6

The Final Test

Eliza spoke uninterrupted and spoke with such speed that it was only after she ended her long monologue, that she realised how parched and how hungry she was. After she was finished, no one spoke for a few minutes, but Gunada and Raidas exchanged a look.

“So, it is real,” Raidas had turned his back to the room and stared out through the window, through which the lantern-lit city seemed a forest of fireflies. “It seems so,” Gunada replied, his own gaze fixed on Eliza. For her part, Eliza, who now felt as though she were being examined by her schoolmaster, looked anywhere but at Raidas or Gunada.

“What about the boy?” Raidas asked, and Eliza felt unsure of how to respond. She had not hidden anything from Gunada or Raidas, and had told them everything that occurred on her journey – including her burgeoning friendship with Dazhyen.

“What of him?” she said, forcing herself to look at her teacher.

“Did you not find it odd that your attendant was not only a man, but a man convicted of treason?” Raidas now turned to look at her, his eyes staring into hers. She blinked slowly, trying to ascertain if Raidas was invading her mind, but found no presence in her head save her own.

“Yes, I did, Uncle Rai,” she spoke deliberately and thought it better than to say more.

“Then why did you not raise that question now?”

“Because,” she could feel her stomach tie itself into knots of anxiety as she spoke, “I assumed it to have been either a mistake or test. I doubt it was a mistake – for he told me he was appointed not by a paroling judge or court, but by royal order. It matters not, as far as I am concerned, for as I told you both, I have begun to form a friendship,” at that, she could see Gunada’s stony expression falter. He knew well enough how lonely and bereft of companionship Eliza’s life had been, save for the odd visit by Maryam. He’d done all he could, and more besides, to step into the role of father, but he was not her friend.

“Assumptions are as much an enemy,” said Raidas calmly and without raising his voice, “as the Azdavyery. He was assigned to be your attendant on my orders.”

Eliza nodded, but was not surprised.

“You were right, though, in that it was a test – your final test,” he said flatly. “I needed to know if you could make the right decision when hit with an unexpected complication, and if you could see a man for who he is.”

“He was the disciple of a cruel man who waged a cruel war,” Gunada explained, “against not just Afor, but against the very things the Prafi are sworn to defend.” Eliza did not respond and simply waited. “But he was himself a good and innocent man – a victim, as it were, of the barbarous people we fight.”

Raidas and Gunada now both were studying her intently, and her face betrayed no emotion. Inside, she felt angry. She knew it was a test, but had not allowed herself to dwell on it – for she had greater concerns throughout the voyage. Now, there was no escaping from it. Did they not trust her? Did they expect her to dispatch of him, in a fit of misjudgement? What fools!

“We needed to know,” Raidas spoke, “that you would not kill him for simply having been your enemy once.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Rai,” she looked up at her teacher, and then Gunada. “But I do not understand the point of the test. Do you not trust me? Do you think me that bad a judge of character?” Gunada flinched, and hung his head as though he’d predicted this reaction. Raidas remained unaffected.

“What we think of you is irrelevant,” Raidas said. “You were being thrown, head first, into a storm. You need to never fail. If we judged you based on our opinions of you, instead of your actions under duress, we would make for terrible teachers.” Eliza could see the logic behind the explanation, but still she felt angry. “If it matters, we did not expect you to kill him or cause him harm. In our opinion, you would have spared him and seen him as the victim he is.” Raidas finished. “But an opinion is a dangerous thing. We had to be sure.”

“How did you know his story? His pain? That he was a victim?” Eliza’s next question came like the cracking of a whip.

Raidas stared at her, puzzled, as if she should have known the answer. “Well,” he raised an eyebrow, “the day before he was due to be released, I visited his cell. He was asleep, and I tore apart his mind. I examined every memory, every thought he’d had. I knew he harboured no ill-will. If he had, he would never have been released.”

“So, I passed your test?” she said, forcing herself to move on from the rage.

“Yes,” Gunada spoke before Raidas had a chance. “And, ordinarily, that would be the end of it. Ordinarily, we would have a drink, toast the death of your innocence, and move on to what comes next. But you have brought back news that is far worse than we had expected.”

“Indeed,” Raidas said grimly, turning back around to stare out over the city. “Events are in motion,” he said, “that cannot be stopped. Things must come to pass in the way they must.” Eliza was suddenly reminded of Odehi in his final moments and she felt a sudden, quite involuntary, pang of hatred. Hatred for the repeated motif of inevitability. Fate is not, she thought, an immutable contract that bound all beings, and nothing, she was rebelliously certain, was as inevitable as all that. She conveyed none of this, of course, to her teacher who seemed to be collecting his own thoughts before, finally, he spoke again, his voice heavy.

“And you, little one, are not yet prepared for the fight that lies ahead of you.”

7

A Yearning for Something Bigger

The sun shone bright, as often it did, over the glittering city of Afor, and the heat of the day had forced everyone to throw open their windows. It had been nearly two months since Maryam had returned to Afor, and the beautiful spring had given way to a sweltering summer. The city, which she observed from her window in the Palace, seemed to be sparkling – its marble and sandstone buildings gleamed, the dome of the Blue Temple had turned golden, and the city was asleep. The afternoon nap, which went by many names in the hotter parts of the continent, was a revered practice. Like many such cultural practices the world over, it had few rules and all of them were unspoken. And all these unspoken rules were quite unbreakable. For instance, no one conducted business in the afternoon hours – aside, of course, from soldiers and sailors – and life would resume only after the clock struck three in the afternoon.

Maryam had always taken advantage of this and had always retired to her chambers in the afternoon. She never slept, for napping gave her headaches, but she appreciated the time to herself. It was one of the few home comforts she’d missed when she’d been away in the city of Adhikabad, to the far south of Alma. It was not a perennially cold place, though the winters were brutal, but it was never hot enough to justify her habit of alas (an Uttaric word meaning laziness, and the word that was ascribed to the afternoon nap in Samudabad).

The peace that alas afforded her was hard to come by, in the daily exercise of her life as princess. The absence of fools and their foolish nattering was her recompense. Ministers and would-be suitors seemed to take up all her time when she wasn’t being harangued by her mother or sister into going to parties. Maryam was instantly annoyed by her many memories of the countless droll and uninteresting parties she’d had to attend. Of course, she understood her role and the role of the parties and of the ministers and of the suitors. Of course, she understood.

She had to. She was Heir Apparent. Irritated at herself for dredging up unprompted her past irritations, she flung herself onto her bed and closed her eyes. Her fingers began to dance over her, and her cup of tea began to judder. She had had the tea brought up for her before the city went to sleep and, in the hour since, it had stood on her table untouched. With her eyes closed, she could feel it within mind’s reach and she willed it to rise. It did as commanded, forming itself into a ball of brown liquid.

Beside her, a candle burned dimly. It served no practical purpose, of course. She needed not its weak light nor its minute heat. Instead, she reached out and tugged on the flame which grew to nearly three feet in height. Her heart was racing now, as she attempted again what she’d tried so many times before. It was an exam she’d been given when she was in the College in Adhikabad and it was an exam she’d failed. To progress beyond these paltry parlour tricks, she needed to – in the words of her teacher – “bend the principles of material reality” by setting fire to water.

Slowly, the ball of tea floated across the room to the jet of flame. Maryam’s silk bloomers and her bedsheets were soaked in her sweat, and her face was red with focus. She felt the tea near the flame, she could almost see it! Suddenly, there was a flash and she was jolted back into reality. Floating there beside her was the ball of tea, with lazy flames dancing over every inch of its surface.

Immediately, despite her exhaustion, she cried out in a mix of relief and joy. The latter emotion was redoubled when the ball of tea did not erupt in flames or lose its structure and melt into a warm puddle. Tears began to, unbidden and unwanted, stream down her face and she ushered the tea/fireball out the window. As she watched it descend, deforming and extinguishing itself long before it reached the ground, she knew that something had changed in that moment. She gazed out over the sea and the city that lay outside her window, as a cool summer breeze washed over her. She exhaled and felt, in that moment, happy.

She stepped back from the window as a patrol of Lifeguards passed by outside – it would not do to have them see her in her undergarments. Regardless, she needed a bath and a change of clothes for she had been summoned to a meeting by the King. As she rung the bell to call Fae, her Maid, she wondered what His Majesty the King wanted with her, Eliza, and that deck-boy (or was it deck-hand?) that Eliza had befriended.

It didn’t matter to her in that moment, though, as her confusion was soon replaced by happy thoughts of the burning ball of tea.

Predictably Eliza had been the first to arrive outside the King’s study. Maryam had been there but the once, when Eliza had dragged her inside and forced her to show off her powers to the King. Therefore, she had been slow in finding her way to the door. The study itself was located atop a dark and dingy tower, but it was at least cold. Eliza was stood on the landing, staring out one of the windows. The view from that side of the castle was uninteresting at best – the expanse of the island was all that could be seen, with the eye drawn naturally to the only landmark; a forgotten and ruined watch-tower atop a low hill.

“Hello, Mar!” Eliza said cheerfully, turning to face her friend.

Maryam opened her mouth, intending fully to greet her back but what instead slipped out was “I set the tea on fire!”, which was followed immediately by her clasping a hand over her agape mouth and the widening of her eyes. Eliza returned a confused look. When she’d been welcomed into the Palace, she’d been given but the one instruction by Eliza – to not use her abilities without first informing either Eliza or the King. She’d broken that one rule and it was too late to retract her statement.

“It was an exam,” Maryam offered up after an uncomfortable minute’s silence. “At the Grand Circle College. We were all given an exam after our first year to see if we could progress to the next. The spell-jockeys," she said the words with disdain, “were told to craft and cast a spell of their own making. I, since I was the only tatvait, was told to bend the rules of reality.”

Eliza listened calmly, with a soft, understanding look on her face. “Go on,” she encouraged her friend.

“I had to set fire to water. Had to balance both elements in… in one assertion of control. I can’t remember exactly how Master Gail described it,” her mind was now filled with memories of the kindly Master Gail. She was one of the few good teachers Maryam had ever had. “And I failed. I took the exam a few times, I failed each time."

“Was this right after you found out the man you loved was just a gold-digger?”

“Yes. Master Gail, too, thought it might have impacted me. Something about not being able to trust my own judgement,” Maryam laughed without humour.

“And right now,” Eliza placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder, “you tried again? And succeeded?” Maryam nodded slowly, wondering what the consequence of rule-breaking would be.

“Well, that bodes well,” Eliza said, smiling broadly.

“For?” Maryam wasn’t certain how to react.

“You’ll see,” there was a twinkle in Eliza’s eye. She’d learnt many things from her father, Maryam knew, and how to hint at a secret was one of them. Below them, they heard some footsteps as the third member of their little party began his long climb up the tower.

“This is highly unorthodox and the risk is too great,” Gunada had warned her, and Raidas had looked unconcerned, when Eliza had revealed to them her plans. But Eliza had not cared – Gunada had asked her to take only those with her that she trusted, and she trusted both Maryam and Dazhyen with her life. Yes, it was true that they were not accomplished fighters – Dazhyen would struggle to win a fight against bandits, and Maryam was able enough only to create bonfires – but they were whom she trusted. On Gunada’s insistence, and with some well-hidden reluctance, Eliza had also agreed to take Bolina Cermak. He, however, was not present in the study on that hot evening, when Eliza, Maryam, and Dazhyen sat mustered in front of Gunada and Raidas.

Until Gunada spoke, which was some minutes after they’d all entered and only after they’d made themselves reasonably comfortable, the air was thick with a jumble of emotions –chief among them were confusion and anxiety. Eliza, however, was finally enjoying being on the side of a revelatory conversation where she would reveal, not be revealed to. When Gunada finally spoke, he dispensed immediately with protocol and addressed the gathered for what they had become – soldiers.

“Good evening, friends of Eliza,” he said flatly. “You are here today because Eliza has requested it, and because she hopes that you will agree to shoulder a great burden with her. I cannot reveal more unless you should agree to do this. What I can say is that the burden will involve great danger – there is a real possibility that you may never again see your home,” the flatness with which he spoke heavy words was, in Eliza’s view, admirable.

Immediately both Maryam and Dazhyen were stilled and Eliza knew they were considering what Gunada had meant. “But this burden is an honourable one, and your journey, which will be long and difficult, will have but the one honourable purpose, a purpose that you must not and cannot stray from. If you agree to this journey, you shall be defenders of the peace, of innocence, of goodness, and all the things we treasure as pure in this world.”

There came no response, and Gunada, having taken a pause to let his words sink in, continued. “I know that you are both anxious now, for neither of you can fight well. It is true that you will face enemies that need to be defeated, and that may be playing on your minds. Let me, therefore, put you at ease. Both of you will be trained,” he now looked at Maryam. “Maryam, you will be made an expert in the exercising of your elemental powers,” now he looked at Dazhyen, “and you will be trained tirelessly by the Lifeguards to become a soldier.” He now looked at Eliza, his face weary. “That is all I can say for now.”

The air hung heavy with tension, even Eliza now felt the assaults of anxiety. “Do you accept these dangers, these responsibilities, and, most importantly, the trust that I will place in you?” Gunada asked of her friends.

Instantly Maryam replied, almost shouted, “Yes!”, and was followed by Dazhyen who was only slightly delayed in his own confident affirmation, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

In that moment, Eliza felt a sense of doom. She hoped, she prayed to whatever god listened or cared or existed, that she would not look back on this moment, on their assent, on their yeses, with regret. A sense of inevitability cropped up, but she pushed it down. Their fates would be chosen not decided, she told herself, and she would die for them if need be, she agreed.

Gunada, meanwhile, was shaking his head. “I appreciate your loyalty and your eagerness,” he said, “but consider what I say more deeply. We will train you, we will equip you, but that is not a guarantee. The foes you will face are more dangerous than words can convey. Take a moment,” he got up out of his chair as he spoke, “and consider what I have told you. We shall be back in fifteen minutes,” he and Raidas made their way to the door, shutting it loudly behind them.

As soon as the thudding of the heavy door dissipated, Maryam spoke up with a confusing energy. “I know the danger, I know I will probably die in a field somewhere,” instantly Eliza wished she’d not said that, “but by Luminil, Liz, this is exactly what I want! To learn, to grow, to go on an adventure!”

Eliza’s response was immediate, and one she equally immediately wanted to retract. “Do you want to die?” she asked, sullen and serious.

“Oh, by the Seven, no! Of course, not,” Maryam was, inexplicably, laughing. “But I accept the risks, because I think the opportunities outweigh them.”

Eliza felt better, if only slightly, at this response. Still, she knew that Maryam yet hid the full truth behind her yes from either herself or Eliza. Possibly both, she decided. However, there were still issues that needed to be addressed. “Well, that’s good,” she said, picking her words carefully, “but you do realise that this isn’t just an adventure? We’re not going gallivanting. We will be responsible for the future, the future, Mar, of an untold number of lives.”

“Yes, I know, Liz. It’s not so different to becoming the Grand Princess, is it? That responsibility is something both you and I were bred, were trained, to carry,” Maryam’s response was entirely true and Eliza conceded the point. But there was still one last issue.

“Your father will need to be informed and he will need to agree,” Eliza said.

“His son was a soldier, and so was he. My mother used to be a mariner, you know. My parents both expect my brother and I to be of service to our people, not to be idle tyrants. They will both agree, of that,” Maryam grinned, “I can assure you.”

“Your brother died, Mar,” Eliza wished she hadn’t said it, but what was said was said. Maryam’s face went stony, and her eyelids twitched. “I’m sorry,” Eliza immediately said. “I shouldn’t have said anything, that was... tactless of me."

Maryam let out a clear, single, booming laugh. “My brother died in the exercising of his duties as a protector of the city, Eliza. My father would expect nothing less of me.” She was resolute.

Throughout this exchange, Dazhyen was silent but when, finally, he spoke it was clear he’d selected his words with care.

“Eliza, I care little for the risks. I yearn, if I may be so bold, to be of service. If by my death I can save just one person, let alone many dozens, I will die happily.” He was silent a moment, clearly wondering whether he should say what he wanted to. Finally, he made up his mind and spoke, “and I yearn, also, to learn to fight. I have been, until that moment in Casat when that assassin broke through my window, a hollow man – a husk. I want to be able to defend myself against those that would bully; that would torment, harass, target, and harm anyone who is innocent or meek or vulnerable or too good to fight back.”

Eliza was haunted by a memory of five years ago, by what Raidas had told her. “To protect the goodness of others, the purity of life, and the beauty of innocence – we must sacrifice that in our own hearts,” he had said. She sat there frozen by the memory for a few moments, but soon brought herself back to reality.

“I’m glad, Dazhyen, to hear that you have purpose. And I’m proud,” she smiled, “if I may say that, to hear that your purpose is to serve.” Now she looked at both of her companions in turn, as she fought back tears. “Well,” she said and found, suddenly, that she was at a loss for words. Maryam placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I know, Liz. I know.”

The door swung open as Gunada and Raidas stepped inside. “Have your minds changed?” Gunada asked as he took his seat across the table, and both Maryam and Dazhyen shook their heads. “We accept the risks, Your Majesty,” Dazhyen said, flatly and certainly.

“Good,” Gunada said but Eliza could feel his undertone of dread. He was afraid that he’d just sentenced two people to their unwitting deaths. She knew his fear because hers was no different.

“Well then,” he spoke loudly, assuming the role of commander and unfurled a map on the table. “To business.”

8

Revelations

“Let me speak clearly now,” Gunada began and spoke uninterrupted, “for I have fed you vague terms and half-truths and yet,” he seemed almost impressed but it was hard for Eliza to tell, “you have agreed to risk your lives on an adventure you know little about.”

“That is very noble of you, but listen, now, the full truth. You both are aware of Eliza’s nature – her connection to the meya and her ability to manipulate it. She is, like me and like Raidas, pur raktali – old blooded. Together, the three of us serve an order of warriors and assassins that are dedicated to the protection of all that is good, innocent, and pure.” Beside Eliza, Dazhyen shifted in his chair. “We are required, by our oath and by the privilege of our powers, to sacrifice all we can to protect these ideals and those that embody them. You,” he now looked at Maryam and Dazhyen in turn with mournful eyes, “are not required to do this.”

As he spoke, the setting sun behind him filling the old study with a warm glow. Raidas threw open a window and the cool evening breeze made everyone breathe a little easier. “There are those in the ranks of the Azdavyery that are stirring to the siren call of violence. Violence in the name of the building of a new world-order – starting here, in Afor, the largest city in the home islands of the modern Azdavyery faith. Therefore, we – that being Eliza, Raidas, and myself – have been working tirelessly over the past five years to uncover those who would seek to do this great evil.” Dazhyen once again shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Raidas had taken a seat behind Gunada, and, with his back to the open window and arms folded, was staring intently at the meeting. He felt, to Eliza, as some sort of examiner. In truth, she was still upset at him for turning Dazhyen into a test.

“There is some history here,” Gunada continued and Eliza returned to him her attention. “That you need know. This is not the first time that the Azdavyery have posed such a threat. Consider this; the names of their prophet saints, Saint Maria and Saint Peter, are not Ushuski names. They are Isenni. So, how have the Ushuski isles become strongholds of the faith?”

There was silence.

“Since the inception of the religion,” Gunada explained, “it has been a violent one. Its belief in the cleansing fire, in purifying through death and torture and other innumerable torments, is absolute. Its belief that the Truth sets people free is absolute. The full history, nor the religion’s mythology, is of much import here, so suffice to say; Maria and Peter were exiled from the country of their birth, somewhere in Isenndal. They thus became wandering preachers, and found themselves preaching in what we now call the Isles of the Married Saints. At the time, understand this was in the First Age, there was no society, no religion, in the Isles. The Ushuski then were itinerant fisherfolk and nomads, who irregularly worshipped the sun and the sea.” Dazhyen had stilled, and Maryam listened intently. Raidas surveyed each of them, but his own face was inscrutable.

“In so doing, Maria and Peter – themselves pur raktali – amassed immense power, and raised great armies. Our order, the Prafi, were first founded to rise up in defiance of those armies, of the Saints’ terrible power,” Gunada spoke with heavy words, and the light in the study grew dim. “This was in the earliest decades of the First Age, from before the lands had their names, when cities were thriving which are now long abandoned. It was a time before the practice of history, so what we know is recorded in songs, and oral traditions, but we know that it was a bloody and long war. Since then, the Azdavyery have sought redemption.”

He stopped, finally, for a drink of water but continued before anyone had the chance to form a sentence.

“They are not the Prafi’s greatest foe, though they are our oldest, for their attempts at bringing about a cleansing of the world have been, largely, haphazard. Save for one time, nearly a millennium ago, when Azdavyery warriors and assassins hidden away in mountain fortresses in the Jabals terrorised the Purvat Ahi. A Prafi Sultan, of Casat no less, raised an army then to put an end to that threat – and those fortresses have long since been burnt to cinders. But since then, they have remained docile. Those days are, plainly, over.”

What about the Gaunt? Eliza found herself wondering.

“To make matter worse,” Gunada began, and Eliza thought immediately speak of the devil… “they now bring to bear an ancient weapon. I will put it plainly, for it is a terrible thing. When the Married Saints launched their first war of purification, they corrupted the meya, they tormented and tore it, bound it and rebound it to their wills. In so doing, they created a disease. It has had many names throughout the millennia, but today we call it simply the Gaunt. It kills in days, and there is nothing that can be done – even with our modern science of medicine – to stop it, for in its creation the Married Saints gave it a truly terrible attribute. It is not controlled by the natural order of things, as are all diseases, but by the wills of mortal kind.”

How? Tell me how! Eliza shouted inside herself.

“To control it requires a connection to the meya that we do not understand. It was known to the original Prafi, in those ages past, but they did not record it. They thought the disease destroyed with the defeat of the Saints, and any knowledge of it they felt would be a danger to those that came after. So, they did what, to them, seemed wisest. They burnt all records, and they, through long practice and meditation, forgot all they knew about it.”

“Blast it!” Dazhyen suddenly shouted. Immediately, he clasped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he murmured, lowering his hand.

“It’s quite alright, Dazhyen. But there is no use being angry. They did what they thought best. Were I in their place, I would have done nothing different,” Gunada responded with a smile. “As I was saying,” he turned his attention back to the others and continued. “Since all that was supposed to have been known about this disease was destroyed or forgotten, we cannot begin even to guess at how it has resurfaced.” He paused, and in that pause Eliza felt she detected a hesitation, for the confidence in his eyes seemed to waver. Then, he resumed his speech with the same clarity as before and Eliza thought that the flicker must have been a trick of the fading light. “But, clearly, it has resurfaced. Perhaps the Azdavyery maintained a repository or archive of their own – one not known to us, hidden from the outside world.”

Eliza nodded, and immediately Raidas shot her a look. He was as inscrutable as ever, and said nothing, but Eliza returned the glance. Gunada continued unbothered.

“Our best guess is that the new Rakhak of the Azdavyery, a Dunwennish man called Petra Keegan-Trith has the answers we seek. For the benefit of Maryam and Eliza,” Gunada turned to Dazhyen, “do you want to tell us what a Rakhak is?”

Dazhyen went wide-eyed, as though he were being called on to answer an arithmetic question in class. But he sat up straight, cleared his throat, and answered as certainly as he could. “It is the final and most high rank that a priest of Azda-Mara can achieve. At any time, there can only be one Rakhak and all the twenty-six Atashga of the world are subservient to the Rakhak. But,” he coughed, but it was only to stifle his nerves, Eliza guessed, “there is not always a Rakhak – in fact, the position had been vacant nearly my entire life in the Temple. It is a position that is granted through a vote. At least three fourths of all Atashga must agree before even a vote can be called. Even then, a vote can only be called if the Atashga feel that there is either an existential threat to the faith or if the Atashga…” his voice trailed off, and his face became frozen and pale.

“Or if the Atashga have decided to declare war,” Gunada completed.

A loaded silence filled the room, and even the whistling winds of the summer evening could not break it.

“There is time yet, till Keegan-Trith acts,” Gunada broke the silence. “We do not know when that will be, nor, indeed, where he is. If we knew where he hid, perhaps the conversation we would be having now is how best we can kill him,” he smiled dryly. “The problem is that since the defeat of the Jabal Invasions nine-hundred years ago, the Azdavyery orthodoxy has made it a habit of not maintaining a permanent physical place central to their faith. For the Church of Banc in Dunwenn, there is the ancient city of Caldwell; for the Saptis, there is the Temple of the Dunes in the Uttar Raegis; for the Duoists, there is the Lunar Shrine in the Eazim Mountains. For the Azdavyery? Nothing for the last nine-hundred years.”

“I went, alone and in person,” Raidas spoke up, his voice echoing in the study and calling everyone’s attention immediately, “to the ruins of the 19 Temples across the Jabal Mountains. None have been rebuilt, nowhere were there signs of re-occupation.” The 19 Temples, Eliza knew, were rock-cut caves deep in the Jabal Mountains, and were said to be the first places where the Married Saints taught, preached, and lived while on their journey of exile to the Isles. It also explained where Raidas had been for the past few months, for Eliza had not seen him around the Palace at all.

“So,” Gunada shrugged, “all we can really do, is wait. And prepare.” Eliza breathed easier at that, but then, “well, that’s the hope. The truth is, we know some of what the Azdavyery are planning. It is the usual stuff; assassinations, sabotage, riots. But there are larger, more troubling plans. First, we know for certain that they intend to spark wars – as many as possible – across the Purvat Ahi, the Jabals, and our Isles.” Immediately, every muscle in Eliza’s body tensed. Beside her, Dazhyen had frozen solid as if turned to stone, and Maryam remained unblinkingly focused on Gunada.

“How do we know this?” Eliza asked the obvious question.

Gunada gave a coy smile. “We have many spies across Casat, Sunrise, Damad, Priestfall, Samudabad, Port St. Peter, and many other cities and towns besides. The Prafi have deep pockets, and mine run deeper still,” he admitted.

“Are we certain that their reports are true?”

“I have checked them myself,” Raidas said flatly. “I have travelled the length of the Purvat Ahi, and can verify all that they have said. The Sultan’s Council in Damad grow restless, for instance, and some demand a new war be begun to complete what they were unable to two years ago and conquer Samudabad.”

Maryam’s gasp would have been loud enough to frighten a ghost. “Worry not, Ms. Tophi,” Raidas turned to her. “I have personally seen to it that your family has been informed of this. Already, they have been the process of rearmament. If they have not written to you about it, it is because I asked them not to.”

Maryam’s shock melted away, and she grit her teeth. Eliza agreed with her sentiment – who was Raidas to tell Maryam’s family they can’t contact her? But, Raidas never acted without the best reasons, she said to herself and let go of her anger.

“So,” Gunada took over, “while you will be trained, and while you train, I will have also to ask that you fight. These are dirty fights that we fight, and some might consider them to be dishonourable. They are not entirely wrong, and though it is a noble fight I cannot force it upon either of you,” he looked once again at Dazhyen and Maryam. “But, I daresay that you have both made up your minds.”

They nodded, almost in unison.

“Very well. Then, know that your fight can and will take you across not just the Isles, but the mainland. Our enemy is large in number, and more faithful join their ranks every day. In time, you will all kill, and spy, and commit espionage, and other such acts that shall forever darken you, and tear at you in your quietest moments.” Gunada sighed. “But, until then, I bid you all simply that you train, and learn, and practice.”

Another moment of silence followed, in which Eliza realised the study had taken on a shade of dark purple as the last rays of sunlight bounced about in it. Without any one getting up to light them, lanterns and candles throughout the study lit themselves on fire – a joint effort between Eliza and Raidas.

“Are there any questions?” Gunada asked. Almost immediately, Maryam’s hand shot up.

“What is to be done about the threat to my city?”

“For now, nothing,” Gunada responded, choosing his words carefully. “We are monitoring the situation, and war is not an easy thing to fight. Should there be any signs of an imminent conflict, we shall tell you.”

“And if there is war?”

“Let us not talk of these things,” Gunada smiled reassuringly. “I ask that you simply trust to get you ready for any eventuality.”

Next, Dazhyen raised a hand and Gunada indicated that he may speak. “Will we kill the Rakhak?”

“In time, yes. I cannot tell you how long that will be, though. Many things are known to me, but the paths of the future are many and I can only guess at them. But in time, yes, you shall be tasked with the assassination of the Rakhak.”

Maryam raised her hand again, but did not bother to be called on to speak. “Who will train me? I know damn near nothing about my powers, except to make tea dance, and fires brighter!”

“That is my responsibility,” Raidas spoke firmly. “It will be a daunting task, but I see the potential within you. I would ask if you are ready to sacrifice all you can to learn what you need to, to do what you need to – but I shall not waste my breath. You haven’t a choice, Ms. Tophi, if you wish to see your city survive the lashings of the futures to come.”

Maryam said nothing. In fact, no one spoke.

“Very well, then,” Gunada got up, and the door to the study swung open. “Starting tomorrow, training shall begin in earnest.”

The sun was unforgiving, as was Lieutenant Colonel Bolina Cermak, and both glared down at Dazhyen as he struggled with the reloading of a musket. Lieutenant Colonel Cermak was not, perhaps, as great or skilled a duellist as was Mr. Frost, but he was a harsher man and a better teacher. He had, in the three months since Dazhyen’s return to Afor, been at pains to remind his new, and unorthodox, recruit that it was not his responsibility to train Dazhyen and that he did so only by royal decree. This seemed to have annoyed him for it took him away from his beloved Regiment, for 8 hours a day – 4 in the morning and 4 in the evening.

“Faster!” he shouted and Dazhyen stumbled, the ramrod slipping out of his hand and squelching into the wet mud.

“I have sweaty palms, sir!” he responded, but this did not move Cermak.

“Do you think you will not sweat when facing the enemy? Do you think a volley of muskets or the shot of a cannon will be QUIETER THAN ME?” he raised his voice to fever pitch now, “FUCKING MOVE IT, MAN!”

At this latest encouragement, Dazhyen succeeded in loading his musket and firing off a shot which hit its mark, some considerable yards away. He had always hit his mark. “Good,” Cermak returned to his regular volume of shouting. “You’re a good shot, Daisy,” he now spoke almost normally. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be the finest soldier I’ve ever trained,” this gave Dazhyen some succour, but not for long, for Cermak quickly followed it with: “not because you’re exceptional – you’re just good. But because you’ve got no choice, Daisy. You better become the best fighter, the best musketeer, the best killer I have ever seen – for the sake of the fucking world,” he grumbled.

“Do the drill again,” he ordered and Dazhyen, without pause or question, did as he was told. Again, and again, and again, until all he could hear was the sound of musket shot, and his leaden arms felt ready to detach themselves from his body. At the end of the day, his face covered in gunpowder residue and gun-smoke in his nostrils and lungs, he sat on a bench next to the firing range and slumped over. He almost, almost fell asleep instantly, and would have too had he not been interrupted by the violent poking of his stomach. He opened his eyes to see Cermak looming over him and, within seconds, Dazhyen was standing at something resembling attention.

Cermak laughed at this – but it was not a derisive laugh. “Lie back down, Daisy,” he said. “You’re doing good work, boy. I know I am rough, perhaps rougher than you imagined, but war is not easy. If you can function flawlessly with my shouts, my insults – then you can function flawlessly no matter the hell you find yourself in. And what lies ahead of us,” Dazhyen had almost forgotten that Cermak would be coming with them on their jaunt, “is going to be absolute hell.”

“The body remembers, Dazhyen,” he said as he turned to leave, “and even if your mind becomes overwhelmed, which it won’t, your actions will be automatic.”

“Why won’t I become overwhelmed?” asked Dazhyen, in his naïve way.

“You wouldn’t have made it this far if you did,” said his Commanding Officer, who then waved him goodbye. Dazhyen sat there, contemplating the months – possibly years – that lay ahead of him, when he saw Eliza, striding across the firing range in a white cotton dress. For the three months that they’d been in Afor, they’d not had a moment together and now Dazhyen’s stomach twisted itself into knots while his heart tried to crawl out of his mouth.

“Hello Daisy,” she smiled at him, as he stood up to greet her.