Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Kotin’s heavy arm rested over Ivin’s shoulder, but he spoke to the elder brothers as a short, stocky man with silver hair and beard crossed the gangplank to the dock. “Him there, that’s Gier Ar-Bdein, ruler of the city of Bdein. Wave-born rumors say another family has risen to knock the bastard from his perch. He needs a safe harbor, and we enjoy his coin and trade, but never confuse him for a friend.”

  Meliu groaned, the sheets wiggling, and Ivin noted a faint light creeping in through the windows. “The Ar-Bdein ruled this city before the Turlid took their seat, seven or eight years ago.”

  The priestess sat up, clutching silk sheets to cover her bosom; beautiful even with hair mussed and eyes drooping. “What?”

  “Gier Ar-Bdein came to Herald’s Watch when I was a boy. They rested for several days, bragged of the great battle to come, then sailed to retake the city.”

  “They failed.”

  “Slaughtered, from what Kotin said. By the time they got to shore, several other cities backed the Turlid leadership.” Ivin remembered Kotin laughing at the news and saying how wise they’d been to take the Tek gold before it sank into the strait.

  Meliu swiped fingers through her hair, and glared until he turned his back.

  Ivin coughed. “Your modesty’s returned?”

  “Don’t you dare give me some coy line about preferring me upset.”

  “I prefer you smiling.”

  “Even if clothed?”

  He turned, and Meliu stood in a green satin dress, her smile returned. For a moment he wouldn’t have been able to speak if he’d tried.

  “Loduma, did you hear that name?”

  He cleared his throat. “I was eleven, twelve… thirteen? All I remember was how exciting it was to have a foreign dandy and his war-bound ships in our harbor. I heard later they were all killed.”

  “It would seem not. He’s maybe forty? So in his thirties on the Watch?”

  Ivin shrugged, helpless. “Kotin didn’t let none of us boys hang around the foreign scum.”

  Meliu perched on the side of the bed, packing a linen bag. “Well, it’s more than I knew a wick ago, but I don’t see as we have a choice but to trust him.”

  Ivin chuckled. “Kotin said to never trust them.”

  “Trust isn’t the same as taking advantage.” She stood, her grin proving she’d shaken off whatever guilt she’d suffered the evening before.

  “He’d agree with that too.”

  She dabbed perfume on her wrists. “Whip-crack fast, I’d wager.” She strode for the door and turned the lock before looking back at him. “Thank you for last night. Not asking more questions.”

  Ivin stepped to her side. “Whatever it is, don’t let the irons drag you to the Fields. Or the Forges.”

  “We’re all slaves to our history, my master said often.” Her head rocked with a silent laugh, and her chest shuddered as she exhaled. “No, I won’t. It was an accident, nothing.”

  “I thought you’d learn from my mistake… sticking a viper between my teeth.”

  She rolled her eyes and led him into and down the hall. She passed the baths with hasty strides, peculiar considering how much this woman loved soaking in scalding water. She nodded to servants, polite, but lacking her usual grace. The doorman bowed as he swung the entry open, and they stepped into a street heavy with an acrid odor wafting on a breeze from the north.

  She whispered, “The streets are quiet even for morning.”

  Ivin grunted with a smirk. He had to take her word on it anyhow, most of his views of Bdein had been from tower windows a horizon of crisscrossing streets away. The way it stank, he figured only folks who needed to be out, were.

  Meliu glanced left, but turned right, into the odorous breeze. Ivin’s nose crinkled as he walked hunched, concealing his height the best he could.

  Three men in dark gray led a pony cart trundling down the street with clopping hooves and clunking wheels, and the smell grew stronger. Meliu coaxed him to the side, raised her perfumed wrist to her nose, and they watched. She knew what was coming; she hid her eyes as it passed.

  Worn boots and sandals stuck out the open back, and they weren’t empty. Seven or eight bodies, and craning his neck, his height afforded him a view of bloody boils and blackened tongues lolling from mouths.

  A man came from an alley, dragging a street urchin by his feet. Dead. Although Ivin swore he saw the child’s fingers twitch before thrown into the wagon. One man grabbed a stick with a rag on the end, dipping it in a bucket hanging from the wagon’s side. He stood on the hub of the wheel, splashing and painting the body with greasy black.

  Ivin glanced to make sure no one was near and leaned into Meliu’s ear. “What the hells?”

  “Somvonu, purity oil. They say it keeps the disease from spreading. And it burns easy.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  “I told you… disease.”

  “You didn’t say the godsdamned Rot.”

  “We don’t know that. Remember your snake-bit tongue before we’re heard.”

  Her words remained calm, but her pace doubled as she turned down one street after another until hitting a broader, busier thoroughfare. Street merchants and shops lined the way with crowds come for fish, grains, and other sundries; the threat of death paled when compared to certain hunger, and it was no surprise vendors ran short on cured meats and grains for storage.

  Meliu nodded north and as they approached a flat-bottomed boat, larger than most at the docks, she slowed and turned on her charm. Ivin couldn’t understand a godsdamned word, but the lilting inflections of her voice spoke to her transformation.

  The Archer’s Eye was a flat-bottomed boat capable of hauling a thousand bricks in cargo, Meliu wagered. Neat stacks of sacks and crates lined the deck, keeping the balance of the boat in the water. A couple crates were bigger than slum shacks she’d seen in the city, and these bore barred windows. Fear struck, but when she saw a leonine head in a window, she breathed easy; the Hidreng nobility were famous for their menageries of wild animals. Whatever the beast was didn’t matter, all she cared was that this boat bore space for two more souls. “Hello! Captain!” Peculiar that a man and woman both waved in answer, then they laughed, the lady taking over.

  She was broad shouldered, with long black hair falling to cover her bodice, and her eyes were wide set even for a Hidreng. “What’s your business, girl?”

  “Loduma Ar-Bdein is expecting us.”

  “Ah! The merchant’s girl and her man. Come aboard.”

  Meliu hopped onboard, the sway of the boat making her wonder what the hells she was doing. I should just drown myself now. “I am Inis, and this is my man, Tulk.”

  “Greetings, the both of you. I am Captain Eceru Buulo of Sin Medor.”

  Ivin grunted, and the woman cocked an eye.

  Meliu said, “I fear he was bitten by a viper… on the tongue. He can’t speak and lost most of his hearing.”

  “A dance, I’d wager. I’ve known more than a few men who’ve died trying to get into some woman’s bed. You’re lucky to be alive. But, you are a big bastard. Was it your bed he was aiming for?”

  “Alas, it is so.” Meliu twitched her brow, and Ivin grunted with a nod. “Where shall we bed for the journey?”

  “I wouldn’t wager a guess, the crew is full, and the berths few.” The woman peeped over Meliu’s head. “Loduma’s here, ask him.”

  “Inis of the Librec River! It is good you arrived early so we may depart. When Sin Medor learns of the pestilence spreading in these streets, I fear the gates will be closed, worse maybe in some quarters.”

  She didn’t want to know what worse than dying from Rot was. Meliu smiled as the man hopped to the deck, his steps nimble and used to a swaying boat. “I admit, I hastened my strides on seeing carts carrying the dead.”

  “So it is, so it is.” He turned to the captain. “Shove off as soon as we’re able.”

  “I was just asking the good captain where we will sleep.”

  His
arms swept toward the door to the lone cabin onboard. “Come! The both of you. Let us speak.”

  A burly oarsman jogged to the door, opening it for Loduma with a nod.

  “Thank you, Gimin.”

  The only light in the room died as the door shut behind them, until their eyes adjusted to see by a single flame in an oil lamp. Loduma lit a punk with this flame and ignited four lanterns. The space was cozy, the furniture covered in padded leather, the oak carved in hawk motifs, and inset with mother-of-pearl and silver beads. The room was tidy, but filled with odds and ends she imagined the man collected over years of trading. Sculptures and paintings of gods, or perhaps family, animal traps, wooden masks stained by dyes and blood, an old sword hanging on the wall, it was difficult to take it all in.

  Meliu ran a finger along the raised beak carved in the arm of a chair with an approving smile: theatrics. “You travel well.”

  “Yes, the Ar-Bdein name hasn’t lost all its sway. Please, sit.”

  Meliu settled into the buttery-soft cushions of a divan, winking at Ivin and patting the seat beside her. He nestled in close, his frame snug in the space. “Did you find grapes?”

  The man’s typical frown rose to a brief grin. “I regret, no. I did not have the time.”

  Shouts raged outside the door and her heart sped: Thonian words, she was sure of it, even if she didn’t understand them. Loduma’s scowl returned, and he stormed to the door, throwing it open to holler. She didn’t understand every word, but caught something about branding a bastard’s ass.

  The ruckus outside ended as he closed the door and turned back to them, and she felt the boat sway as it left the dock. “I apologize for my outburst.”

  “You’ve Thonians aboard?”

  The man snorted and grumbled. “More than a few have fled the King of Ponour. Fine oarsman and sailors, but they bedevil a man with their unruly nature.”

  Meliu didn’t know if the river or Thonians made her gut more queasy. She put a finger to her lip. “I do hope the river is quiet today.”

  Loduma strolled behind a desk and plopped into a high-back seat. “A river girl who goes green on the waves?”

  She giggled. “My mother is the same, but we both manage to survive every trip.”

  “I’ve known more than a few sailors with weak stomachs. The both of you may sleep in my cabin, where you sit, your man on the floor, or I could stretch hammocks if you prefer.”

  Meliu glanced to Ivin, and the man grunted. “I am short and should fit nicely on these cushions, I suspect. A bedroll would suit my man fine.”

  “I will see to it.” He stood and took three glasses from a shelf, then turned the tap on a small cask, filling each with three fingers of golden alcohol with hints of red hues in the light. “Thonian whiskey, the singular advantage to hiring a handful for your crew. Aged in toasted oak, and on the bones of bulls if rumor is true. Some say it’s the marrow which lends the liquor its unique flavor, but I contend it is their more southern wood.”

  Meliu took the proffered glass with a grin. Ulrikt’s favorite. Every barefoot postulant in Istinjoln grew to the priesthood wishing to sneak a drink of the Lord’s private stash. This was a moment to savor.

  The liquid hit her throat with a burn and she coughed and snorted. Sneezed. She damned near cursed in Silone. “Eagle’s wings… That’s fine.”

  Loduma laughed, and she caught Ivin’s grin as he sipped. He’d pay for that smirk. She took a second sip, the flame more controlled, and she caught caramel tones in the smokey oak. “It really is good.”

  “So it is.” Loduma tilted his head and finished his drink. “I’ve matters on deck to attend, don’t drink so much you fall over.” He grinned as he closed the door behind him.

  Ivin leaned into her ear. “Liquid silk.”

  “I ain’t sure what burning silk tastes like.” And the burn was making its way to her toes. It’d be pleasant, if it weren’t a reminder of who made up the crew. Sleeping in Ar-Bdein’s cabin had its perks, but so too, risks. “Need I remind you how close we are to being killed?”

  “I’ve grown accustomed to walking two steps from the Stars.”

  “With Thonians onboard, no slips. If you talk in your sleep, I’ll murder you myself.”

  He clinked her glass with his and threw down the remaining whiskey with a smile. There was a gratifying tear in his eye as he struggled not to wince.

  35

  Shower of Stars

  How are you?

  Where are you?

  Who are you?

  What are you?

  When are you?

  Me? A Felicitous time with a Malicious rhyme.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  When Artus didn’t arrive at the Frog for dinner and a sniff of whiskey, Eliles’ doubts disappeared: Someone took him, and they were in Skywatch. Either they were in a tunnel connected to the library, or they were hiding in the stars. It was also conceivable a passage connected the two locations. Or could they have taken him somewhere outside right beneath her?

  With no question of his abduction, the mystery flipped to not just where they took him, but why? They could’ve wanted him dead, but if so, it seemed they would’ve struck one of the previous times he’d been in the library, or for that matter in the streets. It was more plausible he stumbled onto something: a secret door, the wrong tome, or… one of them in the library? Every option made sense, and each held the strong possibility of his still being alive.

  The day after he disappeared everyone searched Skywatch and the buildings around, but they found nothing. It was hectic as the Forges in the building, so when evening came Eliles shooed them all away, except Jinbin; his study of the scriptures might be useful.

  It wasn’t, and she sent him away by noon the next day. She spent most of the afternoon in the library searching for anything that might be a secret passage, but all her candles bore no fruit. When real night fell, she wandered to the stars and opened a sack with spiced fish and bread for a late dinner.

  The Gate of Shooting Stars and Artus both eluded her, but there was another mystery baffling her: How to contact Zjin.

  She ripped a hunk of bread with her teeth, closed her eyes to pray. “Elinwe, I beseech your guidance.” Warmth moved the hairs of her neck, the touch of the goddess, and she smiled. “Elinwe, show me the way to Solineus, yesterday.”

  The sky shifted, and she peered north: a vision of ice and snow, and the Steaming Lakes was still in view. “Elinwe, show me Zjin of the Colok, yesterday.” The vision blurred and shunted into the mountains. The walls and towers of a snow covered fortress weren’t obvious at first, but after her eyes adjusted, she spotted their shapes in the white on white world. The structures were half in ruins now, but in their day must’ve commanded awe.

  “Your tribe lives in an abandoned castle, not good enough.” She meditated, drawing in the power of the Sliver of Star that surged around her every flicker of the day. “Elinwe, I beseech your guidance.” The refined will of the goddess blended with the raw force of the Sliver, and she didn’t bother to open her eyes. “Elinwe, show me Zjin of the Colok, now.”

  When Eliles opened her eyes, she was no longer amid the stars, she stood in a chamber lit by a single fire. A dozen Colok slept in six pairs, scattered around the room on beds crafted from heavy furs. Zjin curled in front of her with a female, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.

  Eliles raised her hand, staring through herself: I’ve become a ghost. “Zjin!” She heard herself, but not a one of these people stirred, and there wasn’t time to waste. She could feel her connection to this place fading.

  She placed her hands to his head… into his head, and painted in her mind’s eye Solineus walking from the Steaming Lakes to the Oemindi Pass. With this vision firm in her mind she drew on the Sliver for Life and Spirit. “See me, Zjin.”

  Zjin twitched, his eyelids dancing with a dream. They fluttered open, bright and green. His growl came soft and slow, “Eliles?” And a hand reached for her
.

  He can see me. She smiled and mouthed, “Go to him.” His hand entered her spectral leg, and her focus wavered.

  Her eyes fluttered open to brilliant stars, and she breathed deep for a wick, recovering from and celebrating her success after so many failures. She had no idea if he understood, but she had done her best by doing something she would’ve thought impossible. “If I can do that, I can sure as hells find the Gate of Shooting Stars.”

  She stood, reinvigorated, and made her way to the library. The trapdoor yawned jammed open, and with a thought the room burned bright with a little friend at the bottom of the stair and one in each corner. Only they weren’t so little, they surged to the size of melons. She figured no one would be fool enough to threaten her with this accompaniment.

  She strode to the table where Jinbin’s stack of books stood. Elinwe, Show Me the Way, was the obvious choice, and she and Jinbin had both read it. But the obvious answer wasn’t always the right one. A hundred babbling pages about this constellation and its relation to that star or planet, but the text didn’t so much as mention the Road of Living Stars, let alone the Gate of Shooting Stars.

  Forty-nine books on stars, and not all of them were as skinny as this one. The second obvious answer was some sort of code. She flipped the tome open and wished, not for the first time, that Meliu was here. She’d never met the priestess, no more than bumping into her and shuffling away anyhow, but scholars spoke of her as having a gift for languages. For cracking ancient cyphers.