The Shining City (v5)

by Fiona Patton

  She chuckled again. “Other people’s actions are like maps showing the placement of hidden shoals, Hisarin-Delin. They show you where not to sail as much as they show you where to sail. Now, help me cast off, will you? There’s a woman with a hot cup of raki and a warm fire waiting for me and I want to slip past the chain-barge before it cuts me off from her.”

  With His newfound physical ability, Hisar helped push the boat back into deeper water, shuddering as the God-waters of Gol-Beyaz, even this close to the Halic, snapped at His feet with a buzz of unwelcoming disaffection. Quickly returning to shore, He watched as she fought the waves up the Halic, then turned and followed Brax and Spar to His temple site with a thoughtful expression.

  They surprised a figure sitting on a pile of marble at the near end of the foundation pit. She jumped up as they approached and Hisar recognized the youth He’d spoken to a few days before.

  He gaped at her in surprise, then shifted to Her Rayne-seeming at once. “Did something else happen at the safe?” She asked anxiously.

  The youth paused in mid flight, then shook her head, water droplets flying everywhere with the movement. “No. I just came for a quiet . . . think,” she explained defensively, purposely not looking at the piece of tile lying by her foot. As Lazim-Hisar’s alarm bells began again, almost directly overhead, they all winced.

  “In the rain?” Spar asked.

  The youth scowled at him. “Best time not to get interrupted. Usually.”

  Her gaze moved past Hisar to Brax. “He dead?”

  “No. Just heavy.” Carefully maneuvering Graize off his shoulder, Brax took the place she’d vacated with a sigh.

  “You Spar?” she asked, turning her head just enough to keep them both in view.

  He nodded wearily. “You’re . . . ?”

  “Kez.”

  “The one Hisar’s been talking to.”

  “Yeah.” She tipped her head to one side. “What’re you doin” here . . . in the rain?”

  Spar gestured at Graize with his chin. “Hisar says She needs Her temple site to make him better.”

  Kez raised one quizzical eyebrow. “Her temple site’s a hole in the ground,” she pointed out.

  Spar raised a hand before Hisar could answer. “We know.”

  “Well, I’d say you need a warm, dry place more’n that or he’s gonna die. I’ve seen that look before.”

  Brax glanced down. Graize’s face was deathly pale. Pressing one hand against the other’s chest, he felt the faintest trickle of warmth through the damp cloth of his jacket and, pulling off his cloak, wrapped it around Graize’s shoulders before giving a sharp nod.

  “So have I,” he agreed. “She’s right, Hisar. Since we’ve already decided not to let him die, we need to get him under cover.” He glanced up. “Lazim-Hisar’s the closest,” he suggested without much expectation.

  Her seeming flickering in and out of focus with the return of uncertainty, Hisar chewed at Her lower lip again. “No, It can’t be there. I can’t reach him there,” She said, her voice tinged with panic. “And if I can’t reach him, he’ll still die. We have to be here on the grounds of My temple site. I can feel it. Could we get into the shed? He’s injured, so by the rules, he’s allowed, yeah?”

  Kez frowned at Her. “Yeah, by the rules, sure, but it’s not warm and it’s not dry neither, the roof leaks in a dozen places.”

  “And there’s no cover anywhere else here,” Brax added gently.

  Kez gave a snort worthy of Spar. “There’s cover nearby. Why don’t You just make your grounds big enough to include it,” she said in a caustic voice. “That’d solve Your problem, wouldn’t it?”

  All three turned to stare at her.

  “What?” she demanded. “All the other temples have way more land than this. And the city camis take extra land whenever they want it. It’s not like anyone’s livin” around here. You need a bigger site what includes a warm, dry building, just take it.”

  “How?” Hisar demanded.

  “I dunno, just say it’s Yours. Or have your priest there say it.” She thrust a thumb at Spar.

  “He can’t just say Lazim-Hisar’s mine,” Hisar sneered. “It’s too . . .” She struggled to put the half-formed explanation into words. “Big. I haven’t got the power to hold onto something that big.”

  “I didn’t say take Lazim-Hisar. Take another shed or a warehouse or . . .”

  “The cistern.”

  They turned as Spar spoke.

  “We’ve been trying to get there for days now,” he added. “You said You saw us in the cistern, so that’s where we have to go.”

  “Into the water in darkness,” Hisar answered. A martial light lit up Her eyes. “Where the spirits are that tried to catch Me in My vision.”

  “And where You ate them,” Spar added. He peered into the rain. “Ihsan said there was an entrance close to here.”

  “There is,” Kez confirmed. “Just fifty yards north.”

  “Is fifty yards close enough?”

  Hisar nodded. “It should be if I take the land in between, too—there’s at least a dozen tower symbols in between I can draw on—but the cistern’s even bigger than Lazim-Hisar. How’m I supposed to hold that with only two people sworn to me?”

  “We don’t take the entire cistern,” Spar answered. “We just take the entrance. You have enough power for that, yeah?”

  Hisar’s countenance brightened at once. “Yeah.”

  Brax’s brows drew down. “Won’t the cistern be flooded out? You’ve seen the city fountains. They’re spewing water like they were built in the middle of the Halic. How’s that going to provide warm and dry?”

  “There’s laborer’s alcoves that are protected from the floodwaters,” Spar explained. “There should be one at every entrance.”

  Hisar nodded eagerly. “That’s right. That’s what I saw. I saw us in an alcove.”

  Kez glanced at Graize with a doubtful frown. “He’s gonna need more than just crouching in some damp alcove. He’s gonna need dry clothes and real bandages; that one’s soaked through already. And food, maybe even medicine.” She turned to Spar. “You got any money?”

  He shook his head. “Go to Estavia-Sarayi. Tell Chamberlain Tanay what happened. She’ll give you what you need.”

  Kez looked skeptical. “She’ll trust me? Just like that?”

  “On my word she will. But if you’re worried, tell her Jaq can come back with you.” His lips quirked up. “As a guard.”

  “Jaq?”

  “My dog.”

  “Right.” Once decided, Kez headed across the site at once and, a moment later they saw her scale the south wall and disappear into the rain.

  Spar turned back to Brax. “C’mon, then. Let’s get him under cover.”

  Brax nodded wearily. Rising, he lifted Graize up for the third time and, with Spar and Hisar in tow, headed for the cistern.

  Graize could not have said how long he fell before he hit the ground. A silvery flash of pain burst before his eyes, blinding him, and then there was nothing but icy cold, empty and echoing darkness. A pale, silver light shone at the end of a fine thread of power, but he turned his head away. He would not reach out for it. He would not ask any God for help; no matter who It was. Black water shimmered above his head, and he kicked out, heading for the surface, using his own dwindling strength with a harsh expression on his face. He would not ask any God for help; not even his own.

  The cistern’s entrance was a small, nondescript set of iron railings built against the side of a nearby shipping warehouse with a flight of stone steps leading down to a stout wooden door. As Spar bent to study the brass keyhole with a professional air, Hisar shifted back to His golden-seeming, peering over his shoulder with an impatient expression.

  “Is it locked?” He demanded, running His fingers absently over two tower symbols drawn on the railing.

  Both Brax and Spar gave equally dismissive snorts, and the young God frowned at them, sensing that He was being made fun o
f. “What?” He demanded.

  “We were raised to be lifters,” Brax explained. “There isn’t a civic lock in Anavatan we can’t open.”

  “Maybe in the past, but you haven’t been lifters for a long time.”

  “Once in, never kept out,” Spar muttered. “One, two, done.” The door swung open.

  Cold, damp air enveloped them as soon they stepped inside. The sound of rushing water echoed all around, blocking out the alarm bells. For a moment they feared the water would sweep them up, but the high wall that separated the entrance from the cistern proper protected them. Leaving the door ajar to provide some light, they made their way to a laborer’s alcove off to one side. The young God moved toward the wall at once only to be brought up short by a loud cough.

  He turned to see Brax gesture at Graize with his chin.

  “Save first, fight later, yeah?”

  Hisar nodded reluctantly. “Yeah.”

  Motioning Him to sit with His back against the wall, Brax laid Graize down gently, cushioning his head in the young God’s lap. Laying his cloak over him, he crouched down and gently undid his makeshift bandage. “His head wound looks pretty bad, but now that he’s out of the wet, it might have a chance to clot.” Glancing down, he cut a slightly dryer piece of cloth from his tunic and rebound the wound. Then, moving cloak and jacket aside, he lifted Graize’s shirt to study the pale flesh underneath. “There’s only a little blood on his chest. That’s good. I don’t think I caught him all that hard, but I can’t see if there’s any bruising or swelling in this light. I guess we’ll have to wait until Kez gets back.” He covered Graize up again and, unbuckling his sword belt, set it to one side as he sat down beside him. “I hope Tanay thinks to send a lantern.”

  “She will. In the meantime . . .” Spar joined him. “Hisar needs to take the entrance as part of His temple site . . .” He paused as he felt the young God’s lien draw another gout of power, then widen as he felt His influence extend to the laborer’s alcove from His temple site. “And then we need to find Graize,” he added weakly, once it was over.

  “How?” Brax demanded.

  “We start in the dark place.”

  “Good. Go. I’ll stand watch.”

  Spar shook his head. “It’s gonna take all of us.”

  “Why all of us?”

  “Because Hisar saw all of us and because it started with all of us. Together.”

  “It?”

  “Hisar’s birthing into the world. Everything that’s come since, the fight on Liman Caddesi, Graize going one way and us another, came out of that.”

  “I thought it started with Freyiz’s prophecy and that was only about Hisar,” Brax pointed out. “You know, It drawing strength from the unsworn on Havo’s Dance and all?”

  “With the twin dogs of creation and destruction crouching at Its feet.”

  “So?”

  “So, that’s probably you and Graize. Creation,” Spar stabbed a finger at Brax, “and destruction.” He pointed at Graize. “You know how prophecy loves symbolism. But even if it doesn’t,” he added before Brax could voice another protest, “Freyiz’s vision wasn’t the first one about Hisar. Elif had a vision before she came to Estavia-Sarayi. She told it to me on her deathbed.” He drew himself up. “A child, armed and armored, and a shimmering tower standing before a snow-clad mountain covered in a crimson mist.” His voice echoed across the walls, temporarily blocking out the sounds of rushing water. “And Graize’s earliest vision saw the two of you standing on that very same mountain. So, all of us. It’s time we brought both those visions into being.

  “Now, Graize has been thrown back into his fight with the spirits of the wild lands.”

  “Me,” Hisar said in a painful whisper, clutching Graize to His chest in renewed distress.

  “No, not You, a bunch of mindless spirits no different than the ones You defeat in Your vision.” Spar jerked his thumb at the water behind the wall. “You’re the God of Creation and Destruction. You gonna let a bunch of mindless spirits attack one of Your sworn, one of Your priests?”

  Hisar glared at him. “No,” He shot back.

  “Then let’s go save him.”

  “And we fight these spirits after?”

  “We fight them after.”

  “ ’Cause I’m hungry, Spar.” The young God’s eyes glittered red in the faint light from the doorway. “And they’re singing at Me. They want Me to come to them ’cause they think they can eat Me, but I’m gonna eat them, just like I saw in my vision.”

  “We fight them after.”

  “Sounds great,” Brax interrupted. “But in the meantime, you two can get into this dark place of yours with no problem, but how am I supposed to get there?”

  “It’s a place of prophecy,” Spar answered. “Of images and symbols. Hisar usually goes in wearing His tower symbol, you go in wearing your symbol.”

  “My . . . symbol?”

  “You’re the Champion of Estavia, aren’t you?” Spar retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Her very most favorite ever since Kaptin Haldin, yeah? You’ve been having visions of him, so you go in through those visions as him.”

  “But I’m not a trained seer. I can’t just call up a vision of Kaptin Haldin and step into it.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “How?”

  Spar rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so thick,” he snapped. “It’s your vision. Take control of it like you would any other weapon. Practice stillness like Kaptin Liel tried to teach you last year, then pull it out of its scabbard and wave it around till you hit something with it.”

  Brax glared back at him. “Fine,” he grated. “And assuming that works, how am I supposed to find this dark place of yours afterward?”

  “Follow our lien.” At Brax’s mystified expression, Spar just shook his head. “People make liens with other people just like they do with Gods. Follow our lien, yours and mine; the one we made when Cindar handed me over to you and told you to take care of me.” He gave a soft bark of laughter. “Are you trying to tell me that that wasn’t the first oath you ever swore,” he asked. “Protector of sickly, crippled little seer-lifters, protector of Anavatan, there’s no difference.” Loosening his shoulders, he closed his eyes. “We’ll meet you on the beach.”

  Hisar caught Brax’s gaze, His olive-skinned features so like Brax’s own, glowing with a pale golden light.

  “You’ll need to take Graize,” He noted.

  “Take?”

  A brief flash of irritation crossed the young God’s face. “Spar goes in with his mind,” He explained. “I go in as Me. As all of Me. He’ll fall.”

  “Oh. Right.” Shifting until his back pressed against the wall of the cistern, he accepted Graize into his arms. He draped his cloak over both of them, then blinked in surprise as Hisar abruptly vanished. Beside them, Spar also seemed to almost disappear into himself, leaving Brax feeling as if he and Graize were alone in the alcove.

  He breathed out a long, doubtful sigh. “Right. Stillness. Kaptin Haldin. Sure.”

  Glancing about for a moment, he nudged his sword a little closer, then closed his eyes. Focusing on the feel of the consecrated weapon tingling against his leg, he remembered everything it meant to him since the day Kemal had gifted it to him, the day he swore his oaths to Estavia, then reached out along his oaths to the God of Battles, for his visions of Kaptin Haldin.

  And stood on a rocky promontory overlooking the City of Anavatan. Fountains sparkled in every marketplace, green-leafed plane and cinar trees shaded every courtyard. The sound of flute music issuing from a dozen inns and cafes mingled with the spicy aromas of fruit and fish and baking bread. To the north, the vast sweeping arches of the aqueduct brought a steady stream of fresh, clean, controlled water splashing into the reservoir. To the south, the six huge temple statues stood poised above the sparkling waters of Gol-Beyaz where the Gods reposed in the cool, silvery depths.

  All was quiet, and prosperous, and safe.

  But to the west,
past the Gods’ great Wall of stone and power, he could just make out a mass of storm clouds hovering above the wild lands, and beyond that, a black sand beach stretching out along a cold, churning ocean. Spar’s dark place. Beyond that, a double flock of birds, one white, the other brown, wheeled about in the sky, getting closer at every turn. As the sound of hooves pounding across plains and grasslands shook the ground beneath his feet, an unwelcome voice whispered in his ear.

  “The Wall will not stand.”

  He shook his head impatiently.

  “Not now.”

  “He’s already crumbling under the weight of it.”

  “I said. Not. Now.”

  Drawing the bejeweled weapon that Estavia Herself had gifted him with on the night he’d sworn his oaths to Her, he stepped forward into prophecy.

  And onto a cold, dark beach of black sand and jagged rocks. A darkcowled figure and a tower made of smooth obsidian speckled with gold stood by the water’s edge. As Brax moved to stand beside them, the waves crashed against the beach, splattering them all with surf until the figure raised one hand and the tower rose up to block the bulk of the water’s fury. The cold, white moon shone just above its top battlements, causing a silver glow to dance across its surface.

  The figure turned.

  “Now, Hisar. Take the entrance in prophecy as well as in the world.”

  A shudder traveled up the tower’s length as, very slowly, the moon’s silver glow began to spread until it covered the entire beach. Beyond the dark place, Brax could almost see the city streets sparkling with the power of hundreds of tower symbols all leading to a small, nondescript set of iron railings built against the side of a shipping warehouse with a flight of stone steps leading down to a stout wooden door. It touched each one of them, absorbed the power of Spar’s oaths, and then Graize’s, then lapped against his lien with Estavia, testing it for a single moment, before ebbing back as Her Presence turned toward it, crimson eyes narrowed in warning.

  Sheathing Kaptin Haldin’s sword, Brax glanced over at the cowled figure.