by Tammy Salyer
She utterly lost focus on what he was saying, conscious only of his warm breath tickling her ear, his warm hands over hers, and his warm thighs pressed on the outsides of hers. The words he spoke were lost to the breeze, but the low timbre of his voice, like the melody he’d just played, vibrated deep within her. Gooseflesh, hot instead of cold, peppered her arms and she became aware of feeling too light, as if she would float away if she didn’t do something, and fast.
“Salukis, wait,” she barely managed to mumble.
“Sorry, should I slow down?”
“No, it’s not that. I just…” She just what? Oh fate’s fickle fury, how could she be feeling this way? Was she actually starting to like him, in that way?
Embarrassed and still light-headed, she pushed away his hands and stood. “I can’t do this right now,” she said, then realized how silly that sounded.
“The lesson? But you asked…”
He was genuinely confused, and it rattled her further. “I know, I just mean…I have too much on my mind.”
She expected him to be hurt, or at least perplexed enough at her sudden change of mood to leave, but he didn’t. “I understand,” he said instead. “Do you mind if I play some more?”
Surprised, she nodded.
He crossed his legs and leaned back against the Churss trunk, appearing to think about what to play next. After a moment, he said, “Listen to this.”
The new tune he began was deceptively simple, a lilting tremolo followed by a slowly blown deeper note, then repeated. She wondered why he would play something so basic after the beautiful song of moments ago. As he repeated the short melody, she heard a grating, rolling sound below her. Curious, she glanced over the shelf’s edge and saw a boulder, easily large enough that she could fit inside if she were a chick and it an egg, rumbling its way up the base of the Churss toward them.
“What? What’s it doing?” she blurted.
Salukis stopped playing, and the boulder, against reason, came to a halt midway up the Churss. “Its frequency. All the Churss has a frequency. The Zhallahs learned how to call them a long, long time ago. I’ve learned a few of their—well, ‘songs’ isn’t the right word, but it fits. That song works on round Churss stones, particularly very large ones.” He put the flute’s reeds back to his lips and played the notes in reverse. The boulder rumbled back down the Churss tower and found its indention in the ground and grew still.
With a humble snort, she said, “Well, there is no end to the fascinations in Arc Rheunos, is there?” Inwardly, his explanation was ringing a little bell in her mind. The klinkí stones were similar. The Knights attuned the stones’ to their own Verity spark, thus giving them control over them. Were the Churss stones and those that the Knights in Vinnr used for klinkí stones made of the same stuff? It seemed likely, as all the Cosmos was shared among the five realms.
“Want to learn it? If you stay in Maerria long enough, I can teach you all of them. All the ones I know, anyway.”
Growing gloomy once more, she cast her eyes back to her feet. “I can’t stay here, Salukis.”
It was as if the words had been hiding behind her teeth for days, ready to spill out at any opportunity. She didn’t know she’d been needing to say them, to let them off her chest, but now that she had, she felt a sudden sense of being deflated. But in a way that felt freeing, as if a poison had been released.
She glanced up as some expression she couldn’t quite read passed over his face, and slowly, he lowered the pipes and laid the instrument down beside him. “I know.”
The darker lines crisscrossing his face reminded her of the streaks of light in the night sky left by shooting stars during a meteor shower, the way they were broad near the center of his brow and his nose, but narrowed as they reached his hairline and ears. Funny she’d never noticed it before. “You do?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m amazed you’ve managed to sit still this long. I’m not sure I could have.”
She couldn’t believe it, but he understood, she could see it in his face. And it made her feel less alone. “I just don’t know what to do. If I try to get to my mum, I’ll get sicker and Deespora won’t be able to help me. But if I stay, I know she’ll send me back to Vinnr, whether I want her to or not. I’ve never been so…so helpless. It’s doing my head in.”
“Why don’t you want to go home? Do you have other family there who could come back to help your mother?”
“Yes. I mean, the Knights and my da, they could. But I don’t know what’s happened to them. Everything was so chaotic when Mum and I came through the starpath. There was an avalanche, and Balavad’s Raveners, and we lost track of Mylla and her Dragør Wing friend on Mount Omina when the avalanche struck—I…I don’t even know if they’re still alive. And I can’t just leave Mum alone in Arc Rheunos in the hands of that other Archon.”
He listened quietly as she began to pace on the short shelf: two steps to the broad Churss tower, two to the edge overlooking the dark forest floor, then back.
After a bit, he asked, “What would your mother want you to do?”
She sighed deeply. “Stay put. Wait for her. But I don’t know how much longer I can. What if she’s hurt? What if I’m the only one who can help her?”
His hand reached out and clasped one of hers, putting a stop to her frantic pacing. He stood and looked her in the eyes as his wings wafted gently back and forth, shifting night air toward her that smelled of herbs. The scent reminded her of chamomile and melissa from home, the effect calming.
“Isemay, I don’t know how to make this easier for you, but I wish I could. The only thing I can tell you…” He took a breath, as if considering what he was about to say, then continued, “Is that the Equifulcrum is in seven more days, when the moons are aligned. Many of the Zhallahs are preparing for it, and for what might happen if Tuzhazu tries to enter the Churss…if he tries to harm us. Deespora doesn’t know this—and you have to promise you won’t speak of it to her or anyone but who I tell you…”
He paused, waiting for her to signal agreement. But she was torn. Deespora was the only thing standing between her being sent home against her will or staying here. If Isemay crossed her, and the Archon found out, the last shred of choice she had would be taken from her. What would she do then?
He held her eyes, quietly waiting for her promise. And she realized she would give it, despite her debt to Deespora. His kindness toward her was only part of it. It was the way her skin flushed when he was near, the way his smooth voice sounded in her ears the way velvet felt, the way she had watched his fingers play his flute and wondered what they would feel like on her cheek or her waist. And yes, even the way his pets Tekl and Juz had adopted her as if they belonged together.
She nodded.
His shoulders relaxed, and she realized how much he’d wanted her to agree. “Many of us are ready to do what we have to protect ourselves and stop the Minothians from taking our little kids. In seven days, things are going to change. With your help, we might be able to find the people who were stolen and your mother. Will you help us?”
Chapter Eighteen
After two days, Symvalline was back on her feet. The first day had seen her crawling across the floor like a rodent to reach the food and drink that had been routinely delivered. She thought she could see sympathy in the eyes of the serving woman, the same person each time, but the servant didn’t speak to her, nor she to the servant. The Deathless accompanied the serving woman inside Symvalline’s prison when she brought in meals, and she could see her fear of them in the way she cowered and squirmed out of reach of their clawlike hands.
She knew why the Deathless hadn’t been left to watch over her inside the chamber any longer. What more incentive did she need than the threat of Isemay being brutalized and murdered? Tuzhazu knew how to keep her in line. Causing torment was an instinct in him, honed like a favored sword. And perhaps he wanted to ensure Symvalline didn’t interfere with the guards any more. If she learned something about thei
r nature that would give her an advantage, well, Tuzhazu appeared to be enough of a tactician to know when it was better to ensure secrets were kept.
The first night was the worst. The darkness of the chamber was unmitigated, and she’d been too drained to even spark a rush alight. She lay shivering on the pallet, her bones feeling hollow and fragile like the thinnest crystal. It wasn’t pain, but rather an emptiness so deep it felt like oblivion that scraped her insides away. After a while, she’d slept, but awoke again and again from nightmares. Isemay, her skin sallow and loose, her eyes sunken, lay on the floor of a forest somewhere. The nearby foliage was unfamiliar, and in the recurring dream, it was as if a ray of light shone directly on Isemay’s pallid face, leaving everything around her in the dark. As if Symvalline was being forced to bear witness to her daughter’s suffering. Isemay never moved, never blinked, maybe wasn’t even breathing. She simply lay still, lifeless, alone in a strange place, and Symvalline knew she could do nothing to reach her.
The dream tormented her and came back the following night. In her weakened and exhausted state, Symvalline had only her mind to occupy her, and ample time to plan her next steps, which were cuttingly obvious. She didn’t have the luxury of biding her time here any longer, not in hopes of reasoning with Akeeva, not to seek out the Verity artifacts. Tuzhazu had made his plans clear: he was going to attack the Zhallahs, and indirectly, her Crumb. She had to warn them and come back for the artifacts when time permitted. If it ever did. And she had to find Isemay. The dream was not simply fantasy. It rang through her spirit like a warning bell.
On the third day, when her first of two daily meals came, she broke her silence.
“Mistress,” she said to the serving woman, “may I speak with you about something?”
Startled, the woman drew still and her face and hands flushed a pale green.
Symvalline went on, “If you would be so kind, I’ve run low on a few supplies that I need to complete Archon Tuzhazu’s request. I have a list. Would you take it to him for me?”
Tuzhazu had not bothered to check on her since his attack. She’d burned all the materials for the sleeping agent he wanted, but he didn’t know that. She still had other materials to work with, things capable of doing more than putting a person to sleep.
The woman nodded, and after she’d lain Symvalline’s meal on a table, Symvalline handed her a small package she’d wrapped in paper and tied with twine.
“This contains the list and a sample of what the Archon requested.” She placed it in the woman’s waiting palm, then, as the woman closed her fingers over it, Symvalline enveloped her hand with both of hers and stared intently into the woman’s face. “Take this to him, and only him,” she stressed. “It’s important that neither you nor anyone else opens this, do you understand? Tuzhazu could be angry if it’s been tampered with.”
She disliked using the woman’s fear of Tuzhazu this way, but Symvalline’s package was special. It was meant for no one but the Archon.
Her plan could easily fail. There was no way to ensure it would succeed. But if it did, she’d just made it a bit easier to keep the promise she’d made herself. And she’d never have to stare into the sea of cruelty in his gray-green eyes again. No one would.
The serving woman and the Deathless left. Though still somewhat short of being fully recovered, Symvalline wasted no time. She had to leave this chamber, now. Rushing to the ladder, she strained to maneuver it in place below the access hatch to Inder’s hidden passage. She knew he’d been watching intermittently as she recovered slowly on her sickbed. She’d called to him a couple of times, but he hadn’t responded. And Akeeva hadn’t come. She didn’t blame the child, either for his hesitancy or for not having been able to persuade the imposter Verity to see her. He was too young, too blameless to be expected to carry the burden of Minoth’s many troubles. She regretted asking him in the first place to help her. But she’d had no choice.
The task of pulling herself up the ladder drove home how weak she was. She’d forgotten what fatigue was, so used to being bolstered by her Verity-given vitality. Lifting the small haversack she’d found in the healing chamber and the few supplies it held taxed her, and she took a moment to gather her strength. Inside the sack was the small bit of bread and nuts she’d set aside, a flask filled with fresh water, a few herbs and simples that could be of use, and the Archon’s journal. She didn’t know a reason she’d need it, but her instincts demanded she not leave it behind.
Atop the ladder, she began to reach for a petard from the makeshift bag she’d tied to the hatch, intending to use it to help her break open the small door. But she paused, then reached for the simple ring welded to the hatch like a handle, slipped her finger in, and gave it a tug.
This time, it opened.
“Inder, thank you,” she breathed, realizing he must have decided to help her in the only way he could think of.
The space inside was dark, and she lit a rushlight to help her get oriented.
What she saw lying on the floor gave her the first drop of hope she’d had since first laying eyes on the Ravener Minothian in the meadow outside the Tyrn Mountains.
Chapter Nineteen
Isemay counted the twenty-four Zhallah men and women who had been gathering clandestinely under the triple moon an hours’ walk from Maerria. She and Salukis had arrived first, shortly after the evening meal, to wait for the rest. Since last night, after he’d asked her if she’d help them, he’d been tight-lipped on what exactly she would have to do. They’d gone back to their homes for the evening right after, and he’d told her to meet him tonight at the same Churss tower, then they’d come here to wait for the others.
The Zhallahs had been trickling into the clearing over the last three or four hours, so as not to make the exodus obvious to those who remained in the surrounding villages. Twenty-four was a fraction of their actual numbers, Isemay had come to learn. The group she lived among had the nearest set of homes to the border of the Churss overlooking the Thallorn River valley because Deespora wanted to be the first alerted should the Minothians ever try to breach the Churss. But the population spread out in the other directions farther than she’d have imagined.
By Isemay’s loose estimate, there were perhaps five to eight hundred total Zhallahs throughout the Churss. She’d learned the stone forest ended at a sea far to the south. Maerria had seemed small to her at first, but then she’d realized that the narrow and little-used footpaths were only regularly traveled by half the inhabitants—those without wings. Upon seeing the many unfamiliar faces that churned by her throughout her day, coming from farther away than she’d yet walked, she soon realized her first impression was skewed by her limited knowledge and experience of these people, this realm. Their true population suggested they had more than enough people to challenge a force of Minothians if they chose to. So why Deespora rejected the idea was still a mystery to Isemay. She’d been raised among people who faced adversity with either wisdom or weapons or both instead of hiding from it. But the Zhallahs faced adversity with, it seemed, their absence. She had a hard time understanding this.
A girl, younger than Isemay, brushed by her and Salukis, pulling her from her thoughts.
“Rusa, does your mother know you’re here?” Salukis asked, stopping the girl.
She turned and her face flushed a dark violet tinged with hot red along her cheeks and neck. “She doesn’t,” she said. The stubbornness in her voice hadn’t yet matured to defiance, but Isemay recognized the timbre already growing strong. She’d been hearing it in her own voice since she was younger than this one.
“You know it’s my wings she’ll clip if…”
Salukis didn’t finish. The “if” didn’t bear thinking about. Their purpose for this meeting would not be well received by those who believed Archon Raamuzi’s strategy of dormancy and retreat was best. But of one thing Isemay wasn’t yet sure: What kind of punishment did the Zhallahs dole out for those who rebelled against Deespora’s rule?
&nb
sp; And that’s what were they doing here, wasn’t it? A rebellion? A defiance of an order? Or was it more of a final gambit by frightened and proud people to ensure their families would not be taken from them anymore?
With no counterargument to offer, Salukis shrugged at the young woman, who was surely no more than twelve or thirteen years in Arc Rheunosian age, and she moved off to find a seat by another girl closer to Isemay’s age.
An older woman, much older if the sagging flesh around her neck and beneath her arms was an indication, stepped amid the gathered people. Isemay recognized her from the council in the Churss Circle on Isemay’s first day. The Zhallahs quieted down immediately at the woman’s gesture.
“Let’s begin this discussion before the night grows any older. Salukis Engzu, you said you had something to tell us,” she said.
His usual swagger was absent when he stepped to the woman’s side to address the group. “Yes. Er, I think I know how we can create a map, of a sort, to get us through the labyrinth quickly.”
He was direct, Isemay thought. A quality that reminded her of her da. She looked over the group. Most were held rapt but wore skeptical expressions. Salukis glanced toward her at her seat along the outskirts of the circle, then continued.
“Our foreign friend, Isemay of Vinnr, carries a unique eyestone. Her parents, the leader of the Vinnric Archons, created it with Verity-inspired properties unlike anything we have here.”
Others glanced curiously in her direction, but she barely noticed. What was he getting at? She’d had enough embarrassing slips through her memory keeper. Surely he didn’t expect her to show all these people her thoughts.
“I can’t explain how, but Isemay’s memories are part of the stone. Whatever she sees or experiences is captured within it, and she can then recall these at will.” Salukis paused dramatically. “And even make them visible to others.”
