James West - Queen of the North

As always, Edrik’s breath caught when he looked upon the temple’s majesty. Ilesma is our true heart . The temple was a mountainous ziggurat, its terraced flanks crossed by dozens of sheer stairways. A dome of golden crystal crowned the structure, and it burned not as if a mere piece of the sun had been laid within it, but as if the sun itself had decided to take its nightly rest there. The great bulk of the Ilesma Temple towered above the tallest spire in Targas, as well it should, since it was the resting place of the sacred Oracle. Even with the distance, Edrik could make out the temple’s primary staircase, which climbed up the stepped face of the temple and ended at a sprawling terrace just below the dome.

“There still might be time to catch the girl and bring her back,” Edrik said. “But only-”

“-if you leave me here?” Thaeson cut in. He let out a wheezy gasp. “No! If any of you get too near the Shield, you’ll die as certainly as the girl.”

“I intend to catch her before then,” Edrik said, voice tight, “but standing around discussing the issue isn’t getting us any closer to her.”

Thaeson straightened. “I’m ready,” he said, but looked far from it.

The company set off again, and to Edrik’s surprise Thaeson stepped livelier. The ponderous song thrumming out of Targas hurried them toward the Sleeping Wood encircling the vast farmlands and stretching a mile deep before coming to the Shield of the Fathers. On the far side of that nearly invisible obstacle waited a boundless land of frost and death, the realm of the deycath . The oldest tomes named those lands the Iron Marches, a barren place the ancestors of Targas had escaped long ago.

As they neared the Sleeping Wood, a brief tremor shook the cobbles under Edrik’s feet, and soon after a short breath of frigid air washed over him. Had he not been looking for those signs, he might have missed them.

Edrik peered ahead, but deep shadow clung hard to the trees, making it impossible to see much of anything.

“She’s escaped us,” Thaeson said, halting the company.

Edrik was horrified to see his breath steaming before his eyes. It was not the first time he had seen that, but it was no less shocking than before. Did anyone in the city notice the shaking and the cold? Some of them must have, and most assuredly those sneaking ingrates who whispered that the old ways were dying, those like the girl, who had chosen to run instead of to serve. But most don’t yet know what the signs mean, and they still believe in and trust the priesthood.

For Edrik, this idea was more of hope than a belief. Too many had begun to take notice of the changes around the city, too many had begun to speak aloud questions that should never have entered their minds, and too many had begun to doubt the power of the Munam a’Dett Order and, more pointedly, the quidan , leader of the order and presiding ruler of Targas.

“She’s lost to us,” Thaeson said, his thin shoulders slumping. Edrik knew the girl was beyond them all now, save for Thaeson.

“Come, Essan ,” Edrik said. “We must retrieve the girl’s remains, lest any of her fellow traitors chance upon the body and think to use it against us.”

Thaeson rubbed his wizened face and sighed. “Lead on, my boy.”

The company marched into the ancient forest, the scent of loam and sweet sap filling the night air. Thick boughs intertwined overhead to form a leafy shroud. As the company began picking their way along a faint trail bounded by bowing ferns, Edrik noticed an unnatural quiet, as if the night creatures had vanished. Adding to his woes was the cold current of air flowing along the ground like an unseen river. He told himself he was imagining it, until Thaeson went still.

“Something is wrong,” Thaeson warned. Without the benefit of starlight, he was just one more shadow in the company of many. “Look there,” he said sharply. “See how the mist rises?”

Edrik cast about, wondering how the man could see anything, then stiffened in alarm. Barely seen tendrils of fog were curling up from the ground, like drowsy serpents.

“What’s happening?” Danlin blurted, dancing back from one of those seeking shapes. “ Essan , what is this?”

The others had taken notice, and a murmur of disquiet rose from them.

“There’s nothing to fear,” Thaeson assured them, though he looked uneasy.

Edrik scrubbed his hands up and down his arms. The soft linen sleeves of his tunic felt damp. No , he thought, distressed. It’s frost! As added proof, delicate white feathers of hoarfrost had begun spreading over the ferns, weighing them down. More frost grew like a plague of pale fungus over nearby tree trunks.

“We must reach the Shield of the Fathers,” Thaeson said, his calm breaking. “Quickly, now!”

He spoke too late. The others had turned to run back the way they had come.

“Cowards!” Thaeson snarled.

Edrik wanted to join them, but he forced himself to stand fast beside the man who had released him from the dreary existence of a farmer’s only son, and placed him within the powerful bosom of the Munam a’Dett Order. If it came to it, he would give his life for Essan Thaeson.

“What now?” Edrik asked.

Thaeson faced the mist, now waist-deep off the forest floor, and silently spreading out through the trees. “First we must retrieve the girl. After, if it’s possible, we have to find out what has happened, and repair the damage.”

Damage? Edrik could not contain himself. “What do you think happened?”

Thaeson turned, his timeworn face nearly lost in shadow. “I … I don’t know, boy, but whatever this is, it’s not a welcome omen.”

They pushed on, carefully wading through the fog. Roots and stones threatened to trip them, but they kept on. Edrik swallowed the dry lump in his throat. He had occasionally suffered doubts about their purpose-only a fool refused to question the consequences of his actions-but now he deeply considered that maybe the priesthood ought to let things alone, allow the malcontents to have their way, and let Targas fall. If the Munam a’Dett stayed strong and true to itself, the Order’s adherents could build another city somewhere else, attract new and faithful followers. In short, begin again.

“Perhaps we should go back,” Edrik said, coming as close as he dared to speaking his thoughts aloud.

Thaeson stumbled and caught Edrik’s arm to steady himself. “By the Fathers, boy, I’d not have expected you to turn back at the first sign of trouble. Maybe those other cowards, but not you. That’s why I let them run off without a word. I’ve always counted on you to stand with me.” His eyes narrowed. “Was my trust misplaced?”

Edrik felt a surge of pride at Thaeson’s praise, but at the same time, he felt shame that the essan saw the need to question his loyalty. “I’ll stand where you stand, walk where you walk, Essan ,” he said humbly, but he could not leave their ultimate purpose alone. “Yet, what Quidan Salris plans, what he expects of us, is dangerous, as you’ve often said. If he has us move too quickly, too forcefully, the faith of our people will shatter.”

“For some,” Thaeson reasoned, “it will shatter anyway. Such is always the price of change-particularly when that change involves turning people from what they mistakenly believe they want. Trust me, what many of the citizens of Targas think they desire is nothing but a well-crafted lie spread by blind fools.”

“Such as escaping the authority of the Munam A’Dett?”

“ Especially that,” Thaeson said, his lips turning down in distaste. “More foolish still is their belief that life beyond the Shield of the Fathers, a life spent amongst the deycath , would be better than a life spent amongst their own kind. For their sakes, we must never allow them to see the ugliness and horrors beyond our border. Targas is their home, and within the bounds of the Everlasting City of Light, they shall remain.”