Shattered sunlight book.., p.20
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 20
“And it is powerful.”
“They are weak,” Chothiem shouted, slamming his fist onto the table. “My daughter easily captured your ship.”
“An unarmed ship. A merchant vessel, no different than a trading caravan. If they are weak, then why do they stop our Crusades? Why do they all fail?”
“The first one didn’t. I have seen the Great Rubble.”
Heits laughed, mocking him. “Yes, the first succeeded when we had the element of surprise. None have since. Because they know how to fight us. They know how to beat us while we have no idea how to defeat them. A thousand years of blindly sending our Crusades has only gotten thousands upon thousands of our people killed.”
“Heroes!”
“Yes.” Heits nodded. “Like my brother and sister. Brave, strong, dead heroes. Sacrificed for nothing. The answer to ending the Storm wasn’t up there. It was behind the cloudwall. Ary ended the Storm without having to sacrifice the strength of our people to do it. And now we bring more solutions, more knowledge, more ways to aid our people, and you would rather sneer and belittle and hide behind your petty hatred.”
“Petty?” Chothiem swelled up, the anger burning in his eyes.
Gramps Honchil laughed. A wheezy, thready sound that was somehow so powerful it cut through the winds of anger howling around Heits and the chief. The old man stood up, still chortling, leaning his bent body on the metal cane.
“I like you, boy. Got spunk. Listen to him, Chothiem. Do not be a fool.”
Heits trembled as he stared at the chief. Beside him, Meirim studied Heits. It distracted the youth, her yellow eyes on him, her head cocked, short, black hair brushing her cheek. There was no anger in her gaze, only scrutiny that made Heits’s shoulder blades itch.
“You have made your case for the skyers to live,” Chothiem said, swallowing his anger. “I will think upon it and talk with the voices of the hold.”
“You would be a fool to execute them,” Heits said.
Yeiss put his hand on Heits’s shoulder, squeezing. It was a warning. Heits blinked, then realized the chief, his face as ruddy as the forge, trembled. Heits saw anger and wounded pride. He’d pushed far enough.
“Thank you for your time, Chief,” Yeiss said. “And for the accommodations you have provided.”
Chothiem inclined his head. “Meirim, order your men to escort our guests to their quarters and take the skyer—” he glanced at Ary with contempt “—to the other prisoners. Yeiss, you and your people may have the freedom of the hold, but do not go near the garrison. If I suspect you plan on aiding the prisoners . . .”
“Of course,” Yeiss said. “Right, Heits.”
Heits trembled. Charele was in the hold. If the chief wanted to execute her and the rest of the crew, the right thing to do would be to free them. But Heits had to hope the chief would listen to Gramps and see sense.
Heits nodded.
It was only after leaving did the youth realize he’d yelled at a chief of a hold. His body trembled in shock, but he couldn’t stand the man’s attitude. It was worse than some at Metsak Hold had treated him. Dismissed not for his character, his ability, or his actions, but because of his blood.
Heits would do the right thing. He would find a way to protect Charele, Ary, and the others one way or another.
Chapter Nineteen
Neiddoa 27th, 399 VF (1960 SR)
“Yeiss has spoken to the headmaster twice today,” Heits said as he leaned against the wall of the Lrien barracks, the stone warmed by the sun even though the back was now shadowed by its setting. It hadn’t rained once since his arrival in Lrien two nights ago. He faced the thick, stone wall of the smithy, the dull ring of hammers drifting from it.
Why is it built so thick? Why isn’t the smithy open to the air? He could hardly smell the tang of metal and reek of charcoal that wreathed the smithies in Metsak Hold.
“And?” Charele asked, speaking as she peered through the barred windows. “Has the man made a decision?”
“Of course not,” Heits said, his stomach twisting. Yeiss was not optimistic. “He is stubborn. There was another report from a group of refugees heading towards Lrien. Half were killed when a ship found them and bombarded them. He is not in a good mood.”
“Then we have to escape. We need Usreili to melt the iron bars so we can climb out and get to our ship.”
Heits swallowed.
“Did you speak to her?” Charele’s voice was urgent. He didn’t speak with her normal breathy tone. She was surprisingly resilient considering she faced execution. “Heits?”
“Yes,” he admitted with a sour grunt. He rolled a small pebble beneath his boot.
“Well?”
“She won’t do it tonight. She wants to be sure that they mean to execute you before she’ll act.”
“And when Chothiem makes that decision, do you think he’ll give you the chance? He’ll send us straight to be executed however your people do it.”
“Beheading,” Heits answered.
“Oh, well that sounds just wonderful.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Tonight. Twist her arm if you have to. I don’t trust Chothiem. He is spending too much time deliberating. If he was going to spare us, he would have by now.”
“Gramps Honchil is arguing for your lives. People listen to the Lightweavers. They know the Songs and our histories. They’re wise.”
“And rulers aaaalwaaaaays listen to wise counsel. No, tonight. I am not risking my crew’s lives.”
“I’ll tell her.” Heits kicked away the pebble beneath his boot. “I need to go. I’ve been here too long.”
“Thank you, Heits.” A touch of her breathy passion entered her voice. “You’re a good man.”
“I try.” He pushed off from the wall and strolled out of the alleyway. His stomach knotted. People bustled in the street, but none spared him a glance. They all scurried hunched over, trying to hide from the sun’s glare shining down the street from the west. Even at night, the world didn’t appear dark.
I dreamed for this, so why do I miss the gloom and the rain? Why does the sun have to be so bright? Why does it burn?
He entered the bustle of the crowd. People noticed him then, frowning at the color of his skin, slanted eyes narrowing. Heits sighed, trying not to react to their distrust and disdain. His father faced worse when he’d first arrived in Metsak Hold. He’d won over the majority of the people, proving his value.
Heits wanted to prove that here, but he had to help Charele and the others escape. He might forever be branded a traitor to his people. They would have to find a new place to travel to. Continuing on to Romeich after the escape would—
“Heits!” a stern woman snapped. “What are you doing on this street?”
Heits jumped. His cheeks reddened as he whirled to face Meirim dressed in her armor, her helmet held in the crook of her elbow. She marched up to him, her eyes narrowed as a chill spread through his body from his sinking stomach.
“Meirim.” He nodded to her. “Just . . . walking.”
“By my barracks?” Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.
Heits’s feet told him to run. They itched to sprint away. He could outrun her in her armor. The faster his heart beat, the more he wanted to flee. But what good would that do but prove his guilt for violating her father’s commands?
He forced a smile. “Am I?”
A bead of sweat trickled out of his hair and down his forehead as he faced her scrutiny.
*
The Void
Even without the pain, time had lost all meaning for Ary. It was endless cycles of pleading, raging, and cursing the Goddess. She cycled through moments of lucidity, begging his forgiveness for all the pain She’d caused him: the assassins hunting him, the fire that almost killed Chaylene, the choking plague, falling beneath the Storm, crawling through the cloudwall, his guilt for his pa and Srias’s deaths.
Other times, She crooned.
“Speak to me,” he railed. His voice never grew hoarse. He never grew exhausted or tired. Either his soul needed no rest, or the warmth spilling through Her feathers sustained him. “Stop singing that Theisseg-damned song! I’m not a child.”
“We were so close,” She suddenly said, “birthed by the same Song, spun out at the same time as our brothers. They pulled away from us, remote, cold, but I hung onto my Sister. We sang the world into being, wanting to create like Mother created us. We populated it with people. But they loved me more. Incarnated as the five sacred beasts to show them—”
“I don’t care,” snarled Ary. “I need to be freed. You have to let me go.”
“No.” She shook Her head towering above him. “I’m protecting you. You’ll be safe here. No pain will reach you.”
“I’m full of pain.” He let out a bitter laugh. “All I am is suffering.”
“Nonsense. What suffering can you face here? You are out of your body. Nothing physical can reach you.”
“There’s more to suffering than just the pain our bodies experience. You keep talking about my guilt.”
“Yes, yes, your father loved you. Don’t feel guilty that he died. I felt his love as he passed beyond. He loved you and your mother and your siblings very much.”
“See. Guilt!” Ary seized on this. “That’s the pain I still carry inside. Even here!”
She trilled a song. “Sweet, gentle Hruvv, I created you to teach mortals how to tame the beasts. Alabaster feathers, beak so proud.”
“I’m not Hruvv or Lsaapsu, or Coajyii or Shian or even Xiadwul.”
“Beautiful Xiadwul, with a plumage of rainbows, I created you to teach how to tame the plants and grow crops strong. Isame heard your song and learned so much.”
“Theisseg-damn you!” Ary gripped the down of her feathers, trying to rip them out, but they wouldn’t budge. Heat flowed through his hands. “I am suffering in your arms. I am sick with worry. I don’t know if my wife is alive. If our child survived. Has Theisseg killed my siblings? What about Estan, Esty, Yeiss, Usreili, and Heits? Are they okay? What is going on in the world? I should be helping them, and I am stuck here in your damned wings!”
“Shian, so sweet, I created you to sing, teaching mortals the beauty of art and creation. My darling songbird.”
Frustration seethed in Ary. “You’re just like Theisseg. You don’t actually care about us.”
“Of course I care,” Riasruo said. She trilled in laughter. “Lsaapsu, so proud and fierce, I created you to hunt, teaching mortals how to walk through woods and stalk the beasts which could not be tamed.”
“See. If you cared, you would be doing something to stop Theisseg from destroying the Dawnspire and killing millions.”
“I tried to stop Her,” crowed Riasruo. “I did. But She was too strong, and I was too weak. The Altar is destroyed. The conduit between here and there is gone. I have no link back to the world, no way to influence it.”
“You have me. You could let me go.”
“And let you suffer more? What new hurts will your soul accumulate this time?”
“I’m suffering plenty trapped in your arms!”
“Trapped,” She crooned. “I am so sorry you were captured and tortured by that evil man. You tried your best to free me, but you didn’t understand. I couldn’t tell you, Ary Briaris Jayne. I am so sorry.”
“Because I was imprisoned.”
“Yes.”
“Unable to have the freedom to do what I want.”
“Exactly. I am so sorry.”
“So why are you imprisoning me right now?”
She gasped. “What? No! I am protecting you. I am holding you, my vibrant Coajyii. I created you for my favorites, the Luastria, to teach them how to soar across the skies. It was selfish of me, but we created the Luastria in our image. They were the closest, living in the heights, singing beautiful songs of praise to us. I know it was wrong.”
“I am not Coajyii! I am Briaris Jayne. My wife and siblings are in danger. Millions will die, and you keep me trapped here playing these damned games! Don’t you care?”
“I care very much.”
“So why won’t you let me go and stop Her? I can find a way to kill her. Let me protect my family and those I love! Please, you’re hurting me, Riasruo.”
“No, I would never hurt you again, Ary Briaris Jayne. You set me free.” She rocked him, crooning.
“I can defeat Her. I know there has to be a way to kill Her. Your sacred beasts were killed. Kaltein sacrificed Hruvv atop Mount Wraiucwii.”
“He used the Sun Lance.” A shudder went through Riasruo. “It was built by Nuourwia on the Temple of the Heights, a beacon to shine across the world. Kaltein perverted it. He unleashed it, and Hruvv died. A part of me died. Weakened, he imprisoned me while freeing Theisseg.”
“So there’s a way!” Ary struggled. “Let me go back. I can tell the others. I can save them.”
“No, no, I won’t let you be hurt, Ary Briaris Jayne. You’ve suffered enough. Let others stop Her.”
“And let them suffer instead? Do you even care about them?”
“I weep at every death. So many die. Their souls scream through the Void. My Sister is killing the Wrackthar fleeing beneath the skylands. They die the most, but sickness, misguided passions, and accidents are killing others. Every day, thousands die. I grieve them all, but their suffering is over.”
“You really don’t care about us.”
“I do.”
“Then why don’t you let me go and help ease their suffering? I can stop Theisseg from killing millions. I can end the slaughter of the Wrackthar, but you are just as terrible as your Sister. You don’t really care about us.”
“I love you.”
“Do you? Instead of stopping Theisseg from butchering us, you want to sing lullabies and pretend that protecting me will matter. That saving me from suffering will make up for all the pain you are allowing to happen.”
“I can’t stop Her.”
“I can! Let me go back.”
“But you’ll die.” Riasruo hugged Ary tight.
“Then I die, but it’s better than doing nothing. I’m not broken like you are.”
“Broken?” She asked, Her trilling voice cracking. “I’m not broken. I am the fire of the sun. The heat of creation. I love you, Ary Briaris Jayne. You don’t need to worry. Hush. Hush. Nothing bad will happen.”
“You are broken, Riasruo. Just like my ma was. You’re shattered sunlight, your essence broken through a prism and refracted into a thousand colors. You’re not whole. You’re not able to think right. You are confused.”
“My sweet hatchling,” She crooned. “Just sleep in my arms, no darkness can touch you here.”
“You don’t love me.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you so cruel to me? At least Theisseg would just kill me. She wouldn’t make me suffer.”
“Cruel,” She hissed. “You think me worse than my Sister?”
“You are. You are holding me prisoner while my loved ones suffer. I can’t think of anything crueler than that. You must hate me so much to make me suffer.”
She let out a cackling laugh that reminded Ary of Theisseg, cold, angry. “Yes, yes, if I love you, truly love you, I would have destroyed my Sister. Yes, yes, I see it. I am wicked. I am cruel. Terrible. It all makes so much sense. I created a world of suffering. A place where you could kill each other, take injuries. Die. I made it. I must be wicked like Theisseg.”
“Yes,” snarled Ary. Words poured out of his mouth, gusting with his anger. He had finally gotten a new reaction from Her, and he pounced. He had no other options. “That’s why you keep me trapped here. Selfish. You don’t want me to be hurt, so you condemn millions to suffer. You could have stopped your Sister, but you didn’t. You let Her win, you let Her inflict cruelties on us because you are just like Her!
“You are as disgusting as Theisseg!”
Light exploded from Riasruo. The radiance flung him from Her embrace. He tumbled through the Void as She laughed, madly, cackling like thunder. “Go die, Ary Briaris Jayne. Die with all the others. Let my Sister cover the world in storms and misery. Suffer because I am just like Her!”
He winced at Her bitter pain, the wounded heart. Her laughter became broken sobs. Great tears of sunlight fell from her cheeks and evaporated into puffs of golden smoke. The Goddess of the Sun wept.
“Sorry,” Ary whispered as he plunged towards wakefulness, a new guilt adding to the others.
*
Lrien Hold
“That did not sound promising,” Qozhnui said as Charele pressed from the wall of the cramped cell. It was ten ropes by seven, the walls mortared stone on three sides, the fourth bars of metal, a door set in the middle. Beyond was a hallway illuminated by a lamp burning what smelled like coal gas to Estan’s nose. Laughter echoed from the guard room out of sight.
“He will convince Usreili,” Charele said, her eyes sweeping across the room.
Estan, leaning in the corner, worried on his lower lip. His hands itched to hold quill or pencil, to write down his ideas. Two days interred in the cell, crowded with the others, had not stopped his mind from considering possibilities, speculating on ideas to help the war effort. He had to keep focusing. He couldn’t stop and relax. His mind had to remain sharp, agile.
“Estan, could you construct a lockpick?” Charele asked.
Estan considered her question. “I would need something metal. Long and narrow. And that is assuming their locks work on the same principle of pins as our bone or porcelain locks. I would have to examine it and, I fear, one of the guards would observe me and grow suspicious.”
“You think Usreili won’t come for us?” Qozhnui asked.
“I want to be prepared,” Charele answered, swishing about in her sky-blue dress, the skirt tattered from the arrow that had pierced them. “We have to get out of here. I have no faith in the Wrackthar to spare our lives.”
