by Dennis Foon
“The weapon left no apparent wounds on its victims.” Brother Stinger lets this statement hang in the room a moment. He has Willum’s calm about him and Stowe likes him instantly. “So it is impossible to assess how the Apogee stole their lives. The Hhroxhi did eventually manage to topple the weapon. It exploded, leaving only metallic shards behind. But getting close enough to destroy it cost them dearly—over forty Hhroxhi lives were lost. If Darius has many of these weapons, we need to develop strategies of approach. As you mentioned, Roan, controlling the location of the engagements will be key.”
Kira’s shifting on her cushion; Roan sees it as soon as Stowe does. “Kira?”
“Like you said, Roan, we can’t prepare for things we know nothing about. I agree, we should wait for Stowe’s return and hope things cool down enough for the Gunthers to spare a guide. But if that falls through, we need alternatives. Come next new moon we need to be on the move. We need answers. Whether we have the Gunthers’ help or not. No later.”
A slight shift to the left of Kira catches Stowe’s eye. She notices the sleeve on the Governor’s wife’s robe swing once before the woman steadies it. Her eyes appear soft and expressionless but Stowe knows that look and she can see the steely decisiveness lying beneath it.
Roan. That woman. She’s the power behind the man.
The Governor, emboldened by his mate, clears his throat.
See the way his eyes slide back to her? She’s counseled him on his stand and she’s here to see he sticks to her plan.
“In my humble opinion…” he says.
Oh yes. Very humble!
Stowe! Stop it!
“…we need to cut the City off. The question is how? My fellow Governors have never been more anxious, particularly now with the rumors that Governor Brack has been assassinated…”
The disruption is immediate. Stowe’s dismayed to see that everyone’s speaking at once. Again. But Roan’s a fast learner and waits out the eruption of frenzied conversation. Lucky that he’d just pushed her back or he might have sensed her part in the crime.
“Does anyone know who’s responsible?” That’s Wolf, leader of the Brothers. Was it he, she wonders, who drew his sword across her mother’s throat? How can Roan stand to have him at his side?
“Raven was seen leaving the scene of the crime, so he’s the prime suspect. But no one knows where he is.”
Stowe feels suddenly dizzy. Leaving the scene? It can’t be. Willum told her Raven was dead. For the first time since council began she feels Willum’s presence gently press at the edge of her awareness.
I wore the bird costume to smuggle you out of Fairview.
Stowe laughs silently. What an idea! Raven being resurrected as a notorious assassin. More than the sniveling windbag deserves.
“The general feeling,” the Governor continues, “is that Raven was under Darius’s orders. Who else could have facilitated his disappearance? Brack was the only one of us with a personal army of raiders at his beck and call. Presumably that was seen as a threat, and Darius is doing his utmost to ensure we don’t follow suit. Rather than relying on marauders, the City is sending Clerics out to ensure the safe delivery of goods. Still, they seem to disappear as soon as they are promised. At your hands, I presume, but fingers are being pointed in our direction. Accusations of treachery are made daily against the Governors. No one is happy.”
As the Governor stops, seemingly lost, his wife reaches out and gently puts a hand on his shoulder in what looks like a show of support, though Stowe knows it’s a subtle reminder to return to the original subject of cutting off the City. After all, even the Masters can’t live without food. “I believe it is in everyone’s best interests to stop the delivery of our goods and starve the City,” Selig boldly announces, back in control. “But if we deny the Masters our produce, Darius is likely to send even more armies of Clerics. With these new weapons…how is an embargo to succeed?”
“You’re right, Governor, any attempt to deny the City would be instantly crushed,” says Roan. He pauses. “That’s why we will attack your caravans.”
Stowe giggles as poor Selig nearly swallows his tongue.
“But I’m proclaiming loyalty to you.”
“And we are most certainly in your debt. That’s precisely why it’s important to stage,” Roan says, looking gravely at Wolf before returning his full attention to the Governor, “a series of raids, so that in the City’s eyes, at least, you’ll appear to oppose us.”
“And we Storytellers would be delighted to help with the staging. It’s theater at its best—thrills, spills, and fake kills!” Kamyar seems almost gleeful at the prospect.
“I don’t suppose the Storytellers would like to help with some real raids,” Wolf growls dangerously, his eyes glued to Kamyar’s.
“In truth, our skills are better used to change minds, rather than dismember bodies.” Kamyar smiles winningly and engages Wolf in a silent face-off. That Storyteller’s not as soft as he seems.
But Selig’s sputtering again. “But my…what about…? I can’t just have…”
“All stolen goods will be promptly returned to you,” Roan assures the indignant Governor. “But when it comes to the territories that are still loyal to Darius, the supply caravans sent to the City will be attacked in earnest. Can we rely on you to find out their routes? Times of travel?”
The Governor twists the rings on his fingers; clearly he’s uneasy about the prospect of spying on his peers. His wife grips his shoulder just a little tighter and the Governor gives Roan a quick nod. “Of course.”
Who is she? Stowe asks Roan.
Apsara.
You knew?
Maybe I know a little more than you think I do.
Maybe you don’t know what I think.
Looking to Roan, the Storyteller inquires, “If I may? Have you considered what you’re going to do about the Dirt Eaters?”
Governor Selig lurches from his seat. “The Dirt Eaters? Are you implying that they really exist?”
“Let me assure you, my good Governor, they most certainly do,” says Kamyar.
“Well, then,” says Selig, brightening. “Perhaps they too could be our allies.”
“They’re just as much our enemies as the Masters,” says Roan, putting a quick damper on Selig’s enthusiasm. “And there is only one way to break the power of both—we must destroy the Dirt.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” says Kamyar.
The Governor shakes his head. “Dirt?” The Governor’s wife bends to whisper in his ear. Realizing the council members are waiting on him, he nods, “Ah, yes. The Dirt. Of course. It is vital that it be destroyed. A key purpose of infiltrating the City. I understand.”
Kamyar’s face brightens. “That’s a fabulous word, isn’t it? Infiltration. That’s what we Storytellers are about to do: infiltrate the hearts and minds of every living soul in the Farlands. Hope of an insurrection against the City has all but disappeared. The people are desperate. But we Storytellers are about to remind them of a lost dream.
“It was foretold that the light of hope would be preserved in a hidden village called Longlight. We will rekindle that light in the form of a whisper. A whisper: Roan is alive. He has been working in secret and is making this promise—Darius will fall and the legacy of Longlight will be fulfilled.
“That light will grow, my friends, it will grow into a blaze that will unite the Farlands and bring them all under the banner of one struggle. Our struggle. To put our destinies back into our own hands!”
No one speaks, they hardly breathe. Then Brother Stinger puts his hands together and starts to applaud. Soon everyone joins him, even Roan. Even Stowe herself.
She would have liked to have sat in on this council, voiced her support, but for now she must be silent. Which is as it must be if she is to be successful. Perhaps after, if they survive, she might figure in the tale. She might even live to hear it.
The moon’s crescent is still high in the sky, at least three hours to moo
nset. Roan would dearly like to spend them sleeping. He knows he’ll need to be at his most alert for the meeting with the Hhroxhi—Mabatan had been clear that the negotiations would be difficult. Well, at least he won’t have to lead this meeting; Ende’s called it and so presumably she’ll be at the helm.
Stinger had given Roan sand-painting furs, but nothing could shield him from the windstorm battering the encampment. Weaving his way quickly through the tents on this chill night, he finds himself nervously looking over his shoulder—the noise from the buffeted trees combined with the snapping of canvas is so loud he cannot rely on his senses. As he arrives at Ende’s tent, he breathes a sigh of relief, happy to place all thoughts of security in the Apsara’s competent hands.
As the tent flap closes behind him, he joins Ende, Kira, Mabatan, Willum, and Stowe. It feels odd not having Lumpy at his side but Ende had insisted: “We have every trust in your Lieutenant, Roan, but tonight, it will be only the six of us.”
Ende waits for him to be comfortably seated and then she begins. “This meeting was meant to include only the six surviving descendents of Roan of the Parting. But because of his injury, Khutumi is unable to be here tonight and cannot take active part in the struggle ahead. I have agreed to stand in his place as one of the Six and speak now in his name.
“We are the Six, as was seen in the river of time by Roan of the Parting. Six sides of two interlocking triangles forming a star, we join the world of the Dreamfield and the world of earth and fire. Like the six faces of a cube, we will surround Darius and the Masters of the City and defeat them. We are the Six that time has chosen to conclude Roan of the Parting’s plan and return to an era of renewal.
“In the depth of his despair over Darius’s betrayal, Roan of the Parting sought out in the world of earth and fire the rat he had encountered in the Dreamfield. That rat, then named Aithuna, shared Roan’s vision of the future and agreed to join with him. They had two children. Roan of the Parting took their daughter to Longlight and Aithuna kept their son, Zoun, with the Wazya. Years later, when I met Zoun, he aided me in my misery and fathered my daughter and this is how her two children, Willum and Kira, come to claim Roan of the Parting blood.”
Roan glances excitedly from one to the other. “That means we’re cousins!”
With a wide grin, Kira nods. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to tell you that!”
“The prophecy is specific. ‘Only when the Six are gathered together will the children of Longlight recover their remaining family.’”
“And Mabatan?” asks Roan, searching his friend’s elfish features.
“Zoun is also my grandfather, but my grandmother was Wazya.”
“Of course,” says Roan. “They were all rats—Aithuna, Zoun, and now Khutumi. You’re next, aren’t you?”
“Yes. If I survive, I will carry the Way of the Wazya.”
“This common ancestry,” resumes Ende, “has served to bring you together tonight and will no doubt come to play some part in the days ahead.”
“Cousins,” Stowe states, raising an eyebrow at Willum.
He smiles, opening his gaze to include Roan. “Cousins.”
Ende raises a hand to command their attention. “I had hoped we would be able to take this time to celebrate our family reunion—but Mabatan brings disturbing news.”
Mabatan pauses for a moment, then looks apologetically at Roan. “I would have spoken of this sooner, but I wanted first to confirm that my fears were justified.” At Roan’s nod, she continues. “When Brother Stinger examined the bodies of the Hhroxhi who had been killed by the Apogee, he experienced something. He said he felt as if the fallen had been ‘devoured by a monstrous emptiness.’ I recognized what he described, though he did not. We Wazya call it the Overshadower, but it has been known by many names. Only a human can call it into existence. A human with access to the Dreamfield and the means to feed the monster continually. I heard the horrible whispers of the Hhroxhi as they died. They were not the sounds of spirits expiring naturally; they were being…pulled, extricated painfully from their bodies.”
A sudden gust of wind shakes the tent violently, echoing everyone’s emotions as they absorb this new information.
Roan is the first to speak. “So Darius is feeding an Overshadower?”
“Presumably.”
“And what does he get out of the arrangement?” Stowe asks, her tone a little skeptical.
Mabatan shakes her head, but Stowe’s question sparks a memory in Roan. “Saint said he thought Darius was trying to take the Friend’s place…the very place of god.”
Willum focuses his attention on Roan. “Using the Throne you spoke of?”
“I think that’s what Saint was implying.”
“It might be, then, that this Throne is a mechanism designed to merge his essence with something much more powerful,” muses Willum.
“And since he doesn’t have the Novakin or Stowe or me—”
“He may try to use the Overshadower.”
A pit of dread is expanding in Roan’s gut. “Killing Darius, destroying the Throne, that’s hard enough, how are we supposed to deal with this shadow thing?”
“Roan,” Ende begins, her voice calm and reasoning, “if we fight Darius, we fight the thing he feeds. Bending our intentions toward that goal and having faith we can accomplish it are key. Willum and Stowe must find out where the Keeper is hiding the Overshadower and must ascertain whether his Apogee and enablers are in fact being used to nourish it. Then, we will seek a way to destroy them and the thing they feed.” Looking meaningfully at Roan, Ende adds, “The Brothers’ faith in their god has led them to fight beside you. They believe they will be victorious. You would be wise to share in that belief.”
The Apsara leader slowly shifts her gaze from one to the other, until she has taken each of them in. Something in her manner keeps them all silent, and when she finally speaks the timbre of her voice reveals a fierce resolution. “This is the last time I will speak as a commander.” Kira rises to protest but Ende gently places a hand on her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Kira will act in my stead. I will make myself available where I am most needed. Now I am tired and require my rest.”
The five cousins rise respectfully and leave the shelter of the Apsara eldest. Wrapping themselves tightly in their cloaks, they shuffle indecisively, not yet ready to go each their own way, and gaze at the storm clouds rushing across the firmament.
TIES THAT BIND
MABATAN INTERVIEW 4.0.
THE PARCHED EARTH BROUGHT FORTH THE CRICKETS AND THE CRICKETS OPENED THE WAY AND A COVENANT WAS MADE. BUT UNDERSTAND THAT THESE CRICKETS, LIKE NATURE ITSELF, CAN BE BOTH NURTURING AND DESTRUCTIVE.
—GWENDOLEN’S CRICKET FILE
UNDER THE SETTING CRESCENT MOON, on the rise below the Brothers’ camp, Wolf edgily grips his hook-sword.
“They will not approach unannounced,” says Stinger.
“I am surrounded by secrets and treachery. Do not expect me to lower my guard,” Wolf mutters angrily.
Stinger shrugs, maintaining an almost serene calm, but Roan can see he holds his weight forward, battle ready. Mabatan told Roan she believed Mhyzah could keep Qrixxis in line, but there’s no question they are vulnerable in this clearing, and so they remain poised in anticipation of an attack. Much rides on the success of this encounter. Cooperation from the Hhroxhi means access to the thrusalls—a way of traveling unseen across the Farlands—an enormous advantage in their struggle against the City.
Wolf freezes. A Hhroxhi has just risen from the ground. As Gyoxhip, Lumpy steps forward. After a brief exchange, the warrior goes back to the mouth of the hidden tunnel and clicks twice. Another dozen Blood Drinkers appear, led by Mhyzah, who lets out a high-pitched hiss.
Mabatan and Stinger have been coaching Lumpy in Hhroxhi etiquette, which begins with introductions. As Lumpy announces each member of Roan’s group, they step forward and are joined by two of the Hhroxhi. Names are exchanged—that of the individual and tha
t of their homes. Soon only Roan and his sister remain.
The Hhroxhi gasp when Stowe drops her cloak to step forward. Dozens of crickets cling to her robe, their white carapaces ghostly in the sliver of moonlight. “I am Stowe. I am from the City.”
Her words catch Roan by surprise. All of a sudden, he’s unsure what he should say. He’d imagined they’d both claim Longlight, but that home is no more. Stepping into Stowe’s place to face Qrixxis, he says, “I am Roan. I stand between two worlds.” Qrixxis snarls and raises his weapon.
Lumpy’s earnestly clicking and hissing at him, but the Blood Drinker’s expression doesn’t change as he hisses back. With a frustrated grunt, Lumpy turns his back on Qrixxis. And though he’s addressing Roan, he raises his voice so that everyone can hear him. “He’s challenging you. Fight to the death to settle the issue. He says, if you are the Guardian the prophecies speak of, then you will easily defeat him.”
As half the Hhroxhi draw their knives, Roan feels his company move into defensive positions around him.
Stowe twirls and all of her crickets fly off her, encircling the two camps of warriors in a steadily rising hum.
Roan can see some of the Blood Drinkers are wavering. “Lumpy, tell them to drop their weapons.”
As Lumpy hisses and clicks the directive, the humming turns into a buzz. Ende and Mabatan are the first to lay down their blades. Xxisos and Mhyzah mirror their action. When Stinger flips his double-headed spear onto the ground before him, four other Blood Drinkers slide their weapons alongside his. Two of Qrixxis’s cronies come forward when Willum does. Almost there. But as Roan lays down his weapon, Qrixxis rushes forward, his blade thrusting at Roan’s neck.
An ear-piercing scream joins the crickets’ pulsing drone. Not my brother!
Reaching for his hook-sword, Roan pivots to counter the attack and sees Willum grab his sister by the shoulders. Roan feels her fear—for him, for his life. As he twists to avoid the assailant, fire erupts from Qrixxis’s eyes and mouth. Before Roan can even reach out, Qrixxis’s entire body is engulfed in flame. By the time Roan’s taken a step forward, the struggling Hhroxhi warrior is nothing but a pile of dust.
