by D M Wozniak
The complaints cascade almost immediately.
Colu steps forward, a look of annoyance on his face. “We don’t need a voider,” he says. “We never have. What we need is power, strategy, and leadership, all of which I possess.”
“But you’re Xian!” someone says, hidden in the crowd. “How can we trust someone who we’re at war with?” says another.
With that, the room erupts again in argument.
I push the noise to the back of my mind. It is like the thick fog that has filled the room, only bitter instead of sweet.
I stand over the map table, which is water-colored over black ink. It’s a beautiful work that rivals anything we have at the university.
It doesn’t show the entire Northern Kingdom, and almost none of Xiland. In one corner reads 100x100 King Miles. At one edge is Xi Bay, its tones faded blue amidst a subtle pattern of waves. There are dozens of towns there, up and down the shoreline that runs hundreds of linear miles long around the immense, curved gulf. Each of them is marked with dots, and lettered by name.
In the center of the map is a red dot, near others that read Prainise, Chartise, Joscaio.
But there are newer markings besides these.
An ink-well, gold coin, and wooden ruler rest in the center of the map, and I push them aside.
My action reveals three circles, freshly drawn, looking like they were traced with the gold coin, and a line connecting each of them.
One of these circles is directly over the red dot—obviously the location of this hilma plantation. The other two are about ten miles in either direction.
I look up, seeing if I can get Colu over to explain, but he is in fervid conversation with the crowd, so I turn my attention back to the map.
This is what Cleanthes was saying before he died. Colu mapped this out. He saw the airship from the watchtower and must have transposed its location and course on this map based on geographical details.
Putting a finger to the parchment, I run it along the length of the line going southward, until it ends abruptly at the shoreline of Xi Bay, where the green meets the blue.
There’s a town there, its name written in tiny, flowing letters that read Winter’s Baiou.
I bring a hand to my temple.
It can’t be.
Suddenly, I wish that I was out on the balcony again, breathing in the clear night air. The hilma smoke makes the room spin, and I need to place both palms on the table, leaning over in delirium.
Winter’s Baiou.
Finally, I know where Marine is headed.
She’s in the same place where our marriage began.
And soon, where it will end.
The Spy from Prainise
Chimeline’s face hovers over mine, as I blink my eyes against the light.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Colu said to wake you,” she answers, her voice silken with her small hand on my bare chest. “He wants to show you something.”
I look around at the luxurious bedroom, realizing I don’t know where I am. I see green ivy wallpaper and the morning sun shining through threadbare pink drapes. This is a woman’s bedroom, but I’ve never been here before.
I peel back the covers of the bed and notice that I’m only wearing my undergarments.
I exhale.
“You passed out by the map table,” Chimeline explains, her voice pleasant.
I sit up in bed. “The map. Where is it?”
“It’s over there.” She points to an ornate white dresser near the closed bedroom door.
Chimeline walks over to the fireplace and fetches my clothes and boots, then sits back down on the edge of the bed as I swing my feet over the side. But not before looking to the other half of the bed, at the tossed bedsheets and pillows there.
“I had them carry you here after you passed out,” she explains, standing up and straightening the sheets. “Colu was too busy to look after you, so I insisted on it myself.”
“You did?”
“I was worried about you,” she says offhandedly, focused on making the bed and smoothing the sheets.
I stand up, getting out of her way, and begin pulling on my clothes. “Thank you.”
She glances at me. “I just kept thinking about what happened last night. What you said on the balcony. I don't know—you have a lot on your shoulders right now. I just wanted to make sure you're alright.”
I hesitate in the midst of buttoning my shirt. Her kindness isn't completely unexpected, but her understanding my myriad of feelings makes me wonder if we are more alike than I thought.
Or maybe she is just getting close enough to kill me.
“I appreciate that very much.”
She stops working on the bed. “Do you feel better?”
“A bit.”
But the truth is, the dark thoughts of Cleanthes’ death still consume me. No amount of sleep will dilute it.
Two students. Dead.
I push all of these morbid thoughts aside and flash her a smile. “Yes, I am better. And for good reason.”
She returns the smile, warmly, genuinely, without knowledge of my weight. “And what reason is that?”
I finish buttoning my shirt and nod toward the rolled-up map in the corner, its image permanently imprinted upon my mind. “I know where she went.”
“Lady Marine?”
I nod. “Winter’s Baiou,” I say. “Have you been there?”
She shakes her head, but stays silent the entire time I lace my boots. When I’m done, I turn back to her and see a distant look in her eyes. Her previous sunny demeanor is suddenly overcome with shade, and I’m not sure why.
“Do you want to stay here?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer.
“This is a rogue hilma plantation. Misery will descend upon this place. It’s not a question of if. It’s a question of when.”
“I know. I just wish it didn’t have to be so soon. It feels so good to be in a house again. To sleep in a bed again.”
I nod. “Once we get to Winter’s Baiou, you’ll get that. And it will be safe. I’m not leaving you here at the mercy of the skullmen.”
She looks down and nods.
I furrow my brow. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Almost twelvebell.”
I mumble a curse—already half the day is done.
She stands up and fetches my cloak from a hook on the door, holding it as I snake my arms through, much like Elrich used to do at the Royal House. But unlike Elrich, Chimeline continues to stand close in front of me, spreading my cloak out against my chest with her palms, her head tilted up towards me.
“You said Colu wants to speak to me?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
She wrinkles her nose. “In the stables, I think.”
I nod.
“So are we leaving soon?” she asks. “For Winter’s Baiou?”
I gently shake my head. “There is something I need to do first.”
“What’s that?”
“Bury Cleanthes.”
I walk through the large open door of the white barn and my eyes take a moment to transition from the harsh midday sun to the cool shadow. Colu leans over a bale of hay in the darkness, his back to me. But then he stands straight, backing away slightly, and I see what has been left behind.
A young boy lay there, surrounded in a buzzing cloud of flies.
His throat has been cut deeply, the wound gaping wide in shades of pink and white. His own blood, already emptied, covers his entire body and surrounding pile of hay.
I momentarily look away, not expecting such a macabre sight.
“This was a spy’s doing,” Colu eventually says, teeth clenched. “From Prainise.”
He points to the stalls in the darkness. “The redskull’s mare is missing.”
It takes me a moment to comprehend what has happened. “Were you onto him or something?”
“What?”
“Did you know who the spy
was? Is that why this happened?”
“No,” he says deeply while glancing at me. “He was onto us.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I say. I take a step forward to peer at the body, and the cloud of flies momentarily disperses. The blood on his shirt is dry and the material stiff. “This happened fullbells ago.”
“Exactly,” he replies. “I’m guessing last night, right after your speech in the redskull’s bedroom.”
I put a hand to my head as I try to remember the moments leading up to my passing out. “I’m not following.”
“He left to tell Prainise the news. That the redskull is dead. That we are defenseless.”
He brushes past me, exiting the stables into the sunlight.
“Where are you going?”
“Time for roll-call.”
“What?”
“I need to find out who the spy was. Find out what others may have told him or her over the past day.”
“Does it matter? The spy is already gone. The damage is already done.”
“Damage?” Colu asks as he continues to march forward. “You haven’t seen damage yet. This whole place will burn.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He stops and turns to me. “They’re coming, master voider. Your arrival here—” He extends his hand to the mansion beyond. “The redskull’s death has started a chain of events that may be our ruin. We spoke about this last night, but things are happening far quicker than I had planned.”
“And you’re blaming me for all of this?” I ask in disbelief.
“No,” he says, shaking his head while looking down at the sandy ground. “I don’t have time for blame. All I need to know right now is if you are planning to stay or not.”
I look to the front door of the mansion up ahead. It’s open, and Chimeline leans against its frame, a cup of tea in her cradled hands.
“I’ll stay to bury my friend, but I’m not about to help you fight this cursed drug war with voidance.”
He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he glares at me with his one eye.
“Then get the fuck out of my way,” he says, and then marches off.
The effulgent helps me carry Cleanthes’ body out of the mansion and into the millionescent-enclosed graveyard. We do the same with the stablehand boy, who is apparently an orphan. No one else comes to look at or mourn over his body. I use my voidstone to bury them, but not before taking Cleanthes’ necklace from his gray neck and putting it in my cloak pocket.
I now have three voidstones, including my own. Two treasures which, given the circumstances, I do not wish to possess.
I remember that Cleanthes mentioned stacks of field stone in the barn, so I go back there and search for them. True to his word, I find them all the way in the corner, behind leaning rakes and shovels, and tangled in strands of cobwebs.
I pick out two large, beautiful slabs, and haul them over to the fresh graves.
Then I spend a fullbell inscribing them using my voidstone, as Cleanthes had once done.
One reads: Jacyon, Stablehand.
The other: Cleanthes, Citadelian Voider.
I’ll be Temberlain himself if people remember my student as a redskull.
He was so much more than that.
It is late afternoon by the time Chimeline, the effulgent, and I leave the hilma plantation.
Colu must still be angry—he doesn’t see us off.
But as our horses meander past the center fountain, down the sandy path and onto Xi Bay Road, I have the instinctive urge to turn around. When I do, I see him standing there, watching us from within the shadow of the white house.
I hate to admit it, but I’m going to miss the Xian man. There is an honesty honed in him that few other men possess. It’s a shame that he has chosen to waste it on this forsaken place.
Once the field of sagging bulbs, pregnant with black sap, hides the mansion from view, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. I am back on the road southbound, and this time I have a specific destination.
Of all the towns where that line could end, it had to be Winter’s Baiou.
After two bells’ brisk ride, the sun lingers low on the horizon, turning everything into shades of deep gold and purple. We notice a campsite up ahead, just off the road in a trampled grass clearing. A slender trail of white smoke rises there.
Chimeline and the effulgent both look at me in concern, but I can see a royal banner waving in the gentle breeze.
“It’s northern military,” I say in surprise, my brow furrowing.
“Is that a good thing?” Chimeline asks me.
After a moment of thought, I nod. “It’s better than the alternative.”
“And what would that be?” the effulgent asks.
“Xian scouts.”
As we approach the camp, the reason for its chosen location becomes obvious. It’s at the intersection of Xi Bay Road and a wide stream. The tributary to the River Xi cuts underneath a wide-planked bridge in the road up ahead. Four dressed horses stand tethered there, drinking fresh water on the sandy shore.
Closer to us, four soldiers in full armor eat around a small fire pit in the center of a clearing. All of them are young—in their twenties, most likely. Full heads of hair without a hint of gray. One of them has a red cloak draped across his back that matches the banner stuck into the sandy ground. He stands up, places his food down upon his tin plate, and wipes his hand on a nearby rag. Then he meets us at the roadside, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Greetings,” I say, dismounting. “I am Master Voider Democryos.”
His eyes widen, and then narrow. “Do you have the king’s signet?”
I show him my ring.
Once he sees the gold seal of Andrej X, he takes his hand off off his hilt and bows. “This is an honor, your grace. I apologize for the formalities. I only ask because we are far from the citadel.”
I nod, extending a hand to the other two. “This is Chimeline and a graycloak. My travel companions.”
He subtly raises his eyebrows, but he’s too educated to make a fool of himself by asking me about them. Instead, he shows proper respect by signaling the other three soldiers to stop eating and stand at attention.
“Please, as you were,” I say.
“Won’t you join us at our fire?” he replies.
For a moment, I vacillate, but then realize that night is quickly approaching, and this is a fine camping ground. It’s near fresh water and the road. And there is already a fire burning and news from the south to be had. It would be foolish to keep going just for another few fullbells of darkened travel.
So I thank him. We tether our horses alongside the soldiers’, and join them for dinner, sharing some of our dried fruits and nuts, while they give us the remains of their turkey.
At first, the conversation is pleasant, but cautionary. Despite my station, they are guarded. All the soldier says is that the four of them are headed north with urgent news for the king—information that is too risky to be carried by pigeon.
That’s when I have an idea.
Excusing myself, I walk back into the approaching darkness, finding my horse by the bridge and searching in the saddle bag for something that was meant for Cleanthes.
As I rifle through our supplies, I hear a shuffle in the grasses. A few of our horses begin flapping their lips in distress.
Swiveling in place, I stand still and look out onto the darkened grasses. One hand is on the gold setting of my voidstone while the other is still searching in the saddlebag.
After another meager shuffle in the purple distance, a bird takes flight.
Meanwhile, my one hand comes across something smooth and hard in the saddlebag. It’s what I was looking for.
The bottle of sugarcanex.
I quickly grab it and return to the campfire, looking over my shoulder as I go. When I enter the ring of light, I open the cork, and the four soldiers erupt in claps and cheers.
“Is that what I
think it is?” one asks.
“The finest sugarcanex for the finest soldiers.”
“We must be on our way soon,” warns the commander. “We are riding through the night, and only stopping here for a brief rest for us and our horses.” But he sees the excitement in his three men, so he nods reluctantly. “A little will do no harm.”
“To the king!” I say. I take a swig from the bottle and then grimace. It’s the words that make me grimace, not the strong, sweet taste of liquor.
“To the king!” they all reply, as I pass the bottle to the soldier.
“Let’s just say that the war is won,” he says, finishing the bottle and tossing it into the fire with a shatter. “Well, practically speaking. The details are what I’m bringing to the king.”
“I see.”
He shakes his head distantly. “I cannot wait to see my wife. I have a son, I’ve been told.”
“Congratulations,” I say. “May he grow to be as strong as his father.”
The other soldiers offer their congratulations in their own, slurred way.
“So the war is won, you say. How is that possible, so fast?” I ask.
He raises his eyebrows as he stares into the fire. “That’s for the king’s ears only.”
“I understand, soldier. I admire your virtue.”
The soldier picks up a stick resting on the ground, and starts to draw in the dirt between his feet. “I guess it’s alright to share, you being the master voider and all. Besides, you’re headed south. You’ll find out eventually.”
I nod, trying to hide my excitement.
“We pushed them back to their own lands,” he says, smiling wide. “Out of Xi Bay.”
I purse my lips. “Completely?”
He nods. “Their navy is decimated. Whatever few ships they have left, they’ve retreated with them.”
“Will we pursue them on land? Move south into Xiland?”
He snaps the twig. “No. We’re holding the front lines. We already burned their imperial ports on the southern side of the bay. There is no way they are climbing out of this hole.”
“But you have them on the run,” I reply. “I would imagine that the commanders would want to keep the momentum going and attack them on land. Keep pushing them southward.”
