Chapter XXX – Taking Flight

Nova hurriedly crossed the common room towards the front of the Amrita. Seraphina followed, carrying an amphora, Matthias flapping alongside her. While Nova almost jogged across the room, Seraphina moved with little urgency.

The door at the far end of the room slid open, a short corridor opening before them. They were in the nose of the Amrita now. Off to the right was the entrance to the engine room, where Nova ordinarily spent a lot of time, tending to the Amrita’s various systems, keeping things chugging along optimally. Now, though, she headed straight past that door. She passed the armoury where Kal maintained a collection of weapons to impress even the most avid connoisseur of instruments of violence. Straight ahead were the doors to the Amrita’s bridge. Instead, however, Nova took the last door on the right.

A strong, fishy odour swept over her the moment the door opened. Inside was a chaotic room, filled with small tunnels, fluffy polls, boxes of various shapes, and walls covered in empty shelves that appeared to be arranged almost like steps. Various beams criss-crossed from one wall to another, close to the ceiling.

Apollo was waiting in the centre of the room.

“Ms Reid,” he said. “How may I help?”

“Ostara just called. Toghrul has been sentenced by the court, but it seems Mu and Tavian and the others haven’t convened the… ah… ghost… council… thingy yet. If the sacrifice goes unwitnessed, everything may not work,” explained Nova.

Seraphina arrived behind Nova while she was speaking. “I concur with Madame Ostara’s concerns,” she said. “But I may have a solution.”

Apollo cocked his head to one side. “And that might be?”

“The spirit that boarded the ship, the one we call the Candle-Bearer, was once a Lore-Keeper of Karbaliq. If we can project her to witness Toghrul’s sacrifice and then, in turn, to Karbaliq, perhaps her status as a Lore-Keeper may be sufficient to convey the sacrifice to the Kurultai, once convened,” said Seraphina.

Nova chipped in. “Only thing is, I’m not sure how to, er, beam a spirit to the surface. Maybe with Sera’s input and enough time with the Amrita’s Resonance core I might be able to work out a way, but I’m gonna be real, Cap: this is waaay outside my expertise.”

Apollo considered a moment. “I believe I can assist. I take it the spirit is confined to that vessel, at present?” he said, indicating with his head the amphora Seraphina was carrying.

“Yes, Captain,” said Seraphina.

“Very well. It is no simple matter, however. The Starflow Tempest on Yarkan has become far more intense these past hours,” said the Captain, “I’m sure you have felt it, Seraphina.”

“Yes, Captain. I considered whether I could achieve what we are discussing, but I do not believe my power is sufficient to penetrate the Tempest.”

“It was wise of you not to take the chance,” said Apollo. “After all, the Tempest ultimately arises from the power of a Theophany. Release the Spirit. I will speak with it.”

Seraphina held up the amphora with both hands and began muttering quietly – words that Nova couldn’t begin to follow. Violet light flowed around her and around the amphora, before it floated up into the air. Moments later a stream of sand arced up out of amphora before settling on the floor, assembling into the now familiar figure of the Candle-Bearer.

“You called for me?” asked the spirit.

“Greetings, Lore-Keeper,” said Apollo, “I am Apollo, Captain of the Starship Amrita. I wish to ask a favour of you.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Apollo. Seraphina and Nova have told me of you. What favour is it you ask?”

“Toghrul Yarghunoghul, who I believe you are familiar with, is readying to make the sacrifice of taking flight from Yarkan and journeying into exile, having surrendered to the Imperial authorities. The Jaril at Karbaliq seek to offer up his sacrifice to the Učarmaz of the Black City so as to call a Kurultai. It is their desire to proclaim one Sayan Yinalqizi as Khatun so that she may call upon the Clanship Kulkana.”

“If it is to aid with this,” said the Candle-Bearer, “Then you ask no favour of me. Rather you perform one for me, allowing me to aid in freeing my people.”

“I ask that you observe the sacrifice of Toghrul and convey it to the Učarmaz of Karbaliq when the Kurultai is convened,” said Apollo.

“I would gladly do this, but it is beyond my power to appear at such distant points in such short time,” said the Candle-Bearer.

“I believe I can assist with that, if you would agree to this thing,” said Apollo. “I can project your essence through the Starflow.”

“Very well. Do as you must, and I shall play my part,” said the Candle-Bearer.

“We still intend to keep our promise to you,” said Seraphina. “Once this is over, we will allow you the undisturbed rest you hoped for.”

“I will do my duty once more.”

Nova watched as Apollo’s eyes began to glow with golden light. Moments later similar light wreathed the Candle-Bearer. There was a flash that left Nova blinking and the robed figure of the spirit was gone.

Apollo’s eyes faded to their customary yellow.

“I will take care of the rest,” he said.

“Then you’ll excuse me if I go and try to get into contact with Kal and the others again?”

“Of course,” said Apollo.

“Sera, come with me. For moral support.”

“If you believe it will be useful,” said Seraphina.

With that the two of them left Apollo’s cabin, headed for engineering.

“I don’t get it,” said Nova, “How is it that the Captain can project that spirit through the Tempest, when even you can’t. Like, didn’t he just say that the Tempest is left over from a Theophany?”

“I do not fully understand the Captain’s powers,” said Seraphina, “But they far exceed my own.”

“Crazy,” muttered Nova, shaking her head. She opened the door to engineering. “Please be careful in here,” she added, indicating the various tools and pieces of metal lying around. “As the ship’s designated safety officer, I should probably insist on wearing shoes in here, but—”

Seraphina floated up into the air, her feet suspended above the surface.

“Guess that’ll work,” muttered Nova, moving some things out of the way to get to her chair.

“Shouldn’t the safety officer not leave so many obstacles around?” asked Seraphina.

Nova directed a glare at the witch.

She shook her head.

“Anyway… the Cap said the Tempest had gotten worse these last few hours, right?”

“That’s correct,” said Seraphina, “The Starflow around Karbaliq and Yarkan more broadly has become a lot more chaotic in the prior three and a half hours.”

“Hrm,” said Nova, looking across the various comms status info. “I thought it was the sandstorm that was interfering with comms, but perhaps the Tempest is. I just don’t know how to counter that… But it makes me super uneasy that Kal and the others are down there among all this craziness and I can’t contact them. There’s nothing I can do to support them.”

“You were still able to speak to Ostara,” observed Seraphina.

“She’s a long way from Karbaliq.”

“Perhaps it is a mix of factors,” said Seraphina.

“It usually is,” said Nova. “I’m just gonna try Kal again. I can see a signal from him, even if it isn’t strong.”

She put in the call from her terminal and to her surprise Kal answered. There was plenty of distortion, but unlike before not so much that she couldn’t make out a word.

“Kal, what’s happening? I couldn’t get you before.”

“We… in the main temple… the fox woman… away,” came the fragmented reply.

“You’re not in there now? Where are Mu and Tavian?”

“…parated. There was a cave-in… we’re headed for Sayan.”

“Straight into the battle?” asked Nova, more than a little alarmed.

“We’ve made contact with…. of the tribal fighters. Sayan’s cut off, apparently. The MAVs they’re using have… Cores… can’t use the… –pest to their advan—”

“What cores?”

“Artificial resonance cores,” replied Kal.

“Mobile ones?” asked Nova, surprised. As she was talking, she brought up another window and logged into the Yarghun Company and Yarkanese Government networks. She launched a few search queries.

“Sayan and the fighters… use the Tempest against the attackers.”

“Okay, I got you,” said Nova, her eyes scanning the multiple windows open on the terminal. “I’m checking now to see if I have any point of access to these cores. Maybe if I can shut them down…”

“That… cellent.”

“Got it!” exclaimed Nova. “They’re being controlled by the Company, not the Government. I should be able to deactivate them, but someone will notice straight away and reactivate them. It’ll be a narrow window, but will that still help? I’ll probably only get one shot, because they’ll block my credentials once I’m discovered doing it.”

“…ig help,” said Kal. “…need to tell… fighters when.”

“Tell you what, don’t waste time explaining anything to me on this dodgy call. Just send me a message when the moment arrives and I’ll be ready to go,” replied Nova. “Remember, the opening may only be seconds.”

“Und-stood.”

“And if we lose contact again and I haven’t heard from you in half an hour, I’ll kill the ARCs anyway. Half an hour exactly from the timestamp of the message I’m sending now.”

She shot off the message in question.

“-nks… va.”

“No worries, Big Guy,” she said, giving an approximation of a salute to the terminal.

The call ended.

“I dunno why I did that,” she added to Seraphina. “He can’t see me. Anyway, at least that’s something I can do to be useful,” said Nova. “Feel better already.”

Zhen Yan was chasing the little island of stability she could sense in the Starflow. Everything else was the swirling Tempest, which seemed to be continually gathering force and fury, the cacophony of the fallen reverberating through her mind. Her innumerable victims surrounded her, watching on in silent judgement as she journeyed deeper. And ever did Xingyan follow her.

But despite it all – despite the fragmenting of her reality; her sense of time and place – she pressed on, following that little bubble of relative calm. That was where the Qam was; that was where Princess Mukushen was.

Just claim your target, and get out of this place.

She felt the knife at her waist. It had been a blow to abandon her beloved sword, but it was the only way to get past Nyx. She always got her target because she wasn’t prone to sentimentality. A knife could serve her just as well. Skin and flesh and muscle parted all the same, for knife and sword alike.

“Whatever you’ve done, you still have the choice to change your path,” said Xingyan.

“No,” said Zhen Yan, keenly aware of the absurdity of speaking to the deceased. “You are dead. To be with you is to be dead. This is my life now. The hunt. The prize. The next hunt. It’s simple.”

Xingyan had been beside her, but now appeared up ahead, directly in her path. “Things were simple for us once,” she said. “We ventured freely across the Cosmos, just the two of us.”

“We were not free, we were hunted,” said Zhen Yan.

“For a time…”

“It was all an illusion!” snapped Zhen Yan. She blinked hard and tried to anchor herself back in the substantive foundation of her reality, yet the Tempest ever threatened to drag her down into its maddening depths.

Xingyan was now seated further ahead, half-obscured by shadows. “Are you free now?” she asked. “You must get your target! Right? What if you chose not to? Can you?”

“There are some who choose failure, I do not,” said Zhen Yan. “But it is still my choice.”

She could feel the bubble of stability up ahead drawing tantalisingly close. She tried to remember the route she had taken to get here. Once she had Mukushen, she would have to navigate her way out of this shadowy, subterranean labyrinth to the surface. She vaguely wondered what she would find when she got there – the rumble and thunder of battle above continued unhindered, even as the Tempest raged below, above, all around.

She reached a corridor lined with equestrian statues. At the far end was a great mural. It depicted what Zhen Yan took to be a planet and a star. From within the planet a giant woman was reaching up, while a giant man reached from within the star. Where their fingers met was the figure of a smaller man surrounded by depictions of a wolf, horse, and falcon.

Beneath the mural was another door.

“There was a time you were fascinated in these things,” said Xingyan, walking out from between the equestrian statues, gazing up at the mural as she spoke. “You lived to experience the Cosmos. Does anything still fascinate you?”

“I have experienced the Cosmos: it contains only misery,” replied Zhen Yan, “I was blind to the truth, foolish. From the moment the two of us fled Aixingo, you foresaw your own death. Nothing we did changed that outcome, none of it mattered. We had Imperial agents behind us, your death ahead of us. So how do you figure we were free?”

“We were happy at least,” said Xingyan, whispering in her ear from behind.

“That only made the pain more acute,” said Zhen Yan. “And if the Cosmos is full of misery, then I would rather be the one who distributes it, not the one who endures it.”

Zhen Yan stepped through the door beneath the mural and emerged into a vast chamber lined with shelves stacked high with crystalline cylinders. Her prey was close now. This trial would soon end.

Xingyan stepped out from behind one of the rows of shelves. “It was a beautiful fantasy though, wasn’t it? While it lasted. An outcast Hulijing prankster and a runaway Starseer, exploring the Cosmos, untethered. Have you felt that joy since?”

Zhen Yan snapped angrily. “Do you know the pain I felt when the executioner’s sword fell? My own people cast me out for who I was, and the only one who accepted me, who celebrated me, was killed for daring to dream of freedom. That told me everything I needed to know about this Cosmos of ours. And you know what? People do accept me now. Because they fear me.”

Xingyan’s hand caressed Zhen Yan’s cheek. “Do you not feel fear right now, my love?”

Zhen Yan looked out across the swamp of blood that had filled the chamber in the moments she had been distracted. The corpses of her victims floated facedown in the sanguinary miasma. She did feel fear. A profound abundance of it.

“None of this is real,” she insisted, wading forward.

“It does not have physical substance, but I think it’s very real,” said Xingyan. “Do you think I am not real?”

“I think you’re dead,” said Zhen Yan. “And I would know. Your death was the most important day of my life.”

A tear of blood drizzled down Xingyan’s face. “Not the day you met me?”

The tear reached her chin, then slid down her neck. A thin red line appeared across her throat.

“Don’t twist my words,” said Zhen Yan.

“You always loved wordplay,” said Xingyan.

“I’m not here to banter with ghosts.”

The chamber shook and the blood rippled, the bodies rocking about like ships on a stormy sea.

Where is the end of this chamber? thought Zhen Yan. I can’t take much more of this.

Yet no sooner had that question crossed her mind than she heard it. Distantly, voices echoed across the chamber. Real voices, spoken by living people. Zhen Yan could not say what the difference was precisely, but she was absolutely certain of it.

She rounded a row of shelves and before her stood an Imperial executioner. Blood ran down his blade and dripped into the lake at their feet. The corpse of a woman floated there. Her head was held aloft in his hand. Xingyan’s head.

“I don’t want this to be the last thing you remember of me,” said the severed head. “You fixated on my death, on death itself. But do you even remember my last words to you?”

Zhen Yan roared with fury. She bounded forward, splashing blood about liberally. She thrust her knife again and again and again and again and again into the executioner snarling and screaming in her frenzy.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The executioner, Xingyan’s body, the lake of blood – it all evaporated into nothing.

Zhen Yan stood panting; knife pointed at the empty air.

Shakily she sheathed it.

She collapsed to her knees, fists clenched tightly in rage.

“I don’t remember,” she said quietly, but out loud.

But it didn’t matter.

An illusion now, an illusion then.

There was only the hunt.

And she excelled at the hunt.

She rose to her feet again, her shaking abating. Her steely resolve returned. Zhen Yan did not give up, did not fail.

Kal and Harry sprinted through the streets of the Black City, heads bent against the wind and the sand. The dim lights of many flames burned around them, casting an eerie light over the scene. From every direction the rattle of small arms and the thunder of artillery sounded. Occasionally the bright lights of directed energy weapons sprung up like silent lightning.

“We need to find a rebel leader,” said Kal.

Harry rushed behind. He considered himself fit, dedicating plenty of time to the gym, yet Kal, even at over fifty, kept up a ruthless pace, made more difficult by the deep desert drifts that covered everything and the gale they were charging into, which only seemed to be becoming more resolute in its resistance to their every move.

Nearby there was a crackle of assault rifle fire and Harry felt the impacts of stone chips against his sandsuit. He instinctively ducked, though he had no idea where the danger was coming from.

“Down!” yelled Kal, and Harry threw himself to the ground.

Another burst rattled out. Then another, this from elsewhere, an answer to the first.

Harry had been around live fire exchanges far more often than a humble bartender should be, yet here in Karbaliq the roar of the storm was somehow even more frightening, suffocating all other sound, making humanity’s efforts seem pitiful in comparison.

A few moments passed. No more rounds were fired.

“Let’s go!” yelled Kal and the two of them leapt to their feet.

This was not where he expected to find himself. They had been pursuing Zhen Yan into the Grand Temple, when some great blast above had shaken a wall of rubble into their course. Whether due to the storm, the thick stone walls, or the enraged eddies of the Starflow amidst the Tempest, they had been unable to talk with Mu and Tavian.

Now they had a new objective. Let the rebels know that Nova would disable the mobile ARCs and expose the attackers to the Tempest. The window would not last, but the sudden onslaught of the echoes of Theophany would surely sew confusion and chaos among the invading forces.

That was the idea.

But finding anyone among this chaos was a struggle. Sound and sight were feeble tools. And the Black City itself was immense – far more so than Harry had realised, even having seen it from the air. He guessed it once housed millions. Now a few thousand fought this battle on either side. And though weapons fire revealed their locations, it was almost impossible to tell which side they would encounter if they followed the sound of those weapons.

He wondered how Kal was going. Outwardly he was as stoic as ever, but Harry was unsure how long it had been since he’d been in a battle like this. It seemed distinctly possible that anything could trigger the ignition of the Flame within Kal. Harry was desperately trying to plan for what to do if this happened, but the chaos of Karbaliq was not merely an assault on the senses, but on reason itself.

Was it like this when you faced the Host?

Just find Sayan… or anyone… anyone who can spread the word.

Harry caught sight of his arm. The outer layers of the sandsuit – designed for these exact purposes – were slowly being stripped away by the unceasing barrage of tiny particles. At some point it seemed the winds and their tiny projectiles would break through, smothering and drowning him. Yet if he removed the suit, it seemed to him that flesh would be stripped from bone.

How the Black City still stood seemed in that moment to be a question without answer. How many storms had swept through over the millennia? Yet these monoliths still rose from the uncaring desert.

They rounded a corner into a narrow laneway that led between two mighty colossi. Almost immediately they saw the twin figures coming towards them, mere silhouettes in the storm.

“Yaxshimu!” yelled Harry. “Yoldash! Yoldash!”

The Jaril words for ‘hello’ and ‘friend’. Kal clearly realised what Harry was doing. With his deep, booming voice he called out over the wind: “Yoldash!”

Harry saw the rifles lower. If these were Company or Government troops, they were probably moments away from being fired upon. Should he repeat his yells in Imperial Standard?

Kal decided more swiftly.

“Sayan! Yoldash! Sayan!”

Harry tensed, ready to leap to one side.

Then the cry came back. “Yoldash! Sayan!”

Well, shit. That’s lucky.

They ran the rest of the way.

They met with two tribal warriors. One was a man, shorter than Harry – much shorter than Kal – but judging by his broad shoulders – a strong man beneath the sandsuit and desert robes. The other was shorter still and slightly built – a woman, but Harry thought barely more than a girl.

“Yaxshimu,” said the man.

Harry wasn’t sure if they understood Imperial Standard, but he didn’t know much more than those few words of Jaril, so he did what he could. “We have information for Sayan.”

“Sayan, yes,” said the girl.

Harry looked at Kal. Kal uncharacteristically hesitated. Then he said: “Take us!” and gesticulated the way they had come. “Leader. Sayan.”

The two warriors looked at each other. Then the man nodded. “We go. Leader. Yes?”

“Yes, yes,” said Harry, nodding fervently.

“We go,” said the woman.

With that their group set off back the way the warriors had come. Harry fervently hoped they were all on the same page about the goal here. He found himself wondering why they had embarked on this journey without a translator. With any luck whichever leader they were taken to – or perhaps the Qam – would speak enough Imperial Standard to get their message across.

For his part Harry knew only his native dialect, as well as Imperial Standard, and a little Elysian. As far as he knew Kal spoke his own native Ellasian – the common tongue of the League – as well as Imperial Standard, and apparently some of the Voidcall of the Host. None of these languages were remotely related to Jaril.

There was no time to wonder though. They merely had to hope.

“Harry,” he added, indicating himself as they went, having to yell above the storm.

“Tangai,” said the girl.

“Alp.”

“Kallistos.”

Well, that communication seemed to work, thought Harry. Positive sign.

They rounded another corner. Harry had noticed that some streets gave some minimal protection from the wind. They had been on such a street, but rounding that corner, they were confronted with a frontal barrage from the storm, such that he instinctively recoiled. This new wide boulevard was like a wind tunnel, channelling the fury of Yarkan’s roiling atmosphere.

Somewhere not far away a great explosion shook everything, though Harry saw no light from it. They went maybe another hundred metres, before their escorts bid them duck inside one of the ominous ruins.

Inside Harry’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the minimal light. He saw many more rebel warriors looking back at him. Some quick words were exchanged in Jaril and then an elderly man came forward, the helmet of his sandsuit removed.

“You not with Company?” he asked in broken Imperial Standard.

“No,” said Harry.

“We have information for Sayan,” said Kal. “For leaders.”

The man looked from Harry to Kal. “Information? What information?”

“The ARCs—” Harry began, but Kal cut him off.

“The enemy’s protection from the Tempest,” he said. “We can stop it. For a short time.”

Their interlocutor’s eyes lit up. “You can stop it?”

“Yes,” said Kal. “Then the enemy will feel the Tempest.”

“The Učarmaz,” added Harry, feeling like Kal was stealing his thunder.

“How long?”

“Whenever the warriors are ready,” said Kal.

The man nodded. He turned to a younger man and said something in Jaril. A brief exchange was had, then the elderly man said: “We tell other leaders. Then you do?”

Kal smiled – a rare expression coming from him. “Then we do,” he said.

Toghrul walked slowly, escorted by two guards across the open landing pad. The breeze was not strong, but Yengishahr was on the verge of winter, and he still wore the clothes he had been wearing in his cell. The cold was merciless. He felt the tip of his nose and his ears sting, then go numb, followed by his cheeks. The grey clouds had parted to reveal a clear blue sky. The sun gleamed off the mountain glaciers and the snow-caps.

Ahead was the ship. A simple, unremarkable STOC, it would carry him into orbit where the prison transport awaited. He had been calm until this moment, taking each step of this cruel charade in his stride. But whether it was the cold that weakened his resolve, or the finality of the moment, he finally felt the emotion come rushing in. The fear, the regret, the doubt.

I have made my decision. This is the consequence, he reassured himself.

It was the sacrifice that would make Sayan Khatun.

He was doing this for his people.

For Erkegul.

For the future.

The Učarmaz would only surrender the mastery of Clanship Kulkana to one worthy of being Khan of Khans. Khagan. Or Khatun. The sacrifice of one of the blood of the Khagans’ lineage would cement the sincerity and righteousness of Sayan’s claim. The Kurultai of the Dead would soon be convened, Great Qam willing.

He had a moment where he almost laughed. All his decisions had been made already. He had no decisions left to be made, no power over even his next meal. Why be anxious now? His destiny was locked in, ordained.

Be anxious, be calm – it doesn’t matter anymore.

It occurred to him his mental energy was better spent relishing these final steps across the landing pad – the last he would ever take on his homeworld. Even if it was in this soulless place – devoid of culture or sanctity – beneath this concrete was the soil of Holy Yarkan. Around Yengishahr was the great steppe. Here despite the bitter cold of the winters and the fury of the boreal winds, the Jaril had settled, spreading from the deserts where they had embarked from the Clanship.

The deserts.

Karbaliq.

He remembered that first trip he had taken, just a teenager. It was electrifying. Far from the palatial suites of his father’s home he had sat by the campfire in a nomad camp outside Karbaliq, the dunes rolling away to every horizon. The stars above were as unfiltered as if he was in deep space, the desert skies clear in a way the skies above Yengishahr never were.

It was a place vast and free.

Redolent of history, of the ancient lineage of his people.

It made the Empire and the Company and the petty day to day affairs of his father and his elder brother seem petty, small, insignificant.

This was a place where a person could be true to themselves.

And around that campfire he had met her.

Her eyes had captivated him first. They had the intensity of the hunting falcon, they were hot like the fire reflected in them, and green like emeralds, outshining the turquoise at her breast and hanging from her ears. She had a loud laugh, and a voice more commanding than Qamlar three times her age. She stood tall and proud. She was coarse and honest and full of joy and righteous fury all at once. She was brash and patient, violent and caring, parochial and wise.

And in time she had born his only daughter.

Why did I never marry you, Sayan?

His only regret. Everything else could burn in history’s flame, but those two women – his daughter and her mother – he would give the Cosmos itself for them. He would plead before the Great Qam for their life and happiness.

I only hope I have done enough.

He was almost at the STOC. Such an unremarkable thing, this craft – the craft that would be the instrument of his great sacrifice.

It was almost time.

The guards lacked a sense of ceremony.

“Get on,” one said.

Toghrul looked back across the expanse of grey. He took in the sights of Yarkan one last time.

What happens next is on you, Brother, he thought.

Then he took his final step away from Yarkan, walking slowly up onto the STOC.

The guards followed him.

The door closed.

Pre-flight checks were quick, mostly automated.

The key moment was easy to miss.

But they were now airborne.

“And thus, I take flight,” he intoned. “The sacrifice is made.”

“What are you on about?” asked the guard, irritably.

Toghrul ignored him, looking instead at the cloaked figure holding a candle in one corner of the craft, unseen by all but himself.

“Tell them it is done. The blood of the Khagan has taken flight.”

The spectre bowed her head.

“Let Great Kulkana awaken.”

Somewhere – whether in his memory, or the memory of Yarkan herself – he heard the shrill cry of the falcon, the whinnying of the steppe pony, and the howl of the wolf.

Mu felt her resolve sway on the brink of the precipice of doubt.

Who am I to claim this historic duty?

But she did as she had to, pushing aside the doubts. Whatever road had led her from the Imperial Court of Aixingo to the depths below Karbaliq, through chance, design, or the will of Nara Enduri, here she stood, having claimed this mantle.

Worthy or not, she would do her part.

“We seek to revive the Clanship Kulkana,” she began. “With its power to make and remake worlds, we believe Yarkan can have a new birth, free from the ruin brought by… by my ancestor.”

The Börilar seemed to bristle at her words.

The leader spoke.

“We know your guilt. Even you do not believe in your innocence.”

“Please let her speak,” said Chinor, his voice timid. “Are the crimes… are the crimes of the father the burden of all subsequent generations to bear? Must she and those that come after her pay for that which was not their choice, until the Long Road to the End of All Things is fully trod?”

“The seed of doubt is not with us. She doubts her innocence, who are we to question her own conscience? The blood of the Jaril drips from her, soaks her.”

Mu felt those words like a physical blow.

But Tavian stepped forth.

“If you doubt her sincerity, then ease the Tempest if is within your power. Let Nar—let the Great Qam speak truth through her.”

Mu understood what Tavian was attempting. Perhaps if she could deliver a vision of the future – one in which Sayan was Khatun – they would understand. The Učarmaz could clearly see into her mind, but that only served to ensure her doubts were writ large, overpowering the eloquence she strove for.

She had once defeated the spectral Börilar in battle, but it had been a moment she now suspected had been granted to her by the First Emperor himself. Now there were far more of them, and without the Starflow, and her prescience, she would be cut down in little time if words failed and things came to violence. Without the strength of her tyrant forefather. She knew that if she reached out through the Starflow she would not reach Nara Enduri. She would only provide the Tempest with a passage to flood into the very essence of her being.

But even those thoughts were manifesting.

For a moment she thought she saw him, standing beyond the grim ranks of the Börilar.

The Ruin-Lord.

Whether she imagined it or not – or whether reality and imagination were even meaningfully distinct any longer – she was unsure. But it seemed as if he smiled.

Bastard! The guilt belongs to you, not me… why am I so burdened?

Had he not told her he did it to face that machine on its machine throne? Yet he still smiled. No regret. No guilt. It spoke volumes of his lies.

You did it for you. You did it for power.

How did Nara Enduri grant its gift to one so monstrous?

Was the Cosmos only full of misery? Were the Gods themselves laughing at them?

Do not think that way.

You must reach them.

“I—” she said, but her resolve was lost in the solvent of her doubt.

She felt herself shaking.

She who had stood firm before her father, an Iron-Capped Prince. She who had escaped the Imperial Court. She who had faced down the enforcers of the Resonance Bureau… she now felt unable to answer the charges, to speak the words she knew must be spoken.

Am I nothing without my Resonance? The power gifted by my blood? His blood?

“Barchin!” yelled Tavian.

The ranks of the Börilar parted and a veiled figure stepped forward.

“You said the dead must make way for the living,” he continued. “I helped you. Help me.”

Mu didn’t understand. She looked from Tavian to the woman who now walked freely among the Börilar.

“I gave you what you need,” said the Veiled Lady.

Mu saw Tavian’s expression change. He nodded and unslung his mandolin from his back.

How will this change anything? Tavian’s song of the dead was not even been sufficient to convince Atilay Qam?

The Veiled Lady walked closer to Tavian till she stood immediately before him.

“Play as I taught you at Özgünyaylaq,” she commanded. “Together we guided a few of the lost souls to take flight. Now guide the multitudes.”

Tavian began to play.

The Börilar bristled.

The notes Tavian now played were not the mournful melody he had played to Atilay Qam. It was a melody suffused with light and joy, at odds with this dark place far beneath the sands of Yarkan. Yet even then, as Mu listened, she could feel the faintest hint of melancholy.

No, not melancholy… what is it? Nostalgia? Something more subtle, but akin to that.

It was joy for something that no longer is – tinged with sorrow for its passing, yes – but not mournful, rather hopeful, that brighter futures still may come to pass.

Tavian’s song, bright as it was, sounded lonely in that vast cavern and the expansive shadows that engulfed them. It seemed feeble in the presence of those mighty Börilar. She felt it, though, subtle at first, but gathering in strength. Somehow, through the heart of the Tempest and in the murk of the deep, Tavian was reaching the Starflow. It was so faint that she could almost convince herself she was imagining it. But Mu had spent too long channelling the power of the cosmos to remain long confused. This was it. The Starflow, coherent and whole, was reaching through the maelstrom left by the First Emperor’s Theophany. It was reaching Tavian as he plucked at the strings of his mandolin.

And somewhere, among the Börilar, a single voice joined him. A strange sound to many, but Mu recognised it. It was akin to the old songs, the songs sung by her people when they were still known as the Alabey, before ever the name Aixin was uttered, before the Empire. Throat-singing – part of the musical tradition of all the Yultengri, be they Aixin or Jaril or others. A single voice at first, but more joined.

And soon the song spread – not just among the Börilar before them, but among the uncountable voices that had hitherto whispered in the Tempest. The Učarmaz gathered in force, a choir of the fallen. Their sacred song gathered force and among the Tempest deep, rumbling drums sounded, joining Tavian’s song.

She felt the frisson flow through her, felt her skin prickle with goosebumps. There was an electrifying power to it all, unlike anything she had ever felt. It was an outpouring of the long-held feelings of a fallen people. The song of their salvation. The moment when centuries of anger and grief at last tipped into hope and joy. An awesome moment of celebration.

Amid it all the Tempest began to part. The power of generations of the dead – the collective wish of the ancient peoples of Yarkan – pushing back that terrible curse left by the Emperor.

Tavian played on.

Mu reached out.

She reached for the idea of Sayan, reached for the mind of Nara Enduri – the Great Qam – and asked of the Shepherd of Destiny: reveal to us the future of this woman. Show me a small part of the Long Road. The part that belongs to this benighted people.

The vision grew in her mind as she felt at last the connection, spanning the filaments, reaching out like a web across the Cosmos, all the way to Nara Enduri. The Master of the Long Road answered her. The visions flooded her mind and as they did, she freely offered them up to the Učarmaz.

Let us pass. And this can be the future of Yarkan.

The music rose to a crescendo.

Then there was silence.

Mu trembled.

Tavian lowered his instrument, opening his eyes.

“Go then,” said the leader of the wolf warriors. “Call the Kurultai.”

The Börilar faded away, bowing their heads in respect.

The doors to the Sanctum opened.

Without a word their small group entered.

What lay beyond was quite unlike the rest of the Grand Temple. The chamber was like two immense conical forms – an upper one, rising to a point; and a lower one, inverted and descending to another point. They emerged where these cones connected, at their widest. A circular platform spread out across the chamber, leaving a crescent of empty space around the edges. At the fringes of the platform were leaf like formations, curving but essentially vertical. The inside surface of these was carved with glowing patterns depicting constellations, people, and animals. Opposite the door they entered via was a raised, smaller circular platform and at its far side was a pedestal. Mounted upon it was the Wolf Totem of the Khagans.

The walls of the chamber had almost vein-like structures which glowed, bright lights rapidly moving along their length, colliding, flaring and branching out along the network.

Like neurons, thought Mu.

But she didn’t contemplate the chamber much further. Even as they began to move toward the pedestal Mu, still feeling the abundance of the Starflow, felt the flair of danger in her immediate future. Her blade was drawn with lightning speed, the dagger that came towards her blocked.

The fox leapt back, nine tails flowering majestically behind her. Mu didn’t give her time to pause. She knew this was a dangerous opponent.

But even lacking Mu’s prescience, the fox moved quickly – sidestepping Mu.

Before she knew it the same knife Mu had deflected was at Chinor’s throat.

Zhen Yan looked at them and smiled.

“Give yourself up, Princess,” she said, pressing the blade into Chinor’s throat so that a little tear of blood trickled down. Chinor gave a slight gasp as his skin was pierced.

“Do you know what you’re interfering with?” said Mu, rage and frustration flooding through her with the Starflow.

Zhen Yan shook her head.

“I don’t care.”

Mu felt her nerves. She sensed that any wrong word would get Chinor’s throat cut.

“You are here for me. You don’t care what they do. Let Chinor go and come for me. If you’re good enough, I’ll go with you,” said Mu.

Zhen Yan grinned. “Come with me now, or I end this little plot.”

She pressed her blade more firmly, more blood welling up on Chinor’s throat.

But even as she did so, Mu saw the momentary look of uncertainty on Zhen Yan’s face, the way she shook her head, as if denying the words of an unseen speaker.

The Tempest is not being kind to her, thought Mu.

“Coward,” she said.

“What?” said Zhen Yan.

“You can’t take me. You’re a coward,” said Mu. “If you were confident in your abilities you wouldn’t need this hostage.”

Zhen Yan sprung forward. Mu met her, then countered. Zhen Yan leapt back.

“I can foresee your every move,” said Mu. “You’ll never reach me.”

Chinor scurried away.

Zhen Yan scowled, realising her error. She looked at Mu. There was a wildness in her eyes.

“You are a Starseer?” she asked.

Mu nodded.

“You left the Court?”

Mu nodded again.

Zhen Yan’s next words were not directed at Mu: “No, she’s nothing like you. It’s nothing like our situation. She’s one of them!”

Zhen Yan was visibly struggling.

“Leave me alone!” she yelled. “I have not joined them. I do what I must!”

But even a distracted, tormented Zhen Yan was dangerous.

The vixen was quick. Quicker than any opponent Mu had ever faced. Only her prescience gave her the fractions of a second necessary to block. Even Gorjin hadn’t been this quick. Mu moved with speed only permitted to her by Nara Enduri, knowing that the Tempest may restart at any moment. When it did, her prescience would fail: this opponent would cut her down.

“Chinor, run for the totem. I’ll stop her,” she yelled.

It was like nothing Mu had ever experienced. Her opponent’s blade was short; Zhen Yan was at a disadvantage. Yet despite Mu’s reach advantage, despite her prescience, she felt herself being overwhelmed. Zhen Yan came at her like nothing she could imagine, a darting fury. Each blow was advised to Mu by the Starflow, fractions of a second in advance, but they still came so quick she could barely fend them off.

“Take the Totem!” she yelled, unable to see Chinor.

The moment the blade penetrated her arm took a few moments to process. Mu let out a scream as the pain flooded through her.

Even with foresight, she had not been quick enough.

Tavian wasn’t ready for the moment he was stabbed, either.

Zhen Yan rushed forward, leaving them in her wake.

Metres from the Wolf Totem, Chinor was once again at her mercy.

Mu looked down. She was losing a lot of blood. She looked to Tavian. He was smiling, even as he lost a lot of blood. His faint, amusement, inappropriate as it was for that dire moment, irritated Mu almost more than anything else.

“Take me!” she yelled towards the nine-tailed assassin. “Let these people free their world.”

“I’ve already won,” said Zhen Yan, as her blade dripped with Mu’s and Tavian’s blood. “I don’t need to bargain.”