by James Stone
‘I’ve heard much of what you people have to say.’ Kurulian turned. ‘And much of it bores me half to death.’
‘Then what do you want to hear?’ she asked.
‘When I say information, I mean there is a chain of whispers that spans the world,’ he explained. ‘The chain acts as the eyes and ears of anyone who needs it. Fabius’ handmaidens use it, the children of Rallocier use it, and I do too.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Allow me an example. There are a hundred people dining together,’ he said. ‘One of them wants to kill you—which one?’
‘How would I know?’
Kurulian shrugged. ‘As you dine, you notice one of the more drunken guests at your table has switched places with someone at the bottom of the court. In the place of one of your advisors sits some low-born you’ve never met. What now?’
‘He’s the killer?’ she asked. ‘He made my advisor drunk so he could get closer to me?’
Kurulian shook his head. ‘The advisor who left simply had an upset stomach, and the low-born saw an empty seat and took it. But there is a man two seats across from you wearing chain-mail.’
‘So, it’s him?’
‘He’s one of your knights.’ Kurulian grinned. ‘Anyway, the first course starts, and you’re served your food; the meat is a little raw, and the vegetables are dry, so you wash it down with…?’
‘Wine?’
‘Wine, white wine.’ He nodded. ‘Vintage from the Summerlands, sour and perhaps even drier than the food. But that’s the least of your concerns. By the end of the first course, you’re dead.’
‘That’s not fair,’ she grumbled.
‘Of course, it’s not. Now how did you die?’
Poison?
‘Poison.’
He nodded. ‘Your advisor did have an upset stomach.’
‘So, who killed me?’
‘It’s a little late to be wondering that now.’
She shook her head, irritated, and asked, ‘What does all of this mean?’
‘Information is a peculiar form of currency, but a just one,’ said Kurulian. ‘When the children of Rallocier want to know which slaver they’re about to be auctioned to, they look to the chain of whispers. Perhaps they find out they can escape to the north—to a faraway land called Ranvirus. Where’s Ranvirus? What’s it like? Not a soul knows, it seems. I thought you may be able to help with that.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re the chancellor of this bloody place.’
Magmaya sighed and perched on the stump of a small tree. It stung to sit, but she hadn’t an ounce of strength left to stand. The day had worn that from her.
‘The least wine ever did was poison me,’ she heard herself say.
‘Your father was the last chancellor here, no?’ Kurulian asked.
She nodded.
‘Tell me about him.’
Magmaya felt something rise in her—a desire to spill all her secrets at once. She was disappointed in herself; she’d worked so hard to preserve them; she’d killed a man to keep them.
No, she was forced to remind herself. That’s not why you executed him. It didn’t matter why, though, anymore. She was becoming deathly afraid of what dawn would bring if she wasn’t to speak another word.
‘I never liked Kharon Vorr,’ she said at last.
‘More,’ Kurulian barked.
‘He never liked me.’ She was flustered.
‘More.’
‘I was there when he died.’
‘More.’
‘He wanted to kill me.’
‘More.’
Don’t say it, she told herself, don’t you bloody say it, but her mouth was betraying her. ‘I killed him first,’ she sputtered at last, and then it was done.
Not for Kurulian, though. When he leaned forward and asked, ‘Why did you stop?’ her heart must’ve shattered again.
Don’t say it! She wished she could’ve screamed, but that bloody broken heart was betraying her. She could almost feel it already: the warm grass between her toes, the sun lashing at her back, the salt-water in her hair. She was already going south, she just had to finish her plea.
Magmaya stole a breath and felt the words spill from her mouth. She let them spill a little more and didn’t let them finish until she saw the quicksilver in the Divinicus’ eyes. She didn’t finish until the birds flocked back to the trees to nestle their young. She didn’t finish until she’d confessed her every last sin, both that she’d committed and had been committed against her.
She didn’t finish until the moon inside her began to rot.
Yellow clouds faded across the mountaintops. The newly broken waters were illuminated with streaks of shattered light.
It was the time of year that Ranvirus didn’t seem desolate at all; it was the time of year Magmaya could watch the sunrise for as long as it permitted her. But she hadn’t any time now, it was leaving her as quickly as the colours were drained from the skies. The angels were going, and so was the moonlight, but perhaps worst of all, Rache was sitting with her at the foot of the mountain, watching the river swell beneath the broken bridge with a smile that could’ve melted the stars. Second worst, she hadn’t died in her sleep.
‘I love you Rache,’ she said and pulled herself away. She didn’t dare watch the bronze light shimmer in his pupils.
‘You too.’ He beamed, though after a moment his smile dropped. ‘You look sad, Magmaya.’
‘No, no,’ she replied, ‘of course not. What makes you say that?’
He shrugged. ‘Your eyes. You look tired, too.’
‘I am,’ she admitted. ‘I wish I could sleep forever.’
But if I did, the world would pass me by, she realised, and a gnawing in her stomach began eating at her, threatening to never leave.
‘Perhaps sleep isn’t the answer,’ she murmured, ‘perhaps I just need time alone.’
Rache looked to the horizon, and she followed suit. There was a light glow from beyond the mountains that could’ve only come from one thing, and Magmaya’s eyes began to water at the thought of it. Streams of tears cut at her cheeks. The sunlight was hurting her eyes, but she didn’t care. Time was fleeting, falling head over heels. It was running through her fingers like sand on a shore.
At last, the sun rose, and daylight broke across the heavens. The moon faded from a great, pearly goliath to a thin reminder of the night, and the orange beams of newly born light became one with the blue-grey clouds.
Birds began to chirp as if an invisible symphony had arisen around the pair and engulfed the mountainside in something of a boreal cacophony. She thought back to Siedous, wishing her well as she groaned to him, and realised it was the last time she’d see the old knight. It’s for the best, she told herself. Besides, there weren’t any words she could’ve strung together that might’ve been able to say ‘goodbye’.
He had fathered her, and she had left him, though, but it was as all offspring did. It was the legacy of fathers to give their blood for their children, and maybe her time leaving was long overdue; that’s what she told herself anyway. Maybe Siedous had buried his duty and given his blood long ago.
Neither she or Rache spoke a word as Magmaya carried him back to the palace, past a thicket of guards and into his cradle. The candles that had once hung above had melted to thick yellow stumps, and it seemed that after long last, the leaves he’d collected had turned to ash and strewn themselves across the bed. She laid him there and left a final kiss upon his cheek before taking her leave without so much as another glance.
She buttoned her jacket, strung her satchel and made her way across the balconies which ran along the city’s prow. There, she was able to make out the chatter from the early risers, wipe the dew from her eyes, cock her neck and carry on across countless flights of stairs and through columns of prying scribes as they begged for some kind of detail of the angel’s departure. But Magmaya just let them brush past her and am
bled onwards, through the fog-stricken streets and over the broken bridges that made her home.
That was when she found Kurulian, sheltered by the broken draping from an abandoned kindler’s stall. He was armoured again, but this time he wore thick crème robes atop his iridescent plate, inscribed with delicate angel’s wings.
‘You’re late,’ he barked with that leathery-silky voice of his. ‘No later than daybreak, I said.’
‘I had people to see.’
Kurulian grunted and gestured her away.
The chancellor of Orianne followed him through the streets as a new sky began to form overhead. She watched as the common folk emerged from their homes, beginning their usual tedious routine, and Magmaya covered herself with her furs. But they weren’t interested in her.
Despite moving in guise, it didn’t take them long to clear the inner city, but the journey ahead threatened to go on for half an age, and the thought of it was making Magmaya’s eyes shrill. It was a sickly morning, in truth.
Quickly enough, they reached the outskirts of the city and then the gate. Every few hundred yards, a sentinel stood tall and silent, looking across the Deadfields and into the cold beyond. Once they reached a gateway, Kurulian struck his fist against the stone, catching the attention of one of the guards.
‘What?’ he spat.
‘I want to return to the shore,’ the angel replied.
‘And the girl?’
‘Mine.’ His voice almost made her shudder.
‘Will you return within the hour?’
‘No.’
The guard licked his lips as if deep in thought but sighed all the same, raising the gate enough for them to step out into the cold. And as they did, Magmaya felt a chill run through her like Kharon’s ghost was still forbidding her to leave. She found herself sparing a glance back to the city and felt almost as if it was yearning for her. But she was too far gone to be swayed by a breeze.
Magmaya sighed wistfully and looked up for a moment. ‘I am craven?’ she asked the angel. ‘For doing this?’
Kurulian frowned. ‘You’re bolder than most,’ he admitted. ‘Now eyes down, head up,’ the Divinicus commanded, and she did as she was told, bowing before him. ‘We’ve a long walk ahead.’
The angel’s departure had been almost as revered as their arrival. Hundreds had gathered in the streets so they, at last, had a chance to shout their praise or hatred (it couldn’t be for sure unanimous). Siedous and Rallun had stood together at the city gate as the chancellor had reported falling ill in the early hours of the morning, taking to the mountainside for quiet air, all while the roaring of the crowds and the shimmering of the Divinicus’ armour carried on into the skies. Before long, the angels strode from Orianne and back across the mountains.
The girl watched as Fabius and the angels made their way into the entrails of The Golden Damnation, and as they did, the custodians and slavers worked tirelessly to tend to their every need, rearranging the clockwork in hope it would ignite the craft’s ancient furnaces.
A flurry of men rushed around, but Kurulian and Fabius lingered behind as another pair of Divinicus arrived before them, garbed in lavish robes.
‘Lord Commander.’ One of them bowed.
She watched Fabius nod and pass the pair, wandering off to find his solitude. Kurulian, on the other hand, murmured something and turned. He made his way back over to her and closed the grimy doors behind him.
Magmaya pulled herself from her cupboard in the corner of the room and turned to him, brushing back her hair.
‘Take a step outside, and Fabius will open you from hip to throat,’ he thundered. After she looked to him, perturbed, he sighed and said, ‘A halo doesn’t make you an angel.’
He left without so much as another word, and Magmaya groaned, threw herself back against the cold, iron floor and listened to the hums and whirs as they drummed beyond.
She peered out again, finding the hall to be empty, save a few slavers, and without another thought, forced the doors open. None of the workers hazarded anything more than a disdainful glare, and Magmaya caught herself smiling. She quickly found herself in the belly of The Golden Damnation, ambling through a string of chambers and examining the seals and mirrors.
There was a burst of steam, and then there was a jolt as the floor seemed to give way beneath her; but in truth, it was Ranvirus that did. Magmaya found her footing and scampered across the cabin, clinging to the walls.
She escaped into an annexe, to a pair of arched windows complete with broken glass and flickering oil lamps which hung over her like waiting vultures. Patchwork clouds fluttered above, swallowing up the vessel’s broadsides. She began to feel atop the skies, flying, flying, faster, faster.
There was something nagging at her still, though—some grim reminder to stay true to the girl who had prayed in the forest that day. But how could she be anything less than an angel here? Less than a goddess?
A worker rushed past, murmuring something of furnaces being ignited, ‘Blazing greater than before,’ and Magmaya turned back to the windows, and through the dark silt and black ichor that clung to the glass, she saw the vessel rumble about the waves and heard it groan beneath her.
It was as if a cathedral was carving its way through the seas, complete with spires and brass domes like a swelling painting. And in it, there was a choir of angels singing about the waves.
A halo doesn’t make you an angel, Magmaya was forced to remind herself; she knew the words were true. And as the world disappeared behind her, she felt herself smile. It felt as if everything was to fade away from around her: Orianne, the mountains and even the Divinicus. A halo doesn’t make you an angel, no, she thought, but the Divinicus might’ve well been.
Magmaya turned and watched the seas lap up the land, the clouds devour the sky and the sun eclipse the stars. And then she saw it: a faint shimmering in the corner of her eye. She forced her gaze back to the mountains, and then to the trees as they chimed and called and sang for her to come home.
~Part Two~
Thirteen
Small balls of lint rose to the surface of the white broth, but Magmaya downed it all the same. Dying from poisoning felt preferable to dying from hunger, and besides, it was the eleventh ration Kurulian had brought her—she could only presume she was safe now. Coincidently, her meals were the only way she was able to count the days on The Golden Damnation, for the light was bleak and broken, and the sun seemed to be hiding from her.
The food reeked of oil and grease and tasted like it too—but that was becoming the least of her worries; the instant Kurulian had found her at the windows and locked her away again, she had convinced herself he was trying to kill her. Silver glimmers shot around when she dozed, and golden faces faded the moment she awoke.
Sleep was a strange encounter to come across too; occasionally, it permitted her in waves and troughs, but once in a blue moon, when the sun was burning bright, she felt the world settle beneath her and the warmth flush against her skin. Being awake was equally as strange, though; it was a flash of colours and heavy nausea. None of it made any sense.
Orianne had become a dream, and she hated forgetting her dreams; Magmaya was beginning to fear more than ever that perhaps one day Rache would fade from her memory too. Once, she could’ve never imagined a day without him, but here she was and though it hurt her to remember, forgetting would kill her. There was no looking back, no up or down; there was just the bleak silence of whatever lay beyond those thick iron walls, bleached with rust.
That was until one morning, light came trailing through small cracks in the door and burned away the dark like fire to a curtain of insects. Magmaya looked up from the corner, from where she had keeled over like an unborn child, and found an angel standing before her.
‘Kurulian…?’ she stuttered and found her voice hoarse and dry. She traced the outline of his flowing garb and shimmering hair, but the figure didn’t reply, save for the shake of a head.
‘You?’ He was entirely unimpressed, that much was obvious.
‘You…?’ she spat back.
‘Why did you say my Legatus’ name?’
‘I thought it was him.’ Magmaya coughed. Her head was pounding with visions that weren’t hers, and when they finally faded, a chill forced her to face the Divinicus again.
‘Who brought you the food?’ It was clear the angel was enraged, and yet, he kept a temperament about him like unbroken water. He was beginning to remind her of Vargul Tul.
‘I… I….’ she spluttered some more, desperately trying to untangle her words, ‘stole it.’
‘Lies.’ Fabius’ voice came like a knife to her lips, threatening to cut her where her skin was weak. She almost felt herself fall apart before him.
‘My lord,’ a third voice cut through the veil of light, and Magmaya’s ears perked up. Fabius spared a glance back and watched Kurulian amble through. ‘Who’s she?’ he asked, and Magmaya froze, cold with fear.
‘The chancellor of Orianne,’ Fabius explained, raising an eyebrow.
Kurulian nodded to himself, looking to her as if she was nothing but some distant memory. ‘She’s of no consequence to me, my lord.’ He curtsied and turned, and Magmaya felt her blood boil.
He left me for dead! After everything, he hadn’t stood for her?
‘What are you doing here, girl?’ Fabius asked at last.
Magmaya was too unsettled to reply; words were foaming at her mouth and dribble was abandoning her lips. She felt her palms quiver.
‘I came here the morning before you left,’ she pleaded. ‘No one knew, I was alone, I—’
