Antiphon

Chapter 8

Vlad Li Tam

The sun rose behind him as Vlad Li Tam rowed the skiff into the harbor. Already, the scant remains of his iron armada built steam as they prepared to leave. Even in the dusky rose of morning, he could see the remnant of his family as they scurried along the upper and lower docks, moving the last of their lives back onto the ships.

Six months and so little to show for it. Yet, even as he said it, his heart felt full. These last nights, rowing out to where the ghost awaited, had added something indefinable to him-something he’d lived without for too long. The compulsion of it was frightening, especially given that this love he felt was for a twisting, writhing mass of tentacled light. Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps something had happened to him those moments when he first encountered the d’jin, so fresh from his time beneath Ria’s knife, with his hands upon the throat of his first grandson.

He sighed and worked the oars, his shoulders creaking with his increased activity of late.

They’d found nothing here, but there were sure to be clues elsewhere.

After all, there had been those ships. And unfamiliar, dark-robed men. And now, though his heart drew him to sea for other purposes, his brain saw clearly that whoever was out there was not coming back to this place. And despite the strange feelings that now pulled him, relentless as a tide, Vlad knew that discovering the nationality of those ships and those men meant discovering the true hands behind the fall of Windwir.

And behind the surgery that cut my family from the world.

It wasn’t that these new sensations trumped that loss-or even mitigated it. No, the loss was there, and if his soul went to it he could feel the hollow ache, like a tongue to the socket of a lost tooth.

He slowed his rowing and watched the sun lift up from the ocean.

Then, he looked back over his shoulder to the docks, adjusting his pull on the oars to line up with where Baryk stood waiting.

As he slid alongside, the old warpriest grabbed the rope Vlad tossed and tied the small boat off. “We’ll be ready to sail in two hours,” he said. His brow furrowed. “Is it still called ‘sailing’ when there are no sails involved?”

Vlad shrugged and stood carefully, grasping the edge of the dock as he climbed out of the boat. “How are spirits?”

“Fine. Nervous. Excited.” Baryk’s chuckle was more of a bark. “Should I ask you that question?”

He’d told the warpriest about the ghost, uncomfortable with the telling but even less comfortable with leading his family off to follow such a flight of fancy without speaking to someone first. Someone he trusted; someone who would not think him utterly mad. And Baryk was a metaphysick, though moderate in his beliefs. The city-state he hailed from-Paltos-was one of few in the Named Lands that not only allowed but encouraged a religious system, the people worshiping a loose pantheon of the more benevolent Younger Gods. When the Androfrancines had been in power, they’d avoided that corner of the Outer Emerald Coast and had encouraged others to do the same.

“We know their ghosts are in the waters,” Baryk had said. “I’ve not seen them myself, but I’ve heard the sailors tell of it. Your own daughter is named for them.” Then he’d offered a reassuring smile. “Who am I-and who is anyone else-to question what you’ve seen or experienced?”

Vlad had been comforted by the man’s response.

Now, he returned the chuckle. “It was a good night. But she was restless. I think she’s eager to leave.”

She. How did he know this? He blinked at his own words and bit his lower lip. He did know it. And not for the first time, he realized there were many ways of knowing a thing. He stood and stretched on the dock.

Baryk studied him. “You know that some of the older children are whispering about this. They know something is afoot. They’ve watched you watching the sea, and now these midnight rowings.”

Vlad nodded. He did know this and he’d expected it. “Let them whisper. They will still follow.”

“Aye,” Baryk said, “they will, though they may quietly think you mad.”

I think myself mad. But he didn’t say it. He held that in and turned it over and over like a Rufello puzzle. It was possible-even likely-that he saw nothing at all there in the sea. Perhaps something had broken in him during his time of captivity and kin-healing. Perhaps he’d concocted a beautiful singing spirit to pull him away from his pain and into the deep waters where he could find some kind of peace. Perhaps he was in love now with the notion of forgetting beneath the waves. Regardless, he knew the power of perception, and if somehow he was wrong in what he saw and experienced, that would work its way out as he pursued it. He vaguely recalled a Francine arch-behaviorist who’d written a slender volume on the subject of hallucination as a means of the psyche healing itself.

“What they think,” Vlad Li Tam said, summoning firmness to his voice, “is what they think. We leave as soon as the ships are loaded.”

Baryk nodded. “I’ve seen to your things. They’re in your cabin on the flagship.”

Vlad forced a smile. “Thank you, Baryk. I’ll be in the temple until we leave.”

Baryk clapped Vlad on the shoulder. “I’ll see to the ships.”

Vlad left his son-in-law and climbed the stairs slowly, inclining his head to those members of his family who passed him. He reached the top of the low bluff and climbed the marble steps up into the white building.

Once inside, he made his way to the top of the building, entering the large domed observation room on the fourth floor.

He walked to the railing and looked down, expecting vertigo and a memory of screams to overtake him and drive him to his knees.

Neither happened.

Vlad Li Tam stood still and listened. Outside, he heard the first whistles of those ships that were loaded and ready to depart.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the ghosts of his family.

Then he stood silent and listened for absolution in the stillness of the room. He waited, not even able to find his tears, until Baryk’s runner found him and told him that the last longboat awaited him.

Then Vlad Li Tam turned his back upon those ghosts and gave himself to the chasing of another.

Winters

In the first days following the explosion at the library, the city of Rachyle’s Rest was awash with panic, and Winters did her best to stay out of the way and help where she could.

Most of that help was filling in for Isaak to keep the work of the library moving forward while at the same time launching repairs.

Charles had hidden himself away with the broken mechoservitors, rarely leaving his workshop. The metal men that remained were already doing what they could to replace the volumes lost in that brief blaze, and fresh crews of refugee laborers had already cleared the rubble and begun repairs to the damaged wing.

Of course, it did not surprise Winters at all that even as they worked, the skies above the Ninefold Forest broke open and the first of the rains began to fall.

And it also did not surprise her that her first summons to the Seventh Forest Manor after the blast came in the midst of that first deluge. Careful of the gathering puddles of water and the mud sucking at her boots, Winters ran through the downpour in the gray of midmorning.

As she ran, she watched the city around her. Soldiers from the local brigade of the Wandering Army stood at key locations or patrolled the streets. And as she approached the manor, she saw a half-squad of scouts administering their powders, fading into the wash of water as they raced for the woods. They were running the forest day and night now, she knew, enforcing Rudolfo’s new edict and looking for any clues as to who caused the explosion.

The rainfall lightened as Winters approached the gates to the manor, and she nodded to the guards as she passed. The massive house loomed ahead, rising above the rooftops of the city. Five minutes later, she was barefoot, dripping wet and standing outside the door of Rudolfo’s study, catching what water she could with a rough cotton towel.

The Gypsy Scout at the door ushered her in.

Rudolfo and Jin Li Tam waited in the sitting area with Aedric. Between them, a pitcher of wine and a platter of cheeses sat untouched. They stood as she entered, and Rudolfo gestured to an empty armchair near the fire.

She shook her head. “I’m soaked,” she said. “I’d better stand.”

“Nonsense,” Rudolfo said. “It’s only water. Join us, Winters.”

She paused, suddenly mindful of their faces. All of them were bruised or cut, and each had dark circles beneath their eyes. Rudolfo’s arm was in a sling, and he held the Y’Zirite gospel in his free hand.

Winters sat and looked to Jin Li Tam. “How is Jakob?”

She watched a mother’s sorrow flush the woman’s pale face. “He may lose some hearing from the ruptured ear, but otherwise, he’s fine.”

Winters nodded slowly and wondered why she’d been summoned. She suspected the book in Rudolfo’s hand had something to do with it.

Rudolfo cleared his voice and she looked to him. “We are at a difficult intersection,” he said, “and desire your input.” He held the book up. “You’ve read this?”

Again, she nodded. “I have, Lord.” She glanced quickly around the room and noticed with a start the look of subdued anger on Aedric’s face.

Rudolfo continued. “It appears that my wife and my son feature heavily in this elaborate mythology.”

“They appear to, Lord,” she concurred.

Rudolfo started to move his broken arm, winced, then put down the book. He stroked his beard. “I’ve new word from your sister,” he said. “A renewed pledge of aid and a. difficult. request.”

“Not difficult,” Aedric said, interrupting with uncharacteristic anger. “Unheard-of.”

Winters watched as the two men made eye contact, exchanging silent words between them. Aedric looked away first.

“Difficult,” Rudolfo said again with more firmness in his voice. He paused. “I’ve read it through three times and have reached the conclusion that if your sister truly believes this book she can in no way intend harm to me or my family.”

Now Jin Li Tam interjected. “Still, they could have engineered this event merely to convince us of this. They provide Winters a copy of the gospel along with a warning. And then shortly after they supposedly leave our forests, this”-Winters watched her reaching for the right word-“attack takes place.”

Rudolfo’s eyebrows raised. “This attack would have killed you both if Isaak hadn’t intervened.”

Winters started, looking up. “Isaak?” She’d known he’d been damaged heavily-perhaps irreparably, she’d heard-in the attack, but she’d not heard this.

Jin Li Tam looked away, her voice quiet. “He put himself between us and the blast, then shielded Jakob and me from the falling stonework.” When she looked back to her husband, her eyes were hard and narrow. “But it still could be a clever machination. Something intended to bring us to this very moment.”

“This is my concern, as well, Lady,” Aedric said.

“We are all concerned about this,” Rudolfo said, “and yet.” He paused, took a deep breath. “I think she is sincere. Gods know I might be wrong, but I suspect this new threat rises in the south, not the north. Esarov and Erlund have honored kin-clave with investigations of their own, cooperating fully with our own intelligence efforts. Pylos and Turam have not responded to our requests, but we did not expect them to. And Ria’s newest message claims her scouts have taken three prisoners, magicked and fleeing across our Prairie Sea.”

Machtvolk scouts in the Prairie Sea? She studied Rudolfo’s face, knowing this could not possibly please him. Still, all she saw was a wash of weariness and something she thought might be resolve. Winters blushed when she realized their eyes had met and held for a moment. But when she looked away from his, red-rimmed and dark-shadowed, she realized in hindsight the other emotion she’d seen there. Fear.

The room became silent and Winters shifted uncomfortably in the chair, still feeling the water from her hair as it traced its way down her shoulders and back underneath the dress she wore. She wondered if she should say something, but even as she pondered, Rudolfo spoke again.

“We’ve called you here to ask two questions of you, Lady Winteria.”

He speaks formally to me now, she noted. “Yes Lord?”

He took a deep breath. “I know your people have changed; I know your sister is a largely unknown factor. But I need to know: Do you believe she or her Machtvolk would do harm to my family?”

Winters thought about it, remembering the look of adoration upon Ria’s face when she first laid eyes on Jakob those months ago, and the same look upon the evangelists’ faces when their Great Mother and Child of Promise entered the room during Rudolfo’s audience with them. Then, she pondered the words of the gospel. When she looked up to meet Rudolfo’s eyes again, she hoped her answer was true. “I do not believe they will harm you or your family, Lord Rudolfo. In this matter, I think their attempts to help are genuine. But I could be-”

He raised his good arm. “We all could be wrong,” he said. “I only look for your sense of it. Of all here, you understand the more. metaphysical. aspects of your people.”

She heard Aedric shifting and looked over to him. The man’s knuckles were white on the arms of his chair, and she could see the care with which he guarded his facial expression. She looked back to Jin Li Tam and then Rudolfo. “Why do you ask, Lord?”

More furtive glances between the husband and wife. “Because,” he finally said, “they’ve invited my wife and child to participate in a diplomatic mission behind their borders until such time as this new threat is identified and eradicated.”

She felt the color drain from her face as her stomach lurched. “You’re going to send them?” Now, Aedric’s anger made sense to her, and she saw clearly how much more grave this moment was.

Rudolfo sighed. “If Lady Tam concurs. I’ve read the gospel. And though your people have been twisted into something very different from what you’ve known, I trust your judgment of them.” He looked to Aedric, then Jin Li Tam again. “And we are uncovering evidence of a new, less careful network emerging from the war-ravaged south.”

“I still believe this is folly, General,” Aedric started, but Rudolfo cut him off with a hard look.

“Can you keep my son safe here, Aedric?” he asked, leaning forward suddenly. “Can you?” Winters heard the anger rising in the Gypsy King’s voice, and it startled her. When the first captain said nothing, Rudolfo settled back into his chair. “I do not doubt for a moment that the Machtvolk are a threat to the Named Lands. But they do not at the moment appear to be a threat to us. Somehow, my house is tangled in their house and in their so-called gospel of a new Y’Zirite age.” He paused. “And,” he said, “their borders are secure. Their blood magicks are formidable.”

Jin Li Tam looked to the two men. “It could not hurt for us to have a better sense of what is happening behind those borders.”

As the woman spoke, Winters saw the careful mask she wore. She is mistrustful. “Then you will go?” she asked, her breath catching for a moment in her words. “You will take Jakob with you?”

Jin Li Tam nodded. “Aedric, too, along with a company of Rudolfo’s best and strongest scouts.”

Winters felt fear for them, cold as the rain that soaked her clothing despite the fire’s warmth.

“This brings me to my second question for you, Lady Winteria,” Rudolfo said. “I will be frank. Your sister has asked that you accompany them. I believe you would be invaluable to them, but I could never command such a thing of you.”

And now she felt the fear herself, remembering that day Seamus made his sobbing confession to her and revealed the mark upon his breast. And that later day when she raised the Firstfall axe to Ria, losing it and her people. He wants me to go.

“I concur with my husband,” Jin Li Tam said. Winters looked up. The woman inclined her head, her red braid shifting across her shoulder. “Your aid would be indispensable. You know the territory, the people.”

Winters took a deep breath, feeling the weight of this new information as it settled onto her shoulders. It brought back memories of the Wicker Throne she’d carried to the Spire the day she had announced herself as the Marsh Queen. She remembered its weight, remembered the blood she’d shed for it through those biting leather straps.

In the end it was not hard at all for her to decide. That memory pulled her shoulders straight and she sat up. Her eyes met Rudolfo’s, and she inclined her head slowly toward him.

“Of course I will go,” Winteria bat Mardic, queen of the Marshfolk, said.

Petronus

Petronus whistled his horse faster and blinked the sweat from his eyes. They’d pushed the beasts to keep up with Geoffrus and his ragged band of root runners, remagicking the horses at least twice now for speed and stamina as they rode east in search of Neb. If they didn’t slow soon, they would kill the beasts.

He watched the ease with which Geoffrus took the terrain in a long-legged lope, wondering how long the man could run like that.

The scattered platoon of Gray Guard rode hard with the half-company of Rudolfo’s Gypsy Scouts, the rainbow uniforms of the scouts contrasting with the ash-colored guard against the drab desolation of the Churning Wastes. The sun was high now, and it glistened off the glass hills and razored dunes of the decimated cities that once covered this land. It approached winter just two hundred leagues east, and here, the sky blistered at noon.

It had been years since he’d been in the Wastes, and there was a tragic beauty in it that he did not miss. It was a stark reminder of the Wizard King’s wrath but also a reminder of the strength of those scattered survivors, gathered together under the leadership of P’Andro Whym to dig what could be saved from the ruins and ride west with it to the New World behind the Keeper’s Gate. Both human achievements-a penchant for self-destruction and a tenacious will to survive that penchant.

He heard a whistle and looked up. Geoffrus was slowing and motioning for them to do the same. He pointed north as he did.

Petronus slowed his horse and looked. There, across the landscape, four robed figures moved, tossing dust or steam up behind them as they went. They moved fast, faster even than the root moved Geoffrus and his men. They were perhaps a league away, and he realized suddenly where he’d seen that loping run before.

Mechoservitors. Running in the Churning Wastes. Running toward the Keeper’s Wall.

Instinctively, he raised an arm, but they paid him no mind.

He’d read the preliminary reports on the findings at Sanctorum Lux and knew about the metal man who had deactivated itself-the remains had been gone when the landing party of Tam survivors and Gypsy Scouts reached that burned-out ruin. And he’d heard about their so-called dream, though he wasn’t clear exactly what they meant by it.

Somewhere in the Wastes, Charles’s first generation of mechoservitors worked at something secretly, and he suspected that this strange figure, Hebda, knew more than he’d revealed in the hallucinations Petronus had experienced. As Pope, Petronus had made it his business to know every office and every ministry beneath his sanctioned oversight, and he’d heard nothing of this Office for the Preservation of the Light.

But he’d known Hebda’s name, though he could not remember why he did.

The farther he moved away from the Wall, the more clear his memory became, though it still confused him. And even as his memory cleared, the dreamlike episodes ceased. He’d experienced neither vision nor dream since leaving their camp. Still, he knew enough. They’d charted his course, and something inside of him strongly believed that Arch-Behaviorist Hebda spoke the truth-Neb was in danger, and Petronus was compelled to act.

He’d not talked to the boy since that last day he’d seen him, there in the crowded silk pavilion of the last Androfrancine Council, Neb shaking with rage as Petronus called for an Androfrancine to take Sethbert’s life and thus claim the ring and robes of office. He’d known the boy would’ve stepped forward-the Overseer had killed Neb’s father when he brought desolation to Windwir-and Petronus had taken lengths to spare him that vengeful path. He winced as he recalled the day he excommunicated Neb, after months of faithful service leading the grave-digging of Windwir with the grace and care of an academy general.

It broke me to break him. Petronus swallowed the pain of that memory, trusting that he was right in the end-that the boy was made for more than backward dreaming.

Geoffrus and the others were speeding up now, and Petronus felt the heat of his horse between his thighs. Still, he whistled the roan forward and leaned low into the saddle.

As the landscape flashed past, he wondered what exactly they would find in the far east where these mechoservitors had run from. He wondered about the runners and he wondered about the mysterious man who doled out hallucinations and dreams like candies from a dark and hidden pocket.

And most of all, Petronus wondered if they would reach Neb in time for whatever it was that he smelled coming on the dead winds of the Churning Wastes.