by C. M. Hayden
Briego made the hand-to-hand motion he’d made earlier. “Remember, the kingdom must be whole. Stoking tensions is both dangerous and foolhardy. The Magisterium is still not well-loved by a great many people in the city.” He seemed to catch himself at the end, and added, “Your Highness.”
Magister Briego was a sweet man, kind to a fault, and had a keen mind behind his plump body and frayed hair. But in this matter, Kyra could not have disagreed more. She placated him, nodded her understanding, and told him that she would treat the matter with all due caution; but her mind was already swimming with fury. The moment he left, she ordered her King’s Guard to bring Talthis before her.
She sat with her back hard against the throne, the Librarium ledger propped up on her knees. She stared down at the line containing Taro’s name and a sickly frown tugged at her face.
“Got you,” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-three
The Unmoving Stars
As he watched Rodrick and his men ride off with their haul, a thick knot swelled in Taro’s stomach. He peered around the vast horizon, seeing nothing but white bones and dust before him. He sat on the ground and took inventory of what supplies they had left. His tracking equipment, including the dowsing compass and map, were thankfully intact. They had enough dried meats, fruits, and cheeses packed away inside of wax paper for the next several days, but the water they had would scarcely be enough for three people over any serious distance.
Taro’s hands were shaking. It felt like everything was falling apart. A few tears trickled down his cheek, but he wiped them quickly away and cursed at himself. He couldn’t afford to let this break him.
Vexis was surprisingly jovial about the situation. She’d been hovering over Taro as he looked through his pack, then hit him on the shoulder and waved him along. “Let’s get moving, buttercup. Quit your blubbering.”
Taro stretched his face. “I wasn’t—”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Vexis said dryly. She looked at the setting sun in the west. “We’ll walk at night, and sleep during the day. Hopefully we’ll get to Rohesh before we run out of water.”
There were four water-skins left. Taro gave Sikes a significant look and removed several crowns from his satchel. He pressed them into the bewildered Sikes’ hand.
“What’s this for?” Sikes said.
“Our rations might not be enough for three. Head back through the mountains and use this money to get yourself somewhere safe, far away from us or Endra. Maybe somewhere in Craetos or the Western Kingdoms.”
Sikes stared down at the money with a pained look, then back at the mountain ranges.
“It’s okay,” Taro said, patting him on the side. “This is my fight. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Please…Taro.” Sikes struggled with his words.
“What?” Taro asked, tilting his head.
For a moment Sikes was silent, as if he were in deep thought. He looked up and for the first time Taro saw something buried deep in his eyes: fear. His whole body was shaking, and his legs wobbled like they couldn’t support hm.
“Please…” he said. “I don’t want to be alone.”
It was the first time Taro had ever seen Sikes so emotional. It seemed at odds with the boy he’d known for so long, that it took him a while to process it. Taro put a hand on his friend’s shoulder and hugged him.
Vexis was impatiently tapping her foot and scrunching her face. “All right, break it up, lovebirds. We’ve got ground to cover and girls to save.”
One of the wagons had been abandoned by Rodrick and his men. It’d been picked clean of valuables, of course, but there were a few bits of clothing which the three used as shielding against the sun. No more words were exchanged about Sikes leaving, and the matter seemed quietly resolved as he trailed behind Vexis and Taro with a positively shamed look on his face.
The three walked with their backs to the setting sun for hours. As night came, the Helian desert was surprisingly cool and crisp. Varieties of small life came with the darkness. Lizards scurried across the dry earth, coyotes howled in the distance, and Taro was careful to avoid the many scorpions skittering through the cracked ground and around what little vegetation the desert could yield.
The sky was the most brilliant thing Taro had ever seen. In Endra Edûn, a starry night sky simply did not exist. It was always too bright, whether from the Arclight or the hundreds of lit buildings. And though there were fewer lights in Ashwick, the sky was always cloudy there. Here, it was different. With not a man-made structure for miles, the sky was peppered with ten thousand stars strewn like tiny diamonds in a sea of blackness. The moons, Iset and Coset, were full and round, each seeming unnaturally close. They lit up the desert with pale light, illuminating the trio’s way forward.
“I never knew there were so many stars,” Sikes said softly. It sounded as though he were talking to himself, as the comment was too quiet to be directed to either Taro or Vexis; but silent as it was, they both heard it.
“I was taught that each star was a god holding up the night sky,” Taro said. His mother had told him this as a child. Looking back, it seemed quite silly.
“Me and Kadia used to lay outside and watch the stars before…well…” Vexis waved her finger at a constellation, drawing invisible lines. “That one’s Jormung the World Eater.” She traced the outline of a snake. “Then there’s Galkrond, the Twin Emperors, and Widow’s Peak.” As she spoke she drew a snake, two thrones, and a mountain in the air.
Taro knew many constellations, but he’d never heard of those before.
There were stories of centuries past that said the stars used to move west to east, and every year new constellations would grace the sky. But now the stars never moved.
Taro looked up for a long minute, trying to find exactly which ones she was referring to, and as he did his prosthetic smacked against something hard jutting up from the ground. He sliced his arm on some sharp rocks as he fell, but he was far more concerned about his wooden foot than anything. He cradled it and checked it over a half-dozen times. A lack of food or water they could deal with; but if he couldn’t walk, he was less than useless.
“You’re fine,” Vexis said, offering him her hand. He took it and she pulled him up.
Sikes inspected the triangular piece of stone that Taro had tripped over. It was smooth and white, with strips of bright metal running along the sides. There were a few weathered bits of Deific writing on the tip.
“What is this?” Sikes ran his fingers along the edge.
“I told you this used to be a great battlefield. The dragons, the Old High Gods, and the ancient kings fought here against Nuruthil. A lot of their war machines are still buried here. Before my beloved father outlawed it, it was common for people to come out here and fish artifacts up from the sand.”
They walked until their legs ached, all night and well into the early hours of the next morning. As the sun rose, Taro could barely keep his eyes open. Just when he was about to tell them it was time to make camp, he felt someone grab the back of his shirt. It was Vexis, who yanked him backward.
“What the hell,” Taro sputtered. He looked ahead and saw an enormous hole in the ground only one step in front of him. Taro couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it, but he was tired, and it blended into the sand around it. It was fifty yards across, and nearly the same distance wide. Inside were old wooden cranes supported by frayed ropes and rusted pulleys. It was an excavation site of some kind, but looked as though it had been abandoned overnight.
“Thanks,” he stammered. The thought of falling sent a chill through his body.
Taro peeked over the edge and down the sheer drop into the dark pit below. There were ladders and ropes on the edges, presumably for workers to climb up and down.
The sun was beginning to beat down hard and would only get worse as it approached high noon.
Taro grimaced. “I guess we’ll make camp here.”
Vexis casually strode along the side o
f the pit. “Well, considering we haven’t got any tents, I suppose camp is made.” She tested one of the rickety ladders and found it could support her weight.
“Where are you going?” Sikes asked.
“To bed,” Vexis said, beginning her climb down. “You boys are welcome to try to sleep in the open sun if you want. I’m going to sleep down here in the shade.”
Taro and Sikes followed Vexis down into the pit without much protest. Ladders were of particular difficulty for Taro, and it took all of his concentration not to fall. The pressure of it pained the stump of his leg, and when he got to the bottom he knelt with his back against the earth-laden wall and removed his prosthetic to relieve the pressure.
He panted and leaned his head back. When he did, it struck a bone protruding from the soil. In fact, every wall had large dragon bones throughout them, as if the sand had been dumped on top of their graves. It was unnerving, but at least it was many degrees cooler than above ground. Off to the side was a tunnel supported by old wooden beams; an overturned, rusted mining cart sat just outside the entrance. While Taro got himself together, Vexis and Sikes examined the area.
Vexis peered inside the shaft opening, then went back to sit beside Taro. She asked for the map, and Taro laid it out on the ground.
“We should stay out here,” Vexis said. “I don’t like the look of those rotting beams.” She turned her attention to the map and pointed to a spot on the paper. “I’d guess we’re somewhere around here. If we walk after sunset, we’ll reach Rohesh before midnight.”
_____
Despite his overwhelming exhaustion, Taro found it hard to sleep. Perhaps it was the few rays of sunlight peeking into the pit. Perhaps it was the ominous mine staring out at them like some dark watcher. Whatever it was, he laid with his eyes wide open, listening to the creaking and skittering of the world. In the silence, every small sound was amplified a thousand times. The sand sifting off the top of the pit, the centipedes crawling beside the dry bones, and the caw of vultures far in the distance. He even swore he could hear the sound of gears grinding beneath the soil.
Other than his blinking, Taro didn’t move, so he was quite surprised that Sikes knew he was awake. Sikes spoke quietly, but the question was clearly directed at Taro.
“You said,” Sikes began slowly, “the stars were gods?”
“I heard it from my mom once. Sounds like bullocks to me,” Taro said flippantly.
“Me too,” Sikes admitted. “So you don’t think the Old Gods are watching us up there? Sailing around the Great Sea and all that.”
“They’re somewhere.” Taro took in a hard breath. “But it’s stupid to think that every time we screw things up the gods will come down and sort it all out.”
“Yeah. I guess so. And I guess even gods can’t solve everything.”
“What makes you say that?”
Sikes gestured at the cave walls. “This was a battlefield. If the Old Gods are all-powerful, they wouldn’t need armies to defeat their enemies. Right?”
Taro thought about it for a while, long enough for Sikes to repeat himself. Just as Taro was about to speak, Vexis called from the corner.
“He’s right—they’re not all-powerful,” Vexis said, groaning.
“I didn’t know you were an expert,” Sikes said.
“Now you know,” Vexis said, rubbing her eyes. “I got an earful every day for eighteen years. The Old Gods, the Great Sea, you name it.” She rolled over and seemed to try to find a comfortable position. “It’s a mess. Lots of conflicting information.”
“Such as?” Taro asked, clearly annoying her.
She turned back around. “The number of them, for one. Most people say there are six: Amín, Sorona, Terithoth, Lorendamu, Irenim, and Nuruthil.” She counted them off on her right hand, using her thumb twice for the sixth. “The Endrans and Ciridin don’t include Nuruthil at all. In Celosa, they have over forty named Old Gods, each with a different function. Gods of love, gods of light. Wouldn’t be surprised if they had a god of piss. The Asirgos have seventy undergods and loa spirits, and don’t get me started on Serra.”
“Sivion could clear it all up pretty quickly. She was there,” Taro said, though he knew it to be a foolish statement. The small conversation she had with him in the Conservatorium was probably the longest conversation she’d held with a human in a thousand years.
“Next time she’s in the mood for questions, go ahead and ask her,” Vexis said. “In the meantime, I can tell you with some certainty that there were six. My father is the foremost authority on the Faith of the Mast.”
“I know a few clerics in Endra that would dispute that,” Taro said. “From what I’ve heard, most consider him a perverse bastard.”
“He’s that and more,” Vexis admitted. “But the Old Gods speak to him now and again.”
“How do you know that?” Taro asked.
“He knows things that…” Vexis’ throat clicked like she’d swallowed her words.
“Fine then,” Sikes said, “tell us: if the Old Gods are so powerful, why did they need dragons to fight for them. These bones didn’t get here on their own. Thousands must’ve died in here.”
“Tens of thousands,” Vexis said. She leaned up and smoothed out her shirt. “If I tell you the story, will you shut up and go to sleep?”
Sikes nodded. “I’ll try. It’s hard to sleep in a graveyard.”
“Get used to it,” Vexis said. “The entire world’s a graveyard.”
_____
What follows is the text of the Mast. The oldest version sits in the Helian holy archives, deep within the Sepulcher vaults. I’ve seen it, firsthand, written by Sun King Aldor’s own hand.
In the beginning, there was nothing but nameless energy churning in the Great Sea. The Sea was composed not of water, but of darkness and chaotic aether. After eons of chaos, a small bit of the aether aligned into order. In that moment, Nuruthil was born in fear, in pain, and alone.
“Is there another out there?” Nuruthil whispered to the darkness. No answer came.
He looked out at the chaos of the universe and despaired, for there were none like him. For eons he searched for another small bit of order but found none, and thus the lonely god set out to give order to the universe by himself.
At the center of the chaos, where much aether had coalesced, he began by creating beings from his own self to help him in his great task. They each told him how to give order to the universe.
Lorendamu was first, and he saw the largest problem. “Lord of All,” he said to Nuruthil, “there can be no good order if things do not happen in sequence.”
Nuruthil agreed, and Lorendamu set all things to the flow of time. Before him, all events happened in chaotic order and there was no cause and effect, and moments often occurred out of proper sequence.
With time established, Nuruthil began on his great work: a world of pure order. Our world, Arkos.
Other gods came from the aether as well. Keradeth, who forged the mountains and oceans. Her great machines sit at the bottom of the water, pushing the tides and churning the great wheel of the oceans.
Then came Irenim, Amín, and Sarona, who stood before Nuruthil and pleaded, “Lord of All, we beg of you, the greatest order in this universe is the life you have given us. Grant us leave to give a small piece of that to many. Let this world we create be inhabited by millions, and they will aid us in its perfection.”
So it was done. Sarona created the first dragons—Sivion and Antherion, you already know. But also Craetos the All-Seer, Sirion the Highfather, Valderion the Stoneheart, and Treldair the White.
From the sky, Nuruthil plucked four stars, each with a different purpose. The first was the Star of Creation, the great Arclight that spread life throughout Arkos. Trees and plants, fish and fowl, species of all kinds. Humans were among the first, but were inconsequential creatures, taking up just a small corner of Lorne-Aldor.
“I was taught that the first humans came from Da Shi,” Sikes said.
“Sorry. Go ahead.”
Arkos was a veritable paradise, and none could see the problems that were to come. You see, dragons were immortal, but it was recognized that there was only so much space on Arkos. If all creatures lived forever, the resources of the world would dry up. This was not order and couldn’t be allowed.
The final god, Terithoth, retrieved the fifth star from the sky, the Star of Furtherance, which brought life to a halt. After a certain length of time, a lesser being’s body would cease to function and their soul would return to sail on the Great Sea with the Old High Gods. The order pleased Nuruthil, but jealousy and rage fermented in the hearts of the dragons, for they were bound to Arkos unto the end of all things, unable to pass on. If one died, their souls were turned to oblivion.
“Have we not pleased you?” Sivion beseeched. “Are you not pleased with our great works? Do you love the lesser creatures more than us?”
Sorona offered comfort, but it fell on deaf ears. The dragons continued their charge but spoke not to the gods for centuries. During this time the tribes of Amín became the Old Kingdoms: the Ciridin, the Anoseti, the Hedron, the Aedris, the Solis, and the North Thains. The Old Kingdoms flourished, and the order pleased Nuruthil.
As you might expect, no civilization can live in peace forever. Disagreements turned to arguments, arguments turned to war, and when Nuruthil looked back to the humans after a millennia, he saw them ending each other’s lives involuntarily, destroying the order he’d created.
At first, he tried to stop them with reason. He sent visions to the First Ones, to Aldor, who would become Sun King, to Sacrolesh, to Lord Anoset, to Yurosu, to Halios, to Liniseth. But none would listen.
