by Kate Diamond
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“The mountains,” Miris said, certainty weighing the words. “This is the course I had planned for tomorrow.”
Why would Seres speed their journey now? Did the spirit somehow know of something that awaited them there?
How long they stood there, silent, watching murky moonlit shadows pass on the ground below, Belest didn’t know. At last Miris turned to him. “Go back to bed,” ney said flatly, still watching the dark sky and the restless Wind. “There’s nothing we can do now. In the morning we’ll learn what this means.”
Only when Belest climbed back down did he realize that he was shivering. He sat with the blanket tucked around his shoulders and peered out the small windows, but he couldn’t make anything out through the darkness. Somehow he slept, though it was an unrestful, fitful thing, shot through with more strange dreams, this time of flying on the Brightblade with Arden, fighting unseen forces that tried to pull him away from the flier and into darkness.
When sunrise lit the sky, they were still flying, and the mountains stood before them, waiting.
The Northern Mountains
Dawning Crest was a twisted spire of a mountain, carved and shaped by some ancient civilization into a monument so old nobody living remembered its purpose, only knew that for generations the exposed facets of crystal on the strange peak daily shattered the sunrise into glittering fragments of light cast across the range. Had it been built in honor of a great figure, or for the worship of a god, or simply for the sheer beauty of it? Miris’s mentor had agreed with those scholars who had tracked the angles and patterns for years and believed it served to mark the passage of the days and the seasons. Miris saw in it great vanity as well as great genius. Surely a people with the knowledge to construct such a thing, and construct it to outlive them by eons, had little practical need of it. If their leaders possessed the authority to have it built, then they needed no carved mountain to prove their power and command their people, and farmers needed no elaborate clocks to know when to seed their fields and harvest their crops.
The Kejan clans in the region claimed it as their own, as did the human and Forish communities. Once these arguments would have led to battles, but today the various peoples of the area were content to simply bicker every so often when scholars arrived to ask after its history. Whatever its origin, it was undeniably a beautiful place, and as it was visible for a great distance in all directions, served as a landmark for fliers and caravans alike.
A switchback path ran up to a narrow pass. A lone donkey-drawn cart made its slow and cautious way up the trail, its driver barely glancing up as the shadow of the cloudship passed over it.
“There’s a village just through the pass,” Belest said. “A human one, I mean. It’s called Brightstone.”
“Is that where Terthe bought the Stars?”
Belest shook his head. “We stayed there for a night - well, ney did, I stayed with the caravan to watch it - but we met the traders further on. Partway up one of the mountains, next to a cavern and a narrow road.”
“Will you recognize it when we fly over?”
“I think so.”
“Good. We’ll ask in the village first, and then see what we can find there. It might be best to stay out of sight for a while, if we want to try to catch the traders at work.” And they could hardly do that from a cloudship.
The village of Brightstone came into view several moments later, a collection of buildings huddled together on a mountain ridge as if to shield each other from the cold and weather, their high, sharply angled roofs built to shed snow. Every bit of the small space had been put to use. The only clearing large enough within the village itself that wouldn’t land the Dragonfly in somebody’s garden or among their animals was the temple yard. And that was very much not an option, especially at this hour. Already the priests were gathering for the morning procession. Interrupting that would hardly gain them favor among the locals. Fortunately they found a suitable space a little ways on, maybe a half-hour’s walk from the village. Seres brought the cloudship down to rest against the snowy ground. Miris wasn’t entirely happy leaving the Dragonfly somewhere so remote, but they had no other option.
“We should ask at the temple,” Belest suggested. “Brena - the woman at the hospital in Tilsa - she said she got the Star from her priest. The priest told her that it was a protection charm.”
“For who, I wonder,” Miris said, ironic. “Certainly not the Star.”
“No,” Belest agreed.
“We’ll go to the temple first, then,” Miris decided, pulling on gloves. Ney hated wearing them, because they dulled nir sense of Seres, made it near impossible to speak to the spirit, but better that than losing fingers to the cold.
“You haven’t slept,” Belest noted timidly.
He was right - weariness tugged at Miris in those moments ney let nir focus drift from their duty. But it was bearable. “I slept enough. This is more important.” Seres must have had a reason for bringing them here today, Miris told nemself.
Belest evidently had no further argument, for he did not raise the issue again. He shrugged on the coat Miris had given him, donned hat and gloves.
The trek to the village proved simple enough, though it revived in Miris a deep distaste for snow, and for cold, and for having great masses of stone and ice looming over nir shoulders. Within a few minutes, snow had found its way into nir boots, where it melted into an unpleasant chill dampness that clung to nir skin and soured nir thoughts.
Belest, on the other hand, barely seemed to notice. He seemed instinctively to know where to step so that the snow wouldn’t swallow his foot, how to adjust his hood to keep the glare of sunlight out of his eyes.
“Was your village like this?” Miris asked, hoping for something to keep nir attention from the cold and the frustration of not being able to see the ground where ney walked.
“Lark’s Valley is a little bigger than Brightstone, but not by much. But it has the same sort of buildings and streets.”
“And all travel is like this?” ney added, nearly tripping on a patch of ice that had evaded sight.
“Like this? This is spring snow. In the depths of winter, you can get drifts up to your head. Or more, if it tumbles down from the heights.”
Miris shivered.
Belest continued. “The elders in my village, the ones who’d lived through really rough years, they had all sorts of tall tales they liked to tell about massive avalanches and wind gusts that shattered windows.” He laughed, brushing off the dark images. “It isn’t usually nearly as awful as that. But we all learned not to go far if a storm was coming. Every parent had some warning about monsters that hunted in the night for lost children.”
“We had the same sort of stories,” Miris said, cheered, if only a little. “But ours were about the open ocean. If you stayed out too long fishing, or took too large a catch, a great beast would rise up and eat you. I suppose parents are the same anywhere.”
They passed a young goatherd at a bend in the path. The girl took little notice of them, so focused was she on her charges. And with Miris’s Windsworn tattoos hidden, ney supposed there was little reason to give them notice. The village came into view just around the ridge.
“Goats, that’s something Lark’s Valley has plenty of,” Belest said. “When I was little, Ma would send me out to mind our neighbor’s herd. There was one who liked to wander. After maybe the third time chasing him down, I finally realized it was easier to actually watch them than to start playing jump-stones and hope they were all still there when I finished. But that goat was clever, or at least cleverer than a distracted boy. And one time, I couldn’t find him. But I didn’t want to come home with nothing, so I stayed out, searching the ridges. By the time I finally found him and brought him back, my coat was soaked through from falling into snowdrifts, and Ma and Mother were terrified I’d tumbled off a ledge somewhere.” Miris smiled at the thought of a tiny child wrapped in many layers of sca
rves and coats chasing after a grumpy old billygoat. Even then, Belest clearly hadn’t been able to leave a duty unfinished. “I thought they were worried the monster had gotten me! So I said, ‘but wouldn’t it rather eat the goat?’”
Miris laughed. “And what did they say to that?”
“I don’t remember, but I was still in trouble. For losing track of the animals and for being out late.”
“Of course you were. Mine would have done the same.”
They walked into Brightstone just as the last strains of the temple’s horns rang out over the roofs.
“If they run like the temple in Lark’s Valley,” Belest noted, “they’ll hold Listening for a few hours.”
“Listening?” Miris asked, curious.
“I’m not sure how to describe it…” Belest thought for a few moments. “Sometimes it’s listening to the gods, but mostly it’s listening to people in the village. Neighbors. Trying to help them manage their arguments and worries and problems.”
They walked along what must have been the central street, though it was barely wider than any of the others. Small, but lively. Miris saw a group of people shopping, a child begging for a honey cake at the bakery, a librarian dusting the bookshelves.
“That sounds good,” ney said. “The priests where I was born mostly read omens and made sure the spirits weren’t displeased. They didn’t do a lot of talking to us unless there was something to announce.”
They passed a dressmaker’s shop where the proprietor was hard at work arranging a window-display. She looked up and waved to them as they walked by. Surprised, Miris returned the greeting.
“A lot of people like Listening. My parents do.” Belest took a breath, hesitating. “It always felt a little too much for me. Too formal. I don’t want to bother any gods with my problems. Or priests.”
“I understand that. Our priests were intimidating.”
“Ours tried to be friendly. There were three of them - probably still are, unless Palon left on that pilgrimage he kept saying he was going to do - and only one was any good at talking to children.”
“You should meet Trinentan priests. They wear these terrifying masks whenever they’re in public. It’s supposed to attract the good spirits’ attention and scare away the bad ones. I don’t know if it works. I certainly don’t need anything like that to talk to Seres!”
They reached the temple. A few people trickled in and out through the door. Though they all wore similar cloaks, many had bright ornaments pinned on their hood or shoulder or clasp. Miris noted blue flowers and pink ribbons and gold bows, among many others.
“And guests aren’t welcome at Listening?” ney guessed.
Belest hesitated. “Er… it’s really supposed to be within the village. But after Listening hours, we can still introduce ourselves. And ask for advice.”
“That’s all right. We shouldn’t intrude.”
They went to the bakery to wait. The elderly third behind the counter grinned broadly at the sight of visitors and offered them samples fresh from nir ovens, the things perhaps not pretty enough for display but tasty all the same: dense, heavy spice cookies that lost no flavor to slightly burned bottoms, tiny breads stuffed with jam to the point of spilling over and turning sticky. Before Miris could introduce nemself as a flier, or find a trinket to trade with, Belest had pulled coins from an inner pocket. He bought a honey cake for himself, and Miris chose a braided bread topped with salt and crushed nuts. They ate them standing in the shop, grateful for a respite from the cold outside. The baker studied the coins a moment, perhaps curious about their foreign minting marks.
“Where have you traveled from?” ney asked when they finished their breakfast.
“Many places, but most recently Vanna,” Miris told nem.
“Vanna!” the baker exclaimed, delighted. “My nephew went there for a season to study printing. He sent us so many stories about how beautiful it was.”
Miris nodded. “He was right.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What brings you to Brightstone? Surely you’re not just here for my honey cakes.”
“They’re very good!” Belest put in through a mouthful of crumbs.
What to say? They should have planned for this, that somebody would ask them why they’d come. It hadn’t occurred to Miris. Ney had never needed to have a reason ready before.
“We’re visiting the temple,” Belest said. That much was true. “We’re studying regional luck charms.”
The baker nodded sagely. “Scholars, eh? You want to know what’s lucky here? Hmm… Little blue flowers, rain on the first of a month, a bow in your hair, kittens born in a newly-built house…”
Belest listened closely, looking every inch the scholar he was pretending to be. He thanked the baker warmly.
“Now, you tell me,” ney prompted, “What’s the oddest charm you’ve heard of in your studies?”
Belest didn’t stumble. “In Irenset, planting a flower when a baby is born is supposed to be lucky.” Had Arden told him that, or had he invented it just now?
The baker smiled. “Is that so? Doesn’t sound very odd to me.”
But by now Miris was ready. “In southwestern Trineta,” ney added, “a new fisher will lick their very first catch, to regain the energy they spent in finding it.”
That got happy laughter in reply. “Now that is strange. But then, I suppose they’d say the same of us.”
A family came into the bakery, probably returning from Listening. The baker greeted them with the same warmth ney had Miris and Belest, and like them, they stayed long after they’d finished their treats, talking about all manner of things: schoolwork, gossip, a friend’s upcoming wedding.
The temple horn sounded again, marking the end of Listening. They thanked the baker yet again as they departed. Ney wished them luck in their studies, and that cheer stuck with them through the door and down the street towards the temple.
◆◆◆
The temple’s grand doors remained open even after Listening was over, welcoming in everyone who wished for a quiet place to pray or think. In larger cities, temples took on the duty of sheltering the homeless or lost in their halls. A place as small as this had fewer people needing such aid, and fewer priests to provide it, but Belest didn’t doubt they would if they were called on to do so. The people here worshipped different gods than the Iltari devotees at the hospital in Tilsa, but many of them asked much the same thing from their followers: a duty to help others.
A bronze figure rested just within the entranceway, visible from outside but shielded from the weather. A child god whose hair was made of flowers, sitting cross-legged on a fallen log and cradling in little hands a hatching baby bird. Lirsi, the Keeper of Spring. Lirsi was one of Lark’s Valley’s patrons too; Belest had grown up hearing the tales of the little god’s adventures. A few paces down the hall stood a large figure carrying a hammer; this was Baldon the Mason, protector of the house. Next to Baldon sat the last of Brightstone’s three patrons, Jersa the Hearthkeeper, holding out a deep bowl in which flickered an eternal flame, illuminating the god’s gentle face with a warm glow.
They found an assistant sweeping at the end of the hall. At their request, he showed them into a priest’s office. A middle-aged woman in a long blue-and-gold embroidered robe looked up at the knock on the door.
“Sit, sit,” she said, ushering them inside and making room on her crowded desk by means of moving several stacks of books to the floor. “I am Kasrin. What brings you to our halls?”
“We have a question about amulets,” Miris began, cautiously.
Kasrin smiled. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve studied many writings on that subject.” Before Miris could continue, she cleared her throat and began, “There are multiple theories on the nature and mechanism of holy amulets. Jelana of Highridge posits that they are merely a conduit for the wearer’s own energies and hold no power of their own. Nesiran of Tilsa argues that channeling faith is in itself a power, and only certain materials will sui
t. Kaion of Lessarion says, though I personally wouldn’t put any stock in anything ney has to say, that amulets are in fact an insult to the gods, as they imply they would not otherwise listen to an earnest petitioner.” She reached for a thick leather-bound book on the shelf behind her.
“False amulets,” Miris put in, clearly attempting to forestall a lecture on theology.
Kasrin snorted derisively. “All sorts of people sell false amulets. Most are simply liars, acting out of greed. Others might believe their trinkets hold powers, whether because they are deluded or because they know nothing about how the gods act.”
Belest glanced to Miris, whose face had tightened in concealed frustration.
“We were in Tilsa,” he explained, hoping it was the right thing to say, hoping Miris would forgive him for it, “And we met a woman from Welsarn who had a protection charm for her pilgrimage to Miren. From her priest. But it wasn’t an amulet, it was a captured spirit.” He swallowed. “A Star spirit.”
Kasrin’s eyes went wide, and her smile faded. “That is extraordinary. And disturbing.”
Miris took over. “We’ve seen captured Stars used in Flame-lamps. And those too came from somewhere in this area, near Dawning Crest.”
“I’ve never heard anything of the like,” Kasrin said. Belest’s heart fell. Somebody in the region had to know something, had to have seen something strange… “Except, there was something…” the priest added, uncertainly.
“What?” Miris prompted.
“A few weeks ago, some friends of mine went hunting for winter hares. When they returned, they told me of a trader they met at an inn in Hawkridge, a little ways north of here. A very drunken trader, who was bragging to anyone who would listen that she had bought a piece of the sky. She wouldn’t show it to them, so of course they assumed she had invented the whole thing.”
“A piece of the sky,” Belest repeated. “That’s what Brena said her priest called her charm.”
