The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XVI

Nensela

In which they join Nensela

They arrived in Kyanopolis five days later. The city gleamed gold in the sunlight as the Kyane’s Rest approached it in the early afternoon. For miles and miles the city’s shoreline stretched on, and Bessa smiled as she thought of the days she could spend in endless exploration. Even White Cliff had not seemed so grand, and it was the grandest city in Silura.

Before they disembarked Edana brought forth a parasol from her luggage. Bessa followed her example, but not until after they disembarked did she feel the heat. She gasped for breath, astonished by the sultriness of the air. Several times she closed her eyes, shocked by the brightness of the sun. Thereafter, she steadfastly remained beneath her parasol.

A scryer in Lady Nensela’s service had arranged for a covered carriage to meet them at the docks. Though shaded now, Bessa still felt the heat. Sweat soaked her linen handkerchief in mere minutes. In desperation she took a waterskin one of the slaves had filled on the ship, and splashed her face with water. So this was why Siluran travelers compared the lands of Amanareia to a furnace.

“Look,” Edana said, inclining her head to the city.

Bessa glanced out of the curtains, then stilled, transfixed. Her hand, burdened with the handkerchief, fell to her lap as she momentarily forgot her discomfort.

Bessa immediately ranked Kyanopolis as the finest city she had been to thus far. Traffic flowed through three great arteries throughout the city. The city itself was carved out of the luscious green Mount Adamant, and the greenness was echoed in the roof tiles of the buildings scattered throughout.

No—not scattered, Bessa amended to herself. Rasena Valentians were fond of order, and the evidence was before her, in their attempt to lay out Kyanopolis in a grid pattern, the terrain notwithstanding.

In the central square stood an ancient statue of Kyane, the naiad in whose name Kyanopolis was dedicated. She was seated in a ‘palm throne,’ a throne sculpted to resemble the canopies of the trees that gave much-needed shade throughout Kyanopolis.

Flamingos, rendered in pink marble, sat at her bare feet and stroked their graceful necks against her legs. In one hand the naiad held a lotus, symbolizing the springs that made life bloom on the mountain. Legend had it that Kyane’s pegasus created those springs when its hooves touched the ground.

Bessa’s heart did somersaults when they passed a theater. Frescoes illustrating a famous Pelasgian comedy decorated one wall of the graceful building. Seeing her excitement Edana smiled, and told her that the theater was just one of four they could attend in Kyanopolis.

“How remarkable this city seems!” Bessa said. “You must love it here. Do you think we’ll have any free time?”

From the way Edana clasped the folds of her gown, Bessa knew she was tense. Her excitement subsided a bit as she wondered why.

“Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“Only that Lady Nensela said we needed to be far from Silura as fast as possible, before all the details emerged about the duke’s downfall. Whether or not you should try to find Lysander, for your own sake, is what I am anxious about now. I haven’t forgotten Matrona’s wishes.”

Bessa’s eyes narrowed. “Do not forget my vow, either. I am not leaving you. This is no time for weddings. And do not assume I need to be protected. We’re together in this, so I share the burden, too.”

Though Edana nodded, Bessa was unsure of her commitment. If Lady Nensela insisted Bessa had to go, would Edana agree? But the oppressive heat won out over worry, and drowsiness overtook her.

A soft breeze awakened her. The scent of pine filled her nose. Pine? She sat up in surprise, and saw at last the forest of pine trees they were traveling through. Where was the city? She wasn’t about to complain; the coolness of the shade provided some relief from the merciless sun.

“Lady Nensela lives in a suburb,” Edana said, answering her unspoken question. “I think she originally wanted the isolation. She was grieving when I first met her—well, I think she still is—but she’s also a Seeker’s Own, so she’s sought after for that reason alone. The way she sees it, forcing people to make an effort to see her cuts down on the frivolous visitors with petty problems.”

The carriage stopped when they reached a high stucco wall with an ornate iron gate with a theme of roses and sylphs. The guard standing at attention recognized Edana, and opened the gate for them.

Bessa paused when she saw the house inside the gate. It was most curious: three stories high, with the same hexagon shape and domed top she associated with oracula. No windows pierced the lower levels of the façade of pale yellow marble. Vassinassan marble, much-coveted by the moneyed set.

The doors were tall, fashioned of bronze and rubbed with oil. Ebony statues of life-sized sphinxes flanked the door. Sphinxes, a reminder of Ta-Seti, where the creatures could be found when they did not otherwise dwell in the fabled land of Athyr-ai. Gold plated their faces, and their eyes flashed citrine. Curiosity drove Bessa to move closer to examine them.

Their eyes moved.

Bessa gasped. Animachina!

Questions exploded in her mind, of who constructed the living machines, and what powers their maker bestowed upon them. When asked, Edana could only speak to the incredible speed at which the sentries flew on their night patrols.

The doors swung open, seemingly of their own accord. Four bearded men with braided hair came out, followed by a fifth whose graceful bearing suggested he wielded authority. He alone spoke to the women.

“Welcome back, Edana Nuriel. You will find Lady Nensela in the library.” He turned to Bessa, and opened his arm. “Greetings, Optima Philomelos. I extend to you welcome on behalf of my lady Nensela. Let this home be your home.”

Clasping her hands together Bessa replied, “Thank you. I feel welcome already.”

Edana introduced the elder man as Keymaster Hanno, the steward Lady Nensela placed over her household, and “kept the house running smoothly.”

Per Edana’s request, the slaves removed a particular trunk from the carriage first. The trunk with the thunder maces, of course, which she never allowed to stay far from her hand while they traveled.

The steward ushered them inside. Honey-colored Vassinassan marble tiled the walls and floors of the large, round entryway. The entryway itself was constructed like a cage cup, but with staircases curving out of sight between the inner and outer layers. One staircase ascended to their right, and the other descended to their left.

In the center of the room stood an ebony statue of the Seeker, Mother of Seers. A yellow sunburst medallion tessellated into the tile floor surrounded the statue, highlighting it. Nearby, a red sandstone altar depicted the Seeker and Her alliance in carved reliefs. Wisps of perfume drew Bessa to an embossed silver box on the altar. Inside the box, she found only scraps of the sacred flowers and herbs used for burnt offerings.

Glowlights suspended from the high ceiling provided the only light inside; there weren’t even clerestory windows. Emphasizing Lady Nensela’s apparent desire to isolate herself from the outside world.

To Bessa’s surprise, Edana turned to the left. Bessa arched an eyebrow. Hadn’t Hanno said Lady Nensela was in the library? Why go to her cellar? After hearing so much about her, Bessa was impatient to meet the seer. Nevertheless, when Edana jerked her head to the stairs, indicating she should follow, she followed.

And was promptly astonished.

The house was underground!

The stairs took them to a subterranean atrium. At first the features seemed familiar, especially the tiled impluvium in the center. The impluvium, a shallow rectangular basin, was typical for a Rasena Valentian-style house, albeit this one was lined with mosaic tiles and not marble. In Bessa’s home and in other parts of the empire, the pool sat below an opening in the roof, which would be slanted to allow rain water to pour into the pool, before draining into a cistern below. The opening in the roof allowed sunlight into the atrium, and the water in the impluvium would help cool the house in the summer.

But in Lady Nensela’s house, bright red columns with lotus capitals arose from the perimeter of the basin. The columns supported short walls high above. Constructed of brick, each of the walls featured two strange, hexagon-shaped holes which redistributed light and fresh air to the rooms adjacent to the atrium.

In spite of being open to the elements the underground atrium felt remarkably cooler. So much so that Bessa cheered at the realization she would not sweat out every drop of water in her body.

“Incredible,” Bessa exclaimed. “How did Lady Nensela come up with this idea of putting the house underground? It’s a brilliant idea.”

She ran her hands along one of the columns and studied the hexagon holes in the walls above them. So this was a lightwell, a structure her father detailed in his engineering manuals. Overhead, from one end of the lightwell to the other, a canopy of linen and cotton filtered sunlight. Thus what could have been a harsh, blinding glare was now softened and tolerable.

Edana smiled. “Actually, underground rooms are typical in this part of Rasena Valentis. Other homes in Kyanopolis are built this way, too. You’ll see.”

“This is something to write home about,” Bessa judged.

A scent tickled their noses. Roasted quail. Appetites whetted, they followed the scent down a corridor, where they came to the library. The courtyard’s sunlight spilled into the room, casting long shadows onto the mosaic floor in the entryway.

Once again Bessa paused, this time to study the mosaic’s depiction of an adventure featuring Kyane and her asrai attendants. Tridents in hand, the nymphs swam toward a lamia lurking on the shore of the marshlands.

Meanwhile, on the shore a young priestess prepared for battle. The arrow notched in her bow was unusual: its arrowhead was obscured by a blazing white light. Holy magic, aimed straight for the serpent woman. By her coloring and the use of a bow, Bessa guessed the priestess was Ta-Setian. The immortals were renowned for their skill in archery.

Beyond this floor mosaic, the library proper awaited them. Bessa halted in her tracks. Before her the entry opened onto a spacious, circular room. The room itself consisted of two levels, topped by a dome with a painted ceiling. Sunlight fell through the dome’s oculus onto the rosy marble floor directly below.

Surrounding this generous open space were eight alcoves of codex cabinets on the lower level. The entrance to each alcove was marked by a sigil inlaid in the marble floor. Inside the alcoves the cabinets glowed a faint green, indicating they were enchanted against nature. Neither fire nor vermin could threaten Lady Nensela’s collection.

On the second level, eight arches formed an arcade marked by marble caryatids that reached the first floor. Stark white granite made up the stone balconies that overlooked the central part of the library.

However, what enchanted Bessa, what made her gasp in awe, was the kithara resting on its own pedestal between two alcoves. Like a lyre, two horn-like arms rose up on either side of a sound box, joined together by a tuning bar where the instrument’s strings were fastened to bronze tuning pegs. Nine strings, Bessa noted—Lady Nensela must be good, having gone beyond the more typical seven.

Unlike a lyre, though, each of the kithara’s arms were surmounted by a post attached via springs, with a cradle at the bottom of the post allowing the tuning bar to rest upon it. Manipulating the posts allowed players to produce wondrous sounds.

Ordinary enough, for a kithara. What made Bessa’s heart somersault was the instrument’s material: carved of a silky, shimmery wood, the kithara’s sound box was inlaid with blue abalone. Abalone fashioned into an arresting image of a pair of sylphs flanking the strings.

Legend spoke of such an instrument.

Hurrying over to it, Bessa confirmed her hopes. As the legend promised, up close the kithara’s lacquer carried a pearlescent sheen which tinged the wood a subtle cornflower blue.

“Dream-spinner! This is a dreamwood kithara isn’t it, Edana?”

“Indeed. Lady Nensela said the color comes from crushed blue pearls mixed into the lacquer.”

By Papouli’s knee Bessa had learned of the dreamwood trees, so-called because the oneiroi—dream sylphs—favored them as resting places. Thus, an item fashioned of dreamwood yielded prophetic dreams to those who used them.

But the dreamwood trees were lost before the Seven Gates Era, during a disaster forever after known as “the Sea Lord’s Wrath.” An earthquake destroyed the island civilization of Amathus where the trees flourished, and a titanic ocean wave wiped out what was left. Well over two thousand years ago...

“Before you ask, I don’t know the tale behind this kithara,” Edana said. “Some things Lady Nensela does not say of herself. All I know is how sad her eyes looked when I asked about it.”

With one wistful glance at the priceless treasure, Bessa resumed the quest to find the source of the delicious aroma. At the far end of the library, an open doorway led to a smaller room, where they found a cluster of reclining sofas arranged around a smaller table. Someone had set up silver pitchers, cups, and platters of food. Here their quest ended.

Only when they reached the gathering area did Bessa see the stairs running along the right side of the room, leading to parts unknown.

And also, the woman.

She stood at the top of the stairs, a wax tablet in hand. Standing so still that Bessa thought her catlike, surveying them without a sound or a hint of her presence. Was it ever possible for Lady Nensela to be taken by surprise, as a Seeker’s Own? Certainly the seer surprised her, even as she met Bessa’s expectations.

The stark white pleats of Lady Nensela’s linen dress contrasted with the smooth, oil-rubbed bronze of her skin. Her face was a sculptor’s dream, with well-defined features. She kept her midnight hair in a series of slim plaits that fascinated Bessa, and gathered the plaits into one large braid down to her shoulder blades.

Like many prophets she wore an azure stone, hers set in a white-gold circlet of delicate chains. White-gold coils, terminating in stylized lynx heads, gleamed around her upper arms.

Lady Nensela regarded Bessa steadily. Her large eyes reminded Bessa of her grandfather’s obsidian surgical knives: sharp, keen, and well-able to probe her depths.

Bessa returned her forthright stare, but inside her nervousness returned. What did the seer See? What would she decree? The intensity of Lady Nensela’s gaze unnerved her, and she fleetingly wondered if the prophet foresaw an evil consequence for her. Yet Edana looked unperturbed, suggesting she saw nothing ominous in Lady Nensela’s demeanor.

Lady Nensela held out a hand, a silent invitation for Bessa to come closer. Unconsciously, Bessa obeyed her. When the prophet spoke, it took Bessa a few moments to take in the words. The seer’s accent reminded her in some ways of Aunt Nerissa, so liquid and hypnotic.

“Be at ease, and be welcome. In this day I am called Nensela Sideris. I am pleased to see you well, Bessa Philomelos.”

It took five heartbeats for Bessa to find her own voice. “Um. Did you…See something?”

Lady Nensela smiled, flashing white teeth. “With regards to you? Trouble yourself not, child; I foresee no evils for you as yet. Let me welcome back Edana, and we shall speak.”

Embracing like old friends, Edana and Lady Nensela revealed a camaraderie that put Bessa at ease. No longer did she doubt Edana had lived well with Lady Nensela. That she gave Edana succor through the worst pain of her life endeared the seer to Bessa.

One of Lady Nensela’s slaves was already pouring drinks for them when they came to the refreshment table. At a gesture from her mistress the slave girl offered a wine cup to Bessa.

“People from the Far North do not easily take to the heat of Kyanopolis. Adapting takes time,” Lady Nensela said. “Try this, and be refreshed.”

Taking the cup, Bessa tasted for the first time palm date wine from Ta-Seti. It was refreshing, and she gave her compliments to Lady Nensela. The roasted quail, marinated in a wine and cherry sauce, was every bit as delicious as the aroma had promised.

When they were finished Lady Nensela led them back into her library, and a round table that dominated the eastern side of it.

“Were you able to find out anything?” Edana asked.

“About the giants? Or Murena? Nothing to the first, and as for the second, that is a matter of concern. This keystone you have, let me hold it.”

True to Cingetissa’s command, Edana kept the keystone in the kibisis, itself hidden inside her dress. She brought it out and handed it to Lady Nensela, along with her drawing of the glyph that appeared during Cingetissa’s “spirit talk.”

Lady Nensela turned the stone over and over in her hands. The prophet maintained such a neutral, calm expression that Bessa could not be sure if she was sensing anything at all, let alone what she felt about it.

A knot began to form in her stomach. What Cingetissa had told them left her uneasy. A man hated by the spirits was not a man she wished to meet. Especially not a man who was tied to a mysterious presence, and held a key to a world not their own. What did that mean? Were there really other worlds? Or …

The moon.

The agate moon, blue with swirls of white clouds. More importantly, the abode of the gods. Could the key open a door to Their world? But how could anyone have such a key, let alone a person the spirits hated? Once, long ago, Min’da Nuriel warned her and Edana about sorcerers.

They deal with abyssals—fellshades. Including the sorcerers who claim they’ve taken the Oath.

Maybe a fellshade taught Murena how to make a key to the Moon Palace? But that made no sense. Would a fellshade have such knowledge? And would it allow a mere sorcerer to share in it? And, possessing such knowledge, why would Murena entrust the fruit of it to the duke?

Was Murena a person? Bessa’s stomach flipped. For the first time it occurred to her she’d only assumed Murena was a being native to her own world. But celestial spirits would hate shadow fiends, and it would answer the question of how Murena could possibly have a key to another world.

If Murena was indeed infernal—hadn’t Cingetissa said the Anointed were needed to deal with him?—the key likely led to a place she did not ever wish to go.

Bessa looked up to see Lady Nensela regarding her with open concern. Quickly she straightened, and tried to regain her composure. She must not allow Lady Nensela to doubt her fitness for helping her and Edana. On no account would she permit herself to be sent away for her own protection; she wanted to help.

Quietly Lady Nensela asked, “This stone disturbs you? Good. You are wise to be afraid.”

“Is Murena a fellshade? An Erebossan?”

Edana made a small yelp of surprise and stared sharply at her starsilk purse, as if seeing it for the first time.

“A rational hypothesis, after what Cingetissa told you: the key helps dodge a paralysis spell, did she not say? That means that beyond the door this key opens, there are intelligent and hostile beings. Then there is the kibisis you carry, which can blind the abyssals to its contents,” Lady Nensela said, pointing to the purse. “Since your last message, I have sought lore of abyssals making keys to their realms. And one such tale have I found.”

Edana sputtered, “Wait—what? Fellshades? Are you sure? Do they have bodies, like the arsh’atûm? How can they give you things? The key is real, we can touch it, and the duke had it. Isn’t it more likely Murena is a sorcerer, and maybe a fellshade he summoned told him how to make a key?”

Lady Nensela placed the keystone on the table, carefully and precisely as if she were handling a vial of asrai’s tears. “That would change nothing, if so. If you believe the corran, and I do, this opens a door not within the Palace of Land and Sea. Therefore, either the creator of this key is not of this world, or the creator is in the service of one who is not of this world.”

Silence. In response, Lady Nensela herself refilled Edana’s wine cup, then Bessa’s. Edana promptly drank from hers.

“The holder of the key must necessarily have a body,” Lady Nensela continued. “Gagnon possessed this key, and the ease of his death suggests he was only a manservant of an abyssal. Not even an eidolon, for you’ve not reported the dread consequences that follow when the living host of an abyssal is killed. As for Murena, we are back where we started: if the key leads to his home, he may be an abyssal. A ‘fellshade,’ as you say. If he is a man, then he might be a mortal agent of an abyssal. Potentially he is an eidolon, and ‘Murena’ is the true name of the abyssal inside the man. Either way, an abyssal is likely involved.”

Again Lady Nensela let Edana digest her words in silence before continuing. “Be assured, we shall not use this key. Not yet, not before we know exactly where it goes and how we may defend ourselves against whatever is there. And how to return here. What this key tells us is that the giants are not ordinary enemies. They may be native to our world, but their allies include entities that are not.”

The shadows on the floor had lengthened; evening approached. Glowlights stationed in small niches throughout the room now winked on, giving pale gold light. A reminder they were underground…the abode of the eneroi: grim spirits, or imprisoned foes of the gods.

“And Gagnon’s factions?” Edana demanded. “Those initials I gave you? Do they belong to people?” She once again placed the key in her starsilk purse.

Lady Nensela passed a sheet of papyrus to her. “Justin Kellis, Rozvan Lior, Faenus Archelaos, Honoria Vartanian, and Ursinus Escamilla. All but one of these could be Murena, as Murena is a masculine by-name. I have searched the oracula registries with the star addresses you gave me. The results are illuminating.”

All of the registrants went back eighteen months—no further. They belonged to a variety of seemingly ordinary people: a clerk in the library of Karnassus, a sea captain, the governor of an eastern province, a woman who owned a brick-making concern, and a legate of the Watch in Valentis.

“Brick maker? So, these are cover stories then?” Bessa asked.

“Let us think this through: the success of Edana’s cover lay in its veracity. Truly, she is a broker of silver. Our enemies may think the same way. So, in what way would a brick maker be useful?”

Bessa considered her own estate, and how it worked. During the slower times, when they weren’t cultivating vines, she put her staff to work making baskets and jars. Some of what they made became equipment, but the rest they sold to nearby farms, Falcon’s Hollow residents, or travelers.

However, the more talented of her potters worked with a master potter. In the last few years the Rasenan craftsman settled in Falcon’s Hollow, and Bessa leased him a spot on her land to set up the kilns. His studio produced terra sigillata, glossy terra cotta pottery with fancy designs stamped into the clay.

Procuring the potter and managing the production of the clay vessels was the first enterprise Bessa had ever been assigned to oversee. A responsibility Grandmother lay upon her the morning after her first bleed. The seriousness of her task made her feel quite mature.

Also, Grandmother allowed Bessa the privilege of having her own name on the seals stamped into the vessels. At first Bessa was excited, but Grandmother then said,

“It will have your name, Bessa. People far and wide will associate your name with the quality of these vessels, whether the quality is good or bad. Keep that in mind.”

“She’s the cover,” Bessa realized. “Honoria might rent out her land to a contractor, who hires people to make, sell, and transport the bricks. The contractor is carrying out the real plans, and Honoria can plausibly plead innocent if he gets caught. He can be replaced—and she can continue the conspiracy.”

In the meantime, Bessa pointed out, the contractor could send people from all over Honoria’s province and beyond. More, their jobs gave them a legitimate reason for being wherever they are found.

“But I suspect there’s a particular place they need to be. What’s under construction that Gagnon’s people would want to get to?”

Lady Nensela rewarded her with an approving nod. “Indeed. Is Honoria Vartanian a knowing member of this conspiracy? Or merely a well-placed fool? Answers the Star Dragons seek even as we speak. Among other things.”

“And the other names?” Edana asked. “The legate of the Watch in Valentis? After what Amelu told us, I have to wonder if the legate was the one engineering the silver market crisis in Valentis.”

“A most promising possibility,” Lady Nensela agreed. “As legate of the Watch he lives in plain sight, above suspicion. The bearer of such a rank is always well connected, and his words would carry weight.”

Edana’s eyes darkened. “If Draco Aether Escamilla is an agent of Erebossa it suggests what he was up to there: people need silver against Erebossi. And he was making sure the Valentians either didn’t have it, or would have to go to certain sources to obtain any.”

“The Seeker be praised, for the Star Dragons tell me the fruits of your actions here averted a ritual meant to take place there on the winter solstice…a ritual that may have allowed an army of arsh’atûm to enter this world. The people of Valentis would have been the first casualties of those monsters,” Lady Nensela said.

“By the Reaper,” Bessa whispered. “And to think they were only saved because Edana wanted to come home so badly!”

“Do not discount the hands of the gods,” Lady Nensela exhorted. “Was it only by chance an enterprising Valentian crossed Edana’s path? As he lives in Valentis and carries a truth-seer’s backing, he broke the silver monopoly held by the sorcerers allied with the abyssal fiend in Valentis. Atreus is very well connected. And hungry for prestige, and is not above showing an open hand.” She said this last with a little laugh.

“He passed out amulets like bread, didn’t he?” Bessa said dryly.

“You have him,” Edana said, her lips curving. “He told everyone it was because he has a duty to uphold the protection of the people of his city. The people love him for it. And suddenly, it became very important for certain of the dragon class to make friends with him.”

Bessa recalled then, what Edana had asked when they were walking the isthmus: who would she turn to if she needed silver? For Valentians, Atreus had become their savior, rather than the sorcerers the Erebossi faction had likely intended.

“Is Atreus safe? From retaliation?” she asked.

“He realized on his own that something was amiss, so he always has his guards with him. And the Star Dragons are keeping an eye on him as well.” Edana pointed to another name on Lady Nensela’s list. “What about the cleric? A librarian could easily hide the history and lore scrolls you’ve been looking for. Of course, he would also remove the works mentioning the manuscript you want. Maybe even put false leads in place—and keep on the lookout for anyone making inquiries he doesn’t want made.”

Lady Nensela confessed, “I crave retribution against Justin Kellis. His role in this offends me to my very core and I will rejoice in his defeat.” She paused, and took a breath. “But higher priorities must obtain. Attend now, to the matters at hand.”

Bessa decided it was time then to show her secret weapon. Now she drew out her necklace with Sorcha’s Tear, allowing the prophet to see it. Lady Nensela’s eyes brightened.

“So you carry with you the power of a scryer. Have you used it yet?”

“No, my lady,” Bessa said. “Only one name at a time can be sought, so I will use this for nothing less than our prime enemy. Is Murena the one? Or one of the five? Or the giants? Or another person or group we don’t know about?”

At that moment Lady Nensela abruptly turned to Edana, and bestowed a benevolent gaze upon her.

“You have my thanks, for giving me an able fulcrum. That is, if she agrees.” She stared long at Bessa. “You have tasted the danger we’re in first hand. Are you committed?”

Without a moment’s hesitation Bessa answered, “Yes. Put that question out of your mind. I am part of this, as much as you or Edana. What do you need? Ask.”