3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Caelan
“ T he mountain is active,” I reported as we rejoined the final three members of our party.
As one, their eyes turned towards the Firecap Mountains, squinting to make it out for ourselves.
“I see nothing,” Nahome said.
Lady Nahome Obsan was the younger daughter of the Lord of The Soul, a small territory in eastern Vaharilar known primarily for its extreme religious devotion. She was tall and thin with dark skin and sensuous lips that I could not imagine kissing anything but the Crust in honor of the Father. She held herself rigidly upright at all times. Her long black hair had been braided into twists.
It was Nahome who had boldly come to my father after the quake and warned, in her stern, quiet voice, of the approaching Rebirth. She’d held her own during my father’s sputtering fury. For a moment, I’d thought he might call his guards to have her arrested. But in the end, he’d listened as she spoke of the signs of a pregnant mountain and reminded us that activity in the mountains was the only cause of quakes ever recorded.
“Ead Tajawl found an egg and threw it into the Firecaps before she died,” she’d said.
“That was over thirty cycles ago. The egg was a dud. It spent too long as stone to bear fruit, just like the rest of them,” my father had snapped back. But in the end, he’d yielded when I offered to lead this mission.
Nahome had insisted on coming along. She was the only member I hadn’t hand-picked, and I’d made her pay for her spot with every bit of information she knew about the supposed Rebirth.
“Seers have foretold that a rare eclipse will accompany the Rebirth. The crimson sun Jupe will cover his queen, Ksafa, coloring our world red, the color of fire,” she told me.
I demanded to see these writings for myself and Nahome looked at me oddly and told me they had been lost.
“Then how do you know?” I’d asked.
“House Obsan has always dedicated itself to the will of the Father,” she said with the irritating vagueness of a temple priest.
“Is the Rebirth his will?” I didn’t see how it could be. Though the Father had once created the dragons, his children had turned on him, ending his mortal existence and sending him to the Crust for eternity. In retaliation, he’d endowed the Northern Bird Lord Calathan Havard with altaya magic, which Calathan used to kill the dragon-gods and win his throne.
“I could not say.”
“What can you say?“ I asked her.
“That I’m going with you.”
I could hardly deny her. And I had to admit that her knowledge of the desert had proven useful. She was a solid fighter and a good rider. And it didn’t hurt that she was Touched. Though it was said that her powers were as weak as the pale green shade of her eyes, her eyes still glowed emerald. She could see, however dimly, the Threads of the world.
“You can see the peak if you crest the hill,” Baris reported to Nahome, and she took off in that direction with long, even strides.
“No,” I said, and she froze.
She turned back towards me, her face neutral. There was no surer sign of displeasure in a courtier than that, but Nahome was not like most of my father’s simpering court. “Why?” she asked directly.
I couldn’t tell her the truth: that even now, a child was running away to report our presence. That, if we didn’t leave now, we might not make it back into Vaharilar alive to tell of what we’d seen.
“Our mission is complete. There is no doubt. The mountain is active. Today we ran into our third party of Losians. Every day we stay, we’re begging for another encounter. It’s a risk we can’t take. We need to get back and report or Vaharilar will be unprepared for the Rebirth.”
I glanced at High Commander Fakoury. Junaid Fakoury was my father’s best friend and the High Commander of Vaharilar’s armies. By rights, command of this mission should be his, but Junaid was like an uncle to me. He'd come to support my command, not usurp it. I had no doubt that he would report everything he saw back to my father, but that could work to my advantage. If he approved, I’d take one step closer to being High Commander myself one day and one step further from the emerald green robes of a High Priest.
But the High Commander wasn’t looking at me or at the mountain range beyond. He peered into the distance as he sought to make out something invisible to me through the waves of heat in the air.
Joab noted his intensity and drew his weapon. “What is it?”
“Something, a shape. I can’t make it out,” said Junaid.
Swords sang from scabbards all around me.
“More demons?” Joab asked.
“Too small. An animal, maybe. Moving away.”
Junaid Fakoury’s eyes slid to me. Even after many cycles of knowing each other, it unsettled me to see the slitted irises of a demon in a man so close to our family. But the Fakourys’ Rider blood dated all the way back to the Age of Dragons.
When my ancestor came to Vaharilar from the north to slay the old gods, House Fakoury had turned on the Tajawls, who then ruled them, to ally themselves with the Havards. A Fakoury Rider had betrayed her own kind and killed the dragon Asherah. The Fakourys had been loyal to the Havards for the entire thousand cycles since. They’d spurned their ancient traditions and adopted northern ones. “Loyalty” was even their house word.
But demon blood is strong, and even all this time later, it was said that some Fakoury children were still born with small horns that were quietly filed off in infancy.
Now Junaid’s slitted eyes held a question. It was in his nature to command, but he didn’t want to overstep. His eyes urged me to step forward and give the order myself to pursue the unknown moving shape. But I already knew what it was.
I gave an infinitesimal shake of my head.
Junaid’s brow furrowed in confusion before a mix of concern, disappointment, and understanding replaced the question in his eyes. Before I could read more of his reaction, he turned away and peered again out into the distance.
“It’s over there now,” he pointed. The others shuffled forward to see. But he hadn’t pointed in the same direction.
Beside him, Lord Broker Kells huffed and sheathed his scimitar. “That’s just swirling sand. You saw a damned mirage.” He sounded annoyed, but I could tell he was secretly relieved. The harsh, unyielding heat of Los hadn’t been kind to Broker. He’d adopted a wrap over his face to protect him and kept his red beard long, but his family was old northern blood and freckles peppered the exposed skin around his eyes.
He was further disadvantaged by the fact that he spent more time drinking and managing the agricultural industries of his thriving territory, The Belly, than he did with a sword in his hand. Though he claimed to be coming along as a favor to me, his oldest friend, I didn’t know how he’d found out about the secret mission and suspected he had motives of his own. Broker never did anything that didn’t serve his own interests.
“My apologies. Old eyes,” the High Commander said.
Gratitude and shame flooded me at Junaid’s willingness to humble himself for my benefit. He’d seen the child and he knew I’d allowed her to escape. He was covering for me and honoring my decision, stupid as it may be.
“The prince is right,” the High Commander added. “We must turn for home and let our news give wings to our alwashi.”
“With greatest respect, High Commander, the prince’s view is limited. He thinks of the now,” Nahome said.
“I do. I’m a fighting man. I look at what’s in front of me,” I said.
“And I look at what is to come,” Nahome said. “We can continue for another day and learn more. So you learned the mountain is active. It is something. But how close is the Rebirth? What else can we report that will aid the empire?”
I stayed silent. I could not answer her questions.
She nodded, taking my silence for what it was. Acknowledgment that she was right. She turned away and took another step.
“No,” I said again. When she turned back, her face betrayed her exasperation.
“Why?”
“You’re no seer. You can’t see the future any more than I can. And I don’t see how getting a few steps closer to the mountain can tell us more than we know now. Unless you believe your Sight is strong enough to see inside the mountain itself?” I raised an eyebrow, calling out the weakness of her power. Only the most powerful Touched were seers who could see into the future, and Nahome was nowhere close to being one. And if she claimed that she could see Threads inside the mountain, as far away as it was, I’d call her a liar.
“I claim no such thing,” Nahome admitted.
“Then we turn for home. Now.”
I mounted my alwashi. Ufuk hardly shifted as my tremendous weight dropped onto his back. He was strongly-built and bred for war, the perfect mount for this mission except for the black-and-white stripes that decorated the backs of all alwashi. Though they helped the wild creatures hide in the plains and hills of Vaharilar, here in the red deserts of Los they stood out like flashes of sunlight through clouds. It would be easy for the Losians to find us when they came looking.
But Nahome was right. We needed to learn more. So I commanded Arbaaz to fly towards the mountain as I turned our party towards home. I could see through Arbaaz’ eyes without putting the whole party at risk and when my father debriefed me, he need not know how I learned my information.
Only one problem.
I had no idea how far I could stretch my bond with Arbaaz. If I rode for home while he flew closer to the mountain, would it break? Cycles of hiding meant that my knowledge of my altaya magic was nowhere near what it could be. I hoped I was powerful enough.
High Commander Fakoury rode up beside me. “May I request the honor of sharing your watch tonight, Prince Caelan?”
I glanced sharply at the older man, but his face was impassive.
“Of course, High Commander. The honor would be mine.”
The request broke from the traditional watch distribution we’d used since entering Los. Me with my personal guard, Joab. Baris and Nahome. Broker, the least experienced soldier, with Fakoury, the most experienced. But I had no doubt why he asked. My stomach twisted into a knot.
When Ksafa touched the horizon, we stopped and unrolled our small sleeping mats. There would be no fire; the smoke would give us away.
“Will you say a prayer with me to greet the dark?” Nahome asked me.
“Of course,” I said evenly, hoping Nahome didn’t note the clench of my jaw.
We waited in silence for Ksafa to slip fully out of sight. As she did, Nahome sank to her knees with a grace that belied the soreness that followed a full day of riding. As religious as her family was, Nahome must’ve performed the Bow to Darkness every evening of her life, but she executed it now with the reverence of a first-timer. Her torso curved down and her lips kissed the pebbled ground softly, as if it were her lover. They lingered there, caring nothing for the particles of sand that stuck to her face.
I sank beside Nahome and executed the ritual in a perfunctory manner. Though it was my destiny as the second son of the emperor to enter the Temple of Divine Right and serve as First Priest, I felt no special love for the Father. As First Priest, my role would be to tell everyone that the Father wanted my brother Amon to rule them and treat them as he wished. I couldn’t say I relished the prospect.
Beside us, the others mirrored the action without Nahome’s reverence. Junaid sank heavily, hindered by a bad knee he’d earned during the Traitor’s Rebellion. Broker was hardly down before he was up again. He glanced over at me and winked, knowing of our shared distaste.
Only Baris gave the ritual the respect it deserved, kneeling with an uncharacteristically grim face. As he rose, he swept his arm across his face to knock the sand off and grinned as he spat.
“From Crust to surface, may the Father return.” Nahome uttered the prayer with her green eyes pressed shut.
“From surface to Crust may my body return,” I intoned.
Nahome and I rose together, the ritual complete.
Nahome’s eyes settled on the dark shape of the Firecap Mountains in the distance. “Do not think that the Father is not with us here,” she said. “Demonic blood spilled in his honor today. There is little he loves more, and no better way to earn his favor while he waits in the Crust for his return.”
“I certainly hope that’s true.” Maybe if the Father favored me, he’d let me keep my armor and avoid the emerald robes of a priest. Killing demons who snuck into Vaharilar was sacred work I actually could get on board with, and my dedication to it had earned me the nickname ‘Demonhunter.’
“My prince,” Baris called. “Did I ever tell you about the time I Bowed to Darkness on the edge of the Endless Desert and rose with a scorpion clinging to my tongue?”
“He’s heard every story in your teeny tiny arsenal,” Broker shot back in clipped tones. “And so have the bloody rest of us.”
Broker had some kind of problem with Baris. Always had. I’d asked him why once and he told me that treason ran in the blood. I personally found that ridiculous, suspecting instead that Broker was jealous of my friendship with the young nobleman. Having been in close quarters for over seven days now, nerves were beginning to fray.
“Did you hear the one about the best red I ever tasted?” Baris asked.
“The best red I ever tasted was in a whorehouse in The Belly,” said Joab wistfully, though I’d only ever known him to savor a few sips of particularly fine vintages.
“Of course it was,” Broker said.
“Credit where credit is due,” Joab said to the Lord of the Belly. “It was a rare vintage, licked off the pussy lips of a whore who’d eaten only southern spike fruit for two weeks before.”
“What was the vintage?” Broker asked.
“Spring of 912. From a vineyard just southwest of the Great Blood Lake.”
“A nice pairing,” Broker said. His mouth twisted up into a mocking smile as he leered at Baris. “And what was yours, kid? Tell us of your best red. Better yet, tell us of your first visit to a whore. Let me hear you make that up.”
Baris’ eyes danced and his mouth opened, some imaginary story waiting inside to be born. Broker’s attempts to needle him were playing right into his hands. But I was too tense to laugh alongside the men tonight.
“Quiet,” I snapped, and they obeyed immediately, settling down on their mats to stare up at the bruised-purple sky.
High Commander Fakoury sat at my back as we began our watch. Though I used his proper title around the others, I always thought of him by his first name: Junaid. He’d given me permission to use it when I was eight cycles old and I won my first bout in the practice yards. I still remembered the pride that had swelled my chest. I’d looked for my father to see if he’d seen, too, but he wasn’t there.
Junaid massaged his sore leg while we waited in silence for the others to sleep. “A few mistakes today, Prince Caelan,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but the only other sound was the background hum of the burrowing insects in the sands, so he was easy to hear.
Though my father scolded and punished for the pure pleasure of it, Junaid never had. I’d learned early that I could trust him to offer fair assessment of my skills and choices. “Go on then,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I was willing to accept his feedback today.
“You are our prince. You can’t give chase to some demon and leave your guard behind. What if you’d been drawn into an ambush?”
I couldn’t tell him that I had Arbaaz looking out for me. I simply nodded.
“And the child—“ Junaid let the unspoken words hang in the air.
“That wasn’t a mistake,” I said.
“It was. A serious one.”
“Then why didn’t you correct it? You could have sent the others after her. Forced me to pretend I hadn’t seen her first.”
“I could have. But I came here to support your first command. How else will you learn the lessons of leadership?”
“And what lesson do you see in this?” I asked. My blood felt hot and itchy, my heart racing, though the night was as frigid as the day was hot. I tilted my head back to look for stars, but the clouds had returned to block them from sight.
“Respectfully, my prince, it’s a lesson you should have already learned. That demons are not people. You’ve killed enough of them to know that.”
“Of course I know it,” I snapped. It was this knowledge that allowed me to enjoy the rush that flooded me when my sword split their bones and severed their heads. It was the only time I let my sadistic craving for violence free from the cage I locked it in all the time. An outlet. A worthy cause.
“That child is a demon. Just a young demon, nothing more. It will tell others, who will come after us. I don’t think we can move fast enough to escape them,” Junaid said.
“So we fight.”
Junaid sighed. “A young man’s answer. Ready to take on anything. But we are not all so young, or so big, or so unafraid. Have you thought of the cost in blood that will be paid for the life you saved today? Or who will pay it?”
“I will.”
“No. Joab will, in all likelihood. I will. The others, too. Then you will learn the lesson. Mistakes always exact a cost. Most often, you won’t be the one to pay it.”
I was quiet awhile. I had too much experience with Junaid’s wisdom to dismiss his words easily, though they angered me.
“I don’t like killing children,” I finally admitted. I laughed bitterly. “I know that’s fucked up, but it’s the truth.”
“Do you think I don’t know? Cycle after cycle, we raid the Borderlands and the homes you search never seem to yield halflings for your father’s dungeons. Once, I thought you slaughtered them all. I thought you were like your brother, Amon. So I went into one of the homes after you. I found them hiding in the cellar.”
“And you said nothing.”
Junaid’s answer was hardly louder than a breath. “The Father knows I’ve always supported your father. I was with him when Marcus—the Traitor—turned on him. I’ve mustered men to carry out every order he’s ever given. He might say that compassion is a weakness, but I will only say that it is a choice. If you want to hold the lives of men in your hands, Prince Caelan, you must weigh the cost in blood for every choice. How many will die for your act of compassion? These are the questions a leader asks himself.”
I sighed. “So they’ll come for us. And when they do, we face them. At Ksafa’s first light, we ride hard for home. And when they reach us, we swing our swords like we’re fighting for the very soul of Vaharilar, because we are.”
***
In the shadow of the great mountain, my oldest nightmare came for me.
A thousand torches blurred together to form a sea of fire. I ran from its heat and light into a place of darkness where dragonstone walls morphed, contracting against my skin. I escaped only to find myself in a cage where tight bars forced me down. I clutched my knees to my chest, making myself as small as possible.
I was in the body of a child—my own body when I was a boy of five. Laughter cackled from outside the cage, but I couldn’t see who made the sound.
The cage sat inside a torture chamber. The walls were lined with X-shaped crosses. Chains dripped down the walls like tears. A plush pink carpet lay atop the cold stone floor, vivid and bright in my memory because it did not belong.
“Stay still, little brother,” said a familiar voice. A blade dug into my shoulder blade and I screamed, though in the dream there was no pain, only terror. I managed to turn towards my tormentor by pressing my small limbs into the narrow space between the bars. But just as my tormentor came into view, the picture blinked and now I was the one holding the bloody blade.
The cage was gone. I was in a Borderlands village, cycles ago.
A human woman fell to her knees before me. Tears soaked her cheeks and blood wept from a wound in her gut. I knew her face. She was the first person I’d ever killed.
“Please, Prince, I beg you,” she breathed. Her eyes were earnest and wide and desperate and her mouth was slightly open. She looked hungry. Hungry for my mercy. She didn’t realize it was already too late for that.
As she collapsed into the pool of blood, it coalesced into a shape I’d seen before: a raven, its wings spread proudly. Open claws threatened below the bird’s body. It stared directly at me.
It was the sigil of Lord Marcus Rosa, the man now known only as ‘the Traitor.’ On the worst night of my life, his army stormed the Palace of the Suns and almost captured my father’s throne.
I recalled the warm tightness of my mother’s arms as she held and rocked me, telling me familiar stories in anxious whispers as a thousand torches formed a sea of fire outside our gates.
“Mama, have they come to take me?” I’d asked her.
“Don’t worry, my dear boy.” She rocked me but her muscles were tight and hard. “Your father will never let you go. He’ll never let either of us go.” The thick, white scars on her palms promised her words were true.
I’d fallen asleep to the tune of her nervous lullaby and when I stood on my tiptoes to look out her window the next morning, an ocean of flies feasted on corpses.
The raven in my dream blackened and came alive. Its eyes stared into me, its head cocked. Then, abruptly, it spread its wings and took off. Its caw scraped my ears as its claws reached for my face.
He’ll never let us go, said my mother’s voice, though it came from the raven’s pointed beak. I bent backwards to avoid its attack, but my feet were no longer on the ground. I was plummeting through the wide open sky. Below me, the Firecap Mountains bubbled with liquid fire. Above me, my eagle, Arbaaz, dove to catch me. But he was not fast enough.
I jolted awake as I hit the ground. My heart raced and nervous energy enervated my blood, which felt too hot despite the chill in the night air. My eyes flew to the sky, seeking stars in the purple night sky. When I was a child, my mother had taught me to count them.
I spent as much time with her as I could when I was young and so I was often there when my father came to her rooms. She would read to me and I would lean against her and smell the earthy scent of butter that perfumed her dark skin. Then his hand would fumble on the latch to her chambers, his swears filtering in through the gold filigreed door. My mother’s body would stiffen.
“Go count the stars, my love,” she would say. And I knew that meant I must rise immediately—no arguments—and go out onto her balcony and close the doors. Her balcony overlooked the walled garden inside the palace. She tended it herself and it was rich with life. From her chambers, I could only look down on it, never reach it. At this time of night, it was cast in darkness. And so I looked skyward instead and obeyed her command.
One, two, three.
Now here I was outside my father’s empire with no visible stars and the counting still settled me. The acrid smoke gathered above the mountain range had thickened and spread. A chalky texture and sulfurous taste coated my tongue. It was almost dawn, but an ominous darkness still shrouded the sky. Anxiety coiled around my stomach and squeezed as sand in an invisible timepiece counted the time I had left.