The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

In which a conclave receives uninvited guests

On the first night of the moon’s descent from the heavens, five seers met in a reading room of the fabled Library of Kyanopolis.

Fire crackled in strategically placed fire pots. Ever conscientious, the librarians had earlier enchanted the braziers with shield domes to contain stray embers. One brazier stood closest to the gathering area, where four of the seers sat on three couches arranged in a semicircle.

Last autumn Nensela summoned the others from across the empire of Rasena Valentis. Now, six months later, they watched as she deliberately placed an amber figurine of a lynx in the midst of the brazier’s coals.

Instantly the flames brightened, filling the room with a sweet, pine-like scent. All of the prophets inhaled deeply, for burning amber enhanced the memory-keeping of all seers. For this meeting, nothing must be forgotten.

Nothing was left to chance, not even the choice of meeting place. Stacks of cabinets and shelves gave the room a cross shape, and filled the east and west wings. Traversing the marble floor from east to west was a luxuriant, gryphon-skin rug.

At the east end of the rug, a tall window of amber glass would amplify sunlight. For the window at the opposite end, cobalt panes enhanced moonlight. Or they would, if this were not a moonless night. The only such night when the Everbright withdrew Her aid from scryers…such was the time for secret meetings.

Even so, the couches were conveniently arranged in the southern part of the cross, out of the line of sight of the windows.

Senet tracked Nensela’s movements with his eyes only, his sole tell in his attempt to feign relaxation. True to her habit when restless, his old companion paced along the rug, passing in and out of the gathering area, where the other seers sat waiting. Occasionally she paused by a long table, which was housed in an alcove that formed the northern wing of the cross. The table was long enough to unfurl a scroll in its entirety, or for six scholars to sit abreast. However, at the moment Nensela used it to stow her cloak and satchel.

Nensela had changed: In the century-minus-twenty years since their last farewell, she had taken to wearing her midnight tresses in coils down her back, instead of bound in an elaborate updo. On the other hand, she maintained a lissomness that sparked memories of their youth, when he chased her through the acacia groves where they often played.

“Ahem.”

Urbanus. Senet glanced to his left, where Urbanus sat on the couch in the curve of the semicircle. Urbanus ran his fingers through his hair. Again. After so many run-throughs, his hair was tousled like a madman’s. Normally his hair was an asset, for it had silvered early in life, allowing him to play the role of distinguished lord decades before his current age of fifty-two. The silver gave him gravitas when speaking his prophecies, allowing him to exert great influence.

Next to Urbanus on the couch, Justinia stretched out the kinks in her back. Of the five of them, she had come from the farthest away, only arriving in port an hour ago. Partly on account of exhaustion, she appeared to be older than Senet and Nensela, though Senet guessed she was only thirty-four. A mere child.

Urbanus’s throat-clearing apparently acted as a signal because Remei, sitting across from Senet, stirred on her couch. The youngest of the group, Remei was a gifted prophet at only twenty. Less than a year ago she attained the status of Seeker’s Own, and thus she went from carpenter’s daughter to ‘Lady Seeress Remei’ literally overnight.

Fitting her age, Remei openly fidgeted, tapping the silver buttons on the sleeve of her chiton. Shaped like lotus flowers, the buttons fastened her gown at intervals from her shoulders down to her elbows. From the moment she arrived, Remei glanced from Nensela to Justinia, quietly studying them. The other two women were high born, and wore their status comfortably compared to their newest peer.

With the boldness of youth that made Senet inwardly smile, Remei broke their silence at last.

“You called us, Lady Nensela?” Remei swung one foot impatiently. A dyed, silver-studded sandal dangled from her toes, threatening to drop off. Senet stared, curious to see if the sandal would indeed fall.

Nensela, caught in mid-stride, gracefully pivoted to face them. “I have never seen anything like this before,” she began. “The sunless dawn? That, I have seen. A burning chromatic sky? In the Far North, the firmament hosts eldritch lights in the night. Lady Justinia could tell you. But nothing as extreme as the sky in our vision. The giants? Those I have never seen. Nor has Senet. Do you understand?”

Did they understand? By the looks on their faces Senet doubted it. When he and Nensela were young, they navigated by an entirely different Guide Star than the one gracing the heavens now. Ages upon ages ago—by mortal reckoning.

Urbanus whistled. “We’re doomed.”

Remei visibly swallowed. “That is not a given at all. Why assume the giants are even in Rasena Valentis? Why not in Anshan, or Lyrcania? They might even be in Xia. Did any of you recognize the place where the giants assembled? Could it be in Ta-Seti?”

“The giant legions, you mean?” Urbanus corrected. “No. I concentrated on the legions part. And the creatures-never-before-seen-in-Rasena-Valentis part.”

“There you have it,” Remei replied. “The Seeker is not showing us events in the empire.”

Charitably, Senet reminded himself Remei likely lacked military experience or education. Ta-Seti, where Senet and Nensela hailed from, lay south of Rasena Valentis. Between the kingdom and the empire stretched a murderous desert which famously killed all land-based invaders before they ever set eyes upon the Emerald Belt, the chain of oases along Ta-Seti’s northern border.

Enemy human invaders—but were the giants human? Might they be Salamandra under their armor? Or have dragons at their disposal? At any rate, Ta-Seti’s seaports would make an excellent staging ground to invade Rasena Valentis.

As well, the Anshani empire directly bordered Rasena Valentis to the east. Like traders—and armies—the giants could simply walk across the Chrysanthemum Highway.

But Xia, though well beyond Anshan, still possessed a Gate. And a Gate made geography irrelevant. The Gates could take travelers far across the seas — and, some said, to other worlds. Only the formidable Gold Sea island nation of Lyrcania could be safely “ignored.”

“Ahem,” Justinia coughed. She pulled on her travel cloak. Adorned with a sheepskin mantle, the garment was an all-season necessity at the Aerie in the Far North, where she was stationed.

But she had traveled over forty days to her south, and then across the sea to Kyanopolis, where such a cloak would make her faint from the heat if she wore it during the day. The Kyanopolis sun demanded a different defense: the kohl lining her grey eyes, and the olive oil that lightly sheened her face.

All eyes turned to her.

“The Aerie was attacked,” she said.

Senet jolted. Remei drew her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. Gripping the edge of his couch, Urbanus appeared poised for flight. Only Nensela retained her calm, standing statue-like in her stillness.

“The Gate?” Nensela demanded.

The Aerie, the imperial fortress, surrounded one of only two Gates remaining in Rasena Valentis.

“Untouched, thank the gods,” Justinia assured them. “And that’s not how they arrived, either. There’s a town nearby—let me start at the beginning. I couldn’t sleep after the vision, so I headed for the stillroom to make hot valerian water. But before I got there, I heard shouting in the courtyard.”

She had their complete attention.

“In the courtyard, two townspeople were supporting a centurion. He was…burned. His breastplate melted. I don’t…in our vision, the giants shot lightning at everyone. The man and the woman dragging the centurion witnessed lightning coming from multiple directions. Without rain. No rain at all. And the thunder preceded the lightning. Has that ever happened before?”

She looked to Senet and Nensela, who both shook their heads.

“Did they see giants?” Nensela asked. Though she sounded calm, Senet had known her too long to miss the undercurrent in her voice.

“Yes. And the echomancers walked through the village later that day. They confirmed the giants did it.”

Silence.

So other seers can See the giants, Senet considered. Prophets saw the future, scryers the present, and echomancers the past; but until this moment, only the prophets in this room had reported Seeing the giants.

But he noted the others took no comfort from this point. Remei’s lower lip trembled. Centuries after absorption into the empire of Rasena Valentis, her nation of Tartessia enjoyed generations of peace. No war in living memory had touched Tartessia’s soil, and certainly Remei never experienced such.

Staring at her, Senet felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to say. “I have not heard from the Seeker since that night. I have inquired of contacts at home, the breadth of Rasena Valentis, and Anshan, too: no prophet has Seen any vision since ours. The Seeker gives revelation only to the echomancers. And before you ask, every scryer I talked to said the Everbright withholds nothing from them. Except on nights like tonight, when the moon is dead, as usual.”

Sorcha the Everbright governed the scryers, but the Seeker reserved the seers who saw the past or the future for Her own.

Nensela nodded at Senet. “The Seeker was silent once in our lifetime. Just before the Scouring.”

A good five centuries ago.

Remei’s jaw dropped. “But we—the gods can’t be—”

“Be at ease,” Nensela soothed. “The Scouring did not come without warning, and we suffer now none of the tribulations we suffered preceding the Scouring. Let us be clear: giants exist. They wield a power only the dryads or their servants the khrestai should have. And their army will gather on a sunless dawn of eldritch lights, in a place we none of us know. They will shake the ground. But I think they, too, have an enemy.”

Senet tensed. At last. This was what animated Nensela, what made her eyes spark, what had her coiled tight as a spring.

“Oh her,” Urbanus said, rubbing his hands together. “The woman. She was causing a Cataclysm! Like a sylph, except I’m sure she’s a person. Human-sized at any rate. So…not a sylph? But I didn’t know sorcerers could make Cataclysms.”

Because Senet focused intently on her, he alone observed Nensela flinch.

“She’s not a sorceress,” Nensela snapped.

Remei’s eyebrows flew up, but before she could argue Justinia cut in, “But where are the giants from? What do they want?”

“To kill us, obviously,” Urbanus said.

“Is it? Is it obvious?” Remei demanded. “Thousands of them will come, but why? And why did they attack the village? What if what we’re seeing are beings summoned by sorcerers, to be used against other sorcerers? Someone could have a grudge against one person or one city or one nation.”

“So many giants for one of anything is a bit much, don’t you think?” Urbanus argued. He again ran his fingers through his hair.

Remei persisted, “Look, in our vision the woman stood against the giants. My idea is not so foolish. Maybe the giants are her enemies. If not a sorceress, maybe she’s a priestess.”

Nensela froze. She locked her fingers behind her neck, forcing her elbows out in front of her chin. So familiar a gesture from her, and one which made Senet hesitate. To attempt to comfort Nensela now would break her.

Because the mysterious woman in their vision was Nensela’s daughter. Though almost completely certain on this point, experience and foresight bade Senet to hold his tongue. A time may come for him to share his suspicions about the woman. But in front of the others he would keep his silence. For now.

“Fine, sure, if the giants are arsh’atûm.” Urbanus said, rolling his hand in a get-on-with-it gesture.

The arsh’atûm, of course, being the corporeal monsters who managed to escape Erebossa through the shadow gates. By the laws of Rasena Valentis only priests were authorized to deal with the denizens of Erebossa, the gloomy abode of the dead, evil spirits, and terrifying creatures. Laws which may not apply to Nensela’s daughter—

“Erebossa may not have anything to do with this,” Justinia cut in. “The echomancers who confirmed the report of the giants have vanished. The letters I wrote to my associates about my vision were intercepted and censored. Before you ask, the emperor sent out a team of special investigators. They found nothing. Nothing about the giants, nothing about the missing echomancers. Two scant reports they sent, before seemingly vanishing into the aether. Now, some say the investigators were only sent to the Aerie for show … but I found it prudent to leave the Aerie by covert means.”

“So we do have an enemy—” Urbanus began.

The library’s massive oak doors creaked open. Jumping in obvious surprise, Justinia and Urbanus glanced back. The seers broke off their talk. A slave entered, bearing a tray of refreshments. The young man smiled uncertainly at them but said nothing, making the long walk from the door to the circle in silence. He stepped gingerly behind Justinia and Urbanus, passed behind Senet, and made another turn for the scroll table. Nensela slid aside for him.

It was the man’s glance, the glint in his eye that warned Senet half a heartbeat before it happened. Having kept himself in shape, and retaining the reflexes of his mercenary days, he was off his couch before the man could finish lifting the dome on the platter. Revealing the long knife.

Senet palmed the man’s head and smashed his face against the table. With his free hand he grabbed the man’s arm and twisted, yanking it from its socket. The man dropped the knife. Only when it clattered to the floor did the others see.

Remei screamed, then swirled around to launch herself off her couch. She fled through the codex stacks, stumbling as she lost her sandal. Meanwhile, Justinia and Urbanus scattered, Justinia running after Remei, Urbanus dashing to the right. Good, the mortals were safe—and Nensela?

Nensela shouted for the guards. She kicked the knife to the far side of the room, out of the man’s reach.

The man spat out several teeth, then followed up with a barrage of curses. Senet spun the man around so they stood face to face. The man blinked madly and wheezed as blood gushed from his nose. Slow reaction time. One punch, and down he went. His head knocked against the table on his way to the floor. Relieved, Senet exhaled. Was that it?

Pounding footsteps heralded the dead man’s companions before they rushed through the door. Nensela swiped a vase from the table and hurled it at one intruder, who ducked and somersaulted over the bench Justinia and Urbanus had vacated—putting himself in Senet’s grasp.

Urbanus dove for the floor and snatched up the fallen man’s knife. Just in time, too, for the third attacker leapt over the cushions and met him in the corner. He slashed at Urbanus, who recoiled, barely out of reach.

Blood surged in Senet’s veins. At all costs he needed to save the mortal: the Seeker always had a purpose for the prophets She gave particular visions to. If Urbanus went down—

Urbanus cried out.

“Fight, man!” Senet commanded. “You’re up against a wretch even the gods despise: do you see his face? Put him out of his misery!”

Perhaps Senet seemed distracted. Perhaps the second intruder was overconfident. Either way, the intruder lunged at him, and was thus introduced to Senet’s out-swung, foot. Opposing momentum drove his foot inches into the man’s soft belly, stealing his breath away. The intruder clutched at his abdomen as he collapsed to his knees.

From the corner of his eye, Senet saw Urbanus exchanging feints with his opponent. He whistled his approval when Urbanus slashed open his attacker’s chest.

With another swing of his foot, Senet slapped his own opponent’s jaw, hard. Ensuring he was too stunned to intercept the next move. Snatching at the man’s hair, Senet yanked him to his feet. Finish this, quickly, and he might help Urbanus in time. His fingers tightened around his opponent’s neck. Snap, it just snap—whoosh! Something flew past him. In half a heartbeat a scream followed.

Sweet, cool calm washed over Senet. Only one thing could have happened; this he knew without looking. But he looked anyway, and smiled. Coppery feathers fletched the arrow embedded in the arm of Urbanus’s attacker: Nensela favored the wing feathers of the peacock for her arrows.

“Leave it,” Nensela warned her victim. “Lest you rip out your flesh. And bone.”

From ancient days beyond mortal reckoning, the legendary archers of Ta-Seti used barbed, poison-tipped arrows. Combined with the more modern recurve bow Senet gave her a few centuries back, Nensela never failed to slay her prey.

Urbanus’s attacker stared stupidly at her for a moment. Then his features changed, as Nensela’s poison took hold. How many times had Senet seen that look on a soldier’s face on the battlefield? Death fast approached, and the man knew it. Moaning, he sank to the floor.

“Who are you? How did you know we would be here?” Justinia demanded. She and Remei stood clasped together, on Nensela’s right. The pair glared at the second intruder as he struggled in Senet’s grip; likely they already counted Urbanus’s attacker as dead.

No matter how much he clawed at Senet’s hands, the captive could not pry them from his neck. The best he could manage was to angle his face toward Nensela. After a moment he began to violently wheeze. Shudder and writhe though he would, Nensela kept her arrow trained on him. Always she maintained it at eye level—the man’s eye, a reminder that Ta-Setian archers were called ‘the pupil smiters.’

“K-k-killlll me,” the man rasped. “You…lose…anyway. Your time …is done.”

Nensela fired.

The man fell without a sound.

The guards arrived then. After them came the Watch, whose questions were quick, yet thorough.

“Damned odd of these bandits, whoever they were, to choose the Seeker’s Own for their prey. This their idea of suicide?” The watchman chuckled at his own speculation.

Senet met Nensela’s gaze. In any other time it should have been suicide to attack prophets, for the Seeker guarded Her own. How did the cutthroats know it would be different this time? The Seeker’s silence on the future wasn’t yet common knowledge, even amongst other prophets.

“Let’s talk tomorrow evening,” Remei said. She sagged in obvious exhaustion.

Senet’s heart slowed, and he, too, sagged. The others collected themselves, and Urbanus assisted a guard in carrying out Justinia’s trunk. The watchmen escorted them out.

Senet lingered for Nensela. “Are you all right?”

Nensela had been glancing back and forth from her bow case to her satchel, as if trying to come to a decision. She had used the satchel to smuggle the case into the library.

“I wasn’t hurt,” she said simply. She paused and looked him over. Seeing that he, too, was uninjured, she turned away. She slung her bow case, with its attached quiver, over her shoulder. The satchel dangled in her fist.

“Sela, that is not what I meant.” He stepped closer to her.

She exhaled sharply, a familiar warning, but he would not let her drive him off. For too long she had been isolated in her grief.

“The Seeker has answered you. After all this time, She has answered you.”

Nensela closed her eyes.

Senet stepped closer and encircled her in his arms. The fight went out of her then. With a small sigh she rested her head in the crook of his neck. He breathed in her scent, and memories flooded him.

“The Seeker has answered your prayers.”