The Burning White (153 page)

Brent: I’m not so sure about that, bucko. And putting your enemies in literal hell?

Dante: Bucko? Psh. Call me Dan. Now, come on, why don’t you join us at the fire? I’ll introduce you to everyone you don’t know. Oh, don’t worry. They all know
you
! We were just having a great discussion about how amazing Lightbringer is.

Brent: Yessir, whatever you say, Master Alighieri, sir . . . uh, Dan.

But seriously, I’ve always had a keen understanding of which fire I don’t belong at, and—more’s the pity—that’s one of ’em. But my sincere thanks to you and Homie and Bill and Eddie for showing me how high the bar can be. Even if you are laughing at me as I Fosbury Flop right under it.

Tim Mackie, thank you for the glimpses into the Ur. My thanks to the Monday Night Irregulars, and my thanks to those who have stood in the gap for me when it seemed my help was caught up over Babylon.

My deepest gratitude to the one who ended that storm at the exact right moment and brought me diamonds in moonlight. I’ve been a lot of trouble.

My thanks to Dr. Jacob Klein for decades of dumbing down ancient Greek and Latin and philosophy for me. Some of it is going to stick any day now. Call it purgatory for that impressive jumping spinning sidekick on the racquetball court that was supposed to miss my face.

Thanks to my brother, Kevin. Kristi says whenever I speak Andross Guile’s lines, I imitate your voice. (Weird!) Without the dirt-clod incident, the pitch-black locked closet with the spiders crawling under the door with their glowing red eyes, and the plastic zippered under-the-bed laundry bags, I’d probably have a lot more brain cells, but I wouldn’t be able to write claustrophobic terror nearly so well. Huh, this makes you sound mean. Sorry. Please don’t hurt me.

Sorry to that one guy who wrote me the angriest e-mail I’ve ever gotten—for writing a world in which color differentiation is so important that color-blind drafters are discriminated against. I appreciate your yearning for a kinder world. A world where all people knew what was true and beautiful and acted on it would have only one drawback: writing fiction there would be impossible—and probably unnecessary. In my worlds, characters believe many ugly things that I don’t. Indeed, some even believe beautiful things I don’t. Some authors confront the truth that people suck by imagining a world in which people don’t suck in some particular way; I choose to say, “People suck. What do we do about that?”

Thanks to my
akhuya
Ishak Micheil for the Arabic translations. Any errors are either Teia’s, because she was doing her best to translate phonetically what she heard, or your practical joke on me. But you wouldn’t do that, right?

Thank you to Thomas McCarthy, for the Irish pronunciations, translations, and the patience with our Internet-translated (i.e., wrong) declensions.

Thank you to the late Mitch Hedberg. Sorry for stealing the ‘I used to . . . I still do’ joke form that one time. I put you in the acknowledgments to make up for it . . . ?

To my dearest Kristi, without whom no one would be reading these words. When we were thirteen years old, I thought, ‘That girl is going to make an amazing wife someday.’ I love being right.

When we were planning our wedding (twelve years later, readers!) and you said you thought you should work the day job so that I could write full-time, I wanted to say YES! so badly that I was almost afraid to. An artist on a mission can be a terribly inhumane creature, as willing to make others suffer for his art as he is willing to suffer for it himself. I’ve tried not to be that careless creature—and too often failed. Thank you for suffering with me, for learning with me, and for laughing with me. Thank you for helping me understand my story-children as much as our real ones. Your singing makes the stars shine brighter.

Oh, and for you stubborn, quirky readers who read to the very last line of the book: Thanks for supporting me in doing what I love. You deserve to be rewarded. Flip the page for a special, secret little thank-you gift for you.

BUT JUST THIS ONCE! Don’t you expect me to do it again!

In the burned-out ruins of Master Atevia’s house, Teia stepped into the cool, dark room and hung the master cloak on a mechanical peg, much like another one she remembered. She had only time to make out two figures in the room, one seated wearing spectacles and the other standing at his right hand.

As she closed the door behind her as if her heart weren’t in her throat, an altered voice said out of the darkness, “You’ll pardon my caution, I hope.”

It had been three months since the Battle of Sun Day, and this morning, she’d found the note in her pocket, inscribed with the Broken Eye, telling her how to get to the Old Man of the Desert’s secret new offices on Big Jasper. That she’d received a note instead of a knife in the back meant the Old Man didn’t know (at least for sure) that she was the one who’d poisoned the entire Order. That the note had been planted in her very pocket suggested that he had at least one last Shadow.

Andross had given Grinwoody the chance to run, but he just couldn’t do it.

That was why she was here, foolish as it was. She had too many friends upon whom the Old Man still wanted vengeance.

“What the hell happened to all of us on Sun Day?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to find out, but everyone’s just claiming it was an act of Orholam. No one’s telling me anything.”

“Not even your friend the White?”

“You know how that infiltration went, don’t you?” Teia said. “I’ve been demoted for being absent without leave. I’ve been lucky to keep my place in the Blackguard.”

“You were at the Feast of the Dying Light,” the Old Man said. “I wasn’t aware you were invited. You were supposed to be watching Gavin Guile.”

“I’d just got back. Master Sharp took me to the Feast, just for a bit, he said. Said I shouldn’t miss out on the holiest day of the year and my first chance to drink the bloodwine and see the community I was giving so much to serve. Then, afterward, he saved me. He guessed what the poison was and told me our only hope to live through it. But he drank too much of it. I watched him die.”

“As I watched many more,” the Old Man said.

“What happened?” she asked.

“One of the high priests betrayed us, a man named Atevia Zelorn. He poisoned the wine. He gave his life to betray us. This was his home. He was acting, I think, on Karris Guile’s orders. We will have our vengeance soon.”

Teia cursed as if she hated the White.

You just couldn’t run away, could you, Old Man?

“So what’s the plan?” she asked.

“We build anew,” the Old Man said. “I still have riches. I still know who’s weak, who can be bribed, who can be blackmailed, who’s fearful, who can be conned or seduced. Best of all, I still have several shimmercloaks. You and Aram will be the foundation on which we rebuild the Order.”

“Aram?!” she couldn’t help but say.

The man beside Grinwoody in the dark didn’t speak, but he gave a satisfied, arrogant little grunt.

Grinwoody spoke for him. “Aram is sharp and bitter and unquestioningly obedient—and a better fighter than most people would guess, considering. And in a sign that our gods have power beyond the Chromeria’s knowing, I’ve discovered that Aram is a lightsplitter. You, Adrasteia Sharp, my strong right hand, you will train him. You two will be our first team of the new era.”

So there it was: the admission Teia had been hoping for. There were no others. This was the last root of the Order, the last tiny smoldering ember.

“No,” Teia said. “That’s
not
how it’s gonna be.”

“Excuse me?” Grinwoody said. “Young lady, if I have to teach you lessons in obedience as I did your master, I—”

“It was me,” Teia said. “I never left the Jaspers. I told Guile you planned to betray him. I killed Halfcock and Aglaia Crassos and Ravi Satish. I followed Atevia Zelorn, and I poisoned the bloodwine. All of it was me.”

Full-spectrum light suffused the entire room as Grinwoody hit some hidden switch as Aram snapped into a ready position with his spear. The look of black rage suffusing the Old Man’s face was fearsome to behold.

“Well, now you’ve made a very big mistake. Why would you tell me such lies? Do you think this is a game?” The Old Man slapped a hand down, triggering something that slapped a bar down over the cloaks hanging on the pegs, clicking as it locked them into place. He threw back his hood, released the voice-changing collar. “Aram, kill her if she moves. Child, do you
want
to die?”

“Oh yes, but not today, I think.”

His eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her. He didn’t think she was capable of all she’d done.

She said, “You know, Sharp liked to think of the Order as piranhas. But he told me once that there’s a fish that hunts piranhas. Vampire fish, they call it. Fangs longer than my fingers. Said he never could get those fangs to work in his dentures. Too long to fit in his mouth without stabbing himself, he said. He thought that was appropriate, because though he always entertained a fantasy of killing you, he was never willing to bleed to do it.”

“So you killed Elijah, too?” Grinwoody had his hand under the desk, clearly holding a pistol.

“I found this mask in his workshop. With some help from my friends, I finished it. And now I’m going to finish what Elijah started, and what you started, too.” She pulled out the alien, skeletal half mask. With leather loops over the ears to hold it up, it covered only from the forehead to the upper lip. Vampire-fish fangs hooked down from the upper jaw. A black cloth draped below that to conceal the lower half of the face and the neck. The cloth was imbued with orange luxin to make an illusion of a skeletal, monstrous neck and a toothy lower jaw snapping up to meet the hungry upper fangs.

Teia said, “You wanted to make me dangerous. I’ve become ever so much more than that. Do you want to know the biggest secret about my shimmercloak?”

Grinwoody stood, a pistol in each hand, trembling with rage, but he didn’t fire yet. He needed to know. He always had. His eyes shot a glance to her shimmercloak, locked to its peg.

“The secret is . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I don’t need it anymore.”

Before she settled the mask into place with its illusory teeth, before the Mist Walker disappeared, before the report of the muskets, before the thuds of flesh and the final hopeless begging, before the blood leapt onto the walls, before the last gurgling breaths of evil men drowning in their own blood, she flashed a smile at them, and her eyes were an open grave, and her teeth were very sharp.

Abaddon:
Also known as the god of locusts, the Day Star, the Lord of the Flies. One of the chief immortals of the Two Hundred. Often depicted with crippled ankles, giant insect wings, and pallid features.

Adrasteia (Teia):
One of the smaller Blackguards, a skilled paryl drafter, and a luxor for the Iron White. She is a double agent in the Order of the Broken Eye.

Agnelli, Lucia:
A Blackguard scrub, she had a forbidden romantic relationship with Cruxer. Murdered by Quentin Naheed during a training exercise.

Aleph, Derwyn:
Commander general of the Cwn y Wawr.

Aliyah:
Married to Halfcock in secret. She has a teenage son from her first marriage, Eliazar.

Alvaro:
A young, rebellious mirror slave.

Amadis:
An older man, overseer of mirror slaves on the Jaspers.

Amazzal:
One of the six High Luxiats, most notable for his commanding presence and rich voice.

Amzîn:
Awkward young Blackguard, charged with protecting the White.

Appleton, Aodán:
A nobleman and member of the Council of the Divines for the Blood Forest city of Dúnbheo.

Aram:
A failed Blackguard scrub with a grudge against Kip Guile and Cruxer. Elevated to commander of Zymun Guile’s Lightguard.

Arius:
One of the newest members of the Mighty.

Arthur, Rónán:
Deceased twin brother of Conn Ruadhán Arthur. Full-spectrum polychrome and member of the Shady Grove will-casters.

Arthur, Ruadhán:
Conn of the Shady Grove will-casters.

Arun:
Manager of an inn on the Jaspers.

Asafa ar Veyda de Lauria del Luccia verd’Avonte:
Keeper of the Word, Chief Librarian of the Great Library in Azûlay, Katalina Delauria’s father.

Aspasia:
Karris Guile’s room slave.

Azmith, Akensis:
A scion of the Azmith family. Killed by Karris White Oak during the choosing of the White.

Azmith, Caul:
A Parian general, the Parian satrapah’s younger brother. Briefly served as commander of the Chromeria’s allied armies. He led his troops to devastating losses against the White King at Ox Ford, almost shattering the alliance, after which he was demoted. His family seeks to return him to power.

Azmith, Tilleli:
Parian satrapah, older sister of Caul Azmith and spymaster for Paria’s Nuqaba. Andross Guile had intended for her to take power after his assassin killed the Nuqaba, but on Karris’s orders, Teia killed Tilleli as well.

Beliol:
Incorporeal (imaginary? immortal?) assistant to the Ferrilux.

Ben-hadad:
A former Blackguard, Ruthgari, and a member of the Mighty. A blue/green/yellow polychrome and a brilliant engineer.

Blue-Eyed Demons, the:
A mercenary band that fought for Dazen Guile’s army during the False Prism’s War. They later attempted to set up their own kingdom. Stomped out by Prism Gavin Guile.

Blunt:
A Blackguard watch captain.

Bonbiolo, Benetto-Bastien:
One of the four Ilytian pirate kings, rumored to trade under the pseudonym Marco Vellera.