Fohrsdee, the 24th of Frost, 768 A.E.

  Anthea woke to find herself being shaken. Her hand raised in alarm to grasp the wrist of the hand clutching her shoulder. “What time is it?” She asked after realizing that it was only Makan, and not someone wishing her harm.

  “Perhaps just barely the second Ouer of Fohrsdee.” Makan said, but the worry in his eyes made Anthea’s heart lurch.

  “What is it?” She asked.

  “There’s a storm brewing. I think you’d better come see for yourself.” He said guardedly.

  Anthea licked her lips nervously. “Bad?”

  “I’ve not seen worse.” Makan admitted.

  “Where are we?”

  “In the Gap of storms, over Mueran islands I think.”

  “Can we set the Flier down somewhere?” She asked.

  Makan shook his head doubtfully. “There’s a half-dozen places in the western islands of the Mueran Belt where we might be able to, but everything is so overgrown that we’d have to crash down. I don’t think we’d be able to find a safe place. And we’d not be able to help Bedros then.”

  Anthea nodded and rose, not releasing his wrist. She let herself be lead to the cockpit, where Sagira and Nishan were both working levers, each from their own chair. They both glanced back at Anthea and Makan when they entered, but then they immediately went back to flipping levers and adjusting knobs.

  Anthea leaned in between the two of them, looking out through the slightly curved pane of glass. Dark clouds whirled angrily all to the north of them, sweeping down across the islands a Kilome or more below. The clouds were forming into a massive wall that grew upward, increasing in volume with each Mynette.

  “That doesn’t look natural. It’s so… alive.” Anthea said worriedly as she watched the roiling clouds continued toward them.

  “It’s a God’s Storm.” Makan announced. “Marceaupo has sent her cold air north, and Tulis has sent her warm air south. The two are clashing and the moisture from the north is heading south. It’s going to get ugly.”

  “They picked a fine time to get in a squabble.” Sagira remarked dryly.

  “We can’t outrun it, Anthea.” Nishan said apologetically. “We need to decide now if we want to try to land and wait it out, or… I don’t know what the alternative is.”

  Anthea shook her head, disliking the choice. “Ride the storm. Isn’t that the choice? Land or ride the storm?”

  “I suppose so.” Nishan admitted.

  “What does your enchantment tell you?” Makan asked. “It lent us no guidance last time we had to make a choice. Does it now?”

  Anthea concentrated for a moment, letting her senses stray toward that pressure on her mind that was sometimes subtle and almost absent where it hid in the back of her mind, and sometimes it was very up-front, pressing her into urgently performing one action or another. Now though, it was almost hidden. “I’m not sure.” Anthea said worriedly. “I don’t understand why it offers me no guidance now. Before it always guided us one way or another.”

  “Then you will have to choose.” Makan said grimly.

  Anthea licked her lips and tried to think of what they might best do for Bedros and even Rolf, who still could not move his left arm. Without proper attention, the two of them might not recover. Yet it was the Saysuhn of White and there were few flowers to be found, even if she were willing to use more flowers, she had not hand in planting, growing, and harvesting. What could she do to help them?

  “If we ride out the storm, where is it likely it will leave us?” She asked.

  Nishan shrugged. “If we keep making eastward progress even in the storm, possibly Far Muera in a couple Dees. If not, I don’t know how far south it could press us.”

  “There’s nothing to the south though. This thing runs on light too. If the storm blocks the sun for too long and our batteries drain, we will fall from the sky.” Anthea replied, grimacing.

  “There is something far to the south.” Makan corrected her. “The lands of the Uleaut people.”

  “The ice-walkers?” Anthea asked, using her people’s name for the isolated people who lived on the shifting fields of ice over the frozen southern portions of the Outer Seas. And even as she said this, the feeling of the enchantment in her head shifted forward, pressing her into action. She blinked in surprise.

  “What is it?” Makan asked. “You have a strange look on your face.”

  Sagira and Nishan looked back once more to regard her briefly to see what Makan had seen.

  “We need to ride out the storm. I think we will be dressing for the cold for a while. When you mentioned the Uleauts, I felt a shift in the enchantment. I think this storm means to carry us to them.” Anthea answered.

  “To what end?” Sagira asked. “What can they do to help us?”

  Anthea shrugged. “I cannot say. There are a lot of things I don’t know, and yet the enchantment seems to want us to be carried that way.”

  “Then let us pray this storm is as well-meaning as you suppose.” Makan replied piously.

  “Aureans are beloved of Aaren. His winds will guide us.” Anthea said, trying to reassure them with mention of the God of Winds and the Skies, but even she had doubts.

  “I too, pray that you are right. Look how the storm rushes to embrace us.” Nishan commented anxiously, his deft hands flying from one lever to the next to stabilize the Flier as the first heavy winds began to toss it about. “You’d better all sit down and tie yourselves to something stable. This will get pretty rough before we are through.”

  Anthea did as he said, going back into the crew cabin. She woke Rolf to help him strap in too. Then she buckled herself to one of the padded soldier’s benches only after checking Bedros’ own tie-downs. She chose the seat next to Makan and reached over to grasp his hand as she waited for the storm to reach them in earnest. His hand clasped around hers reassuringly. It reminded her bitterly of her father’s absence, but she would not give in to self-pity.

  “The Gods will provide.” Makan said softly.

  “I care not for me now, but for Bedros.” Anthea replied.

  “I do not think they would wish ill for one of your guardians. Trust in them, even as the skies grow dark, Anthea. Sometimes it’s all we have.”

  They were silent then, watching with held breath as the view outside the window showed the dark clouds reach out to them. They hit with the force of a hammer, wrenching the poor craft mercilessly as it carried them in the boiling darkness of the storm. Any control they might have had was surrendered in that moment, and they could only wait until they were dumped at whatever destination the storm had in mind.

  Amidst the darkness, the only light was the light Anthea could see was that of the single crystal pod that rolled about the compartment, but then everything went dark and her worries ceased.

  Corydon frowned at the woman standing beside him. A single tear rolled down her cheek, the first he’d seen in near on ten Yarres. At first, he thought it was a trick of the dim light, a shadow or speck of dirt that had caught the faint light just so, but when he reached out his fingertips to brush against her cheek, they came back moist.

  “What is this?” He demanded of her, knowing full well she could not reply, for she was mute and not quite right in the head.

  Her blank stare swept across his face, exhibiting no sort of recognition of him or understanding of what he had asked of her.

  Grunting in anger bred of misgivings, he slapped her hard across the face with the back of his closed fist. She did not cry out as her head rocked back and she fell to the ground. She simply sat on the ground with her head cocked away from the side that had been struck.

  “Useless.” Corydon said with a sigh after she remained on the cold floor.

  He took her roughly by the arm and lifted her back to her feet. She stood there beside him with her head still cocked strangely to the side, almost as if she wanted to showcase the dark bruise forming already on her cheek. Corydon reached out, almost gently, to tilt her head back at a normal angle.

  “I’ll never understand what Orestes saw in you, Linnea. I offered him the world that I still mean to take. Our partnership was fruitful until you came along. How he could debase himself with a lowlander I do not know.” Corydon said, though this was hardly the first time he had spoken these words to Orestes’ wife and Anthea’s mother. It was almost a litany anymore.

  Corydon clasped his hands together behind his back and looked out across the caverns beneath Cenalium. He had made the Ox-Men masons and craftsmen carve them out over the past thirty or more Yarres to make room for what he had planned. He had started with a vision, and even now that vision only grew. Only these were not empty, drafty caverns awaiting people to make their homes in them now.

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  What lay before him was something of a city, its dark towers perforated with windows and connected with walkways. The towers reached from floor to ceiling in the cavern, which in some places was a height of over a hundred Mayters. Clusters of crystal pods hung like sparsely distributed bunches of grapes here and there, fed by batteries and chargers in the real city above that provided the only light for the homes of thousands of Dark Aureans and regular Aureans who were undergoing the transfusions to become resistant to The Fear.

  Corydon smiled as he watched the mass of Aureans move about doing their daily tasks. It reminded him of a colony of ants. Except this colony was about to move from the hive out into the world very soon. Yarres of rushed breeding, initiated to create a population explosion after his initial successes conquering The Fear, had provided him with a large crop of Dark Aureans that was just now maturing. While many might consider them still to be adolescents, he saw before him a force waiting to grow into adulthood during the trials that lay ahead.

  And if they were not enough, more willing followers arrived every Dee. Some citizens of the Grancittas took the pamphlets, which were considered heresy by some, to heart. In the city of Cenalium above and in each of the Grancittas, there were minor revolts as those who believed his claims railed against the established leaders. Corydon had his contacts in each of the major cities setting up pickup locations for people wishing to leave their cities to join his movement. Under cover of night or clouds, they would be extracted and brought here beneath Cenalium for ‘conditioning.’

  Riots and the deaths of those who believed him were not the only changes about the Aurean nation. The Voice of the Firmament, the religious leader of the Aurean people, had thrown his doors closed and hid from the looters and people demanding explanations. When they received no explanation from him, they turned to the Greater Helion, who had, according to his chief aides, retreated away from the public eye and was not taking audiences. Everywhere, people were looking for answers and guidance, but there was none to be found - yet. Corydon would arrive just in time to save the people soon, just when things looked bleakest. Then he would not appear as a tyrant trying to usurp power, but as an enlightened leader who would guide their people through the changes they now faced.

  “Things are about to change, my dear. The world will never be the same.” Corydon said excitedly, not even noticing that Linnea’s head had tilted to the side once more.

  They walked down among his people then, and they allowed their hands to reach out and touch them: the Father and Mother of their freedom.

  An Ox-Men in the Vale lifted his horned head. One-Ear was leader of the Ox-Men of The Vale, one of the two greatest herds of Ox-Men in the Broken Crown. Another on Lesser Aynglica raised his head in unison with One-Ear. He was White-Hoof, named for the one discolored hoof he had lived with since birth. Like One-Ear, he was a leader of a herd as well, though his was on Lesser Aynglica.

  Each of them glanced around to see the other shamans at their locations tilting back their heads to join the communion of minds that was so in contrast with the anger and the beginnings of despair in the herd around them. As each one linked in through the two herd leaders, their awareness grew. Thoughts and images were shared, and their minds became one for a time. As one being, their mind was greater than any other being in the world. They saw, felt, and experienced more than any of them could have individually, even if it was just for a short while.

  This time, their shared thoughts were all on the same thing: their chosen one had been grievously wounded, yet the Gods conspired against them, carrying him away from the help they could provide. They tilted their heads back more and threw back their arms, fists clenched in anger. A grunting grew among them, becoming something near a wail or a howl.

  Around them, the herds began a long dance, each herd mirroring the other, though since no one could be in both places at once, the behavior went unremarked on as being similar. Truly though, few outsiders saw the dance anyway. The Ox-Men were just an odd lot of creatures not far above animals as far as the other races thought. Since it lent them privacy to do what they would instead of the curiosity and prying that the landdeaf outsiders often exhibited, this was a misconception they were happy to let propagate.

  They danced for a long time, but it was to no avail. As distant as their chosen one was, they could not help him. He was not in touch with the land, and it could not lend its healing powers to him. They would have to wait for his return.

  The shamans came to a conclusion borne of their leaders One-Ear and White-Hoof: they would wait for their chosen one’s return and then they would make him whole again. The one called Bedros had much to do yet. The lost herds were to be reclaimed, and they could not do it without him.

  As the communion of minds eventually splintered and broke apart, leaving the shamans dazed and exhausted, the two great herds’ dances broke apart then into an impatient stampede that expended all their frustrations. They finished then, grouping up to create more young – the blessing of the land.

  Yet there were those among their kind that did not give in to the waves of desire that swept through the herds. In each herd, the shamans stood apart from the masses and watched and waited for signs that only their minds could still recognize. The others had given in to their natures and the impulses of the body. Only in abstaining, as the shamans must, could they retain their focus and acumen. The land spoke loudest to those it reached hardest after to influence. They gathered their strength from their struggles with their bestial natures, and together they communed and planned, whatever it may hold for them and their chosen one.

  Together they had shared thoughts that they may have to prepare for the eventuality that they might have to sing the earth alive once more, as they had during the fall of Rummil. The landdeaf could not be permitted to spread such ruin and waste among the Broken Crown again, yet the lessons taught to them with Rummil and after the Fall of the Elegian Empire had seemingly been forgotten.

  One-Ear and White-Hoof each stared long and hard up at the stars that night, stars that shone down over their herds. When they looked up at the same stars, even the distances between their two islands felt small.

  In the Colonnadi Dignitae, The Grand Helion paced about angrily. Aides swept in behind him, only to part and give him room when he turned to walk in another direction. To the lone man, an advisor, who was not part of the Grand Helion’s entourage of servants, the whole scene was rather amusing, not that he’d let his superior know he thought that. Still, there was something comical about the childishly petulant way the Grand Helion stalked about in the pinnacle of the windowed tower that stood in the middle of Aetheline.

  The Colonnadi Dignitae overlooked all of Aetheline and many of the mountains that surrounded it. On a good Dee, it wasn’t uncommon to be able to see all the way to the Inner Seas. The taller mountains to the south prevented sight of the Outer Seas, but the mountains toward the Inner Seas were shorter.

  “I don’t understand. With what our Farsight Outlooks saw, there surely was someone there, but now they’re gone? Likely it was the girl that heretic Corydon was looking for. How exactly did you let them slip through your fingers?” The Grand Helion demanded, pausing his pacing.

  The advisor regarded the leader of the Aurean people with a sigh he kept inside. The Grand Helion, despite his grandeur, was a man who needed constant reassurance. Inside that man cloaked in the finest silks and gauzy wraps studded with fiery-colored gemstones, there was a strong sense of insecurity. For all his apparent wealth and power, he was not at ease with himself or what he was.

  “It was you who insisted we proceed with caution, Excellency. Don’t forget that I urged you to seize the girl when you had a chance.” Yarres of offering advice to the man had lent him a certain status where he could be frank with his superior, lest any attempt to sugarcoat his words obscure his meaning.

  “But, Iago, I couldn’t have known they’d have to fight some of Corydon’s filthy creatures, and that they’d flee from here afterward.” The Grand Helion protested.

  “No, you bet that they’d come running to you for shelter. It was a risk to take, but it was taken, nonetheless. It’s too late to cry about it now, Excellency.”

  “What do we do, Iago? You’ve long been my sole trusted advisor. What can we do about all of this? Corydon cannot go unanswered for his heresies.”

  “No, you’re quite right. He cannot.” Iago clicked his tongue and stroked his smooth chin while he thought for a moment. “Yet you don’t want another Fratello Muerte to occur, so whatever we do must be done carefully.”

  “You’re right. I must be cautious. Such a bleak stain on my reign would never be forgotten.”

  “An outright assault on Corydon at this point is not the answer. If what our spies tell us is true, he has some sort of weapon that can strike many Kilomes from Cenalium. He destroyed an entire Kerathi fleet with it.”

  “That fool they elected as Greater Helion is to blame for this. How he let his subordinate get so out of line and take so much power I do not know.” The Grand Helion seethed, angry that another man’s mistakes would end up on his doorstep.

  Iago smiled briefly but then put his business face back on. “Excellency, at this point we must assume that the Greater Helion is a non-issue. He might even be dead. Corydon is, for better or worse, the Greater Helion in reality if not in name.”

  “Yes, of course. I see that. Still, there must be an answer to his heresies. Everyone will look to me for direction in this time. Already we’re receiving the first messages of riots elsewhere among my people.”

  “Then we cannot let you look like a man who cannot stand up to the task of leading his people, can we?”

  “No, certainly not.” The Grand Helion agreed, his head bobbing anxiously as he nodded. He moved away from his servants then, waving his arms angrily at any of them that came too close.

  He approached the nearest of the crystal windows of the tower that offered an almost unobstructed 360-degree view of the area around the city. Out of habit, Iago fell in beside his master, knowing that the Grand Helion wanted him beside him by the glass. That was where they did much of their most important work together. Something about the openness conveyed by standing next to a window some two hundred Mayters above the city floor gave the Grand Helion a bit of a spine, something he rarely displayed elsewhere.

  “Iago,” The Grand Helion began, turning to face the slightly older man beside him, “what must we do? Tell me, and it will be done. Lives depend on this.”

  Iago’s ambitious heart almost leapt for joy, but he willed his joy to be subdued. “Send missives to all of the Grancittas, with word that they must be spread to Menocittas. Tell them to put all our priests of Maletos on the streets to urge a revival of faith. Then let those who would leave to join Corydon go without opposition.”

  “What? Let them go to help that speaker of lies?”

  “Let me finish, Excellency, for there is a method to my madness.”

  “Go on then and surprise me with something good out of your devious mind.”

  “Devious? Hardly. I am merely looking to maximize our benefits while minimizing our risks. And I mean to do it by sneaking infiltrators into the recruits Corydon takes.” Iago replied, but this did nothing to ease the fears of his master. “Yet I see from your eyes that this is not enough to allay your fears, so let me tell you what else I plan.”

  “Please do.”

  “We will urge the other races to attack Corydon, offering what useful information we can to those who would be the enemies of our enemy. He has already spread into the lowlands, and with his influx of recruits he might well spread into other islands. He cares little for the Grancittas, so let him take the faithless masses that rot at the core of our society and get them killed. Let him purge our nation so that we might be born again, stronger.”

  “But what of the lowlands?”

  “What of them? If he succeeds taking a few islands, that will only enrage them more. They’ll band together and destroy him, with a bit of guidance from us of course. We might even be able to swoop in after and secure some of his gains for ourselves. Maethlin might become an Aurean holding after all is said and done and Corydon is dead along with his heretical cause.

  The Grand Helion stared at Iago for a long moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed, clapping his hand across his advisor’s shoulders. “Make it so, Iago. Make this happen, and I will be known as the purifier of our people instead of the leader who had to deal with rebellion and civil war. My name will live forever in these halls, Iago, and you will get your recognition, too.”

  “I serve to the best of my abilities, Excellency.” Iago replied humbly, hiding a smile as he bowed his head.

  Things were beginning to get interesting, and he played the game as good as anyone. Corydon would be a fascinating opponent for him. It amused him to think how they both had to operate behind puppets for now, pulling strings here and there instead of acting outright. His smile only deepened as the moments passed.