Dawnspell

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  “I can find it.”

  “Go there tonight and I’ll be waiting. And if you find any food, bring it. I’m hungry.”

  “Thanks, Jhinn,” Tamerlan said, leaping from the gondola with his coils of rope. Whatever Lord Mythos had done had healed him completely. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

  The thought of trying the smoke again with Jhinn out on the ocean filled him with relief. He did want the knowledge and power that only the Legends could give him, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. This was the perfect solution. What could possibly go wrong?

  19: Sins of the Father

  Tamerlan

  THE WINDING STEPS UP to the top of the bridge gave Tamerlan a long time to think. With his health restored, sneaking away tonight wouldn’t be too difficult. It would be the best course, really. A contained experiment. He’d have to make plans to keep Jhinn safe. Maybe if the boy held Tamerlan’s sword – yeah, that might work.

  There were few people on the steps – and no wonder. Tamerlan’s feet were dragging before he reached the top. Fish sounded like a good idea right about now. Maybe Jhinn was right that they should spend a little time fishing.

  The bells began to sound the next hour, clanging and tinkling, pounding and pealing. They were so familiar. He’d been hearing them his whole life on every Dawnfast since he could walk.

  He used to like Dawnfast – not the actual fasting of course, and not the part where he was constantly nagged for daydreaming when he was supposed to be cleaning, but he loved the purification of it. He loved the sense of being washed from the inside out and made new to face another year. He loved imagining Grandfather Timeless marching forward with the world balanced in his panniers. What must that look like?

  He was almost at the top of the stairs – his eyes drifting over the city below, rolling out from this high point of the city, district on district, his mind floating on visions of Grandfather Timeless – when his gaze caught on Etienne. The young man – dressed head to toe in black like a brooding raven – motioned to Tamerlan to join him and as he waved to him, the other men talking to Etienne turned to look a Tamerlan.

  That wasn’t –?

  No.

  It couldn’t be,

  Tamerlan froze midstride as a familiar pair of blue eyes caught his. A cruelly familiar face – handsome and chiseled – but cloaking a malevolence most people never saw – smiled slightly at the sight of him. It wasn’t a smile of welcome on the face of that tall, broad-shouldered man. It wasn’t a smile of fatherly affection. It was the smile of a chess player happy to see one of his pawns returned to the board.

  Tamerlan shook himself and forced his steps forward. It was too late to run. Too late to hide. He’d have to face this like a man. He lifted his chin with determination, clenching his jaw until he was close enough to speak.

  “Decebal,” he said. There would be no “father” from his lips. His father lost that privilege when he sold Tamerlan to the Alchemists.

  “You nearly killed me, son,” his voice was cool. An icy sheath over a sharp sword. “I didn’t think you were half that skilled or I would have sold you to the army for a much better price.”

  “You lived,” Tamerlan said, shocked by how hard his voice sounded. “How?”

  “I took your sister through the secret passages below the Seven Suns Palace. They lead out under the walls of the city – a short path to the land beyond Jingen. Most of the Landholds with any sense went that way. Next time you plan to destroy a city and everything in it, you should plug up the ratholes if you don’t want the rats to escape.”

  “That was never my intention,” Tamerlan said, angry at himself for the heat he felt forming in his cheeks. He wasn’t a child anymore. He owed this man nothing. Why did he feel like he needed to explain that this wasn’t his fault?

  Etienne cleared his throat and Tamerlan almost felt grateful when the other man raised a narrow eyebrow, though he had some explaining to do. That was not the account he had given of how Tamerlan’s father escaped the city.

  “You know Decebal Zi’fen, and of course you must know Renli Di’Sham of Yan, soon to be his son in law and Renli’s brother Han Di’Sham,” Etienne’s voice was calm. “We owe Yan a great debt for their generosity in taking in the refugees of Jingen.”

  “We aren’t here for introductions,” Decebal growled. “We’re here to make sure that you understand our terms. You will renounce your role as the Lord Mythos of Jingen, fold Jingen and her Landholds into the governance of Yan as we ask.”

  “And if I do not?” Etienne asked calmly.

  “You are a Myth-Keeper without a Myth. A lord without a city. A man without a home. You are nothing but an empty name.”

  “Then why does it matter to you that I renounce it?” Etienne asked, leaning against the bridge railing and looking out across the city to the horizon where Jingen still smoked in the distance. By moving there, he had turned his back on the men speaking to him.

  Tamerlan shifted awkwardly. Their words were daggers and if Etienne wasn’t careful, he’d be getting a real dagger in the back. If they were asking this, then they had plans for the title of ‘Lord Mythos.’ Tamerlan glanced quickly at his father. Was it possible that Decebal wanted the title for himself? Could he be thinking of restoring Jingen with Yan’s help now that the chaos surrounding the city had ripped power from every other hand? It sounded like something he would plan.

  “Why keep a name that only mocks you every day with what you lost?” Decebal asked.

  “Is my sister well?” Tamerlan interrupted.

  Decebel looked shocked at the interruption, but it was Renli who answered. “She’s safe and well, though shaken by her brush with death.”

  The look he gave Tamerlan made it clear whose fault he thought that was. And he was right, of course. Amaryllis’ terror, this political maneuvering, the smoke in the distance, the riots springing up across Xin – none of these things would have happened if Tamerlan hadn’t smoked and become Ram the Hunter.

  So, why did it feel so urgent that he try it again?

  Yes! A voice echoed in his head. Try again!

  But Tamerlan’s father had already moved on. He leaned in close to Etienne so that Tamerlan could barely catch his words as he hissed.

  “Your power is gone. Your authority has ebbed away like a receding tide. Even Lady Saga did not listen to your request not to make this year’s Dawnspell Hunt about the amulet.”

  Lord Mythos met him look for look. “And how is that working out for the City of Xin?”

  Decebal spat, his next words loud enough for all of them to hear. “And now here you are, a weak fool, still clutching to the trappings of a life you lost. By next week, no one will remember your name.”

  Decebel left them – lackeys at his heels – with a flurry of shaken capes and rattled swords.

  “Like birds, strutting for attention,” Etienne said with a single raised eyebrow before nodding to Tamerlan. “Not going to change sides now, are you?”

  “To serve the Satan?” Tamerlan asked, watching his father leave. “I think not.”

  “He’s no Satan. Just a petty man with petty wishes. He wants power, but power is not a thing you can hold. It’s a lion on a chain. You have to make sure it is always feeding on something else, or else it turns around and feeds on you.”

  Tamerlan shivered, dropping the heavy rope to the ground. “Where do you want to tie to?”

  It turned out Lord Mythos was fussy about knots – a good thing considering that he’d decided Tamerlan would be the one to go down the rope.

  “You need someone up here to make sure no one dislodges the rope while you climb. Someone with authority,” he said by way of explanation.

  Tamerlan didn’t bother rolling his eyes. Why expect anything else? Etienne was just as addicted to power as anyone else. As long as there was someone to command, he’d be commanding them.

  Tamerlan took a deep breath, adjusting the safety rope that Etienne had helped him tie around
his thighs and waist. It tied to the bigger rope already hanging down the wall. All he had to do was lean back, walk down the wall, and pull the knot of that safety rope down with him as he went, and he would be fine.

  Yeah. All he had to do. No big deal.

  The canal below swam in his vision as he took a deep breath, his belly lurching at another glance below him. This bridge was way too high for this kind of thing, and Tamerlan was way too queasy in high places. He was already sweating as the nerves took hold of him. But what choice did he have? It was his idea to look in the pier and if the Legends were wrong and the amulet really was there, then it was his duty to find it, collect it, and use it to bring down the dragon he’d let loose on the city. He took a deep breath and slipped over the rail.

  “Don’t look down,” Etienne suggested casually. He was holding Tamerlan’s sword in his hands as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

  Why did advice always sound like someone drunk was giving it? How could Tamerlan afford not to look down? He couldn’t exactly do this safely with his eyes closed.

  Gritting his teeth, he leaned back, back, back until he was perpendicular to the pier of the bridge, his rope creaking as his weight grew heavier against it. The ropes were secure on the rail. He knew that. He’d seen Etienne tie them, but now that his life depended on them, it felt like there weren’t enough, like the rope wasn’t strong enough, the knots not firm enough, the day not sunny enough.

  Enough complaints! With a strangled sound he’d never intended, he took his first step backward – or down – or whatever. So far, still alive.

  Another step.

  He tried to focus on the traffic on the bridge. It was picking up now that mid-morning was upon them. Primarily foot traffic rather than carts or barrows like you would see in the working areas of the city. Were those clusters of people with drawn, hungry faces their fellow seekers of the amulet?

  “Ho!” he heard one of them call to Etienne. “What are you doing with that rope?”

  A cluster of well-dressed young people joined the first man, but now the breeze was picking up, catching their words and whipping them away as Tamerlan descended lower and lower. He was watching for that anomaly in the stonework – though what he’d do after that, he didn’t know. There hadn’t been any hints on how to open a secret room – if there was one.

  His steps were growing shakier. Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he thought he was. He didn’t want to look down to see if he was getting close to the patch of stonework. That would be a mistake. Any glance below would probably make his head spin right about now. Instead, he focused on one step at a time.

  Etienne looked small, the crowd around him growing, when Tamerlan finally saw the stonework right below where his feet were planted.

  Okay. Now what?

  He took another step back, his foot on the strangely cut stone. It pressed in, and he stumbled slightly, the safety rope tightening as his feet slipped into the divot. The stones around the sunken one sunk with it until he was knee deep in the pier.

  Wha-

  There was probably enough room to crawl into that hole – if he dared.

  You’ll have to. It’s the only way in.

  Wow. A little warning would have been great, Lila.

  With gritted teeth, he sunk into a crouch until he was waist deep in the stonework, twisting so that he could hang his legs into the pier, balancing on his belly instead of his back.

  There is a ladder. But you’ll have to untie yourself.

  No way. The rope was the only thing keeping him alive.

  Don’t be such a kitten. Just do it.

  With a sigh, he carefully loosened his safety rope until he could untie it and slip further into the hole.

  Dragon’s spit in a cup! He eased his legs lower, seeking a rung with his feet. Lila had better be right about this!

  His toe caught something, and he sank his weight onto it, grimacing while he did, his heart pounding in his chest. It was too dark to see if she had been right.

  Carefully, he ducked his head, curling into the hole the rest of the way, his second foot looking for the next rung and finding it. He was slick with sweat now, forced to wipe his hands on his clothing so they wouldn’t slip.

  Next time, Lord Mythos could do the climbing.

  His eyes were adjusting to the dark. There were small openings in the stonework that lit the ladder he stood on, but his perch was so precarious that he couldn’t twist to look below him. He’d have to climb the rest of the way down. With a barely-suppressed moan, he climbed slowly down the ladder – it wasn’t a real ladder, just stones sticking out enough to make rungs. No side rails to hold with his hands. No security to keep him from slipping. Every step was a gamble.

  By the time he reached the bottom, he was trembling. All his muscles felt like jelly.

  The wooden floor felt – bouncy. Not a good sign. Water must seep in through the cracks in the stone that were his only light source, damaging the wood.

  He turned carefully, trying not to move too quickly. He didn’t want the floor to fall out from under him.

  Stone beams went from the walls to the center of the room in a sunburst pattern. Tamerlan hurriedly moved to the nearest one, stepping up onto it. That was better. Less chance of falling through a rotting floor.

  With his heart in his chest, he balanced along it to the center of the room where a small platform stood with an iron chest at the center. This was it.

  No matter what the Legends said, it felt like the amulet could be here. After all, what else would be in a hidden chest in a hidden room half-way down a massive bridge?

  His pulse raced as he reached the platform, reaching to open the heavy iron lid of the chest. It fought him – the hinges rusted and seized. With a great heave, he wrenched it upward, looking into its velvet-lined depths.

  There was something there! Something that glinted red!

  He reached inside and pulled it out.

  A mask, lacquered to look like a white face with red curls of hair around it and a winking eye, stared back.

  Told you so, Lila said. Deathless Pirate says he’s the one who last touched the Eye. If he can be believed. I don’t ever trust pirates.

  Defeat tasted bitter on his tongue.

  20: In a Flurry of Wind and Dust

  Marielle

  MARIELLE WRAPPED HER scarf around her nose a fifth time, surprised that Anglarok didn’t do the same as they strode through the city toward the river. If he had the same skill as she did, shouldn’t he be equally sensitive? The stink of Xin was becoming overpowering to Marielle. To anyone else, it probably felt fresh and clean. The streets were being mopped now that the sweeping was done and the even the tile roofs were doused with buckets of water by anyone not on the hunt for the amulet.

  Tonight, all of Xin – and everyone else throughout the Dragonblood Plains – would celebrate the second night of Dawnfast. They would write their sins on paper balloons, light the candles at the base of the balloons and watch them float off into the sky to burn away and leave them clean. Already, she saw people in houses constructing their own balloons while street vendors laid them out with their other wares to be purchased for that night. Each one was white – a symbol of purity – though they would be gold when they were lit – a symbol of the burning justice of the heavens eating up the sins of the people.

  Marielle had bought one of the balloons, using a small coin she’d had in her boot. She probably should have saved it for food along the journey, but her need for forgiveness was more pressing than her need for food.

  Judging by the stink of guilt and rage – twin scents twisting through Xin in a garnet and cranberry fog – the rest of the population needed forgiveness, too.

  Marielle choked as a fresh surge of fog hit her. A group of hard-eyed soldiers marched past with a long line of men and women chained together. The rage radiating off the captives and the guilt of the soldiers lit aflame her own rage and guilt. They ratcheted up higher with every whiff of it
that she smelled.

  “Xin will not stand by while the dragon is loose!” one of the soldiers called to her, but he didn’t stop. The glance he exchanged with the other soldiers told Marielle that he knew he didn’t have enough allies in a fight against her and the Harbingers.

  That deep guilt worried Marielle. It was as deep as her own and she had the blood of thousands on her hands. She had the pain that went along with that, searing deep under her skin so that she felt like she was burning all the time. What had they done to match her guilt?

  The intensity of the emotions around her spiraled upward, as out of control as a forest blaze, so that one person’s rage fed their guilt and spread to the next person sparking rage in him even as his own guilt pushed him to spark it in someone else. There was no end in sight, no fresh rains or dousing water to quell what was happening in Xin. Marielle’s only hope was that tonight when their sins went sailing upward, they would burn up with the lanterns and burn their rage and guilt up to nothing until forgiveness rained down on them like the ashes of the sky lanterns.

  Her eyes teared up as she thought about it, following Anglarok with glassy vision. He escorted the Ki’squall, guiding Marielle with nods and looks to keep her in the right place in the formation. Around them, the nameless fanned out, weapons on display, grim faces and silence better deterrents than even the harpoons they held.

  “You have no place here, outlander!” a man from the crowd called, stepping in front of them. He stank of drinking and desperation – a pulsing orange mixing with a dove-grey fog of dulled senses.

  “Move on,” Liandari said with a tight voice. Her close-cropped hair shone in the noon sun and the expression on her dark face was deadly. “You don’t need trouble.”

  “Maybe I want trouble,” the young man said. He twirled a barrel stave in his hand like a weapon. “Maybe I want that Scenter of yours for my hunt.”

  Marielle pulled her new sword from her belt, but before it finished rasping from the sheath, Liandari had already leapt forward, her dark double-breasted coat swirling where it flared around her legs, her hands so fast that Marielle didn’t see her sword move until after the man’s head was already rolling along the street, his body slumping in slow motion to hit the cobblestones with a heavy thud. Anglarok kicked the head, flipping it into the nearby bucket of cleaning water where it bobbed in a grisly warning to anyone else who might want to pick a fight with them.