The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  He wouldn’t have been killed.

  Her eyes went wide. She’d never even thought of that, how even Tayvada's death could be traced back to Muskigo. Kazimir was a wolf on a hunt, but Muskigo’s very existence had sent her life hurtling toward this place like it was fated for them to meet.

  “For all our power, we cannot control fate.” Sora couldn’t help but recall those words from Aihara Na.

  “Interesting,” Madam Jaya said. “Did he harm you?”

  “No,” Sora said. “Even after I attacked him, he never did.”

  “But others have?”

  “Many.” She grimaced. “Too many to count.”

  “Family and friends, they mean the most to you, do they not?” Madam Jaya circled Sora. Sora’s gaze followed until it could not, then she turned her head, her body.

  “I never had a family,” Sora said.

  “Oh, but you did. Blood is not everything—as you have learned today. You were completely at my mercy. It is a wonder you’ve survived as long as you have.” She raised her hand to stop Sora’s retort before it started. “Do not misunderstand, child, you’ve done well—but it is time you stop relying upon spilled blood like a common bloodfiend.”

  “I survived no thanks to this place.” Sora couldn’t help herself. “I always thought Panping was going to be some gods-forsaken, desolate place where people murdered each other for food. The way I was abandoned and shipped off to the Glass, you’d have thought there wasn’t a street to spare. But everyone here seems to be living peaceably. Why did I have to grow up in a place only to watch it burn.”

  “You were left in good and necessary hands to keep you safe until you were ready. I know it is difficult to see, but there is no teacher like the open world. You’ve been training for this all your life, Sora of Troborough.”

  “What do you know of Troborough?” Sora questioned. “Do you know of its ashes? Of the lives lost? Most of the people there may never have cared much for me, they barely even noticed me, but not one of them deserved what they got.”

  “I know many things, and you would be wise to remember that. Do not forget your role, even in your anger.” Madam Jaya stopped in front of Sora. “I know that Wetzel never made it past meager blooding. He died tragically before he could try, but without being a true mystic he never would have been able to.”

  “If he wasn’t a mystic, then what was he?”

  “A servant of our Order, looking after one strong with the Gift. Like Kai, or the Bokeos.”

  “Why do you call them that?”

  “What?”

  “Servants. If they’re so willing to be here, the word seems…”

  “Harsh?” Madam Jaya finished. “You will find that some words do not translate well from Panpingese to common. The definition may remain the same, but here, to be a servant is not considered an insult. Perhaps, acolyte is a more apt term, but there is no greater calling than to choose to serve that which is greater than you.” She began to pace the room.

  “You will come to find that there is no logic to those that are chosen by fate to wield the Gift,” she continued. “Some never even realize the font of power growing within them. Some escape our gaze and the Well of Wisdom; even the most attuned clairvoyants. Only the gods decide, but that does not mean the lowliest member of our Order is of no importance. We are not all seeing, and the nature of this world is relentless even to those given the ability to change the rules. Without cleanliness, we could be taken by disease beyond healing. Without farms, we would starve.”

  “So, everyone in Panping exists to take care of the few people within this tower?”

  “Existed. And I may not be as strict as Master Aihara Na, but consider your tone.” She turned quickly and glowered at Sora, her robe snapping up behind her. “You explain the nature of our very world. Did the vassals of King Liam not serve him and his kingdom? Did the warlords of Latiapur not serve their Caleef? Yet they cannot summon rain in the driest summer, nor will crops to grow in stubborn dirt.”

  Sora lowered her head. “No, they can’t.”

  “Precisely. Ours is a world of give and take. The masses provide for their lords so that they may be kept fed, safe. The lord provides for the masses, so he is not massacred out of desperation and hunger. It is the same with magic. Wetzel spoke to you about sacrifice, and so you scarred your body. We will teach you how to channel your blood from within in order to bring the magic of Elsewhere to bear.”

  “Is that what you do? Sacrifice blood from within?”

  “In a way. It takes many years to learn the channeling in a way that will not leave you clinging to life even with the most tenuous of spells, that is why we have this.” She produced a necklace from the folds of her robe. A periapt hung from it, a golden disc surrounded by six small, stones, each etched with a unique, symbolic marking. They seemed like characters in a written language, but Sora had no idea which.

  “What is it?” Sora asked.

  “Turn.”

  Sora hesitated.

  “If you are going to be here, you must learn trust. Go on.”

  Sora conceded and turned her back to Madam Jaya. She felt the unnaturally cold metal against her skin and heard it clasp behind her. It hung heavy around her neck, yet it was oddly comforting.

  “This is a bar guai,” Madam Jaya said. “It will help you in casting without mutilation until such a time that you learn to channel from within. We must bind it to your blood. Please be still, this will only sting for a moment.”

  Sora was used to pain, but she did not expect what came next. Madam Jaya pressed her finger to the front of the flat disc and said a phrase in a language that wasn’t precisely Panpingese. It sounded older, rougher.

  A sudden, stabbing pain—no, not one, but several sharp stabs broke the flesh beneath the disc. It felt like she was being branded. She looked down and saw the round disc boring into her skin. Blood poured down her front, soaking her clothes.

  She tried to cry out, but no sound would come. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. The pain stopped. The sharpness stopped. The chain fell from the periapt, but that didn’t matter, the disc and the connected stones were now firmly embedded in her skin.

  “It is not like true channeling, and it is far more limited, but you are powerful Sora—more than you know,” Madam Jaya said. “Your blood is unique and strong in its bond to Elsewhere. Perhaps that is why, in the vision Aihara Na gave, you saw that realm in detail. The bar guai will allow you to use that power, harness it.”

  Sora touched the disc. She wiggled it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “The bar guai will not come free except by my word when you are ready for channeling,” Madam Jaya said. “You will come to appreciate it and what it can do for you.”

  “You did not…” Sora gasped. “I did not…”

  “What? Ask your permission? I am your teacher now, Sora of Troborough. I need not your permission, and you need not worry about anything other than proving to me that you are ready to be more than a simple blood mage. Someday, when the Order is rebuilt, you will be a mystic, and you will understand the weight that comes with the title.”

  Her words, although harsh, did not come across that way. There was a softness to her tone, a gentleness that put Sora at ease.

  “Why me?” Sora asked.

  “Why not?” Madam Jaya replied.

  Sora rolled her eyes, a bit of Whitney’s influence coming through.

  “Do not speak with your eyes, child,” Madam Jaya scolded. “If you’ve something to say, use words.”

  “Fine. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was practically kidnapped and brought here, and although I enjoyed two lavish meals and a hot bath, I’ve also been attacked by a man I hoped never to see again. I think it’s time someone explains something, anything.”

  “After you learn to use your bar guai, you will have all the answers you will ever need.”

  “I’m not asking for all the answers, only—”

  “Sora, the process you
are about to go through has taken all the mystics, including me, decades. We have all gone through our period with the bar guai. In the time of the Mystic Order, some apprentices never grew beyond its crutch. Some were consumed by the power it unlocks. If patience was our first lesson, you are failing.”

  Hearing the word ‘lesson’ reminded Sora why she was doing this in the first place. She considered all Whitney must be going through, all the suffering. She had to do whatever it took.

  “I am sorry, Madam Jaya,” she said. “Please, teach me. Teach me everything.”

  XXIV

  THE DESERTER

  Rand and the others kept to backroads on their way up from Dockside, avoiding churches, where people were gathered in great numbers, waiting to receive their blessings for the new year. Even the Drav Cra set up camps to watch a phenomenon probably as strange to them as summer. A day without labor, Rand imagined them saying. In the harsh lands they came from, that would probably spell certain death.

  Father Morningweg had sobered up a bit in the frigid air, at least enough that his swerving could be chalked up to a blind man walking without a cane. Codar kept him moving briskly, however, and he only stopped once more to clear out the contents of his stomach.

  They were headed northwest of Yarrington, for the base of Mount Lister where the royal crypt’s ceiling had broken open months back on the day of Pi’s rebirth. The magnificent stone spires gleamed in the low winter sun, and the glass Eye of Iam atop it painted a rainbow across a vast crowd. The faces of those who’d already been blessed with the luminescent paint of God reflected the vibrant colors.

  It was a magical sight; one Rand looked forward to every year… until now. For standing before the tall open doors of the cathedral wasn’t just High Priest Wren the Holy and his circle of bishops, but Redstar and his warlocks too. Their faces were painted white on the bottom, their mouths and chins, and black across their brows as usual as if mocking Iam’s own followers. The petrifying, female warlock beside Redstar was the one Rand had knocked out in the castle. If only he’d known how important she was, to stand directly at the Arch Warlock’s side, he wished he’d killed her instead.

  The sight gave Rand pause. Not long ago, he'd watched Wren stand against Redstar with a shield of light, proud and mighty. Now he looked like nothing more than an old, tired man, leaning on his cane more than ever before. His wrinkles were deeper, his cheeks saggier, and his hair somehow whiter, wispier. Gone was the man who appeared as Yarrington’s all-loving father, replaced instead by the visage of a vagrant.

  “Long has this kingdom stood alone in the light of Iam!” Redstar announced. “And on this day, year by year, you stand in the absence of it, looking within. No longer.” He took Wren’s cane and raised it. “Today, as the light falls away, know that Nesilia is with you. Her love is eternal, always within us and the earth, buried but not dead. After all these long centuries, you may be open to it again.”

  “Buried, not dead,” the warlocks alongside him chanted. Buried Goddess cultists and Drav Cra civilians in the crowd repeated the words as well. Rand only then noticed how many of the former there seemed to be with their chilling, expressionless white masks.

  “The light of Iam never leaves you, for you cannot have light without shadow,” Wren said, voice weathered and raspy. Rand had heard him give sermons before, and he usually spoke with enough verve to inspire a stone to the faith. Now, he could barely be heard. “Praise be the Vigilant Eye.” He circled his burned eye-sockets, hands trembling as he did. The Glassmen in the crowd mimicked him.

  The female warlock handed Redstar a horn. He scooped out a glob of black paint and ran it over Wren’s sightless eyes in the very same manner as his warlocks wore it.

  “There is no more time for spectating,” Codar said, taking Rand by the arm and tugging him along until the Cathedral Square was out of view.

  “How can they stand there and watch that... atrocity?” Rand said.

  “Their king accepts Redstar. Their High Priest now does as well.”

  “Sheep will always follow the shepherd,” Father Morningweg said, burping. “Even to the slaughter. That bastard was there when they ravaged my home. Now he’s up there, and I’m down here.”

  Rand yanked his arm free. “Whatever he did to the High Priest, getting him to speak like that, he can’t get away with it.”

  “That is not for us to decide,” Codar replied, still hurrying them along.

  “You can help us end it. Valin won’t even have to know. You have to realize that there won’t be a Glass Kingdom anymore if they win.”

  “I do not serve the Glass Kingdom.”

  “Then there won’t be anything left for you to exploit!” Rand shouted, stopping.

  Codar stopped and glared daggers at him. “Keep trying to persuade me to betray Mister Tehr, and you will do so without a tongue.”

  “Gentleman,” the Father slurred. He slipped his way between them, then beckoned them along. “This way. I was promised revenge on Redstar too.”

  They continued skirting around Old Yarrington, along bridleways toward the northern gates of the city which stood a short distance directly behind the cathedral. The road led straight to the trails up Mount Lister. A group of guards passed by, offering Father Morningweg a circle of prayer. They didn’t even give Rand a passing glance.

  “See, just follow my lead.” The priest started walking, then stopped to dry heave and nearly toppled over.

  “Is there no depth Valin Tehr won’t sink to?” Rand asked. “That man needs help.”

  “That man lost everything,” Codar said. “His home, his flock. All to Redstar and his horde of savages. Mister Tehr gives purpose to those who would otherwise hang… like you.”

  “How did you wind up working for the bastard then? A resourceful man like you, I’m sure you could make a fine living back home.”

  “Have you ever been to Brekliodad?”

  Rand shook his head. He’d never been to Winde Port, let alone beyond the Dragon’s Tail to the Pikeback Mountains of Brekliodad and their colorful palaces.

  “Then do not assume what I could do back home,” Codar said.

  “Did he take your sister hostage too then?”

  “He gave me purpose when I could no longer return home. And now my purpose is to help you get what you want.” He touched his temple with his forefinger. “You would be wise not to forget that, and maybe, one day, if you return from your duty in the South, you will see that there is as much work to be done in the shadows as there is in the light.”

  “Praise be! Light shines brightest in the shadows.” Father Morningweg cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

  He rounded a corner and fell in with a line of citizens headed out to the base of Mount Lister. Every year, people camped around it, for there was no more splendid a place to watch the Dawning than the site where Iam brought an end to the God Feud. The most faithful would climb to the flattened peak of Mount Lister itself for the event. After sermons throughout the city, Wren the Holy and the King would ride up to join them. Rand had never been, as he was still in training at the last one.

  So much had happened in just a year.

  The slope started off shallow and smooth, stairs weaving back and forth until the angle sharpened at the center and they had to wrap the mountain. Areas around the entries to the glaruium mines were known to be unstable, and the rock toward the top was so thick the path grew thin enough to be traversed only in a single file.

  Anyone seeking to reach the flat peak by foot before the eclipse had to start the climb in the morning, and there were already Shieldsmen and warlocks doing so as the sun crept over the horizon. Rand didn’t spot any civilians making the climb this year, however.

  Once within the flow of the river of the faithful, Rand and his odd party were rendered nearly invisible. Only the fur-covered Drav Cra and masked cultists sprinkled throughout the throng drew any real attention. The base of the mountain had become a Drav Cra trading camp, the savages hoping to
take advantage of the pilgrims, hawking their thick furs. On the trail, priests stood at intervals, praying out loud.

  “They’re using us,” Rand said, then he remembered to whom he spoke.

  “Everyone is using someone,” Codar said. He nudged Rand in the arm, then pointed through a mob of sojourners to an area at the base of the Mountain that was blocked off by a low, spiked wooden wall and a line of Glass soldiers. “Crypt is through there.”

  “It’ll take us an hour to shove through,” Rand complained.

  Codar turned Father Morningweg toward the crypt entry. “Act convincing for once,” he said.

  “I’ll have you know, there wasn’t a soul in Fessix who missed my sermons,” the Father replied.

  “Then pretend they aren’t all food for worms somewhere up north.”

  The priest’s cheeks went from a pale green to white. His gaze grew distant, and it was a look Rand recognized. He wore the same one every time he pictured Tessa and the others hanging from the walls of the Glass Castle. He then realized that it’d been some time since he last thought of that. Now, when he closed his eyes, all he saw was what horror might befall Sigrid should he fail.

  “Come on, Father,” Rand said. He took him by the arm and helped him walk. “Just because you don’t have a church any longer, doesn’t mean you aren’t a priest. Every man and woman of Fessix looks down upon you now from the Gate of Light. You mustn’t disappoint them.”

  The crowd parted easily, and after a short while, the Father’s gait was brimming with renewed confidence. “Bless you, my son,” he would say as the people shifted. “Iam watch over us,” he said to another. “May His light shine eternally upon you.”