by D M Wozniak
My teeth grind together at his senseless logic. “What happened to it?”
He shrugs indifferently. “The farmer whose field you crashed in was going to stick a pitchfork in both of your bellies, but his wife convinced him otherwise. She came to me. I had to transport the two of you into the village on a donkey’s back. By the time I returned, the farmer had set fire to the airship. I heard that it was consumed immediately.”
I cannot help but groan. “That was the property of the king, you fool,” I say.
“Property,” the effulgent shakes his head once again. “Always, your perspective leads down the dark path of ownership.”
“I said king. Didn’t you hear me?”
He nods. “Being part of the Northern Kingdom, I must respect the king. But the airship was unmarked. There was no heraldry.”
My breathing returns to normal, as I realize that I cannot blame this man. He is telling the truth. Misplayed beliefs aside, effulgents don’t lie. Besides, the farmer’s reaction makes sense. Few in the world have ever seen an airship before. People flying across the sky—even an educated man would be confused. Frightened, even. An illiterate man whose only responsibility is to protect his family and land? People have been killed over smaller misunderstandings.
“Well, I suppose that I owe you my thanks,” I eventually say. “You’ve saved both of our lives.”
He spreads out his hands, palms facing me. “You credit me with powers which I do not possess.”
“It is true. I will speak highly of you to the head effulgent and to the king when I return to the citadel.” I take a purposeful pause until I decide to get to the heart of the matter. “If you'll be so kind as to hand over our belongings, we'll be on our way.”
He smiles wryly, his dark eyes becoming slits. “There is no such thing as belongings, master voider. We belong to the Unnamed, not each other. And we certainly do not own anything as evil as that dark stone you carried.”
“Where is it?” I ask, my teeth clenched.
He must sense my mounting anger, because he answers quickly. “It is in a safe place.”
“Do you intend to return it to me?”
I can see him swallow in the waning light. He also shifts in place, interweaving his fingers together to crack them, before placing them back on his thighs.
“I’m afraid not.”
I feel my entire chest enlarge as if it’s a sail catching the wind, but I keep my voice as level as glass. “Listen to me, effulgent. I am Master Voider Democryos. I report directly to King Andrej X of the Northern Kingdom. Do you not respect the office which I inhabit? Do you not fear what will happen to your temple and this entire village if you do not return what is rightfully mine?”
“The temple does not belong to me, nor does this village. Everything belongs to the Unnamed.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
He takes a slow breath and looks at me. “How can I trust that you will not strike me or the graycloak down, should I return the black stone?”
I shake my head. “I am a man of my word. I would never harm you. I have never harmed a single soul using voidance.”
He winces. “You harm countless souls every time you work your black arcana. The souls trapped inside the fragments. You just do not realize it.”
My instinct is to argue against his ridiculous comment, but there’s something he said that sparks my curiosity.
“Fragments?”
He looks at me in confusion.
“You said fragments.”
“Did I?”
I wave him away. “It doesn’t matter. The idea of ghosts living in voidstones is nothing more than a haunt story that we tell to children on Husks Eve.”
“It is not a story. It is the way of unwanting.”
“Can you prove it?”
After a span of silence, I grunt. “So your lack of trust in me is rooted in blind faith.”
He looks away, momentarily deep in thought.
“Not entirely, master voider.”
I wait for him to explain.
“I have personally experienced the evil nature of voidance, with one such as yourself. The black power corrupts. You seem like a man of your word, but so did he. It did not turn out well, and I promised myself never to make the same mistake again.”
“Another voider?”
He nods.
I lean forward. “Did this man hide his face from you?”
He tilts his head in confusion.
“The voider! Did he cloud himself behind a veil?”
“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “I do not know what you mean.”
I lean back in disappointment and stare at the well in the distance. Movement there catches my eye.
“Why do you ask?” asks the effulgent.
I ignore him for a moment while I look at the stone well. The same young girl from this morning is there, with her large bowl. But she’s not filling it. She’s sitting on the stone bench, staring at us.
“I am looking for another voider,” I say. “I thought that he may have been through here in the past few days.”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
“So this supposedly evil voider that you met. What was his name?”
He looks back at his temple in the distance, which is now purple with the dusk. The girl by the well notices him looking in her direction, collects her bowl, and walks away.
“I do not wish to speak on the matter,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.
He seems distracted now, and his words are mumbled. I cannot tell if he is talking to me or to himself. “...tying it to a pigeon yesterday, hoping that I could send it back to the head effulgent. Unfortunately, it was too heavy. She could not fly.”
“What are you talking about?”
He turns back and meets my gaze, blinking a few times. “I cannot give the stone back to you, but I cannot steal it from you either. So I am intent on sending it back to the citadel, where you can reclaim it. The graycloak will ride out in the morning. That is the only option on the way of unwanting.”
I shake my head.
“I will free you a day after she leaves, and you can—”
“No!” I yell. “I’m not going back north,” I add, softer this time. “I must head south.”
“South? The war is to the south.”
“I’m looking for a veiled man,” I say. “He’s a murderer and a thief.”
He groans. “Well, if it is justice you seek, I wish you the best of luck. Perhaps when you find this man, you will also learn to accept the truth. That all power corrupts.”
The bell begins ringing eight times, and the effulgent looks back to his temple again.
“I need my voidstone for my journey south.”
He purses his lips. “I am not sure what to do. I will pray upon it tonight.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” I mumble.
Ignoring my comment, he slowly stands and looks at the empty bowl just inside the door. “I will send the graycloak with more water for the two of you.”
I stand as well, but do not approach the door.
“Tell me. How far south are we?” I ask.
He turns back to me. “Halfway.”
“Halfway?”
“Four day’s ride from the citadel. Four day’s ride from the southern border.”
Stepping outside, he locks the door to my cage, and I get as close as I can to him. “What is the name of this village?”
He sniffles in disapproval. “Naming people or places does not serve any purpose. It implies ownership. The land, the soil, the plants. We own none of these things. These are gifts from the Unnamed.”
“But what do people call this village? If one looked upon a map, what would they see?”
He sets his hands down upon the bamboo, and it groans as he leans in.
“Fiscarlo,” he whispers, as if it’s a secret.
Then with a tired nod, he stands up straight. “May the peace of the Unnamed be upon you
this evening.”
He begins walking back to his temple in the darkness. The moon must be low in the sky, since I don’t see it, nor any shadows it creates.
“Fiscarlo,” I slowly repeat to myself, watching him pass the round huts.
When he’s about halfway home, by the circular well, the word finally hits me. In my mind, I picture the over-sized map of the Northern Kingdom on my bedchamber wall. Red pins stick everywhere on it, along with small sheets of paper, names and years written on them.
My students.
Since the war started, I have only placed four red pins upon the map. One student for each year. The brightest student. The one who is most likely to instill change in this impoverished world.
A place just like this.
I can see it now. Southeast of the citadel, yet still far from the edge of the map or Xi Bay, is one red pin. The name Anaxarchis is written on it.
It’s placed squarely on the remote farming town of Fiscarlo.
“Wait!” I yell out into the night, grasping the bars of the cage tightly and wedging my face between them. The effulgent turns around, waiting for me to continue.
“I remember this place! I sent one of my students here!”
He continues to stare at me from the well. I cannot see his expression in the darkness.
“His name was Anaxarchis,” I add, lowering my voice. Being in the countryside, the only other sound is the locusts in the trees. And even though he’s far away from me, my voice carries easily.
The effulgent looks down at the ground for so long that I wonder if he’s praying.
“Did you hear me?” I ask him.
He looks up. “Yes. I heard you.”
“My student’s name is Anaxarchis.”
“I know,” he answers.
“Well, you can speak to him, then!” I say, feeling my heart rise. “Surely you trust him, by now. And if you trust him, you can trust me. He was my student—”
“He’s dead, master voider,” interrupts the effulgent.
I’m not quite sure if I heard him correctly. But then, after a moment of silence he adds, “I’m sorry.”
Before I can reply—before I can even think—the effulgent turns and walks back to his temple.
And the locusts begin to sing.
Yerla
Last night, before walking back to his temple, the effulgent had wished me the peace of the Unnamed.
Whatever in Temberlain’s Ashes that is, I didn’t receive it.
How could I sleep? I kept thinking of Anaxarchis. Now, with approaching sunrise and the slow awakening of the village, people and animals alike, I am still thinking of him.
He was a gifted student—and a young one at that. Dedicated, smart, insightful. Kind.
It’s hard to believe that he’s dead.
There’s so much running through my mind. The effulgent spoke of another voider who became corrupted by the power of the voidstone. It’s why the effulgent is so reluctant to return mine.
You seem like a man of your word, but so did he.
He must be referring to Anaxarchis. If so, what happened? While the effulgents and voiders have always been at odds in their beliefs, our quarrels have never transgressed into violence or death. There is common ground, if you look for it. Certainly, many of my students at the university are arrogant and quick to judge—young men and women I could see causing this sort of tragedy—but not Anaxarchis. He was Marine’s gentle cousin from Giriya. His opinions were like his physique—small of stature.
This is why I only choose the best students for these stations. It is precisely the quality of their character that is most important, because I know that they are out here on their own. Outside of my supervision, they are left to their own devices. I needed to trust them to carry on the voider name in honor.
But apparently, it all fell apart here in Fiscarlo.
What is happening?
I feel as though my entire life is a castle I’ve built upon sand, and now, high tide has arrived.
Chimeline inhales between her teeth.
She could not sleep either. Her grimacing betrays a great deal of pain, and I am full of empathy for her. She is now caught up in this journey of mine. She didn’t ask for this, yet she has not uttered one word of complaint.
“Chimeline,” I say. Though she lies on the ground, I know that she’s awake.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to do everything I can to get my voidstone back, and the first thing I’m going to do is heal you.”
“Thank you,” she says, but I hear doubt in her voice. She heard my conversation with the effulgent last night. She knows it may be days until I get it back.
There’s a stretch of silence, save a rooster crowing far off.
“We’re going to get out of here.”
She doesn’t answer.
“After I heal your wrist, I'll make sure that they take good care of you. After I leave, that is. The only reason that you're locked up is because they're afraid you'll let me out.”
She opens her eyes, and sits up.
“I assumed I was going with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It will be dangerous. My trail still goes south, possibly into war-torn territory.”
“I cannot stay here,” she says.
“Why not?”
“I’m not going back to that life. Wherever you are headed, it is better than what I left behind.”
“You’re referring to being in the king’s harem. Back in the citadel.”
“Yes.”
“But that sort of life is already left behind. The king’s men will not find you here.”
She doesn’t immediately answer, and for a long time, I hear only her soft breaths. But then she speaks up.
“I know that it's important for you to find the veiled man. But you mustn't underestimate him.”
I wait for her to continue.
“There is no limit to what he’s capable of.”
I shake my head in disagreement. “Every voider has limits. It’s called voideath. I nearly reached mine flying here with you.”
Her good hand plays with her bangs.
“That’s not what I meant. I meant limits to what you are willing to do with your power. There is a goodness in you, and in him there is not. Even if your powers are the same, you are not equal.”
“Goodness is never a weakness,” I say. “Even the effulgency agrees with that.”
She lies down, as if unconvinced by my answer.
Movement in the corner of my eye draws my attention to the outside, rear corner of my cell.
The tan girl from the well is standing there, watching me silently from behind a nearby hut. She must be around twelve years old, and wears what resembles a dirty sheet. Taking a hesitant step towards me, she looks back at the temple. She’s still many feet away, in the shadows, but within earshot.
“They say you are the master voider,” she whispers forcefully.
I nod. “That is true.”
“Can you heal someone with it?”
By it, I know what she means and take a step forward. “Is someone sick?”
“Can you heal someone with it?” she repeats, much louder this time. She almost spits out her words while risking a nervous glance at the temple again.
“It depends on the sickness,” I reply. “Why do you ask?”
But she never gets a chance to answer.
We both turn toward a sound that echoes out from faraway—it’s the doors to the temple opening up.
Both the pale effulgent and the dark graycloak exit, alone. They are carrying what I presume is breakfast and bowls of fresh water in their hands.
When I turn back to the bronzed girl, she’s gone.
When the pair arrives, I give them space as they slide the bowl of water underneath the door. Breakfast consists of eggs and rice wrapped in corn husks, hot enough to elicit steam in the already warm, morning air.
“So, what did your prayers tell you?” I a
sk, breaking the silence. I sit in the center of the cell, calmly drinking my water and getting ready to eat the food in my lap.
The effulgent looks down at me solemnly through a space between the bamboo.
“You said that you are headed south.”
I nod.
“There is a village one day’s ride southeast of here. For you, I will use its name. Gales.”
“I’ve heard of it. It’s a windmill town.”
He nods and points to the graycloak. “She will ride there with the stone.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I exhale, set my food aside, and slowly stand, readying the script in my head. Throughout the night I had thought about what I was going to say to this effulgent. My words of convincing. But now, I realize that I had underestimated the time I would have with him. The graycloak is wearing long, gray pants, worn boots, and a matching tunic with a burlap purse cinched about her waist. She’s already dressed for the journey, my voidstone undoubtedly already in her possession.
My words come out hasty and whiny, as if I had given no thought to them at all.
“You don’t have to do this. I’ve given you my word. Whatever happened between you and Anaxarchis is unfortunate, but it is forgiven. In no way is it a predication of the future—”
“Master voider, please. I have made this decision with guidance from the Unnamed. It is not up for debate.”
He places his hand on the graycloak’s slender shoulder, and quietly speaks to her. “Tell the master voider where you will leave it.”
The graycloak clears her throat, and looks at me through another space in-between the bars. She no longer has the innocent smile from yesterday. Instead, her face shows only seriousness. Maybe it’s because she is journeying south, alone. Or maybe it’s because she’s carrying what she believes is an evil relic. Whatever the reason, her voice is rushed and shaking.
“All the windmills have numbers on them. Your voidstone will be inside number thirteen. There is a work table inside of it, next to the runner stones. I will leave the pouch on it.”
“What if someone takes it before I arrive?”
