The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XIV

The Night of the Burning Sky

Zenon’s people hadn’t attempted to spring him before the caravan moved on from the caravanserai where he was arrested, having a higher priority in mind: the sarcophagus.

As bait it served Alia’s purposes well enough; Sheridan had conveniently left Aristarchus’s suite unlocked so Zenon’s men could enter. Their master’s terror was infectious, and Sheridan’s calm made them latch on to him. As Alia expected, they allowed him to continue guarding the sarcophagus when they moved on. However, they were not so scared as to trust him absolutely; therefore, he was stationed with the baggage carts. Though left out of the other men’s conversations at first, he used every opportunity he could to inspect their goods — and keep the men from opening the empty sarcophagus.

The new ‘porters’ slipped in with another caravan the same afternoon Zenon was arrested. Fortunately the caravan was large enough for new strangers to go unnoticed, and Alia had considered it worth the risk of joining them.

Each night they came to a new caravanserai, until two nights ago, when they ventured into a trackless desert waste en route to Elamis, the declared destination of Zenon’s people.

The lord will take them thither, to the Eye That Sees All.

If Elamis was the end point, then it had to be the location of the sinister personage spoken of in the letter of marque: the Eye That Sees All.

The shadow queen?

Or a mortal being?

The thought of encountering whatever might fit such a description was enough to send a ripple of fear down her spine.

Several nights later Alia awakened to screams. She bolted upright on her cot, in a campaign tent she had bought before leaving the last caravanserai. Within three heartbeats her eyes adjusted to the dark, but before then she put her hands on her sacred moonbow steel knives.

Armed, she stilled herself and listened. Footsteps rushed to and fro outside her tent. Shouts, not of anger, but of terror. No telltale sounds of steel striking flesh and bone. No roars or growls from a beast, no threats from a human. Whatever frightened the people, it was likely at a distance. But perhaps coming fast …

Alia opened one flap of her tent and peered out.

She froze.

Eerie lights bestowed perfect clarity on the chaotic scene before her. Lights not of the moon, but colors she had not known could shine down in the night sky: Green. Violet. Red.

What was happening?

Alia stepped out and looked up. She gasped.

Jewel-colored flames lit the sky, waves and waves of emerald fire undulating and rippling in the heavens. At the edges the green gave way to either ruby or amethyst. Where the sky was not green, twinkling stars shone forth, proof of night.

“The Hound,” Alia whispered.

On this night, the faithful companion of the Huntress glimmered brightest of any stars in the sky. On the eve of spring the sun entered the house of the Hound, heralding the coming of the Huntress for the equinox. But on this night, days from the winter solstice, what did his appearance mean?

“Oof!” a woman blundered into her. The dazed look in her eyes suggested she didn’t even realize she had struck Alia; and at any ate she staggered away. Alia kept her balance, and resumed her skygazing.

Did the fiery sky represent signs or portents? No lore she knew shed any light on this strange—what time was it? She checked her pocket watch, which hung from her neck.

At this time of the year dawn came late, and it was only four hours past midnight at any rate. Too soon on this night to attribute the jewel flames to the sun. Something was afoot.

“Saka!”

Alia didn’t answer, forgetting her alias until Tregarde yanked on her arm. She spun to face him, raising one of her knives.

Tregarde recoiled and let her go.

“What’s going on?” They shouted as one.

Sheridan came running up to them, repeating the same question.

Alia hugged herself, and the men suddenly fixed their eyes on hers. “A most unusual mystery. Does it have anything to do with Erebossa? Or is this something else?”

Her heart leapt into her throat. What if Fellrath’s death had set off a chain of consequences she hadn’t anticipated? Shahin and the others had referred to Fellrath as holding the Lords of Chaos on a leash. Without him, what might they do? With no one to answer to, and no one to control them, why wouldn’t they open the shadow gates?

No. Panic not. Eldritch lights in the sky did not necessarily mean the shadow gates were open. Neither her mother nor her aunts ever once mentioned such a consequence to opening shadow gates. What happened in the heavens did not necessarily require an Erebossan agent.

But could the Lords of Chaos be involved some other way?

The idea persisted, no matter how much she tried to talk herself out of it. She glanced at Sheridan, who was staring intently at her face. Did he want her to assure them there was nothing unholy afoot? But she lacked any basis for such assurance.

She lowered her knives. “We should patrol the camp. Whatever comes, let us not be taken unawares.”

It was the only productive channel she could think of to direct their fear and vigilance.

Tregarde and Sheridan exchanged a glance, then nodded their assent to her plan. The men rushed off to their own tents. Inside her own tent Alia hurriedly dressed, certain that walking about in her chemise and pantaloons might interfere with her authority. Especially since the fabric, white nainsook muslin embroidered with tiny roses, was a trifle fine. It had only just occurred to her why Tregarde and Sheridan had been so steadfast about meeting her eyes. It underscored for her that humans had rules about appropriate clothing; it was not enough for her to wear any at all.

For a moment she considered wearing her priestly attire. As a priestess she could serve as a comforting figure. The people needed comfort, they needed order, and she could make herself useful to that end.

But in the end she opted for a more straightforward trouser and tunic set. In the long term, she needed to keep her cover. While her enemies believed she was still in Ebon Cove, she could do some good in Anshan. More to the point, there was too much at stake for her to lightly toss aside her cover.

The men met Alia outside her tent. Tregarde was armed, with his Ellura wand and sacred knives sheathed in his armor belt. Wise of him, she noted. The sorcerer could get away with revealing himself as a huntsman, and he could potentially fill her official role.

As they walked she said, “Let’s find the caravan master. Offer our services, Tregarde. He’ll allow you and Sheridan to patrol, but will probably expect me to ‘stay safe.’ I’ll do whatever else he thinks of.”

The caravan master turned out to be too much in shock to say anything coherent. His chief guardsman was trying to get him to come back to his right mind.

“Do we pack up, or stay here?” the guardsman asked.

Alia had considered the question already. Whether the Lords of Chaos were abroad or not, sending so many panicked people headlong into the deserts couldn’t end well. They needed to calm down the other travelers and convince them to stay put.

“Excuse me,” Tregarde said. “We’d like to lend a hand if we may. I’m a Watch officer from out of Lyrcania.”

The guard and the caravan master looked up at him in surprise.

“What?” the caravan master sputtered. “What? A watchman? You’re a watchman? Can you fix the sky?”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation for the sky, but that’s not the biggest worry right now. Right now we need to calm everyone down and fortify the camp. If anything is coming for us, we need to be ready. If nothing comes for us, we need to keep people from running to their deaths in the desert. Agreed?”

The guard seized on Tregarde’s words. Quickly, they worked out a plan. As it turned out, the camp already employed an official priest, so Alia helpfully suggested having the priest sing to catch the attention of the frightened travelers. As a priest he would provide a comforting focus, which should calm the travelers enough to get them to listen to any other orders.

The caravan master came back to his senses, and endorsed the plan.

For the rest of the morning Alia helped corral people to the center of the camp. The songs worked, and Alia suspected part of the songs’ success was the result of sorcery.

Or maybe it was just because the people wanted to believe.

On such an unsettling morning surely the gods must be watching over them. Surely the Hound shone so brightly in his run through the uncanny skies because the Huntress meant them to be comforted and unafraid.

Alia joined in the prayers and the singing, but she kept her eyes sharp, looking out for anyone who seemed out of place. Who was unafraid? Who seemed pleased by the turn of events? Who was trying to keep everyone frightened? From the corner of her eye she watched over Zenon’s contacts.

Ever mindful of the girl who focused so much on the rabbit she was hunting that she didn’t see the fox until it struck, Alia made a point of looking around at others as well.

But no one else stood out.

Yes, a few people who seemed determined to be hysterical, and they reveled in bolstering the panic, but Alia had expected them. As a watch officer she’d seen people who thrived on chaos and tragedy. Spiritual vultures, or so she named them, for they feasted on the misfortune of others and derived satisfaction from it. Spitefulness accounted for them, not the supernatural.

“We’re going to die! We’re going to die! Oh by the gods, we’re going to die!” one of the criers closest to Alia wailed.

Alia’s lips thinned. Telling the wailer to quiet down wouldn’t help. She would resist any efforts to get the attention off her, as much as she was resisting bystanders’ attempts to comfort her.

When she encountered such people as a Watch-Huntress, Alia would appeal to their conscience—seeing adults go to pieces upset children, please be silent for their sake. Be a pillar of strength others could look to, she would suggest. For some it worked, but others didn’t care; they were convinced nothing could be done to alleviate the children’s fears, so why not stoke it instead? Whichever way the woman fell, she must not be permitted to rile up the people.

Time to put everyone to work.

Alia approached the guards again, and this time suggested they recruit volunteers amongst the people. People needed to keep their minds occupied, and they need to feel some sense of control over their situation, she pointed out. Give them something to latch onto before everyone gave over to wailing and shrieking. She made suggestions for different functions the travelers could fulfill.

The guards agreed. The chief guard addressed the crowd, and Alia sighed in relief when he put her plan into action. Anyone wanting to sow chaos now would be walking into headwinds; the people would turn on anyone who hindered their efforts to protect themselves.

And it was during this shuffling about that one of Zenon’s men slipped away.

He walked into the desert, unnoticed by any except Alia.

A trap.

If she followed, and she was caught, she would be outing herself … the same trap she’d set for Zenon’s agents to reveal themselves by retrieving the sarcophagus. If she did not follow, she was losing a golden opportunity to find out whether or not the Lords of Chaos had caused the sky’s chromatic display.

Or, what sort of ritual might be carried out on such a night.

Then she remembered her weapons hidden beneath her long tunic. If the man should catch her, the desert would bury him. On such a night as this, she might defend herself without alerting the rest of Zenon’s men to her presence.

She followed.

Walking stick in hand, the man’s brisk steps took him to the west of the caravan. In his footsteps she walked, stepping only when he stepped. If he were listening on the wind she would not be heard. He would only realize she was following him if he bothered to look back.

But not once did he look back. Nevertheless, Alia mentally rehearsed the excuse she would give to him if he did see her. She wrapped a light shawl around her head and shoulders, casting a shadow over her face. Between the shadows and the green lights her features should be distorted or obscured enough to prevent him from recognizing her if he saw her again in broad daylight.

Only once did she look back. No one followed her. In the distance, the lights of the camp glowed, a beacon in the eerie night.

The man stopped at last, and Alia halted, too.

He took his stick and began to draw a circle in the sand. A summoning circle. Her heart leapt in her throat. Was he going to summon the queen? No, the thought was ridiculous, the man was but a lackey, and should lack sufficient power to call upon a king—a queen Erebossan.

But a lesser being might be within his power.

Perhaps whatever he summoned might be the lackey of the queen, which might be worth knowing.

He completed the circle.

“Hail Rihat, wielder of the Flail! Hail Rihat, who dwells in whispers and dreams! Hail Rihat, the one who abides forever! Come now to your friend Nicanor, son of Galenos.”

Black plumes heralded the arrival of a hideous creature. Small, winged, it looked like a freakish version of a sylph, with iridescent feathers in place of gossamer wings. Fish scales covered its sinuous body.

“What do the lights mean? Does the Eel rise in the West? Has our time now come?” Nicanor asked.

Rihat’s answer was swift. “The Eel does battle in the West this very night. Hold until I bring you word. Be ready, your time is not now.”

“Battle?”

“Rejoice, for an adversary will fall this very night.”

“To the shadows with you, Flail of our queen.”

Rihat vanished.

Nicanor banished the circle. He hurried by, not even noticing Alia, who crouched low to the ground. After several heartbeats Alia forced herself to follow the same procedure as before. Her training came as second nature, so she managed to divide her attention enough to brood over what she’d heard.

An eel.

Rising.

Nothing good could come of whatever being answered to such a description. And who was the eel’s enemy? Unlikely to be another native of Erebossa. More likely, it was someone like Alia herself.

She looked up, and focused on the Hound. What manner of battle could make the sky burn like this? What could be happening over in the West?

Alia sent up her own prayer.

“Eagle Eyed One, be exalted: Your servant requests aid for another. I beseech you to turn your gaze this night upon the adversary of our enemies. Exalted One, may it be that no servant of your cause is defeated this night. May it be that no enemy of yours prevails this night.”

The sounds of laughter and wonder came first to her ears when she returned to camp. Everyone looked more relaxed now, and children had stopped crying.

When the sun finally showed itself everyone clapped and whistled and cheered.

The caravan master had come back to himself entirely by then, and promptly organized everyone to get moving again. Daylight bestowed courage, and the travelers were now more apt to listen to ideas.

“We’ll get to Elamis in two nights,” he told them. “But I must drive a fast pace. We’re not going to leave anyone behind, but I will need you all to be prepared to keep up. Understood?”

No one argued with him.

The thought of being caught in the open again on a night like the one they woke up to was daunting enough. They’d spent only a few hours that way, but an entire night? By the gods, no.

The porters and guards did their jobs with formidable efficiency. Soon enough, they were moving again. The caravan stopped only at checkpoints, but as the caravan master promised they maintained a fast pace. They were on their way.

Nightfall of the first night arrived without incident, and best of all without the uncanny display they’d seen in the hours before dawn. During the day Alia rode in a more central part of the caravan, closer to women and families. But as a lone man, Tregarde rode on camelback along the outer edges of the caravan. Under cover of darkness; however, he joined Alia’s campaign tent, along with Sheridan.

The men’s eyes lit up when she presented them with a tray of sweets on a low table in the center of her tent. After a long day with bare rations, with dust and grit stinging their eyes and the sun beating down on them, this was a treat indeed.

“So prettily arranged,” Tregarde said with a bemused smile.

By habit Alia organized everything in a functional and attractive order, and food was no exception. An outer ring of golden koolechehs — stamped cookies stuffed with dates and walnuts, and spiced with zested oranges and cinnamon — surrounded a succession of inner rings. A thin ring of tiny square-cut pistachio nougats separated the cookies from little cakes cut into a flower petal shape.

Having swiped one earlier, Alia knew the flower-shaped cakes tasted of cardamom, saffron, and rose water.

Sheridan was brooding over the cup of golden wine Tregarde had shared with them. Honey wine infused with peaches and apricots, and Alia made a mental note to have an amphora of it shipped back to Palamara. In his own cushions Tregarde reclined, one ankle crossed over his knee and his fingers tented.

“I can’t help but think last night wasn’t a coincidence,” the sorcerer said.

“It’s not,” Alia said, relieved to share what she knew at last. She told them of all she had seen of Rihat.

“An eel. Doing battle. An eel? Doing battle?” Tregarde marveled.

“Up until now I assumed ‘The Eye’ was a byname, and I would have liked to assume ‘The Eel’ was a sea captain or a man who likes to eat eels,” Alia said. “But that hope is dead. Now I think the ‘Eel’ is another abyssal. Perhaps a king, to go with the queen that’s over here. Sheridan, did you glean anything from Aristarchus’s papers?”

“Only the place where the sarcophagus will be taken, to Elamis and an ‘Eye.’ But nothing on this eel.” Sheridan replied.

“There’s also the matter of the mysterious foe whose possible defeat Rihat was rejoicing over. An enemy of Rihat’s must be an ally to us, I would wager,” Alia said.

“An ally in the West … that would be Rasena Valentis. Or so I would wager,” Tregarde said.

Something about his tone caught Alia’s attention. “What do you know?” Inwardly dread rose within her, as she considered the implications of a place as far off as Rasena Valentis being involved in the same matters that touched on her grove. Why was Tregarde so certain the shadow queen’s plans encompassed the Western Reaches of the Known World?

Several times Tregarde started to answer, and several times he stopped. Finally the sorcerer said, “I don’t only work for temples. I’m also part of an organization of arcana. People who investigate the likes of the Brotherhood, and the Lords of Chaos. Among other enemies of decent folk. Not everything I can say just yet, because I’m not fully caught up myself. That this abyssal you speak of is rejoicing over defeating someone makes me think we may have lost an important battle without even knowing it was fought.”

Alia shivered, and grew colder still as she prepared to voice the fear Rihat had awakened in her. After all, did he not speak of a great battle?

“There is nothing we can do about it over there. Right here is where we must consider another matter. The burning sky can not be a simple coincidence. Think of how much power is tied to celestial events. The wandering stars, the zodiac, the moon and the sun — certain spells can only be done in conjunction with certain movements or appearances of these heavenly bodies. Am I to believe no acts of power happened last night?”

Sheridan eyed her. “What do you think happened last night?”

Swallowing hard, Alia hesitated. Finally she replied, “A shadow gate may have been opened. And I think my aunts may have been delivered to the shadow queen through that gate. Or perhaps, the queen came here. With an army of arsh’atûm, perhaps.”

“Damn, huntress, that’s mighty fine nightmare material you’ve got there,” Tregarde groused, raising his cup to her in mock salute.

“Do you think I’m wrong?” How sweet it would be, to be wrong! But deep in her heart she could not make herself have such hope.

“And if you’re right?” Sheridan asked.

Again she shivered, and this time she wrapped her mother-blessed coat around her shoulders. Long ago her mother told her the blessing she’d woven into it would hold the cold at bay. But what Alia felt now was a coldness in her spirit, not her body, and her mother’s enchantments could not protect her from it.

“If I’m right, we will need to plan how to enter the shadow gate ourselves, and free my aunts.”

Tregarde shot to his feet. His wine cup hit Alia’s sheepskin rug with a soft thwap. Inwardly, Alia smiled. The sorcerer was not as unflappable as he made himself out to be, after all. Good. And to her mind, his response was appropriate.

“No. You can’t be serious,” Tregarde sputtered. “No. We are not doing this. That can’t be necessary. Why wouldn’t the Erebossi kill us? Tell me there’s another option.”

“There’s another option,” Alia deadpanned, studying the pinwheel pattern stamped into the koolecheh she held. “We could always just not go. That could mean abandoning our mission, though. Is that an option?” The rich buttery cookie was worth savoring, so she only nibbled at it as she waited for an answer.

Sheridan looked straight at Tregarde.

Tregarde looked from one to the other. He exhaled in frustration.

Alia was not without pity. “Look, you mentioned a ghost-hunting mission you conducted once. Yes? Consider what we know—or at least, what I know about shadow gates: they separate us from the Erebossi. Creatures with bodies, and creatures without. Timeless beings, and those subject to time. But ghosts can be here whether a keeper wills it or not. Do you know why?”

“This isn’t an area I’m well-schooled in, priestess.” Tregarde picked up his cup from where he dropped it on the rug, and whipped out a small square of linen from his robes. He began daubing at the wine he’d spilled.

“Understood. I’m fast coming to appreciate the advantages of being trained by dryads. So. When a lamia or some such creature crosses to our world, they are trespassing. An abyssal may need to possess a person, unless it’s powerful enough to materialize into a physical form. Or what looks like a physical form: while you can strike down their bodies, they will yet live because they truly exist in Erebossa. If their “body” is dead, they simply return home ”

Sheridan made the mental leap. “It would work the same way with us, wouldn’t it? If we sent our spirits through the shadow gates? Erebossi can’t kill us in their realm because our bodies still live in this realm. Is that what will protect us if we cross over now?”

“Perhaps. And I emphasize: perhaps. I vary between the hypothesis that you can only kill whatever is native to your world on the one hand, and that having your body elsewhere is the key to survival on the other hand. I never wanted to test this,” Alia admitted. “I would be content to allow this to be an unsolved mystery, but my fellow huntsmen, I don’t think we have that luxury.”

“How do ghosts get to be an exception? Can we use that exception, too?” Sheridan wondered.

“Doubtful. Ghosts can exist here because in life they were native to this land, and natural ghosts never quite leave it.” Seeing Sheridan’s expression she added, “An unnatural ghost is the spirit of a dead person forced to return to this world, by another agent. Usually a sorcerer is at the bottom of this.” Seeing the look on Tregarde’s face, she amended, “or these days, a shadow priest more like.”

In silence the men digested her words. Even their sweets were forgotten, so lost in thought they seemed to be.

“Well then,” Tregarde said at last. “In this matter we’re going to the right place to find answers, then: Elamis. Though I don’t think I’d trust those you’d put your queries, too, miss priestess.”

“Why?” Alia asked. All she knew of Elamis was its byname: the ‘city of the magi.’ For the first time it dawned on her the implications of the name.

“I asked about Elamis,” Sheridan said. “Everyone I talk to says it’s not a normal city. Sorcerers created it, as if by magic, thousands of years ago. Only sorcerers are allowed to live there. Anyone else can visit, but not stay.”

“A city of secrets, they say,” Tregarde added. “A city of legends. Remote, in the mountains, not easy to get to, and not welcoming when you get there: this is a research town. But not a town like the Ellura artificers have. The kind of magic the mages work in Elamis is more … clandestine, let’s say. Your mama and aunties in the Ebon Grove prevent the kind of magic the Elamisi wantonly practice. Even I would hesitate to be there if it wasn’t for the mission.”

“What’s the problem if all of you sorcerers are gathered together?” Sheridan demanded.

“Like-minded people only rubbing up against like-minded people, us-against-them is a recipe for trouble, boy,” Tregarde replied as he began to refill his wine cup. He took a long swallow before continuing. “Look, son. When you live in a place with all kinds of people, you have to have certain rules in place. Not everybody thinks the same or does things the same way, so you have to make allowances. You might fight with your neighbor, but if a dragon showed up you’d work together to slay it. And it’s that factor that’s a problem with Elamis.”

“Because instead of a dragon you mean the people of Elamis would be uniting against ordinary people. Anyone without powers will be an enemy to these people.”

“Now you see it.” Instead of raising his cup in salute, Tregarde clinked his cup against Sheridan’s. “They might have all kinds of ideas about regular folks that just ain’t so. And think about how they enforce this rule. What if someone has a child who has no powers at all? Can the child stay? Or are they exposed on a hillside somewhere? Kicked out? What if your non-magic sister dies and you have to take in her non-magic young’uns?”

The question made Alia glare into her own wine cup. “It’s a city full of people who would have reason to want to abduct a dryad. There are no groves in the desert, yet their shadow queen can only be propitiated with dryads, apparently. Sorcerers are the primary people who would benefit from this whole operation.”

They didn’t have time to pursue the matter further. Before the night watches changed the men left Alia’s tent, so as not to be seen. At dawn they rode again. When sunset came and the caravan still had not stopped, Alia’s pulse quickened. Night fell, bringing with it soft rains. But by then the caravan master’s horn blew.

They had reached Elamis.