Shattered sunlight book.., p.58
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 58
“Only a handful of us. But, he did it without killing any of us.”
Chaylene smiled. “He is off on other business.”
Heits understood. In a low voice, he said, “The Sun Lance?”
“You and the Sun Lance were almost all he would talk about outside of training soldiers,” Meirim added.
“We just have to hold out for his return, then we’ll have a chance.” Chaylene’s face hardened. “So we will hold out.”
“Absolutely,” Heits said, her confidence infectious. This woman had even more iron in her than he remembered. Steel now. She had been forged and beaten, hardened by pain. What had she suffered since they’d parted on Mount Wraiucwii? “No way I’m going to let those skyer bastards kill us. Not when I’m going to be a father.”
“Oh,” Chaylene said. Her resolve wavered. Pain flashed across her face. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
Heits frowned, then his eyes widened. Her stomach was flat. He knew enough about pregnancies to know she should be swollen by now, round and shining with new life. “Oh, Chaylene, I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”
She took a deep breath, mastering herself. “It’s not your fault. It happened . . .”
Silence fell. Meirim shifted beside Heits. The metal spar dug into his back, but he ignored it. He didn’t know what to say. Should he hug her? Heits cleared his throat. Would the same loss afflict Meirim and himself? He had to say something, to fill this silence. “And Keibzin, is he with you?”
She shook her head. “He died. Esty saved me, actually.”
“Oh,” Heits said. The news of Keibzin’s death stung. He’d already believed the man dead, but to hear it confirmed slew something in his heart.
“More are going to die before this is over. I hope you and your wife make it through. Riasruo shine upon you both.”
“Yeah,” Heits nodded and shuddered. Keibzin had been a skilled scavenger, and it hadn’t saved his life. Would he fare any better?
“I have to get back to the command post,” Chaylene said. “There is so much to do. I hope to see you again.”
“May light always guide you back to your hold, Chaylene,” Meirim said.
Heits nodded, trembling. Would he survive? Would Meirim and their child?
*
The Skyland of Nraezhn
“Never before has such a mighty fleet been assembled,” Theisseg sang as She flew over the formation of warships filling Nraezhn Harbor. Summer’s start was only nine days away, and it had snowed again the night before. Xorale’s breath frosted the dawn air.
Zori didn’t notice the cold as her body stood on the stern deck of the Sunrise by Uickthio. She huddled in the corner of her mind, hardly focused on anything. Theisseg’s words echoed through her head. The largest fleet ever assembled was no lie. The warships hovered at four different tiers of altitude, in five separate lines each with ten ships each. Over two hundred warships of all different styles. The familiar Vionese made of yellow cedar, the palest ships; the sleek Sowerese warships, lean with elegant sails manned by crews of fierce Luastria; the hulking Ethinski ships made of wood that was almost black, contrasting to the silver hulls of their southern cousins; and the gray-painted Vaarckthians’, bristling with ballistae.
It was a fleet that no one could stand up against. Zori saw no hope for the Wrackthar and the Agerzaks. They were doomed like her. Only they still believed they could win. They didn’t know that more skylands would fall.
That the world would get only colder.
“Isn’t this snow wonderful?” Theisseg had chirped last night, forcing Xorale to come out into the flurry. “These cold flakes falling only weeks from my Sister’s Solstice. Summer should be warming the days, and yet my storms reign.”
Zori hadn’t answered. Amiria had given her control to speak, but what could she say?
“Oh, pouting again.” Theisseg had trilled Her laughter. “Well, I have ground your psyche into the muck, haven’t I? Covered you in so much filth. There won’t be a summer this year, and maybe not next year. If I drop more skylands, there might not be summer for five or more years. The world may never recover. Though it is hard to say for sure if all the dust in the atmosphere will trigger an ice age.”
“If you want it cold, why don’t you just make it so?” Zori had blurted out, shocking herself. “Huh? You raised the skylands. You created the Storm. Why do you have to crash the skylands? Why don’t you just wave your feathers? You’re a Goddess!”
“Without Riasruo to sing the countermelody, my ability to work miracles is lessened. I had to use other tools. The Sky Towers are thirteen engines planted on this world by my Mother when She helped us sing this world into being. I used them to raise the skylands, to create the Storm, and to imprison my Sister.”
She’d let out a pleased trill which trailed off into annoyance. “And then the Wrackthar ruined everything. How the vermin survived beneath the Storm baffles me. They should have perished in the darkness. But they rose and destroyed one of the thirteen. They ruined perfection. The Sky Towers can still hold up the skylands, but they can’t be used to do anything new. And with the Altar destroyed . . .” She’d ruffled Her feathers. “Well, this body is my only way to affect the world, so though my Sister is free, She can only watch as I destroy all She loves.”
Zori had sobbed in her mind as Theisseg’s triumphant song rang across Gkoorna.
Now Theisseg sang that same tune of triumph as She floated over Her fleet. They would sail and destroy the Agerzaks and Wrackthar, plunging the world into a never-ending winter, a new Storm.
I killed my best friend’s baby. This is my punishment. To stand at the side of the Dark Goddess as She slowly kills the skies.
“So we shall triumph for my Mother,” sang Theisseg overhead. “We shall cleanse the skies!”
Xorale and every sailor, marine, and scout cheered for Her. Behind the fleet, soldiers added their voice. A great, booming roar rising up to Theisseg, the tuna fish praising the shark. She soared to the front of the fleet and the ships followed to the frenzied feast.
Zori wept in her soul.
Chapter Fifty-Four
The Great Empty/Ressel Mountains – Hruvvoa 23rd, 399 VF (1960 SR)
Ary didn’t like the route they were flying from Ulanii. It was almost the same path they flew north, not a direct flight to Lrien Hold. There was logic behind the decision. Reasons that Ary acknowledged were prudent. A direct path would run them perilously close to other skylands under the Dawn Empire’s control. Hiirroa, Pthuimnae, Mgeubtha, Gkubnae, and Dolvui. The Sun Lance couldn’t be risked. So they sailed south for four days. In two more, they would turn east, a straight shot to the skyland of Fahnoff and Lrien Hold without risking dangerous skies.
Five days until they’d arrive. A week. Theisseg might still be gathering Her forces, or She could attack that afternoon. That evening. The next morning. The day after.
Or it wouldn’t be attacked for a week. No one in Ianwoa had known the answer. “The summons came for all warships and soldiers to gather at Nraezhn,” the Bishriarch had told him. “We held back the Tezlian Guard and the town’s militia, but there were many civilians who left to fight.”
Ary hated not knowing for sure, not having clear intelligence. He would love for an updated scout report, but the one Wrackthar capable of communicating through fire had been killed in the attack on the Grand Temple, taking an unlucky javelin.
So Ary paced the deck. There wasn’t much else to do on the ship. It was cramped even when not carrying two dozen Wrackthar soldiers, the Bishriarch, and the synod. All the cabins were occupied by the older Luastria, Ary sleeping with Estan, Esty, and Captain Charele in the hold. Unlike on a warship, there were no drills to occupy his day. Talking to Estan and Esty only left him bewildered as their conversation twisted and turned more than the Bluesnake.
So he paced back and forth, worrying about events outside of his control, fearing for his wife, thinking about their lost future, their child . . .
Chaylene was busy, focused. She wasn’t in danger at this moment. Ary was certain he would know when the attack came. Every day proved their gamble accurate. It only adds three days. Three days. That is not a lot. Better not to risk the Sun Lance.
The words writhed his stomach.
A mournful chirp caught Ary’s attention, stopping him in mid step. He noticed that the Bishriarch was at the bow of the ship perched on the railing, her robes flapping in the wind propelling the ship. She clucked again, staring at the ground.
Boredom more than curiosity propelled Ary forward. None of the Luastria had left the cabins since they sailed. Their chirps could be heard, speaking in rapid Luastria that no Human could possibly understand, not even Estan. Ary’s stride carried him across the deck. He passed bored Wrackthar and sailors, some dicing on deck, others talking or laughing. The sails rustled overhead. He climbed onto the bow deck, taking the steps two at a time, and approached the Bishriarch, one of the most powerful individuals in the world.
Even the Emperor listened to the Bishriarch. Before he was burned, anyway.
“Is that what I fear it is, Briaris?” she asked, her wings clutched about her breast.
Ary peered at the broken ground below, folded mountains thrusting up from the swamp. “Ressel Mountains,” he answered. “And what do you think they are?”
“One of the eastern skylands that fell with Swuopii,” she croaked. Her beak trembled.
Ary nodded. “Real mountains look different, not so broken and crushed together. The land slopes towards them. But here . . .” The mountains just rose out of the flat swamp around it. “A grave.”
“This is what your home is now? What Theisseg did to it?”
Ary grunted. “I guess it is.” He licked his lips, glancing at her book. “Is that what I think it is? The book Uarioa mentioned?”
“Iiwroa’s book.” The Bishriarch turned, facing Ary.
She held it out to him. The leather was faded red, the pages yellow. He took it, feeling the weight. His skin crawled. Theisseg, as the Golden Daughter Lanii, had penned this book two thousand years ago.
“It was once held at the top of the Tower of Morning,” the Bishriarch said. “When the Great Cyclone hit, Empress Xaiutwoa felt it important for the book to be preserved, entrusting it to Tezl. She believed Iiwroa left it for her descendants, the Dawn Empresses. That the truths it contained had to be passed on so that her successors could know what our life in the skies cost us, and to understand why it was so important to never let the truth be known.”
“People learning their Blessings came from Theisseg might cause problems,” Ary grunted. “But Theisseg wrote it.”
“I’ve read it again,” the Bishriarch said. “I think She penned it so someone would make the choice to become a new Golden Daughter just in case something went wrong.”
“Like the Wrackthar surviving and attacking us with Cyclones.”
“Things were growing grim,” the Bishriarch conceded. Her head twisted farther than a Human’s could to look down the ship. “Their Cyclones would have overwhelmed us in another twenty or fifty years if something wasn’t done.”
“Yeah. One of the reasons I wanted the Storm ended.”
“And Uarioa . . . I never thought she had the ego to do it. When I met Amiria, I thought it was her, and it galled me to pretend she was Riasruo’s daughter. But what choice did I have? My power, my life, were all at stake.”
“You had a choice.” Ary’s voice was cold. “You just chose what was safe over what was right.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She shivered. “No, I guess not.”
Ary frowned at the book. Then he tossed it off the side of the ship. The book tumbled as it fluttered down, spilling open. A page ripped out, drifting away from the book as both plummeted towards the ancient ruins of the skyland below. “Let it rot.”
The Bishriarch shivered again, her feathers not covered by her white robe standing out. “If only the book had perished with Xaiutwoa.” Her head lifted, golden eyes fixing on Ary. “You’ve seen Her?”
“Her? Xaiutwoa? No.”
She clucked her beak. “No, no, Riasruo. What is She like?”
“Mad.” He said the word with a blunt grunt, not coating the truth. “Two thousand years trapped, chained to the Storm, has shattered Her sunlight. She was in agony. More pain than you could possibly imagine. I touched one of Her chains.”
“Chains?”
“Ropes. Bondage. Made of loops, usually metal. I guess the word died living two thousand years without metal.”
She nodded her head. “And She was in pain the entire time? The Rosy Prayer wasn’t working?”
Ary furrowed his brow. “The Rosy Prayer?”
“The Song of Creation, a lullaby to soothe Her and keep Her from feeling pain. She was supposed to be slumbering so She wouldn’t suffer, or so Iiwroa’s book claimed. Maybe it didn’t do anything, but we sang it every Summer Solstice to soothe Her even if no one but the Synod knew the real truth behind it.”
“I guess not,” Ary said. “I dreamed of Her both before and after the Rosy Prayer. She was in torment every time I saw Her, babbling about how Iiwroa betrayed Her, begging to be freed. She often didn’t even know I was there, too small and insignificant. The energy of the Storm pulsed into Her though Her chains. I thought She was Theisseg for months. Even then I felt so much pity for Her, I vowed to free Her somehow.”
Ary didn’t realize he was crying until the Bishriarch’s feather brushed a tear away.
“Even freed, She’s still mad?”
He nodded. “She trapped me in the Void. She didn’t want me to suffer any longer. She knows we’re in pain, knows Her Sister is hurting us to spite Her. She tried hard to keep Theisseg from destroying Les and Vesche and all the other skylands. She helped in Her own ways, but She couldn’t think straight. She was so fearful, like a child clutching at her doll, unwilling to let it go because . . .” Ary shivered, picturing that dark Void. “Because then She would be all alone. Theisseg destroyed something important. The Altar on Mount Wraiucwii let the Goddesses interact with our world. It held open the Veil like . . .” Ary floundered for the word. “I don’t know like what, but it let Her touch this world.”
“Like a doorstop?”
“Yes, yes, like a doorstop. It’s a door we pass through when we die, but it only goes one way unless something props it open, like the Altar or being connected to a physical body. Now She’s trapped in the Void alone. Theisseg has Her body, Amiria. As long as it lives, She can affect our world. Once we kill it, She’ll be trapped with Riasruo.”
“And neither can touch us? Not even Riasruo?”
“Only watch us.” The sun’s warmth fell on him, a cloud parting overhead. He shuddered as it kissed the back of his neck. “Maybe that’s enough.”
“Maybe,” the Bishriarch whispered, her words strained, doubting. Then she let out a chirp. “Thank you for the shared words. When I learned the truth, I didn’t see any choice but to maintain the lie. It was explained to me that the Church’s power depended on it, and we were the only force for peace in the skies. We had to sacrifice our souls for everyone else.”
“And now?”
“Now I feel like I’m finally making a sacrifice to help the skies. The Church will fall when the truth is out. They will hate us.”
“Doing the right thing is never easy.”
She let out a trilling chirp of laughter.
*
“What do you think they were talking about?” Estan asked, peering down the ship at Ary standing at the prow. The Bishriarch strode away from him.
“Well, he clearly didn’t like the reading material,” Esty said.
“That was Iiwroa’s book.” Estan peered down the ship to the mountains below. “Why did he have to throw it off?”
“It was Theisseg’s book.” Esty put a hand on his shoulder.
He gave his wife a direct look. “You wanted to read it, too.”
She blushed. “Maybe.” She glanced down. “But maybe it’s best for it to rot.”
Estan sighed. “Perhaps. It just feels so . . .” His hand shook. He smacked his palm on the railing. “Wrong! Wrong to destroy knowledge no matter the source. That book contained lies, but we could elucidate how one of the Goddesses thought by deciphering Her falsehoods. We could study how She constructed Her arguments, and maybe gain insights into logic we haven’t devised or . . .”
Her hand squeezed him again. “Well, you could always jump after it. You might survive the fall.”
“No, no. It is gone.” He sighed. “Besides, there will be other knowledge to discover.”
“Like how Ary is alive?”
Estan had been reluctant to ask his friend. It seemed such a personal question, but talking with Esty in whispered corners of the ship’s hold had led them both to the inescapable hypothesis: Ary should be dead. Not even his Fleshknitting could overcome a wound as massive as a Tezlian spear shoved through his torso.
And yet they had incontrovertible proof to the contrary.
“It was Riasruo. Somehow, She did something.”
“How?” Esty asked. “Ary said the Altar’s destruction closed Her off from this world.”
Estan glanced at her. “Well, how do you think She did it? How could She reach back into our reality? If the Altar held back the Veil separating our world from the Void, there must have been something that disturbed it to allow Her to touch Ary.”
“Ary’s soul could have passed through it? That’s what you think? He came so close to death he nudged apart the Veil enough for Her to, what, stick a feather through and tickle his soul?”
“Tickle his soul?” The absurdity of her analogy brought laughter to Estan. His chest shook.
Esty’s face broke. She joined him a moment later. “Yes, She tickled his soul back to life. It changed him. His Fleshknitting is much stronger. He just touches people, and they’re healed. I bet if I was to stab Ary, his wound would close the moment I yanked out the knife.”
“Are you suggesting an experiment? I am not sure he would appreciate it. He still feels the pain.”
