Gravity's Revenge

by A. E. Marling

  “I’ll not choose. It’d be murder.” Hiresha held her voice low, so only the Bright Palm standing beside her could hear. “You only want me to pick a victim so in some small measure I’ll share the blame.”

  “You could always choose yourself.” Sheamab’s voice echoed off the buildings and distant peaks.

  The enchantresses began to mutter. “I’ve walked the Skyway scores of times. Why does Provost Hiresha look so frightened?”

  “Wouldn’t you be? Next to that Bright Palm? I heard she put out Spellsword Fos’s eye with that staff.”

  “Quiet.” The Minister of Orbiting Bodies wrapped her constellation-patterned shawl tighter around herself. “The provost is concerned traveling the Skyway today might be dangerous.”

  The stooped warden asked, “Why would it be dangerous? And why are all these Bright Palms here? The chancellor will be beside herself with the breach in protocol.”

  “I regret that the chancellor is indeed beside herself,” the minister said. “Outside herself and with her gods, to be most accurate.”

  Sheamab propped her shoulder against her staff to lean closer, her face beside Hiresha’s so the wind whipped locks of dark hair together with strands of Hiresha’s green headdress. “Through sacrifice, victory. Second tenet.”

  “If self-destruction is your motto,” Hiresha said, “then I choose a Bright Palm to fall down with this message.”

  “You shall sacrifice yourself not, when another way can be found to the same goal. Tenth tenet.”

  “How perfectly convenient.”

  Hiresha found that her arms were trembling, and the fennec mewed, his dark eyes staring up into hers. Deciding which enchantress had to die—To be executed, no less—horrified Hiresha. She had vowed to protect these women, considered them the closest thing she had to family.

  And I will protect them. I’ll find a way to knock each and every Bright Palm off this cliff.

  She saw no such opportunity then. Sheamab had her staff, and Hiresha had not so much as one jewel she could throw as a weapon. Nine other Bright Palms stood guard around the novices, servants, and enchantresses. From flails to swords, the Bright Palms’ weaponry convinced Hiresha they could slaughter all the enchantresses if the spellswords tried the climb to the plateau.

  What appeared to be an eleventh figure stood in the doorway of the RecurveTower. The overcast sky made for a morning of uncertain light.

  Everything depends on me. Even the enchantresses who craft magical weapons have never been trained to use them. Hiresha knew the Rector of Enchanted Armament would faint at a drop of blood. They have fewer defenses than a flock of flamingos. I need the time to reach my jewel stashes, or enchant new ones. I cannot sacrifice myself here. Feelings of betrayal and helplessness tormented her.

  Enchantresses winced away from Hiresha’s gaze. A woman in a velvet dress with lapis lazuli stones shook her head from side to side, pleading. Hiresha knew her to trade kisses with novices in a less than professional manner in exchange for additional tutoring. But can I condemn her to death for that?

  The next enchantress Hiresha looked at slumped in terror, her eyelids fluttering in a near faint. Another hid her face behind a veil of pearls, weeping. The bloodless expression of a third woman reflected the green hue from her diamonds.

  That is Cosima, Hiresha realized. She knew the enchantress had earned her jeweled gowns for arbitrating legal disputes across the Lands of Loam, crafting her evenhanded decisions in the tranquility of lucid dreams.

  “Enchantress Cosima, you picked an unfortunate month to visit the Academy.”

  She dabbed sweat from her brow with a handkerchief of green lace. “And you, an unfortunate month to remain.”

  I could never give Cosima the message to bear. And so many here are just as intelligent and thoughtful.

  Hiresha’s decision was made no easier by the distraction of Bright Palms tossing valuables over the cliff edge. Chests were opened in cascades of gold. Discarded dresses flitted away in the wind like fleeing ghosts.

  The lanky Minister of Orbiting Bodies dragged her gowns forward to grip a Bright Palm’s shoulder. “You mustn’t throw anything over the town. A gold coin dropped from this height will crush a skull.”

  Sheamab made cutting motions to either side with her staff. The Bright Palms carried the trunks and rolled-up tapestries farther away, to the sides of the plateau.

  Hiresha twisted the scroll case in her hands, turning her regard to the Dean of Somnium Exploration. Her frizzy grey hair stuck out from beneath her silk nightcap. The long-toed boots protruding from beneath her skirts were mismatched, green and yellow.

  The dean will be next in line for the chancellery, and she only practices soft enchantment. Hiresha had wanted the Academy to pursue more practical uses of magic, and she believed the overly philosophical Dean Wysteras would make decisions based on the flow of natural currents or some such nonsense rather than sound logic. In a way, she would be worse than Chancellor Ringwold. If I have to choose someone, I may as well benefit the future of the Academy.

  Hiresha hesitated, worried she was turning a grudge into a deadly vendetta. The faculty all know of our disagreements. They will expect me to pick the dean. They’ll know I used this tragedy to advance my own discipline of applied enchantment.

  Enchantresses edged away from the dean. The elder enchantress met Hiresha’s gaze, and it was Hiresha who winced away.

  I’ll not pick her. Part of Hiresha wanted to see the last of the dean, but she thought participating in Sheamab’s scheme in any way would make her the worst sort of opportunist. I’ll not pick anyone.

  The dean spoke out with infuriating calm. “You opened the door to the Bright Palms, Provost Hiresha. I hope someday you will be able to forgive yourself for being the Lands of Loam’s greatest of betrayers.”

  Hiresha gripped the scroll case as if to strangle it. More than ever she felt she should give the dean the case. How dare she think I’d knowingly betray the Academy? The others must see I want no part of this.

  Shuffling around in her skirts, Hiresha flung the scroll case over the edge. “This message can fall down the cliff well enough by itself.”

  Sheamab’s staff caught the scroll case mid-flight and batted it back to the plateau. The Bright Palm picked up the message and forced it into Hiresha’s hand. “To ensure it is found and relayed to the capital, you will carry it.”

  Hiresha pushed back. Sheamab shifted the position of one foot. She forced Hiresha’s hand closed over the case.

  “Bright Palm Grongara, bring the straps,” Sheamab said.

  “What’s she doing?” the Warden of Faceted Knowledge asked. “And what sort of dream did all these Bright Palms come from?”

  The Minister of Orbiting Bodies bowed her head. “The Bright Palms are holding us ransom, and Provost Hiresha is to carry their demands down the Skyway at considerable personal peril.”

  The air chafed Hiresha’s aching throat as she spoke to Bright Palm Sheamab. “May the gods rend you for doing this to us.”

  The warden tapped the enchantress beside her with her cane. “Hiresha shouldn’t be going into peril. She’s only thirty.”

  “Thirty five,” the minister said.

  “Practically a child. It should be me who goes.” The warden shuffled forward.

  Hiresha saw her own grimace reflected and warped in the golden hump ornamenting the warden’s stooped back. Even with the elder’s memory fading, Hiresha still thought her wise. She hated to imagine the kindly woman carrying Sheamab’s message off the cliff. At the same time, Hiresha felt overwhelmed with relief, and she could not find her own voice.

  “Give that here.” The warden tugged the scroll case from between Hiresha and Sheamab, and the Bright Palm stepped aside. Wrinkles curved upward in the eye holes in the warden’s mask to hint at a smile. “As Elder Enchantress Planterra said on her last day, ‘The way is clear. The final step is the greatest leap.’”

  Hiresha worked through the lump in her thro
at to speak. “May—may the goddess embrace you.”

  The warden hobbled forward and downward, rotating to the horizontal as she followed the Skyway. Her train of velvet and taffeta flowed over the edge, then was gone.

  The other enchantresses and women crowded the cliff to watch to warden’s descent. Hiresha thought to comfort Alyla, but the young woman did not approach. Hiresha could not long look away from the warden. Thinking of what might happen any moment burned Hiresha’s insides with an acid of shame and resentment. The shifting tresses of her headdress lashed her cheeks.

  The warden plodded down the side of the cliff. Hiresha held her breath until she had to take a stinging gulp. When the thing they all dreaded happened, a collective gasp rang out. An enchantress to Hiresha’s left clapped a hand over her mouth. Alyla hid her eyes behind her fists.

  Snow swirled overhead, and flecks of white drifted downward over the cliff’s empty path.

  One woman said, “She didn’t even get as far as the Blade.”

  “We’re trapped,” another said, “aren’t we?”

  “Provost, how could you?”

  Hiresha felt too wounded to answer, could say nothing until the star-strewn minister stepped closer. Then Hiresha’s voice was desolate.

  “Hers was a great mind.”

  “Warden Maova should have had a wind burial, yes,” the Minister of Orbiting Bodies said. “A pity she cared little for celestial movements. Many would’ve appreciated knowing the Gateway Constellation was directly overhead at their passing.”

  “Is it?” Hiresha asked.

  A cloud had swamped the plateau with tendrils of grey. Of the sun there was no sign. When Hiresha looked up into the gloom, snow dove into her eyes, and she blinked hot tears.

  “It’s a Feaster’s day.” Bright Palm Sheamab motioned away from the cliff with her staff. “Everyone, back into the tower.”

  Hiresha stole another glance over the side, at the crystal spellsword college. Fos was no longer sprawled over the top of the Blade. But did he pick himself up, or was he carried off?

  The coils of the RecurveTower loomed out of the falling snow like a stone python speckled with windows. The Bright Palms were more visible in the darkness, a ring of shimmering figures around the women.

  Minna was staring straight down, her body rigid, stumbling as Maid Janny led her. Hiresha did not doubt the Feaster was terrified to the point of unconsciousness among so many Bright Palms.

  Maid Janny rushed from her daughter to Hiresha, pawing at the enchantress’s hand. “Oh, why have the Bright Palms come? Hope they’re blown off the cliff, the lot of them. A blizzard is coming, so they just might be.”

  Sheamab rested her staff on Janny’s shoulder. “Do step aside,” the Bright Palm said, “but first retrieve whatever you palmed to the enchantress.”

  Hiresha’s numb hands had scarcely felt the jewels that Janny had tried to slip her. Janny’s shoulders sagged forward in defeat, and Hiresha felt grateful for her, for this, and for her long assistance to an enchantress too sleepy for her own good. She tried to give Janny and her daughter some manner of reassuring expression, but her chilled lips stuck to her teeth.

  The mother and daughter entered the tower. A black staff held Hiresha back with the Bright Palm. Snow misted about the pair. Hiresha shivered in her six layers of gowns. Sheamab, in her short-sleeves and sandals, did not.

  The Bright Palm gazed up at the tower. “Once, I thought I wished to study here. People said visiting the MindvaultAcademy was the closest thing to the wonders of the afterlife. Now I see nothing of value.”

  “There won’t be, if you stay the year.” It shocked Hiresha to think that there would be no living enchantresses in just that length of time. “One could wish that you had channeled your energies into perfecting your Sands game.”

  “I train at staff instead. It is the thinking woman’s weapon.”

  “Words are the thinking woman’s weapon.”

  “Elder Enchantress, give me your hands.” Sheamab tucked her staff in her elbow and held up a length of rope.

  Hiresha considered running. Even if my gowns would not trip me, I could never outpace a Bright Palm.

  She held her arms in front of her, promising herself she would find a better time to escape. Once I sleep I’ll have power. The fennec scrambled onto her shoulder, and chirped distress into her ear. He started trying to dig a way through the tresses of her headdress with his furry paws.

  “True greatness is only found in the common man who triumphs,” Sheamab said while constricting Hiresha’s hands with rope. “The One-Armed Smith, who shod fifty horses in an hour before sunset, so the platoon could escape the Feasters. The Planter of the Scablands, who grew enough potatoes for his family even in the wasteland’s red dust. The Never Bride, who prepared her whole life for marriage but became a Bright Palm instead to save her family.”

  “Enchantresses accomplish great deeds,” Hiresha said. “We design plans for irrigation waterways. Cosima solves disputes. I cure—ah—people in my laboratory, and smiths down at the asylum.”

  “Bright Palms do not boast of the feats of endurance their magic grants them,” Sheamab said. “Far more impressive when a sickly thief invades the Mindvault, without magic of his own, and steals the jewels of power from the most inaccessible crypt in the Lands of Loam.”

  “A sickly thief, you say?” Hiresha worried her arms within the ropes, trying to loosen them enough for blood to flow to her fingers. Her thoughts again turned to a man who had stolen the fennec in OasisCity. The enchantress remembered he had given gold to the poor under the care of the Bright Palms, which she approved of, and crafted fake gemstones, which she did not. She thought it only suitable the gods had cursed him with the Blood Judgment disease. “Is this thief named Inannis?”

  After a muffled cough came a man’s voice. “At your service, Enchantress.”

  15

  Owl’s Hall

  A man leaned against the tower door in a study of nonchalance. He wore thick clothes embroidered with black silk on grey. His hands were hidden, huddled under his arms. The light from Hiresha’s earrings gave his pale face a frozen cast, except for two splotches on his cheeks from burst veins.

  Hiresha shifted to shield the fennec as best she could from him. The fox might have unpleasant memories of being held hostage at this man’s hands.

  She said, “You couldn’t have climbed your way here, jewel duper.”

  “A sleigh carried me, as the honored but tragically distraught Lord Yunderdones. I made certain someone thought she saw me leap, but it is ever my tendency to outlive the estimation of others.” He pulled his lips back from teeth stained with blood. His grin was collapsed by a wracking spasm, and his body shook as he suppressed a coughing fit.

  An urge swept through Hiresha to club the thief to the ground with her rope-bound arms. The violence of the thought surprised Hiresha. But he must have stolen the keystones. He looked brittle as glass shards and far more dangerous.

  Sheamab offered him her hand. When he touched her palm, the brightness soaked up his arm. Worms of light traced through his veins, and after a gasp, he took his first deep breath. His teeth stopped chattering.

  So he serves them for their healing magic, Hiresha thought as the Bright Palm pushed her into the tower. The thief Inannis fell into step beside Sheamab.

  “I found a room for Enchantress Hiresha,” he said, “high up and secluded from the other women.”

  “Windowless? Secure?” The Bright Palm walked with her staff folded under one arm, the shaft bobbing up and down above her head.

  “More to the measure of well-lit and comfortable,” he said. “The enchantress escaped a very windowless and very secure tomb in OasisCity. If you want to keep her, you’ll have to guard her. And you’ll want more than my knife at her throat.”

  Hiresha disliked this. They knew her too well, and she worried she would not be given a chance to escape. First I’ll need an opportunity to sleep. I can remove jewels from my
gowns and enchant them with something useful.

  She spoke to the thief out of frustration. “Jewel duper, you do realize that taking the keystones has killed at least three women. It wasn’t theft. It was murder.”

  His foot scuffed against the tile, and Hiresha realized it was the first time she had heard him move. Apart from the one misstep, his walk flowed like oil.

  He said, “I have no quarrel with any enchantress, only your goddess.”

  They stopped in front of the striped wallway. Sheamab slung a rope around Hiresha’s waist. Two Bright Palms also paired up, and another attached a safety rope between himself and the thief. Two by two they ascended the wallway. The Bright Palms now all wore amulets, loose around their necks, and Hiresha hoped they had persuaded the enchantresses to remove them in their sleep rather than ripping them loose with violence. Hiresha walked alongside the thief between two tapestries of interlocking geometric shapes.

  “So you attacked the MindvaultAcademy?” Hiresha asked. “Out of some petty vendetta?”

  His large, dark eyes stared straight ahead. “When you wake each night gasping in terror that you’ll drown in your own blood, it doesn’t seem so petty.”

  Hiresha could understand bearing the weight of disease, one that did not feel deserved. Her fatigue had turned into pain, a throbbing nothingness digging into her mind. Even so, she had to think that Inannis’s Blood Judgment had come in punishment. He does forge false jewels.

  They passed through the archway of the next floor. The walls sloped from the turning of the tower. While walking, Hiresha tried to focus her thoughts. Fatigue crashed over her, washing away any plans for escape. At the same time, the shock of having seen the warden descend the cliff to her death jolted Hiresha with bursts of alertness.

  In one gasp of lucidity, she remembered the thief’s misstep. The idea of women dying discomforted him. She could hope to entreat him to mercy, to return the keystones for the sake of the enchantress who would have to descend the Skyway next week.