Chapter 31 Quil
Quil
On the seventh morning out of Firan, Quil and his companions crested a mountain ridge to see a valley spread out below.
A woolly layer of clouds floated atop it, occasionally clearing enough to offer glimpses of enormous trees and azure lakes, rushing white streams, and steep cliffs fuzzed with climbing moss.
They had reached the Cloud Forest and Kotama, the Jaduna capital.
Quil had mixed feelings as he looked upon the shrouded landscape. He was tasked with finding the salvation of the Empire here, from the people who had cast out Sirsha when she was but a child.
Every nation has its rules, his aunt told him once when he had asked her why the Brijnans punished murderers with mere imprisonment, instead of hanging.
Rules that are built upon generations of thought and study on what is best for those people.
They might find our rules barbaric. Who are we to judge?
Well, Quil loved Sirsha. He would judge and he wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
His thoughts drifted to Aunt Hel. He’d received another missive from her only days before. It was different than her usual messages. Still, he knew her voice, her melancholy. Even if it hadn’t had her unbroken seal on it, he’d have known it was genuine.
Nephew,
I should write this letter in code, but I am tired, and do not have it in me.
We are deep in the badlands. From here have struck our enemy’s weapons repeatedly and yet they appear to have endless stores of firepowder.
We attack their pilots and more appear as if spawning from the hells.
We assassinated three of their highborns, but the Tel Ilessi’s magic is strong and we cannot get to her.
Somehow, she is draining our people for her magic. More than a hundred children have died in Antium. Her power grows stronger by the day.
I know not why I tell you this. Perhaps because I am afraid, and there is no one left to share it with but you.
Only you will understand the weight of this empire.
The weight of our creed—Loyal to the end.
I often ponder what you said to me: loyalty or freedom?
Sometimes, I think death would be a release.
I dream of it, hope for it, for at least I would not have to see my people suffer. Freedom, at last.
I will send this before I lose courage. Another lesson for you. You cannot have courage without fear. On some days, the fear wins. Tomorrow, I fight on. Tomorrow, I rally. Tomorrow, I remain defiant. Tonight, I grieve. I fear. And I take comfort that you will read this, and you will see me.
—AH
His heart broke to read it, for he could feel Aunt Hel’s anguish in the words. I see you, Aunt, he wanted to say. You aren’t alone. And I will not fail you.
“What does she say?” Arelia had asked after Quil opened the message.
“That she’s launching her missions from the Bhuth badlands,” Quil said. He didn’t offer more and burned the note shortly after.
It was late afternoon by the time they were clear of the mountains.
Thick-trunked Gandafur trees rose around them, casting everything in a cool, virescent light.
They’d long since changed into their formal clothing.
The trail they traversed was lined with stones and lanterns at regular intervals, but they saw no one on it.
Not until they turned a corner and found themselves before a stone gate that stretched nearly a hundred feet high and as many across.
As they all dismounted, Arelia gawped. “That,” she said, “does not make any logical sense. The beams don’t—”
“Ah, Reli,” Sufiyan whispered.
She went silent as a woman materialized before them, as if from thin air. She had short gray hair; her coins marked her as a Raan-Ruku—Wolf of the Mother. She wore a black band around her neck—she was mourning someone.
“Greetings, Arelia Farrar,” the woman said. “Tas of the North, Sufiyan Veturius, and Prince Zacharias Marcus Livius Aquillus Farrar. Welcome to Kotama, home city of the Jaduna. I am N’dia of Kin Deshma. Speak your intent.”
“I am here as the representative of the Martial and Scholar Empire. I seek an audience with the Raanis,” Quil said. “I come to beg their aid.”
“When we last met, Prince,” N’dia said, “you were a tiny thing in the arms of the Kehanni Mamie Rila. And I was negotiating a treaty. I am happy to see you, but I am distressed you have come so far. We know what you ask. We cannot help you.”
Quil didn’t allow himself to feel deflated. Diplomacy is one long interminable dinner, Aunt Helene always taught him. The first five conversations are meant to whet the appetite.
“As future sovereign of the Empire,” Quil said, “I am entitled to pay my respects to the Raanis, am I not?”
“The Raanis are…” N’dia considered. “Occupied. One of them has lost a family member. They are in mourning.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Quil said. “Perhaps, as a powerful trading partner of your people, I might pay my respects.” He glanced at Sufiyan, who straightened. “The blood of Laia of Serra—the Shatharin, She Who Tells the Tale—would also like to offer condolences.”
“Don’t mind us,” Tas muttered, glancing at Arelia. “Just a civil servant and a lowly engineer.”
N’dia shifted uneasily as she looked between Quil and Sufiyan.
“You may pass. We will never bar the Blood of Shatharin from our shade. Your friends may come too. But we cannot help you, Prince. The Jaduna have no skin in this fight.”
It was not what she said but how she said it that triggered Quil’s magic. He reached out with the slightest tendril, so light it would feel like nothing more than a whisper of wind.
Immediately, he sensed N’dia’s fear. Not of Quil or his companions. No, this was a memory of fear, and it colored everything about N’dia, from how she greeted them to how she moved through the forest.
Other than the Raanis, the Raan-Ruku were Jaduna’s most powerful magic-users. Which made Quil wonder what could possibly frighten one so deeply.
They left the horses behind and stepped through a portal like the one in the Forest of Dusk. The trip through made Quil ill and dizzy, and it was only N’dia’s hand that kept him from falling. When he emerged, only he and Tas seemed affected.
“The portals can be difficult,” N’dia said, observing Quil’s pallor. “For those whose childhoods were…less than ideal.”
Tas glanced over at Quil, grinning. “My childhood was in a hellish Martial prison with a deranged warden,” he said. “What the hells do you have to complain about? Other than the lack of parents, regular assassination attempts, nonstop prejudice from Illustrian idiots…”
Quil tried to smile, but unease skittered over his body as he walked the streets of Kotama. A group of children ran across their path, laughing as they followed their teacher. They didn’t look older than twelve. Exactly Sirsha’s age when her people exiled her.
The tree houses were beautiful, the carved, polished wood bridges and stairwells a wonder that provoked a running stream of excited commentary from Arelia.
But while she, Tas, and Sufiyan marveled, Quil considered how—like everywhere else in the world—Kotama had monsters. And he’d best be ready to meet them.
“Quil, this really doesn’t make sense,” Arelia whispered as they followed N’dia. “As far as engineering goes—”
“They probably use magic,” Quil said offhand, his mind consumed with the speech he’d come up with to appeal for aid. Our people have had a beneficial partnership for twenty years—
“What do you mean, Arelia?” Sufiyan asked in an undertone. Quil stepped away so he wouldn’t be distracted, nearly stopping short when he realized that if all the Raanis were assembled, he was about to meet Sirsha’s mother.
His skin went clammy. Bleeding hells. She must know that Sirsha and Quil were soul bonded. After all, U’qaya knew. What if the Raani asked about her daughter? What if she demanded to know what Quil knew? He touched the Adah coin, hoping for comfort.
Instead, warmth spread through his body.
The same warmth he felt when Sirsha was close physically.
He looked around, his heart lifting because it couldn’t be possible, and yet somehow it was.
He forgot about the jinn threat: Sirsha will suffer greatly.
I do not foresee her survival. Forgot that it was better if he didn’t see Sirsha, at least not until after the war was over.
He forgot everything because she was here and he could feel her—
As swiftly as the coin had warmed, it went cold. What in the hells?
He examined it, worried that the lines would have faded. But they glimmered as powerfully as ever. Perhaps she’d been thinking of him.
Sirsha? he called. She didn’t respond.
“We’re here,” N’dia said as they arrived at a large meeting hall built into one of the Gandafur trees.
Its beams were carved with flowers and animals that looked as if they would spring to life.
Its entrance was layered, arch after arch, creating a sense that the hall went on infinitely.
This place had none of the subtle beauty of the Sher Jinaat. Kotama was meant to inspire awe.
But Quil had grown up with the stark beauty of the Tribal Desert. The grandeur of Antium’s palaces. So, he looked to the shadows, not the light—and noticed an unusual number of guards. “Are you seeing this?” he muttered to Tas.
“Twelve on the roof,” Tas said. “Twenty more in the trees.”
“A bit heavy for a diplomatic visit in the middle of the forest,” Arelia said. “Quil, these structures—”
But N’dia dropped back and Arelia clamped her mouth shut as the Jaduna woman walked them through the receiving hall and into an enormous round room.
A fallen tree dominated the space, its gnarled roots carved into six thrones.
The floor was a softly waving carpet of flowers in a riot of colors.
Hangings that depicted each of the Jaduna Kin adorned the walls, made entirely of vines, leaves, and petals.