The Dukes of Odwego finds Astra (secret necromancer, former nun, and displaced librarian of Qordashi) drifting ever farther from the only life she knew and deeper into a world she never expected to see. The powerful, winding Hoshikwazu river leads her, her injured best friend Traz, and the ever-enigmatic Xavai to a city that glitters with wealth but reeks of corruption. Within its walls, sour magic whispers, alliances shift like silt, and every kindness hides a price. To save the people she loves, Astra must rely on her wits, her courage, and maybe, maybe, a little necromancy.
Previously: Astra discovers dangerous secrets...
The next morning, Astra felt wrung out by the stress on her nerves. Traz, who was awake more often than not by that point, noticed her unease when she got up after fourth bell to be ready to go to the palace, but he did not ask. Xavai was also unsettled by her mood, and stood with her at the door to the inn as they awaited the soldiers.
She sucked in a worried breath when it was not the small unit of four soldiers who approached, but the magistrate with his entourage and a full squad of eight soldiers at his back. The few people who were up and around on the street pulled back, lining up against the buildings to let them pass.
“Sir Khossa, we are honored—”
“What did you do with it, thief?” Khossa stood in front of her, red faced and furious, pointing at her chest.
“With what?” Astra tried to look confused, but even Xavai did not seem to believe the act. He stared at her in shock.
“You know what you stole! It is sacred and precious, and you will return it!”
Astra took a deep breath. “I have not stolen anything.” It was only the truth, but she knew it only made her sound more guilty.
He narrowed his eyes. “Arrest her. And her family, all of them.”
Xavai, startled and caught off guard, tried to push Astra behind him and made to reach for a sword he was not wearing. Surprised by his own lack of weaponry, he paused long enough for three of the soldiers to grab him and throw him to the ground. He cried out and bucked one of them off, but it was no use, he was unarmed and out-manned. They shackled him while Astra stood there with her hand over her mouth in shock. Three other guards marched into the inn to retrieve Traz, and Astra wondered if they would make him walk or carry him. Then she saw the last two guards approaching her, shackles in hand.
She walked in a daze as they were taken to the palace, trying to re-orient her mind to the turn of events. Why would the duke give her the crypt-keeper if she knew that it would implicate Astra? It was an act of desperation of but also stupidity. All Astra could think about was the execution of the family she had witnessed just days before. There was no mercy in the hearts of the demons who ruled Odwego.
Traz stumbled between two guards, who switched between dragging him along and helping him walk. Xavai marched proudly, his head held high, his green eyes focused forward. Astra kept her gaze down like a guilty penitent, although she knew she had done nothing wrong. They were taken into the palace’s dungeon and locked in separate cages like animals, still wearing their shackles. The guards left, but Khossa stayed, alone. Xavai looked past him, as if waiting for the return of the retinue or more guards, but no one else entered.
“It is very grave for you, pilgrim. Stealing from the palace is considered a mortal offense.” Khossa said.
“I did not steal anything and you know that.”
“I know that a treasured charm disappeared from the archive. I know you took it!” He was genuinely furious, still, shaking his finger in her face. He stepped back and took a deep breath. “You will tell me what you did with it. Or you will watch your family die.” He turned and swept back out, slamming the heavy door behind himself.
They all remained quiet for a moment, waiting to see if something else was going to happen, but the place was quiet.
Traz flopped onto the dirty floor with a groan. “What in the six blasted hells just happened?” He whined, laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling through the bars.
Xavai stood silently in the middle of his cage like a trapped lion.
Astra leaned forward and rested her head against the bars. The dungeon was not very big, but there were four other empty cages, and it smelled of blood, feces, urine and sweat. She kept her eyes closed, feeling the pull of at least one death bed nearby. She tried to clear her mind and focus on the problem. It was possible that there were listening charms in the walls, but what good would it do to lie anyway?
“Duke Fari’o gave me a small trinket and asked me to give it to Doctor Riki’o. So I did.”
“That sounds like a children’s rhyme,” Traz grumbled.
“You are not telling us the whole truth,” Xavai accused, his voice flat.
“I do not trust this place, or the magistrate,” she said instead of answering him directly.
“But what does he want?” Xavai finally looked over at her.
“He thinks I still have the trinket, I guess.”
Traz tsk’d at her. “This is not just about the trinket, I can tell that much. Is it magic?”
She thought back to the exquisitely sculpted dolphin, quite unlike anything she had ever seen before, and the way it felt stuffed with the stolen soul dust of the duke. “It is. And rare, aside from that. Beautiful and exquisite, like the Sea of Flowers.”
Traz whistled and Xavai looked confused.
“The Sea of Flowers is a high relief sculpture in the West Ward—Mamum’s ward at Qordashi,” Astra explained. “It is old and breathtakingly beautiful, showing Mamum’s birth from the celestial sea of flowers. It was carved by the legendary Master Eyo. There are only three pieces known with certainty to be his creations; two are in Parthipakum, the third is the Sea of Flowers.”
“It’s not magical, though,” Traz threw in when she was done.
Astra shrugged. “Imagine if it were.”
Traz whistled again. Astra wanted to tell them about how the small sculpture she had given the doctor held Fari’o’s soul dust, but she knew better than to mention it. She thought of the empty shelves in the vault, and why Khossa would accuse her of stealing Fari’o’s soul-keeper when there was obviously so much else missing. “It’s not the first thing to go missing. The vault is being looted, slowly. So I’m not sure why he suddenly thinks I took it.”
“Because I told him,” Duke Fari’o said in a low hiss, standing right next to Astra’s cage. Astra yelped in surprise and fell against the bars of the cage.
Fari’o was not alone, though; Duke Fari’i stood next to her. Both of their eyes were gone to the demons, blackened and shiny like pools of oil. Astra thought of the temple dogs Ruby and Emerald, how different their eyes were, black but bottomless and alive. The dukes’ eyes, by contrast, seemed shallow and sick.
Traz slowly got to his feet, and Xavai had gone silent again.
Duke Fari’o smiled, a grim, wolfish expression that was nothing like the real duke’s demeanor. “She gave you the totem, and you gave it to the doctor.”
“If you know the damn doctor has it, then go get it back from her!” Traz said with a snarl.
Duke Fari’i tipped his head to one side. “It’s not that simple.” He turned his gaze to Astra. “Is it, Crypt-keeper?”
“I keep no crypts. I’m a librarian,” Astra said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, but we see you for what you are. Dangerous!” Duke Fari’i snapped the last word.
“I did what Duke Fari’o asked of me, that’s all!”
Duke Fari’o hummed gently. “Doctor Riki’o gave the sculpture to the duke, who gave it to you, who gave it back to the doctor.”
Astra stopped for a moment to ponder the point the demon was obviously trying to make. “Oh. You mean it cannot be taken, only given. The doctor would have to freely give it back to you, which we know she never will.” She swept a hand in front of herself. “She’s a healer, but I’m not convinced she would trade that sculpture in exchange for our lives.”
“I do not expect her to. We have other incentives in mind for her. You three, on the other hand, will be executed simply as a reminder to the people not to cross the dukes’ authority.” Duke Fari’i sighed, sounding bored, then turned to Fari’o. “May we go now?”
The demon who possessed the body of Duke Fari’o smiled broadly. “I have seen what I needed to see.” She leaned close to Astra again. “You are all liars, Crypt-keeper, and your deaths will reveal your truths. We sense the trace of powerful magic around the three of you, and we shall have it for ourselves. We gain little enough pleasure, trapped in this silly palace. I look forward to eating it.”
They turned and walked out together in eerie synchronization.
Traz slide down the bars until he was sitting on the floor again. “This is bad.”
Astra nodded.
“This…this is where Olah’ah has chosen for me to end my battles,” Xavai stated, his words slow and spoken in Atyim, but his eyes wide with shock. “I must pray.” He lowered himself down and sat with his legs crossed, his hands on his knees and his eyes closed.
Astra groaned and thudded her head against the bars.
It came as no surprise that they were not fed or even given water that day or night. Xavai shifted once or twice in his meditation, Astra assumed to keep his legs from falling asleep, but otherwise did not move as the bells rang, marking time as it passed. Traz was curled up in a ball, badly feigning sleep, while Astra sometimes sat, sometimes paced, sometimes stood staring at the door to the dungeon.
She thought to pray like Xavai, but could only get through the first two verses of the Prayer of the Four Winds before stalling out. The closer she came to death, the harder it was to trust in the Gods to protect her. Finally, she stood and clasped her hands and repeated the simple postulate’s prayer she had not bothered with in ten years:
I am the dust of many deserts
I am ashes from a fire
I am pollen in the spring
I am falling leaves in the autumn
I am drifting snow in the winter.
Guide me, O My Gods, through my scattered ways.
Hold me in your gentle breezes
Until I find Your direction for me.
Next: Theatrics
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