Ioth, City of Lights

by D P Woolliscroft

  “Now. How is life in Kingshold?” he asked

  The conversation that followed, while they ate some much-needed sustenance, was pleasant. The Archimandrite was polite, if straight to the point. He was inclusive too, directing a number of questions at Admiral Crews and even Jill, before Alana realized that they had been thoroughly interrogated by this old man without them even pausing to consider what was happening. He started off by asking how the people fared, wanted to know how the church was doing and if the church had a good relationship with the Lord Protector. It was only when he asked what the faithful of Edland thought about Ioth that she twigged what was happening, and it was a chance to turn the tables.

  “I am afraid that the people are quite concerned, your holiness. They hear the stories of the new Pyrfew fleet on the Sapphire Sea and they can only assume that it means there will be more aggression. People fear war.” The Archimandrite nodded as if to say that they all fear war, but Alana refused to give him a chance to ask another question. “Why has Ioth allied itself with Pyrfew?”

  “I think ‘allied’ is probably taking it a little too far. I have been reassured by the Speaker that this is nothing more than a business transaction. A very sizable business transaction that is very good for all the people of Ioth.”

  “But aren't you worried about having an army who do not believe in Arloth within literal shouting distance of the Sanctum?”

  He scowled at Alana, his forehead wrinkling like a series of puckered lips. “I will have you know that there have been discussions about the word of Arloth spreading to Pyrfew. They seem to be finally seeing the light.”

  Alana narrowed her eyes in frustration. That made no sense.

  “Does that not sound peculiar to you?” asked Crews, voicing her own concerns. “After all, I do believe they call their emperor their god.”

  The Archimandrite waved away his question with the back of his hand, the skin mottled with age. “I believe that is nothing more than an affectation. A legacy of poor translation centuries ago or of the definition of what a god is. We cannot see god, or walk up to him and shake his hand. If you can do those things then it is not a god you are dealing with. As I said, I believe they have finally seen the light. Tell me, what could be better than old enemies such as Edland and Pyrfew being united under one god?”

  “How can you trust them?” asked Alana, ignoring his question. She was not sure that his logic would be shared by the people of Pyrfew. It sounded to her like Pyrfew was saying what he wanted to hear.

  “My child, it is not my role to trust them. I simply open my doors to people who want to embrace the glory of Arloth. Pyrfew is here because of the Assembly and they are men of business. I do not run this city, even though I wager I could do a better job.” He winked at Jill, who had been quiet for a while.

  “Now,” said the Archimandrite with a certain finality. “I hope you have enjoyed your lunch. It is time to leave for the Blessing of the Sea. I believe the Saint was so good as to extend you an invitation on my behalf.” He said these words with an apparent kindness but Alana recognized something in his eyes, the same strained warmth that men would give their mother-in-law when they had been asked to do something but would much rather be down the pub. “So, let us be away. I am afraid I cannot be late.”

  The grand canal was empty. All the usual vessels that moved back and forth had been cleared to the sides by boats of the city guard. Alana sat by the Archimandrite in the second most opulent boat she had ever seen, Jill and Crews behind them in another bank of leather seats. The Archimandrite’s vessel was more than twice as long as the one they had been using, and it took four men to operate the poles and move them along their way. The old man took great pleasure in explaining how the whole boat was made of sapele with the adornments real gold hammered painstakingly thin by Iothan craftsmen. He asked the Admiral if they had vessels so grand in Kingshold.

  “We just use rowboats to take us out to the real ships,” he had replied.

  There was only one boat in front of them as they progressed from the Sanctum to their destination at the mouth of the sea. That one was the most opulent boat she had ever seen. The Saint rode alone in the golden vessel that sparkled in the sunlight from the embedded cut glass—at least she thought it was glass—surely, they couldn't be real precious stones? The people of Ioth lined the pavements by the side of the grand canal and they hung from the bridges in such numbers that Alana felt sure that people would fall. Cheers erupted into the air as the Saint passed by, the boy waving back. There was a hundred or so feet between their boat and the Saint’s and the cheers subsided as they passed, in some places there were even boos directed toward them.

  “It appears that people recognize who you are, my child,” said the Archimandrite, leaning over to whisper in her ear. A powerful smell of anis filled her nose.

  Was it true they were booing her? Why would they do that? To start with it still surprised her that anyone would know who she was. But then, so many people had wanted to see her in recent days.

  She turned in her seat to look back at her companions to see if they had heard what he’d said. Admiral Crews seemed to be enjoying himself, taking in the sights and the attention, oblivious to the dissent. But Jill did not look comfortable at all. She was looking down at the floor of the boat, her hair forming a curtain around her face. Alana hadn't given a thought as to how the attention would be impacting Jill, it must be even worse for her than she was feeling herself. She’d only been employed as her maid, but had quickly become Alana's assistant in all matters. Alana gave her a quick smile and switched her attention to what was going on behind them.

  The grand canal came to life in their wake. Four long boats carried the Knights of Arloth, lightly armored soldiers of the faith, gleaming in white and gold. Behind them was a plethora of vessels of all sizes, what seemed like the whole of the city that wasn't lining their passage, crammed onto boats to accompany them.

  The procession proceeded out past Glory’s Beacon, the twin burning lighthouses that had attracted Alana's attention when they arrived. Seagulls circled the air in their hundreds, squarking and flying in unfathomable patterns. A lone hawk flew overhead too, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to claim a smaller gull. She wondered for a moment if it might be Per and if Motega would be nearby, but she was distracted by the sight of a flotilla joining.

  From around the foreign quarter came a handful of dark green boats, looking like giant leaves floating on the sparkling blue sea. The boats’ passengers wore green and gold, and they were greeted with cheers as they passed by the citizens that now thronged the area by the giant flaming torches.

  “Looks like the Pyrfew delegation is a touch more popular,” said the Archimandrite, leaning over once again. “All the jobs that have been created, you see.”

  “I wonder how happy they would be if they found themselves part of the empire,” she shot back. The old man scowled.

  The boat bobbed back and forth as they reached open waters. The poles used for propulsion on the canals replaced with long oars that were moved with skill in small circles in the water. Their vessel moved into position, close to the golden boat of the Saint as the child climbed out of his seat and walked to stand at the prow. The Saint turned back to face the flotilla and the city, raising his arms into the air, a curved dagger visible in one hand.

  “Ioth!” The Saint’s voice boomed out across the waves, shocking Alana. She was sure it would have been audible on dry land. This must be the voice of god, because she could not imagine a sound so loud coming from one so small. “We are one with the sea. We eat the sea’s bounty. We journey to all the corners of our world upon the sea. Now, Wintertide is here. We give thanks for the calm seas that have supported us this year, and we ask for calm waters in the year to come.

  “Once, long ago, we sacrificed our children to support our way of life. But blessed are the children.” The Saint paused expectantly, and a murmuring of “Blessed are the children” came in reply from all ar
ound. She was not surprised to find that she had even said it herself. “So my blood takes the place of yours. The blood of Arloth takes the place of yours.”

  Their boat had bobbed close to the Saint’s. She saw quite clearly as he grasped the blade of the knife in his other hand and drew it out with a flourish. Drop after drop of blood fell from his clenched fist into the sea until the waves stilled and the surface of the water became as clear as glass. A cheer went up from all around, and the sound of drums beating in celebration carried across the stillness.

  “That was a bit more than three drops,” she said out loud, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

  The Archimandrite shot her a look. “It needs more every year. These are the sacrifices of our Saint, child.”

  She decided not to push the old man any further. She could tell that he was becoming annoyed and suspected that his patience at carrying out the orders of his Saint, also another child, had run thin. Alana resumed her seat as the boat turned around to follow the golden vessel through the parting flotilla. But as she did so, she caught sight of the Saint grinning at her. Their eyes met and he waved, his hand no longer bleeding. This simple gesture, revealing once more, the child that he was.

  Chapter 31

  The Word on the Street

  Motega sat cross-legged on the flat rock, bare-chested. Per’s cry pierced the air as he flew in circles overhead, as clouds roiled and churned in the orange sky, though he felt no wind. He looked around to see the familiar shapes of the wolves of his pack seated on their haunches in a half-circle before him. The one in the center had ragged and torn fur, scars across its snout and part of its ear was missing. His father, the last chief of the Wolfclaw clan, watched him. The great beast did not shift to become man as he would normally do. Instead he tilted his head and gazed directly into his eyes. Motega nodded in recognition.

  The other wolves all looked in the same direction, away from Motega, off toward the side of the flattened grass circle. Had he done something wrong? he wondered. Why do they not greet me? Motega thought about his last meeting with Elkin, and grew concerned that he was being shunned as a coward. He was about to protest, to tell them that he had gone to stop Pyrfew’s plans but first he looked back to his father, who slowly turned his head to look in the same direction as the other wolves. Motega followed his father’s lead and shifted in his seat to see if something had their attention. Something that would mean he wasn’t in trouble again.

  Gazing out across the flattened earth, to where the grasses again grew high, he saw nothing. No other visitors. No visions of what had happened in the past. But the orange glow on the horizon caught his eye. Motega stood, balancing on his rocky perch to see more clearly what he thought would be the dawn. But there was no sun rising from its sleep.

  A great wall of fire stretched across the horizon, thick black smoke rising from it to dissipate and merge with the clouds in the sky. As he watched, the flames rose higher into the air, getting bigger with every breath. Then he realized, it wasn’t growing—it was coming closer. The wall of flames was encroaching on these hunting grounds. He dragged his eyes away as the wolves around him threw back their heads and howled.

  “Motega,” came a voice, pulling him away from the fields of flame and the keening of his ancestors. “It’s time to get to work.”

  He opened his eyes. His body was slippery with sweat and the blanket was tied around him in a knot from the nocturnal battle he didn’t know he’d had. Trypp was standing over him and he could feel a sharp pain in his shoulder. Oh, he was being jabbed by the man’s pointy finger.

  “More dreams?” asked Trypp, concerned.

  Motega nodded as he sat up. “Not one of the good kind, either. That barmaid from down stairs didn’t make an appearance.”

  “Nope,” laughed Trypp. “She was keeping me busy all night.”

  “Bastard.” Motega stretched and stood, searching around for his trousers as he noticed his friends were both dressed and ready to go. “Breakfast?”

  “Yup,” said Florian. “We were waiting for you, but if you don’t bloody hurry up then we’ll leave without you.”

  Motega dressed, slowly pulling his leather jerkin over his head and taking his time to fix his belt around his waist. He knew his friends weren’t going to go anywhere without him and pulling on Florian’s chain was always a good way to start the day. Florian tapped his foot impatiently while Trypp stifled a chuckle. Motega pulled his axes from under his pillow and fastened them into their holsters. Ready to go.

  It was the day after they had arrived in Ioth. After meeting with Giofre yesterday they had retired to Atarah’s Hearth, and their luck had been with them as they had secured the last room. It was close to Wintertide and the city was starting to fill up with visitors for the festivities. They usually tried to avoid the major cities on their feast days; extra people usually meant extra City Watch, and that was typically bad for their line of business—but there was no getting around it for this job. And that’s what this trip was. Still a job. Mareth had asked them to find out what was going on in Ioth, how close they really were to Pyrfew, and so that’s what they were going to do. If they could get some good intelligence from the streets for Alana then they would earn their coin; which, to the annoyance of Trypp, was still to be determined.

  All good jobs needed a good plan, so they’d spent the last evening deciding on the shortlist of people they knew in town that they should meet with in the coming days. Trypp and Florian raced ahead as he trailed behind them down the stairs to get some breakfast in the common room, but he was still trying to shrug off the sleep. Or maybe it had more to do with the dream. It felt like they’d been coming more often now, but usually there was a lot more talking involved. The wall of flames had him spooked. Was it as literal as a great fire sweeping his homeland? Or was there something else to it? He didn’t know, but he did know he needed some coffee.

  After a breakfast of eggs, ham and thick-cut buttered bread, they were out on the streets, heading to their first destination. As well as a network of fences in most of the cities around the Sapphire Sea, they also had preferred merchants who they used to bolster their supplies.

  Tasa Marchionda, the owner of the Marchiondan Mercantile, was a long-time acquaintance. She always had good stuff and was always well connected to what was going on. She was also a bit of an expert when it came to unique items, and Motega wanted to get her opinion on something. So, three birds with one stone was the plan for that morning.

  The Mercantile was not too far away, close to the main market square of Ioth. They walked on foot through the narrow, cobbled streets, crossing small bridges over the canals. They did not take the boats even though that’s how many of the locals preferred to travel, saying it was the quickest way around. You could get pretty much anywhere on foot, although it might take a little longer. Still Mareth preferred to walk. On a boat your options for escape always involved getting wet and fighting was a real bugger when your feet moved beneath you. You could also get around the main part of the city pretty easily via the skyway, but that was better at night than in the morning sun; so they wended their way in single file through the populace that hurried about their business. Half a bell later they reached the storefront and headed inside.

  As usual, the place was total chaos. Motega had a suspicion that Tasa kept it that way on purpose, so the passing browser would be deterred from rummaging through the random piles of rope, grappling hooks, stacked weapons, and shelf upon shelf of unlabeled bottles. It was also empty of customers, which wasn’t surprising given that the things that Tasa sold were probably not on too many Wintertide wish lists. ‘Daddy, could I have some caltrops for Wintertide please?’ Motega chuckled at his own internal monologue—he’d have to tell the guys that one later.

  Behind the counter stood Tasa, as tall and straight as the Beacons of Arloth, with her short, shocking red hair sticking up into the air definitely adding to the comparison. She was drinking a steaming mug of something and
peered over wire rimmed glasses at the approaching trouble.

  “Well, look what the cat dragged,” she said by way of greeting.

  Trypp laughed. “Does that make me the cat? A lithe black panther I assume, as I think I look dashing today.” Trypp presented himself with a flourish.

  “I was thinking more an alley-cat, but whatever makes you happy.” She shook hands with the three of them, the perfect merchant’s smile for good returning customers on her face. “What brings you to Ioth in the middle of this shitshow?”

  “Can’t tell you,” said Motega, leaning on the counter and giving Tasa the once over. She was older than he was, and he imagined she’d seen a fair few adventures of her own in the past. And he kind of had a thing for red hair.

  “What do you mean ‘shitshow’?” asked Trypp.

  “All these fucking Pyrfew soldiers wandering around town.” Motega smirked at her frankness. “It’s like we’re under occupation. Look, there on cue.” She pointed to the window and Motega turned just in time to see the green and gold armor of Pyrfew soldiers walking by. “Maybe it’s me. No one else seems to mind. Everyone’s caught up with how good it’s been for business.”

  “Aye. It’s not right,” said Florian. Motega knew his friend was more used to standing across from the green and gold on a battlefield, not stepping to one side as they marched by. And the last time they’d all been this close to these soldiers was when Florian had ended up stuck on a pole like a sugar apple on a stick.

  “They mostly keep to their island where they’ve set up their operations, but you still see these squads moving around. Supposedly, they’re not patrolling but it’s what it looks like to me. Who knows how many are there? But there was a shit load that came through when the fleet was getting ready to set sail. Thousands. But like I said, you can’t fault how much coin they’ve put in everyone’s pockets. Iothans think they’re invulnerable; they have the Saint to protect them after all.”