”
“What makes them your brothers? The fact they pay lip service to a faith you imagine you believe in? Or will you wake up and realize that you’re more kin to the Romers? Your true family is found among those who would give everything in defense of what they believe.”
Slate lowered
his head. He sighed. “We can’t know that it’s apathy that holds back the knights of the temple. It would be unfair to judge them based on the testimony of others.”
“Fine,” she said. “I just ask that you maintain the courage to accept what you see, instead of what you wish to see.”
“Who are you to demand this of me?”
She removed her helmet. In the moonlight, her still human face reflected in the polished steel.
“I’m your friend, Slate,” she said. She glanced toward the pilgrims. From the sound of their collective snores, they’d fallen asleep quickly. She slid her finger along her breastplate and peeled it open, shrugging it free, then lifted her arms to spread her wings. She willed the legs of her armor to open and stepped out barefoot on the cold ground. Goose bumps quickly covered her body. Her arms were bare. She wore only a simple cotton slip that hung to the upper part of her thighs.
“You’ve no idea how good it feels to be out of that suit,” she said, stretching her aching wings, savoring the soothing cold.
“The transformation is remarkable. You looked quite mannish in that armor. I much prefer this look.”
She sat beside him and pulled her breastplate near. She ran her fingers along it, stoking the metal into a red-hot glow. He scooted closer to her, until their legs were touching, as he stretched his hands out over the glowing metal.
“So, you prefer me this way?” she asked. “Wings and all?”
Perhaps it was the red glow of the iron, but it looked as if Slate were blushing as she looked into his face.
He smiled softly and said, “Aye.”
“The wings don’t bother Mako either,” she said. “He kissed me last night.”
Slate’s eyebrows shot up.
“Don’t be jealous. Nothing happened. There was just a... momentary misunderstanding.”
“What cause have I to be jealous?” he asked, tersely.
“Oh. I just thought... there have been moments....”
“Aye. There have been moments.”
“Under different circumstances, I think... if I were to ever feel for a man, it would be a man like you.” She sighed. “But these aren’t different circumstances. My life has been the only life I’ve lived, and my heart is the only heart I have. It shattered a long time ago. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to feel anything like ordinary love.”
Slate shrugged. “Is there anything ordinary about love?” He stared at his hands as he rubbed them together. They were covered with thin white scars from where he’d fought the bone dragon. “I think about you stitching me up after battle, the tenderness in your touch, the concern in your eyes, and I sometimes believe you’re an angel sent by the Divine Author to grant me happiness. Then I listen to you make excuses for monsters like Avaris, and I wonder if you aren’t a devil. Perhaps the warmth I feel in your presence presages the fires of hell.”
“Hellfire?” Sorrow chuckled. “That’s harsh.”
“Aye,” he said, managing half a smile. “Perhaps I exaggerate. I get a bit addled in your presence. You’re a very confusing woman, Sorrow.”
“Aye,” she said. “And a confused one as well.”
He placed his hand upon hers where it lay on her bare thigh. She shivered.
“Art thou still cold?” he asked.
She grinned and said, “A little too warm, actually.”
She pushed his hand aside and stood, stretching her wings once more. She stepped back into her iron legs and willed them shut.
Coward. Bad enough you rebuffed the boy. Now you miss the chance to enslave the heart of a man who may yet prove to be your greatest enemy?
“I’m an honorary Romer,” said Sorrow. “I don’t believe in slavery.”
“What does slavery have to do with anything?” Slate asked, completely befuddled.
“I was merely thinking that I couldn’t shackle anyone, without feeling shackled myself.”
You try to frame your avoidance of sex as a matter of independence, but we both know you merely lack the courage.
“I think I’m displaying courage by following my own path,” Sorrow said softly as she placed her hands on her iron-clad hips.
Your words would be more convincing if you weren’t wearing what must certainly be the world’s largest chastity belt.
THEY SPENT MOST of the next day struggling up the steep mountain path. Progress was slow, as the pilgrims had to stop and rest often. The cold was getting worse, and Sorrow worried that frostbite awaited many of the pilgrims. She felt guilty in the comfort of her armor, whose temperature she controlled with only a thought. Looking behind her, the city they’d left the day before was still visible, though the white sails of the ships in the harbor were no larger than snowflakes.
Looking up at the thick clouds directly overhead, she wondered if she wouldn’t soon have actual snowflakes on hand for comparison. The trail ahead led directly into the cloudbanks.
They pressed on, the visibility growing worse with each step. Soon the fog was so thick she couldn’t see her hand when she held it before her face. The pilgrims all locked arms to move forward, with Slate in the lead, sure-footedly finding his way along the all-but-invisible rocks. Sorrow brought up the rear of the group. Partially this was to defend against anything that might try to attack unseen, and partially because the mass of her armor provided an impassible barrier if any of the pilgrims slipped and fell.
Suddenly, there was a blinding flash, followed by a loud rumble, and the wails of the pilgrims before her. Gravity lost its hold on Sorrow as she fell. The sensation was very much like falling to sleep. An electric blue swirled in front of her, blotting out the snow.
When her vision cleared, she sensed that she was no longer on the mountain, but was once more falling toward the waters of the convergence. She spread her wings and soared above the waves. Looking back along the length of her body, she found she retained her now familiar dragon-winged but otherwise human form. Unlike before, the convergence was dark and sunless. The sky above was filled with clouds, the lightning within providing the only light.
“You’re the interloper the others whisper about,” a deep voice rumbled. “The human who usurped the power of Rott.”
“And you, I presume, are Tempest,” she said.
“Rott’s elemental essence is omnipresent,” said Tempest. “I cannot exclude him from my earthly domain. But Rott’s intelligence has been absent for centuries. I’m not happy to see the human mind that now directs his powers finds my earthly empire worthy of her attention. Why have you invaded my home, usurper?”
“I mean no disrespect. I’m not here to confront you. I accompany a companion on his quest to the Temple of the Book. Once we’re done, I’ll leave this land as fast as humanly possible.”
“That is not much of a promise from one who can walk through the realms immaterial. You could leave in the space of a heartbeat. And before coming, you could have summoned me to the convergence to ask permission to walk through my domain. Instead, you forced me to bring you here.”
“There’s a lot of this dragon stuff I’m figuring out,” said Sorrow. “If you have any suggestions on how I can learn more, I’m willing to listen.”
“Bah. I wouldn’t waste such knowledge upon you. I see now that, while your mind has touched Rott, you are not yet the sole vessel of his essence. You’re still merely a mortal. It would be a simple thing to kill you.”
Sorrow’s heart skipped a beat. Could one dragon attack another in the convergence? She suddenly felt very alone, and wished that Stagger was here to refresh her memory of the rules.
As she thought this, the dark waters below began to brighten. She looked up and saw a pink glow breaking through the clouds above her. The storm parted and a shaft of golden sunshine burst down through the clouds.
“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice said.
“Stagger!” Sorrow shouted.
“The second usurper,” the thunder grumbled.
Stagger’s voice came from high above the clouds
“I felt a tug to come here, so I did. I’ve been practicing looking into other realms, and even tried my hand at crafting avatars. Perhaps now that I’m here, Tempest, you could offer a few pointers?”
“I think not,” growled Tempest. A draconic head formed from the roiling clouds and fixed its gaze upon Sorrow. “I believe that you visit my kingdom intending no malice toward me. I will overlook the trespass... this time. Complete your journey with haste, then depart. We shall not speak again.”
There was a flash of light that washed away Sorrow’s sight and a clap of thunder that deafened her. She blinked and shook her head and the white persisted. Her body felt strangely heavy. She turned her head and the white shifted. She suddenly realized the lenses of her helmet were covered with snow. Somehow Tempest had pushed her back to the real world.
“Sorrow!” Slate was shouting from above. “Sorrow!”
She wiped the snow away from her visor and managed to sit up. Her legs were wedged between two massive rocks at the bottom of a steep slope. She pulled herself free with a grunt.
“Sorrow!” Slate shouted again, his voice slightly further away.
“I’m down here,” she yelled back.
“Are you alright?”
“I think so,” she said, examining the slope. She could see dark splotches among the fresh snow where she’d tumbled down. “I must have slipped and knocked myself out.”
Slate came sliding down the slope through the swirling snow. He was carrying a stout rope, one he’d had wrapped around the coffin.
“I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes! I worried you were dead, like the others.”
“Dead? What others?”
“The three pilgrims ahead of you. They were killed when the lightning struck!”
“Lightning?” she said. She shook her head. Her visit to the convergence seemed so unreal. Had Tempest really just paid her a visit that had proved fatal to bystanders? Or had she gotten jolted into unconsciousness by standing too close to a lightning strike and merely dreamed the whole conversation?
