"Nebios," the man said. He was an Androfrancine but not one Petronus recognized. His crest of office was unfamiliar to Petronus as well, which surprised him. He thought as Pope he'd known every office under his shepherd's staff. "He did not become sensitive to the dream until after he was exposed to the blood magicks at the fall of Windwir."
He remembered the dream the boy had about the Marsh King riding south, remembered also the dream about his proclamation of Petronus as Pope there in the ruins of the garden of consecration and coronation. His throat and chest itched. The light around him grew brighter. "Is this a dream?"
"No," the man said. "This is not the dream. This is about the dream. You are resisting it." Their eyes met. "Don't."
"I don't intend to resist," Petronus said. The scars burned now.
The man shrugged. "Intentions aside, learn to hear what the dream has to say. You've been chosen to hear it."
Outside, the light built and the sound of a metal voice, singing, reached Petronus's ears. There was a mighty roar building beneath it, a voice of many waters and- Petronus blinked and it was dark again but for the dancing of the watch fire.
Something different, he thought. he thought.
Grymlis looked up as if he'd spoken. "Father?"
"Nothing, Grymlis," Petronus whispered, closing his eyes. The white light of Windwir still blazed behind his eyelids. Something different indeed.
One last kin-wolf howled as the sky moved from gray to purple. Then, the water hissed and burbled in its kettle, announcing that a new day could begin in the Churning Wastes.
Winters The city outside her office window, now being called Rachyle's Rest by the refugees from the south, stirred to life as Winters sipped her second mug of tea and looked at the day's work that stretched ahead of her. She'd initially been provided quarters at the manor, but after that first month she'd chosen quarters in one of the completed sections of the new library, near Isaak and the other mechoservitors. Truth be told, she'd also spent her share of hours sleeping near the book makers' tents while the mechoservitors reproduced volume after volume through the warm summer nights. Somehow, their proximity soothed her.
And their simplicity, she thought, though she knew it was a misconceived notion. There was nothing simple about Isaak and his kind, though they presented a childlike innocence, a simple obedience to task, that made her envious.
She reached for the next report in her stack and paused, noting the back of her hand, her slender wrist, her long slightly tanned forearm. After all of these months, it still felt unnatural, and she still started when she saw her face in the mirror. She did not seem herself without the mud and ash of her father's faith-her own former faith-upon her.
And it goes deeper, beneath the skin. Once her dreams had ceased-both those pleasant dreams of Neb and home and those darker, more violent dreams of blood and iron-she'd discovered something hollow within her that she filled with work. And when she did not work, she read or helped Lynnae in the refugee quarter. Until they'd set out to ride the Nine Forest Manors, she'd spent a goodly amount of time with Jakob as well. It was the life she could forge for herself in this new home she'd chosen.
At least until Neb returns. She'd cried the day Aedric returned without him, though she'd kept that hidden and secret from the others. The first captain had pulled her aside as soon as he'd made his report to Rudolfo, and she'd read the message on his face before he gave it. She'd cried the day Aedric returned without him, though she'd kept that hidden and secret from the others. The first captain had pulled her aside as soon as he'd made his report to Rudolfo, and she'd read the message on his face before he gave it. Tell her I am called to find our home. Tell her I am called to find our home. That was all; nothing more. No words of love, no promise of a swift return. It had been yet another loss on top of so many others, and though she'd sent a dozen birds telling him that the quest was fruitless, that the dreams had misled them all, each had come back with her coded note untouched. That was all; nothing more. No words of love, no promise of a swift return. It had been yet another loss on top of so many others, and though she'd sent a dozen birds telling him that the quest was fruitless, that the dreams had misled them all, each had come back with her coded note untouched.
She heard the solid thud of metal feet in the corridor and took comfort in the gentle wheeze of pumping bellows, the whistle of steam, the whir of gears that accompanied it. She looked up at the tap on her door. "Yes?"
The door swung open, and Isaak's jeweled eyes blinked at her as the shutters opened and closed over them. "Good morning, Lady Winters."
At one time, he'd called her Winteria. All of them had, but in the days since her supposed sister's return to the Named Lands, bearing the same name, Winters had insisted she be called by her less formal nickname. And when she thought of the woman who supplanted her-a woman who looked too much like her to not be kin-she forced herself to think of that usurper as Ria, though part of her knew that along with everything else, even her very name was lost despite the clever shell game she played with it.
"Good morning, Isaak," she said. "How was the night's work?"
"Two hundred twelve complete volumes," he said, eye shutters flapping. "We will bring the work into the western basement at the end of the week in preparation for winter." They had used the manor last winter, she recalled. The house staff had hidden it well, but she'd seen the traces of that work when she visited with Hanric for Rudolfo's Firstborn Feast.
The first of those losses had arrived that night, and Hanric's funeral was the last time she'd seen Neb in the flesh. "And is Rudolfo still dedicating the wing this week?"
Isaak nodded, steam whistling from the exhaust grate set in his back. "Yes."
Winters smiled, wondering if Isaak felt proud. After eighteen months of construction, the lowest basements were in place and the first wing stood ready. Ornate shelves, built in Paramo and sent by barge, housed the first volumes brought back from the Desolation of Windwir. Thick carpets from the finest silks of the Emerald Coasts lay atop polished wooden planks. She'd wandered the wing at night, alone, her lungs pulling in the heavy smell of paper, wood and ink. It intoxicated her and made her wish she'd seen the Great Library that made up such an important part of Neb's childhood before they met in the midst of its ruins. "Let me know if I can help," she told him.
Isaak's eye shutters flashed. "I will, Lady Winters. Good morning to you." He inclined his head slightly, then turned and pulled her door closed as he left.
Winters tried to force herself back to her work but found herself restless. Instead, she turned to her office's small bookcase and pulled down a volume of collected legends of the Age of the Weeping Czars and the Year of the Falling Moon. She turned the pages slowly, savoring the words she found there. She found the Last Weeping Czar, Frederico, the most compelling. Love out of reach, a lost throne, the end of a way of life. The resonance gripped her.
A rapping at the narrow window in the corner startled her, and she looked up to a muffled cry from outside. She'd seen the kin-ravens before, both in dreams and in the sky, but never one so close. It stood outside, filling the small window in its size, and pecked again at the thick glass. Then, it hopped back and cocked its head, regarding her with one blood-red eye.
The bird had seen better days. It was singed and missing feathers. One eye was closed over with scar tissue.
Her first inclination was the bell. Her eye darted to it and she raised her hand. Swallowing, she tasted the copper of fear in a mouth gone suddenly dry.
I should call for the guards. But something else asserted itself within her, and instead she stood slowly. "What business have you here?" she asked the kin-raven in a quiet voice. But something else asserted itself within her, and instead she stood slowly. "What business have you here?" she asked the kin-raven in a quiet voice.
As if hearing her, it hopped forward and pecked again at the glass. Then, it waited and watched.
Approaching slowly, she stretched up on tiptoes to reach for the window's latch. Then, she paused as her fingers found it. What am I doing? What am I doing? she asked herself. she asked herself.
But a certainty grew within her that this bird at her window was there with intent, that it had come for her and bore some note that she must read, though she saw no colored thread tied to its foot.
Holding her breath, she worked the latch and pushed the window up. A cool morning wind wafted scents of wood smoke and evergreen into the room, but under the surface of those smells was a darker, older smell of carrion and dank earth.
For a moment, the kin-raven regarded her and then tipped its head to one side. Its beak opened, and a familiar voice whispered out from it.
"Winteria bat Mardic, my younger namesake, I send you greetings," her sister's voice said. "It grieves me that our meeting was not better orchestrated and that you are not now by my side working with me to establish our new home by the grace of the Crimson Empress." Winters watched as the beak remained open and the kin-raven pulled in a deep breath. "But it is fortunate that you have remained with the Great Mother and the Child of Promise. Even now, my ambassadors approach to seek audience with Lord Rudolfo, but I fear he will not hear the dark tidings I bear. The Child of Promise is in grave danger. I have sent my kin-raven to you that you might bear word to your hosts and entreat them to take heed and accept my offer of aid in this matter."
The bird paused again, and Winters felt the words taking root within her. Certainly, she knew she could not trust this woman who claimed kinship with her. If Lord Tam and Rudolfo were correct, her entire faith was a fabric of lies created by Jin Li Tam's grandfather to bring down Windwir for reasons they were only just beginning to understand. She'd heard their speculation, late at night, of a foe beyond the borders of their New World.
The bird continued. "We are kin, you and I, and despite our differences I bear you nothing but deepest love. Bear this word to Rudolfo. Bear this word to the Great Mother: The Child of Promise was not saved to die at the hands of wicked men."
The bird's beak closed and it hopped back, away from her. For a moment, she thought she might leap up, reach out, grab it, hold it and cry out for the guards to assist. But even as the thoughts formed, the bird leaped up and unfurled its wings, pounding at the quiet morning air.
She watched it as it sped west, and then she went looking for her boots so she could climb down from Library Hill to seek out Aedric and Rudolfo.
Winters had no reason to trust this message or messenger, but the dark, cold pit of fear in her stomach was a feeling she'd learned to trust over these last years.
As she let herself out into the morning, Jakob's tiny face and hands flashed across her memory; Ria's words followed: The Child of Promise was not saved to die at the hands of wicked men. The Child of Promise was not saved to die at the hands of wicked men.
Winters hurried her pace and wondered what new darkness awaited them now. As she walked quickly down the cobblestone road that led into town, the morning sun kissed the back of her neck and the top of her head with a warmth she could not feel.
Vlad Li Tam The setting sun washed the clear water in a purple so deep that it was nearly black. Overhead, the first of the stars struggled against a sky that was still too bright for them to shine in, and Vlad Li Tam sighed.
Of late, he'd taken to fishing again, though he knew that it would be more effective if he went out in the boats with those sons and daughters of his working that particular shift. Rod and tackle from the high dock was not nearly as efficient as their casting nets. Still, Petronus had taught him as a boy that the art of it was to love the act of fishing more than the act of catching. And moreover, it gave him time alone to think.
Don't fool yourself. It also gives you time to watch the water. Yes, he thought. Yes, he thought.
Behind him, the dinner bell sounded out from the halls of the Y'Zirite Blood Temple he and his family now called home. Rudolfo had rescued what few remained of House Li Tam from this place in a chaotic night some six months past. Vlad Li Tam had returned weeks later to take revenge on the Resurgence that operated the island temple, but they had found it abandoned.
Still, they spent months scouring the building for any clue they could possibly find. They'd dived into the wreckage of the ships Rafe Merrique and his men had scuttled in the harbor. They'd dug through the mass graves and refuse pits. They'd wandered every last span of the island to gather what little they could about the people who'd occupied this place. They'd even established regular scouting expeditions deeper into the Ghosting Crests in search of vessels he knew must be out there-vessels that did not match the line and trim of the New World.
And while they searched, Vlad Li Tam allowed each stained stone in the temple to remind him of the last words of the children and grandchildren he'd lost beneath the cutters' knives while Ria whispered love into his ear and left her own scars upon his flesh and soul. He remembered each cry, each stanza of every poem they screamed to him while the Machtvolk queen extracted agony from him along with his blood and the blood of his family. Blood used for magick-making, to resurrect Petronus and heal Vlad's forty-second daughter's son. All to establish a gospel and a strategy that his own father had helped design in a grand betrayal that left Vlad filled with rage and despair at once.
He shifted on the dock and looked to his rod and line. He'd taken no fish this evening, but it was fine. There would be plenty of food. Some of his children harvested the plentiful island while others hunted or fished, and supply ships from the Delta, financed by the Ninefold Forest, kept them well stocked with other provisions.
No, he did not care so much about the catching. Or the fishing for that matter, if he were honest. His eyes went again to the water.
You want to see it again.
He closed his eyes and tried to conjure it up. It had happened in the midst of pandemonium and madness. Rudolfo, magicked, had freed Vlad's children from the holding cells in the tower's basement and had taken the woman Ria hostage. He'd loosed Vlad, and they'd fought their way down the hill to the docks.
When his first grandson, Mal Li Tam, had threatened the youngest children, he'd given himself over in exchange for their promised safety, and when he'd seen his opportunity, he'd taken it. Sometimes, at night, he still dreamed it.
The solid thud of Mal's head striking the railing. The warm immersion chased quickly by the pain of salt water in his open wounds. His hands clutching at the throat of his first son's first son as they went deeper and deeper.
And the light. It was blue-green, and it filled the deeper waters with song. He'd named his forty-second daughter for the d'jin that swam the Ghosting Crests without having seen one. But to behold it-if that indeed was what he saw there-was stunning. Buried in the pain of loss, he'd felt love from it, and when strong hands pulled at him a part of him wanted to be released, allowed to drown in that love. It was blue-green, and it filled the deeper waters with song. He'd named his forty-second daughter for the d'jin that swam the Ghosting Crests without having seen one. But to behold it-if that indeed was what he saw there-was stunning. Buried in the pain of loss, he'd felt love from it, and when strong hands pulled at him a part of him wanted to be released, allowed to drown in that love.
Footsteps sounded on the dock behind him, and he knew them instantly. "I heard the bell, Baryk," he said. "I'll be up soon."
The large warpriest sat down beside him. "How's the fishing?"
Vlad chuckled. "The fishing is fine. The catching, not so much."
Baryk also laughed; then his voice turned serious. "It's good that you're here," he said. "I'd hoped to talk with you alone."
Vlad turned and regarded the man. Baryk had married into his family, and though he'd always relied on the older warpriest, in the months since his daughter-Baryk's wife-had died, writhing in agony as the blood magicks consumed her, he'd grown to see the man in a new light. He suspected that the 'Francis would say that the trauma of the loss they experienced together bonded them in a deeper way. With most of his oldest children now dead and buried here on the island, Vlad had learned to lean on Baryk for strategy and wisdom.
Now, the old warpriest looked worried and worn. "What's on your mind, Baryk?"
He sighed. "I don't think we're going to learn any more from this place."
Vlad nodded. They'd gone over every last bit of it. They'd found the bargaining pool and the blood-distillery within it, though the Y'Zirites who had fled Tam's return had poisoned it somehow before leaving. "You think we should leave," he said in a flat voice.
"We have four ships. We could hire more, step up our forays south and east."
His eyes went once more to the water. "What about Merrique's ship?"
Baryk shook his head. "Still no word."
The old pirate had been out of touch a goodly while now, House Li Tam's birds unanswered for nearly two months.
Vlad looked from the water to the island behind him. "This would be a logical point on the map to operate from," he said. But before Baryk spoke, Vlad knew what he would say.
"It would," the warpriest said, "but I think your family is restless. I think this constant reminder of loss is no longer sharpening your blade." He paused. "It may even dull it."
Vlad turned from the man and looked back to the water. "You may be right, Baryk. I'll consider it."
Baryk inclined his head slightly. "It's all I ask, Father."
He calls me father now. It stirred something in him, and he savored the meaning in it. He remembered the first time it had happened, the day they'd buried Rae Li Tam in the frozen plain of Windwir. Baryk had not done it in front of the other children, though. No, he reserved the title for the times they were alone, and Vlad understood that very well. He looked to his daughter's widower and forced a smile. "You are a good man, Baryk." It stirred something in him, and he savored the meaning in it. He remembered the first time it had happened, the day they'd buried Rae Li Tam in the frozen plain of Windwir. Baryk had not done it in front of the other children, though. No, he reserved the title for the times they were alone, and Vlad understood that very well. He looked to his daughter's widower and forced a smile. "You are a good man, Baryk."
Baryk stood and returned the smile. "Shall I tell them you're coming soon?"
Vlad nodded. "Soon."
As the warpriest's footfalls faded across the wooden dock, Vlad pulled in his line. The man was right, of course. They had had learned everything they could from this place. And it was a reminder, a constant reminder. learned everything they could from this place. And it was a reminder, a constant reminder.
One that I need, he thought, though as he thought it he also knew that perhaps what little remained of his family did not need such reminding. he thought, though as he thought it he also knew that perhaps what little remained of his family did not need such reminding.
I will grow my pain into an army. They were the words that had carried him through the worst of the cuttings, the worst of his children's screams. And they were the words that his daughter had later given him with her final breath. They were the words that had carried him through the worst of the cuttings, the worst of his children's screams. And they were the words that his daughter had later given him with her final breath.
Perhaps it was time to leave after all.
He sat with the rod across his lap while the sky darkened and the harbor stilled. He sat until he lost track of time, and when a flicker of blue-green danced across the waters he felt his heart catch in his throat. He could hear the song, too, if he listened for it. If he could just listen listen for it. And somehow, that ghost could soothe him, could save him. But in the end, it was not the catch he longed for. No, it was simply the moon, rising up to lend its light to those quiet waters he contemplated daily. for it. And somehow, that ghost could soothe him, could save him. But in the end, it was not the catch he longed for. No, it was simply the moon, rising up to lend its light to those quiet waters he contemplated daily.
Victorious, the stars at last poked through a dark velvet veil of sky, and Vlad Li Tam sighed at them. Perhaps tomorrow, he thought.
He rose, turned his back to the Ghosting Crests and made his way up the hill.
Chapter 3.
Charles.
Charles spun the gears and listened to the low groan as the mirrors around his workroom moved on their tracks and bent more light onto the object upon his table.
The moon sparrow lay disassembled, its various pieces laid out for examination with the magnifying lens he held before his eye.
When Jin Li Tam and Isaak had awakened him just after sunrise, he'd thought perhaps one of the mechanicals had broken down during the night's work. He'd pulled on his robes and met them at the locked door of his subbasement workroom.
He wondered now, hours later, if they had seen his face grow pale when he saw the little messenger. Or if they had noticed a catch in his voice. Or the trembling in his fingers as he sought the tiny reset switch beneath that one small feather that felt slightly rougher than its other silver companions.
Fortunately, their questions had been few and he'd managed to deflect them under the guise of getting to work to find answers for them.
Charles lifted the tiny firestone that powered the bird. It was the size of a grape, burning white but without heat that he could feel through the thumb and forefinger that gripped it and held it beneath his eye. With his thumbs, he carefully pressed it into the bird's silver chassis and used tweezers to carefully hook the long golden wires that led from it to the memory scroll casing. The casing had been punctured by what he assumed must be the kin-raven's talon or beak. It was a small puncture-and precise.
Where have you been off to? Biting his lower lip, he found the switch and moved the bird's wings and feet farther from its torso and head, as if somehow it might reattach them itself when it saw that it could not flee. When his callous fingertips found it, the bird's tiny red eyes flickered open and it started humming in the palm of his hand. Biting his lower lip, he found the switch and moved the bird's wings and feet farther from its torso and head, as if somehow it might reattach them itself when it saw that it could not flee. When his callous fingertips found it, the bird's tiny red eyes flickered open and it started humming in the palm of his hand.
When the hum reached its highest pitch, Charles held the bird even closer to his face and whispered into its small audio receivers. "Authorize, Charles," he said, "arch-engineer, School of Mechanical Studies." He listened to the chirruping and waited until it subsided. "Report, scroll unwind five oh three. Backtrack flightpath to point of origin for confirmation of navigational accuracy."
The small beak opened, and a voice trickled out. It was his own, from years ago, and it caught him off guard. Though certainly, he remembered the days he'd spent speaking to the little birds they'd found within their little cages, giving them a language they had not previously known. "Report unavailable," his own voice told him, tinny and sounding far away.
"Confirm authorization," he said, feeling his brow furrow and feeling his curiosity melting into something more pronounced, more anxious. These birds had not required much in the way of maintenance. Androfrancine archaeologists had dug them out, still functioning in their cages, from the ruined subbasement of one of the Wizard King's palaces in the Old World. But still, they were complex mechanicals of a time that dated back beyond even the Age of the Wizard Kings. He'd learned what he could of them and had even found obscure reference to them in Rufello's notes on the golden birds that ancient scientist had managed to bring back into the world.
It had taken Charles years, but he'd learned enough about them to eventually offer them up to the Office of the Holy See as an improved means of communication, particularly in the Churning Wastes where the living message birds lost their magicks and their direction.
"Authorization unconfirmed."
Unconfirmed? Charles let his held breath out through his nose, watching the force of his exhalation move the moon sparrow's soft silver feathers. He could remember establishing the authorizations for these particular messengers. He'd updated them just months before his apprentice betrayed him and destroyed Windwir. He paused a moment, trying to reach back into his memory to find the correct query language. "Emergency protocol, unwind scroll four, six, two: Destination?" Charles let his held breath out through his nose, watching the force of his exhalation move the moon sparrow's soft silver feathers. He could remember establishing the authorizations for these particular messengers. He'd updated them just months before his apprentice betrayed him and destroyed Windwir. He paused a moment, trying to reach back into his memory to find the correct query language. "Emergency protocol, unwind scroll four, six, two: Destination?"
With the slightest pop, his voice vanished and another-this one reedy and metallic-slipped out of the bird's open beak. "Mechoservitor Three, Ninefold Forest Houses, Seventh Forest Manor, Library."