Chapter 25
The hall where the aviax host the official meeting to determine whether or not they will become our allies is shaped like an open flower. The first rays of the sun are just now spilling over its gleaming gold-and-green walls, which curve up and outward into a honeycomb of interconnected, hive-like glass perches. These perches are where the aviax nobles roost, their feathers preened to diamond brilliance, their ears and necks adorned with so many jewels, they glitter like stars. At least it seems that way from my vantage point on the floor, where I’m standing with my companions, as well as White Hands, Lord Kamanda, and a few human and equus commanders, whom I only briefly met the previous night.
We’re all gazing up at the two aviax monarchs perched on a pair of delicate crystal thrones that rise so high into the air, they nearly extend past the reach of the towering glass walls.
I stare at the pair, fascinated. The king is an imposing male figure. He’s so tall, he approaches Myter’s height, and has such brilliantly colored plumage, he nearly obscures his much smaller, plainer queen. Where his feathers are shimmering shades of purple and green, hers are a plain, unremarkable gray, although her tail is a bright, iridescent purple, indicating that she may be yandau instead of female. I’m not certain, however, given how little I know of the aviax.
It would be easy to dismiss her as a silent observer of the proceedings, except for the intelligence that gleams in her eyes, sharper and more ferocious than that which inhabits the king’s. I keep a wary focus on her as their vizier—a tall, distinguished-looking fellow with cerulean plumage that matches the splendid feathers that make up his mustache and beard—speaks. His disdain for our presence is clear in the way he grandly preens and flaps about.
As he sneers down his beak at Lord Kamanda, who is, for today, wearing exquisite purple robes and holding his ceremonial golden fly whisk—the symbol of Hemaira’s highest-ranked nobility—I glance at White Hands, as I’ve been doing since we arrived. She’s remained silent, seeming for all the world like a quiet observer, except she’s wearing what I’ve termed her ambush armor, a suit of white bone so similar to her ceremonial armor, you could mistake the two, except this suit has more flexible joints, making it easier for her to move.
She’s planning something—that much she hinted to me yesterday when she said she’d be asking me for something later, only now I regret not seeking her out earlier to ask what it is. But I slept later than usual this morning, thanks to my feather-soft mattress and leftover relaxation from the hot springs.
I needed the rest—we all did—so I’ll just keep up my guard as everyone else is doing until White Hands finally reveals her plan.
The vizier continues speaking: “While we understand the urgency of your request,” he says self-importantly in the melodic, high-pitched voice I’ve come to discover is common to most aviax, “we the citizens of Ilarong have long held a policy of noninterference with all the other sentient races. This is the same for all aviax across the Southern provinces, whose representatives, as you know, are also in attendance. It is the decision of our combined councils that this is not our battle to partake in. Especially given that you now wish to change the timeline so precipitously.”
He glances pointedly at White Hands as he says this.
After what I informed her about the shadow vales, she now wants to move the first offensive up to weeks from now, instead of the months we were planning.
“So everythin’ he just said adds up to a no, doesn’t it?” Britta, standing beside me, quietly queries.
“Basically,” says Adwapa, who’s flanking my other side. She tsks. “Too busy polishing their jewels to take their heads out of their arses.”
Her sentiment matches mine precisely. It’s clear the aviax have no true understanding of what’s happening in the world around them, nor do they want to gain one.
Lord Kamanda, to his credit, betrays none of the annoyance gleaming in his eyes as he calmly smooths his robes. “With all due respect, honored personages, while you may not wish to engage in the coming war, the war will, eventually, come to you. It is only a matter of time. According to the Angoro, we have only a matter of months—perhaps even mere weeks—before the shadow vales bleed permanently into this realm and set the stage for its ultimate destruction. We need to act now, mount an offensive. We already have troops all across Otera waiting to begin the first wave of skirmishes.”
Somehow, I’m not surprised when the vizier waves away Lord Kamanda’s words with an annoyed pfft. “Hidden continents, shadow vales, a new pantheon of gods—meaningless fluff,” he sniffs dismissively. He turns to White Hands. “Your war with your goddesses has altered your comprehension of reality, War Queen Fatu of Hemaira.”
White Hands responds to this insult with a mild smile. “I prefer White Hands.”
The vizier dismisses her words with a wave. “Very well—White Hands—not that your name should matter, given how far you have fallen.” The vizier looks up at the monarchs, visibly seeking permission before he continues: “Once, you were the right hand of the emperor. Now you are a traitor twice over—not only to the Oterans, who were once your allies, but to the goddesses you called mothers. And now you wish to bring us into your madness.”
“Ufff,” Britta whispers, shaking her head. “He’s really stepped in it now.”
That he has. I can see the expression on White Hands’s face, so bland it’s as if she’s not even bothered at all. But then White Hands doesn’t get angry. She gets even.
“I would say we leave,” Asha whispers, “see how these idiots deal with the vales on their own. But I want to see how this ends.”
“Badly,” Belcalis says. “This will end badly. For them.”
White Hands does not seem to hear our whispered comments as she graciously inclines her head, as calm as ever. She ignores the vizier and looks up at the monarchs. “I understand your reasoning, honored majesties. You are the caretakers of your flock. You must protect them, especially against those who might not see the world in a way that is…how do we say, logical? That being said, I humbly ask that you allow me one last consideration.”
The vizier harrumphs, annoyed at being ignored. He truly does have an incurable case of self-importance. “As if we would—”
“We’re listening,” the queen interrupts, holding up a delicate, feathered hand. The entire hall falls silent, including the vizier, who swiftly snaps his mouth shut.
White Hands puts a hand to her chest and bows in gratitude. “My thanks, honored Majesty.” Then she turns to where I’m standing with my friends and nods at me.
I immediately tense. Here comes the favor she spoke of.
“I would like to introduce you all to someone important: Deka, the Angoro, slayer of the gods.” She beckons to me. “Step forward, Deka.”
Nodding, I slowly walk over, trying to project as much confidence as I can, given that the aviax are very literally looking down on me, including that odious vizier.
Once I stand beside White Hands, the king squints at me. “Rather small for a killer of the gods, don’t you think,” he murmurs thoughtfully, although that’s easy for him to say, considering he’s quite literally a giant.
The queen shrugs, an elaborate fluffing of the feathers. “Perhaps,” she says, “but stranger things have occurred.”
“Indeed,” White Hands agrees. “Please do hold on to that sentiment. Now then, I’ve told you of Deka’s recent adventures. Of the shadow vales…”
A tingle of foreboding goes through me, but the vizier, as always, doesn’t notice the danger. For a being related to predatory birds, he doesn’t seem to have much in the way of survival instinct. “All mindless fluff,” he repeats disparagingly. “All mindless fluff.”
White Hands ignores him. “There is one thing, however, I failed to tell you. Deka learned a new ability during her travels. One I wish to share with you. I suspect it might prove illuminating.”
She turns meaningfully to me, and now I notice the mist that’s creeping into the throne room, mist that’s making everything darker, blotting out the sun. It’s accompanied by the tingling that signals the arrival of other children of the goddesses.
I shudder quietly, knowing exactly what’s about to happen.
“I want you to open a door to the last place you were, Deka,” White Hands says. “I want you to show them what they’re risking.”
“But—” I glance at Lord Kamanda, sitting there unwittingly in his chair. At the vizier, perched on his roost just a few lengths above him.
Neither has experienced a shadow vale before. More to the point, neither seems prepared, should the worst happen. And the chamber has become dark now. Oh, so very dark….
Almost as dark as the vales.
A worried chirping begins among the aviax, but White Hands ignores it as she slowly, deliberately places herself in front of Lord Kamanda. “Open the door to the vale, Deka,” she commands. “I’m here.”
I will protect him.
I nod. “I’ll open it now,” I say, already picturing that horrific darkness as I sink into the combat state. The Greater Divinity flows into me so easily, I almost don’t notice when it does.
Then I pull the space in front of me apart.
Darkness immediately looms. Silence, deep and all-encompassing. And then those lights emerge, dim blue shimmers…
On the perch above me, the vizier cocks his head, intrigued. “Fascinating,” he says, inching forward, a captivated look in his eyes.
It seems aviax are just as enamored of lights as they are of jewels.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” White Hands says mildly.
“Do what?” the vizier asks, hopping toward the light.
Then a horrific roar sounds.
As the vizier darts back, terrified, a gigantic tentacle comes hurtling out of the darkness. Before it can connect with the vizier, a massive dark shape launches itself out of the shadows. A distinctive rattling sounds as it rends the tentacle in two.
Pandemonium ensues, panicked squawks and wing flaps rising as the aviax in the rows above us take flight, trying to get away from the reach of those tentacles, which are emerging swiftly from the darkness now.
I keep my eyes on that dark shape. “Sayuri!”
The gigantic Firstborn I once knew as the deathshriek Rattle is suddenly here, as are a host of other deathshrieks, the mist rising farther into the air as they battle the other tentacles, which are now shooting across the room with abandon.
“Close the door, Deka!” Sayuri commands as she whirls, slashing one tentacle after another, the spikes on her back rattling together with each movement.
“Doing so now!” I reply, already picturing the door sealing shut.
A pained roar resounds as the door complies with my wish, slicing through tentacles in the process. Within seconds, the vale is completely gone, leaving only the blood-spattered floor and masses of still-twitching tentacles in its wake.
As the mist recedes and sunlight shines again, a horrified silence descends. It only lasts moments. There’s a determined tone to the aviax’s chirping as they fly back down to their perches.
In fact, the only one who’s still silent now is the vizier. White Hands slowly, deliberately wipes a drop of the vale wraith’s blue blood from his feathers before she turns to the monarchs, who are squawking furiously between themselves.
She points to where the door was as she says, “That dark place you just saw was a shadow vale, and the thing that attacked was a vale wraith, a monstrosity the gods use to grow their power. If you do not help us in our quest, the entirety of Otera will become like that vale in a matter of weeks, and that includes your precious Ilarong, as well as all the other aeries. Everyone here, even you, your feathered majesties, will be food for the gods. And, as you have seen, they have no aversion to eating aviax. In fact, they might even prefer you.”
She smiles thinly at the monarchs. “Now then, do you still wish to send us on our way, or do you wish to become allies?”
The king blinks, then looks at the queen, silent messages passing between the two. Finally, he clears his throat and turns back to White Hands. “How many aviax do you need?”
“Every single one that you can spare.”