The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

Chapter XXIII

A Burden Laid Down, and a Burden Lifted Up

In which a dryad reveals secrets, both fair and foul

Edana sat up straighter, startled. From her place on a blue floral rug she had kept watch on the dryad, whom she’d designated the most dangerous person in the room. Never having seen one, she had no idea how to ‘read’ them, but this one before her now behaved as if she were in a waking dream.

The dryad’s movements had been slow, and her pale peridot eyes were glassy as she stared vacantly into the distance. The nymph made no attempt to speak to them; once she gave the orders for the soldiers to kill the tower people she had stopped talking altogether.

Inside the tower, the soldiers had herded them to the apparent office of the elder soldier. Grey flecks salted his black hair, revealed when he took off his conical helmet and set it on his desk. Compared to the others he wore the fanciest armor, with gold-plated greaves and vambraces, and a cuirass embossed with a rampant manticore. And at his waist, a fancy red silk sash fringed with gold.

The elder officer seemed to address the dryad, saying something in Anshani and pointing to a leather chair in the corner of his office. But she drifted past it and gracefully sank to the wooden floor instead. There she sat, with her knees drawn up to her chin. To Edana and Bessa he indicated the luxuriant rug a few feet from the nymph. Edana had settled on her knees, a position she could rise quickly enough from if she needed to.

However, the soldiers acted jumpy and nervous, pacing about the room in the case of the younger man. Or rifling endlessly through the desk, in the case of the senior man. Which made sense; they ought to be afraid, so Edana did not concern herself over them. If they feared crossing a dryad, and the supposed companions of a dryad, then they were ordinary men who lacked the power or will to harm her and Bessa.

Thus, she took the time to study the mysterious dryad. Who did not look like a walking tree at all, but rather like a woman with fascinating hair which fell about her like a shawl. As a little girl Edana had imagined dryads to have green hair, like tree leaves. But this one’s was parti-colored: snow white streaks threatened to overtake lesser streaks of pale yellow mixed with delicate apple green. More, she gave off the faint aroma of citrus.

Regardless of the noise and chatter of the men, the dryad never looked at them. Until, that is, one of them started edging for the door. At once her gaze sharpened. Without turning her head, her eyes slid in the direction of the door. Did she sense or hear someone approaching? Ignoring the men, Edana focused all of her attention on the door.

Then the young man stepped out …

… and the huntress stepped in.

Edana’s heart leapt. A Ta-Setian huntress! Surely this was she whom the Fire Lords advised them to seek. But the dryad was rising now, and Edana was no longer as sure of how safe she and Bessa would be.

“Stop!” cried the senior officer, in Ta-Setian.

Edana knew just enough of the language to understand when he added, “We mean you no harm.”

The huntress cocked her head, and pointed her second knife at him. He instantly quieted, and kept his hands raised. The younger soldier, the one who’d made the lame attempt to interrogate her and Bessa, began to expire. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Almost absently, the huntress jerked her blade from his heart and let him fall.

“Aunt Nalini,” she said, in oddly accented Pelasgian.

Edana did a double take, and exchanged a glance with Bessa. Maybe it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for a dryad and a huntress to form a bond, but aunt?

The dryad stretched out a hand to the huntress. In two long strides the huntress reached her and embraced her gently in a hug. However, she did not forget the soldier, underscoring her attention by pointing her bloody knife at him from behind the dryad’s back.

“Sweet Alia. Sweet child, I knew you would come,” said the dryad—Nalini— in a voice choked with tears.

The other one what? Silently, Edana tried to work out why the dryad called the huntress, “the other one.” Whoever she was, her presence filled the room. The casual way she conversed with a nymph, and so fearlessly held a senior military officer at bay suggested she may have been the second most dangerous person in the room.

“What have they done to you, Auntie?” the huntress demanded, when Nalini finally released her. “Junius is dead, do you know? Rikka called the flayers, and I’ve captured his men—the ones at home. Are there any enemies left here in the tower?”

Nalini smiled, though her eyes darkened with weariness. “Yes, I sense them. These soldiers held me here for a purpose—” the dryad broke off, and stared at the remaining officer.

“I know about the queen,” the huntress said quietly. “Do you know her name? Did they say?”

But Nalini did not. “I must speak—but not in the presence of—” She swayed on her feet a little, and clasped both hands on the shoulders of the huntress. Again she inclined her head to the soldier.

“I will leave,” he said quickly.

Both Edana and the huntress narrowed their eyes at him. Did he take them for fools? If he left, wouldn’t he summon reinforcements?

In response, the huntress sheathed her clean knife. Wait, was she really going to trust this man? But then, her hand moved to a second sheath, and she brought forth a strange object, one Edana sensed must be a weapon of some sort. A gold dragon hugged the top of a tube of hollow ivory. By the sheen of it she suspected it was dragon ivory, fitting for a huntress.

The huntress gripped the handle of the tube, and touched her thumb to a gold embellishment that projected up. A dragon claw rearing back.

“You work for the Handmaiden,” the huntress accused, her voice as frostbite. “By her command you murdered many innocents. Do not deny it. I only need to leave one of you people alive. You are not that one. Tell me the name of her false goddess if you would live.”

The man dropped to his knees, his greaves cling-clanging against the wooden floor. Profound defeat and sorrow etched themselves all over his face. Then he lowered his head, bowing once to the woman.

“I will pay for my transgressions, huntress. I cannot atone. I cannot help you. Just make it clean.”

Bang!

Edana jumped, clutching her stomach. Bessa shrieked. Down the soldier fell, face forward, concealing the small hole that suddenly appeared in his forehead. Blood pooled out from the hole, spreading on the floor, but stopping before it could reach the boots of the huntress.

In shock and fear Edana stared at the corpse. What sorcery was this?

Like the giants at Red Point and Abris, the huntress killed with a mere sound. A sound which left no obvious means of defense against it. And what was the weapon which issued the sound? Bessa referred to the giants’ lightning weapons as thunder maces. The huntress wielded a different kind of thunder weapon, but it looked nothing at all like a mace. But it did kill as fast as lightning.

Bessa’s shriek drew the attention of the woman. Now she eyed them with interest, but with neither heat nor malice. Nevertheless, Edana shot up to her feet. She gripped Bessa’s uninjured arm and helped her to stand up as well.

“You killed the jackals?” The only emotion in the woman’s voice was curiosity.

To Edana’s relief she sheathed her thunder weapon, then bent over the senior officer. As it turned out, she used his sash to clean her knife.

Edana used the opportunity to weigh her response. From what she heard of either dryads or venatori they held golden eagles sacred, as well as certain types of prey animals. But she’d never heard of them having an affinity for jackals. “A beastmaster set them on us, to kill us. They were possessed by fellshades.”

The huntress looked them up and down, her gaze lingering on their trousers. Apparently amused, she smiled as she slipped her now-clean knife into its scabbard.

“But surely you are hunting fellshades, aren’t you?” she asked. “You used holy salt, after all.”

Bessa spoke at last. “Are you from Lyrcania?”

“I am.”

“Then we need to talk.”

A mix of emotions swirled in Alia’s heart. Giddiness at finding Aunt Nalini, triumph for what she uncovered of her enemies, and intrigue at the strange women held captive alongside Nalini. And now, one of them was promising more information.

However, before she could ask a question, Aunt Nalini said, “Time enough you will have for that,” she said quietly. “Attend to my words. Alia, child, I must rest.”

Alia looked over her aunt once more. No longer did she stand tall and regal. Now she stooped slightly, hugging herself, as if trying to make herself seem small. Dryads needed sunlight for their sustenance, but Aunt Nalini’s parched skin served as testament to her imprisonment in a dark cell. As did her gaunt face and the way she constantly blinked, as if the light hurt her eyes. So frail she seemed! Oh, what did the Handmaiden do to her?

And how might Alia punish her for it?

Revenge could wait. Alia hastened to obey her aunt, dragging a leather chair closer to her. Gently, she encircled Aunt Nalini in her arms and helped her into the chair. Kneeling down, she put herself at eye level with her aunt.

“Auntie. Is there anything I can do for you? Once you’re back in the grove—?”

Aunt Nalini shook her head, cutting her off. “That must never be, child. I am tainted now. To go home is to hasten death to my sisters. Even Rikka, strongest of us all. This is the wish of the bel nakri—a queen of Erebossa. So long has she sought our end, and at last it comes.”

The words landed in Alia’s consciousness like a slap, one so vicious she physically recoiled. Did she hear Aunt Nalini correctly?

“You’re—you’re all dying? My mother, too? All of you?” Her voice shook.

In her mind’s eye she instantly re-lived her childhood. Mother’s loving caresses when Alia was sick or frightened. Aunt Xylia telling her exciting adventure stories while braiding her hair. Aunt Chrysantha teaching her to use a bow. Her mother and her aunts filled her life with so much joy and wisdom. Because of them she belonged somewhere. They were her home. Her family. Her purpose in life.

When she left the grove to investigate the blight, she did so assuming she would find a way to restore the dryads’ powers. Because of course they would not die. Immortals did not die, especially not Mother. Especially not Mother!

“Oh, child. Did you not know?” Aunt Nalini’s gaze softened.

The look told her everything. Denial crumbled in the face of Aunt Nalini’s pity. Rage and despair took its place.

“No! I thought—I thought—can’t I save you?”

“My sisters? Time remains, for you to save them. For me?” The question hung between them, and an awful silence descended in the room.

Ideas, plans jumbled themselves in Alia’s mind as she tried to sort out which plan, which option would result in restoring Aunt Nalini to full health and immortality.

Then she glanced at the satchel on her hip, and remembered suddenly the silver vial she kept in it. With shaking hands she took out the vial and presented it to Aunt Nalini.

“This is the ichor of the ‘bel nakri’ in question. Is this what the sorcerers used to poison your groves? Did the Handmaiden poison you with this?”

Aunt Nalini grimaced and shrank away from the vial. Alia immediately put it away.

“The one you call ‘Handmaiden’ is only a toy, for she is manipulated like the toys I made for you in your sapling time. She is herself a corruption, for she has been turned against her true purpose. When you find her, she is not yours to kill. That is not your task, child of my sister.”

“Why not?” Hatred vibrated in her voice. “For what she did to you—”

“This is the will of my Mother!” Raising her voice seemed to cost Aunt Nalini her strength, for she sank deeper into her chair. Closing her eyes she added, “I go to Her side. This night, sweet one, I go to Her side. Now attend, as my sister taught you. You were a good sapling, and it has brought me joy to know you.”

Alia clasped her hands over Aunt Nalini’s. So cold her aunt felt. As tenderly as she could, Alia began to chafe her aunt’s hand, trying to impart her own warmth to her. But then Aunt Nalini placed her free hand atop Alia’s. Slowly she opened her eyes, and fastened them on upon her.

“You protect. That is your purpose,” Aunt Nalini began. With a lift of her chin she indicated the foreigner with bright copper hair and the injured arm. “That one sows and reaps, not only of the soil but of words and deeds. And this one”—she turned to face the foreigner with cinnabar hair and daggers identical to Alia’s—“this one hears the words of the Great One, the Sower. But the Handmaiden is corrupted: she takes. She destroys. She brings only death and decay. That is not her purpose. Turn her back to her purpose, and you will save my sisters.”

“Are you saying she’s an evil Restorite? Then why not attack the springs of the naiads?”

“Because someone else already has, if not her,” said the woman with cinnabar hair. “In Rasena Valentis.”

Rasena Valentis? Confirmation yet again of the vast scope of the quest before her. Right now she didn't care. Right now she needed to know how to heal Aunt Nalini and her aunts, and nothing else mattered besides that. Nevertheless, Alia forced herself to take in the strange report, of naiad springs diminishing in power.

“Alright, if a Restorite can help, why not let me fetch you one? Why the Handmaiden?” Though she addressed her aunt, the one with cinnabar-hair answered her.

“Because there’s a Presence, an interceptor, cutting off the sorcerers from the spirits. They may not have the power any longer to undo whatever this ‘handmaiden’ did to the groves. We wondered if the daughters of the Huntress would be attacked. And now we know. And apparently there is an eighth fellshade we did not know about.”

Quick as a bolt of lightning, Alia rose up. “Who are you? Who is this we? And what made you think the dryads would be under attack? Are you also hunting the queen? There are seven more fellshades involved?”

“That’s why we need to talk to you,” said the one with copper hair. “I’m Bessa, and she’s Edana. And you have to be the Ta-Setian huntress we were told to find. The Fire Lords in this city will vouch for us. The Fire Lords are the priest-governors of the Salamandra, if you did not know, huntress.”

The claim now, of a prophecy involving three women destroying Protector Amavand, made much more sense now. The only sliver of joy she could extract at this moment, because the man deserved everything he had coming to him.

“I know of them. And I am Alia Ironwing.”

With her hand still entwined with Aunt Nalini’s, she could feel her aunt’s strength ebbing. And Auntie wasn’t fighting it. How much did she suffer, to want death? To prefer it? Part of Alia desperately wanted to prolong her aunt’s presence as long as possible. And the other part of herself smote her conscience.

Let her go. Do not be selfish.

For several heartbeats Alia fought to control her grief. After a while she managed, “Do you have more to tell me?”

Aunt Nalini exhaled, then said, “A favor to ask. They sent my seed to the Handmaiden. My captors brought it here, so I could survive the journey, now that the sorcerers have poisoned our grove. I sought to reclaim it, and for this purpose I escaped. My seed is the only part of me that is still pure. On this night of the solstice I sought to use the weakened boundary between Thuraia and Erebossa to travel to the palace. But I am too weak. And so I am captive again, as are these women. Yet, not in vain am I here, and it is this thought that gives me peace.”

Bessa ventured to ask, “Were you going to plant your seed in the park?”

“No, servant of the Reaper. I would not bear for a part of myself to take root in this cursed soil. With our seed, enemies can do more than hold us captive. They can plant that seed, and how it will grow—the sapling will not become as I and my sisters. She will be twisted, stunted, and defiled, made as the Erebossi will her to be.”

Lore her mother and aunts taught her came to Alia then. Horror bloomed anew within her as she realized what her aunt was hinting at. But she could not bring herself to speak her suspicions aloud.

“Twisted and defiled…your sapling will become one of the nymphai infernales?” Bessa asked, unwittingly making Alia wince.

In lessons on the Age of Iniquity, Mother told her of the nymphai infernales. They looked like women, but with poisonous prehensile vines in place of hair. Vines which they used to capture victims and suck the youth out of their bodies, leaving behind withered husks. The creatures were a mockery of true dryads in every way: predators rather than protectors; destroyers rather than nurturers of life.

“As you say, servant of the Reaper. As you say. It is they who poison the groves. That is why we are taken captive. For our seeds, as well as the sacrifice of our bodies.”

Alia’s heart sank as she realized the implications of what Aunt Nalini was telling her. Was there no hope left to her? No chance at all for any of the aunts to return home again?

“Auntie,” she faltered. “Auntie, what can I do to change them back?”

“Send them to our Mother. If you love them, love who they were and do not spare them. Swear it, Alia.”

Shocked, she gaped at her aunt. Did she hear what she thought she heard? But she must have, for Auntie’s eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“Swear it, Alia.”

But Alia could not force herself to speak the words. All of her adulthood she spent searching out her missing aunts. Every scenario of success involved rescuing them and bringing them home. When she allowed herself to consider failure, it simply meant a failure to find them. To take their lives? Kill the daughters of the Huntress? No such thought had ever entered her mind.

Beseechingly she stared at her aunt. Who returned her stare with one of compassion. And determination. Some of Aunt Nalini’s old steel reasserted herself in the set of her jaw, and Alia knew then the conviction behind her words.

“I swear it, Auntie. I … I will slay them.”

“Some have died already, to escape the evil done to them. They call to me, from our divine mother’s side. They speak to me of a ruler named Amavand and his servants. Mother requires their lives, and will deliver them into your hands. From here, I can do nothing more to help you. Now. It is time. Let me go.”

“Wait—!” Alia clasped Aunt Nalini’s hand tightly, as if she could stop her death simply by taking hold of her. “I must ask, I must know. Please, Aunt Nalini, please tell me: why was I kept so long? Who else was with me when you found me?”

“Ah.” Aunt Nalini’s smile was sweet with reminiscence. “You misunderstand, little one, the meaning of your name. In my sapling days, when I walked by my Mother’s side, She brought word to us from the Seeker. We would be in great peril one day, a greater peril than any we ever faced before. There would be two born in this age who would save us. We would hear of one, but the other we would hold in our arms. You are that other. Before you drew breath, your mother and father dedicated you to the Huntress, in exchange for Her blessing. By Her will they gave you to us. I pray my Mother judges that we did well by you.”

“You have,” Alia said fiercely, and it was her turn to blink back tears. “I love you.”

Gathering her strength, Aunt Nalini rose from her chair. Her eyes had lost their dreaminess. Now she appeared fully alert. With incredible strength she embraced Alia in a bear hug.

“I will be with you in every caress of every breeze, in every perfume of every flower, in every song in every brook, in every drop of every rainfall. May you walk always with my Mother, dear one.”

Bright light blinded her. It was hot as well as brilliant, as if a star had descended. The heat faded quickly, but it took several heartbeats for Alia to regain her sight.

Only three of them left in the room.

A room which held no sign of Auntie; gone now as if she had never been.

Grief-stricken, Alia stood motionless. Cold sorrow washed over her, and she hugged herself. And then, at once, she felt a presence hovering near. An unexpected surge of warmth and affection, enveloping her like an embrace. She tilted up her face, and met with a spectral caress. The last remnant of Aunt Nalini’s love.

Though Alia closed her eyes it did not keep her tears from falling.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Edana said sometime later. For Alia’s sake she kept her tone gentle. So far no footsteps sounded to indicate anyone coming to check on them, but prudence dictated quietness regardless.

The huntress opened her eyes and wiped her tears. “I must reload. Tell me what you know,” she said. Her voice was husky, but otherwise steady.

Edana started to speak, then stopped when Alia again removed the thunder weapon from its sheath. Then she rummaged through her satchel, and began taking out strange items. One was a tube containing a long metal stick. The other was a vial which turned out to contain a black powder. She began pouring the vial into the tube of her thunder weapon.

“What is this weapon?” Edana asked. “We call the giants’ weapons thunder maces, though they shoot lightning. It is because of the sound they make when they do it.”

Startled, Alia looked at her as if she had two heads. “Giants?”

“Have they attacked Lyrcania yet?” Bessa asked.

“Were they supposed to?”

Bessa caught Edana’s eye. At Edana’s gesture, Bessa took the floor and began to explain. First beginning with Lady Nensela’s vision then expanding to the giants’ attack on her vineyard, then on to the First Battle of Red Pointe. Through all of this Alia offered not a single comment.

When Bessa came to their learning of Murena and the Five, Alia reacted.

“Murena! The eel.”

“So you know of him?” Bessa asked.

By now Alia had finished a complicated ritual with the mysterious weapon, and was putting away the implements.

“I know nothing of your Murena, except for what I overheard when a fellshade spoke of him during the night the sky turned green.”

“We call it the Night of the Burning Sky,” Edana said.

“Works for me,” Alia said dryly, sheathing her weapon again. “A small fellshade named Rihat said Murena was doing battle in the West, and that he would take down an enemy of the Erebossan queens. Did that happen? Do you know?”

A wave of pain came over Edana then. She is not dead. Not yet. She is not past yet. Oh, Great Speaker, let it never be so.

“Lady Nensela of Ta-Seti,” Bessa answered for her. “He tried to take her. Listen, there’s more to tell you, but there’s still a beastmaster here. The one who summoned the jackals and owls. We saw him go in, but he didn’t come out of the tower when the others did. He was wounded. Edana cut off three of his fingers, and I slashed his back.”

“I would take a long nap in his place,” Alia said grimly. “Let us assume he will be vulnerable. How did you get down here? I fell through a trap door.”

Bessa’s eyes lit up. “That only happens in stories! We took some stairs; nothing nearly so exciting.”

“Lead the way—what are you doing?” She addressed Edana, who had bent to remove a signet ring from the lead soldier.

“In case we find a seer later. We can use this.” Edana held up the ring, then knotted it into the sash at her waist.

“Like Lady Nensela did,” Bessa said, nodding sagely. “Damya, too. If only—let’s go.”

Edana smiled mirthlessly. “If only. For now, this ring may also guarantee our safety in these halls, if it is attuned to any doors or wards.”

“Ah,” Alia said, nodding in understanding. “Then get the other man’s, too. We can’t be too careful.”

Edana did so. Once assured they needed nothing else from the dead they set out. In the dark corridor Alia promptly awed them by tapping a stick against the wall, causing a small light to appear at the tip. Though small, the light was powerful enough to illuminate the passage, allowing them to see further down the hall.

Silence in the hall made Edana cringe at the sound of their footsteps. At least neither she nor Bessa wore hobnailed shoes, so their steps were softer than they might have been otherwise. Alia’s boots intrigued her, for they were taller than any boots she’d ever seen. And of a finer grade of leather, too.

When they came to a set of stairs, Alia took the lead. This time she snuffed out the light wand, and they made their way in darkness.

The door swung open easily enough. Men lay sprawled out on a long wooden table, an assortment of jugs and cups before them. Their snores told the tale.

Alia ignored them, and continued on. Soon enough they came to a second set of stairs. Thus they found the beastmaster on the third floor. The sorcerer was fast asleep, just as Alia had assumed he would be. The scents in the room told them his sleep came courtesy of poppy juice.

“Let’s see if there’s anything we can use to get to the palace,” Alia suggested.

“To kill the protector?” Bessa asked. At Alia’s look she added, “The Fire Lords said he guards a nekromanteion, and we will have to kill him if we want to go through it. And they said we cannot kill him without your help.”

A small laugh escaped Alia at this news.

“What is it?” Edana asked. “Were you planning to kill the satrap?”

“Everything I’ve done this whole night I did to avoid directly striking the Handmaiden,” Alia said, her voice tinged with amusement. “Oh how I wish to kill her! But the Huntress disagrees, and so I must resist the temptation. But the point is that I thought killing her was too risky. I have no allies in Elamis, and I don’t know the lay of the land. And now I’m to kill a satrap. This death the Huntress will allow me, and I will obey Her straightaway. Oh, but wait until I tell the others.”

“What others?” Edana asked.

Mentioning ‘the others’ seemed to remind Alia of something, for she straightened suddenly and said, “Let us hurry. My companions are patrolling the city, in case the Handmaiden is seeking the sacrifices I denied her tonight. I want us to help them if they need it.”

Bessa went over to the sleeping beastmaster and examined his intact hand. She removed the seal ring he wore, and a golden eagle amulet around his neck. Alia’s gaze fastened upon the amulet. Bessa, seeing her interest, handed it to her.

“You sent the eagle? At the Everbright’s Festival?” Edana asked.

“Yes,” Alia said, turning on her heel to head for the door. “I’m not a beastmaster, but I am a priestess and I can do works in the name of the Huntress. When I asked for the eagle I was thinking more of the Handmaiden. I did not know if the protector was her cat’s paw or if she was his. Either way, he had to be stopped.”

“Then you have our thanks,” Edana replied, as Bessa fell into step with her. “You’ve saved us and many others.”

Alia glanced back at them. “Not yet, I haven’t. And there is one more message I need to send.” She fingered the amulet and hurried down the stairs.