The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XV

A New Hope

In which despair is held at bay and a new plan takes shape

Sweet music penetrated the depths of Senet’s dreams, wrapping him in peace and gentle memories. The knives piercing his heart retracted, allowing him to dream of Nensela without agony.

And then he awakened.

And once more his eyes disappointed him, insistently showing him the indigo haze of the stasis field enveloping Nensela. A testament to the Restorites’ failure to heal her.

In the campaign tent of Lysander Xenakis, Nensela slept endlessly, with no sign she would ever awaken. When alone with her Senet spoke to her, he sang to her, he prayed over her.

But still she slept.

Now her mortal companions ministered to her. One attended to her body, the other to her soul—the tune she played on her kithara was soft, restful. Ah, so this was the bringer of the achingly beautiful dream he had just awakened from.

This, and the springtime forest the women had brought with them while he slumbered. Or so his senses declared. Pine boughs hung from the corners of the tent, woven through with tiny red glowlight simulations of berries. Galbanum, spikenard, acacia gum, and cedar perfumed the air—earthy, woody incense, evocative of memories of walking through serene breezy forests with Nensela by his side.

On the supply table he spotted the tazza, the frilled, short-stemmed terracotta vessel the Rasena Valentians used to burn their incense. Tendrils of smoke curled up from it, with one strand snaking around the maiden with the fox-colored hair—Edana.

Glowing firestones in terracotta dishes placed strategically throughout the goat-skin tent ensured the bitter bite of winter was kept at bay. A welcome innovation from the Salamandra; no wonder he felt toasty.

After a fashion the women even produced larksong—the girl with the persimmon hair sang a Pelasgian folksong he know of old, about a shepherd girl and a wolf.

While the singer played her kithara, Edana was anointing Nensela’s head with oil, a familiar mixture of blue lotus and malabathrum, myrrh and olibanum. A special recipe Nensela favored—Senet recognized the turquoise faience bottle Edana held as the one Nensela reserved for that particular blend.

Appropriately enough, given its color, the bottle was shaped like a closed lotus flower. Time and use saw it worn smooth to the touch. That it looked almost new was a testament to how well Nensela cherished gifts from her loved ones: her sister had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday.

Did the mortal know, or appreciate how ancient the bottle was that she held in her hands? Perhaps—she handled it with care, wiping off the excess oil before she stoppered it and set it into a basket perched on the supply table behind her.

Edana’s lips began to move. Over the strum of the kithara Senet caught words in the Eitanite language.

Ah. So this was why she anointed Nensela: to petition the Sower, the god of her people. Not the more mundane purpose he assumed of her, of giving Nensela lucid dreams. Such could happen when breathing the scent of blue lotus …

… what did Nensela dream in her endless sleep? Why had the Restorites found it so great a challenge to awaken her?

Woman, if you die, you will break me. Do not die.

Life without her would be an absolute darkness, an abyss he could never hope to climb out of.

But the incense, the anointing oil, the music—they worked a magic of a kind, overcoming any possible resistance. And it dawned on him what Nensela’s friends were trying to do: they reproduced, after a fashion, the air of Nensela’s home. She lived amongst the pines and firs of Vassinassa, a nation on the southern shores of the Viridian Sea. The acacia came from the trees in the forests of Ta-Seti, homeland to Nensela and Senet. Undoubtedly the young women meant to stoke thoughts of home in Nensela, perhaps as a means of calling her back from the depths of her sleep.

Edana finished her prayer. For a few moments she stood still, looking down at Nensela’s face. Senet did the same, focusing on Nensela’s eyelids. But they did not flicker or flutter, as they might if she were about to awaken.

So. Even the Sower did not hurry to rouse her.

Senet sighed softly, but the knives jabbing at his heart had dulled somewhat, as the blue lotus scent was having its way. Did not Nensela call this blend of oils the Bringer of Tranquility?

Whatever Edana felt she kept to herself. She turned now to the supply table behind her. The supplies in question were an array of phials of elixirs and pots of unguents, and a small bronze water basin. Someone came by twice a day to change the water. Beside the bowl sat a smaller pot of fine white sand. Edana took a fistful of sand and rubbed her palms vigorously with it. She clapped her hands, brushing off the crumbs and clumps of now oily sand. Only then did she dip her hands in the water.

From the corner of her eye she stared at Senet. Assessing him. Weighing him. This roused him in a way nothing else had. What was she measuring him against?

“Your Grace.” She sounded hesitant. She picked up one of the towels beside the basin and dried her hands. “Bessa and I asked the others to come, and they will be here any moment. There are matters we must discuss. And Lady Nensela—you are the only one who can give us insight now. Her prophecy—your prophecy is—”

She stopped, looking past him. That was when he heard the footsteps, armored feet striking gravel, and the crunch of boots.

Cold air blasted him, and shadows lifted as someone opened the flaps of the tent vestibule.

“Lord Senet.”

Tarkhana.

The one she had crowned.

Of all the people in this gods-forsaken-camp, the emperor of Rasena Valentis was the only who had the slightest inkling of the sheer loss if Nensela should perish.

Senet turned around on his bench to acknowledge his guest. To his surprise, two soldiers stepped inside, carrying a tall bucket of carved ivory. Wolves dominated the bands of friezes carved into the ivory. A tell-tale sign the bucket was one of those awarded to honored students of the Lyceum, the venerable school of war and philosophy in Pelasgos.

“Right there is fine,” said he, pointing to a corner a few feet from the door flap.

Xenakis.

The boy.

Now, now, not a boy—a man with a military title. The gryphon emblazoned in gold on his black bronze breastplate signaled his rank as a red gryphon. But all Senet knew of him was that he was commanding the battle where Nensela—no, don’t give in!—where Nensela almost died.

Xenakis stood in the doorway beside his emperor. His men set down the wine bucket, then exited. Two newcomers came in on their heels: the master arcanus, Ziri, and the drakaina.

Demigoddess.

Daughter of a god known only to have sons. What had Nensela made of her?

“Forgive the intrusion,” Tarkhana began. Like Xenakis, he wore armor. But his was more ornate, with his dragon sigil embossed on his breastplate.

Draco Prime.

Narrow face, high sharp cheekbones and glinting eyes gave Tarkhana a leonine countenance. Coupled with his white hair, he gave the impression of a battle-seasoned lion. Age did not diminish his natural vitality, or at least he was careful to avoid the appearance of frailty.

But a politician who safeguarded his image was no novelty. Such he could not say for the drakaina—the dragon woman. Tall, stately, she surveyed the tent with keen eyes. Alone of his guests, she unnerved him. Outwardly he appeared calm, but he suspected she would not be fooled.

No more so than Nensela would be.

Tarkhana invited her to sit beside him on a bench opposite Senet. At some point while he slept someone had added three plain wooden benches with blue cushions. Less fancy than the bench he occupied, which bore red upholstery and legs shaped like lion claws. The benches formed a square with him at its head. When the demigoddess sat, she turned eyes of molten gold upon Senet.

Xenakis carried a small crate fitted with brass. He reached inside and pulled out a small shallow bowl with a knoblike protuberance in the center. The underside of the knob would be hollow, Senet knew, to allow a one-handed grip when pouring out from the bowl.

“Your Grace, I’ve brought wine to make libations for my dead. Miraculously, I only lost one man on the Night of the Burning Sky, but his spirit may linger here. If he resents why he died, he may trouble Lady Nensela.”

Senet’s nerves jangled, as though he had been shocked out of sleep by a crash of thunder. “What did Nensela have to do with his death?”

“The fiend, Archelaos, abandoned the body he had been using to pose as governor here. He usurped the body of one of my scryers, and used him to try and force Lady Nensela to surrender to him. And you know her response. What she did surprised Archelaos, and my pegasus prime took advantage of his surprise to throw him through the fire and down the mountainside.”

Right, Senet had heard this story, but not the part about Archelaos’s victim. Could a lemure—a vengeful spirit—be the cause of Nensela’s prolonged sleep? Was it preventing the Restorites from healing her?

All at once he stood, stiff muscles be damned. “Let us do this.”

Xenakis went over to the bucket, and Bessa joined him there. Xenakis took a silver ladle and a matching silver strainer dangling from bucket the handle. Bessa took the crate of libation bowls from him and held it steady while Xenakis ladled the wine through the strainer into each bowl. Was it Senet’s imagination, or did their eyes meet, linger on each other’s? Blushing, the maiden fluttered her eyelashes, meanwhile the officer accidentally struck the wine bucket with his ladle instead of dipping it as he’d meant to.

Oh, Nensela.

Budding romances brought out her girlish side, a remnant of her youthful innocence she would not allow to fully die. If she were awake she would smile at the maiden and soldier, and snuggle against Senet. But alas…

Presently Xenakis and Bessa came to the circle. Bessa went first to the emperor and the demigoddess, offering them each a bowl, before turning to Ziri.

“Your grace,” she said when she came to Senet.

He took a ceramic dish from the crate and sniffed at the wine. Spikenard, long pepper, honey, saffron, and dates—ah, spiced wine, and heated, too. This was the right time of year for it, with the winter solstice approaching.

Bessa set the crate down, then took out a bowl and brought it over to Edana, who had remained beside Nensela.

Of course Edana would not join them for this; no Eitanite would. Libations to the dead invoked Sorcha the Ever Bright, who guided souls to the Place of Judgment. But Eitanim did not make offerings to any god save their own. Nor did they consume any food or drink offered to any foreign gods.

Apparently Xenakis knew this because he said, “Join us, optima. You witnessed what happened, and I did not dedicate this wine to any god. Nor shall I.”

Edana accepted the bowl, and joined Bessa in their circle. The women chose the bench to Senet’s left. Putting Bessa across from Xenakis, who shared Ziri’s bench.

Tarkhana rose from his seat. “The Night of the Burning Sky saw many victories … and many losses. Of the dead we mourn and honor, we gather here today for Marcus Niraemius Quarto. Red Gryphon Lysander Xenakis, what would you say of him?”

Xenakis raised his bowl with his right hand. His bowl was silver, and embossed in bronze with a pattern of running wolves. A matching part of a set that included the ivory wine decanter and silver ladle and strainer. Solemnly he spoke of Quarto, extolling him for his studious precision in duties. A memory must have tugged at him, because his lips quirked into a smile.

“But Quarto also knew how to laugh,” he said, and told them of Quarto’s love for bawdy drinking songs. “If he were here, he would be the first to fetch the firestones that warm this tent. And he would want Her Grace to know he would never have harmed her, because he never harmed anyone. Not man, not woman, not child. Not he, who nursed wounded birds back to health, and would give his last two coins to feed starving children we passed on our marches. The echomancers testify of how valiantly Quarto fought against Archelaos. That he was unable to overcome a king of Erebossa is not to his shame. It is to his credit that he fought at all, and fought well. Rest in peace, Quarto. May you sing forevermore in the Everlasting Lands.”

Something stirred in Senet, a sense of obligation that destroyed the last vestiges of grief-induced torpor clinging to him.

“If I may, I will speak on behalf of Nensela. The death of Marcus Niraemius Quarto would grieve her, because the death of any mortal grieves her. But especially one so young, and of such a quality as Quarto. That he died not as a consequence of his own demerits, but by the act of a fiend who sought to use him against her—Nensela would insist on avenging him. In her name, I vow to make sure Quarto did not die in vain.”

Edana raised her own libation bowl. “This vow I join you in, Lord Senet. I did not know Quarto, but I saw the injuries he bore. He did what he could, and for this I honor him. May his name live on. To Quarto!”

The drakaina cocked her head, bemused as the humans echoed Edana. However she copied their movements exactly, pouring out a measure of wine onto the grass beneath her feet. Then they all drank.

The spiced wine, warm and fragrant, heated Senet from the inside out. He savored it, surprised by the sweet flavor of plums that were apparently poached in the wine.

You are the only one who can give us insight now.

The vow he said in Nensela’s name spurred him on.

The time for despair was at an end.

“Let us speak now of stratagems,” he said.

Everyone sat.

Ziri began the conference. “Before we set out for Valentis, we intended to go to Elamis. This past battle was supposed to give us leave to go there, without worrying about the Abyssals Five at our backs. The dawn eclipse of Lady Nensela’s vision is due to occur this coming summer solstice, six months from now. We can’t delay.”

“The Fire Lords,” Edana said, as though she had forgotten them until now. “Lady Aelia said we’d need them, too. But what about Lady Nensela? We can’t leave her here.”

“The Drakon Guard surround this tent. If she is not safe in their care then there is nowhere in this world she could be safe,” Ziri replied.

Tarkhana smiled in spite of himself. “The Nensela I know would be … irritated if we wasted her sacrifice.” He stared straight at Senet, as if seeking confirmation.

And there it was.

When he forced out the words, Senet’s voice sounded rough to his own ears. “Nensela Saw a premonition. I now have to accept she Saw her—her confrontation with the eidolon. She asked me to stay true. To keep the faith. In her. In our Seeker.”

To his surprise, Xenakis smiled in triumph. “So it was a plan. Then why should we despair? Let’s seize our chance: Murena has retreated, and Archelaos is denied possessing Lady Nensela. I have to believe all is as she planned it to be. Lord Senet?”

Ah. Youth. Was he ever so earnest? But the youth had a point, and by the gods let him be right! “I do have faith in her. Your supposition is in keeping with her nature.”

Edana nodded, her expression plainly declaring, Of course you had faith in her. And again he was struck by the earnestness of youth. However aloud she said, “Last summer, Lady Nensela asked a question. Do you have an answer, Ziri, concerning the matter of the giants’ strategy? If they do mean to battle with the, er, Nasiru?—then how would their current actions contribute to that goal?”

Ziri pulled out a small, battered leather codex from his satchel and flipped open to a dog-eared page. “Recall I suspected Gagnon was maneuvering to shift blame for his actions onto Tarkh—the emperor?” A quick glance at the emperor, who remained impassive.

Only Bessa and Edana nodded.

Curiosity piqued, Senet dryly replied, “No.”

Ziri obligingly laid it out: how Duke Antony Gagnon employed the mercenary group, the Red Daggers, to silence anyone who asked about the giants.

“This is the same group who attacked our conclave the spring before last?” Senet asked, referring to the conference in the Library of Kyanopolis Nensela had hosted for him and three other prophets.

“Indeed. And this past spring, the giants attacked Bessa’s estate. Edana found a letter in Gagnon’s possessions in which he was setting up the emperor to blame for the deaths of Bessa and her family. Nicely thwarted, ladies. Ahem. And after our raid on the Red Daggers’ headquarters, we learned Gagnon meant to destroy the Aqua Sobeyrana. That’s one of the principal aqueducts serving Valentis.”

Senet thought of the Sending he shared with Nensela, where she included Bessa on her strategy board. Now the Siluran’s relevance became clearer.

“As we noted before, all of those actions have a political outcome: discrediting you, Your Excellency. But the giants never once mention having a political ambition when they trouble themselves to talk to us.” Ziri turned to face the emperor. “Your Excellency: if Gagnon had succeeded in overthrowing you, what authority do you have to aid the giants in their goal? See, the giants and the abyssals likely worked with Gagnon because he was most well-placed to usurp your power. Which means you have the power to serve their ends.”

All eyes turned to Tarkhana, who yet maintained his silence.

A deliberative man who chooses his words with care.

So Nensela had said of Tarkhana, when she told Senet of the intrigues she had engaged in while they were apart.

“Of the many rumors surrounding me, I allowed one to stand uncorrected: that which concerns His Holiness, Lysimachus, the Son of the Sea Lord. In some tellings, I hold a leash on him.”

Halie made a low, threatening sound in her throat. Hair stood up on Senet’s neck and all along his arms.

A dragon’s growl.

“You humans were evil to even think of compelling my brothers to serve you!”

Xenakis did a double take. Reacting to her growl, her show of emotion, or her judgment?

“We were well-punished for it, weren’t we?” Bessa interjected. “The Scouring came because of that, didn’t it?”

The drakaina subsided, relaxing out of the ramrod posture in which she’d been sitting.“Verily,” she acknowledged through clenched teeth.

Tarkhana turned sideways, positioning himself to look Halie in the eye. Alone amongst them, he had been unmoved by the drakaina’s anger. Gravely he replied, “Your Holiness, I have never attempted to compel your brother. I know him as a dear friend. It honors me that he chooses to spend a portion of his immortality in my company. The gods know I have tried his patience a time or two—as all friends do with one another.”

Now Halie exhaled as she folded her hands in her lap. “It speaks well of you that he calls you ‘friend.’ Please continue.”

“Ahem. I let this particular rumor stand uncorrected for no idle reason: it is a trap. The kind of sorcerer who may wish to re-enact the Age of Iniquity that preceded the Scouring, would be tempted by the thought of putting Lysimachus under their subjection. If the owner of a business sells that business, he may transfer the slaves who ran it to a new owner. They’re part of the assets for the business, after all. Lysimachus and I decided to let certain people believe he was an imperial … asset. Thus to be emperor is to possess the power to command Lysimachus.”

A long-game. Something Nensela would approve of.

“How well did this trap work?” Senet asked.

Tarkhana held up his right hand, rings facing towards Senet. He lowered all fingers except his index, which remained pointing up. Drawing attention to his amethyst seal ring. “This gem is carved with an image of a sea dragon. On three separate occasions in my reign, certain sorcerers schemed to get this ring. One succeeded, and came before Lysimachus, believing the ring conferred the power to compel him. The moment … did not end the way the thief expected it to.”

The others let out shaky laughter, with wary glances at Halie. But even she smiled, revealing her sharp canines.

Ziri flipped through his codex, flicking pages rapidly until he came to the one he sought. “One mystery answered: Gagnon sent two arcani to infiltrate your palace, and he called their mission ‘Operation Amethyst.’ He charged them with bringing your dragon-seal ring to him as proof of their success. One of the letters Gagnon sent to Gallo—the leader of the Kyanopolis Red Daggers—talks about the importance of making sure Gagnon had the ring by this past midsummer. Based on what he wrote, Gagnon would have fallen into your trap. In his schemes everyone would find out you lost the ring, which prepares the ground for his claim you lost the mandate of the gods.”

“It fits. I was attacked late in the spring,” Tarkhana agreed. “If you would, say nothing of this trap. After all, the final fate of the would-be seal-ring thieves has ever been ‘shrouded in mystery,’ as lorekeepers would say.”

Ziri shut his codex with an audible thump. “Indeed. And to answer your question, Edana: if we interpreted the giants’ objective correctly, then Lysimachus is the key to their goal. Once Gagnon took the ring for himself, his usefulness would likely have been at an end. One of the Abyssals Five would have seized it from him, and used it to get close to Lysimachus. Killing the Children of the Gods is a challenge, to goad them to return to Thuraia. The undersea incursions on the sea dragons resulted in wounding their Eldest, and that was enough to get Her Holiness here.” He gestured to the demigoddess.

Now Bessa added, “The Red Dagger, Claudius, said Murena promised an end to the prophets. And Archelaos likely intended to possess Lady Nensela. They took Her Holiness, Halie, and they are poisoning naiad springs—Ziri, have any naiads been reported missing?”

The tent fell silent, but for the crackle of fire in the incense burner.

“I have received no such report. But I will have my people on the alert for the possibility,” Ziri said at last. “Everything points to an infernal interdiction against the gods: attacks on their Children, and the sorcerers are cut off from spiritual aid.”

“There is something I don’t think any of you know,” Senet began.

Every eye was fixed on him.

“Over the summer I met with Nensela. Through a Sending,” he said hastily, seeing Ziri’s start of surprise. “She told me something I did not know was possible. But she believed it with all her heart, as the Seeker warned her it would happen: She had a vision. Given to her by someone who is not the Seeker.”

They all erupted at once. Except the emperor, who remained calm and looked straight at Senet. His commanding silence stopped the others. When they quieted, he spoke. “Please explain, Your Grace. I think we all believed prophecies come from the Seeker alone.”

“Before the Seeker fell silent, She said this to Nensela: a day would come when Nensela would learn more about the nature of our enemy. On that day, she would hear a voice. A voice that would tell her more about our enemies. By the Seeker’s command, Nensela was to obey the voice. As to how she was certain the voice she heard was the voice: Edana’s abduction. The voice told Nensela a man named Gallo would meet his end if he abducted Edana. This came to pass, and that is the test of a prophecy. And a prophet. And I suppose now, the source of the vision given to a prophet. Do you understand?”

“But Who spoke to her? If only the Seeker gives visions—” Bessa began.

“She isn’t,” Edana cut in.

Bessa gaped at her. “You mean the Sower gives visions, too?”

“Never directly to us Ta-Setians,” Senet said, holding up a hand to quell any arguments. “Sela did not tell me who sent her the vision. There is no fruit in pursuing that path right now. What I know is that the Seeker commanded Sela to listen for, and listen to that voice. She obeyed. What more the Voice said to her I do not know, for she was not at liberty to say.”

“But there’s another player on the board, isn’t there?” Tarkhana asked, his deep voice rolling over them, soothing and authoritative all at once.

“And it’s on our side. Or—rather, I believe we may put our faith in it. Be watchful of signs.” Senet cleared his throat. “Now for stratagems: Are the Fire Lords the sum of what Nensela expected to find in Elamis? What did she say about it?”

Ziri said, “For my part, Elamis is known as the City of the Magi. A city of sorcerer-priests, a valuable fact in itself. Remember the Presence. Everyone in Elamis would have noticed it. There they all are, in one place, unable to speak to the spirits, unable to call upon them for the spells they need.”

“Ohhh,” Bessa murmured, echoing the thoughts on everyone’s faces.

“I would not want to assault the Rhabdomachaeum; Khratu knows I wouldn’t want to lay siege to a Rhabdomachaeum city,” Xenakis mused. “But someone has pulled their claws and their teeth. Fitting prey for the giants, if nothing else.”

“It’s also a resource,” Edana pointed out. “Did they face the Scouring, too? They would have an incentive to find workarounds for calling on spiritual assistance for their spells..”

“There is a complication,” Ziri said. “The city does not like outsiders. If you are not a sorcerer you are not welcome. And if you are a sorcerer, they force you to register whether you are a venator or a reaper and so on.” He looked across at Bess and Edana.

“We’re going,” Edana said in a clipped tone. “No one excludes traders, and I am a silver broker. Bessa will be my assistant.”

“Or we could go as emissaries,” Bessa suggested. “Lady Nensela insisted the giants aren’t pawns of Anshan; and the Anshani might be threatened, too. Why not warn them?”

Tarkhana, Xenakis, and Ziri rejected the idea immediately, exclaiming as one.

“Relations with Anshan are not strong enough,” Tarkhana explained, the other two men yielding the floor to him. “You will be an object of suspicion, and you two will be assumed to be arcanae. The laws of the shahanshah of Anshan will not let you pass unnoticed, unwatched, and unhindered in that city.”

“And a purveyor of fine silver goods in search of sorcerers for hire? Ones who will enchant my wares? Will they honor such a claim, if I make it?” Edana asked

Ziri thought so. “And it will leave you relatively free to move about the city. Although, you may be assigned a minder to make sure you don’t cause any trouble. As the emperor said, Anshan and Rasena Valentis are not on the best of terms. And this situation with the border—”

“Is resolved now,” Xenakis interjected. “My pegasus prime and the scryers assure me we’ve picked up everything valuable from the giants; there’s nothing for looters. And my engineers managed to get the roads into a usable condition again.”

“That you have,” the emperor agreed. “And I thank you for the haste you made in doing so. The shahanshah’s arcana have no doubt found out about the battle here, but at least when I answer his envoys I will be able to say trade is restored. For the most part.”

For the most part. Because after all, the giants had obliterated the fortress, a sure sign of a formidable power at work. The Anshani must necessarily worry about such a power being active so near their borders.

On his way to Abris, thoughts of Nensela consumed Senet so much he paid little attention to reports of battles fought on the Night of the Burning Sky. But it was time now to keep his promise to her, and stay true to himself.

“Your men have collected the giants’ armor?” he prompted.

Xenakis took the floor.

His scryers and echomancers examined the armor and weapons, and Pegasus Prime Arrianus, his third in command, had assayed them as best he could. Furthermore, Xenakis had managed to contact the Rhabdomachaeum both before and after the battle. Before the battle, the Rhabdo’s lorekeepers and master sorcerers hadn’t wasted the opportunity Bessa and Edana had given them, to study the giants’ thunder maces and armor.

“You saved many lives in giving them the giants’ weapons,” Xenakis said, nodding at the women.

The teachers at the school of sorcery had learned disturbing revelations about the giants: the giants themselves could not be scried. More, the echomancers could never, ever see further into the giants’ past than the attacks they’d made on Rasena Valentians. And the giants’ armor and weapons were made of an alloy unknown to anyone in Rasena Valentis.

The Rhabdomachaeum’s lorekeepers had independently formed the same hypothesis Nensela had: the giants were arriving through a gate. They believed Lady Aelia had only sensed them at Red Pointe because they were already nearby.

A hypothesis brutally tested the Night of the Burning Sky.

“No scryer Saw the giants before they appeared on the grounds. More—” Xenakis cut himself off, glancing at the emperor. Tarkhana nodded, and Xenakis continued. “The headmaster revealed the school was betrayed from within.”

Bessa gasped, and turned pale. Edana clasped her hand, and the others looked at them in surprise.

“Bessa’s cousin is a student there,” Edana said. “As is her freedwoman. We didn’t know the Rhabdo had been attacked, too.”

Is, Senet noted. Is. A defiant, hopeful word. Nensela is alive. She is my heart. She is eternally at my side.

Bessa looked away, blinking rapidly, and Edana put an arm around her. The red gryphon’s face softened.

“I am sorry. I will ask my scryer to make inquiries,” he said.

Tarkhana handed Bessa his handkerchief. After a moment she composed herself, and with a tight voice she asked, “What happened?”

Just as Justin Kellis had done in the Library of Karnassus, an enemy arcanus had systematically hidden lore in the academy’s archives. However, instead of concealing information about Erebossi, the arcanus was intent on hiding scrolls about the Primordial Age.

“This is what you call the time when my Father and the other Nasiru walked this world?” Halie asked.

The Primordial Age had preceded the Elder Age, the time when the dryads, naiads, and sea dragons were dominant and humans had yet to begin their ascension to prominence. Everyone now lived in the Cataclysm Age, begun after the First Cataclysm.

“Yes,” Xenakis confirmed. “And I understand the working theory is that the giants are after the Elders—the dryads and so forth.” Here he paused before adding, “You all speak of ‘the Five’ Erebossi, of whom Archelaos was one. But after what happened in the Rhabdo, I believe there was a Sixth: a clerk in the archives.”

The news rocked them. Ziri closed his eyes, clasped a hand to his forehead, and let out a deep sigh. “Damn my foolish faith in the words of a traitor! I didn’t look for a sixth because Gagnon only recorded five call signs.”

Tarkhana said to him, “The failure is not yours alone. At the end of the day, my own Magister of Arcana missed him as well. Traitors have been sown like tares in my government and army both.”

On the Night of the Burning Sky, the Sixth Erebossan shifted to its true form and slew several of the archivists. It forced the survivors to carry out a ritual which opened a gate to Erebossa, unleashing a tide of abyssals. The fiends killed many within the Rhabdo, while the giants attacked without, besieging the school.

“The headmaster thinks the school would have been attacked anyway,” Xenakis said. “Both because they were closing in on the Sixth Abyssal, and because they made a breakthrough in their study of the giants. The headmaster and several of the teachers managed to test their hypothesis the night of the battle, and now they’re sure the giants may themselves be Elders ... Children of the gods, as they claim.”

“Which god?” Ziri wondered. “Lady Nensela said she’d asked reapers to investigate if the giants might belong to the Reaper, because He’s the only Guardian power without a known Child. Was she right?”

The headmasters didn’t know. What they did know was that certain artifacts could only be wielded by the known Elders: the Seeker’s Eyes.

Senet leapt from his seat, as did Halie. She said, “I need to go to the Rhabdomachaeum,” just as Senet said, “You need to go to the Rhabdomachaeum.”

“They have one, don’t they?” Senet demanded, staring straight at Xenakis. “The Rhabdo has one of the Eyes?”

Xenakis watched him warily, apparently startled by Senet’s show of emotion. “Yes. And one of the teachers sacrificed himself, allowing it to fall into the giant’s hands. That was by design, to see if any of the giants could pick it up and use it.”

“And did they?” Senet pursued.

“A giant seized it, without harm.”

“What is this thing? This Eye?” Edana asked, looking from Halie to Senet.

Halie’s body was half turned away from them, facing the tent’s entrance, as if contemplating rushing away. However, she finally gave a decisive shake of her head and resumed sitting at the emperor’s side. Though his blood raced, Senet forced himself to sit down as well, and listen as the demigoddess began to explain.

“You humans use an oraculum to talk to each other across great distances. But if you wished to speak to the Nasiru, you would pray, or perform rituals to be given a dream or a vision. Or, you might ask your priests to do so on your behalf, wouldn’t you? That is not how it is for us. My mother heard my Father’s voice through a stone you call the Eye of the Seeker. The Children use those stones to seek guidance from their mother or father, when guidance is needed. But they are not restricted to speaking only to their parents; my brothers could easily speak to the Huntress or the Restorer if they needed to.”

Xenakis added that the academy’s headmaster had gleaned this revelation after consulting with Pegasus Prime Devona Senovara of the Falcon’s Hollow watch, as Edana had advised him to.

In turn Edana recounted for the others what Senovara had told them the morning after the attack on the Philomelos estate. “One of the giants spoke to what Senovara thought was a scryer’s globe to find out where Bessa and her family were, because we had escaped her house. It spoke a language Senovara hadn’t heard before, although it spoke Rasenan later. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Xenakis nodded. “The Rhabdo’s lorekeepers say the globe was truly an Eye. Senovara sensed it was dangerous, so she sent it to the Rhabdo for study. The giants had set the Eye into a staff, and only the shaft was safe to touch. Before ‘giving’ the Eye to the giants, the scholar released the Eye from the staff. I gather no mortal can touch the Eyes, only the Elders—the Children—can do so.”

“They are sacred,” Halie said primly. “Mortals are forbidden to touch them—although I suppose Ta-Setians might, if they are the Seeker’s Own. But I do not see the wisdom in testing this.”

Senet shrugged. “Better you than me.”

“I will claim their Eye for myself, and see if I can’t learn more. Unless the giants escaped with it?” Halie asked.

“No, you can take it,” Xenakis assured her. “Once the giant confirmed their hypothesis, the head magister and his team killed it. They’re keeping the Eye safe in the meantime.”

“We would be grateful for all you could learn from the Eye,” Tarkhana said.

Ziri began a tally: Edana and Bess would seek out the Fire Lords of Elamis, and Halie would retrieve the Eye, and as for the others—

Edana’s teal eyes brightened, as if in remembrance of something she’d forgotten. “Lord Senet, after—after she—before she lost consciousness, Lady Nensela told us to find someone named Selàna. She said Selàna would save us all.”

“Ah,” Senet said, tenting his fingers. “Selàna. By your reckoning she is a prayer long in the answering.”

They were intrigued, but for Senet the thought of Selàna was a welcome distraction.

“She is Nensela’s only daughter,” he said, surprising them. “Lost, during a voyage to the Gold Sea. Nensela steadfastly believed in her survival, and she prayed all these years for the Seeker to give her a definitive answer. An answer which came when we dreamed of the giants. The woman standing alone against the giants? Selàna. You can imagine how Nensela reacted.”

“Her daughter?” Edana looked past Senet, at Lady Nensela, who lay as still as ever. Only the slight shudder betrayed the depth of her feelings as she said, “By the Speaker, she is made of iron.”

Respect suffused her tone, and for the first time in days Senet smiled. “To risk giving up her heart’s desire? Yes. Now you know something of her. But if Selàna is who she wants us to find, then the question is whether going to Elamis or finding Selàna is one goal and the same. Finding her shall be my task; Nensela would have told her of me.”

Ziri brought his hands behind his neck, and began to knead the muscles where his neck joined his shoulders. The new white flecks in his auburn hair spoke of the strain the mortal must be under.

Aloud the master arcanus asked, “But how could Selàna do what you’re saying? Reuniting with her daughter is one matter, but the stakes being what they are, I have to wonder if finding her isn’t a secondary purpose. Is Selàna a sorceress? And if she is, how is she evading the Presence? Or is she a priestess? Whence comes her giant-slaying abilities?”

“Those questions haunt Nensela as well. Her mortal husband was not a sorcerer, and sorcery is rare in Nensela’s family. Giant-slaying is not a fate she foresaw for the child.”

Again they were surprised.

Abruptly, Senet rose from his bench and went over to Nensela. The rise and fall of her chest told him she yet drew breath. Keeping his back to the others he replied,

“Unlike you, we have no hope of reunion with loved ones who die. Better to not make the acquaintance of mortals. For a long time we thought this, but the Seeker gave us a revelation. Not all of it shall I reveal to you, only shall I say your kind and ours depend upon each other.”

“How so?” This from Bessa.

Lovingly, Senet traced the curves of Nensela’s face. Might his touch awaken her? “Understand, all seers, mortal and immortal alike can see generation upon generation into the future. An immortal seer can manipulate events to ensure the future he or she prefers. But—an idea can live past its prime. It can exert a stranglehold on a people, keeping them from adapting, from surviving to one generation and the next.

“In our youth Nensela observed the consequences when too many like-minded people are in the grip of withered habits. Habits they needed to change if the group was to prosper or grow or even just survive. To avoid this, she used her influence to convince our people to limit the reign of our kings. Seventy and five years may a king sit on the throne, and no more. A mortal lifespan.”

“Because of this rule your kings were able to keep your seers from manipulating the future?” Bessa asked.

Senet rested one fingertip in the hollow at the base of Nensela’s throat. Faint, steady, her heartbeat answered him. After a while he said, “The folly I speak of is not limited to kings and seers, all of Ta-Seti needed to be warded against it. Hence what I shall call our ‘Joining Cycles.’ Every three generations or so—every three mortal generations, my people go forth beyond Ta-Seti and join mortal society. We make friends. We take up trades, yes even those of us born to court, like Nensela and I. We make a point of learning what new ideas you have. Still yet we prefer to keep aloof for you. Grief…grief over losing those we love can destroy us. The agony of loss is one we only risk when we foresee some benefit in the flow of time.”

“And Lady Nensela’s daughter?” Edana asked.

With effort, Senet forced himself to turn back to the group. To his surprise, he found only compassion in their faces, not impatience. Still, he chose his words with care.

“No doubt you know that for all our desire to remain aloof, we brave marriage with mortals on occasion. The children of these unions are the salvation of my society and yours. For our sorcerers and seers the half-mortals give us a stake in our dealings with you, for we must take into account repercussions that would affect future generations.

“You benefit as well. Our mortal children live about eight hundred years, and as your children they share your interests and safeguard them. They allow that which should not be forgotten to be remembered. All according to Nensela’s plan, to prevent or mitigate another of what you mortals call the Dark Ages.”

The others glanced at the emperor, as if seeing him in a new light. Rumor amongst Rasena Valentians attributed Tarkhana’s unusual longevity and visionary nature to Ta-Setian blood in his veins.

However, Bessa turned to Senet and cocked her head. With canny intuition she asked, “Do you and Lady Nensela have a child?”

His son’s face floated before him in his mind. He has her smile. Yet again the knives cut small lacerations in his heart. Any deeper and his anguish would burst forth.

“Well spotted, young maiden. But he is even more daring than his mother and I. He left to do some exploring on his own. Five centuries ago, by your reckoning. Like his mother and I, he walks with the Seeker. Be sure he has made provision for this day, if the Seeker gave him warning. As for Selàna, the events of the present age make me wonder if her birth was by the design of the Seeker Herself.”

In their last Sending, Nensela had been frightened.

Frightened, and seeking comfort from him. And to secure his cooperation for this phase. For this day.

She was counting on me.

Counting on him to stay true to his vows. To continue listening to and for the Seeker.

But Nensela was holding back. On their strategy board she did not place her manifestation next to his. No, between her daughter and the arsha’tûm did she set her incarnation. A sacrifice a mother would make. And yet…

“But surely Selàna is part of a plan Lord Senet,” Bessa persisted. “You said you married mortals if you foresaw some benefit down the line. What did Lady Nensela foresee about Selàna, before she was born?”

Tarkhana smiled slightly at Senet. “The red gryphon here reminds me Nensela always has a plan. Was this child an exception? A creation of happenstance?”

Happenstance? Nensela? She who planned twenty to thirty steps ahead of every move she made? Yet it was not impossible … at the end of the day, she was also a woman of fierce love and devotion.

“An astute observation, red gryphon. All prophets must leave records of our prophecies with the Seeker’s temples. Though I warn you, Nensela’s prophecy for her daughter may not have been due to come to pass until centuries from now.”

“It may not matter,” Edana said gently. “The question now is what you said it was: do we look for Elamis, or look for Selàna? Those goals might also be sequential. That is, go to Elamis first, and next search for Selàna.”

“They were lost near the Isle of Katabasis,” Curious to see her reaction, Senet focused all of his attention on Halie. Childlike wonderment came over her face in response.

“I should like to see that island, the place where my Father descended into the sea and left this world. To walk where He walked … if you go there, Lord Senet, I may join you, once I have the Eye.” Halie paused, then amended, “I will go if it will serve my Father’s purposes.”

“Didn’t He want you to assist Lady Nensela?” Ziri asked.

“Father wants me to fight the Aeternity War,” she corrected. “Assisting Lady Nensela was congruent with that. But the example she set moves me, and I can do no less than follow it: I will put aside my desires for the sake of winning this war. If the Isle of Katabasis will aid us, I will go there. If not, I shall not. We need more information.”

“Indeed, I sent my men to secure the estate where Archelaos lived when he was playing governor, in case he left behind threads to follow. And my echomancers are looking into certain of his activities before the battle.” Xenakis glanced at Ziri. “Perhaps your people could lend assistance? If Selàna is part of the final battle, the Erebossi might have planned around her. They might be dogging her footsteps even now.”

Sweet Seeker, have mercy. While fiends could not be scried, it did not follow they were unaware of specific mortals. If the Six knew of Selàna, they would surely seek her demise.

Or they would try to possess her, just as Archelaos sought to possess Nensela.

A thought struck Senet. “What else is in Elamis? A nekromanteion?”

“If so it’s a well-guarded secret. But why? Do you know something?” Ziri asked.

Edana’s hand flew to an iridescent purse she had bound to a belt on her hips. “The key,” she said, pulling out a small green stone. A strange glyph was incised into a thumb-shaped indentation in the center. “Gagnon had this, and the sorceress Cingetissa said Murena made it to open a door to another realm. But we won’t go until we figure out how to work the key, survive being in Murena’s presence, and how to return from his abode. Oh, the Sower be praised! What better place to find out than a city of mages? Ziri, how fast can we get there?”

Senet’s heart leapt.

Nensela, my love. Stay strong. And know that your will be done.

Now he began to understood how to ensure her revival. Hope invigorated him, as the road before him cleared.

They had work to do.