by Jean Johnson
Returning to Elrik, she handed him back the marble disc, then raised her voice, addressing the remaining prisoners. “By your own actions, you have been accused of treason against the Empire. By your own words, or your deliberate lack thereof, you have testified. By Truth Stone, you have been judged, and found guilty of attempted murder of an innocent life, and attempted assassination of one of the Royal Blood, which is treason beyond all shadow of a doubt.
“Though the soil is too hard, its softness too shallow to host sand-demons for the full punishment of your crime, the law is clear: you are to be staked out spread-eagle, and left just above the desert floor, so that if you strain, you will not touch the ground. Normally, someone would be sent around to check on you, to kill any sand-demons after they have colonized you, so that it cannot continue to render you peacefully unconscious during its offsprings’ hatchings and depredations. Though you may not be colonized by a sand-demon in this particular place…there are still vultures and fire-ants, scorpions and insects who will undoubtedly take their place.”
A sweep of her arm, a thrust of her intent into the soil listening under her feet, and the granite pillars groaned, spreading out. They didn’t shrink down, but instead lifted legs and arms until the struggling ambushers and their leader were splayed out nearly a body-length from the ground. Arasa heard her sister sob, saw Elrik shudder, but kept her will firm.
“Let these pillars stand throughout the ages, once your bodies have rotted and your bones have vanished, as a warning against any further such treachery. Don’t bother crying for help; the nearest curve in the caravan path is beyond the reach of your lungs.”
Without further word, Arasa strode out of the ragged circle, Elrik quickly joining her. Kalasa remained where she was for a long moment, still on her hands and knees, then came to her senses and scrambled to follow them. “Arasa, wait!”
Arasa slowed, but only by a fraction, forcing her twin to hurry and catch up with her. “What do you want?”
“What…what are you going to do with me?” Kalasa asked, her tone hesitant.
“Right now, I am very angry at you, that you would even consider killing your own twin—!” Biting back her anger, or trying to, she continued. “I do not think it would be wise for you to stand on the very soil I can command with a thought, while I am so angry with you,” Arasa added tightly. “But I don’t want to kill you. We may be twins, but I am very different from you, in that.”
Kalasa flinched back from her vehemence, falling behind. Elrik passed her without a word, smart enough to know it wasn’t his place to intercede. If Arasa’s anger got the better of her, he might have to try, but wisely Kalasa reminded behind them, following silently in their tracks. They still had two or three more selijm to go before reaching the Heart of the Empire.
I began this pilgrimage with the intent of finding out which one of us is the true firstborn, Arasa thought, struggling to calm herself. I may as well finish it, and finish renewing the Covenant of my Family, so that no one else will doubt it any further.
A shadow crossed her vision; it belonged to Elrik, who had moved to walk beside her, since the valley floor was still wide and unhindered. They were headed for another narrow crack in the cliffs forming ragged walls around them; he would have to walk behind her then, since he didn’t know the way…but she was grateful he was walking at her side right now. Except he was walking on her left, which was her injured side.
Glancing at the sword in her right hand, she cast it aside, letting it bounce and skitter under a tough, leafless desert bush. She didn’t really need it, though it had made a tangible threat against that one would-be bandit. Crossing behind him, she offered Elrik her uninjured hand once they were even again. He didn’t hesitate to clasp it, giving her his silent support. She needed his strength, for the stone-trapped men behind them started yelling again, this time for help.
Reminding herself that they had deliberately been trying to kill both her and Elrik, she kept herself moving, walking away.
* * *
Two and a half hours of walking brought them to the outskirts of the capital. Like Ijesh, it was first a view of caravans coming and going, then of rough-hewn openings in the canyon walls, then of water in aqueducts and greenery in planters, of carvings and banners and people all over. There was more in the way of stone buildings, since the valleys around the Imperial Hall were broader than those around the Mother Temple. Unlike Ijesh, the people here seemed to be expecting them, for the pedestrians and riders immediately moved out of their way, clearing a path. That path soon became a corridor as citizens young and old began to line either side of the way to the palace.
Two and a half hours of walking had also brought some equanimity into Arasa’s mind about what she had done. If she hadn’t carried it through, her father would have been forced to do it; the law was the law, and no one was above it, not even the Emperor himself. If he had done that for her, she would have had to rely on others to carry out such orders in the future. No, better for her to shoulder the responsibility herself; if she didn’t, it would be perceived as a weakness, a bad thing to see in a ruler of such a huge nation.
The law could be changed…but those men would have just tried again, had she left them to live. The Truth Stone results were the proof of that. Hopefully their deaths, though gruesome, would serve to discourage others from trying again. She really didn’t want anyone trying to attack her again.
Some of the people had flowers in their hands. Arasa came out of her thoughts with a blink of surprise when she saw someone tossing some of the blossoms onto the path a few yards in front of her. They weren’t the only ones; more flowers had been cast down on the road ahead. She slowed in surprise, and more were added. There was only one reason for this display: someone from the palace must have spread the word that one of the twins would be selected as the true heir by the time they reached the palace. She knew it had been a source of concern for the Empire, but this much a concern, that they would seek to line her entrance as the heir with a carpet of flowers?
A cushion of cut flowers. Cut, and thus dying or dead. Not still living, not still growing. Not still part of the land. Something about that stopped her just before she reached the point where she would have to walk more on the flowers than on the age-worn paving stones under her feet. It didn’t feel right, separating her skin from the Land before she had completed her pilgrimage.
Elrik glanced down at her, curious to know why she had stopped. Shaking herself mentally, Arasa gave the Land an order. The flowers and leaves rippled, parting in front of her. Not by much, just a strip wide enough for her bare feet to touch the undecorated ground. The display startled the gathered people into silence for a long moment; then the noise picked back up again, quickly growing louder than before. With the way cleared for the soles of her feet, she moved forward, Elrik at her side and her twin at her back. They could tread on the flowers; she needed to complete her pilgrimage on the Land.
The Great Dome of the Imperial Hall appeared before her. Unnaturally large, the structure soared hundreds of feet in the air, arcing above the high walls of the canyons sheltering the capital. It spanned an equally broad distance, ribbed with ornate stone-work that, if legends were true, had been grown, not carved. Having seen for herself what she could do with a thought and a bare foot on the ground, Arasa realized the legends were all true. This was the Heart, as the Mother Temple was the Womb. This was where her ancestor had ended his journey, spilled his blood upon the sand, and declared it his home.
The crowd lined the broad, shallow steps leading up to the vast Hall. Here, as below, the Land shifted a narrow path through the flowers, just enough for her to walk unhindered, but without making it seem as if she were rejecting the blooms being offered in homage. Indeed, the petals had piled high enough to tickle her ankles as she mounted the steps. Inside the great doors, nobles and servants lined the way. She padded through the corridor they had made, across the broad flagstones of the Hall floor to the shallow steps o
f the dais.
The top of that dais was unusual, for though its throne was carved—or perhaps shaped—from the same reddish-golden granite as the rest of the hall, the surface of the dais itself was a broad, shallow depression filled with desert sand. Now, she knew why. She could feel why; it was Land itself that surrounded the throne. Not quarried stone, but sand taken from the desert beyond the canyon walls. It tied the throne, and the one who sat upon it, to the whole of the Flame Sea…though she suspected that, without the pilgrimage in recent centuries to tie ruler and Land tightly together, it was only a long-standing tradition that had kept the top of the dais filled with the golden-cream grains.
Now she knew what awaited her.
Elrik freed his hand from hers when they reached the bottom of the steps. It wasn’t his place to mount those stairs just yet, though her twin did follow in Arasa’s wake; he was tactful enough to acknowledge it. Soon he would follow her up those steps, when they were married and he was her Consort, but not just yet. Kalasa showed equal tact, stopping two steps below her sister, as Arasa halted one step from the sand at the top.
Their father awaited both of them on that sand, his pale hair subtly streaked with silver, his gold-and-white robes blending into his chest-length locks. Taje-ul Melekor Am’n Adanjé looked as strong as the weathered but still graceful carvings that graced the canyon city, and just as imposing. Yet to Arasa, he was the man who had cuddled her and her sister as children whenever he could spare time from his duties. An expectant silence filled the hall as every eye watched the tableau.
“Well?” her father inquired, the single word warm with anticipation as he glanced between her and her sister.
Arasa wondered briefly how the first Emperor had managed to cut his hand, after making the same journey weaponless and barefoot. All she had was a wounded hand that had scabbed over during the last few hours of their journey. A moment later, a hand touched her elbow. It was her sister, offering her a small knife. From the shape of the hilt, it was of Kumronite manufacture, though the blade itself looked like it was silvered. Once more, Elrik had come to her aid, passing the blade up to her through her twin. Pricking the skin at the edge of the cut, Arasa held her breath and reopened the wound. Just enough to bleed in a scarlet trickle to the edge of her palm, where the liquid gathered.
“In accordance with the ancient Covenant between Djin-Taje-ul, Mother of All, and the Family Flame, the Am’n Adanjé, I spill my blood as Firstborn of the Empire, in renewal of that Covenant.”
She had given some thought as to how she would prove, beyond all doubt, that she was truly the firstborn during their two-plus-hour walk. While the ability to reshape the earth itself had been considered a family legend for a long time, other abilities were not. Many members of her family could, in times of great need, whistle up a strong wind, even a whirlwind, or more commonly, calm an approaching sandstorm. They tolerated greater extremes of heat and cold, and could grab the burning end of a torch without flinching or blistering. Fire was as comfortable as ice to them.
They could also use drops of their own blood to draw forth water. All that someone born to the bloodline of Am’n Adanjé had to do was spill a drop of that blood on the ground, and they could summon up a small trickle of liquid, just enough to quench the thirst of a modest group of travelers in a place where no water had risen before; they didn’t have to be firstborn. The Emperor or Empress could do more, though, supporting whole cities from the willful drops they shed. Fully one third of the cities in the Inner Desert had been founded by the spilling of royal blood.
Now, as a single drop collected, then fell to the stone under her feet, she pushed her will into it, and from it, into the Land.
With a rumble more musical than the ragged ones of before, a small bud of stone rose up through the stone at her feet. It swelled to the size of her head, then split open, unfurling into basin-shaped petals. A moment later, water gurgled up through a small hole in the center of the stone rose, spilling over and trickling down from petal to petal until it fed back into itself through a set of drain holes in the lowest petal-tiers. It was a very small piece of Covenant magic, but she didn’t need to erect a whole new Hall to prove her birthright.
Rebinding her hand, she looked up at her father. “Taje-ul…Father…do you accept my claim, and my proof as your firstborn heir?”
“I do.” Holding out his hands to her, the Emperor guided her up to stand at his side. “Imperials of the Flame Sea, I give you Taje-tan Arasa Am’n Adanjé, my undoubted heir!”
They cheered, pleased that the succession had been settled, and a little stunned at the miracle of the miniature fountain as well. Under the cover of their chattering voices, her father murmured in her ear.
“You will have to tell me what happened in greater detail, later. Now, why does your sister look like she thinks she’s in trouble?”
Most of her anger had faded, but Arasa knew not all of it had. It would take a little time for the events of midday to fade from her memory. “I think my sister would like to be sent to the Ebrinnish Court as an ambassador for a little while. To help clear her head, and ease any lingering discomfort of not being proven firstborn.”
“And what of her betrothed, Taje Am’n Hallakan? I do not see him here.”
“He has been judged and sentenced under Truth Stone as a traitor to the Empire, along with six others who tried to ambush me.” Catching Elrik’s eye, she gestured for him to mount the steps. After a moment of hesitation, the freckled mage did so, pausing to bow at the next-to-last step. “Father, this is Elrik of Snow Leaper Tribe, a mage of some skill…and the man who helped me solve the riddle of how to prove which one of us is firstborn. He also helped protect me against Taje Hallakan’s treachery earlier today…and he is the man I’m going to marry, with your blessing. Elrik, this is my father, Melekor Am’n Adanjé, Emperor of the Flame Sea.”
“Taje-ul,” Elrik bowed respectfully, though his freckled cheeks were a little red from the proximity to royalty. He had met with the rulers of Kumronite king-states in the course of his work up and down the Frost Wall, but they were little more than overly arrogant noblemen, as Hallakan had been, rulers of cities and farms spanning mere tens of selijm, if with more exaggerated titles. But this was a man who commanded hundreds of selijm and thousands of warriors. A man whose veins flowed with the same Goddess-blessed blood as Arasa’s. Even his eyes were the same taupe shade. It was awkward, being singled out like this…but at least she hadn’t cast him aside.
“You saved my daughter?” the Emperor asked him, arching a sandy blond brow. “A southlander? Why?”
For a moment, his mind was blank. Not because he didn’t know the answer, but because to the mage, it was so blatant, even an emperor should have seen it. “Because I love her…and…and because I would wed her even if she fed the chickens. I think I’d prefer it, if she were a chicken-feeder…but I love her all the same.”
For a moment, Elrik feared he had gone too far. Then the Emperor’s mouth split in a grin, and a remarkably hearty chuckle escaped his lungs. Arasa caught his hand in hers and kissed him on the cheek, making the crowd cheer and making Elrik’s face redden until his freckles threatened to disappear. Holding her hand, looking into her exotic eyes, Elrik didn’t know what impulse had made him glance down at that map a month ago. But she was worth the fuss of an emperor and the embarrassment of a watchful nation.
Smiling, he kissed her back, and blushed again as the crowd in the Hall roared its approval.
Read on for a special preview as Jean Johnson returns to the world of the Flame Sea in
DAWN OF THE FLAME SEA
On sale February 2015 as an eBook from InterMix!
Year 0, month 0, day 0
The season of low summer
Energy shimmered into view, at first forming a single rippling, wavering line, then splitting and curving into an arch. It was pointed at the top somewhat like the pupil of a cat’s eye, though if the bottom was pointed as well, its point was lo
st under the uneven stone floor. It wasn’t the only source of light. Within moments, scudding balls of shimmering opalescent magic, like overgrown dust bunnies, soared in through the cavern walls. The energy balls impacted on the edge of the arch, brightening and strengthening it with each impact. Two, five, fifteen, then a trickle of a few more stragglers soared in to join the arch. A few seconds later, it stabilized.
A dark-clad body dashed through that shimmering portal into the dark cavern. The man spun, skidding a little as his boot soles slipped on the gritty, uneven surface. One of the marks tattooed on his tanned face shimmered briefly with an odd, faint, brownish glow. He turned in a circle, sword in one hand, crystal-tipped shaft in the other, ready to stab or smash anything that threatened the glimmering archway.
Nothing attacked. The iridescent lights played over the mottled, spotted granite of the cavern walls, and gleamed off the black hair of the only man in the chamber. The sueded silk and black leather of his clothes absorbed most of the light rather than reflected it, leaving him looking like nothing more than a head and a pair of weapon-wielding hands attached to a humanoid shadow.
“Ban?” a feminine voice asked. It was projected through the crystalline hoop piercing the middle shell of his ear.
Something about the chamber, with its uneven folds and ragged exit, made him twist and peer all around for several extra seconds. The only sounds he could hear were his own heartbeat and breathing, the soft scrape of his feet on the stone floor, and a faint hiss from the Veil. Scents were simple and plain: warm sandstone, dust, his own body, and a hint of moisture in the mostly still air.
