by Tammy Salyer
It was clear that not only Isemay’s but many others’ lives depended on the answers to these questions. She needed another audience with the Minothian leader, one without Archon Tuzhazu. But given that he commanded all the soldiers, and any message she tried to send would first reach him, how would she get that audience?
Chapter Twelve
Isemay stumbled along the final steps to the boundary of the Churss. Night had spread in full force across the sky, the three moons high above seeming to hoard the illumination of every star to themselves, and even the wystic Churss lights seemed to grow more muted with each step closer to the edge. Salukis slowed down for her, and their conversation trailed to silence. The idea of sitting down, just for a moment, became a constant drumbeat in her thoughts.
“I’m exhausted,” she finally admitted, and hearing it out loud seemed to instantly double her fatigue.
Salukis whispered something, and a perfect tunnel of lights bloomed along the Churss before them far off into the dark. She could almost make out a glow at the end.
“It’s the edge, we’re almost there. If you want, I can carry you.”
“No,” she blurted, the suggestion awkward enough to wake her up a bit. “I’m fine. I’ll make it.” And she would. To be a Knight Corporealis, one had to learn to control and rise above simple things like fatigue. How many times had her trainers told her that everyone was capable of so much more than they knew if they learned to tap into the reserves they had deep down? But then, how long had it been since she’d slept? Didn’t matter. She’d push herself as far as it took to find that pendant. Even if she walked her feet off.
Her competing fatigue and willpower consumed her, the war between the two things enough to make her forget how far they’d come—twice—in one day, how much she missed her parents, how scared she was. And before she realized it, the meadow and valley in the distance were spread out before her.
“Made it,” she whisper-panted. “Now, where were Mura and I sitting?” Looking around, she soon thought she recognized the familiar base of a Churss tower. Its foundation boulder, half as large as Mura’s entire home, had a slight concavity at ground level. It had been perfect to lean up against as they’d sat waiting for Salukis.
She rushed to the stone—
And there it was, her memory keeper. Collapsing to her knees, she swept the pendant up, feeling unnervingly like she was about to burst into tears like a child. I’m just tired, she told herself.
The wystic stone eyes of the dragørfly glinted silvery blue in the light of the three moons, almost as if they were flashing some message at her. With it lying in her palm, she stared down at it, her breath rushing out in a relief so profound that she felt light-headed. Am I…I’m fainting?
A moment later, her cheek hit the ground, and she felt the cool stone against it.
“Heyo, are you okay?”
Salukis knelt beside her. When he came back into focus, his eyes were darting nervously around her face. Isemay blinked the spots away from her vision and pushed herself up on arms that felt as loose as wet string.
“I’m fine, just light-headed. It’s been a long day.” Embarrassed, she scooted back into the shelter of the concave boulder and put her back against it.
Salukis eyed her closely for another moment, long enough for Isemay to grow self-conscious. Blushing, grateful for the darkness that hid it, she dropped her gaze to the pendant in her hands.
He cleared his throat. “Well, we did it. I’m really happy you got that back. It’s quite, um, pretty.”
“Yes,” was all she could manage. It felt so good to be sitting that she quickly stopped caring about her embarrassment.
Salukis settled cross-legged beside her, the bottom halves of his wings draping out on either side behind him. Juz and Tekl joined them, Juz lying next to Salukis and Tekl relaxing into a contented sprawl against Isemay’s outstretched leg. Startled, she grew stiff, but Tekl made a huffing sound through his wide mouth, then rolled onto his back, sticking his rear legs nearly into her face. His tongue, as black as his fur, lolled out.
“I’d say you better scratch his belly before he starts licking you with that tongue,” Salukis said. “Consider yourself warned. Snouz drool really stinks.”
Hesitantly, Isemay reached for the beast’s ribcage and gave a light pat. Tekl’s back legs kicked, nearly braining her, as if to urge her on. Taking the hint, she dug her fingers into the mat of his belly until she could feel skin, then started scratching harder. It was like massaging a bearskin rug, but it seemed to be doing the trick. The snouz twisted from side to side, still on his back and emitting snorts of what she hoped was joy.
Salukis watched, amused, and leaned back on his hands. They sat quietly for a time, Isemay keeping up her not entirely voluntary task of keeping the snouz entertained. With her hand busy, her eyes drifted toward the strange sky. Three moons: the largest a pale, colorless glow, much like Archon Deespora’s skin tone; one red as the haze of the sun setting against a smoky horizon, and the smallest one a sparkling liquid blue, the same color as her father’s eyes. The orbs fanned out above them. If Isemay spread out her fingers and put her hand in front of her face, all three moons would fall within their span.
“Salukis, do your realm’s moons have something to do with that thing you mentioned? The Equiful-Equifil…?”
“Equifulcrum. Yes, they do. The three come into syzygy once every three hundred years. The Equifulcrum refers to when it’s a solar eclipse. In our tradition, that’s when the Everlight takes a new vessel, someone who volunteers. It’s always been an Archon, since as long as Deespora’s been alive. But she tells us it doesn’t have to be. It can be anyone who chooses to offer themselves and the Everlight accepts.”
He pointed to the largest. “Znopho the White Watcher.” Then to the red: “Maiztos the Life Giver.” Then the blue: “Kahros the Seeker. We just call them the Watcher, the Giver, and the Seeker. Parents tell their children that the Watcher and the Churss know whenever they get up to mischief in the night. Neeka and Ballion are probably getting that lecture right now from their folks, come to think of it.” He looked to her. “Anyone who marries when Kahros is full, they say, will stay married for eternity.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he looked away quickly, clearing his throat once more. Tilting her head down to conceal her grin, she asked, “And what is the Life Giver’s lore?”
“The Life Giver controls the tides of our blood. Without it, our bodies would grow still and die. Anyone born when Maiztos is full will live an extralong life. Or, you know, that’s what they say. What are your moons called?”
“We just have one, and we just call it the moon.” Fascinated by the richness all around her, she suddenly had a sense that Vinnr was a dull world. Only one moon, and no forests of stone that lit up and walked around if you asked them to politely. No women with marvelous skin tones that flowed through the colors of the rainbow like lights shining through a crystal prism. And no nice-looking boys who could fly. Dull indeed.
“A lunar eclipse at the syzygy is called the Distalfulcrum,” he added quietly.
“Does your Verity change vessels then, too?”
He gave a short shake of his head and added after a pause, “It’s a time of shadow and reflection, to think about our past so we can ensure we don’t forget the lessons we’ve learned. People stay indoors during the Distalfulcrum or meet in the Churss Circle just to be together. Deespora tells us of the last war between the people of Arc Rheunos, dozens upon dozens of lifetimes ago. She says the worst slaughter was during the Distalfulcrum, and since then, Arc Rheunosians have avoided repeating that mistake. It nearly wiped us out. And the rumor is that the Waste started during the last Distalfulcrum, too.”
At his words, and the shade of subtle fear that tinted them, Isemay thought twice about how dull her own home seemed. Maybe a world without wars of annihilation and wasting plagues wasn’t so terrible after all.
“But that’s all ancient history,” Salu
kis went on, attempting a lighter tone. “Arc Rheunos hasn’t seen war in over six hundred years. And the next Distalfulcrum is another three hundred from now. Maybe things will be much different then. It’s not a destiny or anything. Just coincidence.”
Who was he trying to convince? She decided to change the subject, but before she did, he gripped something in the grassy turf and lifted it until the combined light of the moons and Churss gave him a clear look. “Ah, broken. See?” he said, and held something up for her.
The pendant’s heavy copper chain dangled from his outstretched fingers, the clasp’s hook snapped in half. As she reached for it, he assured her, “We have plenty of smiths who can repair that for you, even make it stronger so you won’t lose it again.”
“Thank you.” Then, because the moment had grown solemn, she added, “Thank you for everything.”
“Of course. Don’t mention it.” He gave her a smile that had her blushing again.
After giving Tekl a final pat, she held the pendant in the bowl of her palms so she could look straight into its crystal heart. “Salukis, I’m going to try something. If you wouldn’t mind, could you stay still and quiet for a little while?”
With a shrug and a quizzical raise of the eyebrow, he nodded and leaned back again, angling his face toward the moons.
Despite being on the edge of exhaustion that seemed to have added pounds to her bones and made even her skin feel heavier, she took a deep breath, then murmured the chant her da had taught her to bring her mind fully into focus.
“Cæcra ad resrs, boromcad bea dord, kucik kea kesrs, emsu kæ lœkra.” Cycle of light, balanced by dark, focus my sight, into my heart.
Shutting her mind against all distractions took a few iterations of the chant. As she focused, the feeling of the night air surrounding her fell away, along with the coolness of the Churss at her back, even the movement of the snouz breathing against her leg, until her sight, her hearing, her every intent were aware of nothing but the memory keeper’s crystal.
Da, she thought. Can you hear me? The pendant worked by her simply thinking about memories, rather than speaking of them aloud. She hoped reaching out to Ulfric could work the same way. She would have felt silly calling to her father out loud with Salukis sitting right there.
For a moment she thought she saw light swirling in the lens, but the next it was gone. Da? It’s me, it’s Isemay. Are you out there, somewhere?
Nothing happened. She stared into it for some amount of time, losing track, but there was nothing. Maybe thinking of a memory of him would help, she thought and allowed herself to conjure the first one that came to mind.
She was eight, bored, precocious, and in her own mind quite cunning. She’d pilfered the key to one of her father’s smaller crafteries. Small by his standards, anyway. The room was the size of five of her own sleeping chambers, but unlike her chamber, it was filled with marvelous bits and baubles, tools and artifacts, materials and metals, shelves and tables and benches cluttered with the stuff. A room filled with treasure, and it finally became all too clear why her father banned her from his crafteries—oh, the things she could make, or try to. Her reputation for mischief had been well earned and was known to all the Knights, who were like an extended family of aunts and uncles, and in Mylla’s case, practically an older sister. And this room had more options for creating mischief than a gimgree sloth had stink.
She’d puttered around the craftery, taking in everything. Some things she knew their purposes, some things were foreign or unusual to her. Running her fingers over the innumerable items as she moved along, she forced away the increasingly insistent voice in the back of her mind telling her to leave before she got into big trouble. But how could she disregard all these wonderful treasures? Her parents thought she was with Safran studying Elder Veros. Safran thought she was going to the market with members of the Conservatum who attended to the Knights. Ulfric and Symvalline were likely to be gone for hours teaching the Prelates at the Conservatum about topics pertaining to boring subjects like history or medicine, as was usual. She had the whole day to explore, and she planned not to waste it.
And soon she discovered the best thing of them all—a rudimentary set of wings that to her young eyes looked just like bruhawks’ wings. Was her da building something people could use to fly?
Isemay’s memories skipped forward to a few hours later. She’d managed to sneak the heavy set of wings, one at a time, to her sleeping chamber, where she’d figured out how to strap them on, then hopped around in the high-ceilinged room for a time, trying to figure out how the wings worked. Frustrated with her lack of progress, she’d gone to look for Yggo and Urgo, who were at ease in their usual roost among tree-sized perches in the fortress’s great courtyard. She loved the bruhawks. They were wild and vicious, but also loyal and intelligent beyond, she sometimes thought, even some of the Ivoryssians. She’d been raised to be respectful of them, but when she spoke to them, she knew they understood her, and their heads would tilt as their great yellow eyes fixed on her, making her shiver. Their talons could shred a person with hardly an effort, but she’d never feared them. Well, not enough to stay away from them, anyway. Yggo and Urgo were Knights, or at least ordained like the Knights, and she was going to be a Knight too, someday. They may as well have been kin, and you didn’t tear up your kin and eat them for lunch.
Using fresh-killed hares, she’d coaxed the bruhawks into showing her their secret of flight, assuming that once she understood how to launch from a perch, the rest would be as easy as it appeared when they did it. After an hour or so of lessons, she felt ready and returned to her sleeping chamber. Its second-story balcony would be perfect for the first step: takeoff.
Overlooking the courtyard, she’d stood on the balcony with the wings tucked to her sides, her arms through the straps along their central frame, and called to Urgo and Yggo to join her in her maiden voyage. The bruhawks had flapped up to her, watching her with sharp curiosity.
“Da made these so the Knights would finally have your backs the way you’ve always had theirs. Ready to go?” she asked them.
Yggo uttered a high-pitched cheeping sound that Isemay had never heard before. Interpreting it as encouragement, she drew in a deep breath, stepped back a few paces, and ran up and over the balcony’s bannister using the ramp she’d created of a table (which she already knew she’d be chastised for breaking, but that was later), and off into midair.
The broken arm and untold number of bruises and abrasions she’d suffered on landing weren’t the most frustrating part of her failed experiment. The severity of the fallout that followed—the scolding her mum had given her once she was certain Isemay would recover; the way Stave had outright laughed at her undertaking of, as he’d put it, “the kind of instructive lesson nothing but one’s own dumbassery can teach”; and her father’s unnervingly quiet scowl that had told her he was not only aggravated but disappointed by her breaking of his rules—wasn’t even beyond her ability to get past, eventually. It was the fact that the experiment hadn’t even worked for one fleeting instant. She hadn’t even glided, just crashed to the ground like a dropped rock. She would never have told her parents that the lesson she learned wasn’t to not do as she been told not to, but rather to get better at figuring out how to do it without getting injured—or caught.
The sound of muffled laughter yanked Isemay sharply out of the memory, and the darkness of the Arc Rheunos night jarred her after being so immersed in a memory that had taken place under the bright light of Vinnr’s daystar.
“You should have had me there to show you how it’s done,” Salukis said, midchuckle. “A girl flying. It takes a bit more than some fake feathers and clever straps.”
“You…you saw that?” she said, her embarrassment flaring like a petard. She’d been too deeply focused to think her memory would be visible to others through the peculiar wystic way the memory keeper worked.
“I did, and it was wonderfully funny.”
His amusement at her
expense—and her embarrassment—set off the temper Isemay’s family would sometimes joke she’d inherited from her “aunt” Eisa. “Is it an Arc Rheunosian trait to laugh at other’s suffering, or are you just a mean-spirited slackface bahooky?”
His mouth snapped closed at her cutting tone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s just, I mean…” His top lip trembled as his mirth returned.
Her anger evaporated like steam in sunlight. She was too tired to be mad. And disheartened. The memory keeper remained stubbornly quiet. Where is my da? What am I going to do if I don’t hear from him again?
Something warm and wet slipped over her hand, and she looked down to see Tekl staring at her face, panting expectantly. Sighing, she scratched between his spiral horns. “Salukis, I’m not sure I have the energy to walk back to Maerria tonight. Do you think we’ll be safe if we just stay here and sleep a little while?”
The air at the edge of the Churss was cool, but she’d noticed that the temperature within the stone forest’s confines had never seemed too hot or cold, just comfortable, and she suspected the Churss had something to do with that, too. If they found a leafy nook to curl up in, she doubted the chill would reach them, and she might feel better after a few winks.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I’m supposed to start the garden wall tomorrow anyway. I’ll be happy to put that off for a good cause.” The smile he gave her this time was warm, not teasing. “I know the perfect spot. Come on.”
Chapter Thirteen
The morning of her third day in Maerria snuck up on Isemay. A light breeze lifted wisps of her curly hair and fluttered it across her eyelashes, tickling her. Brushing them away, she opened her eyes to light. She’d fallen asleep tucked into a hollow inside a Churss tower, and the first sight greeting her was the meadow below and the valley farther off with the meandering river wending away in both directions. It looked so serene, but she felt anything but.
