Keeping the Fire: The Shadow of a Beast

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In the ancient times it was held that the dragon called Drakür came into the lands of Free Westa. So storied is that calamity, that the beast was given the same name as the All-Wurm associated with consumption, annihilation, and the endings of all things. Drakür brought forest fires, plagues, and a great sweeping flood of ash and mud that careened down the rivers of Free Westa killing thousands and leaving the land a desolate waste. In modern days the legend means something different. Most Flinish would privately scoff at the idea of the All-Wurms taking interest in human affairs. People of the Alliance point to wars and infighting among the Westin tribes at the time as the true tragedy. Dun's Mages note the many eruptions of volcanoes in Mona that happened around the same time, including one that annihilated most of that nation's capital. In this last assertion there is a hint of skepticism, a grain of mistrust that some Westerners find offensive. No one disputes that there was a cataclysm in those times and less than no one would dispute there was a dragon. The meaning of the day when The Coming of Drakür is celebrated has changed, all the same. It has been a little change, grain by grain. Yet, those who are closest to the old ways can see it. Over the years the focus has been increasingly on the songs rather than the victims, increasingly on the art rather than the meaning, increasingly on the modern analogies than the past legends. There is no name to put to this wearing away of faith. To those that hold those legends as truth, as fundamental, it is indefinably unsettling.

That day Polena was present for the singing of the remembrance. It began with a Edgaran choral and trio of poems by Heghenkhol, that were said to embody the feelings of sorrow and loss associated with those terrible days. After this came Free Westin songs: the stoic baritone of Dorrish ballads, the three melody harmonies of Tenbraebrae singers, the rich Havkharan poems in their old argot, sad Merapican cantos, and engrossing boisterous Monan storytellers. Polena was there for all of it, and just as many others she wept, gasped, and laughed with the others, the last being a rare delicacy among such somber and powerful stories. To her, this day was a gift, a lauded event that she never thought to experience herself. It felt like a reward for her struggles, her service, her distance from those she loved, and all the myriad secrets she must keep these long, desolate days doing the People's work. She did not leave that night, and only when dawn came, and the last singer gave the last hollow note to the great and echoing Chambre et Aret-Dominet did she leave. Eyes red, tired beyond belief, but most of all, greatful, she started on her way home. She was vaguely aware of him when the man began walking becide her, indeed, she was not the only one leaving and she gave no thought to others walking down the same street. But when she turned a corner down a narrow stair and he turned with her, fast enough to stay by her side, she looked up suddenly.

The cowled figure came down on her as she stepped down the stairs catching her off balance, knocking her off her feet and down the last few hard stone stairs to a landing below. Dizzy, she tried to take her feet but slumped into the wall and he threw her up against it, gripping her throat tight enough that she couldn't get air let alone scream. He was holding her off the ground, he feet kicking against the stone wall, unable to get air, unable to strike back at him, unable even to choke. She recognized the face. It was Delhay the Whale. After a long, agonizing moment, he let her drop hard to the ground and choke in a few breaths. Looking to the top of the stairs she could see a few of the night watch in their cowls. They could see what was happening and she knew full well they would do nothing. Delhay waited. When she had caught her breath, fell back to sit against the wall, and looked up to him only then did he speak.

“Don't lie to me.”

Polena breathed hard. There did not seem to be anything to say.

“I know that you have had me watching watchers. That might work for other fools but I don't get my information from spies, I get it from things like this. I find men's tongues work best held upside-down over the south cliff balcony. Don't make me do the same to you. Now talk, Polena, why?”

“The Weatherclock,” she said.

“What did I say about lying?”

“I am not. The Weatherclock. If such a person exists they will have to take note of this. And more over, if they do exist then they have spies among your own, or Alembic's, or Tavya's, they must. I have no staff to betray me. I didn't want anyone to know what I was intending for the vote, not until I was ready.”

Delhay was silent, and for a moment, she did not know it that was a good thing or not.

“Why didn't you tell me you had staff coming?”

“I don't.”

“You do,” he tossed a missive at her feet, “my men took this from a messenger coming in this morning. Just because you haven't read it yet does not mean that you didn't know.” Polena took a few long breaths.

“I didn't know. I expected that Coralm would be replaced. I sent word to Ledire, to the Legion milefort there because that is what one does when things like this happen. I expected they would send someone,” she read the note, and he let her, “I did not know they would send a group of Legion but it is to be expected, isn't it? I am under threat.”

“You have never spoken more truly.” Polena could see she would have no sympathy from him. So she changed her tactics.

“Don't act like such a bastard Delhay. You had to have known something like this was coming. Do you think I would tell you all of my secrets? That I would let you manipulate me? We have an accord in finding the Weatherclock and in securing the Fortress. But at the end of the day I want things to come out best for my People. Is that a crime for a Speaker?”

Delhay didn't reply, but she judged the hint of a difference in him and she pushed it home.

“I lied to you. I tricked you. But you let yourself be tricked. You have to admit, it was a good one too, isn't it?”

“You had me injure the Poet of the Hin-Hani just so that you could take his place.”

“And it's going to help us. Isn't it? Come on, he was a stooge for the Proper,” Polena said, on her feet now and trying her best to use the street talk of the Fortress, “You can't be weeping for a cur and a fair-weather like him. He came from Djaivenen, the capital of Fiedjan, can you really believe that he would be a help to the Fortress right now? And I told you not to kill him. I think I acted in your best interest. What do you have to complain about? Is your poor pride wounded?”

She had thought by getting angry she could make him see her point, or at least put him in that odd sort of cheer she had seen him take in rough speech. It was not working. He pushed her against the wall again, and she felt the cold stone of an obsidian blade up against her throat.

“Don't lie to me. Accord?”

“Accord,” Polena spat out.

“Don't tell me what is best for me. Accord?”

“Accord,” her voice a hiss for fear of cutting herself on the closeness of that blade. He let her drop and catch her breath again.

“This is my ocean Polena. Your ship sails at my whim. If I take it as prey then it is drowned by my weight. You will have no say in the manner and from now on, you will also have no warning. Don't make me sink you. If I have to, I will have a dog in Meeda slit that little girl's throat. Don't think I can't do that,” he dropped to a knee and looked her eye to eye. “We are going to talk tomorrow when your Legion arive and again before you leave for the valley. Listen close because I will not say this again. Don't think there is something I will not do for my Queen.”

Polena only nodded. And then, he was gone. His shadow passed over her like the shadow of a great beast drifting silently over the desolate lands.

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