Chapter 18
The Judgment of Rikka
In which Zanbil is blessed and cursed
Though Selàna gasped, Bessa took the news in stride. The king’s revelation went sword in sheath with her own plans.
“If we are in the place between, then we are free from … interference,” she replied. “What do the gods permit you to know, when you are in this room?”
Turning, she leveled her gaze at the elder woman with the henna hair dye. “Again, if you please, tell us why you believe us to be your enemies?”
The henna-haired woman straightened, apparently regaining her composure. She squared her shoulders, pursed her lips, and looked Bessa in the eye.
“You’re outsiders. Our ancestors made it clear that those who come from Without would bear temptations for us all to fall into very gullet of the Abyssal Serpent. You came to us in secret, and if we hadn’t obeyed the words of our ancestors and kept a vigil, you might have slipped in amongst us in secret.”
Ah. So not a specific prophecy, like the one that haunted Protector Amavand, where Edana, Alia, and herself had been likened to ravening she-wolves. Or like the prophecy wherein she and Edana were the “harbingers of the end of things,” as Zareen Prime, First Fire Lady of Elamis had put it. This warning was instead one was in regard to a moral hazard, but a general all-purpose one.
“But we did not behave as thieves in the night,” Bessa pointed out. With a roguish smile she gestured to the foot-stomping man in the dyed leather sandals. “And isn’t he right? You’ve been isolated for so long it’s impossible for any outsiders to pass themselves off as one of you. You would know on sight we’re from ‘without,’ as you say. And were it not for your sorcerers we wouldn’t be able to communicate with you. Deception and ‘temptation’ would not be in our power in those circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?”
But the woman was not impressed or moved. “Why are you here? How did you come here?”
Here Edana spoke, drawing out Lady Nensela’s coin sash from the satchel she carried on her hip. “These coins are from nations now lost to us. Forgotten. The bearer of this sash, Lady Nensela of Ta-Seti, visited your nation centuries ago, and she carried this coin in remembrance of you. As a prophet she may have foreseen the age we’re in now: the age where Zanbil exists only in her memories. When we came here, we did so with a coin minted in Zanbil. A coin no longer traded or seen in the world as it is now.”
King Sarvin twitched an eyebrow. “You’re saying that outside of Zanbil, we are forgotten?”
“Practically a fable,” Bessa added. “As Alia said when we arrived, it has been over four hundred years since the Fourth Cataclysm. The Age of Iniquity has passed, and we fought off the dark sorceries that drove your ancestors to withdraw from the world.”
The Age of Iniquity. The king’s courtiers mouthed her words to each other, then looked at her with renewed interest. Ah. So perhaps the Conservationists did pass along their dread of the wicked sorcerers of that age. Maybe their descendants could be reassured, then, if Bessa proved she and her friends shared their loathing of dark magic?
But in the back of her mind she wondered what the descendants of the Conservationists thought of the methods they had used to build their stronghold. She mustn’t go too far in seeming to agree with them.
Tregarde spoke up then. “I am a sorcerer. My folk hail from Ziradra. There, we have no truck with Erebossa and shadow magic. Our elders pound this law into our tender little heads every which way they can. Those who rebel, who transgress? Best case, you get exiled. Best case is rare. Crow food is more like. In my journeys I’ve had to put right what shadow sorcerers put wrong. As for how I deal with those sorcerers … I keep to the ways of my people. Let’s say it like that.”
As he spoke, Bessa studied the faces of the royals and their courtiers, checking their reaction. Tregarde’s sally seemed to strike at the heart of the young blue-haired woman, for her lashes fluttered as she looked him over. Her earrings—tiny silver stars dangling from milky blue crescent moons—clinked and tinkled when she brushed a sidelock past them to tuck behind her ear.
Novelty, Bessa noted. A dashing outsider, worldly with an air of adventure and heroism about him? Oh yes, such would captivate a woman accustomed to only the small, commonplace company of men she had known since birth.
“In Rasena Valentis sorcerers wear sunstones, on account of the shadow sorcerers from those dark days. Bearing a sunstone means a sorcerer took the Oath: they won’t touch Erebossan powers or spirits, or anything of the kind. It’s reassuring, to those of us without magic,” Bessa added. “This was one path our ancestors took to avoid the evils that happened back then. Your ancestors opted to hide away from the world. They could do that because they floated above it. Our ancestors lived in the world. They suffered through that age, and fought their way through to survival, and learned: you have nothing to fear from us.”
Raising her chin and narrowing her eyes, Queen Rekhetre stepped forward. “Do I detect a note of reproach in you …?”
Undoubtedly the queen did not remember her name. Adapting a droll air Bessa answered, “Elisabet Bessa Philomelos.”
Just in time she stopped herself from adding, at your service. Grandmother would be ashamed of her if she were foolish enough to give herself over to the power of someone whose virtue was unproved, untested, unknown.
Say nothing you don’t mean. Make no vow, and swear no oath you cannot keep.
Grandmother’s warning echoed in her mind. Caution was better than gallantry, for now.
“And I apologize if what I say is hard for you to hear,” Bessa continued. “It would grieve me if you took from my words the idea that we mean you harm, or speak out of malice, or spite, or rancor. Far from it! My friends and I came here seeking an education. We also offer one. Beyond your kingdom is an entire world unknown to you, and it may profit you to know something of that world. Are you open to an exchange? Or would you prefer to banish us from your presence?”
The king gave her an easy smile. Again with the shy, boyish charm. “Education, say you? This we have to offer. After all, our preservation of knowledge is exactly why we were separated from you. It is our blessing.”
“‘Walk in Sorcha’s Everlasting Light. Take not the path of Erebossa, the lands of shadow and darkness,’” Alia quoted.
At her expectant look Mereri coolly replied, “ ‘From these guard that which the Sower hath made: the beast that ravens the body, the shade that devours the soul, and the enemy that snares the spirit.’ Yes, honored guest, I, too, swore this oath to the Exalted Eagle.”
Still they remained standing before the sacred ash tree. Awed, Alia drank in every detail and reveled in its beauty. The perfume, sweeter than typical of an ash tree, made her think again of her mother’s grove. Of the lovely days where she walked through the forest and learned every brook, every cave, every dell.
“The Great Curse, do you know that, too?” Alia clasped her hands behind her back, affecting a casual air.
“Yes, though it isn’t possible for us to blight land and drain it of life,” Mereri said with a small laugh.
But Alia did not laugh. “The shade that devours the soul,” she repeated. “We’re not supposed to bring those into the world. Nor are we supposed to commit similar atrocities ourselves.”
She waited.
Mereri took a deep inhale. After a long moment she exhaled.
“You know, don’t you, what I’m referring to?”
Abruptly Mereri turned on her heel. She began walking towards an alcove. After conducting Alia into the temple she had asked a temple keeper to bring her three scrolls, and now they awaited her on the bench tucked into the alcove. The chrysopteron had already shooed the others away, but still every so often someone found a reason or excuse to pass through the viridarium.
“I read the archives. I was taught by the lore keepers. I know we are cursed. And why. Are you here to cast us into Erebossa?”
Direct. Refreshingly direct.
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“Were you of your ancestors’ time I would have a duty to punish you. But I don’t have to, because my elders did so. The sisters of Kyra. The spell to ‘preserve’ Zanbil is something they twisted. Understanding eluded me at first, because I had no frame of reference until I came here. But now I’ve caught it by the tail. You’re in a ‘pouch,’ as it were, invisible to everyone in the wider world. You cannot interact with the world, and you’re blind to what’s going on outside of your pouch. You’re small, isolated, and in time you will wither. In time you have withered; I daresay you must be aware of this.”
Rose vines covered the arch that formed the alcove where Mereri now sat. White roses, tinged with crimson at their tips. In Lyrcania such roses were used in memorials for the victims of past atrocities. The sight of them buoyed her, for it suggested the venatori of Zanbil at least understood the gravity of what their ancestors had done.
Mereri plucked up the scrolls from beside her, and placed them in her lap. With her free hand she beckoned to Alia.
“As chrysopteron, I would ask for mercy. The people of this generation—”
“Are innocent of the transgressions of their ancestors? Perhaps. Perhaps they are. Do they know what happened? Or were they carefully taught to revere the actions of their ancestors without question?”
Though she agreed with Edana’s plan to conceal their opinion of the Conservationists, Alia spotted a potential exception to that advice: she was bringing hope, and a chance for redemption. A chance for glory. Might they not let down their defenses if they believed she wasn’t bringing thunder and ruin crashing upon them?
Still Mereri beckoned, and only when Alia took her place beside her did she respond. “Come, honored guest. These scrolls will be of interest to you.”
As she spoke she unfurled a slim scroll enclosed with a forest-green seal. A seal bearing the emblem of a golden eagle stamped inside the wax. Sacred, then. In the temple of the Huntress, the edicts and precepts of elder dryads, as well as prophecies, revelations, extraordinary spells, and rituals would all be kept under the eagle seal. So also might one seal vital lore documents and covenants. Which of these did Mereri offer her?
To her surprise, when Mereri finished spreading out the scroll, the page was completely blank.
“Invisible ink?”
“Indeed,” Mereri chuckled. “My honored elders did not trust that the seal would be respected or recognized as sacrosanct by those of us who come after them. Or, for that matter, by their own contemporaries. Such were the times in which they lived. But you are a priestess, are you not? You have the means to reveal the words, do you not?”
Her pointed side-eye drew a wry smile from Alia.
That was vinegar. This here is honey, Tregarde had once said to her. In the comparison between their methods in verifying whether someone truly served the Huntress, she had used violence and he had used a letter of introduction. Now was as good a time as any for her to go with honey.
In the holy language of the dryads, Alia clutched her amulet and called upon the light of Sorcha the Everbright. Two heartbeats later, a fine mist rose up from the vellum, and all at once the page shimmered. Swashes and sweeps of iridescent words appeared on the page. All of them lovely in blue and and violet and silver, but none of them intelligible to her.
Mereri sat back, her mouth agape. “So you do speak the Eagle’s tongue! We were taught that in days past the priests and sorcerers of the Huntress knew Her sacred language. And the loremasters taught us we would not be able to read this scroll until a holy one speaks over it in the language of the Huntress. That we can’t even see the words until then. I always prayed I would live to hear it.”
“Her daughters taught the language to me,” Alia explained. “And you don’t know their tongue because that is the consequence of the judgment of Rikka. Keeper of the Radiant Gate. From what she said to me, in the Age of Iniquity, voices cried out in terror and agony. Voices from Zanbil in particular. She and my mother—my foster mother—and their sisters heard these cries. And when they discovered what your ancestors had done, Rikka judged they had brought the Great Curse upon Zanbil. Your ‘spell of protection’ to hide Zanbil away became a spell of banishment. You are not part of this world. Having come here, I now fully understand the extent of this punishment.”
Hovering over the vellum page, the chrypteron’s hand was steady as she simulated tracing the letters with her index finger. The enraptured look on her face underscored how momentous the occasion was for her. “Can you read the language of my people, too?”
Wary, Alia shook her head. In such matters she preferred to avoid a need for translation; relying on one would make her the plaything of fools and deceivers both. But she had to take a leap of faith, and thus she listened as Mereri read the words.
Cursed are you, O wicked Zanbil! Breaker of the Laws of the Huntress, defiler of the Edict of Kyra. You have sent shades to raven bodies, devour souls, and ensnare the spirits of the dead! For this I cast you out. As you have cut off the spirits of your victims from their place in the Ever After, so you shall be cut off bodily from the Palace of Land and Sea. No more shall Zanbil be known. Like the dead you shall be of no further consequence, and like the dead you shall have no voice and no part in this world.
Here Mereri stopped. Though Alia waited, the high priestess did not continue. Instead she took in shaky breaths. “So it’s true,” she whispered. Clutching the scroll to her breast, she closed her eyes. Whatever she saw in her mind’s eye made her body flinch and twitch.
For a moment Alia watched her, uncertain of how to interpret her reaction. Then she ventured, “Blessed One, I bring you good tidings. Your curse was to end when you or other Zanbellians freed those slain by the Conservationists. The ones whose spirits were trapped to turn a portion of Zanbil into a tomb. A domain where the arsh’at?m roam. Did you not know this? Why did none of you ever break the curse?”
Now she held her breath. Doling out punishment and curses brought her no joy. While she did so without hesitation, as in the case of Karis and Protector Amavand, she hated that they made it necessary for her to do so. This was a rare opportunity for her to offer redemption.
If.
If Mereri, at least, recognized the justice of Rikka’s judgment, Alia could then hope she would not react as Protector Amavand had done. According to Selàna, he had sought to subvert the Seeker’s judgment in his fitness to rule. If pride ruled Mereri, she would not willingly admit the Conservationists were wrong. She would, as Edana had feared, treat Alia and her friends as though they were enemies. And if the high priestess went that route, she would close off Alia’s path to show mercy would no longer be an option …
“Too great is our peril,” Mereri said slowly. When she’d read Rikka’s judgment she had run her index finger over each line. By Alia’s count, she had three more lines left to read. But she didn’t read them; instead she tapped the document as she added, “Leaving here is not possible. Not by law, and not in practice. Our criminals are cast from the city, thrown into the darkness beyond. Exiled. Prey for monsters and evil spirits. It must be so; none ever returned alive. None. And for what purpose would my people risk this fate? To our knowledge, the Age of Strife and Shadow—as we called it—is still ongoing. What horrors would be unleashed on us if we revealed ourselves to the descendants of the sorcerers who invited the sons of the Serpent to our doorstep?”
Alia stood up, and strode over to Kyra’s tree. Deep breath in, long exhale. Deep breath in, long exhale. The perfume of the ash tree washed over her, steadying her nerves. Though she was committed to the next part, she fretted over how she would say it. The image of Guileless Fravak loomed in her mind. She had treated him with such contempt because he had been unwilling to stand up to Protector Amavand. Shrinking from the chrysopteron was not an option for her, either.
Pivoting on her heel, she faced the high priestess, who stared impassively at her.
“What I heard from you was a reluctance to re-enter the world. This makes sense, given what little you know of it,” Alia began. Squaring her shoulders she added, “What I did not hear was an excuse for allowing the abomination to stand. Yes, the king made the law you speak of. Or rather, a king made that law, however many generations ago. But you serve the Huntress first, do you not? What influence have you exerted to overcome that law? To convince your king to change it? Are you alone amongst the servants of the Huntress? None of you sought Her guidance on how to rectify the abomination your ancestors committed?”
Steeling herself, she waited for Mereri’s reaction. But the face of the high priestess remained impassive. Again she beckoned to Alia.
“You shame me, my junior in service. You shame me rightly. I have failed my people. There is more to the punishment, will you hear it? Or do you know already the terms of our imprisonment?”
In fact she did not know, and thus for the sake of curiosity she returned to Mereri’s side. Three more lines did Mereri read to her, in somber tones.
Like the dead you shall wither: Few shall be your children—here Mereri’s voice cracked—and short shall be your days. In torment shall your ends come.
The scroll ended there. Though Mereri read the words, Alia heard them in Rikka’s voice. Pitiless and hard-hearted, Rikka would not have spared the inhabitants of Zanbil the consequences of breaking her mother’s laws.
“Now there is Rikka’s stinger. The keeper gave your ancestors every incentive to atone for their actions. If you don’t learn through reason, if your conscience does not smite you, then she will make pain your sage and master,” Alia said, shuddering.
At first Mereri didn’t respond. Staring at the document she appeared pensive and withdrawn. Her lips moved silently as she mouthed a phrase. After a moment she raised her eyes, staring into nothingness.
“Chrysopteron?” Alia ventured.
All at once Mereri’s eyes flashed. “They didn’t tell us this last. The lorekeepers did not tell us this part of the curse! We thought—none of us could read the scroll at all. But the first generation must have known, they wrote it here, didn’t they? And they had their young to leave behind. No child has come to us in twenty years!”
Her cry echoed, and Alia winced. Sympathy twinged in her, at the pain and rage in Mereri’s voice. This was an arrow young Bessa had not anticipated. The Siluran woman would not have to engage in any strategies or machinations to win the goodwill and cooperation of the Zanbellians, because they had the greatest arrow of all: hope.
But before she could speak Mereri snapped out of her reverie. “Do I understand you correctly? You know the curse-giver? The keeper you name Rikka?”
“She raised me. Alongside my foster mother and their sisters. She—” she stopped, cut off by Mereri’s sharp gasp.
“Sweet merciful Huntress!” At once the high priestess leapt up, and seized Alia’s arms. Her grip was strong, eliciting a small yelp of surprise from Alia. “Has the keeper sent you to finish us? Please, I beg of you—”
Alia reached up and clasped Mereri’s wrists. “No such mission has brought me here. Calm yourself. The Great Curse requires no assistance from me, surely you know this? And you are officially of no consequence, so Keeper Rikka would not have sent me to do anything to you. Dryads do not care for the passage of time the same way humans do; it doesn’t matter that it has taken you centuries to fulfill the terms of the curse. You’re fulfilling it, and that’s all that matters to her. Would you like to end it?”
Something must have caught Mereri’s attention, for her eyes grew wide. Staring past Alia she cried out, “No! Wait!”
