A Season of Rendings

by Adam J Nicolai

  "Ethaniel," he said. "Thank Akir you're alive. The speaker told us of your failure"—this directed at Lar'atul—"and we feared the worst."

  "We came close." A symphony of reprimand from Alía. "The effort was warranted, and may even still be. We were simply too late to make a difference today."

  Ethaniel clapped the other Kesprey on the shoulder, briefly, and hurried past him. "Bring the Council together. We need to reconvene at once."

  "I will. Sha'anthelas has gone, though."

  "To Ordlan Green," Ethaniel said.

  "Of course."

  Ethaniel winced and shook his head. "Nonetheless. The worst of our fears has come true. We have to move quickly, with or without her. Tal'aden may be next."

  The blue nodded, started to pull away. "Baltazar!" Ethaniel called, and he halted, waiting.

  "Pray," Ethaniel said simply.

  Baltazar nodded again, lips tight. "I will."

  Lyseira watched his retreating back until the crowd swallowed it. Baltazar, she thought. Baltazar. She knew that name. She had heard it a thousand times. But again, whenever she pulled open the drawer in her mind with the name on it, she found it empty.

  "Ordlan Green will not be pleased if you convene without them," Lar'atul said as they climbed into a horse-drawn wagon. It was crowded, but there was just enough room inside for everyone.

  Ethaniel scoffed. "And when did you become a champion of Ordlan Green?"

  Lar'atul spread his hands. "I'm just pointing out that they could challenge any decision the Council reaches if it's made without their input."

  "You just want us to delay this congress," Ethaniel said.

  "We have quorum without them," Alía said, "and much to discuss."

  Lar'atul fumed. "I want a vote."

  Ethaniel sighed. "You know that's impossible. We sought a seat for you—we were denied. Advisors don't get votes."

  Lar'atul ignored him, staring grimly out the wagon's window as the streets flashed past. "I need a vote," he murmured.

  They stopped outside an iron gate set in a stone wall. Beyond loomed a stately round tower. "Isaihne," one of the guards said, giving a brief bow. "Forgive me, but these are―?" He indicated Lyseira and the others.

  "They're with me, to be seated with Lar'atul."

  The guard nodded, and they went past him. Double doors opened into an imposing marble entryway, flanked by two white staircases that wound away out of sight. Ahead, a second set of doors led into a vast round chamber, the light of the morning sun illuminating a rough half-circle of the floor. Three tall podiums stood in the dimness just beyond, facing Lyseira as she entered. Six smaller desks crouched in a half-circle in the light, facing the podiums. Behind those, to either side of her, stretched several rows of pews.

  On any other day, the sight would have taken Lyseira's breath away—this was the Hall of the Council, an historical sight she would have paid any price to visit when she was growing up—but today, it was just another wonder in an endless stream of them. A sizable audience crowded the Hall, many wearing the blue, grey, or white robes of the Kesprey, but sprinkled among them were beings nearly as bizarre as Alía. A woman with blue hair and violet eyes. A man with—Lyseira did a double-take—furry hands and the head of a cat. The crowd was unfazed by these, acting as if they were familiar.

  Lar'atul and Jenseer started toward the front row of the pews. "No," Lars said when Lyseira made to follow. He pointed at the back wall. "You wait there. Standing."

  She and the others did as he said. It was impossible to do otherwise.

  Eventually Alía entered with Ethaniel, as did the blue Kesprey Baltazar and another man wearing a white robe. The three Kesprey took their places at the high podiums, Ethaniel in the center, the other two to either side of him. Alía sat at one of the shorter desks. Another cat-man and one of the other strange people—this one a dark-skinned woman with green hair and vibrant green eyes—took two of the other desks. Three of the desks remained empty.

  "Peace, please," Ethaniel called. The gathered crowd fell quiet. He nodded at Alía, who rose. She spoke so quickly and her hands flashed so fluidly that Lyseira didn't realize she was chanting until she had finished.

  "Your identity," she called, looking at the first of the Kesprey.

  "Baltazar Euwind," the blue-robed man answered. "First of the Blue."

  Alía nodded. "As he says." She looked at the white. "Your identity."

  "Alec Gobern, First of the White."

  "As he says." She turned to Ethaniel. "Your identity."

  "Ethaniel Isaihne, First of the Grey, Isaihne of the Kesprey."

  "As he says," she said, and Ethaniel rose. He, too, said a short prayer.

  "Your identity?" he asked Alía.

  "Alía, Exalted of the Alohim."

  "As she says."

  "Korr-shiis, Emnal Ambassador," the cat-man said when asked the same.

  "As he says," Ethaniel returned.

  "Lisal, Naratlian delegate," the woman with green hair answered.

  "As she says." Ethaniel scanned the gathered crowd, his gaze lingering on Lyseira and her friends. "The audience is as they appear," he pronounced. "Does the Exalted agree?"

  "The Exalted agrees," Alía stated after a similar scan.

  "It is well. The Council is assembled with quorum." He drew a deep breath. "Our first item is to report on the failure of our effort to prevent Revenia's cataclysm in Ordlan Green."

  "We saw it from here," Korr-shiis growled. "What happened?"

  "We were simply too late. The passage Lar'atul mentioned was accessible, but guarded—we were waylaid by Revenia's faithful, who were able to send a warning, and then later by a host of Threen."

  "The Towers?" Alec asked.

  Ethaniel shook his head. "The fire was already spreading as they came into view. We couldn't risk it."

  "What of Kesselholm?" Alec said.

  Ethaniel opened his mouth to answer—and quailed. Alía spoke instead. "They were already under attack, but the cataclysm caught them all. Yours and Hers alike—destroyed."

  Distress rippled through the crowd. "She destroyed Her own soldiers?" Baltazar said. "Why would She do that?"

  In the front row, Lar'atul stood. "Permission to speak, Isaihne." Ethaniel nodded. "She didn't destroy them. She merely killed them. I have tried again and again to get you to understand the difference. None of them are gone. They're simply Hers now."

  "But surely Her own soldiers―" Baltazar began, and Lar'atul spoke over him.

  "Will still be Her own. More loyal than they ever were in life. And so with the Kespran soldiers."

  "You think She'll reanimate them?" Alec said.

  "I'm certain of it. It was a master stroke. She positioned the cataclysm just far enough north that it would annihilate the heart of Ordlan Green, while weakening enough by the time it spread to Kesselholm to kill the combatants there without destroying their bodies. The placement was no accident; it was a precision attack."

  "How long?" Ethaniel's face had gone pale, but a resigned fortitude had come back to his voice.

  "To animate them all with a single chant would require a second spell of the tenth circle. Any other chanter would need a great deal of rest after working the cataclysm, but the Queen . . ." He spread his hands. "A week? Less? If She needs no rest at all—and She may very well not—She could work the spell in as little as a day or two, after completing Her reconnaissance of the damage."

  "Why not just level another cataclysm here?" Korr-shiis demanded. "Or at Keswick, or anywhere Her enemies still stand?"

  "That is certainly an option," Lar'atul said, "and the threat of it is the reason we still must move to secure the Chi'ite towers. But I know Her. She will demand surrender, but She secretly hopes we'll refuse. She wants to march—through Keswick, and on to Tal'aden. She wants to see your faces when you realize you can't win. She wants to taste your despair. As much as She loves the blind loyalty of the dead, She far prefers to conquer Her enemies' will. To break them.
"

  A deadly silence followed his words.

  "My friends," Alec finally said, "there is no more time for denial or delay. We must accept Alía's offer."

  "No," Lar'atul snapped. "That is madness."

  "Thank you, Lar'atul, for your assessment of the threat," Ethaniel said. "You may be seated."

  "Ethaniel, you can't let them―"

  "Your support has been invaluable to this Council and your opinion on the matter will of course be heard. But the First of the White has made a motion, and I will permit it to proceed." Lar'atul sank back to his seat as Ethaniel turned to Alía. "Will you please reiterate your proposal so the Council can be clear?"

  Alía rose. "Clarity is critical on this matter. There can be no confusion here. I propose rewriting the laws of reality so that chanting is no longer possible."

  Silence fell. Her audacity dared anyone to speak.

  Finally, Ethaniel went on. "And you have the means to do this?" It sounded like a rhetorical question; Lyseira suspected they had already been over this.

  "I do. But it will require preparation."

  "How much time?"

  "A fortnight. Less if the required resources are available, more if they must be sought."

  "We'll have to start soon," Baltazar said. "We may not even have that much time before Her army's at our gates."

  "Agreed," Alec said.

  "Wait." Lisal, the dark woman with the green hair, spoke at last. "You're talking about rewriting the Pulse itself."

  "In a sense," Alía answered. "The Pulse itself will still exist, but a great swath of its message will be muted, making chanting impossible."

  "But how can you be sure you're muting the right parts?" Lisal pressed. "What if you make a mistake?"

  Alía considered. "It is a risk. I won't deny it. But this is also my specialty, an arena I've spent several of your lifetimes exploring. The modification will be precise. It will, throughout Or'agaard, eliminate both the capacity to chant and all existing chanted effects. All She has done, instantly undone."

  "And all we've done as well," Lisal countered.

  "Yes. But consider the source, Lisal. I am Alohim. My people's smallest achievements surpass the greatest of yours. For millennia, we have built upon what has come before. In the blink of an eye, all of it will be torn down. All of it will fail. And still, I would move forward.

  "The time for underestimating Revenia is past. We have come now to the time of finality. Such exigencies as we face today will suffer no less."

  "Tell them all of it," Lar'atul demanded, taking to his feet again. "You're not just talking about ending chants. You don't know how far it will go."

  Alía glared—a flash of authoritative irritation that would have struck anyone else silent—but he pressed on.

  "What will happen to the Alohim, Alía? What will happen to you?"

  All eyes returned to the ethereal woman. The irritation in her gaze vanished, replaced by defiance. "We will end."

  A current of disbelief shuddered through the crowd.

  Lars pressed on. "Meaning?"

  "Meaning we will cease to exist. The Pulse will no longer command us to be, so we will not."

  "Is this threat unique to you? To the Alohim?"

  "The Pulse is inherent to all beings, but it is particularly intrinsic to us. We breathe it and live it in a way no others do. I believe we are by far the most susceptible to this consequence."

  "You didn't answer me. Is it unique to you? Or is there a chance others will also end?"

  "I will do all I can. I will take every precaution. But . . ." Alía hesitated—a rare mannerism from her. "I can't be certain."

  The audience erupted.

  "What?"

  "You would kill us all!"

  "She is no better than they are!"

  "Either way, we die!"

  "Peace!" Ethaniel roared, slamming his gavel to the desk. "There will be peace!" As the tumult fell to a simmer, he went on: "You would panic now? You would lose faith now? After all that has passed, all we've overcome? We have survived to this day through faith and reason. Neither is served by this riot." The simmer died to silence. "No one said there would be an easy choice. No one said there would be good options. But nevertheless—a choice will be made. You would do well to understand all the ramifications before making it."

  "Ethaniel speaks well," Alía said, "and I wish it were otherwise. But we must, all of us, remember that we have tried war with the Raving Witch. She has won it at every turn. We have tried hiding—She has found us. We have sought allies—they have turned away or joined Her. She tires of our resistance, and Her victory in Ordlan Green today will only embolden Her further. When She comes to Tal'aden, She will come with flames and death. She will not bring mercy. She will not bring compassion. She will harvest us all, and we will be Her eternal slaves.

  "Do you hear me? Eternal. It is not a word you mortals truly understand, because death has always been an end for you, and you can imagine no other way. It is the ultimate escape, a passage none can deny you. But She has surpassed death. You will crave it when She possesses you, and it will be denied. For years, for decades . . . and on to millennia, to countless eons. Slavery and anguish unending. There is a word for such suffering in the Alohim tongue: Hel. It is a concept your mortal minds can scarcely comprehend. But I swear this: if you experience it, you will beg for nonexistence.

  "Hear me. Believe me. Staying the path is a guarantee of failure and suffering, while Sealing the Pulse is just a risk—and even if the risk is realized, the consequence is mere annihilation. It is the only humane choice, it is the only rational choice, and it is the only choice."

  This can't be real. Lyseira looked from the cat-man, to the green-haired woman, to the angelic creature advocating self-extinction. It's a dream. It must be.

  Ethaniel's voice murdered the silence. "I call the question."

  "Wait." Lar'atul had slumped, the fire in his posture doused by Alía's brutal assessment of their choices. "Wait."

  "Lars, you are not on the Council," Ethaniel said icily.

  "But Sha'anthelas is. Let me speak in her stead."

  "We have quorum without her," Ethaniel snapped.

  "I'm not asking for her vote!" Lars shouted. "But if she were here, she would argue against this madness—you know she would! Let me at least speak for her!"

  Ethaniel glared. "Every minute we waste―"

  "He is right," Korr-shiis, the cat-man, rumbled. "I would grant the request."

  "Thank you," Lars said without waiting for Ethaniel's leave. "Thank you, Korr." The strange creature nodded. "Listen. I don't pretend to share Sha'anthelas's outlook, or her understanding of the world. I am a chanter and a tei'shaar. I have never revered the Pulse as she does—it's been nothing but a tool to me. For years, I worked with the Queen. You all know this. But I turned away from Her for the same reason you rose against Her—She reaches too far.

  "Her aspiration is nothing less than to remake Or'agaard. To take the pieces of it—the inhabitants of it—that She finds lacking and recreate or destroy them. Her power is such that this goal is now within Her reach. We have long striven to avoid the use of this word, decrying it as hyperbole, but I use it now without a trace of hysteria: She will be a Goddess. Even your Akir will fear Her."

  Ethaniel glanced away, his eyes unreadable.

  "She must be stopped. On this we agree. At any cost, even. But to decimate the Pulse . . . this, too, reaches too far. It, too, seeks to remake Or'agaard. It, too, would recreate or destroy its inhabitants, reshaping them to serve our purpose. Countless millions would die from the shock alone. All those relying on Her gifts would be left in the cold."

  "Such is the price they pay for consorting with Her," Lisal snarled.

  "And they would not be alone," Baltazar immediately put in. "The Church would survive. Our power to work miracles would be undiminished." He looked at Alía. "Is that not true?"

  "It is true," Alía said. "That power is inherent to Or
'agaard, now, and has been since the Shaping. Where life persists, so shall miracles."

  Baltazar's turned back to Lar'atul, his smile warm and earnest. "There will be great opportunity for the Church there. We will ease all the suffering we can."

  Something in his words triggered an alarm in Lyseira's head. I know his name, she thought again, but assembling the memory was like sculpting dry sand: it kept running through her fingers. I know I know who he is.

  "Yes, but . . . it's the same thing." Lar'atul sounded desperate. "Can't you see that? If She forces you to take this step, the world is still unmade. All that was, is lost. Alía glosses over the risk, but it is an enormous risk. None of us know how deep the effects will run, how much of our world will be gutted if we do this. It makes us as bad as She is."

  Lisal shifted in her seat; Korr-shiis bristled with affront. They don't want to hear that, Lyseira thought. He's losing them.

  "Look—our options are bad. I know that. We can't surrender. We can't fight. We can't run. I can see why you may think Alía's Seal is our only hope. But the goal of the Seal is to stop Revenia, not to remake the world. Yes? None of us have that much hubris. We're only trying to protect ourselves. So―"

  He drew a deep breath, fixed eyes on Alía. "So we take a middle path. Make the Seal temporary."

  Alía did not instantly reject the idea. This was all the encouragement Lar'atul needed; he pushed on, his words tumbling over each other.

  "The shock alone, as I said, may be enough to kill Her. Her tower will certainly fall—if She's in it, She will die with no sorceries to save Her. The Kesprey can move on Her other strongholds in the Tears and elsewhere while Her chanters are powerless. We can wipe them out. We can ensure victory. And then we can revoke the Seal, and restore the world to its true nature."

  "Where someone will simply follow Her path again," Ethaniel said.

  "Not if we destroy Her knowledge. Without Her sorceries to protect them, we can burn Her books. Anything we can't destroy, we can entrust to the Alohim."

  "Yes, but ultimately Her knowledge can be recreated, Lars."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. We don't know where all Her ideas came from. It's possible She had some original inspiration, something we can ensure no one ever finds again."