CHAPTER 6
The Sisters
Adhara, the Admir-Cotar, leaned against the mast of Star of the Water watching Starmistress Lioth read the heavens. She was beautiful, face upturned, lips parted. The thick gold collar around her neck and matching bands on her wrists shone in the starlight, as they did on his own neck and forearms. It was clear tonight.
When she looked down from the stars, she sighed.
“What do the stars tell you, sea bird?” he asked, going to her side. He could never resist the urge to be close to her.
“Trouble, salt of my heart. Trouble and storms.” She replied sadly, distracting him from the enticing curve of her collarbone.
Adhara glanced up at the spangled sky, but saw nothing in the little points of light, brilliant and remote. They reminded him of his Lioth. How she determined their course from those little lights remained a mystery to him, no matter how he tried to understand their patterns.
And his beautiful Lioth did more than just direct their ship by the stars—she was Starmistress of the Admir-Cotar. He was the greatest captain of their people and she their greatest navigator. It was her duty to watch the path of the high stars, the movement of the Wavestar that guided all the ships of the Seviade Cotar, the people of the waves.
From the time they left the sand-bound on the shores and taken to the seas, their people had found their way by the stars. Most, he had learned from Lioth, were low stars that could guide a ship from harbor to harbor within the circle of the sea. A few were high stars, guiding lights from beyond the circle of the sea that led the People in a grander sense.
Lioth watched the Wavestar, Seviade Sitari, as it moved around the Undying Lights of the north, those that never dipped below the horizon. She instructed him and he commanded all the ships of the People accordingly.
Tonight the stars were troubling.
“What is it, Lioth?” He asked.
“You know the Wavestar, there,” she pointed it out to him, “and how it moves through the sky in the seasons, yes?” Adhara nodded.
“When it is under the Fleetfin, the Eastern currents are strong, and when it goes across the face of the Sea Snake there will be ice on the Northern Shores. When it is on the back of the Red Crab, strong storms shake the isles of the West.” He recalled her lessons through the years. She nodded, still frowning at the sky.
“Yes, those are the cycles of the seasons. It is not that. You see the Undying Lights?” She pointed to the five bright northern stars. “When the Wavestar approaches them, it means trouble for our people and all people. ‘No creature of sand or salt shall be untouched by the winds of change.’” She quoted. “That is in the Scrolls of the Stars, which my sisters and I all know as we know the heavens, as we know our own names.”
Adhara nodded. That was the first task of all Starmistresses: to memorize the Scrolls of the Stars. “The Wavestar is far from them yet,” he comforted. “Perhaps it will change its course.”
“Perhaps. It has been nearer than now without the prophecy completing, but if it goes on as it has been, it will pass between the Undying Lights, and the prophecy will be sealed and begun.” She sighed once more.
“What shall we do?” he asked.
“We will wait. Perhaps it will turn aside. If it does not, my sisters will know the signs—we will be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“A new star. It will come in the darkest hour of the night. The Scrolls name it the Dawnstar, arising in the east to lead us, but it is from the west. It is called our deliverer, and we are to seek for ‘one forgotten, a crownless king’ and beside him, there will be a ‘hidden beauty’ which will guide us into the storm.”
Adhara frowned. “Is the Dawnstar a person or a star?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“How can a King be crownless—it takes a crown to be a King among the sand-bound!” he protested. “And hidden beauty! How do we see beauty if it is hidden? And how can you be from both the east and west at once?” Lioth smiled wanly at his frustration.
“Not every night is clear, love. We must be watching on the nights the stars move, and then we will understand. If we do not, the Scrolls condemn us to sail into the teeth of the storm alone. Broken masts and torn sails are called blessings compared to sailing without the Dawnstar.” She finished grimly.
Adhara eyed the towering mast beside them. A broken mast a blessing? He shivered.
“Don’t worry, sea bird, your sisters will find this Dawnstar, whatever it is. You are all marvels of the oceans.” He assured her, twining his fingers through hers as they walked to their cabin.
He glanced one last time at the silent heavens. Perhaps the Wavestar would turn aside and this new star would not rise until he was long beyond the circle of the sea. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he closed the door of their cabin.
Perhaps not.
Hatysa grimaced as the Sea Hawk rolled over another wave as taller than its decks. She’d never admit it to a soul, but storms like these made her actually wish for land. Seeing a wall of water tower over their ship made her heart stop. Hamal took her hand and rolled over. He was never worried by storms.
Shortly after she became his Starmistress, he’d discovered her fear. It was hard to hide a fear of storms when you shared a bed with a man on a ship. She’d never been more ashamed in her life, but he had not laughed, nor did he scorn her. He was a good man, Sailmaster Hamal, and a good captain. If she was lucky, he may even make Admiralda one day. Of course, with the current Admiralda of the East so young, it could be a while to wait. She smiled. Waiting with Hamal was far from a chore.
The ship rolled again. If not for Hamal’s arms around her like iron bands, she might have rolled right out of the bed. He made a sound of annoyance for the waves, only half awake.
“Are you well, salt of my heart?” he murmured. Hatysa managed a tight-lipped smile. And what does he suppose to do about it if I am not? She wondered, snuggling closer to his broad chest.
“I wanted to see the stars tonight. It has been days—it makes me anxious.” she said softly, running a finger along the hard line of his jaw.
“It will happen in time, when the sea releases us. You’ll find our path among the stars, as you always do.” he opened sleepy eyes to take her and press a kiss to her fingertips. “You are a wonder of the oceans.”
She shook her head, “It is not the low stars I wish to see, Sailmaster, though I miss them. The high stars are moving, the Wave Star is heading for the Undying Lights. My sisters and I must be watchful, and I feel blind as a deep water eel. And this blasted rocking will not let me sleep away my fears.” she said, casting a nettled glare at the starboard wall as if to chastise the ocean outside.
“You know the solution to sleepless nights when the boat rocks with the waves . . .” Hamal said slowly, catching her eye with a look that was far from sleepy. Hatysa let an answering grin slip over her lips.
“I hear it helps to set other things to rocking as well.” she replied, fingers trailing down the sun-dark skin of his chest. She could feel the low rumble of his chuckle even as she heard it. The waves did not bother them for the rest of the night.
Firstborn Keravel stood glaring out over the broad, choppy surface of Lake Rinwal from the great fortress at Hurndrith. It was called a fortress, but the upper floors were decidedly more palatial, and his rooms were the finest of them all. Standing on his balcony far above the lake, Keravel often felt he could see the whole of his Empire.
He was the Firstborn of the fifteen Brethren, though Valmeran and Abelmedar had fallen in the Isolban Rebellion, when the wild people east of Loth Daer attempted to take over and incite uprising. But being Firstborn was not a matter of birth year, as the ridiculous peasants on this side of the ocean believed. They weren't brothers by birth, but in service to the Throne of Tears and the Empress, and by the same measure he was the first among them.
Had he not saved the Empress's life by his own hand when she was a little girl? Did he not have
the scar across his cheek to prove it? It had faded—he was no longer a young man –but it was still plain. He was the most honored of the Brotherhood of Weavers.
In Asemal he had been the first among the weavers of the Empress, but here he was even more. Once the Wielders were gone, he had brought the whole of Arith to heel and built over the weak, squabbling nations an Empire to rival the one he'd left behind—only this was his to rule.
His gaze shifted south. Well, one nation hadn't been weak or petty. A twisted smiled curled on his lips, a victorious smile.
It had been a great pleasure to see the lofty Antralians fall and an even greater pleasure to bring the land and its people so low they would never rise again. He had personally overseen the destruction of the border forts into useless piles of rubble and the desecration of the port cities. He had ordered the best farmland strewn with salt, and then he claimed the greatest prize of all: the royal line.
Antral had been ruled by an unbroken line of Kings, all of whom rumored to have been distressingly noble and annoyingly capable of producing male heirs. Keravel's lips twitched in silent snarl just thinking of all the legends that circulated about them. Even when the firstborn sons were twins—a guarantee of civil war anyplace else, the Antralians agreed to rule together. How absurd!
Well, he had the heirs of Antral in his grasp. The leverage he used to get them there was long gone—a little accident, a moment of overzealousness, and the lovely princess Sarina had died. A pity, but so long as her brothers knew nothing of it, it made no difference. As long as they thought their baby sister alive and in his clutches, A'lan and E'dan would do nothing to displease him—as they had proven for the last thirteen years.
He wondered if they would be appropriate for the mission he was contemplating. There had been disturbing happenings in the west, in the untamed ruins of Hasile. There was always a strange echo of power around the place, but lately Monren had reported something more. His skill for detecting the ripples that spread from spun nets was useful, and his hunches hardly ever mistaken. Brother Monren was troubled by the echoes that reached him from the west. Despite the distance, Keravel wanted to send agents to investigate.
The Antralian brothers were the best of his ashendari, the most dangerous men he had ever seen trained as Watchers. All ashendari were dangerous to casters, untouchable by the elements, but these had spent even their first years walking with a sword in their hands. If there was truly something happening in the west, they would be able to take care of it. It was a question of whether they were needed more here or there.
A sharp gust blew up the walls to lash the banners above him. Squinting at the fast-darkening sky, Keravel made up his mind.
He would send four agents. Two swordsmen, a weaver, and an ashendari. Monren and more ashendari could wait in Lotriel in central Amanheld, in case there was a need for them. The Antralian princes he would keep nearby. I should stage another mention of Sarina’s care and keeping for their benefit. It would never do for them to get suspicious. His decision made, Keravel turned and took shelter from the approaching storm.
In the weeks that followed, the three residents of the odd little house in the Wilds developed an easy routine. Each morning Elaina struggled through her chores with her power while Landon and Hetarth made breakfast. The idea was that constant use was the best way to build Elaina’s strength, and this got the animals fed, the firewood chopped, and the clothes and floors cleaned at the same time. It did take her nearly twice as long than it would have had she done it by hand, but what it lacked in speed, it made up in drama. If the villagers of Tar Haviel hadn’t suspected anything before, there would have been no doubts if they saw the house now.
A broom raced through the house in time with waves of Elaina’s hand, then the mop followed suit, wringing itself out over a bucket that proceeded to hover out the window to dump its contents in the woods. The chickens had adapted to the feed miraculously distributing itself across the stones each morning, but the goats still looked askance of the pile of greenery that flew from the woods to deposit itself in their pen each day.
Inside, the sounds of Landon and Hetarth cooking were nearly as distracting. Landon was a far better cook, but Hetarth couldn’t resist getting involved, since he was so invested in the final product. There was often a clatter of falling cookware, or the hiss and accompanying yelp of a burned finger, or at least a few muttered (or shouted) curses to liven up the morning.
After a breakfast of whatever had survived the cooking process, Elaina would practice with Hetarth or some manner of fighting with Landon. Earth remained difficult for her, but she was getting markedly better with Air and Fire. Hetarth said once she had spent a enough time casting with the pillars she would find her way to Creating. That was the true power of a Creator, and she would be the first to hold that power unbound by the Oath of the Guardians since the Shadow Wars. But that was a concern for the far future—until then, it was all Earth and Water, Fire and Air, all in a thousand combinations until the sun stood directly overhead.
Lunch was leftovers, if they had any, or bread and cheese when they didn’t. That was always followed by a nap—required and enforced by Hetarth, though there were no complaints. Elaina usually slept twice as long as the other two, exhausted by her new method of morning chores.
Landon and Hetarth used that time to hunt or collect edible plants from the woods, which was a daily task to keep food in the house. By late afternoon the sun began to slip behind the mountains as they days grew shorter. The two foragers would return in the near-twilight, and Hetarth would go through the Book of the Broken with Elaina, teaching her to read the True Tongue, explaining the rules and limits of her power and the history of their people and Arith. If it hadn’t been so terribly important, Elaina would have thrown up her hands and given up.
Once her head was positively spinning with arcane words and muddled diagrams, Elaina could always end tutoring by announcing she was going to make dinner—Hetarth never argued against that idea, even on the days they ate quite early. It never bothered the older man in the slightest, and the younger knew better than to mention it.
Every so often they went into Tar Haviel to buy the things a normal hermit and his niece couldn’t make, both to keep up appearances and to cut down on Elaina’s most complicated chores. Landon often went alone to the Wildspring Inn to listen to travelers’ tales that made it to the edge of the world — a young man joining a game of dice loosened more tongues than an eccentric old man and drew fewer curious eyes than a young woman gambling would have.
Landon drew fewer of the patrons’ eyes, at any rate. The serving girls very much enjoyed when he came. He was happy to return their smiles when they filled his glass, but he never let them refill it—he was the lookout, watching for the first signs of danger. Some things were more important than another glass and a lively dance with a pretty girl. If the Drethlords ever sent someone to ask questions, they’d come through town. Those were the sorts of guests Landon kept an eye out for.
Every few days the little house was visited by a guest of an entirely different sort. The enormous Girswit that Hetarth had mentioned came to see the Creators, usually during the hottest part of the day when it was most active. Like a lizard, it had to bask in the sun to warm itself, and it took a long time to warm up so large a beast. Its body was roughly the same size as the house, with wings that big again and a long sturdy tail. Despite the fact that it looked like scaly leather, Elaina discovered it was perfectly soft and smooth to the touch.
The first time it showed up, it was so overcome with delight to discover a second Creator in the house that it made an honest effort to come in. The best it could do was to thrust its long face as far through the door as possible—just past the nostrils. From there, it could not be convinced to back out until Elaina patted the monstrous snout.
Thereafter the Girswit expressed its enthusiasm by violently twitching its long pointed ears. (It only settled for that after Hetarth rapped it sharply
on the nose for attempting to lick them all with a tongue the size of a cow.) Despite its size, the Girswit was a peaceful creature—an overgrown herbivore that shied away from loud noises. Hetarth had once seen this particular animal fleeing before a swarm of bees, terrified by the sound even though they couldn’t penetrate his thick hide. He said it would be gone soon, south to the shores of the Yaltiran for the winter.
Most of the other strange and wonderful beasts of the Wilds were less enthusiastic. No other unseen things stalked Landon, much to his relief. Hetarth said it was because the less savory creatures were giving the house a much wider berth than before now that Elaina was casting—either because it was near-constant or because she was so very strong, he couldn’t say.
In the evenings, Hetarth smoked by the fire while Landon drank some strange dark brew from the East. He called it kahve and claimed it made the mind alert. The warm smell was delicious, but when she tried a sip, Elaina found it was more bitter than rynroot. Instead of joining them, she spent the twilight hours flipping through the pages of the Book.
Here and there she could read whole sentences, though on many pages she didn’t know a single word. It was the drawings scattered throughout the text that drew her eye.
Some showed webs in delicate colored lines she could barely see, casts so complicated a Vinyam rug-weaver would have trouble deciphering them. Others outlined fantastic beasts, or how to create things with faces and beings. There was one toward the end of the book that made her skin prickle as if it could actually see her.
It was a pale face with high cheekbones and eyes as black as hers were grey, knowing eyes that held her gaze for a moment longer than a plain painting ought to. Too-white skin and too-red lips stood out like blood on snow. It featured in more than one nightmare of her hers, but she couldn’t help but turn to it near every night. The words around it were written in thick, bold hand as if in warning. The quill had pressed hard enough into the paper to make little ridges and valleys on the other side. All she could read was “shadows,” “touch,” and “kill.” On the other page was an owl with golden eyes that practically glowed and a yellow-eyed wolf. She couldn’t tell if they had anything to do with the frightening creature.
Elaina never asked Hetarth about it. For one, there were too many questions in the Book to get answers for all of them. For another, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. There were dark things in the Book, powerful things. Hurndrith was more than enough to consider for the time being.
Not all the creatures were horrible. Elaina’s favorite was a half-readable entry on little flying beings called Ata Sivamir—little stars. They picture showed one of them glowing brightly at dusk, riding on the back of a fat flying beetle like a person astride a horse. The Ata Sivamir had long, thin, tapering wings and equally long blonde hair flew back from her round face, sharp chin, and cheeky smile. The caption underneath called her Aleyse, the first of her people to befriend the Guardians. Every time she flipped past that page, Elaina would smile back at the perky little thing and wonder if they still existed. Surely tiny limbs like those would freeze in the mountain winters—perhaps they lived further south.
Another particular favorite of hers was the entry on the Div’ilandri, the Wolf Brothers. Hetarth said they were the forefathers of the huge mountain wolves that guarded the house in their unsettling way. The Div’ilandri had been as intelligent as most people, fiercely protective of their young, and unfailingly loyal to their pack, which could be a blend of their kind and natural wolves. It had a lot more to say that she couldn’t read, but Elaina did gather from a footnote that they were believed to have gone extinct sometime in the Third Aeon.
The last sketch she looked at before bed was one that showed Guardians of the past fighting alongside armies against an enemy that was little more than shadow and fire. The caption read: Atama Culdon, which Hetarth translated into The War of Shadows, the great struggle of the Second Aeon that nearly destroyed the world.
An owl was shown swooping onto the scene, talons bared at the shadow things. It made her of the rhyme her mother used to sing, like all the mothers did to keep their children from being afraid of the eerie hooting in the night:
When the moon is arising the owls go flying,
Quiet and quick like the wind that is sighing
With eyes bright as gold, as if they were trying
To send all the shadows away.
When the night’s at its deepest, all creatures are lying
All fast asleep while the owls are crying
And just so long as you hear them replying,
Safely you’ll sleep until day.
If Elaina ever heard an owl after moonrise, she would lay there listening for the reply that meant safety. It was silly, but she couldn’t get to sleep until she heard a second bird. Landon paid no mind to the owls—he was more concerned about the wolves.
They howled closer to the house at night than they ever had before, which made them very hard to ignore completely. Landon couldn’t seem to ignore them at all, especially when he found out tracks as large as dinner plates. Hetarth just muttered about over-eager canines, but they made Elaina think of the Div-ilandri and she almost looked forward to their late visits. She supposed her attitude would be more like Landon’s if they wanted to eat her.
Save for the night noises, it a quiet existence and a happy one. The little house in the Wilds came alive as it never had before. But as all good things in Hasile, it was destined to end.