Isle of the Sleeping Gods: Eyes of Odyssium, #2

By C.A. Bryers

He took down the 13th Paragon. He escaped the House of Falling Rain and the predatory spirit lurking within its shadowy halls. Now, Salla Saar is the only man in the Majdi Order capable of learning the truth behind the chilling silence coming out of the quarantined isle of Ceynallus.

 

The Order told him it would be a simple mission. They were wrong. It was no ordinary disease that shut down the borders of the island, but a viral epidemic that transformed its populace into ravening, desiccated hordes. With only the aid of a small pocket of survivors, Salla must discover the ancient roots of this unnatural plague, and either contain or destroy it.

 

Should he fail, the future holds only one certainty: a barren world dominated by the vicious throngs that have overtaken Ceynallus…a place that long ago had been known as the Isle of the Sleeping Gods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.A. Bryers
• Release date: Jun 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393335696

C.A. Bryers

C.A. Bryers is the author of the Odyssium series, which began with THE 13th PARAGON duology comprised of SCRAPPER and FROM ASHES OF EMPIRES. When not writing, C.A. Bryers enjoys sculpting, spending time with his family, and experimenting to find the magical number of minutes chocolate chip cookie bits should sit in applesauce before they are appropriately mushy and ready for consumption. He currently resides in frostbitten Minnesota--the exact opposite of the tropical paradise that is his ideal (at least part-time) place to park his flip-flops. Until then, he is moderately content writing about such locales.

Book preview

1

Nogarin Dorai locked the heavy outer doors granting entry to the Order’s Core, ears perked to absorb that telltale click just as he had for the last four nights. He set his thick hands against the copper-colored doors, bowing his head low. With eyes closed and feeling the cold of the metal permeate the flesh of his palms, Nogarin took a moment to call upon his tephic. Almost two decades ago when he’d first taken up the role of head guardsman here, the nightly ritual of placing the powerful magenna seal on the door had required ten, maybe fifteen seconds to complete. These days it took over a minute, sometimes two. Tonight was no exception.

He stepped back with a satisfied nod. It wasn’t a race. What mattered was that it was done and the Order’s Core was secure. There was no need to check every window, every exterior door. He could sense the tephic working its way through the entire structure like blood moving through veins, acting as both a barrier and an alarm to protect from unwanted visitors.

Done?

Nogarin turned about, his feet and legs already aching from carrying the burden of his large frame. Done.

Rohi Pel’s almond-shaped eyes fell half-shut, his smooth features sullen. Seems like the building’s been empty for hours already. It’s going to be a long night.

"They’re all long nights, kid. Better get used to that as quick as you can. Nogarin met Rohi’s already weary gaze. How are your studies coming along?"

You mean learning the seal? I…I think I got it to work about four times now on the practice shack. The young man slid his hand over his shaved scalp. You sure you don’t want to stick around this place? Another twenty years’ll fly past in no time.

I’ll be lucky to make it another few months. My old knees just aren’t holding up anymore.

The discomfort on Rohi’s face was replaced by a crooked grin. Ease up on those parmesto churros, then.

I tell you, Rohi. This position, it’s one of the most noble things a Majdi can do for the Order, and that’s the truth. Nogarin heaved a sigh as the two sauntered up the short flight of stairs toward the rear of the Core’s cavernous, dimly lit lobby. "In my nineteen years, most of the ones who came and went as protectors of this place didn’t have a clue why they were here. I mean, look—the secrets of the Order are kept safe not just here in the city of Empyrion Prime, but here inside these walls. The new Gran Senji has just been chosen inside these walls today. The future of the Odyssan Archipelago and its entire population is decided here. If that doesn’t put a shiver down your back, then maybe you’re not the one to take over my spot."

Rohi’s brown eyes remained flat, the look on his rounded young face unimpressed. Seriously, Nogarin. Back away from the churros.

Eh, you might have a point. Nogarin managed a feeble laugh as he eyed the wooden chair against the far wall that had become his respite from the pain in recent years. As great a responsibility as it is to watch over this place, once the seal’s up, all there is to it is just wander the halls. Got to find your joy someplace. Mine’s Donnae’s churro stand down the street, I suppose.

How many are on tonight?

Nogarin groaned as he lowered himself down to rest upon the chair. Only ten of us tonight. The rest got shipped off to bolster the Anonti’s personal security.

It’s that crazy Paragon from up north, isn’t it? The last Gran Senji got kidnapped and killed, and that’s why the Chamber’s panicking over protecting the Anonti, right? Rohi sighed, seemingly aware he’d answered his own question. Any word on when we’ll be restaffed? Before your post is turned over to me, I hope.

We’ll be the last to know, I’m sure. Nogarin rubbed at his eyes. The low greenish lights that splashed against the stone walls of the Core’s interior never failed to make him drowsy. He needed to get moving. Well, let’s get our first stroll out of the way.

Need a hand? The younger Majdi took a brisk step forward.

I’ve got it. Nogarin blew out a sigh as he hefted himself upright before starting to walk into the passage to their right that led deeper into the Core itself. Why don’t you test the air a bit? How far are we from the closest Core Guard?

Rohi made a few quick gestures with his right hand before his left swept outward as if tossing a handful of salt into the hallway.

Well? he asked, clearing his throat.

The other gave him a sharp look. Sorry, old man. My tephic seems to be about as excited to do this as I am. I sent it out, and it’ll come back when it’s good and ready.

Fair enough. The pain was climbing up Nogarin’s right leg in stiff bursts with every step taken. Look, Rohi. I’ve been meaning to have this talk with you. I know Head of the Core Guard isn’t anybody’s first choice of position in the Order. With me on the way out, it needed filling, and you got picked. But I promise you, if you take the time to understand this place, understand the importance of your role and everyone else walking these halls, you might look at it in a different light. I wasn’t dancing in the moonlight when I got picked, but I take pride in what I do now. Someday, you might too.

I get why it’s important to do this, but this just isn’t for me. All due respect, Nogarin, as soon as you’re out the door, I’ll be petitioning to— The young Core Guard’s brow line tightened. Tchek Rhan. He’s the closest one.

So? It’ll take us all night—

Tchek’s not moving. That’s strange. Rohi swallowed, his smooth native islander’s features now wrinkled as if confused.

Nogarin knew that Tchek Rhan was not the sort to find a quiet corner and curl up for a nap. Tchek had actually wanted the role of Head of the Core Guard, but his tephic ability had been deemed too unreliable to consistently perform the magenna seal. If Tchek wasn’t moving, something was indeed wrong.

Nogarin sent out a tephic sweep of his own. Unlike Rohi’s, his returned within moments, and the information it carried sent a bloom of heat spreading throughout his broad chest. He started running as best he could, slamming a door in his mind to shut out the pain that now was pounding its way up to the small of his back.

What’s going on? Rohi called after him.

Tchek’s down! Nogarin’s lungs felt as though they were filling with acid as he turned one corner and then another. He’s this way!

His tired body now fueled by adrenaline, Nogarin commanded his tephic outward again, this time to activate the Core’s alarms. At once, the greenish lights brightened and turned a glowering red color. An insistent, repetitive buzzing noise blared down the halls, the piercing din spurring him on faster. He couldn’t remember exactly when these alarms had last been activated. All he knew was that he had been but a Core Guardsman at the time, not the Head of the Guard.

The pair bolted down the Hall of the Chamber, past portraits of Chambermen dead or retired as closed office doors flew by. At the end of the Hall, Nogarin slowed, as did Rohi. They stood at the edge of the vast marble-floored rotunda that rose three stories with the Core’s central dome looming overhead. Beyond the enormous slate-gray statues of three robed figures whose raised arms almost brushed the concave ivory interior of the dome, Nogarin spotted Tchek Rhan. There, lying near the grand double doorway that led into the convening Chamber itself, lay his crumpled, still form bathed in harsh red light.

Nogarin’s heart was thumping all the way into his thick, sweating neck. He rushed forth, but the adrenaline seemed to be fleeing his body like he was bleeding out, leaving him open-mouthed and gasping for breath. Rohi was well ahead of him, sliding to a halt beside Tchek’s unresponsive body. At last, Nogarin too was there, dropping to all fours in an avalanche of limbs that had simultaneously chosen that moment to give up.

Is…is he…alive? he gasped.

Rohi stared down at Tchek, coughing as he fanned the air in front of his face.

Nogarin swallowed hard. "What is that?"

I don’t know, Rohi managed between coughs.

Tchek still wasn’t moving, but judging by the slow rise and fall of his chest, the Core Guardsman was alive. The taut Shozoan features of his face and shoulders, however, were coated in a strange rust-colored powder.

Nogarin crawled closer, a bead of sweat hanging precariously from the tip of his bulbous nose. Reaching out, he swiped a fingertip across Tchek’s forehead. He thought better of smelling or tasting it and wiped it off on his shirt as if the dust had started to burn upon contact.

Back away. Now.

Rohi’s body recoiled from Tchek in alarm. Do you know what it is?

No, but it might be some sort of knockout dust. He scanned the great rotunda encasing the three of them. If it is, we’re not alone in here.

An intruder? Rohi’s mouth parted in astonishment before he broke into a renewed fit of coughing.

From down a connecting passage, the hammering of booted feet grew louder. Nogarin tensed, sending out another tephic probe before readying his mind to send something more destructive in that direction should those approaching be…no, he thought, relaxing only an infinitesimal amount.

It’s the others, he said, grabbing Rohi’s arm to aid in pulling himself back to his feet.

Seconds later, five figures emerged from the shadowy mouth of the passageway, slowing upon the sight of the Head of the Core Guard.

Nogarin! Why was the alarm activated? Wh— The woman in the lead stopped, eyes falling upon Tchek. What happened?

Nogarin ran a hand over the thinning hair atop his sweating scalp as he stared back at Oline Merchan. Wish I knew. He’s covered in some sort of powder. Stay back from him for now until we secure the Core and get more bodies in here.

Is he going to be all right? another of the Core Guard asked from the rear of the gathering.

Nogarin ignored the question, his mind racing. With five of his command before him, Rohi at his side and Tchek on the floor, that left two men missing. He scanned each face coming closer.

Where’s Hamapt? Tessel?

Oline shrugged. They were probably at the other end of the building when the alarm went off. They should be along anytime now. She paused, her stern, iron-wrought features fixated upon her commander. What do you want us to do?

Nogarin’s eyes darted back and forth in thought. The other end of the building. An intruder. The answer, or a possible one, came to him in a flash.

Sir?

Leave Tchek for now. The answer emerged as little more than a whisper as he continued to think.

Rohi grabbed him by the shoulder. We can’t just leave him. If there is someone else in here—

Then he’ll be in no more danger than when he went down, he shot back. "If Tchek was attacked, the attacker left him there. We need to head to the Arcadica Wing."

Oline looked confused. The vaults? Are you saying this is…a robbery?

I’m not saying it’s anything yet. I’m saying we need to move, right now.

As he led the charge across the rotunda and into the corridor that would inevitably take them to the Core’s Arcadica Wing, Nogarin’s certainty grew. If there was an intruder inside the Order’s Core, that was the only place that would make sense for the intruder to go. At this time of night with the building closed down, the vaults were the only target that made sense. The Anonti, along with the rest of the Majdi Chamber and anyone else of note, had long since vacated the premises.

Statues of significant Majdi throughout history as well as creatures of a more symbolic importance flitted past as the Core Guard entered the Arcadica Wing. The stone sentinels stood unmoving, all aglow in red as if painted in blood. The warning klaxon continued to blare, forcing Nogarin to push through his second losing battle with exhaustion.

Not much farther, he told himself, envisioning the pillared, open expanse of the chamber that provided the sole access to the vaults within the Order’s Core. Though the vaults were not far away, each heavy, pounding step was a hammer striking down upon his resolve, convincing him that he was not going to make it. Sweat was pouring down his face, his mouth was awash in bitter saliva, and every breath taken was nowhere near sufficient to keep his body moving forward. He had to stop.

At last he did, his shoulder thudding hard against the cold stone wall at a fork in the corridor. His arm flailed at the others in a limp, defeated gesture. Go…go…on ahead!

The others didn’t acknowledge the command but heeded it whether they’d heard it or not. Before long, they were out of sight, reduced to simply a clattering noise against the marble floors fading away into the distance. Alone now, Nogarin planted his cheek against the wall, feeling the chill of the stone permeate his hot skin. He welcomed it, smiling in spite of his aching, worn out body.

He felt a prickling at the back of his damp neck. It began as a simple sense of unease until he recognized it for what it was—traces of his last tephic probe. It lingered there in the stillness of the corridor, gathered around something nearby. His head slowly turned, tired eyes finding a dark shape there in the hazy red. It brought back not-so-distant recollections of discovering Tchek’s limp form, and for good reason. He was looking at another body. It lay halfway down the passageway to the right of the fork.

Rohi and the other Core Guardsmen had charged down the left.

Still using the wall as a crutch to remain upright, Nogarin limped toward the dark shape. As he drew nearer, the size of the body and the wealth of black hair splaying out from the head like a spreading blood pool confirmed which of his missing men he’d just found.

Tessel, he whispered.

He stopped then, taking notice of the positioning of the body. Tessel lay facedown on the floor, his head pointed away from the opening of the passage where Nogarin now stood. He stared past the body, deep into the reddened hallway as far as he could see. He had a hunch, and his instincts told him he was right.

He went this way, he breathed, wiping the sweat from his eyes. The intruder…why is he going…

A grim realization settled over him, a sensation that made his stomach feel as though it was tossing about like a restless sleeper in his belly. This was no robbery for whatever jiro and valuables were stored here in the Order’s Core. The thief walking these halls was after what was kept hidden in the libraries ahead.

He’s going for the Sanguo Tas.

The thought actually gave Nogarin some measure of comfort. The Sanguo Tas, or the forbidden archives, were even more ardently protected than the vaults, particularly at night. Like the vaults, the library had but a single, fortified point of access. Deeper inside, the forbidden archives themselves were contained inside a cage that was warded with tephics that none of the Core Guardsmen on staff had the ability to dispel. No man could possibly break in there. The thief would’ve had better luck during the day, but even then, he or she would have to contend with Core Guardsmen who were particularly adept at gleaning ill intentions from the minds of all those who passed by.

If the intruder was indeed trying to break into the library and the Sanguo Tas, they were cornered. Whatever this person had used to subdue Tchek and Tessel, Nogarin knew the thief would be no match for seven Core Guardsmen.

Six, he amended, discounting himself as an afterthought upon imagining himself in any kind of a pitched battle. Ten years ago, maybe, but not now. Not by a long shot, Nogarin.

His left hand swam through the redness filling the corridor as he sent out a silent summons to his men. Once completed, Nogarin detached himself from the cooling comfort of the wall and took a handful of tentative steps toward Tessel’s body, closer to what was proving to be an extraordinarily dangerous thief. As he passed by, Nogarin couldn’t help but look down at his fallen guardsman. As with Tchek, that same rust-like powder clung to his hair and what little he could see of the man’s face.

Progressing down the corridor, footstep after footstep, Nogarin felt every pound, excess or essential, that he lugged with him. The air was thick and hot as he drew it into his lungs, making it seem as though he was on the road to a slow but certain death by suffocation. The stone of the hallway wavered about him as if liquid. Fear began to pool in his heart, sending tremors up and down his limbs. It sapped away whatever strength left he had to forge ahead on his own.

He looked back the way he had come. Tessel’s body was an indistinct splotch of darkness in the distance. Where are they?

Nogarin repeated his tephic summons to the others again and again.

Ahead, the sprawling foyer that granted entrance to the libraries lay before him. It was identical in design to the entrance to the vaults—a sunken, rectangular room with rows of white pillars, black-and-gray tiled flooring, and an ornate double doorway set at the top of a small flight of stairs.

The doors, normally closed and locked at this time of night, stood open.

Nogarin stepped down into the room, his body on the verge of collapse. The closer he got to the entrance to the libraries, the more he felt he was not alone in this place. Surrounded by pillars stained red by the lights, there were simply too many places to hide. With every towering stone cylinder he passed, he was certain the intruder would spring out from behind the next, taking him out with that terrible red dust.

A disconcerting rumbling sound rose up from the depths of his eardrums, an internal assault that drew his face tight in a grimace of pain as it continued to swell. He fell against the nearest pillar and clapped his hands over his ears. Inside his head, the noise had sharpened from a rumble into a shrill, maddening screech. Through watery eyes, he stared at the pillar across from him. One last surge of adrenaline was rising up, one that would throw blinders over all rational thoughts and allow him to charge headlong into the unforgiving stone to fracture his skull if only to silence the cacophony.

Nogarin?

Nogarin flinched bodily, the horrific noises in his head silenced in a single sweeping rush. A few paces away, standing in the direction from which he had come, was what remained of the Core Guard. With mouth agape and chest heaving, he knew there was no putting a brave face on at this stage.

He blinked, wiping the sheen of sweat from his face. Seem to have lost it a bit. Sorry, boys.

Oline raised an eyebrow to a sharp point.

Spare me, Oline, we don’t have time for that. Our thief is somewhere in there, he whispered harshly, pointing toward the open double doors.

Then let’s do something about that.

Nogarin looked at Rohi as rumbles of hardened assent from the rest of the Core Guard greeted his young replacement’s words. Rohi had come alive in a way Nogarin hadn’t seen before—at least not since he had been chosen as the next Head of the Guard.

File in and disperse through the library. No sound. Incapacitate if possible, but preserve yourself and your fellow guards first and foremost. Rohi gave them a determined, almost eager grin. Now move.

The Core Guard responded at once, and Nogarin moved to join them as but another guardsman. He felt a moment of pride as he watched Rohi come into his own, but that moment was short-lived.

Not you, came Rohi’s voice from behind.

Nogarin twisted his features in conflict. I’ll remind you that I still outrank you for the time being.

Save it. You’re months from retirement, and whoever’s in there took down two, maybe three of us. Rohi cast him a brittle smile. Sit this one out. We’ll handle it.

It wasn’t easy for him to hear, but Nogarin nodded. I knew they were right when they chose you to take up my post. May your forebears protect you in there.

The younger man’s thin smile turned more confident. They’ve kept me alive so far.

Nogarin watched him slip into the library behind the others. With a weary, regretful sigh, he let his back thump hard against the pillar. The day had finally come. He’d outlived his usefulness. Not only was he old and no longer physically fit for the job, but now he had panic attacks of all things to contend with. Panic attacks. Somehow, he had allowed himself to become this pathetic thing, a shame to the Order. Staring up at the red lights glaring back at him from the ceiling, Nogarin considered the prospect of an early exit. It was the right—

A crashing sound broke through his thoughts, jolting his eyes to the blood-red confines of the library through the open doors. A long, profound silence followed.

Must’ve made contact with the thief. Relief spilled through him like a dam bursting. Sounds like it’s over already.

He took one step toward the library but went no further. Another crashing noise shattered the stillness, followed by barked commands and cries of panic. More smashing, and the whooshing sound of offensive tephic blasts tearing through the air swept from the libraries and into the foyer.

He’s over there! he heard Rohi shout.

I can’t see him! Wai—

The words transformed into a short, awful grunt of pain. A second later, the unmistakable sound of something hurtling through a pane of glass rang in Nogarin’s ears.

"Run!" a voice he couldn’t identify screamed from somewhere on the other side of the doorway.

Get in there, Nogarin, he told himself, feeling the sweat break out anew across his forehead. "Help them."

But he did not move. That feeling from before had returned, growing stronger as he stared into that foreboding red room of death. It was a slow corrosion of his courage that let the fear spread through his body like a virus. It overwhelmed his senses, forcing his muscles and joints to seize up, fixing him in place as if frozen to the ground. But it wasn’t until a stark, sudden absence of sound emanated from the library that Nogarin’s fear transformed into terror. Every bit of training fled his mind, every voice telling him to fight it, to act, falling suddenly, deathly silent.

He caught a vague glimpse of a dark figure emerging from the doorway a second before a torrent of reddish dust came hurtling straight for him. Blinded and choking, Nogarin Dorai managed to stagger a matter of feet away from the intruder before collapsing to the floor.

2

Surrounded by rows of shelving packed with thousands of books, Marachette Matsusaga brushed her fingers across a ragged, blackened pit burned into the wall. The scorched surface started to flake even from such a slight touch. Marachette was a veteran Majdi of the Order that had no defined job, and that was the way she preferred it. Two weeks ago, she’d been sent to the front lines at Garnock. Three days ago, she had been overseeing the training of a troublesome ijau. Today, investigating a violent break-in of the Order’s Core. There was never a dull moment.

Closing her eyes, Marachette sent feelers of tephic into the scorched hollow, testing the nearly foot-wide crater for the source of energy that had caused the damage. Her thin, silvery brows knit together, the age lines around her gray eyes wrinkling.

This isn’t the result of gunfire or any form of conventional weaponry I’m familiar with, she began, backing away to look at it anew. It looks like a superheated blast of some sort was at work here.

Tephic? asked the aging Chamberman standing a few paces behind. A rogue of the Order, do you think?

Despite his being crippled by disease and entering perhaps the final stages of his life, Marachette found it a comfort nevertheless to have Chamberman Bennast there. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but Bennast had one of the sharper minds in the Order as far as she was concerned. Even so, it was often disheartening to see him again after any length of time had passed. Some new sign of the disease’s encroaching victory always seemed to emerge like the inevitable shift from one season to the next. A month ago, the crutches appeared. This time, it was the gray cast stealing the rich brown color from his deeply lined skin.

Unlikely. I’m not sensing any tephic in this, Bennast. You can see the difference between the intruder’s attacks and those of the Core Guardsmen. She sighed, turning to walk through the rest of the devastated libraries. Books were strewn everywhere, shelving and statues overturned, telling the tale of the tephic struggle the Core Guard had put up against the mysterious intruder. She knelt beside a splash of rust-colored powder on the floor. We don’t have much to go on. Those scorch marks and this powder, whatever it is. None of the guardsmen are awake yet?

Chamberman Bennast cast a weary, somber gaze about the vast multileveled room. No. Whatever powder was used to incapacitate them, it seems to have lasting effects.

Marachette folded her arms, so to speak, using her left hand to grasp what remained of her right bicep as she contemplated the problem before them. Of the six guardsmen inside the libraries, four were still alive, while two had been killed from blasts like the one that had burned a hole in the wall she’d just inspected. Elsewhere in the Order’s Core, two more had been found showered in dust, while a third, one called Hamapt, appeared to have been grasped by the face and had his mouth burned out. It was a haunting, grisly scene unlike anything she had witnessed in all her years in the Order.

Come, Bennast said with a curling of one chestnut-brown finger as he returned his weight to his crutches and headed toward the back of the library. Age and a debilitating disease called anethrexus had had little effect on Bennast’s voice. It remained steadfastly deep and resonant with a sense of authority. There’s talk in the Chamber. There are those who believe this may be tied somehow to the upcoming ascension of the Gran Senji. What are your thoughts on that?

We’ve had our fair share of threats against the new Gran Senji, true enough. Did you hear about the Balydonian robes found stashed in a cooling exchanger?

Someone intending to pay homage to Eleskar’s kidnapping by the Gargazant Ikahn syndicate, no doubt. We Majdi are not as popular as we once were, I’m afraid, Bennast lamented, his frail frame curling forward on his crutches. There are many who consider our continued presence here a military occupation.

Marachette brushed back a few strands of gray hair. "We are military occupiers, Bennast."

At the behest of the people over fifty years ago, yes.

Fifty years is a long time. We’re not any closer to complete peace here than we were when some fool declared that the Quelling was over. Look at Garnock. We’ve more or less lost our foothold on that entire island. She watched the vertical bronze bars that sealed off access to the Sanguo Tas grow nearer. Several of those bars had been left melted and warped like candle wax. "If this is connected to the rising upheaval in the islands and the ascension of a new Gran Senji, this is something new. In our time in the archipelago, we’ve never been directly attacked by anything but straightforward military force or guerilla tactics. Whatever this intruder used to kill those men and melt those bars, it reminds me of tephic, even if it isn’t. But if it does indeed turn out to be some power similar to tephic, that changes the game, wouldn’t you say?"

Considerably, which is why I disagree with my colleagues in the Chamber. This assault needs to be treated as the unique occurrence it is rather than lumped in with the threats against the Anonti’s ascension ceremony. He drew up a hand to the several Majdi working within the cage. Have you found which books, if any, were taken?

Behind those bronze bars, the nearest of the Majdi stopped what he was doing. Not so far as we can tell. With how many books are in here and the disorder of it all, it could take hours, maybe even days to find which are missing.

Marachette had to concur with the worrying assessment. The Sanguo Tas was a disaster. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of books littered the floor, and shelves were tipped over despite the lack of any sign that the battle between the intruder and the Core Guard had taken place inside the confines of the massive golden cage.

We have to assume the Sanguo Tas was the intruder’s objective. I’d put my jiro on him or her tearing the place apart just to stall us so we didn’t know exactly what was taken, she surmised. Clever.

Clever indeed. As much as I believe this attack is not related to the upcoming ceremony, we can’t risk the chance that it is. Bennast rubbed his fingers over a beard trimmed so short it more closely resembled white stubble. We need to strengthen the ceremony’s security force.

Marachette’s cold gray eyes turned skeptical. With what people? We’re heavily deployed in Garnock with the United Odyssan Front. The intruder here might have been stopped if the Core Guard hadn’t been halved in order to protect the Anonti. Why don’t we let the archsentinels—

Tradition, Marachette. You know that. They cannot protect the Anonti until—

"Until he becomes Gran Senji, I know. Her lips became a hard line of discontent. I’ll keep my thoughts on that outdated tradition to myself."

I empathize with you on that. We’re nearing a stage of crisis not seen since the Quelling where the people we’ve sworn to protect are becoming a danger to our continued presence here. Chamberman Bennast’s brown eyes were warm with understanding. This is what must be done: the Core Guard that had been taken off duty here must be brought back to attend the Order’s Core.

Who’ll protect the Anonti?

I’ve already sent messengers to notify his new protectors.

She eyed his dark countenance warily. "We don’t have many left here in Empyrion Prime who are qualified for a job that important. Who did you enlist?"

It’s not your concern, Marachette.

You’re looking to lose another Gran Senji, is that it? Her face flushed hot. Because that’s what’s going to happen if the Chamber went with Arjay of all people to protect the Anonti.

We are in dangerous times, which is why we did not publicly announce who will become Gran Senji as we have done in the past, and made him Anonti until the day of the ceremony. That anonymity will grant him safety. Arjay and his team will have little to worry about when it comes to his protection. He placed a hand on Marachette’s shoulder. Believe me, choosing Arjay was not an easy choice for us to make. But as a former archsentinel, he is the most qualified should anything happen. Take a step back and breathe. Why take Arjay’s choosing so personally?

Dark thoughts flooded through her. Because Arjay wasn’t the only one who considered Eleskar a friend. He broke Majdi law on his so-called rescue mission and failed. Eleskar is dead because of him.

I don’t entirely disagree, but the matter is settled, I’m afraid. He shifted to a more comfortable position on his crutches. "I’ll need you to gather numbers from wherever you can to help with the ceremony. They must be Majdi or even ijau that you personally trust. Do you understand?"

She glanced back toward the Sanguo Tas. What about all of this?

The Chamber’s decided that the ascension ceremony must proceed despite this mess. The sooner we get the archsentinels in place beside the Gran Senji, the safer he’ll be. Bennast too stared into the bronze cage. For now, we let our people glean what information we’ve collected to find out the identity and the purpose of the attacker. There is nothing more to be done until then. Go. You’ve got work to do. Choose your people to assist with the ceremony.

Marachette started to walk away, already running through a list of names in her head.

Marachette?

His voice brought her back about. Yes?

Choose wisely.

3

Salla Saar reared back, the tip of the girl’s staff swinging an inch from his right eye in a blinding arc. He retaliated with a jab, one she deftly curled her body around before sweeping his legs out from underneath him. Down he fell, and Ember Farroh was on top of him before the breath had finished escaping his lungs. Her staff came down across his neck like a gate crashing shut, denying him the chance to draw in the air that had fled his body upon impact.

Give up? she asked with an antagonistic grin, her dark, unblinking eyes reveling in the anguish she found in his.

Gripping her staff in his hands as if to press her off his body, Salla instead used his legs to wrap about her face and tug her backward. He hacked and coughed but snagged his staff just in time to block a horizontal slash that cracked stiffly through the training hall and left his ears ringing. She came at him again and again in a merciless onslaught of strikes, lunges, and kicks. He tried to remain focused, to get one step ahead of her, but his attention seemed to insist upon moving away from the parts of her body that intended to do him harm. Instead, his eyes gravitated up time and again.

He stared at Ember Farroh, looking at her and that new haircut almost like someone he didn’t recognize. Salla had to admit the look worked for her. Ember was young by any measure for a full Majdi of the Order, and the short cut she wore with the length sweeping over one side of her face in a sharp point did make her look older and more like a figure of some authority. She was somewhat on the short side and perhaps even a little underweight for being a Majdi with an inclination toward physical combat, but Farroh had not only survived thus far in the Order, but excelled. The entirety of her time spent as an ijau had come and gone within nine months, whereas most in the Order were lucky if they shed their ijauhood in fewer than four years.

I think I’ve figured out what it is about that new haircut of yours, Ember, he said, blocking yet another strike before lashing out with one of his own.

"Farroh," she corrected him with a downward swing as if trying to split his head like a log.

Salla held his staff above his head, letting her attack land with another deafening crack against it. He gave an exaggerated groan. "What is it about that? Ember is your name, isn’t it?"

It’s too soft. She lunged forward, catching him in the chest with the end of her staff. Just like your defenses. Just like your head.

What is that even supposed to mean? That I have a soft head? He spun around her next swing, grabbing her about the shoulder and waist before flinging her to the unforgiving mat beneath their feet. Looks like it’s my turn to ask if you give up.

Farroh sprang to her feet, ignoring her staff, which lay half a dozen feet away. She launched herself at him, the crook of her leg wrapping itself about Salla’s head and neck while her momentum and weight dropped him to the floor. Her body landed hard atop him with the underside of her thigh pressed against his throat.

Well, look at this. Here we are again. Loosely tethered hostility lay just beneath the surface of her face as she tossed the short whitish-blond hair back. You flat on your back and spent, with me on top, disappointed. I’m sure I’m not the first woman to have found herself in this position.

Salla’s face contorted reflexively at the jab and opened his mouth to retort, but Farroh shifted her weight to close his windpipe further.

And no, Saar. I don’t give up. If I ever give up to you, I’ll throw myself off the highest dome of the Order’s Core.

With that, she planted a hand over his face, using it as a support to get back to her feet. Shaking his head as if to shake the imprint of her touch off his face, Salla too sprang upright with eyes fastened upon her back as she sauntered away. He charged at her, preparing for a leap that would end with