TenThousandBrokenDreams/Session35

Mother Cypress speaks:

“Hello, children. I see that you have come for a tale. So what tale shall I tell you tonight? Would you hear the tale of Sharn Alia, last-born child of the elder Solar, Sharn Larenn? Would you hear of how she received the Divine Breath on the eve of the Usurpation, and of what became of her in the years to come? Or would you hear more of the doings of the children of Moon and Sun, and of the fall of the Scarlet Realm?

“Ah, then come closer, my children. Gather round, and spread ears like elephants; and I shall tell you more of the tale of the Sun’s bright children, and their troubles in the lands of the East.”

* * * * *

Mara drew nearer. “Don’t you want to say hello to your daughter?”

Zera stared at her pregnant belly in shock. He shook his head to clear it. “Come with me,” he said.

“I have a room upstairs,” Mara replied, smiling. “We can go –”

“Follow me!” snapped Zera. He grasped her wrist and drew her toward the door.

“Why?” complained Mara, flustered; things were not going according to plan. “My feet hurt and my ankles are swollen.”

“It’s not far.”

Zera let her out of the inn and down the street, to a narrow, triangular park where pigeons shuffled and brawled around a dry fountain stained white with their droppings. But for a blanket-wrapped beggar lying across a park bench, whom they ignored, the place was empty. He sat her down on a bench and leaned in close; and as he did so, the golden ring of his caste mark blazed upon his forehead. “This is how it is,” he hissed. “Do you know what this means?”

“Your face…” She reached out hesitantly to brush the mark with her fingers. “It means your head is glowing…?”

“You are familiar with the word ‘Anathema’?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “I –”

“Believe it,” he said.

She stared at him in wonder. “But you… it’s you.”

Zera shook his head. “It is, but it is also not. I am not the man you knew.”

“It’s strange,” she answered, “and magnificent. But I still need you. And so does our child.”

“I realize that,” Zera replied. “But it can’t be the way you want it to be.”

“I don’t understand…”

Zera sighed. He sat down beside her on the bench. He watched the pigeons flutter up out of the shadow of the fountain and into the slanted amber light of the afternoon sun. “I realize that,” he said. “And I realize that I’ve been unfair to you. So I will give you brutal truth.” He drew a deep breath. “Years ago, I was engaged to a woman. I thought she died. I saw it. I found out recently that she still lives.”

“And you’re going to go be with her instead of… us?”

“I will do what has to be done. But I’ve never loved you.” He looked away from her stricken face. “Besides, I’m a walking dead person anyway.”

“So I was only good enough while you were just traipsing through Thorns.” Mara’s voice shook. “And now I’m what, inconvenient to you?”

“I never promised you anything,” he said haughtily.

“That’s all very well, Zera Thisse, but this child that you’ve helped me to make… you can’t just abandon her!”

“I won’t abandon anyone.”

“You’re going to abandon me!”

“You remember the city we came from? Still fresh in your memory?”

Mara shied from the whip-crack of his sarcasm. “But you helped me. You were a hero.”

“You’re not listening to me.” He leapt back to his feet and began to pace. “The horrible things that destroyed our home… I’m gong to do something about them. I may succeed, but more likely I’ll die horribly. I’m not going to this woman to be with her. I’m going to see her one last time.”

“But things are different now.” She raised her hands, pleading. “You have family –”

“I have power. I have responsibilities.”

Mara clutched her shawl tightly around her as a cold wind blew out of the darkening eastern streets. “You’re speaking in riddles, I don’t understand.”

“You can’t understand it.” Down the street, pedestrians turned to look, but Zera didn’t noticed. He glared down at Mara, his voice raised. “I could kill everyone in this district in minutes! But I want to do something right. I can’t settle down in some little village and not use my power and ignore everything around me. I can’t just ignore it.”

“You don’t understand,” Mara replied. “Your daughter is going to be great and powerful like you. They’ve seen it in the stars!”

“What are you talking about?”

“They –” She gasped, clutching at her belly. “Oh,” she moaned, “oh, it’s time.”

Zera stared at her stupidly. “Time?”

Mara’s face had turned pale. “My water just broke.”

He swept her up in his arms. Like a cricket, he leapt out of the shadows of Nexus’ winding streets, and bore her off across the rooftops to the midwife.

* * * * *

Li leaned upon the great blade named Burning Tiger. Through the dust of the afternoon, she watched the battles in the charmed circle as she awaited her own match. A snap of bone – a spray of blood – and a battle ended. Towering crags of sandstone faded, leaving only the victor brandishing his blade over his opponent’s body, lying motionless upon the battered earth of the circle.

“Sana versus Ah Chün!” called the herald, as two new competitors entered the ring. Li watched with some interest; she knew both of them. One, the Wood Aspect girl they’d rescued from a sacrifice on a demon’s altar, strode forth grimly to face the other, the tiger-clad barbarian woman ridden by an old god. Li stared; and as she did, she caught the old god’s eye. Somewhere behind Li’s eyes, a former life stared back, and she felt memory wash over and through her.

* * * * *

Night. The city of Haruka shone against the stars, her plazas ashine with prayer candles and paper lanterns, her jeweled towers blazing softly with a thousand lucent colors. Somewhere beyond her walls, the armies of the Exalted gathered to crush the gathering rebellion, but within, all lay serene beneath the cloudless sky.

Clad in black ranger armor, his leathery cloak flapping in the wind, Katsuro the Righteous leapt from roof to roof. Tree-lined streets fled by below; wind-ruffled pools reflected the stars’ cold, clear light. Now and again, he paused to observe the marshaling of troops as the city’s defenders practiced in the courtyards of armories or patrolled the illuminated avenues beneath the walls.

As he clung to a roof in a hilly district, he heard a sound. Peering into the shadows of a private garden, he spied a little girl who sat weeping upon a bench of stone; and as he watched, a shining figure bearing a tall staff entered the garden, his beard sweeping like summer clouds. “Here I am, child,” he said, and his voice was warm and full of comfort.

The girl threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ah Chün!” she cried. “It was horrible, the gates, the gates fell! The burning man, he broke them. And the warriors – they… they killed everybody! Everybody, Ah Chun! There was nothing anyone can do about it!”

“Why do you weep, child?” The old god gently brushed back her hair. “Do you not know that as long as Ah Chün lives, Haruka will never fall? I would never let anything happen to you or the other children.”

“I saw it in my dreams! Mommy and daddy died,” she wept, her whole body shaking. “I know it’s going to happen.”

The god hugged the child. “Tell me of the man in your dream,” he said.

“No, he’s too horrible.” She wiped tears away on the old god’s robe. “He... he glowed like the sun, blinding… it was terrible.”

“Like the color of the sky at dawn?”

“Yes.”

Ah Chün patted the girl absently, his eyes far away. “Katsuro.”

The girl’s sobs slowed. Finally she drew away, her tear-streaked face held in a strained calm. “I guess it’s kind of silly,” she said at last, “being so scared of a dream.”

Placing his hands on either side of her face, Ah Chün looked into her eyes. He spoke gently, but the firmness in his voice was unmistakable. “Ivania,” he said, “I would never let anything happen to you, or to anyone in this city. For generations I have stopped all who’ve come. Katsuro is mighty, but he will lose, just like the others.” He released her, and the light brightened around him. “Go and sleep now, and know you will always be safe.”

* * * * *

The vision faded. Within the circle, Ah Chün snarled in fury as she raised the Dragon-Blooded girl over her head, then dashed her to the ground with the crack of breaking bone. The girl spasmed, blood dribbling from her mouth. Somewhere, the herald cried, “This match is over! Victory to Ah Chün!”

Ah Chün’s eyes burned. She raised her lightning-crowned spear to strike the deathblow; but some of the madness faded from her eyes. She lowered her weapon. Her body shaking with fury, she stalked off as the healers removed the wounded girl from the field.

“Li of Orchid versus Ledaal Rivander!” cried the herald.

Li looked to Ledaal Martin, who stood by her with the others. His jaw clenched as he met her eye. “To ask for mercy would be pointless, wouldn’t it.”

“He is your brother,” Li replied.

Martin sighed. “I have a few fond memories of him, from long ago. But he’s not that person anymore. He is walking, talking dogma now. I ask you more from sentiment than anything else. For the Rivander I remember…” The god-blood shook his head. “He has made his choices. He will make trouble for all of us. Do what you must.”

Li bowed and turned away. As she walked toward the circle, Martin called out after her, “Good luck. I’m not going to watch.”

The swordswoman left Burning Tiger half-buried in the earth. In its stead, she accepted the twin blades Radiance and Brilliance from Tepet Aekino, and bore them with her into the circle. Across from her, she saw Ledaal Rivander approach, his scarlet hair tousled by the breeze. They met in the center of the ring.

Around them, the air shimmered; the tournament grounds gave way to a meditation garden. Vines wound around roughly hewn pergolas, shading beds of azalea and moss. Gravel paths wound among ornamental pools where carp swam. Petals fell from cherry trees like pale pink rain.

Ledaal Rivander surveyed the place with a smile. “I approve of this battleground. An Anathema should be finished in this place. You are lucky you hid yourself from me the first time, girl, or I would have finished you then and there.”

Li smiled back. Her swords blazed from their scabbards as the herald called the fighters to readiness; they glowed like the sun as she assumed the Five-fold Bulwark Stance. With an arrogant smirk, Rivander drew his paired short daiklaves, and a scarlet glow suffused his skin as he performed the opening kata of the Fire Dragon Form.

“Fight!”

With serpentine speed, Li flicked her blades at her opponent, probing. He whirled away, grinning; and then the fight began in earnest. Gold and scarlet flames leaped up around them as they unleashed half a dozen deadly blows in a matter of seconds. Both came away untouched, each evading the worst of their enemy’s strikes only through the use of Essence.

Rivander’s blades clashed and spun as he pressed against Li’s defenses. His anima roared like a furnace. She was hard put to turn his attacks away; but in his fury to win, his prodigal expenditure of Essence left him vulnerable. His uses of Essence grew fewer; he was forced to fight more conservatively. Li saw his weakness; spinning Radiance through a circular parry, she cut outward and upward with Brilliance in the kata of Cutting the Wavecrest. Drawing deeply upon his last reserves of Essence, Rivander twisted away from the assault, so that what should have been a mortal wound only cut deeply. He staggered and bled.

“I cannot lose!” spat Rivander. “I have the blessings of the Five Immaculate Dragons. Hesiesh, guide my hand against your enemies!”

Rivander lunged with the last of his strength. Li turned his swords aside with casual ease, then spun upon her heel and kicked him into the air. He crashed, groaning, to the ground just outside of the circle. As the illusion faded, Li walked over his body to rejoin her companions.

* * * * *

The inn’s cool shade proved a welcome relief. Li’s companions gathered around her as she seated herself in an isolated booth, away from the stares and whispers of the other patrons. She set her blades aside as she accepted tea.

Martin watched the serving maid depart. “He is still alive?” he asked Li. She nodded, sipping the hot brew. “I won,” she replied. “But he will bear some scars.”

“I do not think this was just the luck of the draw,” Doren pondered. “I think that the Eighteen Princes have deliberately pitted you against personal enemies.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t use the big sword,” said Martin.

Li frowned. “I have told you about this sword, haven’t I?”

“No, actually you haven’t.”

“It is called Burning Tiger.” Li rested a proprietary hand upon the great blade’s hilt. “It was a sword in my last life. Katsuro wielded it during his final battle. The army of dragon blooded… he slaughtered scores of them, but in the end he fell. It still rages at his defeat… Its influence has followed me. I feel the need to restrain myself when it makes me hate and want to kill the Dragon-Blooded.”

“It makes you feel?” Martin stared at the great weapon, as if expecting it to move of its own accord. “I did not know a sword could feel.”

Li nodded. “I do not know how long he lived,” she answered slowly. “I do not know what kind of power he truly wielded… I cannot imagine what I will be able to do when that time comes. It is inconceivable. All of the things I have seen and experienced… and then to… to lose… after having –” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. A moment later, she was calm again, though the words still came slowly. “I do not like… I do not want to kill. I am at home in battle, and yet… I do not enjoy… killing men. And…” She sighed, and then smiled ironically. “Burning Tiger does.”

“Wielding it must indeed be a struggle,” ventured Doren.

“I had to… turn away… from its path. It has been difficult.”

Martin continued to regard the grand daiklave, bemused. “Why don’t you just toss it in the ocean? Put it in a temple. Throw it away. Why carry it if it makes you feel this way?”

“It is a part of me,” Li answered simply. “I must master it. I cannot deny it.”

“Either way, I am grateful that you did not kill my brother. But I think it only delays the inevitable.”

“Perhaps.”

“He, too, enjoys battle,” Martin mused. “The thrill of feeling alive... unfortunately, it will involve you two killing one another, rather you killing him. You heard him; it’s gone beyond zealotry now. It is a matter of pride. He will never be as strong as you, but you know what strength the Dragon-Blooded can bring to bear. You may find yourself in the same situation as Katsuro if he plays his cards right. Maybe you should have finished him when you had the chance.”

Li shrugged. “I don’t believe expediency is more valuable than virtue.”

“I don’t understand what you mean… but I think I can respect it.”

“Then maybe, on some level, you do understand it.” Li drained her cup to the dregs. “I am going to rest.”

* * * * *

“Another note? My, aren’t you the popular one.”

Aekino gave Alac Doren a long-suffering look in reply. He waved the latest invitation, scribed with its author’s name in graceful calligraphy. “Who is this ‘Swan’?”

Doren shrugged. “A god-blood,” he said. “One among many.”

“He has asked me to meet him.”

“He is very attractive and very vain. You should get along with him.”

Aekino laughed. “He did not say I had to go alone.”

Doren demurred, and so it was Li of Orchid who accompanied Aekino on his liaison. The two crossed the tournament grounds that evening, moving among crowds and tents until they reached Swan’s grand silken pavilion. Outside, the clack of bamboo filled the air as two young women crossed practice swords. Inside, the air shimmered with incense and warmth. Mulled wine bubbled over a low fire; two children sat beside it, a boy and a girl, playing a game of Gateway. The girl glanced up for a moment, meeting their eyes; this was Sana, the Dragon-Blooded girl they’d rescued from the demon’s altar, who had come northwards with Shima.

A slender, androgynous young man sat among a wealth of silken cushions. His blue eyes danced; golden combs restrained his long lavender hair. This was Swan. “Lord Tepet,” he smiled in greeting, though he did not rise.

Aekino bowed. He spared a glance at a familiar slave-boy, eyes dulled with emotion, who waved a fan of ostrich feathers to stir the languid air. Aekino spared a moment to wonder how the boy had come here (was he not in Doren’s service now?), then turned his attention to his host. “Swan,” he said, “I must admit to some ignorance to your rank, though it seems eminent.”

“You flatter me.” Swan gestured to the slave boy, who set down the fan and darted off to fetch them refreshments. “I am glad that you and your companion accepted my invitation. And let me assure you,” he added, eyeing Li’s blades, “that you will come to no harm in my presence.”

Aekino seated himself upon the divan. Li remained standing behind him, the very picture of the vigilant bodyguard. “I find that it’s better to be prepared,” said the Twilight, “when one considers the climate.”

Swan arched an elegant eyebrow. “Rather hostile, isn’t it?”

“Some might find it very comfortable. For my part, I am content to suffer the hostility.”

“How courageous of you!”

“You’re too kind, I’m sure. But surely you did not ask me here for such banter, no matter how pleasing or witty it might be.”

Swan nodded. “I asked you because I have an offer for you,” he said. He took a glass of plum wine and a bowl of preserved robin’s eggs from the slave boy. After a sip, he continued: “I know that you have heard many tales from the high and the low, but I come with another. I’ve heard rumor that Shima’s intentions toward you are not even as friendly as you think. There may be danger, soon.”

“Oh?” Aekino tasted the wine, enjoying its heavy, mellow warmth.

“Indeed. I come to you on my mistress’ behalf; she is gathering a contingent of the more gifted individuals at this tournament, and she has an interest in you. I cannot go into details, but I can say that I have the authority to tender the good will of her nation, Tessen-O, where she rules as queen. My mistress would be happy to offer you sanctuary in this trying time. She would like to meet you and explore with you the ways that you can help one another. She is even willing to overlook the unfortunate ramifications of your… condition.”

“She is most generous,” said Aekino.

“She is most wondrous.”

“What is her name, O Swan?”

“She does not wish her name bandied about. We refer as the Thaumatarch.”

Aekino nodded. “Certainly I will look most favorably upon her offer. However, I will almost certainly need more time in which to consider it. In the meantime, I would be interested in learning much more about your nation. Perhaps you could… regale me with some stories, if you have the time.”

“Lord Tepet,” replied Swan with a knowing smile, “I have all the time in the world for you. But I would recommend that you inform your companions of the refuge I have offered.”

“Of course, but… you don’t mean to suggest that they will attack now, do you? Surely the Princes would object.”

“I am sure they would,” Swan agreed. “But there are only eighteen Princes, against how many of the Dragon-Blooded? Barring only the one they’d call traitor who travels with you,” he added.

“I see.”

“Do understand that I am not attempting to pressure you, but let us be clear on the facts. It has been… ennobling… watching you attempt to repair thousands of years of damage to your name, but do you have the time?”

Aekino hesitated, and then nodded. “I imagine you’re correct. Now…” He rose from where he sat and approached, saying, “I find this distance between us… unappealing.”

“This is acceptable to me,” replied Swan, smiling.

Li coughed. “Shall I take my leave?”

“If you don’t mind,” Aekino replied, settling himself at Swan’s side.

Li made her obeisance and departed.

Those familiar with Tepet Aekino’s proclivities will not be surprised to learn that he did not, in fact, leave Swan’s pavilion that evening. Rather, he continued to explore certain other avenues of negotiation, to their mutual satisfaction.

* * * * *

“Oh, Zera… oh, it hurts…”

“Quiet. I’m concentrating.” Zera Thisse bounded from house to house over the rooftops, leapt across a narrow lane, and descended into an alleyway. A few more steps, and he kicked open a door beneath the sign of a midwife.

The midwife, a chubby older woman who kept her gray hair in a bun, almost fell out of her chair. Her knitting tumbled to the floor. “What -?”

“I need help!” Zera looked around wildly for someplace to set Mara down.

“Her water has broken already!” Twisting her fingers together nervously, the midwife gestured to a cot. “Put her down right there.”

Zera lay Mara down, and the midwife immediately began fussing over her. Mara reached out blindly. “He’s going to leave…”

“Yes,” the old woman said firmly. “He’s going to take this pot, get water from the well and bring it to the blacksmith to get heated.”

The Solar ran off with the pot, filled it at the well, and brought it to the blacksmith. Phlegmatically, the smith set a red-hot horseshoe aside as Zera entered. “Wife having a baby?” he inquired.

“Something like that…”

When Zera returned, the midwife took the water and firmly pressed him out of the doorway. “I’ll take it from here,” she said. “And I need you to wait outside.” The door slammed.

Zera folded up against the wall. Glumly, he sat and watched the lamplighters scurry back and forth in the gathering dark, preparing the city against the night. He heard the flutter of wings descend in the alley at his back, followed by Fetek’s voice. “Iron Wolf?”

“Ugh.”

“So, who’s your friend?”

“Fetek…”

“Yes?”

“Why are you here right now?”

“Well,” began the Lunar sardonically, “because I was flying through the city, taking in the streets, and suddenly I saw a shimmering light and a man leaping across the rooftops with a pregnant woman, and I thought, surely that isn’t the Iron Wolf. And lo! I was wrong.”

“Her… her water broke!” stuttered Zera. “What was I to do?”

“I don’t know. Something that did not involve glowing golden, by preference.”

The midwife’s door slammed open. “Go down to Orchid Lane,” she snapped at Zera. “Turn left, to the fourth house on your left. Get me Clara. Then you can leave again; there’ll be no men in here. And you!” She pointed at Fetek. “Boy! Come in and help me.”

Fetek entered nervously. He watched Zera run off until the midwife dragged him in by the ear and shut the door. “You have the old ways in your blood. I can tell.” She pulled him toward the cot where Mara lay moaning. “I had him boiling water. Just between you and me, it’s better if he’s out of the way.”

“Yes,” Fetek agreed. “He’s not very competent at a lot of things. Who’s this?”

The midwife tossed away a handful of bloody towels, pulling clean ones down from a shelf. “His wife, yes?”

“Yes!” cried Mara, white-faced and panting. “His wife! I’m Mara Thisse! … Can we get an Immaculate to marry us?”

The midwife wiped sweat from Mara’s face. “That will come later, I’m sure. Breathe, dear.”

“What shall I name her?” Mara turned wide, rolling eyes to Fetek. “She’s got a great destiny, she’s to be very powerful.”

“Uh…”

“Mara Thisse…” She turned her eyes to the ceiling, staring off into a world of her own. “I am Mara Thisse.”

The midwife shook her head. “This is going to be difficult. She has a fever. You stay; you are good luck. But if you are not good luck, you leave!”

* * * * *

Zera found Clara without difficulty. A short, sensible young woman, she wasted no time in gathering her kit and following Zera to the midwife’s. Clara slipped inside to help in the birthing; Zera remained outside, not wishing to tempt the midwife’s wrath.

The minutes crawled past. The dark thickened; the last of the day people returned to their homes, while the night people, the dark-salesmen and harlots and thieves, gave voice and texture to the Nexus night. Finally, the door opened, revealing the midwife in a slice of hearth-light. She wiped her bloody hands upon her apron. “There have been complications,” she said, “but everything is all right –”

“What do you mean, complications?” Zera snapped.

The midwife drew back slightly before Zera’s looming presence, but her face grew stubborn. “Sometimes things happen.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zera replied, pushing past her. “I’m not a child. Just tell me.”

“She had a fever,” said the midwife, following him into the house. “Or maybe she was jostled too much… sometimes things happen. We won’t know for a few days.”

The archer’s keen eyes swept over the sawdust-strewn floor, the rack of clay jars bristling with herbs, the bucket full of water stained red with blood. Mara lay pale upon the cot, her clothes spattered red. “Tell me when to come back.”

Clara approached, bearing a swaddled bundle. “Here she is. She’s actually quite pretty.”

Zera accepted the bundle. He looked down, wondering, at the small pink face nestled there. Somewhere nearby, the midwife said, “She should be fine. But you know how it is, sometimes…”

Mara opened her eyes. They were feverishly bright. “I want to name her,” she murmured through cracked lips, “after Zera’s mother… they… they should be across town…”

Businesslike, the midwife placed her hands around the bundle. “Don’t worry,” she said soothingly, “you have my word that I’ll take care of her.”

“She’ll be fine,” Clara added. “She’s very good. We’ll make sure that Lady Thisse is fine.”

Slowly, Zera released his hold. The child gave a hearty cry as the midwife took hold of her. “Come by whenever you need to,” the old woman said.

Zera found himself outside, in the torch-lit, bustling Nexus streets. Fetek walked with him. “Are you all right?” the youth asked.

“No. No, Fetek, I am not all right.”

“You never said you were married.”

Zera stopped in his tracks. “What!?”

“What?” Fetek gave the archer a curious look. “She said she was your wife.”

“I’m not married.” Zera laughed scornfully. “She said that?”

“She said you were her husband.”

“She’s feverish,” said Zera.

“Who is she?” Fetek asked. “Is she the woman we came here for?”

“No, far from it. Let me explain a little bit about who I was before… things happened.” Zera started walking again, and Fetek hurried to keep up. “I’ve always been able to do some of the things I am able to do now,” Zera continued, “the running, jumping, hiding, shooting… when I was young, I was put into a situation where I had to feed my family. I began to find lost children, hunt criminals. I got good at it. Very good.” Zera smiled. “As a result, I became something of a celebrity in Thorns. I enjoyed the lifestyle, if you take my meaning.”

“I do.”

“I had a fine apartment. All sorts of women.” Zera shook his head. “You see why Aekino irks me so greatly sometimes. What he does, it reminds me of me. She was just another one in the crowd who got a little too attached. Unfortunately, we just… she was the last one before Thorns fell.”

“Oh,” Fetek said. “You brought her here? She came on her own?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Zera lied.

“Are you sure the child is yours?”

“You can never be sure.” Zera shrugged moodily. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way to know. So the only right thing to do is assume that it is indeed mine.”

“I guess it looked like you,” Fetek said, “as much as a newborn can look like anyone.”

Zera nodded. “I thought the same thing.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Do I look like I have a clue?” snapped Zera.

Fetek raised an eyebrow. “Well, what about your mother and sister? Aren’t they across town?”

“Hah!” said Zera bitterly. “You know where they are? Thorns!”

“Oh.”

They walked down a narrow alley, entering a cobbled plaza by the edge of a canal. Carts thumped and trundled past, reeking of fish. “Did I ever tell you about that day Thorns fell?” Zera asked. “Deathknights and marauding soldiers and that huge thing… Aekino and I Exalted. We escaped that day. They did not.”

“So what will you do?”

“After this, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t understand,” Fetek complained.

Zera nodded. “I don’t expect you to.”

“You’re not going to wait for everyone?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“If you go alone, you will lose,” Fetek insisted. He sounded upset. “You will die.”

“Makarios gave me the edge. I know its name now. I can find it. I think it will be enough,” Zera said.

“I don’t think the underworld will be cast away so easy. I think if you kill one deathknight, another will rise in its place. And if you die, and the shard of the Unconquered Sun is eclipsed by the darkness, you may be the one who rises as a deathknight.”

Zera grimaced sourly. “What does it matter if I squander my life and this shard that was given to me?”

“If you wait, you will become stronger. If Mother Wolf is correct, you and your companions have the potential to be the four strongest beings in Creation. If you wait, if you wait a thousand years, which will be nothing according to her, then there is no question that you will be able to succeed.”

“You don’t understand. I’m not doing this for me; I’m doing this for the people who are suffering now. I’m doing this to prevent a thousand years of suffering.”

“But you’ll die,” said Fetek plaintively.

Zera shrugged. “Maybe so.”

“I don’t want you to go, Zera Thisse.”

“That means a lot to me,” Zera replied with a small smile. “But it changes nothing. I believe in what I have to do, and I will do what I must to make it happen.” He sighed. “I don’t think I can convince Aekino and Li. And I can escape Thorwald for long enough.”

“True.”

“I’ve risked much by explaining my intentions to you. It’s now up to you to decide what to do about it.”

Fetek sighed. “I will respect your wishes, Iron Wolf.”

Zera stopped. “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I want to by myself for a little bit. You should go and find Thorwald.”

“I’ll look for him,” said Fetek. The young Lunar walked into a narrow alley, one where the walls of fish warehouses leaned heavily against one another and dripped with foul water. In the darkness, he assumed a raiton’s shape and flew away.

* * * * *

Fetek found Thorwald in a small, ramshackle inn near the Little Market. He sat at a small round table with four other dockworkers, playing at cards. The Northman grinned and waved a tankard of beer at the Lunar. “Ah, Fetek!” he shouted. “Come sit down, and I’ll buy you a drink. This game is terrible, I’ve lost half the money I made today. How was your day?”

Fetek did not sit down. “It was interesting,” he said.

“I had a terrible day!” Thorwald continued his game as he talked, pushing a handful of brass and silver coins into the center of the table. “No one had a more terrible day than I!”

“I don’t know about that.”

The young Easterner’s tone finally sank into Thorwald’s awareness. “Where is Zera Thisse, anyway?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Fetek acknowledged. “Let’s go outside.”

Folding his hand, Thorwald scooped up his small remaining heap of money. “I am the worst gambler in the world,” he complained as he followed the Lunar out into the torch-lit street.

“No, no… there is some worse gambling going on today.” Fetek looked around shiftily, then drew Thorwald under the shadow of a canvas awning that flapped in the chill, fish-tainted wind. “Zera Thisse is a father, as of about two hours ago. Apparently there was a woman he was sleeping with in Thorns, and she was pregnant, and he was jumping around on the rooftops with her…”

Thorwald grunted in surprise. “So he found her! And her with child!”

“No.” Fetek rolled his eyes. His voice was long-suffering. “Not the one he was looking for. A different woman.”

“Another one!” Thorwald snorted in amusement. “How many women does he have in this town?”

Fetek smirked sourly. “I wouldn’t raise the point with him. He’s not feeling very well.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” the Lunar replied with a shrug.

“Where is his child?”

“I can take you there,” Fetek suggested.

“Someone should watch the child,” grumbled Thorwald.

“The midwife is taking care of her. The mother…” Fetek paused, picking his words delicately. “The birth did not go well.”

“That is not enough. I will guard the child.”

So they traveled to the midwife’s house through the darkened streets. The night-folk of Nexus gave them a wide berth, for Thorwald’s daiklave and muscular bulk gave pause to even the most foolhardy of thugs and thieves. But when they arrived, the big man halted at the threshold. “I am a warrior of Stonehold,” he said. “I cannot go into a house of life. It is bad luck.”

“Would you like me to bring the baby out to you?”

“That is not necessary,” Thorwald replied dismissively. “I will watch from out here. No one will get past me. The child will be safe.”

* * * * *

Aekino stared at the scroll upon which the day’s match has been written. The names burned starkly into his brain, and as a result, the din and stench of the tournament grounds found no purchase upon his senses.

“Wow,” said Martin at his shoulder. “I’ve heard rumors about this Dancing Water person, even back when I lived in Tul Tuin. Very powerful and mysterious, they say. An ancient Lunar Anathema from the world’s edge.”

Aekino could not look away from the scroll. “And have you heard any stories dealing with Sharn Larenn?”

Martin’s blank look was eloquent. “Who?”

“A past incarnation.” Aekino shrugged. “She is the reason why Dancing Water is less than pleased with me.”

Martin playfully punched the Twilight’s shoulder. “I’m sure that he will not kill you for old times’ sake.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Immaculate in his white buff jacket, Alec Doren smiled mockingly at Aekino. “If you consider this to be too dangerous, perhaps you should withdraw from the competition.”

“Perhaps, but I would rather see what comes of the thing.”

“Well, you can always step out of the dueling circle. Unless,” Doren added slyly, “you enrage him to the point of refusing your surrender.”

“That is a consideration,” replied Aekino sourly.

Hours passed. Aekino practiced his forms; sweat dripped from his limbs and soaked his robe as he flowed through the katas of the Snake Style. Others avoided him; he was pleased to see their fear. As for himself, he sought to harden his composure against the encounter that was to come.

The hour of battle came. Drums thudded like the last beat of a dying man’s heart. Aekino stepped forward, robed in blue silk; a ring of white gold bound his long hair back, keeping it away from his eyes. In his right hand he bore his gold-chased staff of black jade. Gravely, he thanked his companions for their well wishes. “I will make you proud,” he told Li. Then he stepped into the ring.

Dancing Water approached. He moved as smoothly as a serpent, slim and hard, bare to the waist, his skin crisscrossed by a net of silver scars. Beneath the white feathers that were his hair, his face burned with immortal perfection. His eyes glowed clear and cold as still pools beneath the moon, filled with nameless passion, and Aekino could not meet that gaze. Ancient memories rose in him like the tide, and threatened to drown him in other lives.

“Tepet Aekino,” called the herald, “versus Dancing Water.” Aekino looked to his gathered companions, wishing him well above the roar and imprecations of the crowd; then the Eighteen Princes on their dais raised their hands, and the air quivered and changed, the tournament ground dissolving around them, so that Aekino and Dancing Water stood alone in a garden of golden flowers atop a soaring tower of orichalcum and glass. Other towers rose all around from the slopes of an impossibly vast mountain, soaring into the heavens from the glittering rooftops of a metropolis that beggared the Imperial City. Upon the mountain’s peak grew a spire of crystal and living wood, where countless skyships like jeweled fish of rainbow metal docked upon the wind. Miles below, the Blessed Isle spread out like a map of ancient days.

Aekino forced himself to breathe, for the air had caught in his throat. He tore his gaze from the immortal city. He did not bow, nor did his opponent. Slowly, he began to circle Dancing Water, who simply stood.

“The garden of Sharn Larenn.” Aekino spoke harshly, cloaking his anxiety in truculence. “In Meru. It may surprise you that I remember where we are. Does it, Dancing Water?”

The elder Lunar simply stood there, staring at Aekino. His voice was soft and clear as autumn bells, yet guarded, his passion deliberately muted. “Hello, Larenn.”

“I am Tepet Aekino now. But I wonder how many days you and Sharn Larenn spent doing this!”

Sliding forward in a graceful Snake kata, the Twilight feinted at Dancing Water’s torso, a probing attack meant to test the Lunar’s defenses. Suddenly, everything flashed past in a whirl of movement as Aekino was thrown across the garden. He crashed into a statue with a bone-jarring crack and slid to the ground.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Aekino deftly rolled to his feet. Clearly, he thought, his martial skills would be insufficient. He ventured a different approach. “Any more of that,” he said, forcing a smile, “and I may become accustomed to this.”

“You don’t say?” Unruffled by their brief engagement, Dancing Water casually approached. He watched coolly as Aekino leapt back to land atop another statue. “Taking the high ground?”

“If I cannot do it morally,” said Aekino, “I may as well do it literally. Or can I not do it morally?”

The Lunar ambled to a halt in front of the statue. Calmly, he aimed a kick at its torso; it exploded beneath the force of his blow. Falling, Aekino leapt from a tumbling stony arm to land on another marble sculpture. “Have I hit a nerve?” he jeered. “Did you strike down Sharn Larenn, or did someone else do it for you? Come, tell me what transpired.”

The tiniest wrinkle formed between Dancing Water’s perfect brows. “Orders,” he observed, continuing on with that same implacable step. “Always giving orders.” His open palm flashed out, striking the sculpture twice; with a stony groan, it fell into three severed pieces. Aekino slid from piece to piece, landing lightly on his feet atop the sculpture’s stump. Then there was movement. He returned to awareness lying upon the ground several paces away. He scrabbled backwards on hands and feet as the Lunar closed upon him.

Dancing Water kicked his hands out from under him, leaving him prone. He stared coldly down at Aekino. “That’s a reversal,” he said.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You remember,” Dancing Water said. His eyes were pools of deepest blue. Aekino fell into them, and was lost.

* * * * *

A soft rain fell, but the garden remained the same. Clouds cloaked the city below. Moist winds carried eagles among the gold and crystal towers. Sharn Larenn stood in her garden, magnificent in emerald silk and her own resplendent glory; and a young Dancing Water knelt at her feet.

“You my return to your commander and tell him that I require some… variation.”

“Variation?” The youth looked up, startled. “What do you mean, variation? I can give you variation! Whatever you desire!”

She smiled sadly. “It is time you returned to your commander.”

“But… I belong to you.”

“There, there.” She stroked his pale hair, and he quivered in ecstasy at the touch. “It is no fault of your own. My priorities have… changed.”

“You have to give me a chance. I will do anything –”

She shook her head. “I tire of this. Go.”

Emotions crossed his face, as ripples from a fallen stone. “I have failed you somehow…”

“You haven’t failed me.” She shrugged equably. “These things happen.”

“These things happen? But I have been there for you, done what you wanted… helped you dress, bathed you, done whatever you wanted.” He swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

She sighed. “It is not your fault. You have done well. I will tell your commander; I will give you a glowing recommendation.”

“I do not want a recommendation!” His eyes flashed. “Larenn I love you! Don’t you understand –”

“Dancing Water. There is no reason to make this more difficult than it must be.”

“Difficult…?”

“Perhaps I have somehow been at fault,” she mused. “I am sorry I have misled you.”

“I see.” He feigned bravado, as if to conceal the tears upon his face. “There is no changing this, is there?”

“It’s hard to say. Give it a century, or two or three. Things may change. I just have a small project I am working on, certain minor matters that require my attention.” She smiled. Her face was full of light, and it broke his heart. “I am sure you understand.”

He could only nod.

She smiled again, then, but her attention had already moved elsewhere. “Now be a good little boy. Return to your commander. I will see you, oh, some time in the future, I am sure.”

* * * * *

“You remember.”

Drawing himself back to the present, Aekino nodded. “It’s not a fond memory.”

Dancing Water’s façade cracked at last. “It’s not a fond memory for you?!” he howled, baring inhuman fangs. Another blur of motion followed, whipping Aekino into a rosebush in a spray of scarlet petals.

“No!” The Solar rose from the tangled thorns. He brushed the blood from his face. “Yes, it’s unpleasant. Such a thing just passed between someone else and myself. But they weren’t you… and that was not me. It was different.”

The Lunar’s face twisted. He approached again, implacable. “Things may be different. But have you changed?”

Aekino met his gaze. “Understand this: I am not Sharn Larenn.”

Pale hands seized Aekino and swung him around and down, into a bubbling fountain. He thrashed in the water, refusing to be pressed under. Supporting himself with one arm, he swung his legs up to seize the Lunar about the throat, but Dancing Water’s head flowed and deformed out from between them before he could get a solid grip. They grappled for a moment; Aekino only just barely pulled himself away, rolling over the grass to his feet.

“You don’t understand,” said Dancing Water. His feathered hair was plastered back upon his head; drops of water beaded on his taut skin. “You never understood. You never knew what it was like to have no control. Everyone worshipped you, loved you… it was all about you. You never saw anyone as a person, just as a pawn in your game, someone to be used and thrown away…”

“And humiliating me will fix things? This will –”

Dancing Water slapped him, hard. “You still have to be in charge, don’t you, Larenn! You can’t live without being in control, can you?” With pretended casualness, he slapped Aekino again, knocking him to the ground. The Dynast moaned.

“What now?” The Lunar grinned mirthlessly as Aekino pulled himself groggily to his feet. “Do you want to kiss and make up? Is that what you want?”

Aekino looked him in the eye, but stubbornly said nothing.

“You can’t relate to anyone unless they submit to you, can you, Larenn?”

“Why should I?” asked Aekino mockingly, “when they give me so much power? And I am not Larenn.”

“What difference does it make whether you wear the same flesh?” Another slap. Aekino reeled into the fountain. He leaned against a water-worn stone, his eyes blurred by the spray. “Will you kill me for the crimes of Sharn Larenn?” he demanded.

“You are just like her.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not weak like she was.”

Dancing Water gave a surprised little laugh. “Really?” Everything blurred again, as Aekino hurtled from stone to stone. Bruised blossomed across his body. His ribs were on fire. Dizzy, he clawed at the ground. The Lunar ground his face in the mud.

“Kill me,” blurted Aekino.

“Who says I want to kill you?” Suddenly, the grip was released. “It is Sharn Larenn that I want. Tepet Aekino means nothing to me.”

Aekino rose, his body a mass of battered and bloody flesh. It took a monumental effort.

“You still feel no shame or guilt,” Dancing Water accused. “Except for the people you never met.”

Their eyes locked again. The vision swelled in a red tide: Sharn Larenn, robed in scarlet mourning, weeping, curled in a ball on the floor of a cell of white jade. The cries of slaughter from above, as the Dragon-Blooded march through the city of Meru, their superior numbers overwhelming the last of her Solar brethren.

Aekino shook his head, scattering the memory. “She was a fool,” he snapped, “and she was wrong! Yes, part of her is here, in me. But I am myself, and I had nothing to do with what happened. I might have chosen otherwise. I might have said that I’m sorry… that I loved you still. It’s all that I felt in that Iron Tower that first night. All that I felt, all that I experienced, was that first kiss. Do you remember…” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “Do you remember now, or was too long ago?

Dancing Water shook his head slowly. There may have been regret in his voice. “You can’t have it both ways. Either you are Sharn Larenn, or you are not.”

“I am not,” said Tepet Aekino.

“So be it.”

The wind turned cold. Aekino shivered. And Dancing Water threw him into the sky.

* * * * *

The man walked fearfully down the alley. Moonlight turned the fog to silver, the dripping bricks to coal. Footsteps echoed behind him; he walked faster, stumbling over trash and the heavy lumps of beggars asleep or dead.

Dead end. The man turned, his face sweaty. Shapes appeared from the fog, one two three, the moon cold upon knife blades. One approached, and the man backed away until he pressed against the wall.

The leader grinned, teeth bright in a dark face. “You should be more careful, fellow. This is a dangerous neighborhood at this time of night.” The grin widened. “We can offer you protection, though. Shall we say, fifty dirhams?”

The man gaped. “I don’t have fifty dirhams!”

“A shame.” The leader aped a pout. “As I said, this neighborhood is dangerous. Time for you to learn just how dangerous, I think.”

The man cringed. The thugs closed in. Then, improbably, rescue: the mists parted as a masked figure, clad in black, descended from the rooftops, cloak fluttering, to land like a cat upon the cobbles. His hands moved, striking bone-jarring blows. The three criminals crumpled to the ground, each barely conscious inside a bubble of pain.

The vigilante knelt by the leader of the thugs and laid a companionable hand on his shoulder. “How much money do you have on you?” he asked.

“I have about thirty dirhams on me,” the thug choked out, spitting up bile.

“That’s about enough… for protection.”

“Protection?”

“You’ll give it to him,” he said, pointing to the man.

“Oh, no!” The man waved his hands desperately, his back still pressed against the cold brick. “I don’t want it!”

“I can’t,” the thug agreed. “My boss, Saffron… he won’t let this happen!”

“Your boss?” Eyes sparked behind the mask. “Where is this boss Saffron?”

“He has a few places. He moves around. There’s a place on Cherry Street. Another one on –”

The man whimpered. “Don’t do this! I can’t take that money! They’ll kill me.”

“You’ll both do as I say, or I’ll kill you both.” The vigilante unslung his bow, a massive thing of black and green jade. Golden fire crawled along its string.

The thug held out a pouch heavy with coins in one shaking hand. “For the love of the gods, man, take it already!”

Eyes wide with panic, the man snatched up the pouch and ran, his unsteady steps echoing off the slick, moon-drenched cobblestones. When the sounds of his departure had faded, the thugs crawled to their feet and looked warily about. But the vigilante, too, had already gone; the night had swallowed him whole.

* * * * *

Sunset claimed the city. Like a bat, a spider, the vigilante clung to the shadow-stained roofs of the warehouse district, watching the nest of his prey: a massive warehouse, undistinguished, stained by decades of black rain, streaked with guano and rust. He watched the last of the workers lock up and shuffle away. Guards remained, sentries at the few doors not covered by rattling shutters of corroded iron. Still he waited and watched as the sentries yawned and gabbed through their rounds. When he was convinced that the guards’ laziness was no act, but rather a point of weakness, he slid silently from the rooftops into an alley, there to work his enchantments.

The vigilante came to the guards in the guise of a harlot in her prime, clad in leather and sex. Startled into alertness, they dropped hands to sword hilts. She smiled, stretching her body enticingly as she approached the younger of the two. “Hello,” she breathed, and the word was a summons and a command. “How are you doing?”

The man grinned nervously, caught between conflicting drives. “Much better now. But, ah, I’m busy…” He glanced to the other man, who shrugged.

“It’ll only take a minute,” said the harlot, laying a hand on the younger man’s arm. He shivered.

The senior guard paused to light a cigarette. He waved them off. “Move along, then. Just hurry up.”

“Let’s go around the corner,” whispered the harlot, half-laughing. “I don’t want him to watch.”

“Me neither.” He followed her into the alley, amid the drip and the evening fog.

A twist of the wrist, and a cosh dropped into the vigilante’s hand. He dropped his female guise and struck the guard on the back of the skull. The guard staggered, but remained conscious. “Help!” he groaned.

Cursing, the vigilante struck again. “Go down, damn it!” But the man would not acquiesce; he continued to grunt and stagger, trying feebly to push past and escape. The vigilante shook his head. “You try and be nice to some people,” he sighed. He drew a knife. Slash! The guard fell, life’s blood pouring from his throat. The other guard soon joined him, bound and gagged atop the bloody corpse.

The vigilante slipped soundlessly through the now unguarded door. He crept among vats and crates and bales, where dozens of workers prepared and packed Saffron’s wares in a haze of chemicals and the stench of marijuana. None saw him as he made his way to a stair and ascended to the overseers’ floor. Another guard fell unseen, skull cracked. The vigilante wiped away a few errant drops of sweat, then stalked lazily to the door of the main office. He kicked it open and barged in.

Quills faltered and scratched to a halt. The clack and scrape of coins died with a surprised clatter. A dozen hands fumbled for blades. And the vigilante held an arrow nocked upon his great jade bow. His glare swept the room with tangible force. “Who is Saffron?”

A well-dressed, heavyset man stood from behind the largest of the desks. “I am,” he said calmly. “Stand down, my men; this man will obviously kill you before you get close.”

“My business is with you, then. The rest can go.”

Saffron gestured; nervously, his accountants filed out under the vigilante’s stare. The guards remained. “That’s some bow,” the crime boss observed. “Something from legend. I bet you’re a crack shot.”

“Twitch and you’ll see.”

“No thanks. Can we deal?”

“I’ve never been a fan of the criminal element.”

“So you’re here to shut me down?” The crime lord shook his heavy head. “That’s regrettable.”

Pause. “You’re taking this awfully well.”

“I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. I know who you are; you’re the gentleman who assaulted three of my men last night.”

The vigilante shrugged. He held the bow steady, arrow aimed at the crime lord’s heart. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

“You could work for me,” Saffron observed. “You’ve disrupted some of my operations, killed some of men; but that doesn’t mean much.”

“Naw. I just don’t like seeing people suffer.”

Saffron sounded offended. “Greck was no innocent. He owed me money. He was a gambler, a drunkard, a wife beater. He sold his daughter into slavery to pay his debts! Are you going to kill me? It will start a gang war. Hundreds will die. I have everything under control.”

“I can just kill you all,” said the vigilante.

“I don’t think you’re capable of that.”

The bowstring tensed. “You’d be surprised.”

Saffron’s face tightened. “I have many men. More than a dozen, I assure you.”

“Aha.” The vigilante did not seem intimidated.

“Well.” Saffron coughed. “Like I said, when I unified the criminal element of the city, I unified the gangs. What will you do, hunt them all down in the street?”

“Why not? What purpose do you serve?”

“Fine. Do as you will. But if you kill me, if you kill us all, do you think crime will stop? Do you think the rulers will let it stop? I am the emperor of those who have been cast aside.” He gestured toward a small, grilled window, beyond which shone the lights of the night city. “You look as if you’re from here. How can you not know this? I have made the city safer.” Saffron frowned. “Do you have a name you wish to give? You have me at a disadvantage.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“So?” The crime lord’s eyes strayed momentarily from the vigilante’s, touching on the implacable steel of the arrowhead. “What will you do?”

“Let’s say that I really can do what I say.”

Saffron shrugged. “Do you think the city militias will let you?”

“You think they can stop me?” The bow swung around. “Tell that man to stop moving,” he said, aiming at a bodyguard who’d thought to exercise initiative, and who was now sweaty with sudden terror

“Stop,” said the crime boss coolly. “Or don’t.”

The vigilante eyed the now-motionless guard for a moment. “Maybe I can’t stop you,” he informed Saffron, “and maybe I can. But I suggest you all find a way out of this warehouse in the next couple of minutes.”

Saffron nodded. He escorted his bodyguards out of the office and down the stairs. As they reached the doors, flames had already begun to lick up from the upper windows. The crime boss stood across the street and watched his building burn.

* * * * *

Zera leaned against the wall beneath the midwife’s sign, his arms crossed tightly. He stared at his boots.

“I am not going in because it is bad luck,” Thorwald said. “Where I am from, those who bring death cannot enter a house of life. Why do you not enter?”

“I don’t know.”

Thorwald nodded. “I understand.”

“We need to talk,” said Zera abruptly. He stared off into the shapeless darkness of the alley. “I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I have to; it wouldn’t be right not to. I think you’ll understand.”

Thorwald wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. “I am not sure what you are saying.”

“I can’t put it off any more. I’m going to spend another day or two here looking for Mya, and then I’m going to leave. Alone.”

“Where will you be going?”

“I am going home. To Thorns.”

“Good!” rumbled the Northerner with a grin. “I will go with you.”

Zera shook his head emphatically. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

“Ah. No, it is not. I can tell by the way you are speaking.” Thorwald paused. “Is there any way I can help?”

“You can’t help me there. There is nothing you can do. Maybe in a thousand years, you could make a difference.”

“And you can make a difference now?” said Thorwald skeptically.

Zera fingered the tiny flask of blackness he kept around his neck, the thing he purchased from the dream merchant. It felt cold. “I paid a heavy price, but I have something that can make a difference now.”

Thorwald sighed. “In the North,” he said, “particularly in Stonehold, the warriors who fight the Fair Folk and the dead sometimes see something. They walk to the edge of creation and plunge in. That is what you mean to do. It is sickness you possess.”

“Perhaps. Sometimes I think I’m losing my mind.” Zera seemed to be speaking more to himself than to his companion. He shivered, though the night was not cold. “I have no idea what’s right anymore.”

A creak of hinges; a wedge of firelight sharp against the gloom. The midwife spoke from the doorway. “Master Zera? Mara wants to speak to you.”

Mara emerged into the night. She held her babe in her arms. “Zera? Is that you?”

Zera nodded, but said nothing. Gently, he reached out for his daughter. She cooed softly as he cradled her in his arms.

“She’s only quiet when you hold her,” said Mara. “Your mother… you have to bring her to your mother.”

Zera regarded her pityingly. “You don’t remember?”

“And your sister Hana, she’s across the way –”

“Go back inside,” said Zera harshly.

“I’m not delusional,” Mara snapped. “They’re here. You never listen to me, you always think you know better.”

Zera sighed, his hand still on the door handle. He decided to humor her. “Where did you say they were?”

“The Old Tulip Inn.”

“I know it.”

“Not the New Tulip Inn, the Old Tulip Inn –”

“I know it,” Zera repeated.

“I’m too sick to go,” murmured Mara, “but you should take her. I’ll be here, but… you will come back for me, won’t you, Zera?”

“Tomorrow, I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to Thorns.”

“You’re crazy,” said Mara. Her eyes glittered with tears. “They all think we’re married. We could live together and raise her. Your mother and sister could live with us. Why do you have to give up everything? Everything you had in Thorns, you could have here. You’re such a fool.” Weeping, she slipped inside and slammed the door.

Thorwald regarded the babe, her pink face the only bright thing in the dingy alleyway. “Are you taking the child with you?”

Zera nodded. “This is the last time I’m going to see her, so, yes.”

“I will stay here.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing.” Zera glanced up from the infant in his arms. He smiled wanly. “I’ll be back.”

* * * * *

Even from outside, the inn reeked of urine and mold, of rot in the walls. The remnants of shutters hung from the windows like broken teeth. The innkeeper, Old Tulip, also stank. His sallow skin hung with the peculiar looseness of a man no longer fat. His breath almost knocked Zera over. How can I help you?”

Zera cradled the infant in the sling he’d prepared for her, shielding her from this apparition. “I am looking for some boarders,” he said flatly. “Deonna and Hana Thisse.”

“Oh, yes.” Old Tulip’s teeth were blackened, rotted stumps. “They are here.”

“What room?”

“You wish to see them now?” The innkeeper held out a greasy, rough-nailed hand in the universal sign of greed. Nodding agreement, Zera crossed his palm with silver and entered.

The hostelry’s dank, shadowy interior matched its façade. Mildew and water stains blistered every surface, mingling with discolorations of unknown provenance. Roaches crawled everywhere. The scrambling of rats echoed dimly within the walls. Zera followed Old Tulip up two flights of creaking stairs, then knocked at the indicated door.

Candlelight. Dust. The sickly stink of age and decay. A dark eye, crusted with rheum. “Who is it?”

Zera leaned against the door. He heard his own voice, dreamlike, speaking for him. “Mother?”

“Zera?” croaked the voice, strangely familiar. “Zera, is that you?”

More eyes shone at the door. Another voice, younger and stronger. “Mother, it’s Zera!”

“It can’t be.” The old voice shook. “Zera is dead!”

“It’s him!”

Zera pressed his head against the splintered wood. “Mother,” he said, “It’s me.”

* * * * *

They sat together in the small room in the Old Tulip Inn, amid the flicker of candles, and wept. Zera’s mother sat rocking her namesake, little Deonna, while Hana poured weak tea with her left hand. Her right was gone, white scar tissue stretched over the stump of her wrist.

“How…” Zera could scarcely speak. “How did you make it all the way to Nexus? What happened to your hand?”

Hana shrugged. “We made it out the gates,” she said, twisting prematurely gray hair between her fingers. “They were killing people in the fields, just cutting them down. But it mustn’t have been worth their time to kill everyone. By the next night we couldn’t hear any more screaming, and the fires were burning low.” She shivered. “There must have been thousands who got as far as Shale and Tarn’s Port. Too many. They had no place for us. They were afraid. We kept moving. Eventually we came to Nexus. We didn’t know where else to go.”

“And your hand?” Zera asked again.

“They cut it off when I tried to steal some bread.”

“Where?”

“It was so long ago. I don’t remember –”

Zera seized her arm, and his voice cracked like a whip. “Where?”

“Some town, somewhere near Great Forks,” replied Hana, her eyes gleaming with tears. “I don’t know, Six Stones or something like that. We went through so many places then. And it’s not like we were going to stay after that. I really don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

Appalled at his own behavior, Zera let go. “No, no, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Go on, please.”

“There are others from Thorns,” Hana continued. “We weren’t the only ones. Old Ogden made it. You remember old Ogden?”

“Yes.”

Hana smiled weakly. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Zera took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you,” he said, “but listen to me. There is an inn called the Roasted Duck. Ask the innkeeper to take you to Thorwald of Stonehold. He is a friend of mine.”

“But what about you?”

“I will be leaving tomorrow. I am going home.”

“Home?” She stared. “But you can’t go home. Home is –”

Zera shook his head. “Home was taken from us,” he said harshly, his eyes ablaze. “But I am going back.”