The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XVII

Gifts of the Fire Lords

In which the Fire Lords offer a boon

They stepped forward, and light flashed. When their sight returned, they found themselves in a circular room. Quiet, tranquil, the room was perfumed by the flowering vines climbing over its stone walls. Gleaming green obsidian formed seamless tiles on the floor. Lovely enough, but what made them gasp in awe was the centerpiece of the room, a spring from which burned an eternal flame. Fascinated, Bessa crept toward it.

Rainbow obsidian rocks enclosed the spring. Murky water hid whatever might be in the depths, but the fire rippling over the surface was the true marvel, of course. What power was this?

Suddenly, three men walked out of the walls. Startled, Bessa stumbled backwards, stopping only when Edana touched her arm to steady her.

The men approached opposite the spring. All three loomed over them, with the shortest one at six-feet-two while the others were seven feet tall. Salamandra, and these looked no older than they. Turquoise hair rings and amulets threaded through their long, jet black hair clinked as they walked. Sapphire flames embroidered on their saffron robes seemed to ripple as they strode forward. The men stopped their approach when they reached the spring.

Clink-clack, sounded the amulets as the men bowed over the flames. The “short” one in the middle spoke first.

“I am Flame Keeper Arevik, and these are Flame Keepers Azar and Roshan. You wished to see the Fire Lords?”

Ziri’s dossier explained that in every generation, young Salamandra dedicated themselves to studying the lore and history of their people. Such youths were referred to as ‘flame keepers.’

In her instructions, Lady Aelia insisted the flame keepers were not priests, as they performed no sacred rites. The flame keepers may spend a good fifty years or more studying all of their history and transcribing it for a new generation, and they afterward may become priests or government officials or move on to other phases of their lives.

Edana approached the spring and held out the wrapped copper plate over the eternal flame, in accordance with the customs Lady Aelia had described.

Arevik took the plate, and they both took one step back. His companions unwrapped the cloth, exposing the copper sheet.

Again he held it over the eternal flame. This time, a fine blue mist rose from the sheet and formed strange glyphs in the air. A likeness of Lady Aelia appeared in the mist. She stood on a hill, against a sunset, both arms clasped over her chest. Her soft voice echoed against the stones as she spoke in a language of the Salamandra.

“Incredible,” Bessa marveled. However, her voice also echoed, and she cringed.

When Lady Aelia stopped speaking the mist vanished, and Arevik removed the plate, wrapping it again.

“Come with us,” Arevik said.

Roshan walked through the wall. Up close, they saw the faint outline of the portal glyphs. If the portal closed, anyone in the spring room would be trapped—or safe from invaders, depending on one’s point of view. The remaining flame keepers flanked the portal. Azar jerked his head towards it, a silent invitation. Edana stepped through first, and Bessa followed a moment later. Then came Azar and Arevik.

Before them was pure paradise. Gorgeous clusters of bluish-lavender flowers twined over the arches shading a winding path. These arrested their attention first, and they wondered aloud what flowers these were.

“Wisteria,” Roshan informed them.

Silver and pink-feathered grasses bordered the stone-paved path. Somewhere nearby, unseen, a brook babbled. Yet high overhead a sheer crystal dome sent down dazzling sunlight.

“A viridarium!” Bessa grabbed Edana’s arm in her excitement. She leaned over and dropped her voice into sotto voce. “A few years ago I had an architect draw up plans for one. It occurred to me Lysander might be posted to places with fruit trees or valuable plants that don’t grow in Silura. Or Pelasgos, wherever we might live—and he could have them sent to our estate, and we would keep them in the viridarium and profit from them. I wonder if we’re in a four-quadrant viridarium? The all-terrain kind that mimics the soil and climate and such for plants from all over Thuraia?”

“The starting price for a four-quadrant viridarium equal in size to the winter garden at your estate would be no less than ten wagonloads of silver from my mines,” Edana replied. She strode over to an arch, closed her eyes, and took a deep inhale of wisteria. The enraptured expression on her face prompted Bessa to experience the wisteria’s scent for herself. With a quick glance at the flame keepers, she plucked a sprig and wrapped it carefully in her handkerchief before stowing it in the purse belted to her waist.

As they walked on Edana said, “Perhaps concentrate on getting the sun crystals themselves for a larger winter garden? That would only require two wagons.”

Winter gardens were mono-terrain, mono-climate viridaria, used for extending local growing seasons into winter. At Bessa’s vineyard, the winter garden also sheltered extra grape vines in case of blight or drought. Or, as Bessa bitterly amended to herself, raids by giants.

“My father was only an engineer and he brought back moonbow steel as battle spoils; Lysander is a red gryphon. For a betrothal gift I gave him blessed bracers made from Papa’s moonbow, so he would have Khratu’s aid in his battle strategies … I was optimistic before I met him.”

Edana gave her a lopsided smile. “Before you met him. And now?”

“I’m dusting off those plans. Just one ounce of moonbow is all we’d need to fund this, and then some. Let’s look around for ideas. Now’s our chance to see what’s possible.”

Soon enough they came to the “brook.” Obsidian rocks and dressed stones lined a channel of water flowing from one side of the garden to the other. The channel proved to be a subterranean aqueduct, which fed the pool they spied beyond a stand of trees with yellow, pear-like fruit. Arevik snagged one and began snacking on it.

“Sweet quinces,” he said between bites. “Go ahead, try some.”

The women needed no further invitation.

“Delicious,” Bessa judged after her first nibble. The strange fruit tasted of apples and berries.

Amused by the women’s enthusiasm, the flamekeepers gave an impromptu tour. Having started in a temperate area, they took the women through the viridarium until they came to a shimmering light barrier. Stepping through it brought them to an exotic jungle quadrant, whose landscape elicited oohs and ahhs from the Rasena Valentians.

The air in this quadrant was more sultry than the spring room, obliging them to shed their cloaks and fold them over their arms.

“Good thing we wore our formal sandals,” Edana said, pointing at their footwear.

Formal meant their toes were covered, but their feet were otherwise exposed through fancy leather cutwork, with beaded floral embroidery on the insteps. Their feet would not sweat out their shoes in the heat.

A heady scent drew them back to the aqueduct stream, where they found tall green stalks bearing snow white, butterfly-shaped flowers. Azar plucked two of them and held them out to the women.

“Breathe in these ginger lilies, and awaken your senses.”

Inhaling the intoxicating fragrance did indeed awaken them, and Bessa replied, “This should be used in perfume.” She tucked the flower into her hair, behind her ear.

“Incense also,” Edana agreed, likewise adding the flower to her hair.

Another shimmer shield brought them to a xeriscape of lavender, aloes, sage and ornamental grasses.

Lady Aelia’s letter mentioned most Salamandra were fond of dry heat, and in this arid quadrant they encountered many Salamandra swanning about. Several of them wore silken sapphire robes embroidered with stark white flames. Of this set, two stood over an arrangement of flowers that Arevik said were saffron crocus.

“And note they’re still in bloom. In the wild they would have already been harvested, for the saffron,” he pointed out.

One of the inspectors, a woman, held a small knife at her side as she bent over one of the purple blossoms. The flower’s precious red filaments had not yet been harvested.

The man must have asked her a question, because she nodded at him, and handed him the knife.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Roshan said.

The pair turned to look at him, the man doing a double take when he saw the humans, the woman narrowing her eyes at the flame keepers.

Arevik opened his mouth, and out poured a strange liquid language. Rhaxhitl? Lady Aelia said it was the trading language among the Salamandra. Arevik gestured to the copper sheet, and the woman said one syllable, the man said another, and Arevik seemed to say an entire volume in response.

Finally, the sapphire-robed pair nodded and the man held out his hands, taking the sheet from Arevik.

Arevik and his companions clasped their arms over their chests, dipped their knees, and walked backwards out of the shimmer shield.

The woman addressed them, her tone brisk. “You may call me Zareen Prime, it is my title in this land.” She gestured to her companion. “And his title is zaran, and as he is the second to bear the rank, you may call him Zaran Secundus, in the way of your people.”

You’ll know you’re dealing with the inner circle if any of them use titles that mean golden. Zareen if a woman, or zaran if a man, but they might use Rasenan or Pelasgian with you instead of Anshani. And if you meet someone whose title means ‘adamant,’ this will be the leader.

So Ziri’s dossier had taught them.

Zaran Secundus said, “Our prophets warned us about you. Come.”

Edana and Bessa exchanged glances, and found their faces mirrored one another’s astonishment.

“Warned you?” Edana managed. “We come in peace! We are no threat—”

“You are harbingers of the end of things,” Zareen Prime cut in. “This day was foretold long ago.” Her posture sagged, as if a great weight had settled upon her.

She led them through another shimmer shield, bringing them to a small amphitheater; it would seat no more than fifty. Seven white cushions were spaced at regular intervals on a dais in the center of the stage. However, Zareen indicated they should sit in the lowest tier of the amphitheatre. She strode towards a curtain of vines at the back of the dais, her long copper braid bouncing at her back. She struck a gong, whose resonance Bessa felt in her bones.

Zaran Secundus took the second cushion from the left. Zareen Prime took the third cushion from the right. They sat cross legged, their robes concealing their feet.

Five other blue-robed Salamandra materialized, perched perfectly on the previously empty cushions. Edana arched an eyebrow and exchanged another glance with Bessa.

The Salamandran in the middle cushion, a man, wore a triple-strand of fine gold chains about his head. Each chain met with a ring in the center, encircling his horns. From the bottom ring dangled a stone. In his primer Ziri confided his suspicion the stone was a rare blue adamant, not a sapphire. Whatever the gem might be, it rested between the man’s eyes, which were a remarkable fiery topaz reminiscent of Lady Aelia’s eyes.

Zaran Secundus passed Lady Aelia’s copper letter to the man on his left, and the man in turn passed it to the man in the middle.

The man cradled it with both hands. Like the others clad in blue robes, this man’s nails were just long enough to hint of talons. Fire bloomed in his hands, matching his robes. Again the fine blue mist rose up from the sheet, and again they saw Lady Aelia.

When it was over the man extinguished his flames. “The Sending is true,” the man said in Rasenan. He leveled a measuring stare at Bessa and Edana.

“Zareen Prime said your prophets mentioned us?” Edana ventured.

Harbinger of the end of things. What could that mean? Lady Nensela had not mentioned any such thing.

Then again, she hadn’t mentioned Selàna either.

“You may call me Khorshid. It is my name in this land,” he replied, sidestepping the question of his title. Rewrapping the copper sheet he asked, “Do you know of Sendings? Have you seen one before?”

“A prophet we know, Lady Nensela of Ta-Seti, did a Sending in our presence once, to project her mind elsewhere,” Bessa answered.

“Are we sure they are the ones?” asked a man, who sat immediately to Khorshid’s left. Assuming the Salamandra to the right of Khorshid sat in the same arrangement as Zareen Prime’s group, then he would be Zaran Tertius. “Maybe they are just—”

Khorshid silenced him with a raised finger. His eyes never left the Rasena Valentian women. “For the record, say now what you are named.”

“I am Edana Nuriel of Silura, daughter of Sorcha of Yriel, and Min’da Nuriel of Eitan.”

After a beat Bessa said, “And I’m Elisabet Bessa Philomelos, Bessa to my friends. Daughter of Morwenna Pendry and Nikandros Bessus Philomelos, also of Silura. Is your prophecy so specific?”

Khorshid smiled, and the other fire lords tittered nervously. “To which gods do you give allegiance?”

“The Sower,” Edana said promptly.

“The success of my vineyard is due to the Reaper’s blessings,” Bessa said. “To Him I give honor and sacrifices.”

Khorshid caught the zaran’s eye and asked, “Are the conditions satisfied?”

The zaran inhaled. In a sonorous voice he intoned, “From the west will come the daughter of the Light, who will lift prayers to the Sower and carry weapons of the Huntress. With her shall come a servant of the Reaper, who will bear an everlasting quill, writing words of fire and honey.”

Bessa gaped, then quickly shut her mouth. Whatever the Salamandra sought to prove, they had shown some gift of prophecy: she wrote with a phoenix-feather quill, a treasure bestowed on her by Emperor Tarkhana.

Khorshid beckoned to them. “Come forward, and fear not.”

They obeyed, and knelt before Khorshid. Without warning the other Salamandra encircled them, the men on Bessa’s left and the women on Edana’s right, and joined hands. The Salamandra had cool, dry hands, they discovered.

“We will show you another kind of Sending,” Khorshid said. “Though it may frighten you, know we are here with you, and will let no harm come to you.”

Bessa blinked. Now that he suggested she might be afraid, her heart pounded. “What—”

“Shh,” Zareen Prime hushed her. “Close your eyes, the both of you. Count with us now. One. Two. Three…”

The air changed from arid to brisk, and Bessa felt goose pimples along her arms and neck. Edana’s earrings chimed as a breeze disturbed them.

“Open your eyes now,” Khorshid said.

Before she could obey, Bessa heard Edana gasp. She steeled herself, and slowly opened her eyes.

“Oh!” she cried.

The garden had vanished. Instead they stood now in a stark white pavilion surrounding a pool of quicksilver, whose mirror-like surface showed their reflections with perfect clarity…

… as well as revealing the two silvery moons shining down on them.

Immediately she swung her gaze skyward.

Two moons illuminated the night sky, one at the zenith and the other a shade below it. Alien stars twinkled overhead.

“Where is our moon?” Bessa breathed.

A blue marble with white clouds had always graced the night sky. Equal parts wonder and terror fought it out inside her, and wonder won out: this was something to write about! She turned around, taking in her surroundings. The Fire Lords were standing inside a ring of twenty-four white standing stones.

Studying the stones, twenty-four became twelve, as she realized two stones each supported a lintel. The lintels of each pair jutted out to join with the lintels of the neighboring pair of stones, forming a complete circle. In each lintel strange glyphs glowed silver in the moonlight.

Twelve pairs. Did the glyphs represent a zodiac?

Again she looked up at the alien sky. In vain she searched for the Guiding Star, but found only a void in the darkness where it ought to be.

“Where are we?” Edana’s tone was quiet, with an edge.

“In Rasena Valentis you would say we are in an oraculum. An open-air oraculum,” Khorshid answered. “But your real question—you are in our world. Our homeworld, before the Exodus.”

By the gods!

“We were told the dryads and sea dragons guard against invaders,” Edana said slowly. “So did they invite you in?”

“Not at all. True to their purpose, when they perceived our invasion they acted. Within a year of our arrival—four thousand years ago—the dryads began what some call the Dryad-Salamandra Wars. Others call it the War of Fire, Rain, and Thunder. But you wonder why we came, don’t you?” Khorshid asked. He pointed one long forefinger toward the pool, calling their attention to it.

The waters frothed. Within three heartbeats the surface stilled, and a scene unfolded.

A Salamandran man stood on a dark plain, armored in an orichalcum cuirass and a leather helmet trimmed in orichalcum. The helmet made allowance for his spikes, which he’d painted in swirls of white.

He was not alone.

Shadows surrounded him—or so it seemed. Then clouds passed by, allowing the light of the twin moons to clarify the situation .

“Giants,” Edana whispered.

Six giants hemmed in the soldier, trapping him in their midst.

“They came to our world long ago,” Khorshid confirmed. “From nothing they came. To nothing they went, when they perished. They left only a trail of our dead.”

“Four thousand years ago?” Edana said.

“The Long War,” Bessa intoned.

“A war we lost. A world we lost,” Khorshid mourned. “And the bitterness of it all, the agony of it all, is that our defeat did not come through lack of might. It came through lack of character.”

Bessa fastened her gaze on the lone officer. “How many worlds are there? Have the others fallen?”

“This answer was not known to our elders, and so it is not known to us. They ran. From their duty. From their purpose, to protect our world. From even the keeping of the memories, and because they chose not to remember, there is much I cannot say.”

From their purpose.

Edana’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you belong to? The dryads claim the Huntress, and the sea dragons the Sea Lord. And you?”

Zareen Prime stepped forward. “We come in pairs, mortal one: we belong to neither the Sea Lord nor the Huntress, nor the Restorer. No, not even the Reaper.”

“What do you mean, you come in pairs?” Bessa asked.

“Just as humans do,” Zareen Prime answered patiently.

What did that mean? Wait—dryads and naiads were all female, and the sea dragons were all male. But the khrestai were either male or female …

“So you marry and have children? What is the significance?” Edana asked.

“Each world has guardians, if your world and ours is anything to go by,” Khorshid explained. “Guardians are the ones you call the Children. As guardians they are singular in purpose. Dryad lawyers, naiad playwrights, sea dragon carpenters—such as these do not exist. Family is limited to sisters or brothers, who share as mother the same goddess, or as father the same god. They marry not, nor bear or sire children. On occasion they may become entangled with a mortal, and have a half-blood child. Naiads may do that, sometimes—they have a lesser burden. You humans are allowed other choices, as are we Salamandra.”

“But you’re immortal. As are the Ta-Setians and the khrestai,” Edana pointed out.

Khorshid was not done surprising them. “In order of battle we are the reserves. The Ta-Setians for your world, as we were for ours. Khrestai serve only the guardians, and so they do not live amongst you as the Ta-Setians might.”

Bessa pondered this. What she knew of the legions told her the reserves came at the end of battle formations: the Salamandra could not have been alone on their world. “Were the giants the guardians on your world? Who do they belong to? Lady Nensela suggested the Reaper?”

A look passed between the Salamandra. As one they turned to Khorshid, who squared his shoulders and answered.

“We fear they may have been the guardians. We know not their progenitors. Four thousand years. Instead of progressing we have spent generation upon generation trying to correct the mistakes of our ancestors, to uncover what they suppressed in their shame.”

Edana arched an eyebrow. “So you are not a race of immortals?”

They caught her meaning.

“That generation of elders was punished: the blessing of immortality was withdrawn from them. Ash and dust is all they are now,” said another of the Salamandra.

“That is not why we brought you here; however. Observe,” Zareen Prime commanded.

They looked to the pool again.

The scene changed. Now an army of Salamandra battled an army of giants. The giants towered over the Salamandra, but the fight was not might against might. Certain giants wielded staves which opened a vortex. Everything in the path of the vortex vanished from sight. Escape was impossible, but the Salamandra astonished the onlookers by not even attempting to.

Wherever two Salamandra clustered they stood back to back and surrounded themselves with a glittering silver shield. The shield repulsed the vortex, reverberating onto the giants. In short order the giants broke off the vortex attacks, and resorted to lightning. Unlike the First Battle of Red pointe, they used their staves instead of the lightweight thunder maces.

The Salamandra set the plains ablaze, turning the grassland to a fiery lake, just as Lady Aelia had done on the beach at Red Pointe. And just as at Red Pointe, the Salamandra discovered the cost of killing many giants at once. But instead of a draconic lion creature, the giants coalesced into more straightforward dragons. In this form they withstood the fire of the Salamandra.

And swallowed them whole.

The pool rippled, obliterating the scene.

For several heartbeats all was silent as the Rasena Valentian women digested what they’d seen.

“What is the threshold?” Edana asked at last. “Lady Aelia liquefied the sand at Red Pointe, and the giants she slew perished, but we were able to stop them from regenerating. There were only fifty of them or so. But when Pegasus Prime Roswald and the wingmen killed a hundred giants, they turned into a colossal lion-dragon-man.”

In answer, the pool rippled again. Instead of a battlefield the scene was a temple. Robed Salamandra were hurriedly packing scrolls into trunks, an air of desperation about them. One of them seemed oblivious to the frenetic activity, intent on his own mission. He carried an ornate box in his hands, and strode into a room.

The robed man locked the door. Armored soldiers were waiting for him in the room. The robed Salamandran addressed them. To their astonishment, Bessa and Edana understood every word he was saying, though they knew he was using a different language.

One hundred plus fifty.

One hundred and fifty giants were the minimal needed for the giants to coalesce together. The creature they turned into grew in proportion to their number.

“So if we fight them,” Edana mused, “we must divide them by no more than that number. How did you come here? Is that how the giants are coming here?”

The scene changed again. This time it showed them a circle of standing stones like the one they stood in, except between each pair of columns were swirls of copper and verdigris clouds. The clouds swirled open, revealing a shimmering green sky, edged with bands of red and violet. Salamandra crowded the circle, but moved through the portals in an orderly fashion. The scene shifted once more, to show one massive gate inside a cavern.

“They went through a realm gate, what we call the world Gates. Such a Gate was once here in the wastes between Anshan and Xia. It is gone now, lost in one of the Cataclysms,” Khorshid said. “But it is clear there is another.”

“Another gate?” Bessa managed. “So Lady Nensela was right about that.” Lorekeepers spoke of Seven Gates, but apparently there were more …

The ominous reference Zareen Prime used to describe Edana and Bessa would not leave Edana’s mind. Warily, she eyed the Salamandra woman and asked, “You said we are harbingers of the end. Define what you mean by that, please.”

Khorshid answered, “Our prophets foretold this day, as we said. That in this time, we will be judged again. If we are found wanting we will perish utterly. And if we are not, then Yadon will determine our fate, and set a new task upon us. But that matter concerns only us. You have come for your own concerns, yes?”

Shocked, Edana attempted to grapple with the gravity of his statement. Contemplating the giants and their ambition to destroy the world was one matter. One could strategize and come up with plans upon plans. Contemplating oncoming divine judgment was another matter entirely, against which no battle could be fought.

“Mercy and favor to you,” Edana said at last. “For our part, we seek help fighting the giants and the Erebossi who aid them. Is this the task you failed at? In four thousand years I trust you’ve figured out how to succeed this time?” Voice laced with asperity, Edana found she was clenching her fists. Once, twice, she tried to relax. Finally she resorted to folding her arms, but the tension in her body would not leave her.

The Aeternity War. This was the name Halie gave to their fight. War. Which meant multiple battles and skirmishes, setbacks and victories. In this war at least one major battle resulted in defeat: an entire world lost.

I’m scared I’m walking on the edge of a cliff. One wrong step, and down I fall, Bessa had said once.

Thousands of years ago the world of the Salamandra had fallen to the giants. In the millennia since, how many more worlds were lost? Was Thuraia the last one?

Erebossa’s forces had knocked the sea dragons back on their heels, the naiad springs were under attack, and Ziri said something was afoot with the dryads.

And Halie is here.

At long last she must grapple with the implications of that fact: Halie, a direct child of the Sea Lord, imbued with His powers, had come to Thuraia by His will. That had to mean something. Perhaps Thuraia was a last stand?

“We have redeemed our time, young one,” Zareen Prime replied. “When the prophecy waxes full we will lay aside our immortality for you. We know you have a shadow key. It is safe to show us here.”

Shadow key? Right, the keystone, which the sorceress Cingetissa declared led to another realm. Murena’s lair?

Edana removed it from her bag. Khorshid came to her and took it.

“Na’ertum,” he uttered. “With this blessing I have turned the eye of the abyssal king away from you. When you go to his realm, he will be blind to you. You and your companion must both touch this stone when the time comes.”

He returned the keystone to her, and stepped back. He began to speak again, and spread his arms in a gesture encompassing the circle. “In the days when our elders still trod on this ground, they were betrayed. I said weakness of will lost us this world, but we might have survived if it were not for those who allied themselves with the children of the Abyssal Serpent. The elders refused to slay the betrayers, refused to fight them. It went against our laws, to slay our own, and they treasured obedience to that law above their duty and our survival.”

“We have dealt with our own betrayers,” Bessa said. “If there are more, we will deal with them, too. Is there nothing else you can tell us? Why are Erebossi helping the giants to destroy us? The giants keep saying they are ‘children,’ and the ‘servants’ will fall. Is it so that the Nasiru are the servants in question?”

The Salamandra reacted.

“There may be hope yet,” Zaran Secundus said. “You have redeemed your time as well, I see. Yes, the Nasiru serve. In our lore they are not truly gods; they are created beings who are guardians of the created: You. Us.”

Bessa glanced at Edana, but Edana was not surprised. What Zaran Secundus said aligned with the Scrolls of Truth.

“Indeed we have redeemed our time. One thousand days until the summer solstice eclipse,” Edana replied. “From the night of Lady Nensela’s vision, which she shared with four other prophets at the time of the harvest equinox two years ago. Six months are all we have left in the countdown.”

“The timeline matches ancient prophecies given by our own seers,” Zareen Prime noted.

“We cannot waste any time,” Khorshid said. “The keystone you have more than likely belongs to a high-ranking abyssal. A king, as sorcerers would address them when making petitions. Many lesser abyssals will be at his disposal.”

“Yes, five of them, and we’ve already disposed of them. Well, the five we knew about,” Edana said. “It turns out there was a sixth we didn’t.”

“On this side of the Shadow Gates. Now note well: Elamis is built as a ziggurat. A temple. But in this case it is a particular kind of temple, one specifically dedicated to the dead. A nekromanteion, as the Pelasgians say. Or a shadow gate. But it is guarded by the city’s king, and to get to him, you will need another kind of key,” said Khorshid.

“Is your—protector?—to be trusted?” Bess asked. “He seems intent on keeping away outsiders.”

Khorshid made a deep, sibilant noise. A word in Rhaxitl? But aloud he spoke Rasenan, saying, “He is not our protector. Though we obey the laws of this land, we are not of it. As for you, he is specifically keeping you away. His seers have warned him he will meet his doom at the hands of three women: two will be in league together. Two from the Far West, one loyal to the Sower, one to the Reaper. The third will hail from the Far East, and will be loyal to the Huntress. Search her out if you will take him down.”

There was more. The Salamandra presented them with a pouch of crystals. Months ago they used the crystals to capture the light of the sun at sunset, at the time of the autumn equinox.

“Tomorrow night is the winter solstice,” Zareen Prime said. “The shadow forces will be ascendant. When the solstice moon reaches its zenith, capture its light with these crystals. On the vernal equinox you will capture the light of the sun at dawn. And on the resurrection solstice, the light will reign. Harvest the light of the sun when it reaches its zenith. On each occasion you will use the ritual we will teach to you. Do as instructed, and you will have the means to survive Murena’s lair.”

“Wait—isn’t the battle going to start at dawn? The eclipse—” Bessa protested.

“Will come in its time, but its time is not yours,” Zareen Prime declared. “Gird yourself: the lair awaits you.”

“Amyntas save us,” Bessa prayed.

“May He save you indeed, sweet mortals. But first you must kill the satrap,” Khorshid reminded them. “Make haste to find the huntress.”

They walked back from the fire temple through Ember Square. Bessa mechanically put one foot in front of the other, but took in no awareness of where she was going. So she didn’t realize they were heading further up until she was confronted with the reflection of the sun on the lake. The lake was the same purple as the saffron crocuses gracing the viridarium of the Fire Lords.

“What shall it be, Bessa?” Edana asked, her voice so low that Bess was forced out of her reverie to listen. “They said we have two choices to get into the palace. What shall we choose?”

“Choose?” Bessa said dully. She turned away from the lake, and for the first time realized they were in a park. Golden chrysanthemums lined the stone path where they’d walked. Tamarisk trees swayed in the breeze.

Her mind felt curiously empty. Only one thought dominated: a world had fallen.

An entire world, and its people, had fallen to the giants.

“The Salamandra were betrayed by their own, Edana. Just as we were betrayed.”

“But we stopped our traitors. We’ve hunted them down. And now—”

“We had Lady Nensela,” Bessa snapped. “Had Lady Nensela. Did you hear the Fire Lords? They kept to their old ways, and lost.”

In contrast to Lady Nensela.

Immortal and wise, she of many plans, and lost now to them. In her mind’s eye, Bessa saw the seer, regal and commanding at her round table as she had been on the day Bessa met her.

“Lady Nensela is the reason we got this far. You know it, Edana. She got us here, and now she’s gone. And now it’s you and me, and we are”—a laugh bubbled up in her throat— “ungifted. I am no strategist—”

“Stop,” Edana snapped. She abruptly turned away, focusing on the lake.

But Bessa was undaunted. “The chosen army of the gods failed in their mission. And we’re supposed to do better?”

“They didn’t want to win,” Edana insisted. “We will not fail, Bessa. Not me, not you, not Senet, or Ziri. Or, Great Sower help her, Lady Nensela. Stop. We don’t have time. You helped me kill the duke, and now you will help me kill a satrap.”

“Oh? And a fellshade king, too, I suppose? This is a land we do not know. I knew how to rile up the people to support destroying our traitors, how do I convince a people who hate outsiders that they should listen to us—we, the ungifted—and let us kill their leader?”

“So don’t talk,” Edana said. She whirled back to face Bessa. “Let us find the huntress. Perhaps she will have a way to dispatch the ruler.”

“They turned Murena’s eyes from us,” Bessa said. “But it’s too late. Lady Nensela is gone, and we do not have her visions, or wisdom, or her strategy, and apparently, all of those factors made the difference between us and the Salamandra. We have only each other.”

Edana held up a finger. “And the Star Dragons”—another finger—“plus your Lysander”—three fingers now—“and also the emperor. Do you not remember a battlefield of dead enemies and a king of Erebossa we sent running? Do you not remember the part you played in their demise? Now is not the time for despair. Now is the time to collect another head, Siluran.”

Frustrated, Bessa audibly exhaled. For once, she did not have the words. How could she explain that here and now it mattered they were on their own? For the first time she was working without an aegis to shield her: back home, she followed Grandmother’s lead. Aurelia Cunovendi was a businesswoman to be reckoned with, and her wisdom and experience served as Bessa’s Guide Star.

Against the giants she followed Lady Nensela’s lead, for Lady Nensela was unquestionably the leader and in command. Centuries of navigating through intrigues and danger made her a formidable strategist, and Bessa could take comfort of the wisdom of any advice she asked of the seer.

A wisdom much greater than her own.

Of course, there was also Ziri to look to; the master arcanus had kept everyone else alive so far. He, Lady Nensela, Grandmother, all of them had experience she drew upon. Experience, and insights gleaned from that experience. Insights she didn’t begin to match.

She tallied her lacks: Grandmother would have kept a better watch over the vineyard, but for better—no truly, for worse—she had left the matter in Bessa’s hands, and it cost them their vinedressers and harvest.

Naively, foolishly, Bessa had thought she could corner the duke without casualty to anyone else, but Lady Nensela would have known better. She and Ziri had maneuvered matters to keep Brison’s theater group safe, even from Justin Kellis, an Erebossan disguised as a librarian. Whereas with Bessa, an entire fortress was destroyed.

Being wiser, Lady Nensela—and Edana, too—prevailed against her folly when she argued to reveal the threat of the Abyssals Five to the theater group. They pointed out she couldn’t convince the Honey Cakes of the danger while posing as a mere playwright, and she couldn’t reveal her true identity without endangering them.

In the past week alone she imagined coming to a strange city, in a strange land just as herself, and warn the inhabitants as she’d warned the Silurans. A land where, apparently, there was no love lost between its leader and her emperor, a city where mundane outsiders like herself were not even welcome. And Ziri had known better, as Lysander had, too.

Untutored and ignorant, she had no time to fill the gaps in her education.

No time at all.

Now in Elamis, she and Edana were without a Guide Star. Of the two of them, Bessa would not put faith in her own judgment, nor her plans, and she felt the weight of responsibility as if the entire world and the heavens had been set upon her shoulders.

She thought back to the night the giants attacked her vineyard. Of her fear she would be of no use to Edana’s mission, and now, at last—now at last they would find out. And the stakes were too high.

In a small voice Bessa said, “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Bessa stared at her sandals. “I’m all you’ve got, and it’s not enough. I’m sorry.”

“Oh for—!” Edana hooked an index finger under Bess’s chin and lifted, forcing Bess to meet her eyes. Her sea green eyes flashed, as when they were children and Edana was outraged about something.

“Bessa.”

It came out harsh, and Bessa’s heart skipped a beat. Edana’s jaw worked for a moment, then her lips thinned and she said,

“You were always the kind and gentle one. And now I’ve broken you, haven’t I? There’s blood on your hands now, and it would not be so if I hadn’t brought you with me. You said you didn’t trust decisions made out of fear, and you were right. If I hadn’t—”

Horror washed over Bessa as Edana’s words sank in. Her blood surged in her veins as she answered,

“What? Wait. Broke me? Gentle I am, weak I am not. I sought the duke’s death and rejoiced when I obtained it, and regret neither haunts me nor occurs to me. I would kill anyone who threatened my family, and you are my family. So I came with you. It’s as simple as that.”

Edana’s gaze did not waver.

Taking a deep breath Bessa said, “It is also simple that I am not competent. Not at this. I’ve gotten people killed—”

“So has the emperor,” Edana cut in. “He did not reform the army enough, which allowed Gagnon and Archelaos to bend its weaknesses to their will. So did Ziri, as he sent Star Dragons to their deaths in order to investigate the giants. So did Lysander, because he did not anticipate Archelaos usurping Quarto. Not everyone returns alive from a battle. And Lady Nensela carried the grief of losing her husband and daughter, if you will remember.”

“But the Salamandra—”

“Are not infallible, so they are not better than us and there’s no point in comparing ourselves against them. My father’s people would not be surprised; our Scrolls of Truth show over and over that not everyone does as they should when they should. Even those handpicked by the Sower are not flawless and unfailing. Why dash yourself against that rock?”

Bessa broke free and began to pace, skirting the edge of the lake. The watchman’s warning came back to her and stepped back, in case she should attract the dragon residing in its depths. Why did the Elamisi decide to coexist with the creature?

“If I erred at home, Grandmother guided me to find where I went wrong in my reasonings. She could take me off assignments, which never happened because I was determined not to let her down. But what was at stake other than my pride, my reputation, and perhaps her reputation and profits if I tumbled us into quicksand? What’s at stake if I misstep here? Oh right, we get to live in a world of giants and Erebossi who want us all dead. Do you know of any worlds we can run to?”

“And to whom would you give your assignment?” Edana asked. She lowered herself onto the grass and folded her legs, then fanned skirts about her, covering her feet.

Bessa gaped at her.

“What? I just wondered. You designed a test to help me choose my secretary. What test would you design to find someone who can help me save the world?”

“I…what game is this? Weren’t you listening? Have I not made it plain I would choose Lady Nensela? She’s lost to us, that’s the point. And Ziri—”

“But they won’t suffice,” Edana pointed out. “For they failed your first criteria: they’re fallible. They’ve lost lives. Lady Nensela said she had to learn how to influence people, which implied she failed at least once, at a time when it mattered. So. Who else is there?”

A coldness washed over Bessa. Her blood slowed as the enormity of Edana’s words sank in. She was at war with herself. Her family flashed before her eyes.

Good hunting, my granddaughter. This from Grandfather Pendry, who gave her Sorcha’s Tear because he had confidence in her ability to hunt and destroy their enemies. Would he say differently if he knew what she knew about them?

Asking was impossible right now. But in her upbringing he taught her no Pendry ever shirked their duty or ran from a fight. Grandmother Aurelia would agree she had never taught Bess to flinch or shrink from her responsibilities. All of her grandparents carefully brought her up to not only execute her duties, but to excel in executing them, to their exacting and purposeful standards. Their faith in her was not based on their own delusions; she could not disregard it.

More also, Lady Nensela had thanked Edana for bringing her in. She had not judged Bessa as useless.

So.

Bessa walked back to Edana, and sat across from her, matching her position.

Edana said, “In the Scrolls of Truth, the Sower often chooses someone to do His bidding. Not because they are perfect. Not because they are all wise, for He doesn’t think we can ever be all wise all the time. He asks that we seek wisdom instead, and He forgives us when we fail in our striving. No, the people He chooses are chosen because they act. When a thing needs doing and He asks someone to do it, they act. When your family was attacked, you acted. When you discovered your whole country was threatened, you acted. When you saw the empire was under threat, you acted. And when you learned the whole of the world in danger, you acted. That is half of the Sower’s criteria right there.”

“What is the other half?” Bessa asked.

Edana’s lips quirked. “Keeping faith with Him, of course. If you trust in Him, you will carry out the tasks He asks of you. So it all circles back to the doing. I believe He makes a path for those who do His bidding, but they must dare to do what’s required of them, and trust in Him all the while.”

Bessa cocked her head, remembering suddenly what Edana had said to her when they’d left the Rhabdomachaeum and Bessa was fretting about the course they were on.

Keep to the mission and let everything flow from there.

Ah. What she had taken for rote reassurance was in fact Edana’s sincere belief as a devotee of the Sower. Well. Damn.

“Where might we find the huntress?”

“Thank the Sower.” Edana let out an exaggerated exhale. “How do you do this pitter-patter of maternal-soothing? It sits unnaturally on me. My dear, I shall leave this role to you from now on.”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Bessa laughed. “You have other strengths, my friend.”

Edana sobered. She brought out one of her Huntress knives and set it between them. “Our fathers were blood bonded. Let us be so now in this.”

“To what end? Our fathers forged their bond at the dawn of their acquaintance, and built their friendship from there. From birth we have been sisters. That we have different parents is but a trivial detail.”

“All the same, it weighs on me. I want this for us. Will you do this?”

Bessa picked up the knife. Before she could lose her nerve, she pressed it into her palm and slashed. Pain lanced through her, from her throbbing hand to her belly, and she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. She handed the knife to Edana, who followed suit. Wincing, Edana cradled her hand and took shallow breaths. After a moment she held out her hand. Bloodied palm met bloodied palm, and their clasp held tight.

Aloud they said, “Let this day bear witness that Elisabet Bessa Philomelos and Edana Shifra Nuriel bind their fates together, in life and in death, that no matter what should come to pass, one will not forsake the other.”

This time, neither woman held back her tears.