Hatam-Ile, 25th of Fourthmoon 3045
Hawk gripped the koori’s thick mane with both hands. The animal’s loping trot practically devoured leagues at a pace that not even the most durable akheri could manage, but the rider paid for it with all sorts of discomfort. The koori’s thin legs and large cloven hooves made the beast wobble from side to side as it moved, and every time Hawk felt as if he were in danger of flying off at any given moment. No saddle could truly decrease the risk of injury, and falling off a creature whose back was three meters off the ground was anything but pleasant. Should you be lucky you’d just find yourself swallowing dust behind a dune, shoes full of sand. Should you be less fortunate you’d snap your neck hitting the ground, or got a hoof in the face.
Sand billowed as the animals ran. Ahead, Onniar encouraged his steed into canter, and Hawk kicked his heels to his own koori’s sides unwillingly. There was no real need for it, though. They were pack animals, kooris, and followed their leader’s example in everything, the good and the bad alike. Should the leader canter so would the rest, and nothing could make them stop. A bolting herd was a catastrophe akin to a natural disaster, and there was nothing to do but get out of their way. Hawk clung to the animal’s sides with all his might, but could still feel himself swaying alarmingly.
”There!” Nightsong cried out next to him and pointed at an approaching cloud of sand. It was barely visible against the dark night sky.
Onniar pulled at the reins, his steed slowing into a walk before halting entirely. Hawk and Nightsong’s kooris stopped beside it, tossing their large heads nervously.
”What do you see?” Onniar asked, glancing at Hawk from the corner of his eye.
Hawk stared into the cloud. ”They’re coming.”
His skin and breath were steaming after the demanding ride. Drying sweat had him shivering from the cold and he flexed his fingers to keep them warm. The heat of the Sea of Mists was both too close and too far: the currents from the open seas brought rain and humidity with them, but it wasn’t enough to curb the harsh night-time cold. His koori was steaming just as badly as he was, and crystals of ice were beginning to form in its dense fur. He clapped its neck, eyes fixed on the horizon.
His mouth pulled into a thin line. Even from afar he could tell something was off: only three kooris were coming towards them instead of four, and one of them was without a rider. Onniar and Nightsong saw it too as the riders came closer. Nightsong swore quietly.
Onniar lifted his hand in greeting. Only one of the riders – Blueleaf, Hawk recognised his friend’s familiar face as they drew closer – answered the greeting, and they saw why when the riders finally stopped their kooris in front of Hawk and the others. One of the riders, Dewdrop, was supporting Silverbrook in front of her.
Hawk felt his heart skip a beat. Silverbrook was only barely conscious, judging by the look on her face. Sweat was pooling down it, and blood had oozed through the cloth wrapped around her midriff.
”Silverbrook,” Nightsong cried, voice catching in her throat. She would have jumped off her koori and rushed to her wife had Hawk not grabbed her by the wrist. Their eyes met and he shook his head.
No one dared voice the question hanging heavily between them, not until Hawk at last forced himself to speak, though he already knew what the answer would be. A void, large as an entire akheri life, stood in their midst where their missing scout should have been. All Hawk said was, ”what about Willow?”
Dewdrop shook her head. Her voice shook as she said, ”gone. She didn’t… We couldn’t bring her back.”
”The demons have camped close to the bridge,” Blueleaf intervened, panting heavily.
”Have they started crossing it?” Onniar asked, expression grave.
Blueleaf shook their head. ”I don’t think so. The northern tip of Seiye has been hit by a blizzard. The camp is up to the knees in snow.”
”A blizzard?” Hawk’s voice had dropped ever lower with worry.
”It’s been chasing us all the way from the Cape of Mists,” Blueleaf said. Silverbrook wailed, gripping at her waist, and Blueleaf continued wearily, ”we have to get her to Mineha.”
Onniar nodded grimly. He wheeled his koori around and they began to trot towards Hatam-Ile. Silverbrook’s expression told them that every movement and bump only served to aggravate her injuries, but time wasn’t on their side. At a walk they’d never make it in time.
The journey home felt like forever. The silence was broken only by the heavy breathing of the kooris and Silverbrook’s silent wailing, which tore at Hawk’s heartstrings as deeply as the thought of Willow, Willow who was never coming home. The night was almost cloudless, but of the three moons only the distant Kauarin lit the sky with its pale glow. It hung so close to the horizon that its light only brushed against the hills spreading underneath. Little by little dunes made way for sand and clay mixed soil from which gnarled, spiky saplings and the few plants that could tolerate the desert drought sprouted. It was a relief to get up on the last hill and see Hatam-Ile’s lights appear below.
The chill of the night was a welcome guest after the burning daylight hours, and Hatam-Ile wasn’t asleep despite the late hour. Onniar lead them through empty streets directly to the central square where people were already waiting for them in front of the elder’s house. The few welcoming shouts there were died on their lips as they saw the approaching group. Disbelief was etched deep in the elders’ faces, but Ared stood in front of them, calm as ever.
Hawk slid down from his koori’s back before it had stopped entirely. Nightsong and Onniar followed suit and started helping Silverbrook dismount. Oakbough, as pale as her daughter, pushed the elders out of the way and rushed to her only, now unconscious, child.
”What happened?” she asked, her voice tight with fear. She reached out a hand towards Silverbrook, but didn’t dare to touch her. Wordlessly, Nightsong took Oakbough’s hand, a shared fear reflected from both women’s faces.
”She needs a healer,” Hawk said, directing his words at Ared. Ared nodded and the crowd parted so that Nightsong and Onniar could carry Silverbrook in the elder’s house. Oakbough sprinted after them.
Blueleaf and Dewdrop could just barely dismount. They both looked as if they hadn’t slept in days. Dewdrop was shaking all over so badly that she just leaned against her koori, breathing as hard as if she’d run the whole way herself. Her clothes were stained with blood.
”What happened?” one of the elders, a man whose brown face was etched deeply with creases of old age, repeated Oakbough’s question. ”Where’s my child? Where’s Willow?”
Dewdrop just shook her head, exhausted. The elder sunk to his knees and burst into tears.
Perhaps half an hour later the meeting room in the elder’s house was full. The fire they’d hastened to light in the hearth standing in the middle of the room provided little warmth, and the elders sat around the room wrapped in quilts, some dozing where they sat, others serious, their eyes darting about. A basket of small, dark kukkos – pastries with meat filling – and sliced, dried fruit was passed from one person to another. Hawk passed on the basket without taking anything. His stomach had tangled itself into a knot and he knew he wouldn’t be able to force anything down.
Onniar entered the room and shut the door after himself. He was carrying two mugs of tea with him, one of which he handed to Hawk as he sat down beside him.
”Nightsong?” Hawk asked quietly. Though he wasn’t thirsty, there was still something safe, comforting even, in the scent of tea and honey.
”With Silverbrook.”
The sounds of healing emanated through closed doors. The beat of the chanting faded then intensified, repeating over and over again. Other sounds intertwined in the rhythm, sounds that were impossible to shut out: weeping, wailing, occasional cries. Ghostly sounds of the willow flute joined them and muted all else.
Ared stood up. He wasn’t much taller standing than he was sitting, but all eyes were immediately fixed on him. Three long, black braids fell down his back.
”Blueleaf, Dewdrop,” he addressed the scouts huddling by the fire. Even without his cloak Ared was still chief through and through, and those listening took comfort in the softness of his voice. ”Tell us. What happened to Willow and Silverbrook?”
Blueleaf’s voice was heavy with exhaustion when they said, ”the Liqaris saw us as we were preparing to leave. Winter has come to Seiye and there’s nowhere to hide in the steppes after snowfall.”
”Willow died before we even knew they’d seen us,” Dewdrop said in a hollow voice. Blueleaf shivered and pulled the quilt more tightly around themselves. ”We managed to save Silverbrook, but only just.”
”There’s so many of them.” Blueleaf’s voice was just a whisper. Their glazed eyes stared into nothingness. ”You can’t imagine it unless you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Their army has engulfed the plains, and more soldiers arrive every day.”
Ared took the poker and tended the fire. Flames reflected from his dark eyes.
”How close to the bridge are they?”
”Less than ten leagues from the forest of Mori.”
The silence that fell in the room was absolute. The healer’s song had ended, as had the flute song. In their place was nothing but a hollow, echoing emptiness.
Ared brought his hands towards the flames, and for a moment they seemed to grow stronger, drawing out a sudden, radiating heat that made those sitting nearest pull back, startled.
”The fire told me that you’d return earlier than we knew to expect,” he finally said. ”Now we know why. Onniar, could you make sure that they get some rest?”
Onniar got up and gestured to Blueleaf and Dewdrop. They followed him in silence, heads bent, and no one spoke until they’d heard the front door close.
”The demons will be upon us before Kauarin has returned on the night sky thrice,” one of the elders said. ”What are we going to do?”
”They might not be able to cross the cape. Sandstorms have raged there almost nonstop since we found out the Liqaris are on the move,” another pointed out.
”We can’t put our faith in the weather. We must take up arms and prepare to fight!”
The suggestion roused some objections, but also nods and satisfied grumbling.
”That would be suicide. There’s not enough of us to challenge them,” the elder who’d spoken first huffed. ”Seiye’s winter is long and harsh. It gives us enough time to empty our houses and gather our belongings. If we act fast, we can warn the other cities and move our people to safety before the spring thaw has reached the frozen sea.”
Hawk’s hands balled into fists as some of the elders shouted their protests, but he remained silent. Those not in the council were not usually allowed in the meeting room of the elder’s house. Only Ared’s word gave him permission to sit there and listen.
”You’re saying we should run away? Leave our homes for those monsters to destroy?”
”You can rebuild a house, but you can’t bring back a life lost,” Ared said in hushed tones. Those sitting closest to him stared.
Hawk brought the untouched mug to his lips and forced himself to drink, hoping to wash away the nausea that had settled in his belly.
Nemeken, the most experienced of the elders, sighed. ”Either we fight or we run away. Our options are bleak, whatever we decide. Even if we were to choose the latter, what guarantee do we have that the Liqaris won’t come after us?”
Hawk turned his attention on his cousin and spoke, despite the elders continuing their urgent whispering around the room. Spoke, though his place wasn’t in the council or even the house itself. ”Ared, you’re the chief here. What do you think?”
The elders threw disapproving looks his way, but Hawk refused to look anywhere but his cousin. Ared was silent for a long time. He only had eyes for the quivering dance of flames and sparks. What exactly he saw in them, no one else knew. Fire reading was a rare skill that could not be taught. You were born to it, and a fire reader’s role was theirs to carry from the cradle to the grave.
”It’s too late to escape,” he said in low tones. The fire in front of him roused all of a sudden, shooting glowing sparks in the air. ”We’re stuck between two equally great threats.”
The tone in his voice made the others shudder.
When no one else opened their mouths, Hawk asked, ”what do you mean?”
Ared finally met his gaze, and Hawk saw colour draining from his face.
”Kishans are coming.”
Hol Saro, 26th of Fourthmoon 3045
”This opportunity is historic,” Ellerram’s voice carried proudly over the tumult of the celebrations. ”This threat shall not divide us, but in repelling it Kisha stands ever stronger. Each one of you will bring honour to your families, your country, and all of the empire.”
The empress’s words were followed by excited cheers. The ground shook beneath the soldiers’ feet as they knelt as one, and the ocean of steel and raised swords gleamed in unison with the sun itself. Ren’i stood up upon the empress’s signal, the soldiers following his example.
Ellerram looked majestic wrapped head to toe in red, despite the mourning stripe painted across her face, which she’d carry for many more months still. The rest of the imperial family stood beside her on the balcony, all wearing the same red as her, and Ren’i had to admit that it made for an impressive sight when seen from below. His eyes sought his father, though he knew Oerei wouldn’t be able to see his face from above.
It was as if the Spring Festival had never happened. The balcony was fixed, the pavillion dismantled, and the soot marks left by the explosion where nowhere to be seen. The excitement had transformed into carnevalistic festivities, and not without a reason. The fifth legion was one of Hol Saro’s own legions and its soldiers hailed mainly from the capital and other northern cities. Hol Saroans were sending their own people to war, and waited for their friends and relatives to bring honour to their families and their city upon their return.
Ren’i straightened. He felt the empress’s gaze weighting almost as heavily on his shoulders as the armour, as heavy and just as precious. He’d carry not only Ellerram’s, but Kisha’s and the whole empire’s expectations with him. Tension had turned to impatiance over the past few days, and in the morning, when he’d dressed for the last time with Ruan’s assistance, he’d glanced at his healing tattoo and placed his hand on it once more.
He wished with all his heart it would do exactly what he’d proclaimed to Oerei: bring him luck.
The empress spread her arms in a ceremonial gesture, the train of her dress fluttering in the wind. ”Let it be known that Kisha marches to victory with you, just as it always has. Follow the path marked by your commander-in-chief, for he leads you in Quan’s footfalls.” She turned her gaze to Nahere, who stood on her left with her head held high, looking regal. Ren’i smiled at the fact that Nahere was wearing an outfit identical to Ellerram’s own. ”We want to send you off with the entire imperial family’s blessings, and there is one whom we know to have the right words. Lady Nahere, if you please.”
The words were met with eager clapping from the spectators gathered on the edges of the square. Nahere’s works – especially the more romantic ones – were still quoted in pubs and taverns around the city, though she’d already left the harem and her career when her engagement to Chuja was still nothing but a rumour.
Nahere stepped forward and took the empress’s place. Only now did Ren’i notice that she was holding a book. She opened it, glanced briefly at Chuja, and touched her throat. Even at a distance Ren’i felt how she released her ashay.
Her magically magnified voice echoed melodiously over the noise of the crowd and the cries of sea fowl when she began reciting in the same clear, steady pace that she always used while performing.
”The time comes, the winds turn.
The time comes, the path drawn.
Ever to our twilight do we wander,
Our growing shadows as dust worn asunder.”
She trembled visibly in the wind, but her voice was tranquil, clear.
”The fire’s ignited, and what was crumbles.”
Ren’i saw Sava frowning from the corner of his eye.
”The water rises, and the final wall shatters.
Everlasting, nothing, not the sea of stars,
No earth, no sky, nor the reddest of bloods.”
On the balcony Chuja and Oerei glanced at each other, which told Ren’i wordlessly that this wasn’t part of the scheduled programme. Ellerram stood as immobile as a statue.
”Unleash the fire.
Its flames alight the night.
Unleash the fire.
Its embers flicker to life.
In ashes it smolders, rekindled,
Its heat never extinguished.”
Nahere closed her book, bowed as only a performer could and said, ”thank you.” Her windblown hair was a curtain obfuscating her face from view.
The whispering had died entirely. Some onlookers brought their hands together and clapped uncertainly, stopping when no one else joined in. All that was left was an oppressive silence, and Ren’i saw fearful faces in the crowd. Next to him captain Hamr’s lips moved silently, and Ren’i read from his lips the same words that echoed in his own mind. Unleash the fire. He shivered.
Up on the balcony Chuja touched Nahere’s shoulder and bent closer to say something to her.
”Thank you for your poetic words of encouragement, my lady,” Ellerram said, breaking the silence with her echoing voice. She was no longer smiling. ”Remember, children of Kisha: you are Quan’s fire and its legacy. Go and bear it across the continent.”
Only the whistling of wind answered the empress’s words. After a moment the palace guards spread across the square, forming a rank between the spectators and the soldiers, and Ren’i guessed the empress had sent her silent message to the master guards. The orchestra had been waiting for the dance troupe’s signal, which never came. Ren’i saw the guards escorting the dancers back to the palace through a side door, ignoring their protests. The leader of the orchestra noticed the same, and the musicians began their fanfare a couple of beats too late.
Ren’i felt Ellerram’s eyes searching for him. He met her gaze, and though he knew what to expect, he still started as if electrocuted when her voice reverberated in the chambers of his mind as clearly as if she’d been standing in front of him. Each word radiated waves of throbbing pain inside his skull.
’The rest is up to you. I know you won’t disappoint me.’
The sheer force of the order was exhausting, and it was an order, there was no doubt about it. The words exuded something Ren’i had never heard in Ellerram’s voice before. He saw a patrol beginning to escort Nahere and Chuja back inside the palace, and he only barely managed to pry his eyes away from them.
”Honour to the empress! Honour to the empire!” Ren’i bellowed from the bottom of his lungs and slammed a fist against his chest. The soldiers followed suit, and a choir of a hundred voices echoed the greeting. Sava and Linnee helped Ren’i mount his koori, and he raised his sword in the air as the Guard of Honour assumed positions behind him on their own steeds, shouting, ”follow me!”
He forced his face to assume the commander-in-chief’s expressionless mask, but there was nothing he could do about the gripping uncertainty that had suddenly settled in his chest.
He had never wanted to resist a direct order from his aunt, but turning back was no longer an option, not in front of all those eyes. A premonition, even greater than the one he’d carried with him throught the restless years, was gnawing at his insides. He stole one more glance over his shoulder as they marched through the gates leading to the district of Mire, but the imperial balcony had already been vacated.