Trail of Pyres

by L. James Rice

  –Codex of Sol

  Meliu awoke in dark and assumed herself blind. Her fingers twitched and she couldn’t feel her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat rasped, a dry croak.

  “Lay still.” The voice was a woman’s, and familiar.

  Cool glass touched her lips and water trickled onto her tongue; sour, but it eased the pain in her throat.

  “I’m blind.”

  “I don’t think so. It will fade.”

  The inflections in the voice, the pitch. “Sedut?”

  “Yes, and I have a friend of yours with me… Your sister I should say.”

  Someone hugged her. “I missed you.”

  “Deelee!” She wrapped an arm around the girl, the effort spiking tingling burns through her body. “I’m so happy you’re safe. And here. By the Gods.”

  “You’re gonna be fine, they promised me.”

  Sedut said, “There’ll be plenty of time for a reunion when you can see again.”

  Meliu’s thoughts spun. “How long was I unconscious? The Teks?”

  “Not long, it isn’t yet morning. They burned every Silone ship on the water. With you awake, we should be able to speed your recovery.”

  Prayers came from the opposite side of her bed, and she blinked her eyes; fuzzy lights and blurs. “Where are we?”

  “Among the holy. Did you bed the Choerkin?” Meliu felt herself blush. “I thought so, the way he carried you, so desperate to keep you alive.”

  Meliu’s eyes twitched through blinks, annoying as the hells, worse because her eyes were dry as an oracle’s bone. “How did he find you?”

  “Dekun, a fifth year postulant from Istinjoln, recognized you over Ivin’s shoulder and brought the both of you to me.”

  “Hard to believe he left me with you.”

  “Is it? I saved his life, if you’ll recall… This earns a lady some small redemption with honorable men. And when I offered to save the woman he loves—”

  “He loves another.” Did he love her? Could he?

  “If only people could be so certain of another’s love as you are certain of his not loving you. Alas, I did lie to him.”

  “Lied?”

  “I told him I’d heal you, but I needed help. If he isn’t looking for you already, he will be soon.”

  Meliu’s blinks slowed and clear outlines shifted into view, Sedut and Deelee. Time to change the subject. “Any word of the Fifth Treatise? Tomarok?”

  “Like you, I’ve been too busy staying alive.”

  Deelee’s eyes appeared in a blurry face, and Meliu smiled. Flickers later she recognized the two of them, and Bralena. She leaned in and gave the healer a hug. “Praise the gods and your prayers.”

  Bralena grinned through her continuing prayers.

  Did she have such skill to heal the Dark? I don’t know none of these people, not for certain. She kept her smile, but her innards twisted: Ulrikt or his Face might be any one of them… two of them. Trust no one. She grabbed Deelee and hugged her. “Deelee the Pious.”

  The girl giggled. “Urchin the Pious.”

  “An urchin no more.”

  Sedut said, “She’s a petitioning adherent now.”

  Meliu’s lips pursed and a brow raised. “You want to be a postulant?”

  “Mmhmm!”

  “A year or two old isn’t she?”

  Sedut said, “Not in these trying times, and when following in her sister’s footsteps.”

  “I didn’t know how much I missed you.” Meliu mussed the girl’s hair. “But, I need to get back to Ivin.”

  Sedut laughed. “I see! You love the Choerkin as well.”

  Deelee rolled her eyes with a disgusted frown. “Boys.”

  Meliu’s eyes spread wide, but she recovered with a shrug. Whether a truth or a lie, it’d be useful. “I dunno. I care for him, love? We’ve an enemy poised to destroy the clans, the church, everyone, this matters more than love.”

  Sedut breathed deep. “This is so.”

  “You will fight beside the clans when the time comes?”

  A sideways grin. “You know I will.”

  “It’s how you earn redemption?” The mistrust jumped to her mind: Is that why you fought beside Eredin at the Fost? Saved Ivin? Destroyed the Sundering scroll and battled the Tek? For the people or for yourself? “My head is still spinning, I should rest.”

  The waves of the Parapet Straits lapped Ivin’s boots; Solineus and Polus stood to either shoulder with dry feet.

  Morning, and still Ships smoldered on the Strait, sending their smoke to the heavens, but not a single Tek set foot to the shore. A scattering of Silone longboats survived and the Soaring Gull sat grounded and untouched, but they were all that survived. Ivin figured once they ran aground on the Blooded Plain the treaty protected them, or at least the Tek weren’t taking the risk.

  The blockade ringing the bay sat at anchor as an unnecessary show of force. Yesterday the coast had been full of raging Silone ready to fight, but after the sun rose in the morning, Ivin found the place damned near abandoned. Debris from ships washed ashore along with bodies and heads, and the remaining people drug them onto land to bury or burn.

  Fate was kind, that the number of people caught on the ships was less than it could’ve been, but this was little comfort to those who lost loved ones.

  Ivin kicked a small crate that’d washed to shore. “What the hells you think they’re doing, waiting for our fishers to attack?”

  “I reckon that’s as good of an explanation as any.”

  Solineus had recounted the tale of his journey late into the night, but what made sense then didn’t seem to fit together today. How protected were they? No one had considered their boats vulnerable until Tek banners flew on the horizon, but they assumed protection under the Treaty of the Blooded Plain before the Rot struck the Hidreng. “The Edan are an odd people.”

  “No argument. Their forest is a wonder, a fortress of trees, wild and refined at the same time. But they are… I don’t have the word.”

  “Are they with us?”

  Solineus snorted. “They aren’t against us, and they’re none too fond of whatever’s behind the Gate in Istinjoln. Other than that? No, I don’t think so. But, they won’t tolerate an enemy on the Blooded Plain either.”

  “Even if we had ten thousand warriors armed with Latcu swords to slaughter the Shadows of Man… We couldn’t reach Kaludor.”

  “We rely on the Edan and what they know, and some lost book called the Oxeum Codex, to destroy the Gate. Question is, how do we stay alive long enough?”

  Ivin sucked his teeth and licked his lips. “Do what we’ve been doin’. We run. Half the damned clans lit out for Winter Home soon as they saw them ships, more are leaving today.”

  Polus said, “Mmm, I’ll recommend the same to Remnar. Do we leave riders behind, so we know if them bastards come ta shore?”

  “Aye, I’ll recommend that as well.”

  Ivin caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned. Inslok glided over the sand, his steps invisible behind him. Even in the light of day, his glow was strong; no doubt he counted on the eyes of Tek sailors seeing him.

  He’d seen the Edan from a distance, but hadn’t a chance to speak with him yet.

  Solineus said, “I present Inslok, First Sword of the Volvrolane, the Father of Ages. This is Ivin Choerkin, and Polus Broldun.”

  The Edan nodded, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge them as he spoke to Solineus. “The attack on your ships was difficult to foresee, the Hidreng would never have done such a thing if Thon didn’t back the assault. The question remains, why would two mortal enemies gather for war against a people who are no longer a threat?”

  Ivin glanced to the other men, sighed. “The Rot.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “A disease, it burns like a barn fire among the Hidreng, and word is it’s spread as far as Thon already. They blame us.”

  “So they come to sink your ships, so you can’t bring more d
isease. Revenge, perhaps. A reasonable reaction from a human perspective.”

  Was it? But arguing with an Edan would be worse than arguing with a mule; unlike with a mule, you might lose. “More or less.”

  Inslok cast his eyes to each of them. “I have dealt with the Hundred Nations for five hundred remembered years, so I might offer insight: They didn’t burn your ships to stop this disease from spreading, for as you say, it already has.”

  Polus squinted. “They were just roastin’ dinner, were they?”

  The Edan’s head swiveled, looking down on the Broldun. “They burned your ships to drive your people south.”

  “Why the hells would they do that?”

  Inslok nodded at Ivin. “This one knows. I see it in his eyes.”

  The revelation hadn’t hit until Inslok stated the obvious. Ivin spit in the surf. “They want all of us in one place. If they’re going to break the treaty, they want to do it once. Or, they hope we make a mistake, wander across the Border. Some such.”

  “All of that, and they’ve cut one of your food supplies, you understand? The Edan can not feed so many of you.”

  Solineus said, “They plan on killing us all, one way or another. Steel or starvation.”

  “Yes. I will remain her for a time, the Hundred Nations will not come ashore without the Edan knowing. Limereu Lisedreden will ride south with your people.”

  Ivin bowed. “Thank you.” Inslok nodded, then turned to the harbor; Ivin took it as a dismissal and walked south. “We need to get to Winter Home.”

  Polus grunted. “And do what, by the hells?”

  “If I’m right, we’ll converse with a one-armed bastard.”

  Meliu awoke from a dreamless sleep with a yawn, her head foggy and eyes watering. She blinked a half-dozen times before she wondered where the hells she was. Her fingers tingled as she pulled a blanket from her face.

  She lay nestled in bundled furs on the floor of an empty tent, not a soul in sight. “What the hells?” But she was grateful being saved the goodbyes. If they were even who they appeared to be. She rolled to hands and knees and stared at her reflection: a mirror and silver comb. “No hot bath?” She giggled at herself as she sat cross-legged and untangled her hair, her scalp sensitive to every careful swipe.

  She tucked the hand-mirror and comb in her belt and struggled to her tingling feet, and as her blood flowed, feeling in her fingers and toes returned to a semblance of normal. Bralena did what she could to cure what the Dark did to her, and she hoped time would finish her rejuvenation.

  A late-morning sun greeted her exiting the tent, and she covered clinched eyes and wobbled as vertigo struck. She planted her feet and froze in place with deep breaths. “Mercy of the Dancing Bastards, this better go away.” Nauseous breaths later she dared open her eyes. Her tent was on the edge of camp, but judging by the trodden grass, it hadn’t been the edge for long. People were packing their belongings and moving south. “South it is.”

  Her strength recovered as she walked, except when she tripped over some pesky rock. The deeper into camp she traveled the more people she saw, and after a while she gave up the stubborn pretense of knowing where she was headed and asked folks where she could find the Choerkin tent. They pointed her in four different directions before she spotted what looked like the Ravinrin tent, except the banners of the seven clans flew overhead, and when she got close, the reason for the banners grew obvious: Warriors from every clan guarded the entrance.

  She straightened her back and opened her eyes as wide as her strained pupils allowed as she approached. She picked out a Choerkin guard she recognized. “Could you tell Ivin Choerkin that Meliu is here?”

  In flickers the Choerkin lifted her from the ground in a hug. A tad embarrassing, but more painful.

  “You’re killing me.”

  “Sorry.” He set her down, his smile so wide she grew convinced Sedut might be right: who knew a Choerkin would have such a weakness for holy gals.

  “I could use a chair and water.”

  Ivin escorted her into the tent; water was easy, a seat wasn’t, unless satisfied with a spot on the floor, but cold water reinvigorated her. That, and damned near a hundred folks squabbling. Rikis Choerkin climbed atop the table with long-hafted axe for a cane. “Enough! We’re here to decide what to do next, not to stuff our ears with horseshit.”

  Meliu giggled and whispered to Ivin. “You Choerkin have a way with words I like.”

  Ivin put a hand to her shoulder. “Been this way for the past candle.”

  Rikis eyeballed the few folks still yammering until they hushed. “South is the only direction we got—”

  “We need ships fer sailin’ north!” Meliu recognized his accent as northern, but it was Ivin who whispered his name: Jovin Bulubar. “More’n godsdamned enough trees in yonder forest to build a fleet of ships.”

  Solineus said, “Think you’re going to take them trees from the Edan?”

  “Yer a soft southern bastard, Mikjehemut. Let a northern man negotiate with the tree spirits.”

  Rikis said, “Ships or no ships, our people need to head for Winter Home.”

  “We stay here and wait for their fight!”

  Rikis raised his arms and shook his head as a dozen northerners bellowed their agreement. “They aren’t here to fight! Godsdamn, haven’t you been listening? They’re here to starve us out.”

  Polus tromped atop the table to stand beside Rikis. “I know my kin ain’t made their minds, but I’m with the Choerkin, and that ain’t no small feat. We come back north when we’re able, but for now, Winter Home.”

  A Broldun backing a Choerkin; the world spun like a top. She whispered to Ivin: “I assume Choerkin, Ravinrin, Emudar are together?”

  He nodded. “Bulubar, Mulharth, and Tuvrikt are keen on a fight, the Broldun sit the fence.”

  A man Ivin named Torik Broldun rose. “I respect my brother’s opinion, but I can’t agree. If we abandon the north now, we’ll lose it forever to the Tek bastards. A man who runs may as well keep running ‘til he falls over dead.”

  Ivin let got of her shoulder and strode forward, stepping on a chair before joining the other men atop the table. “We’ve already run! Should we lay down to die now or tomorrow?”

  The Wolverine bellowed, “Hells no!”

  Ivin pointed at Pikarn. “You got the itch for a fight, I can tell you where the hells to find that fight… It’s Winter Home! Those sons of bitches out on the water aren’t coming to shore. Hidreng! Thon! Brotna! Yulkip! Muduer! Hells, maybe more nations are coming to Winter Home if they aren’t there already. You aren’t running from a fight, you’re running to one! And I say we take them a fight they’ll never forget.”

  Cheers rose from all around, but Torik waved them down. “Mmm, you’ve read some oracle’s bones, have ya? How the hells do you know these things?”

  “The Rot hit the city of Bdein and it’s spread, the bastards aren’t out to drive us away, they will destroy us, kill every man, woman, and child. They’ll do it in Winter Home. If we don’t go, they’ll slaughter our people and we’ll retaliate and die. Our only hope is all of us in one place at once, but it’s also precisely what them bastards want.”

  Torik’s shoulders rolled, his tone controlled. “Polus! You’ve met with the Hidreng, what say you?”

  The tent went silent. “Mmm, I’ve met with their commander, a bastard called Iro. With the Choerkin, Emudar, and Ravinrin. He’s a no-good son of a bitch and a blood sucker… a conniving liar without honor, I say! I don’t know, but I believe the Choerkin is right.”

  More shouts and cries before Torik could command enough voices silent to make himself heard. “Every damned one of you knows my opinion of the Choerkin and these southern flowers… It pains me to say I believe them right. But if it’s a fight the godsdamned Nations want, it’s a fight we godsdamned better give them! And if they want to wipe the Silone from these lands, I say make them kill us not one clan at a time, but as seven clans and one people!” He leaped
onto the table and drew his sword, grabbing Rikis’ hand and raising it high.

  An ax and sword in Choerkin and Broldun hands. The tent erupted in bellows and roars, and any dissent drowned out until reborn as cheers. Meliu grinned as Ivin jumped from the table and strode to her side. “I’m impressed.”

  “You should be.”

  She took his hand and pulled him close. “Torik backed Polus all along?” Ivin’s grin was answer enough. “I’m more impressed.”

  “You should be. Are you well enough to ride?”

  She groaned, but the energy in the room fed her optimism. “I will be when I have to be… but a day of rest would help.”

  “You’ll have your day.”

  49

  The Whistler Vine

  A song, a sing,

  a lallygagging choke,

  a gasp, a wheeze,

  a scream in the ding,

  a rush to baroque,

  a horror on the gentle breeze,

  whistling lips without a tongue to lie.

  –Tomes of the Touched

  Glimdrem appreciated being back in the Eleris, even if it meant reporting to the Chancellor of Knowledge. Frozen wastes, poison burning with Fire, and a naval battle were each in their own way educational, but the odds of dying in the Eleris were far slimmer.

  The Entiyu Emoño entered Edan waters three days after escaping the Tek fleet, and Glimdrem waved farewell to Captain Intœño within wicks of dropping anchor. In a matter of days, he stood beneath the bows of the Crowning Tree and the world outside faded to well-preserved memories. The flows of energies, the tranquility, returning to the Eleris was the only thing which ever made leaving worthwhile.

  He stood in the Chamber of the Chancellor, but he didn’t understand why. Tradition demanded he spend days or weeks putting ink to paper, transcribing the events and thoughts from his travels, but today the Edan directed him here. And more peculiar, he arrived to find himself alone. Edan were never late.