8.

 

Scratching awoke Zaifyr, a low, dull noise that bled into the final fragments of his dream. He sat upon the edge of a trail, short grass spread out beneath him. Above, the sun was singular and sat high in the empty blue sky. He had no destination, was waiting for no one and suffered from neither situation until the noise began behind him. A scratching. Faint, but persistent. He rose, but could see nothing and the sound grew and grew until the sharp claws felt like they were beneath his skin.

When he opened his eyes, there was a large raven on the windowsill, its wide, glossy back presented to him.

Reaching for the cloth trousers at the side of the bed, he pulled them on and grabbed the glass of water from the table beside him. Outside the window, the morning’s sun had just begun to rise.

At the window, he rinsed his mouth and spat past the raven onto the garden below. “Good morning, Jae’le,” he said, placing the glass down.

“And to you, brother.” The raven’s voice was harsh, unnatural, its vocal cords forced into positions uncommon to it. “How do you find the Spine of Ger?”

“Interesting.”

“Oh?”

“There are two Keepers here.” He reached for the chair Orlan had sat on the night before and occupied it himself. “Fo and Bau, the Disease and the Healer. We can assume that the Enclave does not think of this as a simple war.”

“Our sister has long ago abandoned any notions of simplicity.”

“You turn bitter, brother.”

The raven’s feathers ruffled. “You accuse the wrong one of us. Aelyn has become jealous of her corner of the world and seeks to establish firm lines.”

Zaifyr frowned. “Is that why you asked me to come here? For her?”

“No, brother. I am, as I said, merely interested in the new power arising here. Did Samuel Orlan talk to you about that as well?”

He met the raven’s black gaze. “You smell too much.”

“Why would he visit you?”

“His apprentice was attacked by a Quor’lo.”

The raven’s beak dug suddenly into its wing, tearing out a black feather, signaling that Jae’le had relaxed his grip on the animal for a moment. Zaifyr imagined the lean man in his cushioned chair over half a world away, twisting the long, dark beard that he had grown over the last century. The raven—more itself than it had been for weeks—was trying to dig him out by pulling at its body like it might a tick or a loose feather, searching for its annoyance. Then, as quickly as it began, the raven went still, its head rising.

“Perhaps,” Jae’le said, “you are right that this is not a simple war.”

“There is also a City of Ger beneath this city.”

“That’s hardly surprising. The remains of those cities are all through the mountains.”

“I thought you wanted to hear what was interesting?”

“And I found Samuel Orlan’s visit—”

“I know what you are going to say.” Zaifyr reached for the glass of warm water. “I am not interested in being chastised.”

“I was not about to do so.”

“You were,” he said firmly, ending the topic before it could reach other, older areas, where Asila could be brought up. He had done enough of that, himself. “Now, instead, ask me about this city you have no interest in and how it links to this rising power you sent me to examine.”

Quietly, the raven said, “Very well.”

“It is a holy war. The first in a long time, brother. The Quor’lo hinted at that and not lightly, either, which can only mean that the intention of those marching on the Spine is not meant to be a secret. We—and by we, I mean the Enclave and every other person with a touch of a god’s power in them—will no doubt be their enemies, just as Mireea is for being on Ger’s remains. The attack on Orlan’s apprentice was most likely a chance attack on one of us—a new one without much risk, at least in the mind of the attacker. As for the city above—” Zaifyr placed his feet on the window seal “—Mireea cannot hold against a large army and my belief is that the city is preparing for siege while also preparing to retreat. In my ride up here, the roads from Yeflam were clear, many with rebuilt bridges. I didn’t venture to the other side of the Spine, but I’ve heard that the mining settlements that the Spine can’t protect have been forcibly shut down and the people moved. They’re living in two camps on the trail when you approach the city from Yeflam, though I wouldn’t say there was more than a thousand people there currently. That’s Heast’s work.”

“How long do you think they can hold?”

“I don’t think he plans to hold, honestly. Whether the Leeran Army and those in charge of it will think the same, I don’t know.”

“The priests.” Jae’le hesitated, the dark feathers on the raven ruffling. “Do you think they are like the old ones?”

“I never saw a priest possess a dead man before.”

“The old ones had power, brother.”

“Not from blood.”

The raven’s head shook. “In this, your birth fails you. The original servants of the gods were not to be underestimated.”

Zaifyr tipped back in the chair, quiet. His brother, in this, was right: he had met none of the priests that had both terrified and inspired much of the world. Meihir had been his only connection to such figures, and she, he knew, had been a pale candle compared to the servants of other gods, or so he had gathered from Jae’le’s descriptions of them. Once, the thought of meeting such figures would have driven him out of Mireea, to find them, question them and fight, but of late he struggled to recall such emotions.

In truth, he had grown tired with the intricate puzzle boxes of theories that peppered the conversations of his family since his release, conversations that he used to take part in, used to enjoy. They would begin with the idea of theft and inheritance—both theirs—but had no conclusion. The quest to know who and what they were was all that mattered to his brothers and sisters, but he was unable to share it now. It was not helped by the fact that Aelyn had not spoken to him since his release, and that the others—all but Jae’le, in truth—had been distant, managing only a handful of words. There were laws, now, and he had to admit that he did not have any interest in them, just as he had no interest in their arguments and debates any more. He could forgive them the time he had spent locked in the tower, understood it even, and agreed. He knew what he had become and the madness that lay at the center of him … but there was no denying that since the door opened, he had been different: cured, yes, but changed through that, driven away by their very actions.

For all that, he had come to Mireea at his brother’s request.

“The City of Ger,” Jae’le said, finally. “Could you return to it?”

“If I wanted,” he replied, carefully.

“Would you?”

“Are you asking—”

“Yes.”

Zaifyr hesitated, then said, “He may be protected.”

“He will.” The raven shifted, its claws scratching lightly as it did. “But perhaps we should know in what condition Ger lies, before these priests arrive.”

“What do you think they will do?”

“I do not know, but we will learn soon enough. You need not be here for that.”

Zaifyr hesitated, then said quietly, “I might stay. For a while.”

“People will die, brother.”

“I know.”

Unnaturally still now, as if the body of the raven were being gripped tightly by a man who had once remade the world in the image he so desired, Jae’le said, “What did Samuel Orlan say to you?”

“Nothing that I care to share, brother.”