People of Judgment (Book Five of the Nine Suns)

By Zackery Arbela

“Save the Young King!”

War has engulfed the worlds of the Four Courts, and the one man who can stop it is now a prisoner of the mysterious anrei, who intend to sacrifice him on the bloody altars of their gods. To save the lives of millions, Gaebrel Harrn and his crew are commanded to save the Young King before his heart is torn from his body and cast into the hungry flames. Their reward: a fortune in gold and freedom from the curse that has tormented Gaebrel for years and left him a target for fell powers.

In the city of Vaxamaac, on the mysterious homeworld of the anrei, Gaebrel and his compatriots find allies in their quest: a merchant prince of fabulous wealth with his own agenda, an outcast boy seeking a better life, and the Dark Lady of the Forest Mists, a legendary witch who seeks nothing less than the salvation of her people. In a city riven by political intrigue, religious tension and conflict between the rich and poor, they will scheme and struggle to free the Young King before the fires of rebellion erupt around them all.

Yet they are not the only ones with plots afoot. Ulzarad, the Neverborn sorcerer, has followed Gaebrel to this world, intent on destroying his great enemy once and for all. Yet even his power is nothing compared to the ancient evil stirring in the heart of this world, awakening from a slumber of ten thousand years, intent on consuming the soul of every creature in the Nine Suns. And only Gaebrel and his crew stand in its way...

PEOPLE OF JUDGMENT is the fifth book of the Nine Suns series. If you like fast-paced sword and sorcery adventure, set in a wild fantasy universe filled with intrigue, reckless heroism and dark supernatural forces, then you will love Zackery Arbela's page-turning series. Buy it now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Zackery Arbela
• Release date: Apr 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005735999

Zackery Arbela

The physical body of Zackery Arbela lives somewhere in the wilds of Florida. The mind of Zackery Arbela can be found wandering the various planes and adornments of the temporal spheres, from whence he sometimes returns with new and fantasickal tales to tell.

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PEOPLE OF JUDGEMENT

Book Five of the Nine Suns

Zackery Arbela

Copyright 2018 Zackery Arbela

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Nine Suns there are, nine watchers, nine masters...Who can hear the Greater Voice beyond, the One who speaks to the Suns as they speak to us? - The Red Prophet

The Source is All – A benediction spoken by all ilurei peoples and one of the few things they have in common.

Prologue

It was the Hour of the Burning Pillar, when the sun was only just beginning to crest over the horizon, the shadows of the forest only just starting to retreat. The air was cool and still and the branches of the trees vibrated as the creatures that only came out at night made one last attempt at a meal before headed back to their daytime refuges. Tiny monkeys, no larger than a child's hand, flung themselves through the air, snatching insects from limbs, joined by flocks of chirping, squawking bats headed back to their caves. Serpents of various lengths and color lay curled in the murk, waiting for the moment to strike. On the forest floor, deer with four horns protruding from their heads moved cautiously along streams and ponds, keeping an eye out for the dark forms of panthers moving in the night, ready for a kill, even as the waters themselves hid predators far more dangerous...

Along one stream, running along the bottom of a narrow ravine, one such deer relaxed enough to bend down and sip from the water. Then suddenly it looked up again, ears twitching in the still night air. Silent as a ghost it bounded away, as a jangling, ringing sound drifted over.

Nerazakka was his name, Smoke of the Morning Calm, given to him by the Obsidian Mask himself. Forty years as of the new year, a tall, somewhat gaunt anrei, his blue skin darker along the arms and legs from years of standing by the sacred fires. Flame tattoos rose across his bare torso, covering his right arm in a sleeve, his left marked by ten concentric red rings beginning at his shoulder and ending at his wrist. His earlobes each held large round pendants of jade, the skin stretched around them, but otherwise he wore only a breech clout, walking barefoot, one hand holding a wooden staff with iron and copper rings looped through the upper third, ringing every time the butt thumped down on the soil.

The light grew brighter the further the sun crested over the horizon. He glanced at it every so often, marking the position and picking up the pace. Every so often he would stop, take out a wooden plaque from the bag slung over his shoulder and look at it, rereading the ancient, fading glyphs painted across the front, some so worn as to be illegible. He continued on through the ravine, unconcerned about the forest predators, of the danger, trusting in his destiny.

But not the Source, not anymore. To his fellows he remained a priest in good standing, skilled with a knife and knowledgeable of the sacred mysteries. But Nerazakka knew better now. All the sacred chants, all the sacrifices, the summonings, all meaningless compared to what was written on the tablet.

He was far from the nearest settlement. Three weeks trekking through the wilderness. He'd long since finished what rations had come with him and lived of whatever he could gather. Some would find this rough going, but Nerazakka found it refreshing. Unlike many of his fellows, he knew the forest well, knew the dark trees and the treasures that might be found in their roots, what dangers to avoid, what opportunities to seize. All for this, to reaching this place, following a trickle of a stream through a gully.

Stone crags rose up on either side, square shaped and weathered. He approached one, wiping away the accumulated moss to reveal the faded carvings beneath. Anrei walking in a procession, arms raised high, captives following behind, their heads bent in submission. He smiled and followed the faded carvings, moving quickly. Twenty yards on they faded away entirely, the stone worn smooth by wind and rain, but then suddenly appeared again, a mans face, large as he was tall, the ears worn away, the mouth open and spitting out what looked like fire.

Just beyond was a small cave, half-hidden behind overhanging moss. Nerazakka touched it away, letting in the morning light. He looked at the tablet one last time, then at the sun.

Not much time. He ripped away the moss, clearing the cave mouth. Inside was a round chamber ten feet across, barely tall enough for him to stand, the tips of his pointed ears brushing the ceiling. He inhaled deeply the smell of mold and damp and uncounted centuries of dust. It was the smell of enlightenment. For a moment his mind pulled away from this place and he was standing at the root of Xiog, the great tree that was the Universe, its roots in the underworld of C'ua, where souls yet to be born drifted in the dark sea of the Smoke Sister, its highest branches in the House of Nine Jade Daggers, where the souls of the departed dwelt for a while, until they flung themselves into the void, falling ecstatically to C'ua, to join the ranks of those waiting to come back into the world...

So he was taught and so be believed. But he saw something else in that vision, which the Obsidian Mask never taught him...a great serpent, whose tail touched the beginning of Time, whose snout portended the future, swimming through that dark sea, curling itself around Xiog, squeezing the eternal trunk until it cracked and fell, the heavens tumbling down with it, bringing the end of all...

He entered the cave. In the center was a small stone altar, encrusted with moss, yet still visible carved to resemble a snakes head, its mouth open. He scraped the mouth clean and filled it with handfuls of tinder taken from his bag. A few quick strikes from a flint on his iron knife kindled a file. He glanced out the cave mouth, looked across the ravine towards a notch cut on the top of the cliffs on the other side. The first rays of the rising sun filled it. He glanced at the wooden tablet...just as described.

Nerazakka bent the tablet until it snapped in half and added the pieces to the fire. He looked at the notch again, noting the position of the Sun. This day and no other, on this day and hour was this ritual possible. He watched the sun creep over the horizon, until came the moment when it filled the notch, sending a soft shaft of light into the cave to illuminate the pillar.

He gave silent thanks that there were no clouds on this day and held his arm over the fire, pressing the tip of the knife into the flesh. The pain was ignored, blood dripping out into the flame and hissing.

The flames rose up and she stepped back, his heart beating. They coalesced into a glowing, burning ball, rising out of the altars mouth, growing larger and brighter, until with a flash it vanished, forcing him to avert his eyes. When he finally found the strength to look, he saw the ball of light was gone and the cave was dark again. Floating in the air before him was a serpents skull, the size of a small boulder, the bone ancient and yellowed, the mouth open as if to strike. Its fangs were long and sharp...yet one was missing, a gap in the upper jaw marking the absence.

Nekazaka reached into the bag and pulled out a small object wrapped in cloth. He let the covering fall to the ground, revealing a fang identical to the ones in the skull. He reached up and placed the base of the fang in the missing notch. A moment later was yanked out of his fingers, resetting itself in the skull.

The eyes of the skull started to glow. The mouth closed. It turned slightly, looking down on him, his own gaze enraptured. He raised his arms, ecstasy filling every fiber of his being. Something nudged at at his mind and he gladly let it in, a multitude of whispering voices, speaking for the first time in millennia.

We hunger.

Then feed, he whispered joyfully, tears trickling down his face. He moaned his mind filled with a vision of ultimate power...cities in ruins, their inhabitants kneeling at his feet, hailing his name, praising him, adoring him, rendering tribute...every desire fulfilled, every wish granted, the fate of the anrei his to shape.

Yes, you will do. We shall accomplish great things...

And then he screamed, pain and ecstasy mingling together until he knew no more.

Chapter One

It's a fair offer.

It's an insult.

No, an insult would be calling your mother a woman of low virtue...

No need to dance around the subject, Orlon. My mother was a whore and the best woman I have ever known. To state the obvious is not an insult. You trying to chisel us like this is an insult.

Gaebrel let out a sigh, pulling his coat more tightly about it. A cold wind was blowing in from the Empyrean and his breath rolled out in a cloud. Behind him were his companions, standing in silent witness and waiting for this negotiation to end so they could get someplace warm. Even Hurren looked discomfited by the wind, though the ursuhli would never admit to such weakness.

Captain Harrn, said Orlon Indelaar of the order of Saint Vitek, who also starting to shiver, but put physical discomfort in a distant second place to his duties, the Grand Elder himself has agreed to sponsor your admission into the secret archives, the first layman to be given such a privilege in three hundred and seven years...

Considering that only yesterday he wanted me irons and locked away for the rest of my life, that's hardly convincing. Gaebrel's hand drifted to the medallion, secure as always in a pocket and well out of sight. He pulled his fingers away a moment later. So you'll understand if Yorannan's word is questionable at the moment.

Grand Elder Yorannen to you, Captain! And you know the Oracles convinced him to change his mind.

Yes, my eyes are still seeing spots. After the Blue Oracle finished her fit and recovered her wits, all four of them huddled with the Grand Elder, the Voices of the Source and the Servant of the Godhead talking shop, as it were. A great glowing shield was raised and when it was lowered, Yorannen told Gaebrel and his companions that they could go free, that 'their course was set by hands greater than his and he would not dare interfere.' Which only soured Gaebrel's mood even further...too many strings already pulled at him, pulled by various beings, human and otherwise, whose intentions were opaque at best. Morrec tells me that all manner of schemes and intrigue is afoot about the worlds of Inveril and Yorannan is not a young man. What if we arrive there a year hence and find ourselves overhauled by a border cutter?

My word to you, that will not happen.

The word of a Vitekian, Morrec said with contempt.

Orlon glared at him, then turned back to Gaebrel. You will have access to the archive. A document has already been prepared and will be placed in your hands once the job is completed.

"That helps Gaebrel with his problem, said Pohtoli. But what of the rest of us, who don't labor under any curse save the fear of poverty? We were supposed to be paid for the last job and no coin has yet graced my palm."

You know full well that with the Valarei at war with one another and the Autumn Court can't spar the funds, Orlon said, waving his hand at Ilorin. From this distance it looked peaceful, a blue and green orb floating in the dark gray of the Empyrean, the terrible battle raging across its surface invisible to their eyes.

It doesn't matter who pays us, said Gerel, shivering in the cold wind and wear extra layers over his lean form. The dark-skinned warrior hailed from a desert world and hated the cold. If the Valarei are skint at the moment, then it falls on you.

Twenty-five thousand gold caric's, Gaebrel said. For each of us. And access to the archives for myself. And we want it in writing. In return, we find the Valarei's lost king.

Twenty-five thousand!

Time is wasting, Gaebrel said. Every moment that passes, he gets further away.

Orlon sighed. It appears I have no choice. Shall we head below, the feeling is lost from my fingers.

By all means. Lead the way.

There are three kinds of ilurei.

Orlon sat beside a small cast-iron stove set in a baked clay mounting, warming his hands by the grill while keeping an eye on the kettle at the top. Gaebrel and his companions were in there was well, save for Hurren, who lurked just outside the cabin door, filling the hallway beyond and occasional shifting aside to allow a sailor to pass. The kuyei you already know, he said, nodding at Yasinnic. The Valarei you have met. The Anrei are something else entirely.

Blue skinned, right? asked Gaebrel

I hear they are cannibals, Gerel added.

Yes...and not exactly, Orlon said. Their skins are blue, physically that sets them apart and their ears are taller. As for cannibalism...I am told that is true in some cities, not others. What truly distinguishes them is the nature of their religion, which is focused on blood sacrifice. Like all ilurei, they worship the Source of All, but in their reckoning of things, its continued existence and the entire Universe as a whole, depends on regular blood offerings. There is some theological dispute about the nature of these offerings - the chief one being whether whether so blood comes from ilurei, humans or other thinking beings, or if animals are sufficient.

I've read they don't like have a liking for outsiders, Gaebrel said. Like the dzur, or the Wennatans.

Orlon picked up the kettle with a rag and poured a measure of hot water in a cup holding a tea strainer. A delicate aroma filled the cabin as he set the kettle aside and let his tea steep for a moment. It is more accurate to say they don't have a liking for the Valarei. The two races have been at war with each other from the very beginning. All the ilurei originated on Ilorin, but early on the anrei vacated the place and settled on the two inner worlds of Fhirial, where they remain numerous and strong. Every year, ships of the Four Courts skirmish with anrei raiders in the Empyrean, with a major war breaking out every century or so. Any prisoners the anrei take are never seen again, sacrificed in one of their rituals.

What of anrei prisoners? Morrec asked curiously.

There are none, Orlon responded. The Valarei kill them on sight. He picked up the cup, raised it to his lips, then set it back down to cool some more. Before she left Nan Harel, the Autumn Queen passed on some useful information, courtesy of Lord Keptharo. A flotilla of anrei raiders were attacking merchant ships along one of the routes to Ilorin. They fled once warship flying the Autumn banner arrived on the scene and as no other anrei vessels have been seen near this world, it is likely our friend Artunal is with them. According to Keptharo, the ships were flying the banner of Vaxamaac, a city of note on the world of Maydataru. With the celestial winds blowing in their favor, they should close to home by now.

Which side of the religious divide does this city fall on? asked Morrec.

Orlon picked up his cup. Hard to say at the moment. My sources claim that the city is divided on the question. Having a noble born man of the Summer Court - even one of mixed birth - would only complicate the matter. Which may give you the opportunity to get him out.

Can't the Valarei tell you more? Gaebrel asked.

This does not come from the Valarei, said Orlon. My order has its own sources of information on that world.

I thought the the anrei didn't welcome outsiders, Gaebrel said.

"You weren't paying attention. They kill Valarei when they have the chance. Humans, ursuhli,