Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1) (36 page)

“This is an old Hithian court style that’s taken
on a certain reverence among the remnants. Like many leftovers from the old
country. Utterly impractical unless you want to make a favorable impression.
Given where we’re going, I doubt I need it. It’s more of a favor to an old
friend. A reminder of long lost grace.”

“Where
are
we going?” They would make a
clashing pair, through Tyrissa doubted anyone would even see her next to Hali.

“The boys are all working towards finding Vralin.
As we speak, Wolef is searching the depths for our Windmage’s physical hiding
location. Kexal and Garth are following up leads in regards to his financials
and connections in the above and below markets of the city. Pursuit of the body
and the mind, if you will.

“We are going after Vralin’s soul.”

Hali had no issue flagging down an open-topped
cab once they reached the surface. It was a cool afternoon and the riftwinds that
cut through the Bridge district were barely on the right side of a wind chill. Tyrissa
frowned at the uncovered cab, but pulled her coat tighter and climbed in after
Hali without complaint. Tyrissa couldn’t help but wonder if Hali could even
feel cold in that dress. She seemed to ignore it all, be it heat, chill, or
attentive looks.

“Little Hithia. Temple Square,” Hali told the
driver. Younger than Tyrissa by a year or two, the driver nodded eagerly and
tapped the mud-colored horse into motion with a long crop. The cab turned south
onto the Heartroad, lightly jostling against the ancient paving stones. The
ride passed in silence, as whenever Tyrissa tried to say anything Hali would forestall
her questions with a raised hand. Tyrissa gave up to watch the city roll by
while Hali sat in utter stillness, focused, as if collecting herself.

They crossed under the massive southern gate of
Khalanheim’s city wall and the closed-in feeling of the city lifted, only
noticeable in its absence. The Heartroad continued its march south, running in parallel
with the Rift. Ahead, the great road became a long causeway over the Goldspring
Reservoir, the water glittering true to its name in the afternoon sun. Tyrissa
had never been to this side of the city in all of her work with the Cadre or during
her own explorations. The south side was where Khalanheim overflowed the bounds
of its walls, an entire additional district built up around the reservoir. A
dense buildup of newer row houses and bulbous pumping stations crowded the
space between the northern shoreline and the city wall. The cab turned away
from the Heartroad and the embrace of the city returned as they entered this
lakeshore district.

The snarl of new, improvised urban growth and industry
soon gave way to a neighborhood unlike any other in the city, where the
geometric or symmetrical Khalan styling gave way to a dominance of smooth,
sinuous lines. Thin towers curved out from rooftops and gently swaying footbridges
crossed above the streets and between neighboring buildings. Pale colors ruled
the day among whimsical, airy designs. Though Tyrissa could look over her
shoulder and see glimpses of Khalanheim’s walls, she felt as if she had entered
another nation entirely. The ubiquitous signage of a Khalan street was still
present, but it was now bilingual with flowing Hithian script. Guild crests
above businesses were less simple and iconic, painted with more extravagant
artwork depicting weather, winds, and skies. Many guild crests showed their
affiliation with the Rift Trade Company, using primarily that Prime’s colors of
white and pale blue. The people they passed more often had faces closer to Hali
or what little Tyrissa could remember of Tsellien: sharper, more angular
features, slightly tilted eyes and skin a few tones darker than the Khalan
average.

As they rode through the streets of Little Hithia,
Hali’s dress was a beacon against the dull wood of the cab and rippled in the
persistent riftwinds. Hali didn’t go unnoticed for long and Tyrissa soon heard
cries and calls from all sides. From the windows of the varied, airily designed
buildings or from circles of old men and women resting in the overhangs of
teahouses, they called out to her.

“
Lisin’dir!
” they cheered as Hali passed,
some exultant, some in supplication.

Hali would acknowledge each and every one with a
nod or wave. She even smiled, though it was a forced one that wouldn’t hold up
to closer scrutiny.

“What are they calling you?” Tyrissa asked.

“
Lisin’dir.
It roughly translates to ‘The
Witness’,” Hali explained as she continued to acknowledge the hails. “This enclave
has a stronger connection to the past than many of the other Hithian
settlements. Thanks to me, in part. They remember the Fall, or at least,
they’ve been taught to try and remember. It’s still just history to them, but
it’s something they can share, can rally around, even if it’s so tragic and
painful. To them, I’m a living reminder. The one piece of the old country
that’s survived untouched.”

“If you’re such a symbol to them, why do you need
me here?”

“Additional leverage and context for he whom we’re
here to meet.”

Tyrissa didn’t like the sound of that, but
brushed past it with another question.

“So they’re all descended from Fall survivors?”

“Not directly. Most of the original emigrants to
Khalanheim came here after the collapse of a different Hithian city, Triva Zas,
about eighty years ago. That would be a social and economic collapse, not a
literal one. You have to be specific in our case. The Fall didn’t end once the
Rift was stopped. For us it has been a constant, slow decay over the last two
and a half centuries.”

Hali sighed through her tight smile.

“Perhaps that is too grim. This enclave, along
with the cities of Enshala and Kziven, is thriving. They’re the basis of a slow
revival. One corner of the pyramid. There is great satisfaction in being able
to see the regrowth of the successful enclaves like this one. We’ve a long way yet
to go, but they’ve made this place their own. Particularly what lies before
us.”

The cab reached a square much like any other in
Khalanheim, save for the grand temple that rose from the plain gray stonework
of the streets. The temple was built of pristine white stone that curved and
twisted toward the sky, an elegant structure seemingly built entirely of
sweeping curves, like wisps of clouds made solid. A masterpiece, it indirectly shamed
the rest of the neighborhood’s fanciful buildings.

“The Temple of the Four Winds,” Hali said, her
normally neutral voice betraying a hint of pride.

“It’s gorgeous. Is this what Hithia looked like
before the Fall?”

“No,” Hali replied, the pride turning to
fossilized bitterness in a single word. “Not even close. This is but the
hastily drawn sketch of a half-remembered dream.”

The cab came to a stop before the temple. Hali
passed a palm-full of silver coins to the driver, likely an overpayment. The
boy smile graciously and hurriedly went to the side of the cab and opened the
door for them.

“Come,” Hali said as they descended. “We must
speak with
rozil
Kronall, the head priest. He’ll have what we need,
though we’ll have to convince him to share it.”

The interior of the Temple of the Four Winds was
a circular, vaulted space. Recessed alcoves lined the outer wall, each with a
statue depicting an aspect of the Hithian deity, a god and goddess, a storm and
gentle breeze, the hunting hawk and the song sparrow, and so on. Each matched
pair stood on diametrically opposed sides of the chamber. The center of the
floor was dominated by a circular grate of polished metal over a bore in the
ground, through which a constant flow of the riftwinds emerged and filled the
air with the same weak magicks as in the Rift.

A group of parishioners stood in a circle atop
the central grate, their clothing and hair stirred by the wind from below. An
old man in voluminous azure robes stood in the middle and addressed the group
in Hithian. Though the language was still elegant nonsense to her, Tyrissa
recognized his words as a formal incantation. Three white-robed acolytes carrying
censers on short chains walked a slow circuit around the group. Smoke leaked
from the censers’ narrow vents and filled the air with a floral scent.

Kronall looked ancient but moved with a
mismatched vigor. He walked along the circle of parishioners and traced symbols
in the air above their bowed heads. Tyrissa felt a tiny echo of air magick from
the wizened priest with each blessing.

“Is he a Windmage?” Tyrissa whispered to Hali. They
waited to the left of the entryway below the goddess’s alcove. Tyrissa noticed
that the statue was clad in a less modest, marble equivalent of Hali’s dress. A
court style indeed.

“Not exactly. Kronall is a rare sort of
Pactbound. Some are only touched instead of infused with an element’s power. Their
gifts are weaker and their bindings looser, if they even exist at all. Not all of
us are malevolent sorcerers or immortal wanderers or what have you.”

“Like a human equivalent to elchemy?” She thought
of her mother’s reaction to her Pact. That seemed like so long ago. Perhaps she
was changed in the Cleanse to something like Kronall.

“Yes, that’s a way of putting it.”

The faint wind currents coursing through the
temple shifted and were drawn to the center of the chamber. As Kronall
completed his circle of blessings, the three white-robbed acolytes raised their
censers in both hands and pulled apart the hemispheres. The smoke changed from
faint white to thick brilliant blue and swirled out to envelop the center of
the room in a fleeting cloud before dispersing to nothing. The parishioners
were still for a few moments more, then Kronall said, “Go with the grace of the
four winds,” and the ritual concluded.

The small crowd began to disperse, some lingering
to exchange a few friendly words with the priest. As the parishioners passed
by, one and all paid a word of respect or bowed to Hali as they filed out of the
temple.

Kronall strode over once his flock had fully dissipated,
azure robes trailing heavily behind him.

“
Lisin’dir
.” He said with a short, creaky
bow.

“Kronall, you of all people can drop the title.”

“Formalities, Rhalienne. If you would wait in the
secondary chamber, I will be able to meet with you and your young friend here
in a few minutes. I must shed these accruements of the office.”

“Of course,
rozil
.”

Hali led her to a smaller ritual room in the rear
of the temple. It was a rectangular version of the primary chamber at a reduced
scale, with another grate-covered circular cut in the floor that let in a flow
of the riftwinds. Instead of alcoves, the walls were covered in a mosaic of
jeweled glass squares that depicted the varied faces of the Hithian deity. A lens
on the ceiling bathed the room in unevenly distributed reflected light that
toyed with the mosaic tiles, brightening some while leaving others in shadow.

“Rhalienne?” Tyrissa asked as they settled onto one
of the long wooden benches that lined the walls.

“My full name, if you must know. Even I’m guilty
of casting off some fragments of the past.”

Kronall joined them in a few minutes, as
promised. His dense azure robes were gone, replaced by simple white linens. He
carried a palm-sized hand mirror fringed with tarnished silver.

“That time again, eh?” He asked, his tone now
casual and shed of any ponderous formality.

“That time again,” Hali agreed.

Kronall harrumphed and grinned widely. “I started
to worry that you’d decided it was time to stop keeping me from cheating.”

“Not quite yet old man. Even with the extra time
you still haven’t outlived your usefulness. Oh, Kronall, this is Tyrissa.”

“A pleasure, young lady,” he said. She returned
the pleasantries.

Hali pointed to the bench on the opposing wall
and said, “Tyrissa, if you would keep your distance for a minute? We don’t want
you to… disrupt this.”

Tyrissa nodded and transfer over. Kronall sat
next to Hali, set the mirror down between them, and unbuttoned his shirt
halfway. Hali placed one hand over the priest’s heart and cupped his chin in
the other. Tyrissa felt a powerful surge of life magick radiate out from Hali,
a sea of serenity in her mind. Decades vanished from Kronall’s face in seconds
and when Hali released him was appeared considerably younger. Not a youth by
any measure, but perhaps a vigorous sixty. Hali, in turn, gained two years for
every one she removed from Kronall, her hair turning steel-gray, her face
lined, her skin dotted with age spots.

Hali picked up the mirror and regarded her aged
face. Her eyes lit up in fascination at the array of wrinkles and blemishes.
Then her hair began to reverse the change and returned to its previous auburn
color. Her face tightened back up and smoothed out. Hali lowered the mirror
with a frown.

“It gets harder each time,” she said after a
moment. “And you age faster each time.”

“Every day is worth a fortune. If I can find just
one child with the slimmest spark of my ability and train them to take my
place, I would gladly set my soul adrift on winds eternal.”

“Don’t be so quick make such a promise, old
friend. I have news from Kziven.
Rozil
Crissandra has found
three
new acolytes with the old spark.”

“Truly?”

“If her letters are to be believed, yes. The next
time I’m in Kziven I will try to convince her to send one here and the third to
Enshala.”

“Funny that the beginnings of our revival would come
out of Rhonia.”

“History has a strange sense of humor. I’ll do
everything I can to ensure that you live to see the dawn of the North Wind Era,
old man.”

Kronall clasped his hands together and said, “I
will certainly stick around for that. So, Rhalienne, what do you want from me this
time?”

Hali shook her head ruefully. “You know me a
little too well.”

“First the Healing and then good news. You’ve presented
so much in good faith. You must want something big.”

“You’ve been living around Khalans too long,
Kronall.”

“You are entirely to blame for that and again I
thank you.” He turned towards Tyrissa. “I assume it has something to do with
this one. Perhaps related to your own gift churning away inside you, subtly
drawing in what little magicks I have, a vortex of change and conversion,” he gave
Hali a sidelong look. “She is like Tsellien Wind-Kissed, then?”

“Yes,” Hali said.

Tyrissa sprang from her seat. “You knew?!”