The Vastness Read online

  “You have, and no, I will not take your hand until you tell me where we are going and why you are taking me away from those who would protect me.”

  “Emi, we are your friends,” Master Pickesh said.

  “Then act like it. They believe I am a goddess. You are treating me like a child. I cannot be one thing to you and something else to them.”

  The freemen kept coming. My only friends in the world looked down at me the way the ward bosses and bailiffs had my whole life.

  “Not you, too,” I said, and I would have closed by eyes to hold back the tears but I did not want to see the millions. A tear broke down my cheek.

  Benjam got down on one knee, and bowed his head to me. “Forgive me, Emi. I trust you, but I do not know you. Allow me to explain, and we will continue as you please.”

  The white comb upon the top of his helmet pointed at me like the plume of some giant bird. I swatted it out of my face and laugh at him.

  “Get up, Benjam.”

  He stood and bowed once to the freemen who’d come to a halt behind me. I blinked free the last two tears from my eyes and could not help but count the people who had come to a halt along the wharfs and the river to watch me. All together 367,091 pairs of eyes looked on.

  “You have aged since last I saw you,” Benjam said.

  I nearly kicked him. How could he not know I was struggling moment to moment to act like Master Pickesh and the other craftsmen? I was making a giant fool of myself, stopped on the bridge like a nobleman’s brat, but it was working. I folded my arms. “Tell me who I am meeting.”

  “Some of the men from Havish and Kuet who have done so much to support Lord Rahan’s claim to the throne. Lord Rahan wanted to pay them the courtesy, even though you are not from either province. They are both likely to claim you as one of their own—because of the time you spent with the eastern girl Pia and because of your resemblance to the Kuetish—for whatever that is worth to them.”

  He meant the color of my skin. I remembered Natan, the Kuetish boy who has sacrificed himself upon Tin Bridge for me. His ebony skin was as different from mine as mine was from Pia’s olive skin or Pia’s was from Benjam’s pail face.

  “Have I been promised?” I said.

  He shifted uncomfortably. I was being walked for marriage like a churl for sale, and he knew it. Dame Franni and the girls would have been overjoyed to hear it. “Not as such. They may ask, but Rahan has made no promises.”

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Only what you wish, Emi,” he said and Pickesh was quick to agree.

  “I don’t want a husband. I wanted to know more about my magic.”

  Pickesh said, “Many at the fortress know magic. The new Sten came from Enhedu, like Lieutenant Corwin.”

  “You promise that I will meet him today?” I asked and they nodded.

  I grabbed Benjam hand and waved the freemen to follow. They gathered around us and kept close eye on my companions. It was Benjam’s turn to be nervous and squeeze my hand. I liked that.

  We started down the far side of the tall arch and lost sight of the Warrens. The fourteen Hemari standing guard on the far side did not like the looks of our spearmen and barred our way. The freemen seemed eager for them to try.

  “Well,” Master Pickesh said and pointed up the wide river. “Now that’s a heartening sight.”

  A line of 462 ships was coming through the tall towers that guarded the river. Benjam laughed and clapped.

  “Its Sewin and Evand, back from Alsonvale, on time and as promised,” Master Pickesh said, and then his voice gave way to sudden terrific emotion, “And look at all of those barges. They’ve seized the entire harvest by the looks of it.”

  “Whose?” I asked and could not help but clap along with the rest of them.

  “Most of the Kaaryon’s grain flows through Alsonvale. It will be enough to see the Warrens fed for years.”

  His blast of unbounded joy put smiles on the faces of the Hemari and freemen and his cheering moved quickly through the fortress and Warrens.

  The ships reached the bridge before the cheering died away and we continued on. The happy Hemari stood aside for us and we made our way through the wide gate at the base of the great tan tower and up a long stairway. The breeze whistled down into our faces and by the time we were half way up, I was glad for the wash of cool air. Master Pickesh began huffing first, and I was out of breath too by the time we reached the huge archway at the top that opened to our right onto a wide lawn of green grass. The freemen tried to hide their fatigue. Benjam, armor and all, looked as fit as he had at the bottom. He came to a halt beside me and neither grinned at us nor made jokes at our expense. I loved him a bit more for it.

  The wide triangle of lawn beyond the door was edged to our left by a bent arm of wall that had two more towers like the one we emerged from at its elbow and first. To our right the lawn sloped down to the harbor and collection of building almost as numerous as the blades of green grass.

  “Why have you stopped?” Benjam asked me. “Is something wrong?”

  The freemen had bunched up behind us. They gripped their spears and were searching for whatever enemy had stopped me.

  “Ohh,” I whispered. “I wish they weren’t always so ready to fight.”

  “They wish to protect you,” Benjam replied.

  “No. They want someone to fight.”

  “You do not trust them?”

  “Trust? Sixteen days ago I was fitting pattern teeth into a weaver’s comb covered in blood. Now I can count all the people in Bessradi when I close my eyes and people who touch me start on fire sometimes. Every other person thinks they know why. All of them are wrong, and all of them want something.”

  Benjam looked out across the grass. “So, why did you stop?”

  I leaned close to him. “Will I break the grass?”

  “Break it?”

  “The grass. If I step on it. Will Rahan be mad if I break his grass? And don’t you dare laugh at me you. Not in front of everyone.”

  He would have, too. He wiped it away and whispered, “No. You can walk on grass without breaking it. Watch ...”

  He stepped out and made a show of searching the walls and harbor for the imaginary threat that would explain why I had stopped us. The freemen hurled themselves in every direction Benjam searched and aimed their spears as though we were surrounded. The Hemari upon the walls above reacted with great alarm until they saw me at the center of this sudden motion. Then they began searching, too.

  Master Pickesh said, “Shall we make a run for it?”

  “No,” the captain replied and without a hit of a smirk. “Let us proceed slow and steady.”

  The grass did not break. It was soft, and I wanted to take off my shoes and curl my sore toes in it.

  We left the bright green carpet behind and entered another tower of tan stone. My eyes became useless as we stepped out of the sun and into the windowless box. I closed my eyes to get a fix upon the group that entered from the far side.

  “Here they are,” Benjam whispered. “The Kuetish and Havishon nobles. Blast, with their Arilas, no less. If any of them offend you, start shaking hands.”

  I didn’t get a chance to figure out if he was joking.

  “You must be our goddess,” one nobleman said. My eyes adjusted in time to see a beautiful ebony man bow with a swoosh of the long mantel he wore. Those with him were layered in the same fine white and green silk. They wore no hats, helmets, or emblems, and their rank seemed defined by how much silver was sewn into their clothes.

  The men from Havish to their right could not have been more different. They were olive-skinned and wore more leather than cloth. Their tall boots, belts, and uniform jackets were all made of the same dark brown leather. Some wore long gloves and necklaces of the same. Others wore armor over the leather and sashes of white linen with two black marks upon the shoulder. Beneath it all, their dark-color trousers and tight-fitting shirts were sewn with the same pattern of ferns and
serpents. I could see no gold or silver and guessed the ones wearing the most armor and weapons to be the highest rank. The man at the center was covered in daggers and wore a helmet with a human face and a wild swirl of mustache. The eyes behind the almond-shaped holes were as wild as a cat on the run through the Warrens.

  He flipped up the startling mask, and the olive face behind it was as expressive as his feral eyes. “You like it? Prince Yarik lost it and a battle in Havish. I regret that the head in it at the time was someone else’s.”

  The taller senior-looking Kuetish man asked me, “Perhaps we can speak in private?”

  The men from Havish objected and the freemen pointed their ready spears at him.

  “I am never alone,” I said.

  The least adorned Kuetish man made a soft sound and bowed to me. “Neither are we, in truth.”

  The crazy man from Havish chuckled at this, while the rest blinked at us, not understanding what it was like.

  “You are the Arilas?” I asked the simple man.

  “I might be,” he said, apologize, and begged to start over. “My uncle might still call himself the Arilas of Kuet. He was last seen with Yarik. No one on this side of the river has seen him since, and he does Kuet little good so far from home. My brothers and nephews declared him dead and gave me the title, though we are as trapped inside the city as everyone else.”

  “You must lead interesting lives indeed,” Master Pickesh said, “If you discuss politics before introducing yourselves.”

  “Of course. How foolish of us,” he said. “Please allow me to introduce Gessit Ludoq, royal brother to the King of Havish, and his eyes and ears here in Bessradi. I—”

  “Also his daggers,” Gessit interrupted with a bow.

  “Indeed you are,” the Arilas of Kuet said with the politest tone I think I’d ever heard. His calm was nice to see.

  He turned back to me after suffering this interruption and managed at last to introduce himself. “You may call me by my name, Opan Bleau, if you prefer, though my color is anything but, and I am rarely sad.”

  His men did not laugh at this terrible joke, but I did. He was being ridiculous on purpose.

  “We do not pick our names or titles,” I said.

  “Ahh, but some of us do, goddess,” Gessit said with a flash of his wild eyes. “Don’t we now?”

  My cheeks warmed, but I did not correct him. They saw my anger and their faces soured. I wished that I had Opan’s calm.

  Gessit stopped smiling. “My tongue belongs to a fool. Please allow me to apologize.”

  “And are you sorry?” I asked.

  There is not a calm bone in your body, Emi. Not one.

  He cocked his head at me. “It is not often my word is doubted. What leads you to do such a thing?”

  “Men apologize too often.”

  He laughed heartily at this, and the rest joined in.

  Arilas Opan hurried the meeting along by encouraging his well-dressed companion to step forward. He posed as though it was the only thing in the world he knew how to do, but all he managed was to make me think of Natan. The Havishon frowned as though this display was supposed to sweep me off my feet.

  Opan said, “This is Rom, third son of my brother, and a man anointed by the priests of Ol Keshkari. I wish to present him as the mate most suitable for a goddess from Kuet.”

  I said nothing.

  Opan looked to Benjam and Master Pickesh. “Perhaps one of you is able to speak for her in this matter?”

  My anger became plainer still, and the slump of Opan’s shoulders was the only thing that kept me from screaming at him.

  Rom Bleau did not see me or my anger. His smile was as painted as when he’d arrived. I doubted that the expression could be forced from his face with a chisel.

  “I will not marry him,” I said to Opan and turned to Gessit Ludoq. “Or you.”

  The faces of the rest went cold. Opan’s frown was the lone exception.

  “Who is she promised to?” Gessit asked and took hold of Benjam’s arm.

  Benjam knocked the man’s hand away and put his hand upon his sword.

  “Damned Yentif and their Hemari,” Gessit said and the room looked ready to start a fight.

  “Gentleman,” a light voice said from above and we all looked up the long stairway to see a tall and beautiful woman start down. She moved so smooth it seemed she must be floating. Her dress was the same yellow linen as mine, but hers made her look like a true goddess. She was so tall. The gathered men bowed to her and a line of Hemari followed her down. They filled the space between Gessit and Opan.

  “Emilia, I am Liv Ludoq,” she said, took hold of Benjam’s sword arm, and gestured across. “I see that you have met my cousin.”

  Gessit said, “They have not kept their promise.”

  “Were you given a chance to propose?”

  “She said, no.”

  “Then the matter is settled, it would seem, unless you wish to kidnap her the way Dagoda stole me?”

  I blinked my eyes and saw that Gessit’s soul had divided against mine and Benjam’s. I was beginning to worry that he would try to put a dagger in us when the Hemari filled the center of the room and pushed us into the corners.

  Four men started down behind them, and the first two were better dressed than anyone I’d ever seen. The next two looked like they had been plucked straight out of a battle. They were dirty and the uglier of the two wore a helmet of golden hair. I was sure he must be Exaltier Rahan.

  Everyone there seemed to know everyone else and what they should be doing. I shrank and waited for them to start yelling at me.

  The shortest of the four, a man with no weapons at all, stepped forward and everyone bowed again, this time much deeper. Rank was not so easy to judge outside the Warrens.

  He bowed to me and the rest followed his lead. A nobleman’s back must hurt by the end of the day.

  “Lady Emilia, I am Rahan Yentif. These fine fellows are Admiral Vina Sewin, General Blathebed, and our Sten, Grand Prelate Avinda Dooma. He loves the robes but hates the long name, so please call him Avin if you want to be his friend.”

  Rahan paused, as if waiting for me to do something—laugh perhaps. I started to tell them that I wanted to speak to Avin, but was too slow.

  “Avin and I have heard many tales of you, Lady Emilia—too many. Some call you a goddess. Some call you a puppet and a murderer. Captain Benjam said something to me yesterday that convinced us we should judge for ourselves.”

  I shifted in my terrible dress. “What did he tell you?” I asked and wished that I could punch Benjam right on the nose.

  “Eight hundred eighty-three. Do you remember the number?”

  “The count of the rows in the Warrens.”

  “Almost. I found a map the Chancellery had made, and I counted the rows myself. You were off by one. How do you account for this?”

  “Chalk Row and Silk Row,” I said. “They were connected by my ward boss the same day I met Captain Benjam. Your map would have them separated.”

  Rahan motioned to a man who brought forward a tablet with a map upon it. Rahan studied the map and looked once at Benjam, who confirmed my story with a simple nod.

  Rahan looked back at me. “Who told you the number?”

  “No one.”

  “How did you learn the number?”

  “When I close my eyes I can see the people in the city.”

  The general and several of the Ludoq laughed.

  Rahan ignored them and held his hands behind his back. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “I don’t know. I can only count people.”

  “And streets.”

  “In the Warrens the people are packed together so tight, I can see each row.”

  “Fair enough. How many people are gathered here?”

  I blinked and said, “Seventy-one, including the six Hemari outside, and the one man left behind you on the stairs.”

  Rahan looked to another Hemari, who also nodded.
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  “Captain Benjam, cover her eyes.”

  He walked behind me, and I flinched away until I remembered the thick gloves he wore. They had planned this. I hit Benjam with my elbow as hard as I could, only to thump it against layers of wool and metal. He whispered an apology and covered my eyes.

  Rahan asked, “There are two ships at anchor where the rivers meet. How many men are aboard?”

  “Three-hundred and six, but there is only one ship.”

  Benjam let go, and I found Rahan crouched before me searching my face. He said over his shoulder, “Clear the tower. The Hemari and spearmen, too, and I will have no argument from anyone. Avin, you are with me.”

  The Hemari yelled everyone out onto the lawn while Rahan continued from one knee to search my face. The soldiers and freemen followed the rest out, the doors all closed, and I was left alone with Avin and Rahan.

  I’d never felt so small.

  Rahan’s hands were shaking. He leaned close and whispered, “Do you serve the White Lady?”

  “Do you mean Admiral Soma? Her magic is much stronger than mine, but I have never met her.”

  “No, child, not Soma,” Avin said with kind tone that reminded me of Franni. “Who do you serve? Who taught you your magic?”

  “No one. Can you tell me where it came from? It scares me.”

  Rahan, still on a knee before me, reached his hands toward my shoulders. I took a fast step back and Avin slapped his hand away.

  “Leave off,” Rahan said to him. “She can’t start people on fire, Avin. That’s nonsense.”

  “I wish that it was a lie,” I said and could not hold in the tears. “But it is true and it is terrible. Those who can sing ... the closer they get, the stronger their magic becomes. If they get too close, they start on fire. Lieutenant Corwin burned alive when he sang his song upon the bridge. A priest in the Warrens touched me and turned to ash.”

  Rahan set a kerchief upon the floor between us and moved back behind Avin. I sat down to get it and blew my nose.

  Avin was quiet and calm like Opan. He adjusted his thick silk robes and sat down upon the stone across from me while Rahan began to pace. Avin said, “The warmth you feel is the Spirit of the Earth—the White Lady. We serve and defend her.”