Chapter 12
In the Restorer's Temple
In which they regroup in the eye of the storm
As it happened, the emergence of daylight sent Bessa hurrying down South Street, with the others close at her heels.
“Edana! Edana!” she called out.
From inside the barricades Edana glanced about. Where the utter dark of night had made the sight of the dead men a thing of terror, in daylight she felt only disgust and pity for their fates. They would need proper burials; to leave them in place would be shameful and unseemly. Though freeing their souls lifted her own, the site of their slaughter was no place to rejoice. With that thought in mind she fled the main square.
Halfway between the Gate tower and the main square she met Bessa. In their childhood Bessa had been the quickest to initiate hugs. But memory of Shadow Fang’s eyes made Edana throw her arms around Bessa. She clasped her oldest friend fiercely, shocking her.
Guard her with your life.
Matrona Aurelia’s voice echoed in Edana’s memory. When Bessa’s grandmother insisted they travel together, she did so in part to honor the blood bond between their fathers. But also because she firmly believed the women would have no peer in protecting each other’s backs.
Guard her with your life.
In faith Bessa had accompanied her to Zanbil. Neither of them had guessed that one such as Shadow Fang stalked the once-fabled city. But Shadow Fang would have devoured Bessa though she yet breathed, had Bessa the misfortune of crossing its path.
Insatiable. That croc starts feasting on the dead. Starts. But that’s not how it ends.
Each soul it consumed increased Shadow Fang’s power. Inevitably, an unchecked Shadow Fang gained the power to suck the breath of life from the living.
“Edana?” Bessa peeled Edana off of her. She stepped back to look her in the eyes, concern evident in her face.
Just then Tregarde caught up to them, followed by Alia and Selàna. “What have you done?”
The note of chastisement in his voice told her what he’d feared, but Edana elected not to take offense. After all, unlike Bessa he did not have a lifetime of experience with her. Trust must be earned, after all.
Exhaling, Edana steeled herself. Choosing her words judiciously, she addressed herself to Bessa.
“Do you remember the story my father told us about how he and your father had to fight three soul devourers in Karnassus?”
Bessa’s mouth formed a perfect circle as understanding dawned in her eyes. “So that’s what happened here. No wonder it was so dark! But I thought Uncle Min’da said you have to use the light of the heavens to destroy them?”
In answer Edana tapped the hilt of her knife, sheathed at her hip. “Moonbow steel. And I made a circle with Zanbellian coins. We can use those against the other Shadow Fangs.”
“Shadow Fangs?” Alia asked. She leaned against the stone fence enclosing the small forecourt of a brick building.
Overhead swung a sign bearing an image of an empty saddle flanked by a gryphon and a pegasus. In its day the store must have been prosperous, for thin sheets of alabaster made up the panes of its narrow windows. Wet snow would have damaged the panes, were it not for the heavy awning extending over the forecourt. Should the owner have pulled back the awning, light would filter into the shop through the panes, glorious and golden.
Bathed now in bright light, Edana didn’t mind standing in the open. But impatience frothed inside her when she looked up and saw the shadows still covering the western, southern, and eastern part of the little city. So she spoke to them of the map of the sky cisterns, and the befouling of the cistern in the main square.
And the implications of that particular tactic.
“This is who we’re dealing with,” Edana said, turning on her heel, in the direction of the barricades. “Yes, I know the men who did this are all dead now. But their faction would have had uncontested rule over the Royal Ward. Do you think they would not have made sure to inculcate each generation with ideas about their oh-so-hated Unificationists? To justify doing any evil to them?”
“Meaning what? We were already planning on being discreet about our purpose here,” Bessa pointed out.
“My point is that from the Conservationist point of view, we’re the descendants of the wicked who perpetrated the Age of Iniquity. The people they were trying so … ruthlessly … to stay safe from. They may not allow us to be discreet. In some way or another, we have to prove to them we don’t mean them harm.”
“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, do you suppose the soul eaters are located around the other cisterns?”
“That would make sense, if I understand the strategy of the Conservationists. First they contaminate the water with the bodies with enough bodies for a Shadow Fang to feast on. Enough so that anyone who attempts to go near the cistern will be swallowed up.”
Studying Edana’s map, Tregarde said, “I reckon we could clear the inner fortress today, assuming we can reach the cisterns. But if the outer complex is as vast as I think it is, it’s going to take more than a day.”
“Even setting aside my rule about stopping outside activities at noon?” Alia asked.
“Even with that. We shouldn’t go too far from the Gate Tower until we can see better what we’re dealing with.”
Thus they focused on clearing the inner fortress. From inside the general store Edana retrieved her moonbow-steel coins. With her map to guide them they found the other befouled cisterns, and the shadow crocodiles patrolling the vicinity.
Two hours past noon, they destroyed the last shadow fang inside the inner complex. The vastness of the shadows between the inner and outer walls of the fortress made it clear they could not complete their task in a single day.
More, the rumbling of their stomachs stopped them from continuing on. This time, dinner was not a grim affair, but rather one filled with triumph and renewed hope they would complete their mission.
However, when the appointed hour came to sleep, they discovered a new facet of Zanbil: the “sun,” wherever it might be, never set. Shadows never lengthened as when the day ended and night commenced. At first they supposed they might be in a land of eternal day—as though they were in the Far North—but Bessa’s favorite travelogues spoke of the wonders of seeing the sun at midnight. The persistent brightness obliged them to close heavy drapes over the windows in order to sleep.
“What a strange boon,” Alia said, before claiming the first watch of what ought to have been night. Even with the light pouring through the windows now, they maintained their vigilance.
From her sleeping pallet, Edana listened to the sound of her companions breathing.
Divide and conquer.
Hours ago she had braved the darkness to determine whether the voices on the wind belonged to the unrestful dead, or to malicious spirits of Erebossa, or to both. Come bedtime, and she and her companions had achieved almost complete victory over the darkness of Zanbil’s gate fortress.
Yet the breezes continued.
No more did she discern whispers; however. Did this mean she had bought herself time? Certainly she had uplifted her friends’ morale, but she could not help but consider Tregarde’s belief as to how the Zanbellian’s had erected the barrier over the gate fortress. If they indeed enslaved the dead, the soul swallowers may have contributed to that tactic. Oh, by the Sower, would it not be sweet if defeating the shadow crocodiles weakened the barrier, too? She made a mental note to consult with Tregarde on the matter.
One more task, on her long list of tasks. But that was for tomorrow, which would bring its own evils. For now, she allowed herself to exult in the victory she’d managed today.
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“We need to find a respectful end for the bodies in the streets,” Edana pointed out when they all awakened hours later.
The others heeded her suggestion with all speed: the blazing light hastened an end to the snow which had preserved the bodies. Already Bessa’s makeshift meltwater cisterns had overflowed. Precious drops they must avoid wasting, given their inability to replace it.
Dealing with the bodies in the cisterns proved to be simple. First, they worked together to lift heavy boards over the mouths. At Edana’s suggestion, they collected the swords of the fallen soldiers. The ones in the best condition served as the basis for cairns over the cisterns’ covers. Stacking the stones in pyramid formation, they covered the swords up to their hilt, which formed a grave marker. By early afternoon they finished marking the last watery grave.
The bodies in the street presented a different problem. Fortunately, they noticed a curious feature of several buildings: ramps leading off the streets down to doors below the ground level.
“Those must be cellars,” Bessa speculated.
She was right. Even what Edana called the “general store” proved to have one, which made things convenient for them. Meanwhile, because they could not anoint the bodies with oil in accordance with their customs, they settled for shrouding the dead in fine linen they found in the store. As respectfully as they could they loaded the bodies into carts and pulled them down the ramp to the cellar.
Working all day in the heat meant they built up a sweat. By then the last of the snows had melted away. What remained in Bessa’s cisterns would have to last them, and no one objected when she decreed they must take conservative measures in bathing.
In the meantime, daylight gave them courage. By pairs they split up to explore the inner fortress, hunting for spell books that would aid them in destroying the barrier. Or portals that might lead to the Royal Ward.
But the question of water pressed in on them, and for this reason Bessa had the men joined her in the Restorer’s temple. In Bessa’s imaginings they needed only to pry open the floor. Seeing it illuminated by the light beaming through the high windows, the trap door now appeared to be constructed of bronze. Until, that is, she tapped the covering with a heavy staff she’d found on the floor.
Shock jolted her, from her fingertips into her whole body. From her slackened fingers the staff tumbled to the floor, landing with a resounding clang.
“Ah!” she cried out.
Tregarde yanked her back, pulling her onto the next step up. Still unbalanced, Bessa swayed on her feet. With Tregarde holding her shoulders and Sheridan clasping her arms, she managed to avoid falling onto the metal floor.
“Are you alright? What happened?” Sheridan asked. His brows knitted together as he frowned.
Haltingly, she described the nerve-jangling effect of touching the metal covering, albeit indirectly. To her surprise, Tregarde let out a frustrated exhale, and Sheridan rubbed his temples.
“What is it?” she demanded.
“This metal covering isn’t a regular floor,” Sheridan said. “It’s a ward. Don’t test it again, what you got was only a mild rebuke. There’s nothing we can do about the ward. Only a Restorite priest can banish it.”
A wave of dismay crashed over her, dousing her hopes. Bessa’s nostrils flared as she contemplated her next move. The time had come, she decided.
Time to forge a new Restorite.
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Far below the curtain wall on the eastern side of the inner complex, Alia watched her companions moving to-and-fro. From her vantage point she saw Bessa enter the Restorer’s temple with Tregarde and Sheridan.
From her vantage point, she also saw what they did not: Selàna following after them.
The girl did not enter the temple when they did. Rather, she waited behind one of the phoenix statues marking the entryway to the temple.
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“And what are you up to?” Alia mused aloud.
Her voice carried, but she didn’t care. For all she knew it carried all the way to the streets of the inner city. But if Selàna heard her, she gave no indication. At least, none visible to Alia’s dryad-blessed eyes.
Selàna remained unmoving, except to crouch lower behind the statue when Bessa hurried past minutes later. She continued hiding herself when Tregarde and Sheridan exited the temple. The men went west, and Bessa turned onto South Street before Selàna at last emerged from hiding and went into the temple.
Well. The girl had gone exactly where Alia needed her to go. Exactly where she needed her to go, if Alia had the faintest idea how to accomplish the task she’d set for herself: train Selàna to hear the voice of the Restorer.
If.
If Alia had understood Aunt Nalini properly, then Selàna was a corrupted Restorite. However, Selàna herself insisted she was no sorceress. But a priestess? A sorceress was born, a priestess was made.
Made, by those who knew how to train them. In either case, the student typically possessed an affinity for the power she might serve. What was she to do with Selàna, who lacked both a blessing to be a sorceress, and the anointing of a naiad to become a priestess?
So lost was Alia in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear Bessa’s approach until she’d come within arm’s length of her. Alia jumped, startled.
“We need to talk about Selàna,” Bessa said without preamble. At the look on Alia’s face she added, “I saw someone on the wall and figured it was you. Edana is gathering incense to offer to the Sower, so she wouldn’t be patrolling just now.”
Alia nodded. “To what end should we discuss Selàna? You’re not a priestess. What do you know of training us?”
Bessa stepped past her, as if she were heading for the eastern watch tower. But she only went three paces before abruptly turning on her heel. She stared down at the Restorer’s temple. Admittedly it was a grand edifice, with gleaming golden granite pylons and white columns with swans for capitals.
Alia; however, kept her eyes to the west, curious where her apprentice was going with Tregarde.
“Nothing,” Bessa said. “I know nothing of training priests, except that you go deep underground and commune with gods. Or abyssals, or the dead of your order—”
“That’s sorcerers,” Alia snapped. “Shadow sorcerers. I was taught above ground, by my mother and my aunts. We didn’t need to hide our doings from the celestials, as if what is below the ground could be hidden from them. What a childish idea!”
Still focused on the temple, Bessa shrugged. “Fine, that’s not how priests train. But I don’t think it matters what you do just yet. I think what does matter is that Selàna is not prepared to even start with lessons. There’s too much between you and her, for one thing.”
Heat rose inside Alia. Her sable eyes swung at toward the Siluran, who still did not turn to face her.
Relentless, Bessa continued, “I know you said you’d forgive her. Have you? Did you tell her you forgave her, during your trip with her to the temple of the dead?”
Alia clenched her teeth. “I went there to give peace to the dead! Not the living.”
“So that’s a no,” Bessa retorted. “You must tell her, Alia. Huntress. Of course it will be hard. To put a fine point on it, you can’t technically forgive her—because you’re not the one that Zephyra wronged. Your aunts were her victims. And everyone Zephyra murdered. Only they can forgive her, because they were the ones she slew. But they’re dead. I suppose that is why we execute murderers, because the only ones who can forgive them cannot do so. We the living take vengeance, if we can’t have any other justice. But I already killed Zephyra. You must hold Selàna blameless, and you must tell her you hold her blameless. And it must be true when you say it.”
Now Bessa turned, her eyes meeting Alia’s. Stern, impassive, her expression reminded Alia of Samara’s when she had given Alia a command. Dryads brooked no disobedience.
Frustrated, Alia sucked her teeth. Was Bessa right? Did she hold back in her duty because she could not bring herself to aid the one who wore the face of her enemy?
Blameless. Was Selàna not innocent, a little girl who lost her family to the machinations of a wicked king and his demon queen? By what transgression did she deserve Alia’s hatred? None. If anything, Selàna belonged to the class of people Alia had once vowed to protect when she joined the Watch: the innocent, the weak, the wronged.
And, Alia reminded herself, the Huntress once desired the death of Amavand. So quickly did Alia carry out this order! Gladly she had killed him, gladly she had destroyed his good name before his people.
But in no uncertain terms the Huntress had forbade Alia to kill Zephyra—Selàna—and it occurred to Alia that nursing a grudge against the girl might be the quickest path to disobedience. Slow. She much too slow to accept the implications of the command the Huntress had given her.
The thought made her head and shoulders feel all the heavier, and Alia exhaled in exhaustion. Yes, Bessa was right, she admitted to herself. Carrying a grudge against Selàna was too expensive a luxury. With everything at stake, Alia must find a way to restore Selàna.
Aloud she said, “I will see to her.”
She was not surprised Bessa insisted on coming with her.
With sunlight streaming in, the ruined beauty of the temple became clearer. The Conservationists had long ago stripped it of its tapestries and curtains, perhaps unwilling to let the indigo fabrics fall into the hands of the Unificationists. But they had not defaced the walls of enameled brick, which depicted images of the naiads attending to wounded soldiers in their sacred grottoes.
The women found Selàna in the spring room, sitting on the top step that led down to the pool.
Selàna sat with her back to the door. The large pillow below her protected her from the cold tiles on which she sat.
“May we intrude?” Bessa asked.
Selàna whirled to her feet. The surprised look on her face changed to wariness. “Is there something you wish me to do?”
“You already know: help save Thuraia,” Bessa said.
Her roguish smile made Alia glad she had come along; it occurred to her the Siluran had a way of putting others at ease.
But Selàna’s shoulder’s tensed. “I don’t have magic.”
With a shrug Bess continued her approach, until she came within an arm’s length from the girl. The women stood eye to eye, for they were the same height, Alia noticed. And the Siluran stood tall compared to Lyrcanians, at least five-eight or so.
“Irrelevant,” Bessa replied. “Sorcery has nothing to do with the part you’re to play in this.” She cast a dubious eye over the pillows scattered about the steps, drenched as they were in dust. With a firm shake of her head she sat down resolutely on the cold tiles of the topmost step.
After a moment’s hesitation, Selàna sat also. Though tempted to hang back, Alia suspected doing so would only keep Selàna on edge. At last it dawned on her what the situation looked like from Selàna’s point of view, and a pang of pity came to her then.
She had been cruel to the girl. The realization spurred her to take her place at Selàna’s left. Before the girl could react, Bessa began speaking again.
“Are you scared? I was scared. I am scared. But I was particularly scared after I met the Fire Lords and found out what the giants did to the Salamandra. Do you know they are not native to Thuraia?”
Silence. After a moment Selàna ventured, “Artostes told Zephyra. The Salamandra lost their world after the giants were claimed.”
This last startled Bessa and Alia.
“What do you mean ‘claimed’? By Rahqu?” Bessa asked.
“That would be step two. Or three. Step one is their existence. Why do they exist? Huntress, you know what monsters really are, don’t you?” Selàna stood up then, and stretched. No doubt sitting in her lonely vigil in the cold temple left her stiff, and perhaps sore. “That’s what the Salamandra call the giants: Atta’u. Monster. And ‘monster’ means the same thing for them that it does for us. And you know what it means for us, don’t you, huntress?”
A stillness settled over Alia, locking her muscles. Inside, her mind roiled. The maelstrom battered at the edges of her psyche, but she stood in the center, in the calm. Gradually, the calm radiated outward, overtaking the storm and dissipating it.
“Monsters are omens,” she said at last. Her voice echoed off the tiles, and she grimaced. “They are a sign of Chaos, they’re proof of a crime against natural law and order. Bessa, do you remember Edana’s observation that the lamia and other monsters were born during the events that led to the Scouring? She’s right. In those times, Chaos reigned with a strong hand. Whenever I’ve hunted a monster, I promise you that someone did something to cause its presence. True monsters are born when Chaos has its way in the world.”
Selàna absently probed at a purse attached to her belt. This drew their attention. What was inside of it? Zephyra came empty-handed to Aletheia’s Fane; therefore, Selàna should not possess any valuables, either. All she owned was what the Rasena Valentian women had provided for her.
However, Selàna wasn’t paying attention to them; her gaze was fixed on the middle distance, as if she were seeing something in her mind’s eye.
After a moment she replied, “Correct. Excellent. So. I told you the giants were supposed to be gods, but I never explained how that could come to pass: It couldn’t. I know that, because my priests taught me so. Mama and Papa made sure of that—” Her breath caught, as though someone had punched her in the gut.
Sympathy twinged in Alia’s heart.
When Selàna finally spoke again, her voice was steady. “But Artostes taught Zephyra. I think Artostes let himself be deceived into thinking it was possible for a god to be made.”
Bessa arched an eyebrow. “He wanted to become a god, too? That was his price?”
“Yes. Scorpion men are immortal; he had no reason to fear death. But he was a servant, and he wanted to be a master. The giants were born out of the vast void of Chaos. In the Primordial Age when Erebossa didn’t exist, nor the Cosmos, not until the Sower made the Great Division.” Again Selàna palmed her purse. She hefted it, as if testing its weight.
Alia rose. And took a step back. Then another. Her boots made her taller than the girl, and it occurred to her that the girl might feel intimidated if Alia obliged Selàna to look up at her. Humans played such dominance games with each other, an observation that both unsettled and bewildered her. One either had power, or one did not. If violence was not in play, of what value was superior height?
“You said Rahqu claimed the giants,” Alia pointed out. “You mean to say that she took them as her own people, right? If I had to guess why, I’d say she wanted agents to act on her behalf. Yes?”
“Yes. The giants aren't any different from Erebossi in wanting to cross over to the Cosmos. The Salamandra somehow invited them into their world. Before you ask, I don’t know how they did that. Zephyra understood invited to mean ‘brought it on themselves.’ Somehow, the Salamandra were led astray, and the coming of the giants to their world was the result. They fled the consequences, rather than face them and atone.”
Bessa had gotten up and joined them now. Eying Selàna’s bag she asked, “What about us, Selàna? Did we humans here do something to invite the giants? Was it the Abominations of the sorcerers, the ones that brought the Scouring on us?”
“No. Rahqu was always going to make her move here. She once fought the Sea Lord here, and she meant to return.” Selàna straightened her shoulders and met Alia’s eye. “I was hoping if I came to His temple, I might find a way to apologize to the Restorer. I don’t know if He will hear me.”
At last she unclipped her purse from her belt, and held it up for them.
All at once Alia understood what was in the bag. “You want to make an offering of atonement?”
“Must I not?” Selàna’s voice held an edge. Did she think Alia was toying with her?
Suddenly Alia’s own muscles sagged, as if she were hundreds of years old. It dawned her that one day, she would be hundreds of years old. Were Ta-Setians built to last so long? Did arthritis and creaky joints strike them, or were they immune to all ravages of age? For the first time, it occurred to her she was too ignorant of her own heritage. Had her parents raised her … did they think the boon they’d sought from the Huntress worth the price of giving her up? Or did they suppose they would cross paths with Alia again? As child sacrifices went, giving a babe to dryads to raise had to be the mildest, gentlest form she knew.
However, Alia’s prolonged silence apparently made Bessa apprehensive. The Siluran tensed, and Alia surprised herself by smiling slightly. No doubt Bessa wondered if Alia would be equal to this next part.
“No,” Alia said gently. “The herbs won’t help, even if you conjured a sheep to accompany them.”
Selàna recoiled. A twinge of maternal concern stirred in Alia just then. The poor child. The poor, poor child. This time, Alia stepped towards Selàna. No longer concerned about intimidating her, Alia closed the gap between them. She clasped Selàna’s shoulders to look her dead in the eyes.
“You, Selàna Sideris, did no harm to the Restorer or His daughters. You, Selàna Sideris, did no harm to the Huntress and Her daughters, nor to the Sea Lord and His sons. If I know that the actions of Zephyra belong to Zephyra, and not to Selàna Sideris, wouldn’t you suppose the Nasiru also know?”
Selàna drew a shaky breath. Tears glittered in her eyes.
Oh, Mother. When Alia was small and in desperate need of her mother’s tenderness, Samara would speak to her in soft, soothing tones. Somehow, she knew what to say to console her child. Mentally, Alia girded herself to follow her mother’s example.
“In your mind, you’re still twelve years old, aren’t you?” Alia pointed out. “In your mind, you’ve only now lost your family. Do you have anyone in this world? Your pain tells me your parents would have shielded you from every harm. They would give their lives to protect you, as any parent should. I’m sorry you don’t have them. We are no substitute—I am no one’s mother. But I know what it is to love someone I would die for. I am here out of love. Love for my family. Love for the Huntress. And I have faith that you, too, are motivated by love.”
Selàna ventured to look up at her. Her lower lip trembled.
Alia’s smile was genuine this time. “I know you wonder if that will be enough. But I think the Nasiru know our hearts. They know what lengths I will go to in order to protect my family. To protect this world: I would give my life. What lengths, Selàna Sideris, will you go to in order to protect your own family? Do you understand that to have no hope is to be defeated before you even begin an endeavor? Do you understand that believing you can do nothing is a self-fulfilling prophecy?”
“My mother is a prophet,” Selàna said softly. “But I don’t think she Saw this.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe she didn’t. If she did, you must hold her blameless, as I hold you blameless. The Nasiru know what they are doing, and your mother serves the Seeker. I serve the Huntress. Do you want to serve the Restorer?”
“I—I have been a vessel for an abyssal queen. If I choose to be the Restorer’s vessel, am I not being selfish? I want to be clean again! How can anything I do succeed when my motives aren’t so good as yours?”
Ah? So was this what troubled the girl? “You think your motives are impure?” Alia allowed her voice to be filled with wonder. “Your motives are to get close again to the celestial side of the ledger, and away from the infernal side. To choose Good, and the Light, and reject Evil, and the Dark, yes? How is that not pure enough of a motive? Do you think you must do something special to deserve to make that choice?”
“I—” Selàna’s mouth fell open. She looked so confused that Alia would have found her expression comical in other circumstances. But for once she mastered her tendency to react inappropriately to stimuli.
Blessedly, Bessa stepped in, saying, “We all of us make that choice, everyday. Who told you that only some people have the right to make it? How could the Destroyer judge our souls if only some of us are allowed to choose, and others aren’t? And who would decide which of us can choose? Here you stand, resurrected because Zephyra chose to reject Rahqu. That was an honorable choice, and all the evil she had done didn’t stop her from making it. Do you think it means nothing, that she made her choice? How could all of her evil stop you from making your own choices? You can ask the Restorer to use you to restore the balance. I think He will hear you.”
Selàna broke away from Alia then, and turned her back to them so her face was hidden. Shaking shoulders betrayed her. Bessa looked tempted, but in the end she didn’t go over to Selàna and hold her as she sobbed.
A battle would be waging in Selàna’s heart, and none of them could fight that battle for her. For the first time, Alia wondered what whispers had Selàna heard in the night? What lies had been fed to her as she slept?
After a while, Selàna’s sobs subsided to sniffles. She turned to face them, her eyes red and puffy, and her cheeks streaked with her tears.
“How? How do I ask the Restorer?”
All at once, a path opened in Alia’s mind’s eye. Their straitened circumstances had made her think only of what they could not do, distracting her from seeing the options available to them.
Spreading her arms wide, Alia turned in a half circle, drawing their attention to their surroundings. “The first thing you’re going to do is put the Restorer’s house in order. Starting now.”