Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) (40 page)

Somehow, she was certain that she never would have
chosen that path. But that left the question of whether that choice was even
hers to make.

Kressen’s estimate of eight days to New Inthai
proved correct and the
Chasm Skimmer
drifted toward the mooring towers
of the southernmost Rift-side town in the early afternoon, right on time. ‘Rift-side’
was a generous classification, as the zeppelin had turned away from the Rift itself
an hour ago to fly down one of the wider tributary chasms. Though they had left
the Rift behind, the riftwinds continued to push them along and the captain ordered
the zeppelin to the ‘surface’ to avoid the narrower lower depths of the canyon.
The land to either side bore more life than Tyrissa had seen for most of the
trip, covered in short grasses yellowed from the winter and dotted with
farmhouses built into half-circle windbreak walls. The occasional stream would
tumble into the canyon as a misty tail of water. Ahead, the tributary canyon
ran southwest clear to the horizon and was said to be navigable by zeppelin all
the way to the city of Enshala.

From the deck of the ship, Tyrissa watched with
wonder as they approached a grand hillside city built of white stone that shone
in the distance like the myths and stories of her childhood. She blinked and
the grandeur was gone, replaced by the reality of ruin. That spectral vision of
a white city on a hill was just that: a ghost of the past. What was left
standing was crumbled and rotting from the passage of time, or collapsed into
nothing more than piles of white rock dotting a barren hillside.

Below the hillside stood the actual town of New
Inthai, a mimic and unintentional mockery of the traces of beauty above. Some
of the buildings looked to be constructed out of the same stone, salvaged from
the ruins. Others were no different from what she’d seen in ‘Little Hithia’ in
Khalanheim, with slender towers and turrets sprouting from curving, elegant
edifices. There were no examples of true Hithian architecture like the Temple
of the Four Winds to be seen.

The sway of the
Chasm Skimmer
in flight
switched to the drift and tug of being moored. Tyrissa hurried below deck to
the exit portal, her belongings already in hand, as the unexpected passengers
now expected to be off and out of the way before the cargo. As she crossed the
boarding platform into the mooring tower, she saw that there’s was only one
other ship floated above New Inthai’s piers, a smaller zeppelin with the name
Jaunty
Jolene
embossed on the side of the hull. Kexal set a quick stride through
the mooring tower, this one with a curving ramp leading to the ground floor in
addition to a winched lift, not stopping until they were away from the piers that
hung precipitously over the canyon. Tyrissa sighed with relief as her feet hit
solid ground, sending what earth energy she had to her feet. She’d grown so
used to the subtle anchoring of earth magick that she felt unbalanced without
it.

The port was quite small, only three mooring
tower and a cluster of warehouses, and quickly gave way to the main street of
New Inthai. The town stretched along a wide boulevard of white bricks that ran
parallel to the tributary canyon. Kexal led them along the main drag, passing
teahouses, row houses with turrets and towers, and more traditional Khalan-style
arcades. They stopped in front a large inn called the
Leaning Tower
on
the north side of the road.

Kexal exchanged a wave with the aproned innkeeper
sweeping the floorboards of the veranda that wrapped around the ground floor of
the inn. A look of gradual recognition spread across the man’s face.

“Been here before?” Tyrissa asked.

“Once or twice. Former Hithian territory ain’t a
bad place to hide if you’re on the run. Not much law to be had outside of the
scattered towns and the trade routes. Plenty of places to lay low.”

“Like the crater?”

“Well, I haven’t been
there,
though that’s
about to change. We already got a good idea where Vralin is but it won’t hurt none
to ask around town. The five of us will—”

“I must see to a… tradition,” Hali interrupted. She
held out her pack to Garth, who reluctantly took on an addition to his already
bulky load. Hali turned to the ruin-studded hill looming above the town to the
south and pointed out an out-of-place thicket of trees growing at the crest. Despite
the time of year, the grove was in full summer greens. “I’ll be there, under
the trees. Have Tyrissa fetch me in an hour or two.”

Tyrissa’s reflexive frown at being volunteered
was prevented by her own desire to see what lay up there, and more importantly,
the view into the crater beyond.

“Understood,” Kexal said. “The
four
of
us—”

“I have something to take care of too,” Tyrissa
blurted out. This was Tsellien’s hometown. She had to look for next of kin. “I
need to find someone.”
And deliver ill news.

Kexal’s eyes snapped between the two women a few
times. “Well, I know you won’t hear otherwise from me. Go on. We’ll meet back
here by evening. The
three
of us will take care of the business of
actually gettin’ into the crater. You know, the work.”

“Great,” Tyrissa said, holding out her pack to
Kexal. He grumbled as he took it.

Tyrissa knew just where to start. She hurried
back up the main boulevard to one of the teahouses with a line of small tables
out front. Three gray-haired Hithians sat in a triangle around one table, two
women and one man. The man grinned around pipe, its smoke curling up and
drifting out into the street. They spoke in Hithian, the language as beautiful
as the hints of old pre-Fall architecture in the ruins above the town. Tyrissa
waited for a break in their conversation and all three turned flat gazes at
her, not hostile, just curious.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said hoping at least
one of them spoke Common, “I’m looking for a member of the ar’Ival family.”

This led to on a rapid exchange in pure Hithian among
the three. ‘Tsellien’ was the only word Tyrissa recognized, the only one she
needed to recognize. Tyrissa carried the slain Valkwitch’s emblem in a pocket,
not wanting to show it unless she had to. It was something of a trophy from the
dead. That could go over poorly.

“You know Tsellien ar’Ival?” said the woman on
the left.

“Yes. I’m a… student of hers.”

That brought a smile to their faces, their eyes
lighting up at the mention of their hometown heroine. A barrage of questions
followed. Is she here? Is she well? They called her ‘Wind-Kissed’ among other
titles, most in the Hithian language.

Tyrissa dodged their questions and said, “I need
to find her next of kin. It’s important.” Those words brought a cloud over the
three. They understood.

“Her brother Srahoun oversees the merchant
house,” said the same woman, the mouthpiece of the group. She motioned back
down the road, toward the zeppelin port. “The red building near the moors.”

“Thank you,” Tyrissa said with a little bow. She
hurried back the way they came through town, retracing her steps back to the
port. They had walked right by the merchant house, a stout three story brick
building in the Khalan style. Tyrissa’s eyes glossed over such places now, they
were so common in Khalanheim. Judging by the signage, this place combined the
services of five trade-related enterprises that would normally be separate
buildings in the Khalan capital. She strode up to the main entrance to see if
she could meet with Srahoun ar’Ival right away.

It wasn’t hard. Tsellien’s name opened doors in
New Inthai.

“Tyrissa, was it? You’ve word of my sister?”

Srahoun was about Tyrissa’s father’s age but had
the light brown eyes and facial features to mark him as Tsellien’s brother. He
kept a simple office of tan colored wooden furniture, the walls decorated with
maps of the Rift and areas north and west of the Hithian Crater. There were
echoes of Liran in the organization of his desk, a constrained chaos of stacked
papers and ledgers.

“Yes. Umm—” On the flight south she had practiced
a dozen different things to say and now words failed her. Tyrissa simply pulled
Tsellien’s cloak clasp from her pocket and placed it on the desk between them.
Srahoun slumped back in his chair with a soft sigh.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” He picked up the emblem,
turning it over in his hands. His face was stoic, accepting.

“This past summer, in northern Morgale.”

“Saving the world?”

“A piece of it, yes.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving the winged shield.

“The last time she visited here, a few winters
ago, she spoke of this happening, of a young woman bearing bad news and her
spirit. You are her heir, yes?”

“I am.”

“Do you need anything from me?”

“How long has
Jaunty Jolene
been docked
here?”

“Five days. She limped into port, her elchem
turbines strained to near breaking. They’re waiting on supplies for the repair.”

Tyrissa repeated ‘five days’ as a whisper. The
strained engines would explain how they gained a day on them. Vralin would be
well set up in the crater by now with that much of head start.

“Anything else?” Srahoun asked.

He was well connected and could supply them with
equipment, or a route into the crater, or something else useful. Yet, Tyrissa
didn’t want to impose. Let Kexal be his resourceful self.

She shook her head. “Nothing material,” she said.
“I know almost nothing about her. The… succession was unorthodox.”

“’Unorthodox’ would be my youngest sister in a
word. Ellie was born special. Different. The priests originally said she had
the blessing of the winds, but it was obvious it was something else entirely.
She grew fast, learned faster. Started calling herself ‘Valkwitch’ by the time
she was eight years old. A child’s fancy that wouldn’t go away, but grew in
complexity and insistence. She shorted out a zepp turbine with a touch to prove
just how different she was. Took us months to find out what that even meant.”

“I can relate,” Tyrissa said.

“By the time she was grown, about your age, she spoke
of traveling the world and saving it from itself. We had no doubts.” He held up
the cloak clasp. “She had this made and set out. Our first Windmage in
generations left with her.”

“Vralin.”

“Yes. Such fortune to have not one, but two
powerful Pactbound in the same group of children, though Vralin gained his
abilities the normal way. Went on some damn fool misadventure and came back
changed. He could have become a like a king and united our scattered peoples.
Instead he followed Tsellien,” Srahoun barked a short laugh. “Can’t blame him. Such
are the choices of a young man in love.”

“In love?”

Of course.
Tyrissa felt it like a punch in
the gut. It made sense. It made no sense at all.

“Madly, though given Ellie’s nature it was a
strange sort of love. The kind where they come together and fall apart time and
again.”

“I should go,” she said, surprising even herself.
Srahoun made to return the clasp, but Tyrissa stopped him with a raised hand.

“Keep it. It was a comfort to me these past
months, but it belongs with you. I have a more permanent memento of her.”

“Very well,” he said, placing the emblem aside.

“I would like to talk to you about Tsellien at
length once my… work here is done. There’s a lot I would like to know.” Later.
She would tell him everything about Vralin once the Windmage was dead. Once
justice was done, his growing betrayal answered for. Srahoun seemed to
understand what sort of work she meant.

“You and those with you are on some grand quest,
yes?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

”Ellie’s heir in the ways that count. You know
where to find me, Thirty-Three.”

Tyrissa couldn’t help but give a small smile at
that as she left, the number like a shield against the new weight on her mind.
She left the merchant house to find Hali.

Tyrissa climbed a hillside bedecked in the
tumbled ruins of a fallen civilization. This wasn’t even the city of Hithia,
not yet. This was old Inthai, a satellite town below the floating capital. Among
the scattered ruin were pieces of white stonework that merely looked misplaced:
a column, straight as the day it was raised, a set of flagstones still cleanly
joined, or the head of a statue with pleasant expression, ignorant of the ruin
spread all around it. The air this close to the Hithian Crater was gently infused
with air magick and Tyrissa glided up the uneven terrain with the grace of
earth, her staff in hand but not needed as a hiking pole. It wasn’t long before
she reached the grove of trees that Hali pointed out, a brilliant splash of
green against a rocky canvas of gray and white.

The winds calmed as soon as her boots met the
grass that spread from the edges of the grove as if the rocky ground were
fertile, wet soil. A serene feeling similar to the pull of Hali’s pact magicks
washed over her mind, the signifier of life magick at work.

From one element into another
. The source radiated
from belowground ahead of her but there was no absorption and conversion of
life magick. That was still one frontier of her Pact that she hadn’t crossed. One
she feared to cross.

A dense summertime canopy obscured the sun once
Tyrissa went a few steps beyond the outermost ring of trees. The gnarled limbs
and snaking roots of the grove’s trees ran rampant and unrestrained, as if a
segment of ancient forest had been transplanted here and somehow thrived. At
the center sprawled a massive, contorted tree taller than all the rest but also
widened by a twisting network of limbs like a bramble bush. The serene source
of life magick pulsed from its roots and Tyrissa give it a wide berth as she
circled around to the far side of the grove, not wanting to disturb the balance
of this place.

The southern side of the grove ended in a cliff
that dropped precipitously into the Hithian Crater itself. There were no
enclosing trees here, only the open sky. Hali stood near the edge, staring out
across the vast crater. The hood of her simple brown robe was down and her hair
danced in the winds that flowed out of the crater. Though she had been asked to
come, Tyrissa didn’t want to interrupt and kept a polite distance from Hali.
She followed the cliff’s edge to a small rise, a boulder covered in grass and
moss, and sat down to take in the elemental vista of the Hithian Crater.