9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Caelan
I did not Bow to Darkness when night fell. I felt angry at the Father and there was no one here to see.
The Touched woman slept through the night without waking. I cleaned my shallow wound with water, hoping to wash out any venom that might have been on the prince’s blade. I used some ground poppy from my pack to keep him unconscious. I chose my dose carefully, rationing the stuff. I did not want him to wake until we were at the gates of the Fortress of Archeon’s Last Breath.
The spears of Ksafa’s early light were piercing the darkness when I heard shuffling sounds beyond my island. I went to the edge with my scimitar and peered down.
“Commander Fakoury!”
The High Commander’s face was smeared with streaks of red sand. He nursed a shallow cut on his forearm that did not look serious.
"Prince Caelan! Thank the Father.” Junaid bowed where he was and kissed the sand. “Are you hurt?”
“No. You?”
“No. Help an old man up.”
I lay on my stomach and reached an arm down. Junaid climbed a few steps, using the jagged edges of the glass as handholds, before he could reach me. Once I had his hand in mine, I muscled him up onto my island.
He collapsed on his back, breathing heavily for a few moments before he rolled over. His face was reddened and his typically pristine armor was as soiled as his skin.
“Damn,” he said, scanning the island. I hadn’t done anything with the bodies of the demons or of Joab. “Coy is dead?”
“Joab Coy is dead,” I said. “The others?”
“I don’t know. We were separated. Lord Kells was injured badly.”
“Yes. I lost sight of Nahome and Baris early in the quake. Did you get attacked?”
“Yes, but only by a single demon. I think he was separated from the others. An easy kill.”
“Good.”
I offered Junaid my canteen.
He held himself up with his elbow, still breathing heavily. He drank deeply. “I’m too old for this, my boy,” he said, almost cheerfully. “It’s a terrible thing for a fighting man to live too long.”
“You’re doing alright.”
The ground shuddered and our island tipped. The body of a demon slipped over the edge. The Heir began to slide, along with Joab’s body. I rushed to hold them both back.
“Let the damn bugs fall back into the sands they came from. What are you saving them for?”
I kicked the Tajawl's leg. “This one’s still alive. I have him drugged. He says he’s their Heir. Tanead Tajawl, he called himself.”
Junaid’s attention sharpened. He wiped the sweat that dripped over his eyes and stood up. He approached the unconscious demon and peered at his face. It was bruised and already swelling. His nose appeared broken and there was a gash on his forehead that had coated his skin in blood. Junaid looked down at him for a long time. He studied his features with a faraway expression before his eyes shifted to the crest of his house: a dragon wearing a crown.
“Ay, that’s a Tajawl.”
“You’ve met one before?”
“Many cycles ago when I fought one of their uprisings with your father. We were young men then.”
“I’ve heard stories. The River of Madness ran with blood.”
“Tell me everything,” Junaid said, in the tone of a commander. “Every detail.”
I told him of our fight from the moment the demon had appeared out of the sands…everything but the detail of Arbaaz’ participation. When I spoke of Tajawl’s touch on my face, the commander rose to examine me, turning my head to be sure I was unmarked.
His perpetual frown had returned. He checked over Tajawl’s body with a soldier's quick efficiency, assessing injuries.
"What's this?" he asked about the ragged gash Arbaaz had carved on the back of the demon's neck.
My heart raced. I shrugged, hopefully casually. "Maybe Joab did it," I offered as if it didn't matter.
Junaid's frown deepened. He probed the wound with his fingertips. "Too jagged for a blade."
"Perhaps he cut it on the glass during the quake. Does it matter?"
Junaid raised his eyes to me. "Apparently it does. You're a bad liar, Caelan. Always have been."
I wanted to snap back that I was not a bad liar. I had kept a secret from him—and my father, and brother, and all of court—since I was eight cycles old. Until today, apparently.
Inwardly, I swore. I knew using Arbaaz was a risk. Then again, he'd saved my life.
"Arbaaz attacked him."
Junaid's eyes sharpened.
I laughed casually. "I guess he was worried about me. I had it under control."
Junaid closed his eyes and took a deep breath as my heart pounded.
"Look, I know my father never wanted me to embrace this particular ancient tradition. I won't pretend to know why. Calathan the Conqueror could not have killed Archeon and won us our throne without his altaya magic. It's the gift the Father gave our house because he wanted us to have it. He wanted us to take revenge on his behalf. I can't pretend to have such power myself, but I can at least honor my heritage by flying an Imperial eagle. If he comes to my defense of his own accord, that can only be a good thing, can't it?"
Junaid was breathing very heavily. I'd seen him fight six men at once in the yards and keep calmer. "You're an altayr," he whispered. It wasn't a question.
"No."
"Don't lie," he snapped. "I should have seen it sooner."
I didn't answer and his eyes strayed to the Touched woman.
“And who’s she? Her chest still rises.”
“She’s Touched, and Vaharilaran, I think, but she was with them.”
Fakoury pondered this. He was unnaturally still as his breathing calmed. “Why didn’t you kill her?”
I hesitated. I couldn’t tell my father’s best friend that it made me feel sick to kill human women. He would think me weak. “Touched can see what men cannot. She could help guide me back to the river.”
“You said she was with them.”
“She fought against me,” I admitted. “She’s got something against Slayers, it seems. But she’ll help us. I can be very convincing.”
Junaid sighed. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. I had a feeling I’d disappointed him. His scimitar was in his hand, but his arms hung heavy in his shoulder sockets, the tip of his blade scraping the ground.
“And they both appeared during the eclipse,” he confirmed.
“Yes.”
Junaid's perpetual frown was deep and conflicted.
“You must be exhausted,” I volunteered. My stomach roiled at the reveal of my long-kept secret. “Sit, High Commander. I have more water…”
Junaid held up a hand. “I do not need water. I need you to kill the Tajawl and the woman. Now.”
“But don’t you see what a valuable prisoner the Heir of Los would be to my father? The dragon was born, High Commander. War is coming. Dead, Tajawl is worth little but alive...”
“I once spoke similar words, young prince. I was wrong. Demons do not make good prisoners. They are better off dead.”
“But why?” The volume of my voice was rising. I realized I’d spread my legs in a more stable stance, as if I expected a fight, though of course I didn’t. “Don’t you see that my father—”
“That your father will be so pleased with the gift you bring him that he’ll allow you to avoid the role that was properly written for you? That of High Priest of the Temple of Divine Right?”
“Well… yes .” I was so confused. A few moon-cycles ago when I proposed this mission, Junaid understood my motives and supported me. What had changed?
“You must accept your proper place, Prince Caelan. Be glad of your role in the emperor’s court. Be grateful. To do anything else is to threaten more than you could imagine.”
“What are you talking about? You have always supported me! Even when I let the child live—"
"This prince is no child ," Junaid snapped. The desperation in his eyes confused me.
"No, but he is my captive. He will never be free again."
"It's not enough."
"Why not?" I was angry at Junaid's refusal to speak frankly. I'd revealed my secret and all it did was make Junaid tighter-lipped. I remembered suddenly that Junaid had never spoken against my father's harsh refusal to let me near the mews as a child. A tingling spread through my body, the sensation warning me that I'd made a critical mistake.
"I spoke to you of mistakes," Junaid began, as if he'd read my mind.
"I remember."
"It would be a grave mistake to leave this demon alive. Your father stopped the raids into Los for a reason. He will not be as pleased as you think if you bring a Tajawl into his court. Caelan, trust me. Kill him."
I did trust Junaid. But something felt wrong. Junaid refused to tell me why I should obey him, and he always had before, treating every command as a lesson for a growing prince. Moreover, Junaid's commitment to allowing me command of this mission had fractured and evaporated. None of it made sense.
"Why did he stop the raids?" I asked.
Junaid's mouth snapped shut. His eyes roiled with hope, sadness, loss, secrets, and resignation. "You must make the choice yourself or it means nothing," he said.
"Then I refuse. We will take him home as our prisoner. That is my command."
My words hung in the air between us, ringing like a bell that could not be silenced.
With deliberate slowness, as if a part of him fought the actions of his body, Junaid assumed a fighting stance.
I looked behind me for the enemy he prepared to fight. There was nobody there.
Instinct blared a warning trumpet, but I refused to heed its call. Junaid Fakoury was my father’s oldest friend. He had treated me kindly all my life, which was more than I could say for my father or most of the nobles of his court. I simply refused to believe he was about to do what it seemed he was about to do.
“Kill the demon and the Touched, Caelan. Let their blood run out now and all will be forgotten.”
“ What will be forgotten? Lord Fakoury, I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, my boy. I hoped never to have to do this. I’ve ignored signs before now that it might be necessary. I suppose I’ve loved you.” The words were quiet and full of regret. His talk of love startled me, and I jumped when he laughed, loud and bitter. “Now I see I should’ve done it a long time ago.”
“Tell me of what you speak and we will come to some resolution.”
“What is necessary must be done, Caelan. The Traitor was right about the Tapestry. The Ravager must not be allowed to find his Rider."
I opened my mouth to ask him what he was talking about. The Traitor? Junaid would never have sided with the Traitor. Fakoury’s house motto was “Loyalty,” and he’d lived by it all his life. But his sword came up and the time for words was over.
Junaid fought me with the skill of a man who’s spent his entire life as a soldier. He had more speed left in him than I expected, and far more cycles of practice than I did. But he was well past his prime and a far slighter man than I was. I was sure to win if I fought him as if he were my enemy. But Junaid was not my enemy. I must disarm him and get to the bottom of this strangeness.
“High Commander Fakoury,” I said as Junaid avoided my third attempt to knock his blade from his hand. “Stop. What are you doing?”
But Junaid was done talking. He didn’t have the breath for it. He came at me hard, until I could not keep dodging and blocking and trying to win without harming him. He made me fight him in earnest.
I sought the headspace for the fight. I looked into his eyes and tried to convince myself he was like a demon, but all I saw was his smile on the rare occasions I’d made him laugh. I remembered each time I’d seen that furrow in his brow go smooth. He always looked around right after to make sure no one else had seen. Then he’d give me a hug and shoo me away, still smiling.
As I grew older, I earned those smiles not through jokes but by showing excellence in the yards. Whenever I knocked him down, he’d stand back up grinning, leaning heavily on his good leg. The other one always got so stiff. If I wanted to kill him, I’d use it against him now.
But I didn’t want to kill him.
“High Commander Fakoury, I order you to stop!”
He acted as if he hadn’t heard. The metal clang of our blades rang out, the sounds closer together as he picked up speed. He would not allow the fight to draw out.
And then came the moment that decided it, when Junaid initiated an attack and I countered without thought. My body moved on its own, for I was that familiar with the motions. Junaid had taught them to me himself, practicing with me in the yards for a whole moon-cycle when I was just a boy of twelve.
My arm was already moving to finish him when I realized what I’d done. I screamed in frustration as he fell. It was my blade that sliced his neck, ending his life, but it hadn’t felt like my choice at all. He’d driven me to it. He’d ensured that only one of us would leave this cursed land.
I caught him as he collapsed. I cradled him in my arms. The blood spurted out of him and his throat made choking sounds.
“Why did you do this? Why? Why?” I shook the man who’d been more like a father to me than my own father. I realized I was crying when a tear dropped on his cheek. But he couldn’t speak.
He passed silently away, leaving only questions behind him.
How would I tell my father that his best friend had turned traitor? How could I admit that I’d slit his throat myself?
I sat in silence beside Junaid’s body. My mind raced and roiled, thoughts spinning round, crashing into each other, and then rising to the top again like sand spinning in a storm.
I'd revealed myself as an altayr and then Junaid had tried to kill me.
But that made so little sense. Altaya magic belonged only to Havardian princes and emperors. And Junaid had always been loyal to the Havards. Hadn't he?
Junaid had not wished me to take Tanead Tajawl back to Vaharilar. Why not?
Was he secretly loyal to the demons? No, he’d tried to get me to kill Tajawl.
What could make a man who’d been loyal to the crown all his life suddenly turn traitor?
If I could ask the dead, I'd ask both Junaid and Marcus Rosa, who was also once my father's best friend. Twenty cycles ago during the Traitor’s Rebellion, Junaid had fought with my father against Rosa. An action he’d apparently come to regret.
"The Traitor was right about the Tapestry. The Ravager must not be allowed to find his Rider."
That’s what he said. But what did it mean? I’d never heard of the Ravager, but the Rider must be Tanead. Did Junaid fear that Tanead would find his way back to the Reborn dragon if we left him alive? Perhaps that was the being he called 'the Ravager.' But why not convince me rather than try to kill me?
No matter how I turned over the facts, none of it made sense. Anger filled me at the senselessness of Junaid's death. The grief, I shoved down deep, preferring to focus on more immediate concerns.
How would I tell my father?
Of course I didn’t have to tell him. This occurred to me only after my circling thoughts had driven my mind to the point of exhaustion.
I was the only one who saw Junaid die. Even my prisoners had not. I could push his body into the sands and leave behind no trace of what happened here. He could’ve been lost in the quake, or killed by demons. Yes, perhaps that was best.
The Touched woman would wake soon. I’d not drugged her, for I needed her to wake and tell me how to escape. It was better that she not discover any more of my secrets. I should take care of the body before she woke.
I had no unsoiled clothes with which to clean the bodies of the beloved dead, Joab and Junaid, but I would not do them dishonor. Feeling reckless and wholly alone, I stripped off my scale and my tunic. I used a small amount of precious water from my canteen to wet my shirt.
I went to Joab first. I wiped the blood and dirt and sweat from his face with my cloth. I took his belt so I could sheath his blade and carry it home. I would pass it to a swordsman of the next generation—someone loyal and brave, as Joab had been. I would tell him stories of the man who’d owned the blade before, and Joab would live on in memory.
“Flesh to ashes, Crust to Crust,” I murmured. “You served my family well, my friend, and died soaking the Crust with the blood of demons. The Father will surely remember you.” The words felt bitter in my mouth.
When the gods died, their spirits went back to the Crust to slumber until their next rebirth. But men lived only once. Our spirits died with our bodies, leaving behind only memory. To live forever, you must do something so great that the gods themselves remembered you. It was the only way.
I wasn’t sure that Joab had been such a great man. Not on that scale. Few were. But I would remember him, and I would make sure others did, too.
“I can’t bury you properly deep,” I told Joab, “but these sands will take you down and down. You’ll be on the wrong side of the river, but I trust you’ll find your way home.”
These words made little sense. Joab was gone. But it still galled me to have to leave his body here, in the realm that had broken him.
I dragged his body to the edge of my island. I wanted to place his hands on his chest and shove him gently so that he might fall with grace to his final resting place, but pushing a body off a cliff doesn't really go that way. I shoved him and he fell, limbs flying. He hit the sand face-first and it ate him up just as I’d expected. It would take him to the Crust.
Now for Junaid. I had no words to say over his body. Every time I tried to speak, the emotions I’d shoved down bubbled up.
I wiped the blood off his face and dragged him to the edge. I forced myself to say the ritual words before I pushed him over. “Flesh to ashes, Crust to Crust.”
He fell like Joab had, hard and undignified. He was swallowed.
I threw off the dead demons after that, though I didn’t clean them first. I’d heard the demons burned their dead, but I didn’t care. Then I sat back down again to await the waking of the woman. I was very alone.