by D M Wozniak
“I imagine congratulations are in order,” Reddles says. “I saw his body, though it looked nothing like Mander. If it weren’t for his tattered clothes, I would not even believe it were him.”
“The Mander we knew was a disguise,” I say. “There was a monster behind that veil.”
Reddles nods. “Well, he certainly played me for a fool.”
“He played us all for fools. He fooled me, and he fooled my wife.” I purposely pause before saying the next charged words. “And he fooled the king.”
Reddles makes the subtlest of winces. One of the soldiers holding up the tarp breaks from his stoic, forward gaze to look at his commander in shock.
“I thought you were on your way to warn him,” I say.
“I was. But there were two things awaiting me at the Union which changed my mind.”
The wind picks up. Shadows slowly disappear as the clouds thicken. There is no more light and dark. Only shades of gray.
As I cock my head in curiosity, Reddles moves aside.
“This effulgent was one of them.”
She looks down at her bare feet. Her dress is a shining white that makes the tarp’s canvas look drab.
Then she timidly raises her head. Tears have formed trails down her cheeks.
I inhale sharply in recognition.
“My daughter,” Blythe gasps, at my side. “My daughter,” he repeats, louder this time.
Blythe steps forward, walking right underneath the tarp and past Reddles, as if the commander were not even there.
He wraps his arms around his daughter.
Her head is tilted upward, over his shoulder, locked in an embrace. For a long time, her mouth hangs open in shock. Then she says something into Blythe’s ear, and he nods.
Blythe pulls back but stays at his daughter’s side. Turning back to me, a smile crosses his face. “Thank the Unnamed. She received the message.”
She adds, “I copied the note and sent more pigeons on their way, in all directions. Then I came as fast as I could.”
The first drops of rain begin to fall. They are loud upon the taut canvas. In the distance, they hit the soldiers’ armor like wind chimes in a garden.
“Anyhow,” Reddles waves his hand. There’s something clutched inside of it. “The other thing waiting for me was much more—”
I give Reddles an apologetic look. “Excuse me for one moment.”
I walk out from under the tarp to the campfire beyond. Chimeline is still unconscious, the first raindrops on her skin not enough to wake her.
Kneeling, I touch her hands and forehead. Her skin is noticeably warmer than it had been, but being out in the elements is the last thing she deserves.
I try to pick her up but let out a short cry of pain. With my fractured hand, it’s impossible.
Colu sees what I’m trying to do. He comes near, easily lifts her, and carries her underneath the shelter of the canopy, setting her down upon the dry sand near Reddles’ feet.
Reddles looks at her with curiosity. “What happened to her?”
“Mander tried to kill her,” I say. “Thankfully, he was not successful.” I sigh heavily. “I cannot say the same for my wife.”
This is the second time since Reddles has appeared that I have said the words my wife. Inwardly, I don’t believe them. But the two of us went through so much pain together. The rift. The loss of love and trust. In this last moment, I refuse to acknowledge it. Maybe it is a sign of forgiveness. Maybe it a small act of rebellion in the face of death.
Reddles glances over at Marine’s body on the altar, exposed to the wind and rain.
“I am sorry.”
After a moment of silence, he shakes what’s in his hand. It’s a wrapped scroll that bears a broken, red waxen seal.
He hands it to me.
“This was the second thing awaiting me.”
I take and unfurl it, starting from the bottom. The instant I see the king’s signature, my heart drops.
To My most loyal commander, Reddles:
My master voider, Democryos, has dishonorably abandoned his station. I have reason to believe that he is heading south toward Winter’s Baiou, with ill intent.
Apprehend him and secure his voidstone. I am appointing submaster Mander as the new master voider. Have him assist, if necessary.
Personally escort Democryos back to the citadel, where he will await justice. If this proves too difficult, his head will suffice.
Your Majesty of the Northern Kingdom,
King Andrej X
Slowly and tightly, I curl the parchment back up and hand it back to Reddles.
“So, what are you going to do, commander?”
“If the king wants you brought to him, that leaves me with little choice.”
“We all have choices.”
He takes a step forward and forcefully whispers into my ear. “What would you have me do? If I disobey the king, it will be my head being delivered to him, not yours.”
I don’t reply, since he’s right.
“Just come back with me to the citadel,” he adds, his whisper a little less urgent. “I will vouch for your innocence. You have my word.”
I’m never going back to the citadel.
“I can’t do that, commander. I am sorry.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a much bigger problem.”
He waits for me to explain, so I point out to sea.
“Mander has been excavating that massive voidstone from beneath Xi Bay. That voidstone has been the reason for this entire campaign, and what happens next is of critical importance. Not just for the Northern Kingdom, but for this entire realm.”
“How so?”
“Voidance is at a crossroads, if you will,” I explain. “Suffice it to say that it’s a matter for voiders to resolve, ourselves. And the last thing we need is the king trying to abuse a power he has no understanding of for his own benefit.”
Reddles looks out to sea, fingering his star. “Be that as it may, I took a vow, master voider. A vow. To serve and obey. I am a soldier, not a voider.”
Reluctantly, I nod. “But you saw what happened here. The darkness which is at risk of being multiplied.”
He swallows.
“It is the kingdom that you serve—it and its people. Do you really think that bringing me back to the citadel is best?”
For a long time, Reddles is quiet as the storm grows. The sound of rain on the tarp drowns out the crying gulls.
An intense brightness draws our attention.
It’s Chimeline. She’s glowing again.
Reddles takes two steps away. “What is going on?” He unsheathes his sword with a shimmering sound. The metallic rattling extends across his company as other soldiers snap to attention.
I extend my hand to him. “It is alright, commander.”
“That voidance?”
I nod. “But not harmful.”
Chimeline leans upright, gently extending a hand in front of her. Her eyes are open but fixed on something far away.
“What is she doing?”
“I don’t know.”
She stares at the mound of debris underneath where the Celestium used to be.
I follow her gaze.
There is movement. The sound of ruins being sifted through. New dust rises, beaten down with heavy rain.
The storm is so strong now that it comes in sideways, getting most of us wet underneath the tarp. The fabric undulates violently. The four soldiers grasp onto the bamboo tightly, arms and legs bent.
Beyond, the waves grow in strength, pushed by the arriving storm. They’re taller than a man standing, relentlessly crashing into the ruins by the bluff, pulling more and more debris back out to sea.
A perfectly round hole emerges from the side.
Iridescence. Oil in water.
A perfect sphere flies in our direction.
It collapses in a syrupy splash before it reaches the canopy. The large book which was inside slides across the wet sa
nd, coming to rest at my feet.
The light goes out, leaving us in gray darkness.
I turn back to Chimeline. She’s collapsed, and her eyes are closed again.
Reddles sheathes his sword, but still looks perplexed. “I am confused, master voider. Why are we reading a book in the middle of this storm?”
There is a book in the ruins.
She was trying to warn me. Or the enervated were.
“Because they want us to,” I answer.
“Who does?”
I shake my head. There is no way I can fully explain this to him now.
“Mander had a journal on his desk, in the Celestium.”
Bending down, I attempt to pick up the book with one hand, but it is too heavy. With a groan, Blythe takes it from me and sets it within the center of the shelter, where it’s mostly dry. I open its umber-brown leather cover and brush off a strand of seaweed.
“It looks intact,” I say to the others, sitting back down. I take a moment rifling through the hundreds of pages, seeing the writing in black ink. I can’t read it, but it’s for a different reason than what I feared. Except for the edges, there are no smudges or areas of wetness. The book is dirty, and the binding is loose—pages are even falling out—but besides that, it’s in good condition.
Blythe kneels in the sand next to me.
“What does it say?” Reddles asks impatiently. He begins to pace.
“It’s written in the effulgency language,” I explain. “Only Blythe can read it.”
I move aside and let him in.
“My daughter can, as well.” He puts his fingers on the first page. There are only two words—large, centered and elaborate. His fingers trace them.
“Halcyon Roadmap,” he says. “It seems to be a title.”
“Where is Halcyon?” Reddles asks.
Blythe looks up at him, and then to me, with a confounded expression.
“Halcyon is not a place,” says the daughter. “It is a state of being.”
“Yes. Of course. A time of great peace and prosperity,” Blythe adds.
“What?” Reddles asks.
“That’s what halcyon means. A time of great peace and prosperity.”
He grunts. “So, you’re telling me that Mander wrote a diary on how to re-establish peace and prosperity within the kingdom?”
Blythe turns his attention back to the book, so the commander looks to me for an answer.
I don’t know what to say.
Perhaps the first two words of this book shine a light upon the twisted nature of Mander’s world. Inside of it, he didn’t view himself as evil. He was trying to do good—his distorted definition of good. By raising the massive voidstone, he would bring about a new era of voidance. With such power at his fingertips, he could do whatever he wanted.
Somehow, he was able to justify his actions as peaceful. The enervated were not souls to him. They were resources. They were not an end, but a means to it.
“That does not sound condemning,” Reddles says.
“Do not be deceived, commander,” Blythe says levelly. “This is a black mirror which we are looking into. Nothing is what it seems.”
“I don’t know what that means, graycloak.”
But I do. I put a hand on Blythe’s shoulder. “When do the writings start? Are there any sort of dates written down?”
He turns the page and begins reading. Leaning over the book, he shakes his head.
“The script is very small. I wish there were more light at our disposal. Maybe a torch?”
I can empathize. We’re in the thick of the storm—the sky is a deep gray that mimics dusk. The canopy makes it even darker.
“Father, let me,” says the daughter.
“Ah, yes,” he says, sitting back up and pushing himself away in the sand. “Come close, daughter. Young eyes see the world clearer. You carry a sun within you.”
She doesn’t even need to lean over or trace the lines with her finger in order to read it, although she does point to the upper-right corner of the page.
“The date is four hundred twenty. Late harvest season.”
“Six years ago,” I say slowly, as I do the math. “That’s two years before the war.”
I look up and see Reddles nod. A flash of lightning appears out at sea behind him.
When I look back down, the daughter is already scanning the page. She raises her voice to be heard over the rolling thunder and driving rain.
“He is committing to writing down daily thoughts in this journal, as part of his new station.”
“New station?” Reddles asks.
She flips the page. “It appears that he just moved here from the citadel. He is unpacking as he writes this. Into a Xian estate on the hill overlooking the bay.”
I look up at the destroyed remains. “The Celestium.”
She shakes her head. “He does not mention that name. But he mentions Winter’s Baiou being a city which straddles both the northern and southern kingdoms.” She continues to scan, and then opens her mouth.
“What is it?” I ask.
“He mentions you.”
“What does he say?”
She looks sideways at me. “It is not in a kind light.”
I wave her ahead and she clears her throat.
“I cannot believe that I’ve finally been able to wear down the master voider. That man is as stubborn as an old mule. I had to write up over two dozen voidance applications of sea life before he even considered sending me here. I had the overwhelming urge to just tell him that the largest voidstone in the world is hidden in Blackscar. But, of course, I cannot tell him that. He would wonder how I knew such things.
“No. For now, I am on this journey alone, as I have been for quite some time. One more secret is but another leaf of camouflage.”
Both she and Blythe look back up at me.
“What is he talking about?” Reddles asks, continuing to pace.
I shake my head in thought. “I sent him here. To Winter’s Baiou. He was my submaster.”
“The man told you he was studying sea life?” Blythe asks.
I nod. “It was his specialty. His lifelong passion. But apparently, it was just a ruse, like everything else.”
“There are maps,” the daughter says, flipping the pages.
I lean in. “The Northern Kingdom.”
“He must have drawn them,” she says.
“They’re quite good,” I say.
She turns the page. There is a detailed map of Xi Bay, heavily annotated.
“What do the words say?” I ask.
“Coastal towns. Here is where we are.” She points.
“What is that circled area in the middle of the bay?” Reddles asks.
“This must be Blackscar,” the daughter says, running her finger down a dark, jagged line, right through the center of the circle.
“Most of Blackscar was in Xian waters,” Colu says.
I look out to sea, wondering if I can see the ring of ships, but it’s too far away, and masked in the storm.
“Can you please tell me what is going on?” Reddles asks.
I stand up and point back down at the book. “Mander is mapping out where he thinks the massive voidstone is located. And he’s coming to the realization that it’s probably not in northern territory. So, he has two choices. Either switch sides and cozy up to the Xian emperor, or find ways for the northern navy to gain control of the entire bay.” I give Reddles a knowing look. “This is where the idea of the war was born. Right here, on this page.”
Reddles stops pacing and brings his hand to his chin.
“He mentions the king,” she says.
I look back down. She’s already onto the next page.
Reddles steps closer.
“But he’s writing about the father,” she adds, her voice full of confusion. “Not the son.”
“King Andrej IX?”
“Yes.”
Blythe’s daughter clears her throat. “Shall I continue?”
<
br /> “Yes, go on,” Reddles says with a wave.
“I wasn’t planning on executing this part of my strategy so soon, but the opportunity is slowly presenting itself. Here I am, after only one season, back in the citadel. Due to Dem’s ill-timed wedding and honeymoon.”
She pauses and looks at her father. “What is a honeymoon?”
“It is not on the way of unwanting...I think it is best to let Dem answer,” he says.
I address the daughter. “After two people are married, sometimes they go on a vacation to spend some private time together.”
She raises her hairless brow. “Oh.”
“Marine wanted to come here,” I explain, pointing down at the sand. “I had asked Mander to effectively switch places with me. Travel north. To represent me in the citadel while I was away. Marine and I used his accommodations and house staff, while he stayed in the citadel.”
Reddles and Blythe nod, while his daughter keeps scanning.
“Despite the chaos this will surely create, I am convinced it is the right decision. The current king is not pliable. The son, however, is a lazy and arrogant fool.
“I have concerns, though. Not about getting caught, but convincing Dem to let me return to Winter’s Baiou after the deed is done. With the ensuing political turmoil, his instinct will be to pull all submasters back to the citadel. That is unacceptable, of course. The search must continue.”
My mouth hangs open as a terrible thought comes to me.
“What is it?” Reddles asks.
“Andrej IX would never have started a war over a voidstone. And Mander knew it.”
“What are you saying?”
“What if Mander murdered the king?”
Reddles grunts. “I think your imagination is running away with you. His Majesty fell to his death. It was a tragic and very public accident.”
The daughter turns the page. Her eyes dart back and forth quickly.
“There’s more,” she says, leaning in.
“Finally, some good news. The king sent messengers this morning to the royal house. I am to represent the university in the wintertide celebrations. I will be in the king’s presence, and the only voider, at that. Tomorrow is the day.”
She takes a deep breath.
“Oh, no, she says. “He is owning the dark.”
