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Two people rode out of the gates of the White City.
It was lucky they had done this when they did, as travel quickly became more difficult with the immediate orders to fortify the walls.
Both were dressed in layered linens and head shrouded in cotton scarves - faces hidden from view.
They rode past the refugee camps, eyes following them as they went. They took the road south toward the next White City, where they would have to replenish their supplies before entering the desert.
“I do not agree with this, you know,” Ivan muttered. He kept glancing back, his nerves eating away at his gut. “You could have spoken with him, convinced him.”
“By the time I got him to change his mind, if at all, it would have been back, and it would be too late,” Val said, although she was growing increasingly unsure of herself.
It was not a decision made hastily. After days of arguing back and forth with Marat, he shut her down repeatedly. Whether it was fear for her safety or something else, she did not know.
All she knew was that she needed to return to the River Cities.
She’d approached Ivan the week prior. After laying out her demands, although masked as a request, she told him the devastation the Legho had brought to Nashtuun. She even told him of what she saw within the Legho.
Val did not tell Marat that part. He was too close to the soldiers. Too close to the refugees. And Marat had responsibilities that he could not leave behind. Things he believed in, something that had given him true purpose.
She took that away from him once; she would not do so again. They would be back in a few weeks, and she hoped he could forgive her when she returned…
If she returned…
Her stomach twisted at the thought of what was ahead.
But she had to try. She sat in the palace too long. She was afraid to face the people she could not help. Seeing their faces had awakened something in her that she could no longer ignore. If he could put in the whole of himself for them, so could she.
Val hoped.
Ivan was not easy to convince. He’d not been as agreeable or flexible as he was before. Guarded, stubborn, he tried to advise against it and send her back to discuss it with Marat—so many times.
Trust me.
She was desperate. And, by the end, he had given in, and she gained a pathfinder to take her through the desert and the mountains, past Northern armies and the Iron Wall.
This would infuriate Marat; she knew that. But she had to set that aside. He had been right. There were things far larger than he and her.
“How long until we reach the western gates?” She asked.
He told her to pack enough for three days; they would pick up more in the next city. It would make them harder to track if they did not give away how far they planned to travel.
“We have to take the long way, I’m afraid.” He answered. “We will cross where the Dormant Wound used to be and go into the desert mountains. At least there we will have shade to save us from the sun. From there, we will eventually reach a lake where the desert ends. Three-day ride to the Iron Wall, five from there to the River Cities.”
He was sure that people would come after them. He had to plan their path carefully. Ivan had inquired with the scouts where they believed Rurik had taken his men. They had to avoid them, and taking the lake path would be far enough from the White Cities - if they could get to it.
The new Lord Commander would try to bring them back. He knew the consequences for him would be grave, far worse than they would be for her.
In fact, after everything, he was fairly sure the Ember Sword would kill him if they were found out.
Val gave him a slight smile but realized the scarf around her face hid everything but her eyes. How silly of her. But, she thought he saw the smile in her eyes.
It was only a half day to the next city.
They left just past noon when the meeting with the King ended. Val assured him the Ember Sword would be absent for the day like he had always been. He would not realize she was gone until evening; hopefully, that would be enough time.
After buying more supplies to get them through, they set out immediately toward the desert. The temperatures dropped significantly at night; if they rode until morning, they would be halfway to the bare mountains.
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Marat returned to their quarters immediately after leaving the war room.
Batyr had changed his mind, which was not entirely unexpected, but the impact of this could prove to be disastrous. He intended to allow Iros to handle the politics. Still, Marat had been coordinating the work with the displaced people of Nashtuun… and knew what would happen if Korschey sent the Legho to Barzah. No amount of fortifications would stop Misfortune.
Valeria had been right.
Gods, Valeria had been right…
The room was empty when he walked in. Marat laid back on the bed, allowing his eyes to close for a minute. He’d already spent the morning outdoors.
She would be back soon; there was little to do around the palace if one did not walk in the noble’s social circles. And, she was not much for that.
The next thing he knew was waking in darkness. The room was hot, and he had been drenched in sweat.
No candle was lit, and Valeria had still not returned.
His body was sore from non-stop physical labor, and his sunburnt skin itched where it had not been covered. The memory of what had gone on prior to falling asleep gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach. There was nothing good about waking up.
He lit a lamp to look for her. As the wick came to life and illuminated the room, things suddenly felt oddly off. He could not quite place why, but there was a feeling of something… missing.
Marat looked over everything carefully. The dress Val had worn the day before was still slung over a chair, forgotten by her as clothes often were around the room. Her hair comb was tossed on the desk among his papers.
The journal was nowhere to be seen, but she often took it when she left to read and write in the gardens.
A cold feeling crept over him. He closed his eyes, focusing, searching for the Nothing nearby.
There was no sign of the spider… there was no sign of Val.
Marat grabbed the lamp quickly, the door slamming shut behind him. He crossed the dark hallways, past gardens and open balconies, past empty rooms with couches made of colorful fabrics.
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It was deep into the night; how long had he slept?
Pounding on Iros’ door, he listened. There was no sound behind it at first, but by the time he knocked again, the High Templar opened it, squinting in the light of the lamp.
“What is it?” His sleep-filled voice croaked.
“Have you seen Valeria?” Marat asked quickly, not entertaining the implication that the hour was late.
“No, why?”
“She has not been in all day. I have not seen her since this morning.”
“It’s far past midnight…” Iros rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the pressure in his head. Marat narrowed his eyes.
“Are you drunk?” He asked, suddenly very aware of the smell of musk and Sylvan spirits.
“I was drunk.” Iros groaned. “And now I am just miserable.”
“She was not with you?”
“No. We celebrated our newfound freedom from responsibility, and I, my newfound freedom from my money thanks to Yaroslav.”
Marat looked at him for a moment, the thought he tried to keep out brewing in his chest.
“Who is ‘we’?” He asked.
Iros’ eyes steadied on Marat, understanding what he was asking.
“Yaro and some soldiers in the barracks.” He said slowly.
“Where is he staying.”
“Give me a minute; I’ll take you.” Iros disappeared behind the door.
They walked in long strides down the hall, Marat’s eyes darting door to door as if he would be able to tell first which room it was they looked for. Iros stopped suddenly, knocking on a door.
“Ivan!” He called out. “Ivan!”
There was no answer. There was no answer when Marat banged on it with his fist.
“Pigshit…” He let out a deep breath, looking at the hinges and gauging their strength.
“You don’t think..?”
“Just help me.”
He charged into the door with his shoulder, aiming the force toward the lock. There was a creak, but it did not give. Iros had done the same, and wood splintered somewhere.
“What are you going to do if she is in there?” He asked.
Marat looked at him quizically and then hit the door again, sending it swinging open and on its side.
The room was empty.
“Fuck!” Marat breathed hard and ran his fingers nervously through his hair.
“You wanted them to be in here?” Iros was perplexed by the man’s reaction.
“She convinced him to go west.” Marat sighed hard. “His shit is gone.”
Iros’ eyes widened as he scanned the room and understood. Only completely unnecessary personal belongings remained.
“I guess things really have changed.” Marat turned and walked from the room, leaving Iros in the dark. As the older man caught up to him, he saw the fierceness on his face.
“We will go after them,” Iros said.
“Get Yaro; he is the only one who has been through the desert and the bare mountains beyond. We don’t have time to waste.” Marat said.
“It is the middle of the night.”
“They would have gone south first, thinking it would make us lose their trail. He is no idiot, unfortunately, despite first impressions.” Marat stopped at his own door. “I’ll get the horses. You get Yaro. We leave immediately. It will be day by the time we arrive at the next Sister City.”
As he started throwing together his things, the reality set in.
She had left. She was gone. And she did so in secret.
The Val he had known would have never gone through with that. He did not know if he should feel pride or dread, perhaps both.
But, despite his better judgment, the first among them was anger. Anger at himself for not taking her. Anger at her for leaving.
Anger at her for leaving with the pathfinder.
The three left shortly, the sound of the horses’ hooves clanging through the stone-paved streets. They’d been the only ones on the road at that hour, and at the sight of the Ember Sword, the guards did not ask questions at the gate.
Iros had brought metal armor with him, strapping the plate to his back. The hunters knew better, riding light and only bringing the provisions that they could otherwise carry on their own backs.
Yaro had not spoken, nodding off even as they rode. He’d not fought too much when Iros had burst into his room, but an annoyed, whistling wheeze did escape his mouth as he packed his things.
They rode through the rest of the night, not many words spoken among them. Their leader’s grim expression had put the other two off from making conversation. They’d understood the overtone of what had happened. Of all the people Val could have brought with her, Ivan had been by far the worst choice when it came to the Ember Sword. Iros felt uneasy about what the man might do when they caught up to them.
And they would catch up to them. Ivan might have had years of experience as a scout, but the Ember Sword had spent three times as long in conditions ten times as harsh - each detail of the hunt’s failure promising life or death.
Truly, the boy had not known what it was he was getting into.
What she had gotten him into.
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They’d ridden until midday when the horses tired too much to keep going. Neither had slept since the morning prior and were grateful to set up tents and hide from the sun.
Val could see that Ivan had been needlessly looking over his shoulder. There was no one for leagues around - only the fluid heat above the ground broke the horizon. It tricked one’s sight, causing things to appear where there were none. But Ivan had told her this was the norm in the desert. And not to believe things that she saw.
The give of the sand tired the horses out fast. The sweat was evaporating from their skin, and Ivan began to worry they would not make it far.
By evening, they packed up again and moved forward. The cold night air was easier to tolerate than the heat. Nothing had been around them for so long besides rolling hills of sand, Val began getting nervous about whether they were even headed in the right direction.
At least the stars were beautiful there. The night sky was littered with them; it seemed like no space was left unfilled, even the darker ones reflecting distant glows. She saw the constellations that Marat had shown her once. She saw the Phoenix, All-Father’s Tears, and…
She’d forgotten about that one. It had been so long ago. But there it was. She saw the constellation he had called Arachne.
It is a web woven through the sky - a map of the whole of existence. In its web, it catches every fragment of the Shattered God.
“Do you do that?” She whispered, knowing the spider had been somewhere inside her scarf. “Can you weave together the fragments of a Shattered God?”
What a thought - the blind spider that saw the very twists and turns of the Nothing’s heart. A guide for her to unbind the weaves.
“I’m sorry that my gods have torn through yours to exist. I’m sorry that they were the ones to create the pain.” She said even quieter.
“What?” Ivan turned to her.
“Arachne.” She said, pointing out the stars that connected. “Up there.”
He studied them and lowered his eyes to her.
“You know,” He said, “I’ve been told about these all my life. I’d known the names of the stars. I would have never known it was named after that.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t.” She said. “Perhaps Arachne was named after the stars. Who is to say what came first?”
She turned her head, but he was no longer looking at her.
“Ivan,” She said, “We have a long way to go still. I do not feel that I can do so without you knowing.”
She heard him sigh, although it seemed that he had tried to hold it back. But still, he did not try to stop her.
“It meant something to me.” She continued. “I had not lied. I had not meant to mislead you.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for the way I treated you. But I meant it when we… when we were together.”
He still would not look at her.
“And I need you to know that. In a different life–”
“Don’t say that.” He interrupted her. “Don’t give me those words. I don’t need to be patronized. I understand. I understand that you thought he was dead. I understand that you had tried to let go.”
“I did, that is, I did try.”
“So please don’t tell me that in a different life, it would have been me. You could live a thousand lives, and if your paths crossed, it would still be him. And that is alright, Valeria.” He felt it rise to his throat, hurting his chest, but it wasn’t the time. It would never be the time again. “I do not regret any of it. But you don’t need to establish this with me; I did not agree to go so I could win you back.”
She stayed quiet. She heard the shake in his voice and how its volume fluctuated as he spoke.
“I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need you to say those things. Just let it die in the past.” He finished.
She did not say anything else. They rode in strange, thick silence until morning. It was then, as the sun rose that they began seeing volcanic rock appear underneath the sand. It showed up more in the distance, where entire hills rose black against the sky, the orange-yellow sand sweeping up into them.
“It’s not far until we make it to the Legho roads,” Ivan said. “Then we follow the base of the mountains North.”
But Val looked somewhere ahead, squinting her eyes as the sun reflected off the sand.
“I’m not to believe the things I see?” She said, her voice uncertain. “How do I tell if I should?”
Ivan rode up by her, looking out toward the mountains.
“You can believe it when I see it too.” His voice was hushed. The waves of hot air above the sand shook and trembled, first one, then three, then seven dark silhouettes emerging from the early morning’s glare.
“And I see them too.”
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