by Tammy Salyer
What? Ulfric growled. He attempted to call Salukis through the memory keeper but received nothing in response. It seemed the Churss blocked his thoughts as well. Look for another way in, Urgo.
Urgo soared along the tower tops, each possible chink closing abruptly as they approached. Ulfric seethed. We don’t have time for games. Perhaps the Zhallah boy had been planning to get rid of them from the start. No, he seemed much too guileless for that kind of trickery. Ulfric longed to be in his own body once more and wished he were carrying the heaviest hammer Stave had ever forged. He would show these rocks that he was not to be toyed with.
With their sweep over the Churss feeling futile indeed, Ulfric led the bruhawks back to the spot they’d lost Salukis in. Lowering themselves to perch and wait seemed their only option. Ulfric sensed the prickle of confusion in Urgo’s mind. Me too, friend. Me too.
They were there only a moment when a stone came soaring from the left and struck Yggo in the wing. The bird let out a surprised squawk and hopped to the side. Both hawks grew instantly agitated. Urgo wanted to take flight again, but Ulfric urged him to stay, though he had no idea what could have thrown a stone at this height, or from where.
Another one struck Urgo, and this time the bird refused to listen to Ulfric and leaped skyward once more. Nothing Ulfric could do would dissuade the bruhawks, and he stopped trying as more and more missiles came toward them. The Churss, it seemed, was not going to allow any potentially untrustworthy strangers to borrow its heights for their own leisure.
Just as his frustration nearly reached a boiling point, made all the worse by his helplessness to do anything about it, Ulfric saw glistening specks of light begin to glow along the stone rooftop. What kind of weapon…he started to wonder.
Moments went by as the lights grew stronger, until it was as bright as day below him. Unwilling to face the unknown turn of events too closely, the bruhawks rose high into the night sky, cautiously circling the strange illuminated canopy of rock below.
Despite his anxiety over how much time was passing, the magnificent view that went as far south as the bruhawk’s eyes could perceive captivated him. Ulfric had never seen anything so bizarre yet beautiful. It was like being just within reach of the surface of the daystar, but without the heat that would have charred them to oblivion instantly. He didn’t know what was going on, or what was to come, but he was enthralled for the moment.
“Come down here, Vinnric, and show yourself.”
The voice was deep but feminine, and it rose to the bruhawks clearly, as if amplified by some wystic contrivance. Such as a Fenestros.
Urgo and Yggo lowered themselves once more, and the intense brightness began to dim enough for them to see a handful of figures now standing atop the stone ceiling. Ulfric quickly picked out the tall figure with one wounded wing, Salukis.
The group had no obvious weapons, and Ulfric chose to have Urgo land. Urgo’s hard claws clacked against the still-shimmering stone directly before an older woman with skin as pale as chalk, completely without hair, holding a long wooden staff. Atop the staff, a warm light glowed from the round headpiece, undoubtedly a Fenestros. Urgo’s eyes perceived the Verity stone differently than Ulfric’s did. It was lit, as if harboring an inferno inside. The woman looked up into the bird’s eyes with no fear at all.
“Salukis,” Ulfric said through the memory keeper. “Will you bring my daughter’s pendant to me? To Urgo, rather, and drape it around his neck. I would like to speak with”—he had Urgo tilt his head to look into the Archon’s eyes—“Archon Raamuzi directly.”
Salukis did as asked, seeming reluctant to be letting go of the jewel. The pendant hung next to Ulfric’s Mentalios atop the bruhawk’s feathery chest, nearly eye level with Salukis. “I’m sorry about not being able to bring you to the village. I didn’t know the Churss would do that,” Salukis said with quiet sincerity.
“It’s fine. Thank you,” Ulfric said, then turned his gaze to Deespora. “Archon Raamuzi, you have my deepest gratitude for meeting me. I am Stallari Ulfric Aldinhuus, leader of the Knights Corporealis of Vinnr. These bruhawks are also ordained by our Verity, Vaka Aster. They are Urgo and Yggo. We have a very serious matter to discuss.”
If the Archon was surprised by the manner in which he faced her, she didn’t show it. “And how long have you served your maker?” she asked.
“Nearly two thousand turns around Halla, our daystar.”
Deespora seemed to take this news in with considerable thought. After a moment, she gestured to those around her, two men, two women, and Salukis. “Poolan, Kitane, Vidar, and Kalisk. And you know Salukis. As a senior member of the same Order as my own, though called by a different name, you are welcome in the Churss.”
As she finished speaking, the lights shining atop the stone canopy dimmed completely, and off to their sides the stones began to open up, leaving wide gaps that allowed the moonlight and starlight to reach the Churss floor.
Relieved at the welcome, Ulfric bowed to Deespora through the memory keeper. “I’ll be frank, Archon. I believe not only your realm and my own are in danger, but all of them are.” He projected his memory of Himmingaze’s Glister Cloud and another of its torrential sea through the pendant. “Even the realm of Lífs, as you can see.”
“And what of the fifth realm?” she asked.
He shook his head. “We call it the Forgotten Realm. I know nothing of it. If our lore ever included it, the knowledge has long since been lost.”
She watched him closely but said nothing.
Ulfric went on. “Salukis told me you know of Balavad here and his treacherous doings. The malignant Verity is wreaking havoc far and wide. Vinnr is under assault, possibly as we speak, due to his malevolence. And Salukis said Arc Rheunos has been similarly afflicted. I—”
She held up her hand to stop him. “I do not need a lesson on the goings-on of the entire Cosmos, Stallari Aldinhuus. We are a quiet people with a realm filled with our own troubles, as you’ve no doubt witnessed to some degree. What you want is our help in finding your wife and child and getting them released from Minothian hands, am I correct?”
“In short, yes,” he confirmed, gladdened to be able to cut to the heart of the matter.
“We cannot help you.” She tilted her head and regarded the close-set moons. “As I’ve told my people and am now going to tell you, it’s the will of the Verities we must all bow to. We Archons meddled with our maker once, long ago, and it resulted in this terrible rift between the Minothian and Zhallah people that we now live with. I didn’t help to cage Mithlí. I didn’t believe it could be done. And if Mithlí had wanted things to go differently for her creations, she would have made it so.” Her gaze fell on him again. “And look what has been wrought. Division, malice, one people harming another. I can’t undo what was done; it’s too late for that. But I can keep my people safe and leave the Verities to their own ends. You and I are not deciders of others’ fates, Stallari. We are servants to the wills of our makers. And humble.” She delivered the last word as a command, not a simple description.
Ulfric bit his metaphysical tongue, angrily parsing through the many sharp responses he wanted to launch against the Archon’s speech. Before he thought of what would most aid his cause, the oldest of the Zhallahs spoke up.
The woman, who was nearly withered by age, flushed a dusky violet. “Deespora,” she began.
“Kalisk,” Deespora cut her off, not looking to her. “I’ve told you, we will not leave the Churss, no matter what my sister and her chief denizen do.”
Kalisk pulled herself up straighter, the movement drawing the wrinkled folds on her neck and alongside her eyes tighter. “No,” she stated matter-of-factly. “You no longer get to make that choice for the rest of us, Archon Raamuzi.”
This time, Deespora looked toward Kalisk sharply, and Ulfric noted the way Salukis’s gaze shot to her too.
The old woman’s voice did not waver, and years of wisdom gave it an authority few younger than her could master.
“We’ve listened to your good judgment for all our lives, as did our parents and grandparents, since the last Equifulcrum. You did what you thought was right then by guiding our people away from Minoth and the dangers the other Archons wrought. And I’m sure it was the right thing. But with each child we lose to the Minothians, with each child you refuse to aid, what wisdom you once claimed to have loses its strength.”
“What are you saying to me, Kalisk?” the Archon asked. Ulfric heard the tightness in her voice.
“The Zhallah people are ready to march on Minoth and take back our children and our future. We’ve had enough living as prisoners in our own world, afraid to leave the Churss, a cage in its own way, and afraid to protect our own families.”
Ulfric could see the Archon was not used to being criticized or second-guessed. Perhaps she’d fooled herself into believing there was no other way than to hide from the world and their enemies. He pondered what he’d have to do to change her mind, but decided to see what would come of this burgeoning rebellion first.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Deespora assured her, her voice remaining calm but crisp.
“I do at least as much as you do.” Kalisk faced Deespora doggedly and stretched out her thin arm to wave at the others standing with them. “We’ve been talking for a long time, and most of the Zhallahs want to confront the Minothians. Some even to fight them, if we have to.”
The Archon stared back at her without blinking her pale eyes. “But there’s no need to attack them. Even divided, we are still all one people, all Arc Rheunosians, creations of Mithlí the Everlight. You don’t know Tuzhazu as I do, what he is capable of. Confronting a force he leads could end up in bloodshed, death. Could you, could any Zhallah, live with the knowledge that we brought harm upon others and ourselves? That isn’t who we are or what we believe in.”
Ulfric decided it was time to say something. “Balavad gave your people the means to end the plague, is that right?” he interjected. Each of the Zhallahs looked at the memory keeper. “He bought the Archons’ trust with a promise to cure the afflicted if you would render your own maker powerless, I hear from Salukis, a tale you yourself tell. Did you know Balavad was the one who created the plague in the first place?” He paused to let that sink in, watching her impassive face. There was no surprise in it. She’d already drawn this conclusion herself, he realized, then continued. “And it was him spreading it among you to drive you to the brink of desperation, making the people of this realm so afraid they’d lose everyone they loved that the Archons blindly grabbed whatever hope—or what passed for it—he offered. Balavad pushed you into aiding his plans for dominion over Arc Rheunos and its people through treachery—and butchery. And Tuzhazu helped him.”
Deespora, though outwardly still calm, struggled against a smirk hardening her mouth. “You’re mistaken. Tuzhazu has never been overly compassionate and takes—took—his oath as an Archon to its limits, but he isn’t a murderer. And how could you possibly know such a thing at all?”
“I’ve spoken with Symvalline, Isemay’s mother, through a pendant like the one I’m speaking to you through now. She’s seen Tuzhazu use a poison that causes the plague. He is Balavad’s puppet and uses Balavad’s tools to ensure he retains control over the Minothians. He uses fear and intimidation, lessons he no doubt mastered under Balavad himself. And he isn’t even the Minothians’ leader—yet. What do you think will happen to the rest of the Zhallah children if he gains control of not only the Minothian forces but the conscience and will of all Minothian people?”
Deespora had no immediate response and he pressed forward, hoping he was persuading her.
“I can see your peoples’ faith in your maker is strong, and I’m sure your enemy’s is too. If they believe Tuzhazu to be the living vessel…” He let that statement go unfinished, allowing those present to fill it with their own ideas. He knew that he could never hit as close to what they most feared through his words as their imaginations would on their own.
As he watched, their faces showed their disturbance. “The Archons took Balavad’s offer for an end to the plague to save your people. If you don’t listen to me now, Balavad will finish the task he started, and instead of saving you, he’ll enslave you.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” the man called Poolan said. “The Minothians call us plague-bringers.”
“That sounds like a lie that would convenience Tuzhazu to spread,” Ulfric stated flatly.
Poolan tucked his wings close to his back protectively and grew quiet, considering.
Deespora spun around and paced along the top of the Churss, then turned and paced back. “Ridiculous,” she said. “Why would Tuzhazu do something so foul, so profane to everything we believe in?”
“Who can say,” Ulfric said aloud, but inwardly he was thinking, Isn’t it obvious? Combine fear—of death or even simply abandonment by his creator—with a lust for power, and the result will always be a corruption of that power. “But if you refuse to stop him now, and Balavad brings an army to your realm as he did to Vinnr, the reasons won’t matter. If you feel like prisoners in this rock forest now, what Balavad plans will be worse. He is a corrupted Verity, poisonous, destructive. I’ve seen what he can do, what he has done, with my own eyes.”
Deespora stopped pacing and looked into Ulfric’s jewel. “So then, even if we were to go to the Everlight Hall and somehow hold Archon Tuzhazu accountable, what would stop Balavad’s army, if it’s true there is one, from coming anyway?”
Ulfric stared into the woman’s colorless eyes. The way the white, blue, and red lights of the moons flickered in their depths was haunting, as if they contained the Cosmos within them. Wisdom lingered there, but also a deep weariness, and pain. She’d seen too much suffering, and being helpless against it had weakened her resolve to stand up to it. He understood. He’d witnessed enough suffering of his own to last a hundred more lifetimes. The difference between them, though, was that he’d lived long enough to see an end to suffering, too, and had developed the faith to believe that if endured long enough, it could be overcome.
Instead of being angered by her obstinacy, he wished he had a hand to place on her shoulder and comfort her. But the best he could do was offer the only hope he could see. “If you were to release Mithlí, Balavad would have no more power here.”
“Release the Everlight…” she said quietly, as if to herself.
“Then,” he continued, seeing that he’d perhaps started to crack the wall of inaction she had built, “perhaps we can unite our realms and use Balavad’s own tricks against him.”
Startled, she looked at him and said, “You’re suggesting we cage the Verity of Battgjald instead.”
“Yes. Yes I am,” he answered simply. “And—one other thing I should mention. He is no longer the Verity of Battgjald. Battgjald has been wiped from existence.”
Deespora looked around at the faces of her fellow Zhallahs. All were quiet, some appearing stunned, others wary. Finally, she turned back to Ulfric. “I believe we have more to discuss.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Let me go or I’ll lay a Vinnric curse on you that will shrivel anything you’ve got underneath those trousers to the size of a phanx!” Isemay yelled at the Minothian guard holding her wrists behind her as another unlocked a stout-looking door to where, she presumed, they were going to hold her captive.
Apparently, the guard thought she might be capable of such a thing, and his hands dropped away so fast it was like they’d ceased to exist. She smothered an amused smirk, which was easy because she barely had the energy left to stay upright, much less gloat. Pretending to be this brave was a lot more work than she would have expected. That, and the effects of being in a foreign realm were overtaking her again, with a vengeance.
The two Minothians shoved her inside the room and slammed the door between her and freedom. Her stomach gave an uneasy lurch as they did, and she staggered, suddenly dizzy, coming to rest on her knees. She stayed that way for
a moment, head down, eyes shut, waiting for the world to settle.
After a moment, she pushed herself wearily erect and looked around. Empty room. Not even a chamber pot or garderobe. She’d already heard the lock behind her rattle, so no use trying the door.
Making it a good thing she’d managed to acquire a handy little dagger, in case she needed to try to pick it.
Once she’d assured herself there was no way for anyone to see inside the room—it was basically a windowless closet—she pulled the knife from inside the front of her shirt, where she’d dropped it as she’d snuck it from the guard’s sheath. Not every lesson she’d learned in life had come from the Conservatum. And the guard had been too worried about his bits to notice her deft pickpocketing once her hands were free.
Her stomach grumbled again, and it occurred to her it was as likely to be hunger as the sickness overtaking her. But they’d kept her bag and the food she’d brought. She thought briefly about making a nuisance of herself and banging on the door to demand something to eat, but the prospect was too wearying. Instead, she tried the door’s handle anyway, fruitless, then pressed her back against the wall beside the door, slid down to her butt, and let her forehead sink to her sore knees.
If her mum was near, she had no way of knowing. She’d asked the tower guards about her as she’d been led inside, but they’d been tight-lipped, treating her like she was an alien who spoke another language. Surely they would want to keep the two Vinnrics together, wouldn’t they? She had no idea what to expect next. The only thing she knew with any certainty was that her da had arrived, and he and Salukis were not going to let her stay a captive for long. With her da’s help, Salukis could rally the Zhallahs quickly. Many, maybe enough would come. She’d seen in their faces as the secret gathering that they’d had enough. And her da could be very, very persuasive.
She flashed briefly to the moment she’d learned Ulfric was here—which led inevitably to the kiss she and Salukis had shared. Her lips felt the phantom of the breath that had spanned between them again, and her whole body grew warm. Then another thought, unwelcome and biting, came. What if Salukis hadn’t gotten away?
