Authors: Blake Charlton
Spellbound (13 page)
“My lady, I should never dream of doing so.”
The woman glanced at her with a blank military expression and then flashed a sudden, affected smile. “Splendid. Now, can you tell me why that warship has two black-robes aboard?”
Francesca frowned. “What warship?”
The marshal looked up at the cloud that was blocking the sun. When Francesca followed her gaze, she jumped and swore, “Holy blasted heaven aflame!”
It wasn't a cloud but a long, sleek airship hovering with perfect steadiness in the powerful wind. Its narrow foresails projected forward like the cutting blade of some curved weapon. The angular side and aft sails made constant, tiny, reflexive adjustments to accommodate for changes in the wind. The result kept the ship perfectly still. It seemed like some giant bird of prey ready to drop into a murderous dive.
The ship was no more than thirty feet above them, giving Francesca a sudden, ludicrous urge to duck.
The ship's hexagonal hull looked delicateâmore like spun-glass than like a warship's spine. It consisted of six strips of silk that must have been sixty feet long. One served as a wide floorboard. The others were held apart by a hexagonal frame of thin rodsâlikely also enchanted silk. Because there were spaces between the silk strips, Francesca could see through the hull to the sky beyond.
With a sudden intake of breath, she realized that she could also see three green-robed figures moving rapidly about the ship. Two moved within the hull. The third walked out onto a side wing as if it were as solid as a mountainside. The figure squatted and began moving its hands, no doubt editing the wing's text.
Just then, Francesca realized that a hierophantic airship was really a gigantic, flying manuscript.
Then Francesca saw the two black-robes. They were standing within the hull. Apparently, a man and a woman. Even though they were thirty feet above her, Francesca could tell that that the two wizards were staring down directly at her.
“My lady,” Francesca blurted, “I have no idea who they are.”
“It is odd,” the marshal said, “two wizards in a Kestrel-class cruiser.”
“Because of the wizards who supported Celeste in the past?”
The marshal raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. She spoke ironically: “Magistra, I hadn't made that connection, but now that you mention it, yes. That is peculiar. Two wizards in a Kestrel arriving the same day a wizard in Avel falls out of a kite because an unknown curse has spread through the sanctuary.”
“My lady, bring those two down here and they will tell you that I have no political connection to the wizardly order. This red stole around my shoulders”âhere she held up her mark as a clericâ“has separated me from the other black-robes.”
The marshal looked her up and down. “Magistra, you strike me as someone who has more skill with words than she lets on. I wouldn't scold myself if you've deceived me. You also strike me as someone unaware of the role she's playing. So I will tell you now that my loyalty to Celeste is as strong now as it was on the day I joined the monotheistic armada.”
Francesca stammered. “M-my lady, I'm notâ”
The other woman raised her hand. “Magistra, I believe you. Don't protest now. Only ⦠remember what I have said.” With that, she grabbed a strip of cloth hanging near one of the pavilion's beams. Suddenly, a bright green and yellow flag unfurled from the pavilion's apex.
An instant later, the wind brought a yell. Francesca looked up at the warship. All of the hierophants climbing about the rig were now looking at the flag. The green-robe who had been editing the wing stepped off of it and dropped into the air.
Francesca sucked in a breath, but then she saw the thin strip of green cloth running out of the man's robes, slowing his fall. Above him, the warship's wings adjusted to counteract the torque he was exerting on her.
The hierophant dangled just above the deck long enough to remove what looked like silk slippers.
Without looking away from the man, Francesca cleared her throat and said, “My lady, may I say something frank to you?”
“You may.”
“You are one God-of-gods damned intimidating leader. I think I'd wrestle a lycanthrope if you ordered me to.”
The marshal looked at her. “Magistra, haven't you learned that any commander worth her weight can't be charmed?”
“Good thing you're not my commander then. You still have the luxury of being charmed.”
The other woman studied her face a moment then laughed. “Good thing,” she agreed and then looked away.
Now barefoot, the hierophant from the airship dropped to the deck, lowered his veil, and unwound his turban. He trotted to the pavilion and bowed. “Marshal Oria.” He was a short, lean man with chestnut-colored skin that was just beginning to go slack with age. His eyes were large and dark brown, his shaved head glossy. Given that he was a powerful spellwright, Francesca would guess he had seen eighty or ninety years.
The marshal's expression relaxed. “Captain Izem, don't ask for permission to dock the
Queen's Lance
. There is distressing news from Avel, and I want you aloft until we know for certain what is happening.”
Queen's Lance
. There is distressing news from Avel, and I want you aloft until we know for certain what is happening.”
The captain bowed his shaved head. “So shall it be. We are happy to do anything your service requires.”
The marshal grunted. “Hopefully we will require nothing. But meantime, please explain the two black-robes skulking about in your hull.”
The captain laughed. “My lady, I was hoping you were going to explain them to me. We were docked at Lurrikara when orders came from Queensport to fly two black-robe dignitaries from Kara to Avel. For the whole flight, begging your pardon, Magistra”âthis last to Francescaâ“they've been the perfect model of academics: polite, quiet, and obnoxiously aloof. Neither I nor my crew can figure heads from tails why they get to fly in the
Queen's Lance
.”
Queen's Lance
.”
The marshal sighed. “I'm not fond of intrigue in my garden, Captain.”
Izem bowed. “Then I'll pray to the sky and the holy canon that I'll soon fly them away.”
Just then, Cyrus appeared by Francesca's side. “Lady Marshal,” he said in a formal tone, “the tower warden reports that he'll have both wings aloft momentarily.”
Captain Izem looked up and smiled broadly. “Oh dear, my lady, it seems one of the local idiots has dressed up like a hierophant and wandered into your tower. Look at the poor creature; he's clearly too big and heavy to ever pilot.”
Suddenly Francesca became acutely aware that she was a head taller than everyone else. Rarely was she conscious of her body, even more rarely unhappy with it. But at that moment she felt like a giant.
Cyrus smiled but otherwise continued to stare straight ahead.
The marshal looked between the two men. “You two are acquainted?”
Izem laughed. “Forgive the familiarity on your deck, my lady. You are lucky to have a hierophant like Air Warden Alarcon. He was my first mate for a year of fine flying. Haven't seen a better pilot of kite or airship since the Siege of Erram, which makes up for his being so damned tall and heavy.”
Oria exhaled in a way that indicated both annoyance and amusement. “Air Warden, you have permission to speak.”
Still smiling, Cyrus nodded and turned to his captain. “It is good to see you too, sir. Have you managed to keep the
Queen's Lance
out of the ocean now that you don't have me to correct your tacking subspells?”
Queen's Lance
out of the ocean now that you don't have me to correct your tacking subspells?”
The captain waved away the comment. “Saltwater gets the stains out of the silk.”
Just then two dozen hierophants emerged onto the jumpdeck. All had their headdresses tightly wound, and all held folds of brightly colored lofting kites. Short steel blades glinted from among their green robes. Without hesitation, the newcomers ran off the deck and cast up their kites. With the pop of unfolding cloth, each one took flight and shot away on the powerful wind. In a heartbeat, they were away, rising into the sky and dividing themselves into two neat formations.
The marshal watched them with keen attention. The rest of the group had fallen silent. When one of the formations disappeared over a mountain, she looked back at them. “Magistra, excuse the captain and me.” She looked at Cyrus. “Air Warden, attend to our guest. You are dismissed.”
Cyrus bowed and then gestured for Francesca to go ahead of him. Francesca bowed to both the marshal and the captain before heading for the doorway that led into the tower. As she walked, she noticed the sea was now obscured by a dark cloudscapeâanother storm, an hour away.
As soon as she stepped into the hallway, Cyrus took her arm. “Something is happening,” he whispered. “Something dire.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't understand completely. There are terrible forces at play.”
“So do you believe me now? Can we investigate Avel without telling the world about it?”
“This involves more than Avel. Something's happening in the whole kingdom. Seems Deirdre wasn't lying about being Avel's Regent of Spies.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked past her, looking for anyone nearby on the jumpdeck. “A split is coming. Wind marshals are appointed by the Celestial Court to supply the entire order with text. Wardens are appointed by the local canonist. Their duty is to the city.”
Francesca pursed her lips. “And, naturally, there are tensions between a city and its kingdom.”
“This is more than tension. You saw how the marshal and the warden argued in front of us. It got worse when he got me alone. He thinks the aphasia was an attack from Celeste on Cala. Apparently there are two wizards in the
Queen's Lance
. Years ago, a faction of wizards fought in our civil war. I can't remember what their name was. Butâ”
Queen's Lance
. Years ago, a faction of wizards fought in our civil war. I can't remember what their name was. Butâ”
“The counter-prophecy faction,” she supplied. “They supported Celeste's monotheism. They wanted a unified Spires to check the power of Lorn and Verdant. But they acted without the whole academy's approval, went rogue essentially.”
Cyrus sniffed. “As if that matters to hierophants. Don't you see what today's events look like? The aphasia, your jumping blindly from Avel, the Kestrel with two wizards.”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “The marshal had the same suspicions. She thinks it's some test. Something Celeste cooked up to see if she's loyal. She tried to assure me that she'sâ”
“But that's just it!” Cyrus interrupted. “The tower warden made the same interpretation, but he kept talking about how Avel produces more enchanted cloth than any other wind garden. He thinks they should shut down the garden, miss the next few shipments, see how Queensport and Erram do without it.”
He touched her elbow. “He thinks that Cala is the most powerful demigod in the canon, that if she hadn't graciously surrendered to Celeste in the Siege of Avel, the realm would still be polytheistic. This place is within inches of tipping into hostility between warden and marshal, city and kingdom, canonist and high goddess. Do you see, Fran? Do you see what would rage across the whole realm if that spilled out into violence?”
Francesca nervously looked out toward the sky. The
Queen's Lance
had fallen back in the wind and now hovered just above the jumpdeck. It looked like nothing so much as a giant, perfectly poised blade.
Queen's Lance
had fallen back in the wind and now hovered just above the jumpdeck. It looked like nothing so much as a giant, perfectly poised blade.
“God-of-gods defend us,” she said. “I do.”
The secluded Hall of Ambassadors stood three stories up on a wide building that abutted the sanctuary's dome. The inner walls were covered with green and white mosaics of geometric design. Plain terracotta tile covered the floor, but the high vaulted redwood ceiling boasted a hundred thousand tiny half domes and cupolas.
A long grid of sandstone pillars supported the ceiling and made the expansive room feel like a forest. The pillars running along the outer walls supported horseshoe arches, their stones painted alternately green or white.
At one end of the hall stood a tall redwood throne, currently empty. Behind this, an ornate screen separated the hall from the dome's black interior, where the canonist's ark was housed.
Deirdre took in all this as she remembered Typhon examining the superficial aspects of her mind to discover if she was committed to the Disjunction. Deirdre had filled her heart with the desire to recover Boann, to save her from the coming chaos. In her core, Deirdre knew that to save her beloved she would abandon all her moral objections, all her schemes. Typhon interpreted this love as a willingness to try to convert Boann to the cause of the Disjunction.
She made sure that Typhon discovered this love. It was the lever he had worked into her soul during the long years of possession, the mechanism by which he believed he had converted her to the Disjunction.
Once satisfied that her feelings had not changed, the demon sent her to wait in the Hall of Ambassadors while he retrieved the Savanna Walker.
Presently, Deirdre stood before the room's western wall, looking out one of the horseshoe arches at storm clouds rolling down from the Auburn Mountains. Despite the sunlight still shining on her, she shivered as she realized that, in a way, the demon truly had converted her. She would do anything to save Boann.
Deidre shook her head and tried to focus on the city before her. Her gaze fell from the sky to the Burnished Districtâthe wealthy strip of city that ran between the sanctuary and the canyon's edge. Here, Avel's nobility and wealthiest citizens lived in grand villas filled with gardens, plazas, and towers
topped with bright brass. The finest and tallest of these ran along the lip of the canyon, so the aristocracy could look down on the wide canyon floor and the city's fields of wheat, lentils, and chickpeas.
topped with bright brass. The finest and tallest of these ran along the lip of the canyon, so the aristocracy could look down on the wide canyon floor and the city's fields of wheat, lentils, and chickpeas.
To the south and west, the surrounding hills fell to meet the canyon floor and become continuous savanna. But where the canyon sides were high, Avel used them to keep out lycanthropes. A wide sandstone wall ran along the canyon's mouth and protected the crops.
At the canyon's other end, north of the sanctuary, stood the Dam of Canonist Calaâa massive, splendid barrier, composed of one unified piece of sandstone. It looked to have been grown rather than built. From her present angle, Deirdre could make out only the upper third of the structure. This far away, the rock appeared to vary gradually from pale tan near its lip down to a dusky red. Had she been closer, Deirdre would have seen in the stone a myriad of tiny striations, ranging from ash white to blood red.
“There is no other structure like it on this continent,” a soft voice said.
Deirdre turned to regard a tall woman whose eyes were striated with all the colors of sandstone: tawny, tan, white, dark gray. Though Deirdre had seen the canonist's eyes before, they still shocked her. They were almost insectoid. The demigoddess's solid featuresâlarge, shapely nose and wide lipsâwere proud, beautiful. What skin she exposed was deep reddish brown, visibly rough in texture.
Deirdre swallowed. Cala was half deity, half woman, brutally enslaved by Typhon. Often the demon would leave her frozen as a statue for days at a time.
Deirdre bowed. “My lady. It is an honor.”
Cala nodded. She wore loose garments of pale blue silk and a snowy white cowl. The thin cloth seemed more to accentuate than conceal the demigoddess's statuesque body. Her strong shoulders tented above her folded arms. Her waist narrowed slightly before widening into the broad curves of her hips. The silk hung loose to her bare feet. But as the canonist stepped forward, her muscular thigh curved the cloth.
Deirdre cleared her throat. “Typhon wishes you to instruct me about the Silent Blight. I had hoped we might also discuss how I could better serve you and the city.”
For a long moment the canonist did not respond. She looked past Deirdre to the dam. “All the sandstone found in Western Spires is porous,” she said at last. “It would seem an obvious question, but few people ever ask why I use a porous rock to hold back water.”
Deirdre paused. Uncertain if this was supposed to have a second meaning. “Canonist, why do you use porous rock?”
The demigoddess did not seem to hear Deirdre. “There are roughly
forty thousand souls living in my city. All yield some of their strength to me to keep the dam and the walls standing. I'd feel more comfortable with thirty five thousand subjects, fewer mouths to feed. But times are rich. The plague and the flux have stayed away, helped by shipments of hydromancer medicine from Ixos. More important, the rains have come every year for nearly a score. No wars have pulled away our young men and returned them crippled or suffering from venereal disease. Two banking houses from Queensport have built offices in the Cypress District. It's been hard to stop the artisans, the singers, the prostitutes who are just barely eating in Dar or Queensport from emigrating down here. Droughts and lycanthropes be damned.”
forty thousand souls living in my city. All yield some of their strength to me to keep the dam and the walls standing. I'd feel more comfortable with thirty five thousand subjects, fewer mouths to feed. But times are rich. The plague and the flux have stayed away, helped by shipments of hydromancer medicine from Ixos. More important, the rains have come every year for nearly a score. No wars have pulled away our young men and returned them crippled or suffering from venereal disease. Two banking houses from Queensport have built offices in the Cypress District. It's been hard to stop the artisans, the singers, the prostitutes who are just barely eating in Dar or Queensport from emigrating down here. Droughts and lycanthropes be damned.”
Deirdre pursed her lips, confused. What was the canonist trying to tell her?
Cala continued: “It's been like this before. The decades before the Civil War, brilliant years. Even the Canic peoples were well fed. So much life, like water building up behind a dam. At times I wondered if anything other than war was possible. When Celeste flew her armada over from Kara, there was a brief sky battle. Some tried to call it a siege, but it was nothing like the campaigns in the East. Still, it was horrifying: airships clashing, pilots leaping from slashed rigs, warkites circling like sharks, cutting stray pilots to rags before they reached ground.”
The demigoddess looked at Deirdre. “The bodies fell on the city or in the savanna. Celeste had planted insurgents in the Palm District and in North Gate. When the fighting broke out, the lycanthropes knocked holes in our outer walls. The wolves filled the Water District, the Palm District, the North Gate District. Still, we could have fought Celeste. We could have rebuffed her. It would have bled us both, and Avel would have remained a free city. But I chose not to bleed the realm. Only when I submitted to Celeste did the pores in the outer walls close.”
Deirdre stiffened. She had hoped to reach out to Cala, to offer alliance against Typhon. Perhaps that would not be wise. “My lady,” she said, “you are drawing a connection from your porous sandstone to your city, but I'm afraid ⦠I'm afraid I don't understand your subtle meaning.”
The demigoddess shook her head. “There is no subtlety, only history. Back then I was two beings, a secular queen named Miranda and a freely expressed goddess named Cala. But under Celeste's monotheism, I had to become one canonistâCala bound within Miranda. We're one woman now, more Cala than Miranda I suppose, horrible for us both.” She looked down at her body. “My present cell. Imprisonment is sometimes necessary.”
Deirdre resisted the urge to bite her lip. “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.”
The canonist smiled tightly. “It already has been. After the Civil War, Avel was reduced to a textual colony, committed to shipping the majority of our wind garden's language away to be used by Celeste.” She paused. “But now we have well-guarded caravans filled with grain and silk rolling down from Dar. The Queen's fleet built Coldlock Harbor to ship our sailcloth out, but now we can haul wagons of dried salmon over the Auburn Mountains and through North Gate. Now, more so than under the polytheism, there is enough food.”
“But there is more to life than survival,” Deirdre said carefully. “Typhon has promised that we, as his captains, will help bring in a new age.”
Cala looked to her dam. “Some have compared my dam to Richard's Wall in the Lornish uplands. It is not a fair comparison. Richard's Wall is simply a barrier that keeps the timber lycanthropes in the Tulgety Forest. Really no different from our city walls.”
The demigoddess adjusted her cowl. “Whereas my dam is not a just barrier, but also an aquifer. With my godspell, I can control the pores within the sandstone, to govern how much water seeps to the crops on the canyon floor. To be sure, the grains from Dar and the fish from Coldlock are fine supplements, but without those fields, we starve. To keep this city alive, we must keep some things out and let others in.” Suddenly she looked at Deirdre. “What do you know of Language Prime?”
“Little,” Deirdre admitted. “I know it creates all living things, that it is the language from which all other languages come.”
“And the fundamentals of life, what do you know of them?”
“Nothing really.”
The demigoddess nodded. “Nor did I until Typhon came to our Avel.” She turned away from Deirdre and began walking toward the redwood throne. “Life can be broken into discrete units, but those units can only become so small. Most often, Language Prime can function only within these units. And each of these tiny divisions of life is like a city. Toxins must be kept out, sustenance brought in.”
She gestured behind her in the direction of the dam. “For Avel, water must be held in, lycanthropes held out. Our civilization is imprisoned by the savanna. Without the porous dam, without the permeable walls, our small cell of a city would dry up and die. And those barriers must constantly change. When monotheism unified this realm, I had to change them.”
Deirdre swallowed. At last, she understood what Cala was driving toward. “And now that Typhon has come, you have made yourself permeable to the Disjunction.”
The goddess walked up the dais to the throne. “I have.” She turned and
sat. “I worry that you, Regent of Spies, are a spirit dedicated to knocking down walls.”
sat. “I worry that you, Regent of Spies, are a spirit dedicated to knocking down walls.”
“My lady, I would never jeopardize the Disjunctionâ”
“Deirdre,” the demigoddess interrupted, “governing the Disjunction is Typhon's burden.” She paused, meaningfully. “To him we are both loyal.” Another pause. “But I speak to you now about the city because I am the city.”
Deirdre bowed.
“You must understand that a soul is no different than a city. An individual must choose what she will repel and what she will allow. If she chooses unwisely, she will perish. Do you understand?”
Deirdre searched the demigoddess's face and found only calm interest. “Yes, my lady, I understand about the soul,” Deirdre said, even though she did not.
“Good,” Cala answered. “You have done an impressive job as Typhon's Regent of Spies. Within a decade, you two have transformed the city's leadership from that which I had assembled to one that serves the demons.”
“My lady, Iâ”
“Don't interrupt. I am not accusing you, merely stating a fact. Typhon has kept his canonist and his Regent of Spies separated. If your power is growing, then I and this city will come to depend on you. You must advise us as to what we must permit and what we must repel.”
Unsure of what to say, Deirdre nodded.
“Deirdre, my lady, should I make myself permeable to you and the forces you represent?”
The question shocked Deirdre. The title of “lady” recognized her as an equal. Was this an offer of alliance? Did she know Deirdre was struggling against Typhon, or did the canonist see her only as the demon's new champion, replacing the Savanna Walker? She searched the canonist's face for a clue.
Perhaps there was a glint of secret understanding in those multicolored eyes.
But it was too much of a risk. Deirdre couldn't jeopardize her plans. “My lady, I pledge myself to your service. Permit me to move through your city, and you shall always have my loyalty and ⦔ she paused before adding “ ⦠my vow to help you thrive in any environment.”
The canonist held her gaze. Was that an expression of complicit agreement, of an unspoken purpose? Deirdre couldn't be sure. At last, Cala nodded. “Very good. Let us talk of the knowledge you seek. First, the Savanna Walker. His nameâor at least what he thinks of as his nameâis Ja Ambher.”
“Ja Ambher,” Deidre repeated. Now when she spoke or thought of that
name, the Walker would be less able to influence her mind. “Where does the name come from? Spires? Verdant?”
name, the Walker would be less able to influence her mind. “Where does the name come from? Spires? Verdant?”
“I do not know. Nor, as far as I can tell, does he.”
Deirdre bowed. Around them, the hall dimmed. Apparently the storm clouds had reached the city. Rain would be coming soon.
“The second piece of knowledge is harder to explain. And I will admit that I do not rightly understand it.”
“I will listen carefully.”
Cala leaned back in her throne. “A unique Language Prime text makes up each living creature. Because the world around life is always changing, life must always change; its texts must always change. The processes by which it does this are mysterious, but I do know that Language Prime texts must copy themselves, must recombine with other texts.”
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