The Stone Messiahs : Book Three - The Dream Seekers

By Kit Gleave

In a bid to escape their dying world the Cad a Hoi send out dreaming stones across the galaxy. Some are found by the Taff-Taff while out in space dredging for materials with which to build new realms around their sun. But something goes wrong, bringing terrible consequences. The Realm of Agryen para Noranach becomes infected by ghouls and is ruled by fear and superstition. The Taff-Taff, unlike the Cad a Hoi, do not dream except for some children who, considered possessed, are doomed to a grisly end at the hands of the fanatical Archimandrite. Hope lies in the young Infanta, Tiopany Agryen. Aided by a strange apparition she meets in dreams Tiopany embarks on a quest to save her people. The dangers escalate as she grows to womanhood and the forces of the evil Archimandrite mount against her. Tiopany struggles to understand her mission. Who is her guardian angel, what is meant by the enclosure where she must lead her people, and, more importantly, who can she trust

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447655466

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THE DREAM SEEKERS

THE STONE MESSIAHS

BOOK THREE

THE DREAM SEEKERS

Kit Gleave

Copyright © 2009 by Kit Gleave

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4092-8377-5

Cover design by the author.

The author died before he was able to complete The Dream Seekers, the third part of the Stone Messiahs trilogy. However, most of the writing had already been achieved, so his wife and two friends, who knew well what he intended, have done their best to satisfy the reader with an epilogue and explanation of the section that could not be written. Those who have read the first two books should, we hope, not be disappointed by the conclusion provided.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Dream Seekers has been published due to the kind and helpful assistance of Tanya Short and Josie Jennings, who helped to edit the work left by my husband, Kit Gleave, and helped me compile an epilogue showing how he intended to end the story. For giving the book its final polish, I’d like to acknowledge my copyeditor, Laura Petrella.

He would, no doubt, have made it even more exciting and interesting, but I feel that even without his complete conclusion, it is a brilliant story worth publishing in order for those interested in the first two books to see how he developed the story and how he meant it to end.

Isobel Gleave

In my dreams, they come to me

like orphans in the night.

But I know that I must make a stand,

for in dreams there can be no flight.

PART ONE

THE REALM

PROLOGUE

Covreea brushed the lock of hair back behind her ear as the wind caught it for the umpteenth time. She stood on the high bank and looked out across the lake. It was early evening in late summer, and the first chill of autumn had brought the sharp squalls that now flecked the waters with white beards. The funeral raft had stopped burning an hour earlier, and now its charred, smoky remains were barely visible among the little swells. But the queen remained, staring out across the bleak waters, her mind too full of noise and memory to break away. She looked back at the keep where the guard waited to close and bar its doors against the night. They could wait. A shiver passed through her, and she pinched the high, fur collar about her face. It was a face that had once been pretty but had seen too many summers without laughter; now only the cold ironies of life could lift the corners of those thin lips.

She quietly muttered to herself the old questions and recriminations. Where are you, witch? What have you done to my life? I know you’re still there. Will you ever come? You might be as old as Groplin’s goat, but that means nothing. My darling Teeka said you’d live forever. Just bloody show yourself. Tell me where they went.

She put her hands in the pockets of her long coat and kicked at a stone, casting it out from the tiny cliff to splash in the shallows below. They’ve all left me, Mother. It’s been twenty-three years, and now I’m alone. Her head was raised to the sky. Godrif, Coonishinook, my sweet, sweet Teeka. Even his son wouldn’t stay. For Baola’s sake, he was our son. Where did he go? He had no people to go to. He could have been a king. Marlic and Torvo are long gone, her long exhalation was just visible on the evening air, and now Trelph. How do I get by without dear, kind Trelph, witch? D’you hear? Tell me that. Her voice trailed off into the wind.

There was nothing left to see of the raft in the gathering gloom. She flexed her shoulders and pushed her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. And now I have to deal with Torvo’s bastards, all clamouring and plotting for my throne. She raised her head and shouted with the full force of her anger, They want my throne, witch, the one you gave me, the one I didn’t ask for. Or have you forgotten that as well?

ovreea turned to face the waiting guards and stomped off towards the keep, her coat like her angry thoughts, twisting and swirling about her.

***

Prince Lavasent is approaching the keep, milady, and he’s at one wrath of a gallop. I’ve ordered the quarter gate open.

Queen Covreea frowned, and her bony fingers locked about her staff. Thank you, Illish. I’ll meet him there. I could do with the air. She stood and straightened her back with a grimace. What now, I wonder?

Er … it looked as if he’d a child or a small person with him.

Child, you say? Her eyes narrowed and darted to one side. She said to herself, Are you starting something, witch? The words came with a wheeze, and she coughed.

Milady?

You know who I’m talking to, you old goat.

The wrinkled face of her prime minister cracked in a grin. I do, milady. Indeed I do.

Prince Lavasent walked the mountain pony into the forecourt of the keep. The creature’s neck and flanks were lathered in foamy, white sweat, its eyes staring wide and frog-like. He lifted a young girl down from the animal’s back and gave the reins to a stable hand.

What idiotic business is this, boy?

The young prince looked at his stepmother. What’s this, Mother? Test the faithful with rudery and the suspect with flattery? If so, the lack of salutation honours me.

He kissed her cheek and then turned and pulled the small girl from behind him where she had been hiding, peeking up at the queen. Her name is Blace. Her village was burned to the ground. My dear brother’s work no doubt. He’s recruiting Narg mercenaries, so the usual blood and guts is everywhere. Found this one sitting beside her mother; the woman’s throat had been cut.

Illish, standing to one side, said in a low whisper, She looks like a pig keeper to me.

The queen’s entire body rotated slowly until she was staring straight into his eyes. Her voice was as level and polished as the ebony staff she rolled between thumb and forefinger. Only Illish would know the exact inference in the cold and measured reply. I can see that, Prime Minister. Would you make your point?

Illish seemed quite unfazed by her intimidation. You were asking questions of an old friend a moment ago. I merely suggest this may be something of an answer.

The queen remained staring at him for some while then said in the same dead tone, Damn you, Illish. Take the child to my quarters. No. Get her a bath first.

Covreea paced thoughtfully back and forth, turning over the possibilities in her mind. By the time Illish returned, her thoughts had moved on. Where’s Lavasent?

He took a fresh horse and rode off to meet with his generals at Eastkeep. He’ll have Doafuss on the run this time tomorrow. That isn’t the problem at hand. You’ve cursed and called on the old seer, Moshon Da, ever since Master Trelph died. Well, maybe after all this time, she’s deigned to answer you. Who knows, that child screaming out there as your maids wash pig’s muck from her ears might be the ‘old one’ herself. You must remember, milady, I was there. I saw her transformation with my own eyes. One moment she was the ancient Moshon Da we all knew, and the next, by Marff and Baola, she was a girl of eighteen, no more. If she could do it once, she could do it again.

Why?

Illish pinched at his forehead. I don’t know, milady, but for the price of three meals a day, what harm could there be in keeping her? You grow old, but your word is still law, and you’ve the armies of Prince Lavasent at your side. He’ll await your crown, but Doafuss, Keel, and Siptarmish won’t.

I wouldn’t have a crown to protect had I not entered Fol Enor with a young girl sent to spy on the king."

A poor example, perhaps, but I take your point. I’ll watch her.

***

Blace! Blace! Where are you? I can’t see. Bring light!

The woman lifted a brand from the hearth, blew on it until it flared, and lit the lamp. The queen’s eyes, now fogged with the blue-grey membrane of age, seemed to clamour for the light. Blace knelt at the head of her mistress’s bed and waved the lamp in front of her face.

The queen’s hand came up to steady the light. Closer, Blace. Quick. Be quick.

Blace smoothed the hair from the old woman’s forehead. There, there, milady. I’m here. She pushed and plumped the pillows behind her and hung the lamp where its light could still give her the comfort of movement and shadow.

I’ve seen him again, Blace. I’ve seen him.

Who, milady? Who?

Covreea dropped back on the pillows, her hand limply stirring at the air. Sup. Give me my sup.

The servant helped her drink a little of the herb wine and poppy juice, but it made her cough, and she had to lie back, a spidery hand clutching the wool shawl to her throat. They’re not there, she spluttered the words. They’re not there.

Who, milady? Who’s not there?

Don’t know. Her voice seemed shrunken, like a child unsure of whether to answer the question at all.

Blace sat quietly for a moment, then asked, Was your boy there? Did he tell you this?

Covreea turned her clouded eyes, searching the shadow of the woman’s face. Why do you ask, child? Her hand shot from under the shawl, and a grey, bony finger drizzled quickly over the servant’s features. Do I detect witchery in the pigsty?

Blace didn’t reply but repeated, Was it your son, milady?

The hand that had stroked the woman’s face now moved like a scurrying mouse until its fingers locked with those of the servant. Breathing deeply as if summoning strength for one last effort of life, she whispered, Ama toolic tro Cad a Hoi drici voewn.

Blace was silent for a moment before she said, Voewn shi Cad a Hoi?

Covreea’s hand slid up and around the servant’s neck. Lift me. Blace lifted her forward, but the queen clung to the woman and began to cry. I always knew it was you, Mother. I knew you wouldn’t desert me.

There, there. Don’t upset yourself. Blace started to rock slightly, stroking the old woman’s back. You’ve done so well, and now soon it’ll be over. Tell me what you’ve seen, any way that’s easy for you.

Queen Covreea of the Enor, the gatherer queen, was now eighty-three years of age, but as she began to speak, it was in a voice and a language she hadn’t used since she was thirteen, since that strange time so long ago beside the stone of Tulis an Noc.

The Cad a Hoi have sent a new star, Mother. Have you seen it?

I’ve glimpsed it in the evening once or twice.

It’s the City of All Truths. It searches for the one it loves. It’s taken my son to help the Circle form the enclosure with the blue child. Find them, Mother. You must help. You think you can’t, but you must try.

The queen closed her eyes for the last time and slowly dropped through the layers of consciousness toward sleep and the field of dreams. Once more, she walked in that far-off garden with the half-breed girl whose face she couldn’t quite remember but still loved dearly. She didn’t speak, but all about them, the sounds and voices of the past wove themselves into the fabric of her dream, droning with the numinous expectancy of young summer days. Then he was there, her true husband, the Terracan boy dressed as a Cotnish prince, his face lit from beneath by the mother-of-pearl breastplate. His unforgettable, perfect face, with eyes fixed on her like a summons, drew her forward until again she found herself sitting with him as she had every night for the past seventy years. Yet this time, it was different; this time, he didn’t fade with a final kiss but took her up in his arms and held her in a tight embrace.

In that final dream on the edge of death, Covreea the gatherer queen, saw the fulfilment of a life’s work, a life handed to her across the immensity of space by those who wished only to survive that dark loneliness. She didn’t know the meaning of the city or if her son had really entered it, but in those final moments, as she drifted amid the growing darkness, the stars, the diadems of her crown promised so long before, sparked into life all about her. She could have lain there forever under their glow, but she could hear the voice of her mother calling, or was it … it didn’t matter, probably just another chastisement. The pigs had gotten out again or … the … or … or …?

Blace closed the eyes of the old queen and kissed her brow. Later, in her true guise, she would prepare for one last journey.

CHAPTER 1

THE GHOUL

The ghoul was new to himself. He descended through the mists that had first enveloped him some time before. He had been one thing one moment, and now he was another. As to the nature of either state, he could not have owned to it with any clear certainty. There was vague awareness that he wasn’t really a ghoul, that the term was more a slang, a loose, catch-all epithet, and that his true designation was shade angel. But there the clarity stopped; everything else was as obscure as the clouds that surrounded him. The reason for him being there, being a ghoul, he could neither calculate nor care. For him, there was only the falling and some disembodied interest in what might lie below the clouds.

Finally, as he broke into clear air, he realised his descent was slower than he’d thought, and with some effort of will, he could actually control the rate. Seeing a flock of birds, curiosity drew him toward them. Strange creatures they were too, with double wings fashioned from pearlescent circles of overlapping scales. Why he should find this to be out of the ordinary gave him only the most fleeting pause, a moment he found easier to ignore than explore. It was just simpler to glide with his new scaly friends than question his purpose.

However, the unbidden comparisons continued. Why, for instance, did the world below appear to have no horizon, no distant arc from which the sun might rise or set? It was as if he were falling into a valley so vast, the sides curving at such a gentle rate, that its farthest reaches became lost in cloud and the blue mists of the atmosphere. After some time, he came to the conclusion that this world was inverted, not a sphere, but a cylinder. He was inside an unimaginably large tube.

This truth should have astounded him, but such feelings were not accessible at that juncture, and there was still much to see. Rolling on his back to look up, he gazed through squinting eyes to ascertain what it was that lit this world. It was not hard to find. Between the scattered clouds at some indefinable height and distance, an elongated ball of brilliance hung suspended at what was, he assumed, a central point above this tubular world. As his eyes adapted, he saw it was the illuminated section of a tube that apparently ran the length of this odd domain, though again, its farthest ends were obscured by the haze of distance. This was the sun. It did not rise or set but rode a straight line as it brought day and night to its world. A world the ghoul knew was home, just perhaps not his home.

After some hours of flying and searching, he discovered the great escarpment, a vast line of towering promontories perhaps three kilometres in height that formed an immense interlocked chain that seemingly girdled the entire compass of this internal world. For hour upon hour, he flew ever closer over these sheer, dark pillars that rose up from the wilderness below to penetrate the clouds. They were all of a similar height, though the plateaus differed greatly in size. Some were no more than two or three kilometres across, large enough for a hamlet or village, while others were one hundred or more times larger and could only be described as small states in their own right. Yet regardless of size, each was connected to its neighbour via diaphanously slender bridges.

Wishing to get nearer in order to judge their scale better, he held his arms to his side and aimed himself toward these magnificent towers. The air began to scream in his ears as he swooped down and along the line of the escarpment. Slowly, as they began to grow in size, the smaller details became apparent. There were piazzas, boulevards, and grand buildings of intricate and ornate designs, and on either side, connecting the vast ring of escarpments, two monorails ran one hundred or more metres in the air above the level of the plateaus. One rail carried coaches at a sedate pace in different directions, one atop, the other below. But the second loop appeared to have no traffic at all, and its function eluded him until, to his amazement, a small, slender vehicle swung out of a hangar from one of the plateaus, travelled on a side rail, joined the main, and zoomed away at an incredible velocity.

He drifted down the side of one of the large escarpments, wondering at its construction. Built up from the natural rock was a score of distinct levels, each of which held at least nine floors of dwellings. Many were poorly kept, almost derelict, but others were in good repair, and some even had an air of grand and venerable opulence. On many of the larger islands, he saw the disquieting presence of a grimmer side. Outside the walls of several cities, he saw gallows and— even more grizzly—tall, charred iron stakes. All was not at peace in these lands.

One such city stood at the centre of the largest escarpment he had yet seen. A huge domed edifice was set between long turreted annexes, its cloisters enclosing a green quadrangle. Here people hurried back and forth with a bustle that could denote nothing other than the administrative affairs of business or government. Again, the ghoul knew the scene well, but from where, he could not recall; thus it took his fancy to explore it further.

Coming to rest in a shaded part of the quad, he noticed at once that his being had taken on a diffuse smoky form, and instinctively he sought the light. This puzzled him; why the light? Surely, shadows would have served as a better disguise. This notion was taken from his mind when he heard the crying of an infant from a high window in one of the towers. Drawn at once to the sound, he floated up and into the room, trying to remain anonymous within what light the window afforded.

The nursery was large and sumptuously decorated, a childhood fantasy, the walls bedecked with toys of every kind. The woman that rocked the child’s crib was clearly the nurse, yet her gaze and soft lullaby showed the love and devotion of any mother. He slid closer and extended his pale hand to feel the child’s heart. The woman stopped humming and looked around, her own hand sweeping the air about the crib. He shrank back, remaining careful to stay in the light, but the nurse continued to search the room with a speculative eye.

He watched with interest. The woman was obviously aware of his presence yet expressed nothing more than concern. This gave him pause. Were there others of his kind? A quiver of anticipation shivered through his vapours, and at once, the nurse spun about and looked straight at him.

Good shade, what do you wish so far from the sprawling bell? A sign if you will, or else, be gone. Her voice was level but dark with incipient malice.

He tried to summon up a vision of his feelings and project it as best he could, but it had quite the wrong effect, leaving the woman taut with apprehension.

Then off with you, foul shade. With that, she reached under her apron and produced a book and small dagger, which she held out toward him. My book of rejection and an honest blade. Be gone, you demon. Be gone, you shade.

Clearly, this was a threat that might need heeding. Wishing no further upset, the ghoul backed away until he realised with some astonishment that he had been consumed by the fabric of the wall. The child had given him solace, and he knew he would return, for somehow, the infant lay at the centre of this mystery. He would linger close and learn his place in the scheme of things.

Swimming through the granite of the palace walls was vaguely disconcerting. For the ghoul, it was as if the stone before him liquefied and passed through every pore of his body before solidifying behind him. He spent days on end moving slowly about the court, learning the layout of the palace. He visited the infant many times, always a pleasure and a release from the uncertainty of his strange new existence. But he would also spend many hours resting in the bright confines of the high, vaulted dome of the council chamber, listening to the tribulations of the queen’s parliament: the silos were down by two percent, the Swarb were rising from their lairs and running amok in the outer provinces, and more fearful than this, the clocks controlling the sprawling bell had run late for the second time.

The queen became fretful with all the problems and now, if that was not enough, Nunu was again urging her to take afternoon nuncheon with the infanta in the nursery. It was all just too, too much. With Her Royal Highness, Queen Blormenta Agryen, things were nearly always too, too much, and in the rare cases when they were not, then it was all just too, too divine.

The palace stood at the centre of the largest of the high scarps. Shaped like an irregular hexagon, it showed five hundred square kilometres to the sky. This area, however, could be multiplied by the number of floors that remained suitable for occupation. It was an ordered enough community, comfortable with itself, and those who lived there considered themselves fortunate to do so. It was the capital and social hub of a realm that had enjoyed peace for thirty years now.

But at night, the sprawling gave a darker aspect to this and all the other scarps. Each evening, the sprawling bell would toll to warn the inhabitants to close and bar their doors and windows. In the palace, the automatic shutters would clang shut and the iron screens would thud into place, for as the populace slept, so the denizens of another place would go about their enigmatic business.

The ghoul witnessed it firsthand and could make no more of it than those few who had witnessed it and survived. From the twelfth hour, a thick ooze would dribble and weep from the walls of the corridors and congeal into grotesque, shambling facsimiles of those who enjoyed the light of day.

His interest had been piqued the day he had passed through the wall of the child’s nursery. While examining the area, he had found that all the rooms were lined with what appeared to be a light blue metal. Yet metal shields were no protection from another set of phantoms that slithered and crawled though the night. These were essences of mist and vapour known as the miasma, and they came in a hundred different shapes and forms. It was said that they brought illness and misfortune, caused sleepwalking in children, and dwelt in the minds of the mad. Spells, potions, and charms abounded, and blade books and incantations were carried by all to stave off the sting of ghoul spit or the ghastly hand of horror.

There had been endless attempts to understand the creatures of the sprawling and the miasma, but by their ethereal nature, these denizens of the night defied all probes and analyses. Throughout the realm’s history, they had been there, the faint wisps and solid forms, the lost voices and thunderous cries that ruled the night, and now, after a thousand years of myth and legend, any chance of real discovery seemed to have passed beyond hope.

The ghoul’s knowledge grew, and he began to put together an overview of the vast cylindrical world he now inhabited. His measurements were rough, but he knew its internal diameter could be no less two thousand kilometres and its length at least four times as much. The central tube of light was thirty kilometres across and pulsed slowly over twenty hours, bringing night and day and the cycle of seasons to the inhabitants of the great ring of escarpments. But nowhere did he see anything that might provide him with answers to his overwhelming burden of personal questions.

Then he happened on the Null Zone, a vast pit at the centre of a large, uninhabited scarp. He dropped down through its dark, confusing depths until he emerged into yet another region, a watery world known as the Outer Fold that was home to the Kronculas and their minions, the Sorrancei. Here he stayed for a time. He learned many new things. He learned of the lost realm and of the fabled gift of Dellatrontice, which, if found, would redeem the damned.

But always, the call was there: Protect the child, and so once more, he braved the indescribable strangeness of the Null Zone to find her. However, time had passed beyond his reckoning; the infant was now ten years old, and the powers of envy and deceit were welling up all about her.

CHAPTER 2

UNCLE HAK

We’re topping the wave, child. Why d’ya wait? Throw! Throw or we die!" The old fella’s words were shredded by the wind, but I read the fire in his eyes. I didn’t know what I feared the most, his wrath or the teeth of the rising scnarl. I licked my lips and drew back my arm, closing one eye to take my aim. The scnarl’s head broke the surface, thrashing the waters into a froth of turquoise spray, and I launched the harpoon. The dory heaved as it plunged into the trough of the wave, tearing my foot from its stirrup, flinging me forward toward the gaping jaws of the encroaching leviathan. My scream of terror was choked off as a hand caught my collar and slung me back to sprawl in the oily scuppers among the oarsman’s feet. But my fear and hurt was as nothing, for amid the turmoil, I had heard the unmistakable thurunch of my harpoon striking our quarry.

A foot kicked me. It was Caff. To yer ropes, girly. To yer ropes! I heard him laugh as I dived for the harpoon’s line whipping from its coil in the bow. I didn’t mind that it burned me through my gloves or that I cracked my head as the line pulled me slithering through the gunnels. I had won my spurs. Tonight, I would sit at the table and not wait on it. I would drink nectern with the men and lie with a boy if I wished, though the old fella’s face would sour at that. It was the season of shoes and ribbons in the year 1492. My name was Holus Dellatrontice. I was sixteen and a woman at last.

The child awoke and forgot the image of the girl at the prow of the boat almost at once. She had had many such adventures, but without words to describe them, they passed into the recesses of her mind. It mattered not, for there was time. An ancient eye had fallen upon her, had seen her gift, and had acted. One had been sent to help her, to protect her from the vagaries of life and the dangers of being a babe among ravenous beasts.

***

Tiopany Agryen threw down the picture book with a theatrical sigh to accentuate her boredom. Nunu, her nurse, looked up from her embroidery frame and squinted at her ward over her half-pie spectacles. The child had been fretful all morning, and it was quickly becoming clear that if she didn’t find her some distraction, a tantrum would ensue. Not relishing the idea, she glanced about, looking for something to amuse her.

The infanta’s quarters and nursery were housed in the top two floors of the west tower of the palace. On the lower floor were the nursery and schoolroom, while above were the bedchambers of the infanta and her nurse. The nursery was large, with two high, slender windows equally spaced to give views of the quad, the outer tiers of the palace, and the city beyond both to the west and to the south. The narrowness of the windows was only comparative to their height, their sills wide enough for the ten-year-old infanta to lounge at full length and still leave room for the ample form of Nunu to sit and read for the dreaded half hour before bedtime.

The nurse’s eyes searched the room for a diversion of some kind among the plethora of toys, books, and board games. Over the years, the nursery had become a veritable den of childhood delights, full of gifts both genuine and subversive. While many were given in good faith, the greater number was merely bribes from ambitious members of the court who wished to work their finagling through the child. The queen would also mitigate her woeful lack of affection for her daughter with many lavish toys and trinkets.

Spoiled for choice, the nurse’s eye first fell on the ironbound leather chest, its lid straining at its hasp with the queen’s old clothes and cast-offs from the different pantomummers who had visited the palace over the years. She dismissed the idea; it would be no fun without a friend, and the same went for the stilts and double duck paddle. Then she saw motion in the top branches of the gellion trees outside. The wind had begun to blow out of the southwest, and if it held, she would suggest kite flying after lunch and maybe even getting grubby planting some early seeds. Putting down her sewing, she took the girl’s hand and pointed to the wall above the chest.

What if, after luncheon, we fly our old blosky bird? She stood her below the huge kite where it hung beside half a dozen long-legged puppets.

Tiopany’s eyes brightened. Shine! Is it windy enough?

If it isn’t, I’ll order some. She kissed the child’s head, glad she had not yet grown out of such simple pleasures. Infanta she might be, but an infant she was no more.

Silten Delcei Blayfaw, known to Tiopany as Nunu, was a strong, stocky woman of fifty-two years and, unlike other servants, had been endowed as a lady of the royal household for more than thirty years, some said due to her being a royal bastard of the House of Agryen. Tiopany was the third of the clan’s first children to have been placed in her tender yet firm keeping, Tiopany’s mother, Queen Blormenta, having been the first. The queen had been a placid child who had grown strong, fair of face, and wilful. At seventeen she had been married to a chieftain of the Phorestas clan, and she was obviously happy with the arrangement, as Tiopany’s older sister, Desittoni, was born an immodestly short period after the union.

Desittoni had been a good if mysterious child. Given to fits of melancholy, she would often play tricks at bedtime, either hiding or feigning illness. The nurse, in darker moments, feared that the child might have been a sleepwalker but, even with the greatest vigilance, was never able to confirm it. Others, however, had had similar suspicions, and at the age of eight, the heir to the throne had vanished, abducted, it was said, for unnatural purposes, but the nurse feared it had been for more sinister, older reasons of fear and prejudice. That had been ten years earlier, during the season of fairs and flowers. Now she took care of the hope of the Phlocean clans once more, and once more, she feared for the child, for she too wandered far and wide in her quiet hours of sleep. However, this time, she took heed of her presentiments and carried a blade beneath her apron.

There was a perfunctory knock on the nursery door, which swung wide to reveal the massive form of Clanmaster Gelashento Hak. He wore ceremonial battle armour and stood with his feet apart, his chin jutted, and his hands twisting a pair of green dern gloves. His yellow-green eyes scanned the room with a definite sense of purpose.

The nurse and her ward stood at once and, muttering plaudits of his strength and stature, curtsied low.

The clanmaster said nothing for a moment but remained pulling and twisting at the gloves. Finally, having shown rank, he turned and bowed from the waist to his future queen. He straightened and stared at her with tongue in cheek, one eye closed, his face twisted into a mask of disdain. Then with a whoop of laughter, he dropped to one knee and held out his arms. Do you not have a hug for your poor uncle before he does battle with the foe?

Tiopany ran into the embrace, hugging him about his neck. I knew you would come, Uncle Hak. I knew it. Have you been killing Swarbs? If you bring me their teeth, I’ll make you a trophy.

The huge warrior’s chest rumbled, though the guffaw didn’t break his smile. He looked up at the nurse. What gory tales do you feed this child, Nunu?

I didn’t form her imagination, clanmaster. It’s all I can do to curb her wilful ways. She wagged a finger. Both come from her bloodline, hardly my province.

He slanted an amused grin. Yes, if you say so. With a yelp from the infanta, he lifted her and jigged around in a circle before settling her on the table beside the embroidery frame. I don’t know about the Swarb. My foe lies within the walls of the palace today, I’m afraid. He glanced at Nunu and added, The queen has granted Archimandrite Quenillion an audience. He poked Tiopany’s nose. But if I find a spy huddling under a table, I’ll lop off his head and pull a few teeth. I promise. He laughed and kissed her forehead. Now go and play. I wish to speak with Nunu.

Oh, dronk. The child plumped her bottom lip and sniffed.

I know, gosling, he tugged at her hands, but Nunu and I have important business.

Grudgingly, Tiopany jumped down from the table and went to sit in the window. She knew better than to try and stay within earshot.

How has she been, Silten? Has the physic helped?

I’ve stopped it. It just makes her wanderings more confused. She sleeps through sometimes, but I had to soothe her twice last night. She’s beginning to see such strange and horrid things, visions I wouldn’t wish on the elders of the Necro House; necklaces of teeth are but the half of it. With the growing troubles, the child is exposed to horrors every day. She’s a fiend for court gossip, and the street plays are full of gory tales of the Swarb, ghouls, and even sleepwalkers.

Hak nodded. People think the troubles will spread to the palace scarp, and you can’t blame them. There are reports of increased spirit activity on the lower levels, and it’s said black shades and miasmas have been seen an hour before the sprawling bell. They’re taking advantage of the power loss on so many of the floors, of course. Those in the poor quarters are afraid to leave their homes after dark. One can see how it might filter through to the child’s imagination.

The nurse exhaled an impotent sigh. Yes, true enough. But then, I feel her sleepwalking is becoming less imagination and more presentiment. I know you think me fanciful, but why should these visions engender such helplessness in her if they’re just imaginings? You know how she weeps long after she’s awake, and the same things always fret her: ‘It’ll soon be too late,’ she says. ‘We must remember our purpose.’

She leaned close to the clanmaster. I tell you, Hak, these are not mere fancies but facts, instructions. And there’s this thing about stopping and forming the enclosure. She mentioned it again last night—must be the third time I’ve heard it. If I press her on their meaning, she becomes confused and upset. I fear the answers we seek lie beyond her present intellect. By my healing, I’m at a loss.

Hak scratched at the dark vee of his tiny beard. At forty years of age, his weather-beaten skin and the livid crescent of a scar that framed his right eye gave him the aspect of one much older. A rugged block of a man, his face held an intelligence many failed to recognise, usually to their disadvantage.

As ever, Silten, my dearest, we need to know more. He glanced over his shoulder, and seeing the infanta was engrossed in a book, he squeezed her hand. We need to gain access to the archimandrite’s precious library, and the only way would be to get a man on the inside.

The last one was caught and had his throat slit.

He was a fool trying to curry favour among the Knights of the Noranach, and it was over another matter entirely. No, another silo has gone down, but the Necro House claims it doesn’t have enough ordained groundlings to pray or do the laying on of hands. Locals are beginning to find substitutes, those among them who’ve a talent for the work. Perhaps we could get a man in that way. He pressed at his temples with the thumbs of his right hand, stretching the scar, turning it white. I might have the very man, in fact.

Silten eyed him speculatively. The archimandrite’s hold over the silos is a large part of his power base.

Hak hunched his shoulders. It might be all we have. Remember, the queen’s terrified. She knows that if we go on losing silos at this rate, there’ll soon be famine, followed inevitably by revolt, and that could be sooner than later. If I could convince her that we need a new look into the scriptures, a broader approach with fresh eyes and all that, maybe she would demand the archimandrite open his library to us?

The nurse made a helpless gesture. It might work, though I can’t see him letting us anywhere near his personal books. But I agree that something must be done. The child’s visions are growing stronger with the passing seasons, and you know as well as I that soon the archimandrite will point his finger, and she will no longer be seen as troubled but as possessed, and not only that but, if necessary, a handy sacrifice will be demanded to quell the populace. Hak, you must get the queen to announce Desittoni’s death and have her declare Tiopany as princess royal. The child’s life could depend on it.

Hak slumped back in his chair, his exasperation seeping through his clenched jaw. Achhh! My dear sister, as ever, remains adamant on the subject. I tried again yesterday to convince her to accept Desittoni’s demise. I pleaded with her, but it made no impression.

Silten pulled a chair close to his, arranging it so that she could still keep an eye on her ward. Surely, her majesty sees how damaging it is to the throne. Does she know the way she’s perceived by the people? We must do something, Gelashento. She glanced quickly to see if the child had heard her use his familiar name. As the princess, she would be virtually unassailable. Doesn’t the queen realise the child could be … The nurse swallowed, unable to speak the words.

The clanmaster saw the tear glisten in her eye and patted her hand. If the queen were to give up and admit that Desittoni was dead, then she’d have to take more interest in a daughter she knows nothing of other than that she could well be a heretic, something that could prove even more dangerous than the status quo. Piety and the archimandrite’s poison make my sister superstitious beyond reason. As much as I try to put her mind at rest, she remains terrified of the child’s gift, and if things came to a head, I doubt blood would prove thicker than faith. Tiopany would be safer as the princess, but not while the queen secretly believes her to be possessed.

He paused a moment then scratched the back of his neck as if embarrassed. Finally, choosing his words carefully, he asked, Have you felt anything new within the palace, something that’s focused on Tiopany? I hate to admit it, but I begin to fear something lies close.

His voice became a whisper. I hear mutterings in my quiet moments, nothing like the sprawling; this is … different. They flutter annoyingly at the edge of my comprehension, and while I can make little sense of them, they all have the timbre of foreboding. I don’t want to alarm you further, but who am I to tell these things to other than you?