35. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Caelan
M y father promoted Idris to High Commander and allowed me to brief him on the conditions in Los. He'd be leading the force moving against Asherah. Idris asked smart questions and raised my confidence in the success of the mission. Which only made it worse that I wasn't going.
“I wish you could be with us, Prince Caelan. I’d like you on my flank anytime,” Idris said as we left the council room together.
“There’s no one better to command a mission of this import, High Commander. I trust you’ll get it done. And congratulations on your promotion. It's well-deserved.”
"Demonhunter.” Idris bowed his head formally, but I held out my arm for him to clasp instead. Then I fled from the frenzied but organized preparations taking place in the yards to the shuttered dimness of the candlelit library. It had been cycles since I set foot in here but the smells were familiar. Old leather, light mildew, and smoke from candle flames.
Master Mirac heard my steps and looked up from the pages he copied with shaking hand. “Ah, Prince Caelan, a pleasure.” I couldn’t tell if he was surprised to see me or not. “How may I serve?”
If only I could just ask him what the books had to say about the Traitor, the Ravager, the Tapestry, and the unknown Rider Junaid had spoken of. But, knowing nothing of these things, it felt too dangerous to ask about them directly, even to a man I shared some trust with like Master Mirac. In the time since Junaid fell, I'd considered some possibilities. One stood out as most likely. Junaid had said, "The Ravager must not be allowed to find his Rider." That must mean the Ravager was a dragon, right? And right now, there was only one dragon living. Junaid spoke these words right after her birth. Maybe Asherah was the Ravager.
“I’d like to read about the dragon Asherah.”
“Hmm.” The old man pressed his palms to the table and pushed himself to standing. His forehead was creased in thought. “As you might imagine, there is little material on the dead dragon-gods in this library.”
Of course there wasn’t. But Mirac clicked his cane and moved slowly towards a shelf in the back. He tilted forward, peering through his glasses at the writing on the bindings. “Perhaps you can retrieve the book, young man. Only it’s on the bottom shelf, I believe, and if I go down, I may not come back up.”
I strode over and squatted before the bookcase. Much of the painted lettering had faded from the leather bindings. There was only one book that had the word “gods” in the title. I hooked it with my finger and held it up for Mirac to see.
He cleared his throat, perhaps to expel the dust I’d disturbed. “Yes, yes, I think so.”
I went to the table where he’d been sitting and took the opposite chair. More slowly, Mirac made his way back and returned to his work. If he noticed I was still there, he didn’t indicate it.
Asherah had been the goddess of warfare and the hunt. It was said she often traveled north to where the ice covers the northern sea to hunt white bears. When Calathan the Conqueror rose up against the dragons, it was she and her Rider Lysa that had organized the forces of the gods and demons to stand against him. That was why he killed her first. It was poetic, the text suggested, for Asherah to die first and her twin, Archeon, to die last. But it was not Calathan who had killed Asherah. Her death had been at the hands of a traitor in her own ranks. The Rider Lesu Fakoury claimed to have heard the voice of the Father and obeyed it. He killed Asherah in her sleep by shoving swords through her heart.
There was little else about her in the book. Though Asherah had lived many lives over thousands of cycles, there was no mention of her ever having been called 'the Ravager.'
I closed the book and sighed. My nose itched and the air smelled like mildew and old shoes. “I suppose it was too much to hope for that she’d be a pacifist,” I joked.
Master Mirac smiled more than my joke deserved. He was missing some of his teeth, which made him look dotty, though he was anything but.
“So, what happens now? The Rebirth has come. The eclipse, the quake, the first Reborn. It’s all happened. What do we do?” I said.
A wary look descended on Mirac’s face. “I would not presume to guide the hands of kings.”
“What about advising a prince?”
Mirac’s jaw worked as if he chewed air. His hand sat atop his cane, clenching down. “What would such a prince wish to know?”
“My companion is Touched. She says that Asherah will only Bond with Tanead because it was his mother who threw Asherah’s egg into the fire. Is that true?”
“It is true that ancient Riders spread blood on dragon eggs to secure their Bond to the creature before birth. Histories suggest that dragons most often do Choose the one whose blood was used to activate their reincarnation. But there have been a few cases where that candidate was found unsuitable and rejected.”
“So it’s possible Asherah will Bond with someone other than Tanead.”
“Another Tajawl is most likely, of course, but theoretically, yes. She could Bond with anyone. But Ead Tajawl’s son is likely her Chosen.”
“And they must be together for the Bond to form?”
“It is my understanding that the Bond requires a physical connection to initiate. But I’m no expert on these things.” Mirac chuckled, as if his relative lack of knowledge amused him.
“You know more than anyone else I’ve met. Why has so little attention been paid to these histories? It sounds as if wise men knew the Rebirth might be approaching. Lady Nahome certainly did. So why was more preparation not done? I should find books upon books in this library teaching me about how to fight the dragons and warning of the eclipse. There’s nothing.”
“Ah,” said the old man. His eyes lit up like lanterns. “An interesting question, Prince Caelan. One to ask only if you truly wish to learn the answer. But remember, not all knowledge comes free of cost.”
“I’m not interested in riddles, Master Mirac. I prefer swords. If Asherah is killed before she Bonds Tanead, will it prevent the Rebirth of the others?”
Mirac was silent for a long moment. He looked down, his eyes nearly closed. I thought perhaps he’d fallen asleep when he finally spoke, his voice quiet but ringing with conviction. “I am an old man. I will not live to see the answer. I look to the past for my answers now. You might too, Prince Caelan. The Threads of the future begin in the past. All life is a Tapestry, you see.”
The room felt suddenly suffocating. Little particles of dust caked my tongue and caught in my throat. I coughed and drew in a deep breath, but I felt light-headed and had to draw another.
The Traitor was right about the Tapestry. Junaid’s last words.
I tried to school my face. “Life is a tapestry? I’ve never heard that before. Where did you get it?”
“Oh, I must’ve read it in a book. I’ve read so many books. Now, if you don’t mind, Prince Caelan, the funeral begins soon and I need a nap. Would you help an old man up from his chair?”
Though I rose to oblige, I couldn’t help but feel that his sudden weakness was an act. My newfound boldness drove me to ask a final question. "Have you ever heard of the Ravager?"
The old man froze in my hands. "The Tapestry is life," he said, very quietly. Hardly audible over his quick breathing. "We would not want it to unweave."
My heart raced. "Why would it unweave?"
No response. Mirac's breathing had become wheezing. His eyes darted to every corner of the room. I'd never seen him afraid, not even rattled, and now fear seeped from his pores like poison.
"Master, what is it? What do you know?" I pitched my voice as low as I could, mostly to calm him. There was no one else here.
"I know the books were burned, and the people who read them. I could not speak to what's inside. I've forgotten it. No, I never knew it. Never read it. What are we discussing?" Mirac shook me off. "You'll have to excuse an old man's failing memory, Prince Caelan," he said loudly before he hobbled away.
***
There was no guard at the door to Junaid’s old suite. The interior of the chamber was stark and sparsely decorated. Either it had already been cleared out or Junaid was a man who didn’t value decorations and trinkets. Neither would surprise me.
A large desk was probably once scattered with paperwork. I wandered, wondering at the man who’d lived here. I thought I'd known Junaid well, but his death had left me with nothing but questions.
The chambers yielding no answers. They were just an empty space where a man used to live. I left to ready myself for his funeral.
I’d had a dress in mourning colors made for Eave. Something unadorned and brown as the Crust. As for me, the occasion called for my least favorite clothes: the robes of a future priest, pale green and shapeless. My father had declared that I should stand beside Father Devan at the altar. As if he was making an actual effort to make this funeral as painful for me as possible.
“I’ll be standing on the dais,” I told Eave. “You’ll enter with the rest of the court and kneel in the front row with Baris. He’s not to let you out of his sight. Don’t disappoint me, Eave.”
Eave executed a graceful curtsy with a mocking quirk of her mouth. She seemed not to understand why I felt such dread about this funeral, but then, she didn’t know that I had killed the man we went to mourn.
I’d feared how our trip to the underworld might change things between us. But if anything, her behavior had warmed. She’d started saying, “Yes, my prince,” when I issued a command, even though I’d only meant the rules to apply while we played.
It felt too good to be true, and I found myself having to consciously remember to keep my guard up. Though the shared experience had some bonding effect (that I was trying not to think about), it had done nothing to increase my trust in her.
Father Devan peered around me when I arrived outside the temple. “No companion?” He didn’t even try to hide his disappointment.
“She’ll be with my guard in the congregation. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to have a sex toy kneeling at my feet during the funeral of a good man.” I lifted my chin and tried to act morally beyond reproach, but Father Devan had much more experience with such posturing than I did. He smiled at me in the same superior way he had when I was a boy.
“My son, I can assure you it’s been done before. Your great-uncle kept a whore with him even during services. When his knees grew weak, she’d help him rise while wearing nothing but the dirt of the Crust.”
Now it was my turn to scowl disapprovingly.
Father Devan only chuckled. “I’d hoped your companion might loosen you up. Calathan tells me you’re ready to take a larger role in the temple. I’m pleased. There is no greater destiny than to worship the Father and remind the people who he chose as their emperor.”
“Being emperor is a greater destiny than being the emperor’s boot licker,” I wanted to say, but I smiled stiffly and held my tongue.
We entered the temple after the congregation was already seated. At such an important event, the room was full. I sought Eave right away and was relieved to find her kneeling as instructed in the front row.
Unlike the throne room, which was lit with the suns' light, the Temple of Divine Right was shrouded in dimness. It was one of the oldest rooms in the palace, located on the ground floor where the building was still made of dragonstone. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of candles dangled in low chandeliers and stood on tables along the wall. Each of the flames, meticulously lit by novice priests before the service, glowed green. The effect, given the lack of windows, was to douse the entire chamber in green light. Dragonstone drank in what little light the candles offered, lending a gloom to the room that made shadows of every corner.
The courtiers kneeling in lines were silent and still. They did a reasonable impression of awe as the paunchy First Priest Devan shuffled forward. The heavy wooden doors swung closed and my mind flew to the mews. I’d always found the temple impossibly stifling. There was not enough air; there was no way for a bird to spread his wings and escape.
The temple looked different to me today, though. Brighter, even packed with bodies all dressed in brown. I tracked the source of the light to a crack in the floor beside the dais. I stared, fixated. For a quake to shatter tile was one thing. For it to crack dragonstone was quite another. New concerns about the foundation of the palace invaded my mind. But that was not the strangest thing.
A glowing green light leaked from the crack in the temple floor. The air around it was foggy, making the light look like it curled and twisted before dissipating into the room.
Father Devan intoned the opening words of the service and I wrenched my neck to face forward. I must not appear distracted, guilty, or perturbed. Cultivated, respectful boredom was the face I needed. But even so, I couldn’t help leaning over slightly to whisper to my uncle when he stepped back, as the congregation bowed to Kiss the Crust in a practiced series of repetitions.
“The dragonstone has cracked.”
He straightened his spine as if it were a criticism. “The better to bring us closer to the spirit of our god.” Everybody knew the spirit of the Father occupied the Crust deep below our feet.
The emperor breathed a little heavily as he rose from his throne to give the eulogy. Even here in the temple, he sat on a throne atop the dais. And why shouldn't he? This was his temple, after all. This whole religion existed just for him.
“High Commander Junaid Fakoury was a loyal man, fair to those beneath him, a terror to his enemies. He fought as well as he reasoned. He battled the Traitor at my side.”
At his mention of the Traitor, I shivered. The Traitor was right about the Tapestry.
“He advised me well over many cycles. He deserves honor in death, as he deserved in life. And the greatest thing I can say about him is this: He was friend to an emperor. There is no greater honor for a Fakoury.” He nodded brusquely. I thought his cheeks looked ruddier than usual. He cleared his throat and sat down amidst mild applause.
Massriel spoke next, extolling the virtues of his father with fancy words. I watched the audience’s attention fade as he spoke. My own attention wandered to my companion. Her eyes were on the crack in the stone. She stared as if it had trapped her gaze. I wondered what the fracture looked like to a Touched.
I couldn’t get out of the temple fast enough when the service was over. I took large strides to the nearest window and took a deep breath of fresh air. I should meet up with Eave and go to the reception that awaited in the throne room. And I would. But not yet.
***
“Prince Caelan,” Selim greeted me with a perfectly proper bow when I reached the mews. Ever careful, even though all of court was busy in the palace with the funeral reception.
“Are we alone?”
“It would seem so,” Selim answered. It was as close as he ever came to an affirmative.
I went to Arbaaz and noted he was ready to fly. “How did you know I would come?”
Selim glanced from side to side, as if in the moments it had taken to ask my question, an intrusive listener might have appeared. “When you’re agitated, he’s agitated. When you’re agitated, you come.”
Not the other night.
“The Hunt moves out tomorrow morning and I want to stretch my wings before we go.”
Selim cast his voice low. His eyes never stopped scanning. “Your skills are more than sufficient to take down a few prairie dogs, my prince. I very much doubt practice is required.”
“I’m after bigger prey on this one, Selim,” I admitted. For once, I wanted to draw some attention. Not too much, of course. But I was done allowing my father and his court to overlook me.
Selim glowered disapprovingly. There was always worry in his eyes. What had happened to him to make him so afraid of the world? “Tell me about the demon's capture."
"He was going to beat me. I brought Arbaaz down to target his eyes."
"And yet you let him live."
"A prize for my father."
"And if he reveals your secret during his torture?" Selim prodded sharply.
"Men lie all the time during torture."
Selim shifted his weight, his eyes still scanning every corner. I hadn't seen him so agitated in cycles. "And what of Lord Fakoury?"
It was my turn to shift uncomfortably. "He betrayed me. Attacked me. I had to kill him. It was self-defense, I swear on the Father it was."
Selim knelt to Kiss the Crust and offer a prayer to the Father. "This was after he saw you use your power?"
"After he discovered it, yes."
“Did anyone else see?”
“No,” I lied. Eave hadn’t told anyone and I would give her no chance to.
Selim was quiet awhile. "I think you should stay away from the mews for awhile," he finally said. "Pretend to have lost interest."
Denial roared in my ears. I'd come here for freedom. Not for more chains.
"No."
Selim’s jaw clenched and he shuffled close. He was not a tall man, but his back and shoulders were thickly muscled from bearing the weight of his birds. When I was a kid, he could thrash me pretty good. But I wasn’t a kid anymore.
“I hear your father still means to funnel you into the temple. I know it is not what you hoped, but do not allow your disappointment to make you rash.”
“I’m not disappointed. I’m angry. I’m tired of pretending weakness."
Arbaaz launched and I entered his mind.
But Selim was still talking. "Pretending weakness can keep you alive."
"I'm not a child anymore. I have other weapons now that can keep me safe."
"What? Your sword? Those big muscles? Do you think those things really matter here?"
"No," I said coldly. "The real weapons of court are respect and fear. And as long as I pretend weakness, I cannot command them."
Selim's answer was urgent. I could tell he wanted to shake sense into me. “It can be frustrating to hobble yourself, my prince. I understand that. You have grown into a strong man and you ought to let others see that…to a point. But if anything, what happened with High Commander Fakoury should remind you why we've kept your secret for so long.”
"Do you know why my father kept me from the mews?" In all our cycles together, I'd never asked before.
A mask dropped like shutters over Selim's face.
"You do," I said quietly.
"You've always sought the emperor's high regard. To your detriment, if I may say so, Prince,” Selim said.
"Tell me why." It was a command, issued with all the authority I could muster.
Selim sighed. “Your father will never applaud your power. Revealing it will not help you."
" Why? Selim, tell me why." The words sounded too much like begging. I could not believe he would keep a secret like this from me when I'd trusted him with mine.
"They say the dragon was born," Selim said.
"So?" I snapped.
"Is it true?"
"Yes."
Selim was silent a long moment. "Be wise, Prince Caelan. Catch a few foxes and nothing more. We will speak on your return."