The Silver Lake

by Fiona Patton

  “But I thought Cyan Company was leaving for Anahtar-Hisar tomorrow.”

  “They are, but we can catch up to them in a day or two.”

  “Are we allowed to do that?”

  Kemal shrugged. “In all honesty, I’m not sure; we’ll have to ask Kaptin Julide. But better to be a day or two late than to kill Estavia’s latest, personally chosen, Champion-delinkos, don’t you think?”

  Brax snorted. “Probably.”

  “Then, come on. We have to speak with the kaptin before breakfast and ...” he paused as the first notes of Havo’s Invocation filtered faintly in to them, “the sun’s rising. The breakfast bell won’t be far behind.” He held out his hand and, after only a moment’s hesitation, Brax took it and allowed the man to help him stand, stifling a grimace as the movement pulled at his stiffened muscles.

  Calmak-Koy had been like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  Built up from the rocky shore in a series of low-walled tiers lined with flower beds, it was more like an orderly, wide-sweeping village than a hospice. Protected from the winds to the north by the promontory of Anavatan’s Eastern Trisect, and from the mountains to the east by a thick woods of pine trees, it was warm and open, its lawns and surrounding meadows already green. Both covered barracks and small, open-air kiosks radiated from a large, central infirmary, with paddocks and stables to the north and herb and vegetable gardens to the south, intersected with walking paths lined with fruit trees. A similar path through the pines led to the foothills and a series of hollowed-out caves where hot springs bubbled all year.

  It was here, in these warm, healing waters, that Brax spent the bulk of the three days Kaptin Julide had allowed them, soaking the pain and stiffness from his muscles and listening to Kemal and Yashar talk about the lives of Estavia’s warriors. Their low, hushed voices filled the lamplit caverns with echoing whispers that merged with the constant buzz of Estavia’s own voice in his head and, as the sulfur-scented water lapped against his chest, the history of Estavia and Her people unfolded before him, from the early days when the farmer-cum-soldiers of the western villages dipped their weapons into the waters of Gol-Beyaz for the Gods’ blessings to the great march north, from the building of Her temple and the raising of seven companies of elite fighting-priests, to the night when She manifested in all Her terrible glory on the streets of Anavatan to save two children from the spirits of the Berbat-Dunya. He could almost see Her plans for his own future, but every time he reached for them, they slipped away like trickles of water until, finally, he gave up trying and just drifted.

  During this time, Spar had taken his request for stories about Kaptin Haldin seriously and had been digging through Calinak-Koy’s library with the help of several librarian-delinkon of Ystazia. The evening before they were to leave to rejoin Cyan Company at Anahtar-Hisar, he very carefully laid a fme-paged volume open in front of the other boy, gently moving Jaq’s ever-present head aside before pointing at a large illustration.

  Brax peered down at the brightly painted figure in the center with a suspicious frown.

  “That’s him?”

  Spar nodded.

  “What’s he fighting, some kind of giant ... centipede? They usually have more legs than that, don’t they? And less teeth.”

  Spar rolled his eyes. “It’s a spirit,” he said darkly, his tone warning Brax to take it seriously.

  The older boy grinned at him. “Like the ones we fought on Liman-Caddesi?”

  Spar nodded. “Haldin had to cut it into ten equal pieces to kill it.”

  “But I thought they weren’t physical?”

  “I dunno. Maybe he had a special sword or something.”

  “Huh. I guess we should have thought of that the other night.” Brax traced the lines of misty power spraying from the creature’s wounds, then looked back at Kaptin Haldin. “What’s that silver-and-red stuff coming out of his mouth?” he asked.

  “Into.”

  “What?”

  “In. To.”

  “All right, into. What is it?”

  “Her power.”

  “Oh, right. They all get that. They call it up in their Invocations.”

  “Not like this.”

  “Oh?”

  “This was stronger.”

  “Really?” Brax peered down at the picture carefully. “How much stronger?”

  “Lots. It was more ...” Spar thought for a moment. “Pure. More Her.”

  “Does it say why She gave it to him?”

  “Nope.”

  “How about where he came from? How he got his training? How he died?” A negative after each question brought an exasperated frown to his face. “So, basically, it just says he killed giant spirit bugs?”

  Spar showed his teeth at him as Brax picked up the book. “You know, I thought he’d be taller,” he observed, flipping carelessly through the pages, then laughed as the younger boy snatched the book away with an indignant snort. “Still, we know She gave him this extra-strong power to fight with, and if She gave it to him, there’s no reason why She wouldn’t give it to me, right?”

  Spar gave a noncommittal one-shouldered shrug as Brax smiled grimly.

  “Keep digging.”

  By the time they took to the water to rejoin the rest of Cyan Company the next day, Spar had found two additional stories about Kaptin Haldin, both detailing his military exploits against the spirit world, and both with a similarly lurid picture of him fighting some fantastical creature while Estavia’s power flowed down his throat. Neither had said how or why. When Brax’d asked Yashar where they might find out, the older man had just shrugged.

  “There aren’t a lot of stories surviving from that time,” he said, repeating Kemal’s words as he tossed his kit onto the barge that would take them south. “The only place they might have some written details of Haldin’s early life is at Ystazia-Sarayi’s main temple library at Anavatan, but since it’s about Estavia’s Champion and not Ystazia‘s, it’s hard to say.”

  “When will we get back there?”

  “Not for some months.” Catching Spar under the arms, Yashar lifted him into the boat. “I’m afraid you won’t find any magical shortcuts, Brax,” he added as he moved aside to let Jaq leap in after the younger boy. “Kaptin Haldin trained like any other soldier of his time. The God’s favor only increased his prowess later on. Besides, you want to be your own man, don’t you, not a copy of someone else? Pass me that bag.”

  Brax handed it over with a scowl and, refusing Yashar’s help, joined Spar at the low railing as the sailors cast off.

  Now, staring down into the brilliant waters of Gol-Beyaz, Brax pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the crinkle of vellum beneath his tunic. Spar would kill him if he ever found out that he’d carefully sliced that first illustration of Kaptin Haldin and the spirit bug from his book last night, but it comforted him somehow. It was like a talisman. And besides, if it had been the wrong thing to do, Estavia would have told him so.

  He frowned to himself, feeling the seed of truth in this line of thought. Following Kaptin Haldin’s path was the right way to go, like Kemal had said—and he knew it, whatever Yashar might think—but he wasn’t going to find the answers in some library of Ystazia. Only Estavia could tell him what he needed to know, and if She wouldn’t answer him in his head, he’d ask Her face-to-face. Maybe She liked being asked that way. After all, it had worked on Liman-Caddesi; it could work again. And if he wasn’t meant to know, She’d tell him that, too. Face-to-face. The God of Battles wasn’t as subtle as Her people seemed to think She was. He’d learned that the first night.

  Leaning over the edge of the low-sided barge, Brax trailed his fingers through the swiftly flowing current, ignoring the brisk wind that slapped his hair into his face. A school of small, silvery tchiros fish leaped from the water beside him, their shiny skins flashing in the late afternoon sun before flipping back under the waves again. They looked so much like tiny fish spirits that he wondered if they, too, were slowly
changing, slowly becoming the Gods of fishes and mollusks and if they did, would the Gods eat them or erect them a temple shaped like a fishmonger’s?

  Leaning farther over the side, he peered down into the sparkling waters, shifting his feet in frustration as he tried to maintain a grip against the deck’s smooth wooden surface. Chamberlain Tanay had come to Calmak-Koy late last night to make one final examination of their wounds and present them each with a brand-new pair of sandals along with a lecture on keeping them clean and supple. Listening to the leather creak, Brax wondered sarcastically if tossing them into the lake would violate those instructions. They didn’t feel supple, they felt stiff and hard and his feet felt hot, confined, and sore.

  Beside him, Spar had already stuffed his into his kit bag and was curled up beside Jaq, fast asleep and, making a swift decision, Brax pulled the sandals off, then, gripping the lower edge of the railing with his toes, leaned over the water again. Far below, he thought he could just see movement. He stared intently down into the depths, until a sudden touch on his shoulder nearly sent him overboard. Laughing, Kemal caught him by the back of the tunic as Brax shot him a furious scowl.

  “What are you doing?” his abayos asked in as innocent a tone as he could manage as Brax pulled away from him.

  “Looking for the Gods,” he retorted from between clenched teeth as both-Spar and Jaq awoke to stare up at them.

  “Well, you’ll never spot them that way; They don’t manifest physically until they leave the water, and never when the wind has the upper current moving along this quickly.”

  “Upper?”

  “Mm-hm. The upper or surface current flows north to south, the lower God-current—the one created by the movement of the Gods—” he expanded, “lies beneath it and it runs south to north. When the wind drives the upper current hard, the Gods go deep.” Dropping down beside the railing, Kemal stretched out his legs and lifted his face to the last of the sun’s rays with a contented sigh. “You’ll have to wait until They rise,” he finished, closing his eyes.

  “So, when will They do that?”

  “Hm?”

  “The Gods, when will They rise?”

  “You mean other than at the Morning Invocations?”

  Brax’s expression fell. “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. Do They rise at other times?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Brax waited a moment, then tapped one finger against his knee impatiently.

  “Well?”

  Kemal opened one eye. “Hm?”

  “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When will They rise?”

  “Oh. Anytime They want to.” He closed his eyes again. “But generally at dusk,” he allowed, sensing the boy’s growing annoyance.

  Brax stared back at the shimmering waves, now turned a translucent, golden-pink in the setting sun.

  “It’s dusk now,” he pointed out.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “So where are They? Where do They come up?”

  Kemal sat up with a resigned expression. “They don’t always come up at all, Braxin-Delin. And they don’t always come up together. Some people say they can call Them, but ...” he shrugged. “I’ve never been able to do it.”

  “But you have seen Them? The Gods? Rise?”

  “Oh, yes.” Kemal’s expression grew distant. “When I was growing up in Serin-Koy I used to sit by the water and watch Them dancing on the waves, sometimes far away, sometimes close by. Once, when I was fishing with my kardon—I must have been, oh, seven or eight at the time, I think—I saw Usara and Ystazia dancing together across the surface like a pair of huge swans.” He paused. “Except that most swans aren’t blue.”

  “Or multicolored with three pairs of arms?” Brax asked sarcastically, remembering the many representations of the Arts God he’d seen in Anavatan.

  “No, not that either,” Kemal answered. “I have seen black swans, however. The scholars call them Estavia’s Attendants, for sea battles anyway; it’s crows on land. But They—the Gods—moved as gracefully as swans, is what I meant.”

  “And you’ve seen Estavia?”

  Kemal nodded. “She prefers to rise closer to Her temple—I’ve watched Her from the southeast walls many times—but I saw Her from the battlements of Orzin-Hisar, that’s Serin-Koy’s watchtower, once when I was fifteen. I was on night duty and it was just before dark. The stars hadn’t even come out yet. She rose up right in front of me like a great, ebony behemoth, a hundred feet high, looked me straight in the eye, then vanished without so much as a ripple on the water.”

  Brax exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Spar who was sitting up, as captured by the story as he was. “So, what’d you do?” he asked.

  “Other than grip the wall so tightly I brought up a blood blister on my sword hand, not a lot.”

  “You mean you didn’t even talk to Her?”

  Kemal shrugged. “She took me by surprise. Besides, what would I have said that I hadn’t already said in my mind before?”

  “You might have asked Her why She came up in front of you like that. If maybe She wanted something of you.”

  “I might have, but if She’d wanted something of me, She’d have told me so. Gods have voices, and I think you’ve already discovered that They aren’t shy about using them.” Kemal raised one finger in a gesture of mock seriousness, “Patience, young delinkos, time generally brings an answer to most of our questions,” he intoned. “Anyway, a week later I was chosen for the temple, so maybe She was giving me a heads up. Maybe She was trying to decide if I was worthy. Maybe She just wanted to startle me—even the Gods have a sense of humor sometimes. Who knows?”

  Brax glanced back down at the waves. “I suppose. But I’d of talked to Her.”

  “And what would you have said?” a new voice suddenly inquired

  Brax looked up as Yashar dropped down beside Kemal, draping his legs over the other man’s with a contented grunt.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Something, though.”

  “Well, when you get the chance, let me know what words you choose. I myself usually find that I’m so swept up by the force of Her power that I can’t say much of anything.”

  “It’s that way with most of us,” Kemal added. “That’s why it’s so much easier to speak with Her in our minds.”

  “But don’t you ever feel like you need to talk to Her face-to-face?” Brax asked. “You know, with real words?”

  Kemal tipped his head to one side. “Not usually. Why? Do you?”

  Brax looked away with a shrug. “Maybe,” he answered, ignoring Spar’s equally curious expression.

  “Then do it,” Kemal offered. “The first time you get the opportunity, speak to Her face-to-face. In fact, try to call Her up.”

  Brax glared at him, trying to decide if he was making fun of him. “Just like that?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Why not?” Kemal grinned at him. “She’s your God now, after all.”

  “And speaking of speaking,” Yashar interrupted, “Kem, the barge-kaptin wants to know if we’re to carry on south or if you wanted to stop at Serin-Koy for the night.”

  Kemal grinned. “The barge-kaptin asked?”

  “Well, all right, she might have inquired after I may have mentioned it was your home village, but still, we wouldn’t reach Anahtar-Hisar until early morning and the delon could use a night’s sleep in a real bed. Couldn’t you, Spar?”

  He smiled down at the younger boy who nodded shyly.

  “And you could use a night of Bayard’s cooking?” Kemal asked in an unimpressed tone of voice.

  “Why not? Just because you’re not fond of spicy meat, or too much of Bayard’s company for that matter,” he added with a laugh, “doesn’t mean I’m not. And besides, I doubt Cyan Company sailed right on through the night anyway, not at this time of year. They’d want to arrive in daylight.” He turned to Brax. “Anahtar-Hisar’s the only one of the nine village towers that isn’t built on Gol-Beyaz. It sticks out into the sout
hern Deniz-Hadi Sea on a narrow little promontory. There’s nothing to fear from pirates or Petchans, but it’s rocky and often foggy so it’s always better to arrive in full daylight.” He turned back to his arkados. “You know that.”

  “Point,” Kemal acknowledged as he rose. “All right. Inform the barge-kaptin we’ll put in at Serin-Koy, but this was your decision and you can tell Kaptin Julide that tomorrow.”

  “Done. Look, Brax,” Yashar said with a wink. “There’s Orzin-Hisar, the site of Kemal’s life-changing meeting with Estavia.”

  Brax turned to the western shore as Kemal shot his arkados a sour look. The tall limestone watchtower loomed possessively over the distant rooftops, with a low, fieldstone wall butting up against its sides, separating the village from the pale green fields beyond.

  Brax squinted up at the tower, then swept his gaze along the distant hillsides, sharing a frown with Spar who’d joined him at the railing.

  Kemal glanced down at them. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He turned back. “Just ... where’s the Wall?”

  “Right there.”

  As they watched, a flock of sheep flowed over a low place in the village wall like a wave of woolen mist.

  Brax shook his head. “No, I mean the Wall, the God-Wall, the one they built to keep out the spirits of the wild lands.”

  “That’s it.”

  “That? That’s the great wall of stone and power?”

  “Yes.”

  “But it’s so small,” Brax sputtered, remembering the great, snaking structure from his Invocation vision. “That wouldn’t keep out a herd of rabbits!”

  “Exactly. It only needs to be high enough to anchor the Gods’ protection in the physical world. Any higher and the farmers couldn’t get through to their fields and the animals couldn’t get through to the lake.”