Riven Earth, page 30
“Hey!” A guard’s voice behind him. “Black kids!”
“I won’t have none of your kind in our town!” Halberds came down to block the three orphans. Everyone was staring at them.
“Fuck’s sake.” Otto nudged Jilly, and she turned. The three kids looked damn scared. Soot snarled at the guards and beat back the shaft of the spear closest to him. Hitaya put a hand on his shoulder. Followers stood by, watching. Some anxiety in them, mouths half open as if they wanted to say something.
Jilly brought Otto to one of the guards. Young fellow, all nerves with his hands trembling on the spear shaft. “With me,” Otto croaked.
“What?” the guard said.
Otto pointed at the children. “With me.”
“Suncursed are not permitted in the village.” Another guard. A senior one across the gate.
It was byutshit plain and simple. Illegal to bar suntouched kids from entry. No point arguing the matter though. He dug into Jilly’s vines, found the money pouch, brought out an oak chip, and tossed it to the younger guard. The lad dropped his weapon to catch it. He stared for a long moment, turning it over to make sure his eyes were true.
“Hey!” the other guard flung aside his halberd and strode across the gate. “Gimme that!” They tussled over the chip. Otto turned, and Jilly took him into the village. The children hurried behind.
Last he came to Bouro, it’d been full of life. Growing faster than any other village, booming with commerce and fun. Seemed a sad place now. Empty market, stalls scarce. Hardly any folk shopping. Desperate merchants. Calling to him, of all people, begging him to buy their trinkets or sweet cakes.
Even the followers were stingy now. Little reason to wonder why. Otto saw one of them trade a cedar chip for a small bag of stale bread. A rip off. But that was the way of things. He hadn’t passed a single good crop since Heartsong.
Bad times were coming. But he wouldn’t be around to enjoy them.
Jilly’s hooves clattered on cobblestones. Past wood-built stores, several of them boarded up and closed. He could see the mansions up the hill, smoke billowing from stone chimneys. Those folk seemed to be doing just fine.
They went to a familiar inn. A place he’d stayed once before, years ago when he’d come recruiting for the army. Jilly had the stables to herself – no followers this far into town. She helped him down, his legs wobbling when they took his weight. Soot caught him before he could fall.
“They won’t let us stay,” the boy said.
Otto grunted, muscles burning, head pounding. He’d been awake all of ten minutes but was already pining for bed. Hitaya and Pebble came around the building, red faced and panting. They dropped the camping supplies on the pile Soot had started, grabbed the baby, and jogged back to help Otto into the inn.
The innkeep was a dour-looking bastard, all scowls while he watched over the empty, upscale joint. His eyebrow went up when Otto and the kids walked in. Then he hurried around, helped Otto to a plush stool. Otto leaned on it. Didn’t sit. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand again.
“These your kids?” the man said. “I can’t have suncursed stay. Ashes, I’m surprised they let you through the gate.”
Otto farted. “Fuck.” He slapped an oak chip on the bar, grunted as he heaved himself standing. “Jut stew. No spice. Twice a day. Let them stay and you get another.”
The man stared at the chip. He picked it up, weighed it, held it close to his eye, studying the stamp. “You sure? This is too much…”
Otto was already limping past. Soot helped him through the door. Innkeep hurried after them. “I have a suite with two rooms. On the first floor. Right this way!”
The moment he was in, Otto crawled to the bed. Cool sheets. Soft. Like floating on a cloud. Took the weight right off his bones. He coughed a splatter of blood on the wooden frame. Leaked a drip of piss on the mattress. Drooled a red puddle on the pillow. Then he closed his eyes. And the darkness came.
His footsteps pounded on the cobbled streets of the Eastern Quarter. Mud on his clothes made him stand out. Nobles in dainty coats of lace and gossamer gasped and gossiped at his passing. Eyes followed him suspiciously. City Guards tightened their grips on their spears. He pulled down his hood and stared at the ground, hoping beyond hope that no one recognized him. If any had, they did not voice it.
Kaido avoided the bustle of the main boulevard and delved instead into the shadowed alleys between homes. Even here, men and women gathered about doorsteps or strolled between appointments. Crowds around the boutique stores filled the air with obnoxious laughter and perfume. Entire streets were blocked by processions of pondering palanquins and lomer-drawn carriages. Somehow, the nobles had turned short walks into long rides. The price of being rich, he supposed, was that you had to flaunt it.
Once, he’d been at home among the wealthy. Many of his friends were the children of the kingdom’s first trademasters. He hadn’t seen them in a long time, and he knew the excuses for his absence were growing thin. Jaswyn went alone to the galas. He’d failed her in that court of crows, just as he’d failed her in so many other ways.
He came upon the Viceroy’s Square. There was Galtus, made noble by stone, book in hand as he gazed out over the city. At his feet, scientists and students swarmed in studying clusters. They overflowed the benches to sit in clumps about a garden alight with fall colours.
Kaido crossed the square and hurried up the stone steps to the Center of Learning. The vast building glimmered in the sunlight, imposing in its stoic solidity. It was the largest structure in the city. Three stories tall, a facade of white stone that stretched a block to each side. It’d been built in just seven years, erected on the power of Galtus’ pure will. No doubt at the cost of many homes in the villages.
Kaido wiped the mud off his boots before stepping into the grand atrium. Voices and footsteps echoed about the great hall of arched stone and windows. Cool and damp, the place brimmed with the smells of paper, people, and food. He joined the crowd up the broad, central staircase. Then he delved into the narrow, dimly lit hallways where the learning actually happened. It’d been far too long. He got lost in the maze and embarrassed himself several times by knocking on the wrong door.
When he finally found the right office, the door was open ajar. It was a spacious chamber made small by clutter. Dust danced in the beams of light that swept through two long windows. The floor was a sea of paper and books. They spilled out of the cabinets that lined the walls and drowned a broad desk sat in front of a stone fireplace. Curious artefacts were scattered about, trinkets of past life: shattered pots and figurines, frayed clumps of cloth, the corroded metal of ancient tools.
Kaido scouted a narrow passage through the mess and eased his way to the desk. His eyes were drawn to the mantelpiece behind it. There, resting on two wooden stands, was the biggest bone he’d ever seen. Almost as long as he was tall, it was blackened and thick, sporting a smooth ball at one end and knobby knuckles at the other.
“A dragon bone.” The voice made him jump. His hand went for the blade at his waist, heart hammering.
Jorial paid him no mind. “Oh, quite the specimen. Immaculate condition.” The little historian shrugged past Kaido, a clay vase hugged in his arms. He deposited the pottery on a precarious pile of paper, then turned and grinned. “Majesty, it has been too long.” He bowed low enough to show the bald spot amidst his messy tangle of red hair.
“Jorial,” Kaido said. “It is good to see you.”
“And you as well. I trust you’re feeling better.” His blue eyes ran over Kaido, who felt immediately conscious of his dirty clothes and wild stink. “Let me just clear a spot for you…” The Master of Histories began to fervently attack a pile of clutter.
“Oh, there’s no need!” Kaido began, but the man had already shoved aside papers in a cascading storm to reveal a rickety wooden chair. Kaido obliged him by sitting.
“You will have tea? Biscuits?” Jorial stepped over piles of junk in a bid to cross the room.
Kaido’s gaze was drawn back to the bone. “From a dragon? You mean to say it’s real?”
“Real? Oh, very much so, Your Majesty.”
“I thought dragons were a myth.”
“Then how does one explain the bones we keep finding?”
Kaido frowned. “I had not heard of such discoveries.”
“Indeed,” Jorial said, pouring tea. “Come with me one day. I shall show you our stores. We have dragon bones of all shapes and sizes. Teeth too, nasty things. Sharp and wicked and longer than your hand. Claws as well, curved like a sickle.”
“But no one has ever seen a dragon,” Kaido said. “I recall the children’s tales of them, of the monsters from the far reaches of the forest. It seemed a hoax to keep us at home.”
Jorial chuckled as he brought Kaido an overfilled cup and a plate of biscuits. “Most myths are rooted in some kernel of truth.” He took his own seat across the desk. “We have learned much since the Freedom War ended. Likely, you are right. The dragons are gone. But I have seen the cave paintings at Morin. Once, our ancestors made battle with the beasts, shown as creatures of feather and flight, spewing flames and spilling blood.” He took a sip of his own tea, a distant, dreamy look on his face.
Kaido tore his eyes away from the bone. “Jorial, I came to ask you about that. In your studies, have you ever seen mention of a people called the Astazans?”
“Astazans? I can’t say I have.”
Kaido tried to hide his disappointment. “Not even in the ancient histories?”
“Astazans.” Jorial scratched thoughtfully at his chin. “A word derived from Astea. Likely, these people lived here, in the Sunset Forest. We don’t have written history from this part of the world. All our ancient texts are from the library at Isaiah’s Landing. They talk of the Sun Empire, a dominant power of the west.
Kaido nodded, remembering the city of white spires Nial had shown him. “How did the Sun Empire end?” he ventured.
Jorial perked up. “The event is referred to as ‘The Great Scorching’. We know little about it. But the texts say the Sun Empress smote her enemies, and in the process, she destroyed her own kingdom.”
“That’s it? Why is it so vague?”
Jorial shrugged. “History is often vague. Our texts were written hundreds of years after the event.” He sipped his tea. “One thing is clear, though. Once, that inhospitable desert was teeming with life. We know that great cities existed west of Isaiah’s Landing.”
Kaido had seen it to be true. Still, he feigned surprise. “How? Was the sun cooler back then?”
“Perhaps. Or it was the shielding technology their books describe. Imagine it, Your Majesty. Sunstones so large they could produce a shield to protect an entire city from the sun. I should like to see one myself.”
Kaido had seen the sun moving. And people had walked under it without shade. Something had changed, surely. It was hotter now.
The visions were still vivid. He remembered the Sun Empress. Was it her magic? Had she strengthened the sun to kill her enemies? Was that the Great Scorching? Was that what Nial had tried to show him?
How could one person alone wield such power?
“Majesty?” Jorial prodded. Kaido shook himself out of his thoughts. The Sun Empire was irrelevant. Whatever the past, the sun now stayed put. They were safe from it.
“Astea,” he said. “I need you to tell me everything we know about Astea.”
Jorial set down his cups and raised his eyebrows. “If I may ask, why the sudden curiosity?”
Kaido only stared at him. The man smiled nervously and continued. “Astea was the deity of the dryads and their followers. They claimed her the goddess of earth and life…”
“I know all that.” Kaido waved him down. He rubbed his temple. His head hurt. It’d been hurting every day since the nectar pool.
Jorial was still looking at him. He didn’t even know what to ask. It wasn’t Astea the Goddess he was interested in. It was the energy he’d felt, that he’d lived. It must be relevant to the famine the kingdom was experiencing.
If he was honest himself, what he truly wanted was to feel that wholeness again – that oneness with life.
“What knowledge has been preserved?” he finally said. “I want to know the details of Astean worship.”
Jorial looked grave. “Majesty, your father ordered all of the books burned.” He spoke with more than a hint of distaste. “All of them. Anything to do with Astea or her worship.”
“Surely there must be something? So many of the Chosen joined our side and still live. Do they not carry knowledge in their minds?”
“Indeed,” Jorial said. “But the dryads were discerning. I’ve interviewed dozens of former Chosen. None knew more than the basic rites. Even in the dryad’s time, their worship was little more sophisticated than our own, and we hardly understood what we were told to do. Only the higher priests were granted greater knowledge. And they fought to their deaths against us.”
“How did Caedric know?” Kaido muttered, then bit his tongue at the thought of that manipulative bastard. “What about the nectar pools?”
“What about them?” Jorial said. “They are almost mythical. None have been seen since the war ended.”
Kaido frowned.
“I’m sorry I cannot help more,” Jorial said. “Truly.”
Kaido looked at him until the man shifted uneasily. He frowned slightly. “You’re hiding something.”
“Hiding? Oh, no.” Jorial looked away. “Why does this archaic worship even concern Your Majesty? Surely…”
“Jorial.”
“Would you like to see those dragon bones?”
“Did you preserve some of the Astean texts?”
He faltered.
“This is important,” Kaido said. “I will not punish you.”
“Preserve? That would be treason. I would not…” The man could not meet Kaido’s narrowed eyes. He waited.
Finally, Jorial exclaimed, “Oh, it was such a crime! To burn them all! Nothing good comes from burning books! I mean no disrespect to you or your father, sir. But Astean worship is so integral a part of our history. I could not stand it! I simply could not!”
The man stood suddenly in defiance. He marched across the messy room, and Kaido followed him to a cabinet. Jorial squatted, kicked aside books, unlocked the lowest door, and pulled out a heavy, worn tome.
“The Book of Astea,” he said. “The last copy still surviving.”
Kaido reached for the book, but the Master of Histories clutched it close.
“I will not burn it. I promise,” Kaido said. “But I must study it.”
Reluctantly, the man handed it over. Kaido was surprised at its heft.
“Majesty, I dare not ask what knowledge you seek. But temper your hopes. The book is written in an old tongue. It is confusing at best and full of riddles. I myself have scarcely managed to make heads or tails of it. I believe the supporting texts written by the High Priests would have been more helpful. If only I had managed to save one of those…”
“Truth be told, I haven’t a clue what I’m looking for,” Kaido said with a smile.
The two of them sat and pored over the book. It was written as a jumble of strange symbols and archaic language. Jorial showed Kaido his notes on the first few chapters. He recognized them as the Tale of the Three, an older version of the story he’d heard growing up. Astea was extolled as the mother of Hecata and all life. Mithras was her lover. The book made no mention of the more modern versions that portrayed him turning into her mortal enemy.
A few hours later, Kaido felt slightly more comfortable with the text. He was weary and hungry, and realised he’d lost track of time. Guilt hit him. Jorial had a wife and child waiting at home. He himself had kept someone waiting for far too long.
So, he hoisted the great book in an arm and shook Jorial’s hand, then bid the Master of Histories a fond farewell, donned his cloak, and walked back into the sunlight. It was nighttime now. The streets were quiet but for the flirting and prattling of drunk nobles and students. He crossed into the Western Quarter and made his way to the Royal Stables. Ruby snored soundly in her stall. He snuck by her and dropped into the secret tunnel to his chambers.
When Kaido entered his bedroom, he was greeted by the smell of sandalwood incense and the crackling of the fireplace. The room was dark but for the flickering flames. Jaswyn sat on the rug in front of the fire. Her knees were pulled in close under her nightgown. Her hair was a dishevelled mess.
“Jaz…” he whispered.
She turned to him, and his heart dropped at the redness in her eyes. He strode to seize her in his arms. Before he could, she was on her feet and had placed a distancing palm on his chest.
“Take a bath. Then come to bed.” Her voice was quiet but layered with a frost that pierced the night.
Kaido swallowed. “Jaz, I’m sorry…”
He held her gaze for a long moment, until finally, she smiled the faintest smile. “You stink.” She nudged him gently. He dropped his head and did as told.
It took a long time to get the dirt off him. Three changes of bathwater went brown down the drain before he finally wiped himself dry and donned his night clothes. When he came back to their bedroom, the fire had been put out. Jaswyn’s silhouette was curled up in bed. He lay beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. She stirred but did not turn to him. He ran his hand down her arm until his fingers found hers. He gave her three gentle squeezes.
An agonising wait ensued. Finally, just as he was about to let her go and turn to sleep, she gifted him four squeezes in return.
He kissed her hair and slept in guilt.
Chapter seventeen
What is love? I have only ever known it as my whole Heart.
But she is gone now, and I am so lost.
