Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
T he Salt Keep earned its name due to its location in the mountains of eastern Glaea, a notoriously inaccessible piece of land. The mountains that surrounded the Keep were tall, treacherous, dense, and incredibly effective at keeping outsiders away. Even if one managed to locate the Keep—difficult on its own, given the Arachessen’s unmatched ability to keep secrets—the journey over the mountains on foot would be almost certain death. The mountain range was so dense that even most magical travel—already very rare—was impossible over such a distance, and dangerous. Unless your coordinates were very, very accurate, you had a significant chance of throwing yourself into a ravine. Which did indeed happen once, about a century back, when some poor lovestruck sorcerer tried to follow the object of his affections back to the Keep.
Yes, there were many practical reasons why the Salt Keep was built here, right where the mountains met the sea, isolated from the rest of the world. None of them were its aesthetics.
Still, it was beautiful.
When I saw it for the first time as a child, I’d never felt smaller in my life—like I was caught between two godly realms, the mountains to one side and the sea to the other, massive forces that rendered me nothing but inconsequential flesh and bones. It cemented the Arachessen in my mind as a power greater than the sum of its members—something greater than all of us. Of course, I reasoned, the Salt Keep would be the only thing that could exist here, at the apex of these two worlds.
I no longer could see the view as I did then, of course. Not that I didn’t see it in my own way—not that I didn’t still experience it, maybe even more deeply than I did that day. I now felt the world around me in every sense, the presence of the world wrapping me up from all angles. Every jagged plane of the rocky cliffs—grey—the roll of the surf—green—the dusty, dry, shin-tickling grass—dim gold.
I had nothing to mourn. I had gained more than I had lost. This is what I would tell anyone who asked me.
But secretly, in a part of myself I tried not to acknowledge, I missed being able to see it. Sometimes, when I’d come out here, I’d try to conjure that memory—the memory of sight, from when I was ten years old.
“You’re distracted, Sylina,” the Sightmother said, and I snapped my head forward. We walked through the rocky paths along the cliffs, pulling our cloaks tight against the salty wind that stung our cheeks.
She was right. I was distracted.
“I apologize.”
I heard the warm smile in her voice. “You don’t need to apologize. Ascensions are difficult. And I know Raeth’s has been especially so for you.”
This was what I had always appreciated about the Sightmother, from the time I was a child. She was foreboding, powerful, strict—yes. But she was also kind, warm, present. I had so needed that when I met her. I still felt that I needed it.
For this reason, I didn’t bother trying to lie to her.
“I’ve struggled with it,” I admitted.
“Raeth is more alive than she has ever been. But I know that you know that.”
“Yes.”
Ascension , not death. Never death. Arachessen didn’t believe in death, only change. Just as the loss of our eyes didn’t mean the loss of sight, the loss of a heartbeat didn’t mean the loss of life .
Still, it was hard not to mourn someone who existed now only as air and earth and water, which had no room for the memories or thoughts or experiences that made a human a human.
“What’s so troubling to you, Sylina?” the Sightmother asked.
I didn’t answer, and she laughed softly. “You were always ever the mysterious one. Even when we found you.”
“I—” I chose my words carefully. “I felt that Raeth’s fate was avoidable, and I’ve carried bitterness about that. That is my weight to carry, not Asha’s.”
“It isn’t just about Raeth.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t think of a way to do so without sounding resentful. Maybe because I was.
“Weaver’s name, Sylina, just speak your mind.” The Sightmother nudged my shoulder affectionately, shaking her head. “It’s no interrogation.”
“I don’t like to give voice to thoughts that don’t deserve it.”
“And I’m sure Acaeja is grateful for your piousness. But humor me.”
My teeth ground, just as they always did, involuntarily, whenever I thought about the shot I was so close to taking and didn’t.
“I could have ended it then,” I said, after a long moment. “I had a clear shot to him. I was going to take it.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I disliked when the Sightmother did this—asked questions she already knew the answer to, just to make us say the answers aloud.
“Because Asha commanded that I return.”
“Is that really why you didn’t?”
I paused and turned to her. The Sightmother kept on walking.
“Keep going,” she said. “Why did Asha tell you to return?”
“She felt we were running out of time to flee.”
“That isn’t the only reason.” Now, the Sightmother stopped, too, and turned to me. “The Arachessen only exist to be architects of the fate the Weaver shows us. We are not judges. We are not executioners. We are followers of the goddess Acaeja’s will, and followers of the unknown.”
My cheeks flushed—irritated to have this explained, and embarrassed that the Sightmother, who I so admired, apparently felt it needed to be .
“I know, Sightmother. And I’m committed to that.”
“Oh, I know you are, Sylina. This is why I’m telling you this. Because you’re a committed Arachessen. A committed Sister of the threads. A committed daughter of the Weaver. And I know you have struggled with this. I think for reasons beyond those even you yourself understand.”
“It’s—there is so much suffering,” I said. “It isn’t just about Raeth, or Asha, it’s?—”
“It reminds you,” the Sightmother said, “of your own past.”
I was ashamed of the defensive anger that leapt up in me at that.
“With all respect, Sightmother?—”
She raised a hand. The movement seemed to erect a wall between us—her presence pushing back against mine. “You do not need to agree with me or argue with me. In the end, it doesn’t matter if you think I’m right or not. You have had a longer life beyond the walls of the Keep than most of the Arachessen. I know that has been difficult for you. In some ways, it has compromised your training—compromises that I’m proud to say that you’ve overcome.”
My face was hot. I didn’t like thinking about this. It had been a long time since I’d had to defend myself against the many accusations that I would never be a good Arachessen because I was so old by the time I got here.
“Your past has instilled in you a strong sense of justice. This makes you a powerful warrior, strong in your conviction. But it also means that you struggle with the reality that there is no good or evil in this world, just as there is no good or evil in us. Only what is Right by the fates.”
I wished I could say she was wrong. I had tried over the years to beat that quality out of myself, the piece that was so obsessed with justice and righteousness. And I’d done a good job of it, for the most part.
There was no moral good or evil. There was only what was fated and what was not. What was Right by the threads our goddess wove, and what was a deviation of what should be. Judging which was which was not our place .
I nearly jumped as a warm hand touched my cheek. The Sightmother’s caress was brief and gentle.
“You have a kind heart, Sylina,” she said. “That is a gift to Acaeja, even if it is, at times, a burden to you. Temper your expectations of this world. But do not dampen your fire. You’ll need it for what’s ahead.”
What’s ahead?
I didn’t need expressions to feel the shift in the Sightmother then, a solemn tinge to her presence.
“What is it?” I asked.
The Sightmother pulled away, resuming her walk. She didn’t answer for a long moment.
“I peered into the darkness last night.”
I faltered.
Peering into the darkness. A phrase to describe the advanced form of seering conducted by the highest ranking of the Arachessen—usually only by Sightmothers. That, then, was why the Sightmother had been absent for the last several days. Peering into the dark was a long, arduous task that left them near-dead to the world for many hours, sometimes days. But the upside was that they came as close as most humans ever would to the gods themselves.
“What did you see?” I asked.
“Acaeja showed me the conqueror. She showed me terrible consequences that would take place if he were to succeed in his task. His actions are not Right. They threaten the realm of Acaeja, and all of the White Pantheon.”
My brows lurched.
That was a strong, strong accusation.
I managed, “How? Why?”
I felt her wry smile. “The Weaver, hearts thank her, is cryptic. She shows me only threads, not the tapestry. But I saw enough to understand her intentions. The conqueror needs to be stopped.” Her brow twitched. “If you’re still regretting that missed shot, you won’t be for long.”
I couldn’t speak for a moment. Then, “You want me to go.”
“I do.”
“But I’m?—”
“We need fire, child,” the Sightmother said, simply. “You have it. But if you don’t want the task?—”
“I do want it.”
I spoke too fast. Too eagerly.
I had been given many missions during my time as an Arachessen. All of them I executed skillfully, accurately, quietly. I trained twice as hard to make up for my late start, to make up for everything I knew the others would always say about me. And it had been recognized. I had risen through the ranks swiftly, earning respect if not always affection.
Still, these last few weeks… parts of myself I thought I’d long ago discarded had started nagging at me again. I hid it the best I could, but it bothered me to know that the Sightmother had noticed.
I had seen other Sisters be cast out of the Arachessen. Our goddess demanded discipline, distance. Not emotional volatility.
I had been handed a gift in this mission. I would not squander it.
I bowed my head. “Thank you, Sightmother. I accept the task.”
The Sightmother tilted my chin up, lifting my lowered face.
“All deserve another chance,” she said, then looped my arm through hers as we walked together. “What do you know of the Bloodborn vampires? The House of Blood?”
Arachessen extensively studied all the continents and major kingdoms within them. It was hard to learn about the vampire Houses in much detail because they were so isolated, but we had our ways.
“I know enough of their history,” I said. “I know of their position with their goddess.”
Nyaxia, the mother of vampires, was notoriously protective of her people, lording singularly over the continent of Obitraes for the last two thousand years. But long ago, the House of Blood had questioned Nyaxia and offended her, perhaps even betrayed her—offending her so violently that they were cursed rather than given the gifts matching those of the other two Houses. Few details about the curse were known, only that it resulted in young, ugly deaths by vampire standards. The House of Blood was reviled not only by the human nations—who wanted nothing to do with any of the vampire kingdoms—but also the other two vampire houses.
“Are you aware,” the Sightmother said, “that they have a strong affinity for seers?”
That, I did not know.
“They don’t make such information well known, of course,” she went on. “But all major military operations from the House of Blood are almost always accompanied by one seer, who typically remains very close to the leading general. Their king, apparently, has one who never leaves his side.”
Strange, that a kingdom of Nyaxia would be so reliant upon seers. Nyaxia did not offer her followers any magic that could be used for peering into the future—which meant that seers would need to be human, worshipping other gods who offered magic that could be used for such things. Like Acaeja.
“Our conqueror is no exception,” she went on. “He has a seer as well. Join him, infiltrate his army, and watch his movements. Should you earn his trust, your position as his seer will give you unmatched insight into his movements and intentions.”
“You say he already has a seer?” I asked, and the Sightmother nodded.
“He does. For now.”
She did not need to say more. I understood right away what she was telling me to do—create my own opening.
“His forces move north,” she said. “I do not know what his ultimate intentions are with our country, but I know that now he moves for the Pythora King. We need to know why, and what else he intends. Accompany him. And then, when the time is right, you will kill him.”
Years ago, I might have wanted to kill him immediately. But I knew now what it was to cut off the head of a snake and have two more grow in its place. It would take more than a single dagger to his heart to end this.
Perhaps it could’ve been that simple when he first landed. Not now, after he’d started laying roots.
“I won’t lie to you, Sylina,” the Sightmother said quietly. “This will be a dangerous and unpleasant task.”
“All tasks are dangerous and unpleasant.”
At least this one meant something.
She nodded, understanding me exactly.
“Go now,” she said. “Travel through the pools. He moves to the southwest tonight.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask if I could say goodbye. The threads connected us all, anyway.
I bowed my head. “Thank you, Sightmother.”
I started back to the Keep. I’d gather my things and go within an hour.
The Sightmother did not follow me.
“May she weave in your favor,” she called after me, her voice lost in the ocean wind.