by Tammy Salyer
It surprised her when she realized that she didn’t feel as alone as she expected to under the circumstances. The combined knowledge that her father had arrived in Arc Rheunos, maybe all of the Knights, and that she was now so close to her mother brought more than a little comfort, even a hint of good humor. She found herself looking forward to the Minothians finally getting what was coming to them, never doubting for a second that her parents, and the Zhallahs, would more than readily mete out their deserved comeuppance.
The Deathless Guard who’d found her had departed already, likely to hunt for Salukis. Now, the guard and wagon driver were sitting beside each other, and she could overhear them speaking clearly.
“But what do you think it means?” asked the wagon driver, a woman whose drab robes looked heavy enough to keep out the mountains’ chill, which Isemay was envious of. “Two people from a foreign realm coming here now, nearly at the Equifulcrum. Has the Everlight said anything about what this is all about?”
Isemay could hear the subtext to her question. Does the Everlight know anything? She sensed doubt in the Minothian, and perhaps something that wasn’t exactly fear but more like a shakiness, like knowing that the footing you stood on could betray you and crumble at any moment.
“If the Everlight has spoken to Archon Tuzhazu, he hasn’t shared it with the rest of the kaneas.”
The two went quiet for a moment. Isemay crept to the front of the wagon and peeked over the edge.
The wagon driver looked sidelong at the guard and said, “It’s true then, is it? Archon Tuzhazu will be the Everlight’s next vessel?”
It seemed the guard’s hesitation was pensive. “It’s tradition. He is the last Archon. It’s his destiny.”
“In three hundred years, since the last Equifulcrum, why hasn’t the Everlight ordained any new Archons?”
“None can say. It’s the same kind of question as why does she let the Zhallahs spread the Waste? Or why did famine strike so badly at the last Distalfulcrum? None can say,” he repeated.
“Some think the Everlight may not want to shift. Maybe the creator will be content to remain within Archon Raamuzi. She was a good Archon, they say, before the Great Waste.”
The guard nodded agreeably. “I heard the same. Compassionate, a woman who heard all sides before judging. Then she lost all her children to the plague.”
“A sadness, that. Maybe it would be best if the creator stayed put. The influence of Archon Raamuzi’s spirit, whatever may remain, could be better than…” She let her thought dissipate before completing it, but even Isemay knew what she meant. Deespora’s sister was undoubtedly the people’s preference for leadership of the realm over Tuzhazu, who seemed to be universally feared, even despised.
She thought they were not going to speak again and had begun to crouch back down when the guard said, “Some in the kaneas worry Archon Tuzhazu will turn the whole troop into Deathless.”
The wagon driver visibly shuddered and said something under her breath Isemay couldn’t make out. Louder, she said, “They say it’s an honor to join the Deathless. Only the finest are picked.” Her tone sounded as if she was attempting to reassure him.
The guard gave a short nod, not answering. Then he said, quietly, almost secretively, “He’s not really that last Archon. There’s still the one in the Churss.”
The wagon driver looked at him sharply, but he pretended not to notice. Then, unexpectedly, he turned his head and caught sight of Isemay.
“Sit back down, Vinnric,” the guard ordered.
“Tell me one thing and I will. Do you know where my mother is? The other Vinnric I came with?”
He looked at her with a blank face, then stood and leaned forward threateningly. “Sit.”
Scowling, she slid back down the wall of the wagon, awaiting whatever came next with as much bravery as she could muster. The wagon driver and guard did not speak again before the gate was opened and they passed inside.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Symvalline, Symvalline, are you there? My love?
Ulfric’s voice, like a bubble, floated up from the stygian void in Symvalline’s mind. She was dreaming of him. Can I really dream? she wondered. Aren’t I dead—or close enough that I may as well be?
His voice again, far away, yet crystal clear as if coming through their Mentalios link. I don’t know if you can hear me, love, but I’m going to try. I’m here, in Arc Rheunos.
It didn’t surprise her. The man she’d loved for lifetimes, of course she would dream of him now, while she was eternally trapped in the depths of Arc Rheunos. She had lost consciousness before ever seeing another well shaft and was destined to remain forever lost.
All drew quiet in her thoughts for a moment—and this did surprise her. Would she be aware of a moment, of time at all, if she were truly lifeless and bobbing along the underground river toward the unfathomable depths of the mountains range, never to be seen or heard from, in any realm, again? The passage of time, even short bits of it, was something an awake person would notice. Was this what she would have to endure for eons? The endless passage of time as she languished?
I’ve found a boy named Salukis. He was with Isemay and is going to take me to his people, the Zhallahs. We’re coming to find you, both of you. I hope…I hope we’re not too late.
Symvalline jolted, but not in her mind. She’d felt her body being shoved, no, pulled. Something yanked on her again, as if rude hands had ahold of her. Is there something under the mountains here with me? If she could have shivered in fear in her state, she would have.
Then Ulfric’s words hit her. Salukis, Isemay, the Zhallah people. Dreaming Ulfric was here, that he’d found the boy who’d helped Isemay and planned to attempt to rescue them—that was just a cruel trick for her mind to play on her at a time like this.
Something pushed her again, harder this time. And she did feel it, not in a distant, disembodied way, but in her bones. Open your eyes, Symvalline, she told herself. You’re not alone here.
With an effort that felt like moving a mountain, she forced her eyelids to part. Everything was blurry. Blurry, but definitely light. If she were still in the tunnel, it would have been as dark as eternity. A form moved beside her, something large and colorless, as if a negation of the light pouring down from above. Then she was shoved, or…nudged?…again.
I’m not in the tunnel, she realized with a start. Was it possible she’d been found? With that thought, she concentrated on her lungs, consciously trying to force them to work, to draw a breath for the first time in—how long was I under there?
With a great gasp, she sucked in air that felt like tiny slivers of wood as it filled her lungs. The dark shape looming beside her snorted, took a lumbering step back, then returned and nudged her again. That’s when she discovered she wasn’t in water but on a hard stone floor. A heavy weight fell over her chest and pawed at her.
Blinking rapidly, she tried clearing the haze from her vision. Slowly, things came into focus. Stone walls, the sky above, the sound of water, the smell of—it’s like a wild animal. What in the five realms is it?
Finally she saw it. Beside her stood one of the massive urzidae creatures, its thick snout lowered until its eyes could peer into her face.
She gasped again and found the strength through numb arms to push herself backward until she nearly fell into the open cistern behind her. The beast watched her curiously, its expression, if a bear-like behemoth could have an expression, placid.
As she shook and shivered, staring at the creature with her mouth agape, it seemed to accept her presence and stepped to the cistern’s edge, lowered itself, and began to drink unconcernedly.
Near shock, she could only watch it. Awareness that the pool here was much bigger than the others and the water rose nearly to the cistern’s edge came to her. Somehow, unbelievably, she must have been pushed into this cistern by the water flow from below, and the urzidae must have fished her out. It just wanted a drink, after all.
I made it, she
realized. I made it.
And if she was awake, did that mean Ulfric’s voice had not been a dream?
She sat up and reached to her chest to grip her Mentalios, the movement painful and slow like trying to bend frozen clothing. Her flesh had not recovered from its prolonged exposure to the icy waters. With nerveless fingers, she clasped the pendant and sent: Ulfric, is that you?
His response was instant: Symvalline!?
Verities eyes! she cried, and wasn’t sure if she’d said it aloud. I didn’t think you were real.
My love, is it you!? Are you safe? Are you with Crumb?
Hearing his voice sent a tidal wave of joy washing through her that nearly took away the precious breath she’d just regained. It was him, her heartmatch. He was real and he was here. If this seemingly impossible thing was possible, then anything was. No, she finally managed. Ulfric, she’s been taken prisoner in a place called the Minoth Valley Gate. I’m on my way to her now, and I’m very close. What’s become of Vinnr? Are the other Knights with you?
As was typical, Ulfric was quiet for a few moments, sifting through the information he’d just learned, seeing its angles, weighing its meaning. He’d never been a rash or impatient man. The only times she’d ever seen him unbalanced was the night they’d chosen to pledge themselves to each other for eternity, and the day they had decided they would ask Vaka Aster to grant them an end to their service and release from their oaths.
As she awaited his response, the urzidae—a creature that, to her surprise, was docile and unthreatening—finished quenching its thirst. A whistle sounded from above the open-topped well chamber, and Symvalline started at the realization that she was not yet safe. Anyone could look over the belowground chamber’s rim and see her sitting here.
The back of the space held various vessels and vases for water gathering, some large enough to crouch behind. As the urzidae sent one more curious glance her way, then lumbered up the wide stairs of the well chamber, she half walked, half crawled to the containers and wedged herself as far into their shadows as she could. Taking pains to be as silent as possible, she pulled more around her to create a barrier to anyone who might look in her direction from within the chamber. Agatha had told her to wait here, that she would come later in the night when she arrived at the gate. Overhead, the daystar’s light dimly came from somewhere west, slanting over the top of the room. It was evening, early by the looks of it. She could not expect Agatha for a couple more hours.
The Knights are not here, Sym. Things in Vinnr have taken a dangerous turn. Balavad, the one who called himself His Holiness, is the Battgjaldic Verity, as we suspected. He’s undermined Vaka Aster, made her…powerless, and is now leading the people of Dyrrakium into a war against Ivoryss and Yor. We were unable to stop him. He paused to let her take in this news. Then: There’s too much to tell, and we haven’t the time now. What’s most important at this moment is getting you and Isemay to safety.
It was her turn for speechlessness. Vinnr was under the sway of another Verity? A thirty-night ago, she’d have thought it inconceivable.
Yet it wasn’t inconceivable at all, was it? It seemed to be the same story as was happening here in Arc Rheunos. The Battgjaldic Verity wanted power over all other Verities and their realms. But why?
It didn’t matter, not right now. As Ulfric had said, there wasn’t the time, and Isemay was alone and unprotected, being sought by Tuzhazu.
Ulfric, she sent, Arc Rheunos is being threatened as well. They’ve been deceived by Balavad, but there is one Archon here, at least, who is willingly doing his bidding. Tuzhazu—you must be wary of him and his twisted warriors. They’re called the Deathless Guards, and they’re…altered in some way to be like the Raveners who followed Balavad in Vinnr.
Yes, Salukis has told me as much. He says the Zhallah people are also led by an Archon, and this one knows of Balavad’s treachery.
His treachery is worse than you can imagine. The people here were once beset by a plague they call the Waste. Tuzhazu spreads it. I believe he uses it as a weapon of fear and that he got it from Balavad.
Ulfric was quiet again, likely reining in his horror and disgust, as she’d been forced to since meeting Tuzhazu. Then he went on. The Zhallah Archon has the Arc Rheunosian Scrylle and a Fenestros. She can open a starpath and send us…
He trailed off. She realized that the word he was stumbling on, “home,” did not necessarily mean somewhere safe. Was anywhere safe anymore?
She sent: One more thing. I believe Tuzhazu carries a Fenestros from Battgjald. Be cautious of its power. He used it to take my klinkí stones, and to nearly kill me.
He responded: But you’re well? You’re well now?
She wanted to snort at that. Well enough, she supposed, for someone who had just frozen and drowned. I’m fine as a flower, my love. She hoped she sounded reassuring. Do you know of the Equifulcrum?
Yes, he responded.
Those who have Isemay, the Minothians, will be occupied during the event. I’m going to free her tonight, and we’ll hide on this side of the mountains until then. Then we’ll attempt to pass through the labyrinth. If you can find a way to bring a force of the Zhallahs, we may be able to unite in time to overcome any resistance.
How will you find your way through?
I have help from a couple of Minothians. I can trust them.
He was quiet again, thinking through the plan. Flimsy as it was, Symvalline had to trust in it, at least until it came time to improvise something new. The Scrylle and Fenestros held by the Zhallah Archon, the sister of the false Verity Akeeva Raamuzi, and a chance to escape this peril—hearing of these should have been a relief. But somehow it wasn’t. She could get her daughter to safety, be reunited with Ulfric, leave this realm, but she would always know the damage being wrought by Tuzhazu, the cruelty and deceptions that kept the people here in a form of fearful bondage. The same kind of wickedness occurring in her own realm. Where did it end?
Was the only way to stop it, in Vinnr and Arc Rheunos and the Cosmos as a whole, to stop Balavad? For good?
Again, a thirty-night ago, the idea would have been unthinkable. Impose their own wills on a Verity? Blasphemous hilarity.
But she was thinking it now. And she’d have bet her klinkí stones that Ulfric was too.
Finally, he sent: We will be there, Symvalline. The Zhallahs and I, as soon as I can rally them.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Every hair (or feather), every scrap of skin, every thought in Ulfric’s head screamed against leaving Symvalline behind in the clutches of the Minothians. He’d have given his last breath to press his cheek to hers right then and feel the softness of her skin and her arms wrapped around him. But that would not save Isemay, and it would not save him, either. His lot in life was to turn away from what he wanted and embrace what his realm and Verity needed. It was a bitter, bitter pill that he longed so badly to no longer have to swallow. It was the reason he and Symvalline had been planning to ask to be released from their oaths in the first place.
But today would not be the day he would finally have the freedom to enjoy what he wanted.
Evening light was about to give way to full dark as he and Symvalline finished speaking. Through the memory keeper, he focused once more on Salukis, who’d stood silently by during their conversation.
The boy’s brown eyes were inquisitive. “What just happened?” he asked.
“I’ve spoken with my heartmatch. She is going to collect Isemay and meet us in the labyrinth during the Equifulcrum. And now, with dark upon us, we go and raise an army.”
A fluid mix of excitement and more than a little dread rippled almost comically over the young man’s face. He choked for a moment, then managed: “To Maerria, then.”
They flew close to the mountains’ flanks, darker shadows against the twilight-painted landscape, and were through the labyrinth before the three moons had achieved their full glowing might. They were now so close that their edges nearly overlapped. The Equifulcr
um, the perfect alignment of all three, was in three days. He imagined what it would be like to witness.
No Minothian saw them and rang an alarm during their flight. The unique liminal lighting created difficulties for sentries in any realm, it seemed. Ordinarily, such poor security would have made the soldier in Ulfric grumble with disgust, but tonight he was thankful. If their numbers had been more than Salukis and the two bruhawks, they would have stood out.
But the threat of greater numbers was still to come—for the Minothians. They would march on Minoth tonight, tomorrow morning at the latest, if Ulfric had any control over it.
As they came over the top of the Churss, Salukis quickly explained that the Zhallah people resided amid the stone forest to protect them from the Minothians. The Churss had once been a fourth moon over Arc Rheunos, and it was loyal to Mithlí in a way Salukis couldn’t explain except to say that all the oldest stones in the realm had an awareness and power they drew from their Verity. The Churss could be relied on to repel anything that endangered the Zhallah people, who’d never wavered in their loyalty to Mithlí. Fascinated in spite of himself, Ulfric marveled at the abundance of oddities in this realm.
His marveling only grew greater as he watched the stones close like a roof over the earth when Salukis began to lead their flight down to it. They’re alive! he thought, and an idea began to take shape in his mind.
At the young man’s request, Yggo released Salukis a few feet above the canopy, and he dropped atop it with a gentle sweep of his wings and pained intake of breath. He pulled a two-bodied flute from his pack and blew a short lilting tune over the stone barrier. The bruhawks, not designed to hover, took to soaring in short, tight circles above Salukis to wait for whatever was coming. A moment later, Ulfric heard the sound of stone grinding on stone, and a small opening directly beneath Salukis was uncovered.
The Zhallah turned up and waved at Urgo. “This way.” Then he dove inside.
Urgo began his short descent, only to be forced to pull up sharply as the stones snapped closed behind Salukis.
