Sword of Fire and Sea (The Chaos Knight Book One) (20 page)

Collapsing on the deck of the
Viere
didn't quite constitute “sleep” so much as “lack of consciousness,” and Vidarian was too exhausted to argue with Aldous's prescription of true rest. He and Ariadel fell into their beds, and when they woke, sunset colored the peaceful sky beyond the cottage's window. Ariadel's movement woke him, and once she realized he was awake, she rose and lit a peculiar blown-glass sphere designed, it would seem, to respond to the touch of life flame.

“Your father didn't seem surprised to see us,” Vidarian said, finding rest had returned coherent thoughts to his head. He hoped he hadn't said anything too unforgivable yesterday.

“He is Air,” she said, as if this explained everything. “I don't think they know the word ‘surprise.'”

Vidarian wanted to quiz her further about her father to avoid another misstep, but knew that they must not linger. Continually he felt the pull of the
Quest
, and the knowledge that the longer he stayed away from her, the greater her danger from overzealous priestesses.

This island, one of three that bore the name Selturian, was small but ample enough for a large, airy plantation house, three guest cottages, a thorough vegetable garden, and several acres of jungle besides. Silent young men and women tended the gardens and the goats that provided sustenance for Aldous and themselves; plain-clothed as they were, Vidarian would not have recognized them for apprentices without Ariadel's telling him so.

In the main house a simple but luxurious spread of goat cheese, tree nuts, and tropical fruit was laid out, and both Vidarian and Ariadel found themselves ravenous. Aldous sat with them, shelling and slowly eating a few nuts for politeness’ sake, but his gaze was distant and his thought clearly elsewhere. Finally, he turned to Vidarian.

“So,” he said, a gentle humor seemed constant in his voice, “you're the Tesseract, then?”

Vidarian paused, a dark-juiced berry halfway to his mouth. He looked across at Ariadel and was somewhat gratified to note she seemed surprised by his abruptness also.

Aldous laughed softly. “We do little but research, here,” he said, “and the winds of destiny flow freely about you.” He gestured to Vidarian's neck, where the small crystal whistle, given him by the priestess at Siane's Eye, still hung on its silver chain, all but forgotten. “That is the Breath of Siane, is it not?” When Vidarian nodded, Aldous smiled. “May I?”

Vidarian looped the chain free from his neck and passed the little whistle over to Aldous.

“You didn't tell me you carried an artifact,” Ariadel said, her tone dangerously light and neutral.

“You didn't ask,” he said, and Aldous smiled again, his eyes still on the whistle.

The older man turned the whistle over in his hands, sending light reflecting across its crystal surface. Then, he breathed across it, an odd tone emanating from his chest that made the hair on the back of Vidarian's neck stand up. The whistle glowed and seemed to hold the man's breath within and around it, a spiral of air that hummed like the rim of a crystal goblet touched with water.

“It's quite beautiful,” Aldous murmured, then passed it back to Vidarian. “But what you need are the storm sapphires.”

Vidarian put the silver chain back on and tucked the whistle into his shirt. “Storm…sapphires?”

“Well, yes, if you're to journey to the gate between worlds.” Aldous speared a slice of burgundy-colored citrus with a fork and proceeded to eat it slowly.

“The Great Gate?” Ariadel managed around a mouthful of goat cheese. “I thought that was just a legend.”

Aldous smiled again. Vidarian was coming to dread that expression. “Much knowledge is lost to the priestesshoods, my dear, including the closing of the gate some two thousand years ago. When they do acknowledge it, the priestesshoods hold that the Tesseract should seal it shut.”

“Legends said the gate must not be opened,” Ariadel agreed, though irritation edged her voice. “That it should let chaos into the world.” At her words, something sent a chill up Vidarian's neck again, but neither of the other two seemed to notice.

“Chaos, yes. Change,” Aldous said, brushing crumbs from his fingers. “And those who hold power rightly fear change.” He looked up at Vidarian, his eyes grey with age but missing no sharpness. “You should be on your way.”

Ariadel all but squawked. “But—I've only just brought him here. I thought you might—”

“There's little time to lose,” Aldous said, addressing them both. “Little time, I'm afraid. And this coming from an Air master.” He rose, pushing his chair back behind him with a soft scud across the slate floor. “Ariadel, if you wouldn't mind, in my study is a book that will help us. Mayene will know which one—our collected learnings on the Great Gate.”

Ariadel stood and nodded, looking between them intently for a moment, then leaving to find Mayene.

The old man lifted a hand wizened like dried ginger to point the way out of the hall. When Ariadel had quite left their hearing, he set off slowly, speaking without turning. “You must be worthy of her, Vidarian,” Aldous said, his gaze going distant like the air priestess's had at Siane's Eye, what seemed so long ago. “Be worthy of her,” he said, and smiled, “or I'll break your knees.”

A

The three banked together in a wide curve as they came in to land, and now their differences were clear. In the lead was Thalnarra, her feathers battered and thin; she was missing a primary on her right wing, among other things. The gryphon back and to her left was bizarre, unlike anything Vidarian had seen in statues or paintings, much less live and real: it had a long, triangular head and an even longer beak with a hooked tip and a huge flap of loose skin below the lower jaw, like a fishing bird. Its neck, too, was long and crooked, and its broad rectangular wings were longer than Thalnarra's, though its body was smaller. The third gryphon was strange as well, with huge sapphire-blue eyes against snowy white feathers and a compact black-tipped beak; the feathers at the end of its leonine tail forked in a swallow-tail, beginning with white feathers that gave way to slender black ones, matched also on the tips of its otherwise white wings.

They landed on the sand several yards from the cottages, but the wind of their passing rattled the fronds at the top of the tall trees. The landing was not graceful; the strange fisher-bird-gryphon seemed unaccustomed to landing on solid ground, and Thalnarra stumbled as she touched the ground, favoring a wounded foreleg. Vidarian and Ariadel exchanged a look, not quite believing what they were seeing, and ran for the three creatures. As they did so, Ariadel turned to call for medical supplies, sending three of the apprentices scrambling for the large house.

Thalnarra's breath was labored when they reached her, and close inspection revealed her condition to be even worse than it had seemed from afar. Numerous open cuts wept fluid sluggishly across her body from five-taloned slashes on her shoulders and hindquarters. They'd been treated at some point, for they ran clean, but the flight had broken them open again. She had more body feathers missing, and those that remained were tattered and drab.

“What on earth happened to you?” Ariadel asked, then turned to the other gryphons in apology. “Be welcome, friends, to the Selturian Islands and the home of my father, Aldous Windfell.”

// We are in need of friends, //
Thalnarra said.
// Though my battle, for now, is won. //

The white gryphon with the large eyes and pointed face spoke with a voice like a low flute.
// It was ritual combat. Her people use the old gryphon law to resolve disagreements.

// Being an old tradition, hurr, //
the fisher-gryphon agreed, his voice like drifting kelp, peaceful and remote. He shook his head, sending his chin flap flopping, and lifted his feathers, from the white and grey stripes of his face to his blue-black wing-feathers.

// But it was won, //
Thalnarra said, exhaustion in her voice, and a steely insistence, rebutting the disapproval of the other two.
// The gryphons of the fire clans stand with us. It will take some time to gather them, but gather they will, and our allies.//
She indicated the other two with the tip of her beak, and they nodded each in turn—water and air, Vidarian realized.

“Stand with ‘us'?’ Vidarian said, turning to gesture to the three apprentices who now emerged from the main house with armfuls of bandages and a crate of medicines.

// With you, of course, //
Thalnarra eyed him dangerously,
// against the priestesshood. //

The cottage was quiet when Vidarian returned to it, looking for Ariadel, who had fled while he helped see to Thalnarra's wounds. He called out her name, but there was no answer, and he expected to find the building empty when he pushed open the door.

He found her crumpled on the floor, the embroidered robe loaned her by one of the apprentices pooling around her. Her breath came with a rattle of emotion, and she sniffed as she turned toward the door to look at him, her face streaked with tears. In her lap was the gangly kitten, half grown, and before it occurred to him to wonder how in the world it had gotten there, Vidarian thought perhaps it was dead, and this the cause of her distress. But the kitten, lying on its back, rolled over with easy agility and pushed its face at Ariadel's hand, demanding attention.

“How—?” Vidarian managed, rushing to Ariadel and kneeling. She pointed across the floor, where the small tinderbox that she had used for the golden spider, before their flight to the Selturians, lay open and empty. Vidarian looked at it blankly. “What? I don't understand,” he said.

Ariadel stroked the kitten's head, then leaned close to look into its eyes. Something passed between them—and then the kitten disappeared. Vidarian gasped, leaning closer, and Ariadel lifted her hand. Perched upon it, balanced delicately on the tips of its feet, was the spider.

“How is this possible?” he whispered, head swimming.

“She's a shapechanger,” Ariadel said, and laughed softly, incredulously, a sob half mixed with it. She reached out with her free hand to slide a leather journal open to a marked page across the carpet to Vidarian. He picked it up; the page was labeled “Snowmelt,” and held sketches of a white horse, some of them fancifully rendered, the horse's rear end replaced by a sinuous fish tail. Ariadel turned her hand, and the spider skittered, then vanished, replaced once more with the kitten.

“What is this?” Vidarian asked, turning a page. “And why does it trouble you so?” He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she leaned into him.

“My great-great-great-grandmother had a horse named Snowmelt,” she said. “She was the last fire priestess in our family, until me. As a girl I loved the stories of Snowmelt, her devoted horse—there were stories that he wasn't just a horse, but a shapechanger, able to turn into a great cat and protect her. We always assumed they were just stories.”

“It's remarkable,” he said, reaching out to let the cat sniff his hand. It did, then turned up its nose at him. “But why does it affect you so?”

“Everything's changing,” she said, and blinked back tears again, composing herself. “The gryphons declaring war against the priestesshood. Shapechangers returning to the world. New magics are coming, many of them strange and dangerous.” She stopped again, breathing deeply. Something in her tone made him think of the strange voices he'd heard, and he thought of confessing them, but she went on. “…And I…I'm afraid I…”

He wrapped his arms around her, careful not to upset the kitten, and rested his chin on her shoulder, waiting.

She shook her head, swallowing. “It's nothing. It's just overwhelming, that's all.” She coughed, clearing her throat, and stiffened in his embrace ever so slightly. “None of us know what's coming. I fear for all of us.”

Aldous had treated the gryphons’ arrival with as much nonchalance as he had his daughter's, and now he sent them off again with equal gentle authority. The gryphons, he said, and their intention to aid Vidarian's cause, meant that the hour was truly grown late.

“I wish you strength,” the older man said to Vidarian, seriousness in his pale eyes. “If our studies are accurate, you are even now encountering some strange things, indeed.” His weighty gaze searched Vidarian's, and then he patted his shoulders with both hands like a father would a son. “But you'll bear up under them. You must.” Vidarian longed to ask him about the voices, and the severing of his telepathic bond with Ariadel—but in his features saw the father of the woman he loved, and dared not.

On their second day on the island Ruby had joined them, availing herself cheerfully of the hospitality of Aldous's house. Now, though, they were to separate, and Vidarian saw her off from the sandy beach.

“You're off in search of more booty, I understand,” she said, grinning at him from the shadow of a rather absurd feathered hat. “I should think you'd be satisfied with what you had, you greedy git.”

“Are we ever?” he asked, for once not finding her ceaseless ribbing grating to his nerves, and realized with surprise that he'd miss the
Viere
as well. Her solid decks had stood them well around the horn. “You've executed your part of our bargain. I regret that I cannot pay you yet.”

She tutted in response. “My business is in Val Harlon, as it was before we departed. We'll meet you there, and I'm sure your friends will have helped sort out this little misunderstanding with the fire priestesses by then.” Ruby indicated the gryphons with a gesture of her chin. When she'd seen them for the first time, her eyes had widened, a shadow full of dread and memory passing behind them—but it was gone, fled behind her customary mask of an easy smile, before he could inquire.

“You'll be for the horn again, then,” Vidarian said, guilt welling up that he would not be there to assist them.

“Tish. We've sailed it before. I got you here, I can certainly get my own ship back.”

“At Val Harlon, then,” he said, offering his hand.

She took it, and pulled him into a rough, brotherly embrace. “Val Harlon. Take care you're not late.”

Aldous, despite his unruffled demeanor toward them, had never worked with gryphons before. They had no carrying boat, but the older air monk had closeted himself away with the white gryphon, called Altair, to discuss their shared magic at incomprehensible detail. That left Ariadel, Vidarian, Thalnarra, and the fisher-gryphon, called Arikaree, to improvise one.

They started with a yawl, a small sailboat decommissioned from a larger sailing vessel kept by Aldous and the small community. With its mast removed, it was larger and considerably less unnerving than a dinghy or pram, but still small enough for its weight not to tax the gryphons overly. Still, it was heavier than the lighter craft built for flight, and so, after fitting it with harness and rope—a light, strong kind made of silk here on the islands—they provisioned it sparingly. The flight path east to An'durin, the great inland sea along the Karlis River, should take them over forests plentiful with game, and the gryphons were confident of their ability to hunt along the way.