Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  Eliles flipped a page, looking for letters written in uneven fashion, marks in the margins, anything resembling a pattern. But her mind struggled to grasp such things, and no amount of power from the Sliver of Star could pinpoint an answer. “These pages aren’t the answer.” But the title was, which meant something pointed to this book and its phrase. If another book guided the researcher to this title, it might just point to more clues.

  Forty-eight books, and thousands of pages. She set the book aside, the poor thing worn and battered over the years, the sew of its bindings uneven. Not so unusual, except… She snatched the book back, but didn’t open it. The cover’s edge overhung the manuscript’s pages, nothing unusual, but when she compared it to other books, the cover was the most oversized in the stack.

  Eliles didn’t know much about book binding, but she imagined it’d be possible to swap one book’s gatherings to another. If so, she only needed to look at books which would fit within this one’s cover. Seventeen, and she slimmed that count to five by discarding those that’d be a poorer fit.

  “Elinwe, point me to the right toad-sucking book.” She giggled at herself for using one of Ilpen’s favorite phrases, but as she opened the book which caught her eye, Planetary Alignments in Spatial Relation to the Cross of Pearls, she noted a number written next the cording, tucked tight and hiding.

  “2594”

  A number could be anything, and the title of the book was as far from what she searched for as possible. The Cross of Pearls was the constellation of Tulule, the Lady of Fertility. Which was what she’d expect when trying to hide something. She flipped the thick pages so slow she might be reading them, but she wasn’t. She didn’t read the words, she looked for things out of the ordinary. She flipped page fifty-four, then flipped back. A single letter was different: An “A” had a thin streak of red next to its ink.

  She snagged a quill and inked the letter on a blank scroll. Page fifty-four… five-four? Both numbers are in two thousand five hundred and ninety-four. She flipped back to page twenty-nine; she’d missed it, an “E” with a red streak, near faded to invisibility. On page forty-nine too, the letter “K”. On pages twenty-five she found nothing, but on pages twenty-four, forty-nine, and fifty-two, the letters “L”, “R”, and “V”.

  In order the letters spelled: LERVAK. Gibberish, unless this too was a code. She sighed, then cringed. They weren’t in order; if you shifted them and added an extra “E”, they spelled the month of Kelevra. Kelevra of 2594? Excitement sped her heart, and her foot lifted to dash to the stair. Then it tromped back to the floor.

  “By whose reckoning of time?” Her hand rubbed her temples. She should’ve paid more attention during those history lectures she figured were lies. She wanted to scream, then she wanted to cry, but instead she laughed.

  “Twenty-five ninety-four. The Touched gave me the answer. What did he say? The Luxukoni… the Luxuns?” Her neck twisted and froze in thought. Far as she knew the Luxuns used the Edan calendar like the Silone, but this didn’t mean they did during the Age of God Wars. She was thinking too hard. Who was to say the power governing the stars only thought of time in one direction? She’d been a fool locked into one way of thinking. If she was right, she’d known the answer since speaking to the Touched.

  She went to the stairs and climbed into the stars, her five friends close and burning bright. She slung Artus’ bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow, then dropped to her knees. “Elinwe, I beseech your guidance.” The goddess’ energy soothed the tension in her neck. “Elinwe, show me the way to twenty-five ninety-four, two thousand five hundred and ninety-four years after Luxukoni time began, the fifth of Kelevra.”

  The universe spun so fast it went all white before slowing to a stop. She stood and spun a circle; no shooting stars. She stomped her foot and her scream accompanied the thundering chime.

  “Elinwe, show me a candle into the future.” Nothing. But, on the eighteenth candle, she noticed a single star streaking the sky. During the nineteenth candle, there was a field of streaks. “The Gate of Shooting Stars.” She stretched the recurve’s string and loosed the arrow straight at the star shower. Silence, and the arrow disappeared.

  A smile crept over her face as she strode to stand beneath the beautiful still-life. Then she stuck her hand through where there should be a wall and took a step.

  Face to face a woman.

  Eliles’ breath left her, and her fires surged from five melons into a raging wall.

  “First you try to put an arrow through me, now you will burn me up?”

  Eliles blinked, the light of her fire clearing the shadows from the other woman’s face. “Temeru?” Eliles recognized the woman’s face from Istinjoln, but like so many there, didn’t know her well.

  “High Oracle Temeru, now. Though I am unworthy of such a title.”

  “I don’t care about names or titles, where’s Artus?”

  “He’s well.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “No.”

  “What the Twelve Hells do you mean, no?” She felt the heat of her fires, and took two deep breaths to calm herself and her friends. If they killed this woman, Artus was next. “Release him.”

  Temeru smiled. “This I will do, as soon as you leave our stars.”

  “I know how to find you now, I’ll just come back.”

  The oracle sighed. “Please. Understand. My people… our people, Eliles of Istinjoln, are devout souls one and all, and they aren’t comfortable in the world you’ve created outside with your unholy power.”

  “The Sliver of Star?”

  “Is that what brought the tower of fire? From the Prophecy of the Twelfth Star?”

  Eliles grimaced with a nod. “If you and our people had come out, you would know more. How many of you are there?”

  “We stayed behind to fight whatever evil was coming for Herald’s Watch, to die defending Skywatch. Maybe that evil wasn’t demons at all… maybe it was you?”

  Eliles lost patience as the priestess avoided her question. “If I were evil, I’d burn you to cinder.”

  “And your man would die.”

  “And if I were evil, why would I care?”

  Temeru smiled, but wasn’t surrendering. “Not all evil announces itself with overt action.” A quote from the Book of Leds. “But if you are not evil, still, my people need time to realize this. Walking away now is a first step to our understanding one another.”

  “I’ll turn and leave, you tell me how many are here. An inexpensive price.”

  Temeru’s was a flat, emotionless stare until she sighed. “Nineteen, as the holy number suggests.”

  “Tell your people there’s nothing to fear from me nor the Fire.” Eliles stepped back, standing right where a wall should be, and her view blurred.

  “They hear you.”

  Eliles turned and spoke as she walked. “Elinwe, show me now.”

  And the universe spun into a blaze of white before coming to a stop, and this time it didn’t affect her balance, she was too angry for vertigo.

  She tromped down the treads leading from the stars with her fires blazing behind her, and below she saw Artus and his beard staring up.

  “About godsdamned time you got me out of there.”

  She raced down the stairs and hugged him. Sniffed. “You smell like roses.”

  “Aye, the damned woman made me take a bath.”

  “So, you’re unhurt as well as clean?”

  “Aye, they took fine care of me, if you ferget the ropes around my ankles and what passed for food.”

  “Where’d they keep you?”

  “Woah, girl. Get me the hells out of here and drop a swallow or two of whiskey into my belly before story time. And food, hot food.”

  “Fine, I’m sure everyone at the Frog will be happy to see you back.”

  “Except that ale swillin’ monk!” He held up the book they’d found on wine-making and viticulture. “I had plenty of time to read. You think yer magic could culture
yeasts?”

  “I don’t even know what the Twelve Hells you’re talking about.” And it didn’t matter. Artus was back, same as ever.

  36

  Clouded River

  A Tingle a Tangle,

  twist spin burn never learn.

  Into which eye do you stare, blue, green or black?

  Which of the three do I lack? Ha ha!

  Mmm, dastard bastard, fasted and lasted.

  Did I? Did who? Did you?

  I fasted and I feasted; I mosted and leasted!

  I take the cake and eat the cake!

  But never a cake did I ever bake.

  What cake? I don’t like cake. Give me rum!

  Then Run.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  Two days of floating down the river and Meliu’s stomach eased into a quiet grind. The river was kinder to her belly than the Parapet Straits. She ate little, but managed to keep it down. Storm Tea still rested in her pack, but brewing the concoction might raise questions of its origin, so she suffered with Ivin perched nearby. She checked her body every day: No boils, for this at least she was thankful. No one knew how Rot spread, but for godsdamned sure she’d been close enough to fall ill. Hells, if her suspicions were right, she’d packed the disease for a hundred horizons. I didn’t, and even if… Ulrikt’s doing, not mine.

  She sat up, drank water from a decanter intended for wine, and yawned before whispering: “I need to get up and move.” The muscles in her legs ached with discomforting tingles from sitting about so long, and the flow of blood felt good when she stood. “You stay here, guard the whiskey.”

  He stayed silent, but his eyes spoke of something bitter in his mind. Meliu grinned, strode to where he sat, and without a thought to what she was doing, put her lips to his. Lingered, before pulling back. She cleared her throat. “You be good, Tulk.” What the hells am I doing? He’s in love with another woman.

  She turned and stepped to the door, embarrassed, waited to see if he stopped her, but he kept his pledge of silence. She turned the handle and stepped into a gray day with heavy air that threatened rain. Much of the crew lazed about, many slept beneath makeshift lean-to tents fashioned from stick and cloth, just large enough to shade their head and eyes. A feline paced in the cage, it must be huge, and a woman shoved a hunk of meat and bone through a one-way door on the cage. The big cat’s meal looked larger than her leg, a haunch of some breed of deer she guessed.

  Her eyes didn’t find Loduma, so she meandered to the crate with cautious strides and dared a glimpse. Her breath caught, and she jerked back. Leonine, yes, but this was no four-legged beast. It bore thick golden fur, and a mane framed a head with giant green eyes and a mouth full of flesh rending teeth, but so too did it have hands of a sort, and it stood upright. Much like a man. She leaned forward, unable to peel her eyes from the creature’s emotionless stare. It was more beautiful than any cat she’d seen roaming Istinjoln and weighed a hundred bricks more. She guessed it wasn’t Colok huge, but the thing was more than enough to take her head off.

  “You’ve never seen an Ilu-Silvstro?” Loduma’s voice brought her to her toes in a start, and she turned without a breath in her lungs.

  She coughed. “No.”

  “This one will bring more than a virgin’s count in gold, if we get it so far without having to kill it.”

  How much gold would that be? She didn’t want to know. “What do people do with them?”

  “Cage them, feed them, show them off to friends. Some breed them for fighting pits or for servants. Caught wild like this, they’ll never obey a word, but bred, they learn to speak our tongue and become useful.”

  Speaking shocked her, but she couldn’t appear so much a fool. “Are they safe?”

  “No. Even those bred and raised like civilized men will tear their masters apart on a whim. Lovely creatures, but their claws will split you sternum to groin in a flicker.”

  “Horrifying.”

  “Would you like a demonstration?”

  Meliu’s heart bounced. “What do you mean?”

  Loduma spoke in Thonite; she couldn’t understand enough to make a guess, but the big bastard called Gimin opened the door to the cabin and stepped in while drawing a falchion from his belt. In moments Gimin led Ivin outside, the point of the blade to the Choerkin’s back.

  She prayed to Kibole; the power of the Dark eluded her. She turned to stare at Loduma, his dour expression unchanged, but he must’ve recognized the fear in her eyes.

  He spoke in Silone. “Your prayers go unanswered?”

  Burly arms grabbed her, twining her own. She struggled, stomped, threw her head back, but the man lifted her, straining her shoulders, and her head struck a powerful chest. Meliu sagged, breathing heavy, eyes pinned on Ar-Bdein.

  The man strode toward Ivin, but stopped a stride from his reach. The entire crew circled them.

  “The both of you are clever, escaping as you did.” It was the first time Ivin saw the bastard smile in a way he’d call real. “I don’t know what this girl did to those men in the tower, but it revealed this woman as a priestess. Do you even know what you travel with, Choerkin?”

  Ivin recovered his breath and composure; he’d faced death too many times to cower now. “What the hells are you talking about?”

  “Those men in the tower, prisoners and guards alike, they went mad. Two beat their heads on their doors until they died. Two guards stepped from windows to their deaths, and another damned near killed his cousin. Those who lived, their minds have yet to recover from what she did. What kind of witch is capable of these things?”

  Ivin smiled. “A pretty one, saving my life.”

  The man’s frown returned. “No lies there. Beautiful. A northern witch. A virgin.”

  Meliu screamed, and a hand clamped her mouth. She bit, and blood flowed, but the man’s arms bulged as his grip tightened.

  Ivin kept his face frozen; it was an effort to not charge the bastard. “That one’s no virgin. Return me to the Bishop and let her go.”

  “My people say you are worth nothing to me or the Bishop. No, that’s not right. The Bishop would pay for your head, but Silone heads are cheap these days.” He turned to two men and spoke in Hidreng, and they grabbed spears.

  The tip of a falchion tapped his spine, and Ivin glanced back at Gimin. He might strip the man’s blade, but figured he’d be dead before he could use it.

  Captain Eceru stepped to the crate and lifted the bar, the two men with spears pointing them at the cage’s door.

  Loduma turned back to him. “I remember you, Ivin Choerkin, though you were but a boy. You Choerkin were of value to my uncle, so he believed, but your father’s worth to him ended as a dagger to the gut.”

  “You blame my kin for your uncle’s end?”

  “No, just the opposite.” He spoke to Gimin and gestured to the door of the crate, and the falchion jabbed him in the back, forcing him to take a step. “Your value now is entertainment. A big man such as you might have a chance. If you live, I will set you free when we reach Gomjon.” Loduma flicked a sheathed dagger from his belt, and offered it to him.

  Ivin had seen a furry head through the bars of the cage, biggest godsdamned cat he’d ever seen, if his guess was right. He swallowed and stiffened his back, took the dagger’s hilt. “If I live, she goes free too.”

  The Hidreng smirked. “I fear, no. She is worth more than you on your finest day. Her virginity and soul will belong to Thon.”

  “If I live, I’m going to kill you.”

  The man’s smile was broad. “And I will deserve it a hundred times, if you are so lucky.”

  The cage’s door swung wide, the men with spears planting their feet, at the ready. Ivin breathed deep and stepped to peer inside. Colok. His first thought was wrong. This creature was near his height, and not built so powerful as the Colok, and it lacked the bear’s muzzle. Tawny, golden fur like a lion from the mountains, but thick fur grew from its neck to frame its face like the lions he’d seen pai
nted in old books.

  Ivin drew the dagger and stepped inside, the door closing behind him, the iron bar slamming down. It was darker than he’d like for a fight, but he lived long enough for his eyes to adjust. The man-cat stared, whiskers twitching. Ivin planted his feet, dagger raised in case it charged him; he glanced to a window, Tek faces scuffling for a view, before returning his gaze to the animal he expected to kill him.

  This creature is no more an animal than the Colok. The thought relaxed him. This, and the realization that the odds of his winning this fight were as good as zero, brought a new determination. He lurched, planted his feet, roared a battle cry as he waved his dagger... then he laughed and stood straight, dropping the dagger to the wooden floor. He gazed into the being’s great green eyes and shrugged. The cat didn’t move, even the twitch of its whiskers froze. The expression was unreadable, passive or a stalking pose, or anywhere between. But he breathed easier with every flicker it didn’t attack.

  Ivin picked up the dagger, shoved it in its sheath, and side-stepped to a corner before sitting. He placed the dagger on the floorboard and did his best to relax every muscle.

  Hisses and whistles came from outside, and Tek banged on the crate’s sides, yelling a hundred words he didn’t understand. The cat didn’t flinch.

  Loduma’s voice came from outside. “See priestess? What did I tell you? You can never trust the Ilu-Silvstro to do as you desire! This will be more fun than I figured. The kill will come swift when it comes.”

  Meliu yelled, “Ivin!”

  But it was the only word he heard from her.

  Wicks passed and the only movements blinking eyes and twitches of the whiskers and tail. Tek disappeared from the windows, most slamming the walls as they went. “They’re pretty convinced you will kill me.” There was no way in the hells the man-cat understood a word, but he hoped his tones conveyed peace. “I’m not so certain.” He pulled the dagger from its sheath and tossed it skittering to the cat’s feet.