Awaken the Three, page 6
Hullis and Dhrostain shrugged and looked to Tennech for confirmation. When the general nodded his consent, the two Thurians cautiously awakened the sleeping giants and pointed them away from the sinking sun.
Sera, despite having no idea where they were going, was fine with leading the way. She’d dodged death once already.
Let it try again, she thought bitterly.
Chapter 13
Haidan Shar
Benjin
He’s going to be so mad, thought Benj as he raced down the stairs. He was already late and would have no time to give the horses their feed. He shouted something half apologetic to the stables as he passed, determining to give the animals double rations when he made it back.
If he made it back.
Captain Jahaz was not easy on him when he was late. Last time, he had nearly split his skull wide open and Benj had spent the better part of a week recovering. And his mother hadn’t had any sympathy for him either. She’d simply said, “I told you to be early. Early is on time, and on time is late.” Benj hated it when she said that, but he hated it even more when she was right.
The muddy road from the Flats seemed extra filthy today as Benj was already starting to feel the bruises he would surely get from Jahaz. His feet hit the paved road that led to the castle, and he looked at the rising sun. He cursed again under his breath and dug deep to find the strength to keep running. As armiger to Captain Jahaz, Benj was practically expected to be filthy; a little more sweat on his dirty brown tunic and pants would not even be looked at twice.
Approaching the castle, he nodded a curt greeting to the two guards standing at the bridge that led inside.
“Jahaz will have your hide,” said one as Benj raced by. The other guard chuckled in agreement. Benj didn’t bother with a reply—he knew it was true.
The guards motioned to the ones manning the wall, who began to lift the gate just enough so Benj could slip through.
“Hurry through, Master Benj,” came a mocking shout from above. It was followed by a chorus of laughter from the rest of the guards.
At least I’m good for something, thought Benj. The guards sure love me.
He raced through the courtyard and up through passages and staircases too many to count. When Haidan Shar was first built, none of this had been here; it was a later addition that only came with the vast influx of wealth from the precious minerals that surrounded the great city. The Gem of the East, as it was called now, had started out as little more than a gravel pit. But as traders from far away began to hear the stories of the gems in the east, gems that would eventually become the city’s namesake, the Sharians realized that they could very quickly have a war on their hands over the riches. Their riches. Riches that should stay theirs, no matter how many corpses they would have to bury them under.
So the masons had built, the smithies had smithed, and, in the blink of an eye as armies measure time, Haidan Shar went from a quiet fishing town by the sea to a sprawling fortress worthy of royalty. And, only a few years before Benj had been born, that is just what Haidan Shar found itself with.
“Yes, Your Grace,” came a voice from up ahead. “But he needs his arms to carry my sword and feed the horses. Perhaps a few broken ribs will instead serve to remind him to be on time.”
It was Jahaz’s voice, and he was addressing the queen.
Benj felt sick.
He’d come to a halt outside the great wooden door of the king’s war room, but couldn’t work up the courage to go inside. Captain Jahaz was in there, along with the rest of the War Council, and Benj knew how loud the door was. There was no way to sneak in. They already knew he was late.
He took a breath and pushed it open. It groaned exactly as loud as he had hoped it wouldn’t. He couldn’t see the twenty-two pairs of eyes staring daggers at him as he walked in, but he knew he would have seen them if he’d opened his own.
“How nice of you to join us,” Jahaz said coldly. His dark brown eyes seemed to be boring into his skin.
Benj didn’t breathe. It was protocol for an armiger to be there, at his master’s beck and call, any time he might be needed. This was one of those times.
“We’ll talk about your tardiness later,” Jahaz continued. “Come.”
Benj opened his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding in, knowing in the back of his mind that future breaths might not come as easily or pain-free. “Yes, Captain,” he said quietly.
Walking over to where the captain was standing, he took his place by his side. The eleven captains were standing with their armigers and looking at the queen, seated on her throne, looking more relaxed than she usually did in the war room. She smiled.
Standing next to the throne was a blond man whom Benj didn’t recognize.
The queen spoke. “Now that we are all here,” she said as Benj cringed, “please continue, Eowen.”
“General Duna Cullain wishes to form an alliance between the armies of Khala Val’ur, Ghal Thurái, and Haidan Shar, united under one banner for the first time in history against the Chovathi menace which threatens us all.”
A smirk worked its way onto the queen’s face. Then the smirk started spreading, first to a grin and then into laughter.
“Your Grace,” Eowen stammered, looking confused, “I do not understand why you laugh at this proposal.”
“Not at the proposal,” the queen said with more than a hint of amusement. She leaned forward on her throne, eyebrows arched in curiosity. “I laugh because somehow my sister Duna has become a general without my help.”
Chapter 14
Ellenos
Thornton
Thornton was one of the last souls to leave the ship, and he couldn’t stop staring at the perfectly smooth, blue-hued marble structure in the distance. It was pyramid-shaped, with a grand entrance facing south made up of four towering granite columns, spirals of gold snaking up them. The columns supported a white marble slab that served no purpose save one: opulence. The polished quality of the whole structure reminded him of the eyes of a Khyth: cloudy and nebulous, as if the stone itself were alive.
Gesturing toward it, he asked Endar, “Is that where we’re going?”
The big half-eye was the last to disembark. “It is,” he answered.
“So that’s where the Keeper . . . lives?”
Endar’s chuckle was just loud enough for Thornton to hear. “That’s the Temple of the Shaper, if that’s what you’re asking. Just like the one in Annoch. Only this one has no Anvil.”
Thornton considered this. “Then why have a temple?” he asked.
Endar’s footsteps come to a halt behind him. Turning around, Thornton saw the half-eye looking down his nose at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I’ll advise you not to repeat that question. But to satisfy your curiosity, I’ll answer it here.” He was scratching the salt-and-pepper scruff on his chin that had grown in the last few days. “It serves as the throne room for Sh’thanna, High Keeper of Ellenos, and as a constant reminder to all Athrani that we owe everything we are, and everything we have, to the Shaper of Ages. We wouldn’t be who we are without Her Gift. Even a half-eye like me.”
Thornton hung his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it.”
Endar waved it off. “Nonsense,” he said. “No harm done. You’re not one of us, so you couldn’t have known.”
Thornton flinched at Endar’s words. They stung, even though Thornton was sure Endar hadn’t meant them to. Not one of us. Never had that been more obvious than now. Even the eyes looking back at him in his reflection in the water seemed strange.
He looked around for Kethras and Yasha, suddenly feeling the need to be surrounded by something—anything—familiar. Fortunately for him, the two of them stood out like mud on a wedding dress: a tall, slender Kienari and a gray-robed Khyth, afloat in a sea of Athrani. They couldn’t lose him if they tried.
Yasha had her hood pulled tightly over her face and was following closely behind Kethras, looking like a child chasing after a walking tree. Her long red hair peeked out and stood sharply against the ashen skin that marked her as a Khyth of the Breaking—something she had spent most of her life despising. But now there was nothing she could do to reverse the stigma that came with the power in the form of her charred and ravaged exterior.
Thornton could see the Ellenians sharing whispers with each other, no doubt about the outsiders who had inexplicably made their way into the heart of the First City. He weaved his way through the men of the legion to catch up with them as, all around him, Athrani life buzzed about frantically.
The cobblestone road they were traveling on ran north–south, from the dock from which they’d come to the grand entrance of the Temple of the Shaper, and Thornton’s eyes followed it down. Rows and rows of shops were set up in the open air along the road, and it looked like a bazaar had made its home around the temple. Cloths of every color that Thornton could think of lined the tops of the shops, and they seemed to do so in an organized fashion: purple meant fresh fruit; red meant weapons; black was armor; gold seemed to signify spices or perfumes; orange, books and scrolls. He couldn’t determine the purpose of the blue since it appeared to be attractive women just standing around. There were a handful of other colors, too, whose purpose he couldn’t discern, but there weren’t nearly as many of them compared to the vast number of roadside shops in the market. He turned his head from left to right to take in the whole scene and realized that the heart of the city was much, much bigger than he’d imagined.
The citizens of Ellenos were almost entirely Athrani, but they were as diverse as Thornton remembered the citizens of Annoch being: Some dressed in fine clothes or robes; others, in little more than rags. Some had long white hair; others had short, dark hair. Most were tall; others were smaller. A few were fat; most were modestly built. And the different-colored eyes he saw were almost as varied. Behind the normal eye color that every human had was a second color that was the hallmark of the Athrani people, signifying their link with the Otherworld and their status as Shapers. The colors differed from person to person, and Thornton couldn’t tell if they even stayed the same within a family. Though they make for some vibrant backgrounds, he thought.
The sounds of merchants pitching their wares filled the air, even at dusk. Thornton saw a few of the Athrani shopkeepers come outside, and, waving their hands around as he’d seen a few Shapers do, they seemed to make fire out of thin air. And, from what he understood of Athrani Shaping, that was actually what they were doing. He quickened his pace over to Yasha, who was staring at the throngs of shops and people, and took her arm.
She was walking behind Kethras, who seemed to be navigating the masses of Athrani fairly well. In a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I never knew what I was missing, living in the cold blackness of Khala Val’ur.”
“I know what you mean,” Thornton answered. “I always thought of Lusk as a big city when I was growing up. And then I saw Annoch.” He paused. “This place puts them both to shame.”
Just as he was finishing his sentence, he heard Yasha cry out and felt her arm tear away from his. Turning around, he saw her tumbling to the ground. A tall, green-robed Athrani was scowling at her.
“Watch where you’re going, Khyth.” The Athrani spat out the last word with a scowl as he towered over her. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”
Thornton moved to shield her with his body, and he heard a low growl come from Kethras’s direction, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel sliding across leather as the Kienari freed his dagger.
“Apologize to the lady,” Kethras warned, “or you’ll see just how easily Athrani blood can be spilled.” He was holding his knife with the hilt facing up, postured to slash the blade across the Ellenian’s face. His elbows were out; knees slightly bent. Thornton guessed that few people living had ever seen a Kienari in such a stance.
The Athrani began to move his hands in an incantation to the Shaper of Ages, and Thornton felt the air around them spark with power; but Endar would not have it.
“Stop!” the great half-eye bellowed, stepping in front of Kethras. “Stop this at once. They’re with me.” He gestured for them to lower their weapons. Looking back and forth at them, he said, “No more blood needs to be shed. Too much of it still covers the ground in Kienar.”
The green-robed Athrani made a face as if he were sucking on a lemon, and began to back away. “Strange bedfellows you find yourself with these days, half-eye. If consorting with the Khyth is the price of our victory at the Tree, I wonder if it was worth the effort.”
Thornton watched the Athrani fade into the crowd as Endar placed his hand on the hilt of Kethras’s still-readied dagger. Lowering it, he spoke in quiet tones. “I’m sorry for the actions and words of my countrymen,” the half-eye said, offering a hand to Yasha, who was still on the ground. “The Athrani are not known for their open-mindedness.” Pointing to his one eye that spoke of his mixed heritage, he added, “Trust me.”
Yasha got up and dusted herself off. “It’s fine,” she said. “I didn’t expect this to be easy.” She pulled off her hood, shaking out her wild red hair as it tumbled down. “And I guess there’s no point in trying to hide anymore.”
“There never was,” Endar said with a smile. “Now, come. We’ve nearly arrived.”
Shaken from the encounter but thankful that their destination was close, Thornton continued the walk to the temple behind the legion.
***
Kethras moved with an air of suspicion as he followed the Athrani Legion toward the entrance of the temple. His big black eyes looked sunken and hollow against his black fur, but Thornton knew they were taking in everything, even things he himself couldn’t see. He was glancing back and forth among the merchants in the market, the way a predator scans for prey. It made Thornton nervous.
Suddenly, Kethras narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Thornton and Yasha. “Quickly,” he said to them. “Inside.”
Thornton looked around, thinking another Athrani was looking for trouble. “Why? What’s wrong?” His mild annoyance came out in his voice, as he was quietly hoping to take in the sights of the city for just a bit longer.
“It is difficult to explain,” Kethras said, “but I don’t want to take any chances. Stay close.”
Thornton didn’t hesitate. He felt his palms start to sweat as he followed the tall Kienari toward the temple. He trusted Kethras’s instincts, but he knew it himself too: something was off; he could feel it. And from the corner of his eye, thought he could see it—what looked to be the faint figure of a woman. But when he turned to see what it was, the figure disappeared from sight.
Almost as if it had never been there at all.
Grabbing tighter the arm of his sister, Thornton found himself moving into a second Temple of the Shaper, a towering construct that existed more or less for the glory of the being he knew simply as his childhood friend Miera. It was open to all, but represented someone who was now cut off from the rest of the world.
The irony was not lost on him.
The old stories say that Lash’kun Yho was the younger twin of Ahmaan Ka. They also say that being younger was the only way in which Lash’kun Yho came second to his older brother: he was smarter, stronger, and faster than Ahmaan Ka, and he took every opportunity to prove it. The two of them fought like brothers, competing in every way: wrestling with each other, racing and chasing each other, hunting longer and running faster, trying so hard to prove that one was better. But their competition was always for pride—always, that is, until Asha Imha-khet.
—Excerpt from The Night Sky and Its Names
Chapter 15
Khadje Kholam
Rathma
Rathma relaxed a little when he could see that Kuu was still breathing—as much as he could relax in irons, surrounded by enemies.
Before leaving him to the soldiers, Djozen Yelto had marched Rathma into the middle of the compound where the caged gray fox was sleeping, and Rathma watched as its rib cage drifted slowly up and down.
All around them were soldiers in Yelto’s employ, and Rathma knew they weren’t going anywhere. Most of them had a curved, short sword at their side. The ones who did not wear swords wore spears instead, with a small dagger strapped to a thigh. All of them wore tan tunics with chainmail underneath. The shemaghs they used to cover their noses and mouths during the day were pulled down loosely around their necks, forming cloth triangles that pointed at their belts. Most of the soldiers were quiet, but Rathma could hear a few of them exchanging whispers that more or less confirmed what he was thinking: that their trial would be quick and unfair. But what they were more intrigued by was that Djozen Yelto himself had left the compound to track them down.
Rathma felt the wooden end of a spear catch him in the back as a guard behind him said, “Move.”
Rathma gave the guard a cold look but did as he was told. He held his shackled hands in front of him as they walked, and they appeared to be headed for the entrance of Yelto’s chambers. In front of them, holding a torch above his disfigured face, was a Priest of the Holder whose empty eyes were staring right at Rathma. The muscles on the priest’s face twitched and tightened, and Rathma felt the bile creep up in his throat as he realized the priest was smiling.
“Don’t worry, child,” the priest hissed. “The Holder will take you soon.” Turning to the guard, he pointed inside as the thick metal door to Yelto’s chambers was opened. “Take him in and chain him up, then bring in the other one.”
