Lilac Child Chapter 4
Zini ran for the carriage as it trundled up the road. Cables strained in a narrow channel covered with thin planks. The inside was full, but Zini leaped and grabbed the pole at the back to haul herself in.
“Don’t be doing that,” the ticket conductor said and held out his hand for the customary penny. Zini gave him a pleading look, and the conductor winked at her. “Outside though. Seats are for those that pay.” The conductors were usually happy to ignore those that clung to the back, sure that they’d simply run and grab hold again once they’d turned their backs. Zini shoved her arm in the gap so that the pole was in the crook of her arm and then relaxed. Climbing the steep hill was a tiring undertaking, more so in the midday heat, but the rope-carriage was a blessing, as long as you could afford to use it. Zini had seen inside the machine room and had a lesson on how it operated from the very man she was on her way to visit. She could see the complicated gears and the ropes as they coiled around the spikes, but all she was sure was Magic went in one end and the rope came out the other. When the carriage had first climbed the hill, crowds had gathered and pointed excitedly at where the horse should have been. The queues had been long enough that the carriage had kept on going long into the night just to let everyone have a chance of riding it. It used an extraordinary amount of magic, so much that the Emperor had asked The Grand Temple to donate a few barrels every month to keep it running. A boy and a girl sat on the bumper, swinging their legs over the street, and Zini crouched a little lower to talk to them. “Where are you off to?” Zini asked. “The temple,” the boy said. He was a little older than Zini had thought, small for his age, with hollow cheeks and a crooked nose. “We need a good pitch for the morning. Thought we’d have a look.” “It will be like new year and Empire Day rolled into one. What are you selling?” Zini asked. “Commemorative plates,” the girl said, patting a heavy bag wedged in between them. The carriage ride was smoother than a horse-drawn one, but Zini expected they’d be a few extra chips before they hopped off. “Really? What do people do with those?” “Eat off them,” she said with a shrug. “What else do you do with a plate?” “There’s a great spot by the admiralty statue. That’s where the cadets and their families gather. Rich parents.” The two looked at each other and shrugged at the same time. “We were just going to stand in front of the big doors, but that sounds better,” the boy said, unaware that the emperor might need to go in that way. “I guess it might get a bit crowded around the grand temple.” The carriage came to a stop, and a pair of elves, tall and dressed in their customary plain robes, made to step onto the platform but the conductor waved them off. “It’s full. You’ll have to walk,” the conductor said. The elves stared at some of the empty seats, but one of them noticed the square of paper pinned to the conductor’s uniform. A small red hand. The conductor whistled to the brakeman, and the carriage trundled on, leaving the indignant elves behind. Zini looked away as the carriage took off again, gliding through well-off neighbourhoods bustling with servants lugging goods and Marsh Elves running errands or trailing their masters. The grand temple was a colossal structure surrounded by tree-lined avenues and above ground crypts. Clerics, wearing the coloured robes of their orders, congregated in the temple gardens, engaging in group discussions, or engrossed in solitary prayers under the shade of trees. Normally, the temple complex housed several hundred clerics, but with the coming funeral and coronation, their numbers had swelled. As Zini walked among them, she overhead dialects from all over the empire and beyond. It never ceased to amaze her the diversity of people that lived under the Sondaran banner, most peaceably, if the officials were to be believed. Ell’ha sprung to Zini’s mind, and she wished that she’d been able to stay longer with him. He had no one to share his burden with. It was one they’d trained him for since birth, but it was a lot for him to deal with. Zini was in no doubt that he would make a great leader, but she worried for his safety. She found Son’dali on the shady side of the temple among the tall trees and the rows of marble statues surrounded by a group of clerics studying an enormous fountain. A marble ship rode high on the backs of winged dolphins, while the gods lounged upon the sea. The ship was a nod to the admiralty that took up the northern edge of the gardens. The fountain was a popular feature, and families would gather at night to marvel at the coloured lights reflecting off the great spouts of water. Right then it was dry and Son’dali was at the heart of a small group arguing over hues. “Zini’ma, come over here. We could do with an outsider’s opinion,” Son’dali said, waving her over with his stave. He was a large man, and the iron banded staff always looked a little small in his hands, or at least Zini thought so. Every cleric of Erensal made their own, inscribing the shaft with runes detailing their journey on the path of Eren, and Son’dali’s had been a long road. “She’s hardly an outsider,” a cleric wearing the brown robes of a Skaran complained. “I may as well call over one of my students and ask their opinion.” “Not of the temple, I should have said,” Son’dali corrected. “Zini, please observe the fountain and give your honest opinion on whether any light needs adjusting.” He gestured to a cleric lying on the ground with her hand deep within a hole and suddenly, water burst from the fountain. The initial spray overshot the low pool wall, splashing onto the gravel. Zini savoured the refreshing mist and took her time making her judgement. “There are no lights,” Zini said after a few minutes of watching the water shoot from different dolphin orifices. “What? Damn it, I think we’ve all stood here so long that we see what we want. Jin’dali, do the honours.” Upon Son’dali’s command, another cleric scurried to a hatch on the ground, and moments later, lights burst forth from the ship, bathing the stone sails and the water in a spectrum of colours. “The bright sunlight dilutes it somewhat, but it’s truly spectacular,” Zini said. She’d come to learn that the fountain committee divided the light channels amongst themselves, assigning each sect responsibility for a distinct colour. This arrangement spurred many arguments, yet also encouraged healthy competition. Zini wasn’t sure which hue was Son’dali’s responsibility, but he seemed partial to reds. “The yellow one may be a little overpowered, but that could just be the daylight. Maybe if red were increased just a notch, it could lend its colour?” Son’dali clapped his hands together while the others frowned at his so-called impartial observer. “There, you’ve heard an independent voice. Turn it off for now. We don’t want to exhaust our allotment of ether before tomorrow. Come, Zini.” The big man left the fountain and strode towards the temple. “If you’re hoping for a lesson, I’m afraid I’m too busy. All I can spare you is a few minutes.” Clerics streamed through a large door on the temple’s side, splitting off inside to head to one of the four towers that supported the central dome. Each recognised Religion had offices and living quarters within the building. With every new year came the perennial battle for space as they all tried to justify why they needed more rooms than the others. In her brief time studying with Son’dali, Zini had witnessed the clerics go to desperate lengths to evict followers of the other faiths. As a follower of Erensal, the God of war, Son’dali’s chambers were among the safest in the temple. “I just dropped by on the off chance.” Zini had to hurry to keep up with the warrior cleric’s long stride. “Is the fountain part of your role in tomorrow’s coronation?” “The fountain? Yes, my contribution is thankfully minimal. The fuss is too much. A high darson of Liandra has already collapsed from the strain.” “We are burying an emperor and crowning another.” There were paintings in the palace long gallery commemorating past coronations, all the way back to when the seat of power had still been in Sondara. The artists had done their best to capture the excitement and the enormity of the moment, but Zini was sure it would be unlike anything else any of them had experienced. “Has it been fifty years since the last one?” “Zini, your knowledge of history is better than mine. If you say it’s fifty, then it probably is.” He opened a door and dashed up a winding staircase, hoisting the hem of his robes as he rounded the spiralling steps. Zini kept a respectful distance and fixed her eyes on the steps. Just as the dizziness was setting in, they emerged into another windowless corridor, sparingly lit with flameless lamps. The thick walls of the temple housed a labyrinth of stairs and hidden rooms. A wonderland Zini was eager to explore. However, intruding upon a space claimed by another sect was considered a severe trespass, punishable by expulsion. As Son’dali’s pupil, Zini had access only to the section reserved for the followers of Erensal. The room was one of the larger belonging to the Erens and contained rows of benches and a bookcase that heaved under the weight of tomes and notebooks. Ongoing experiments littered the benches along with rocks and crystals gathered from across the empire, some collected by Zini on her wanderings, others purchased in the markets. Son’dali set his stave down on a bench and picked up an apple, biting it as he went around the room, adjusting valves and dials as he did so. “They’ve cut our ether allotment,” Son’dali said, munching loudly. “Hence the gloom. We’re all having to stretch out the supply until we get another delivery.” “Is that because of the coronation?” Zini inspected a clump of blue clay that was slowly drying on a table. From the colour and composition, it had been taken from several yards down and somewhere near the waterline. Zini broke a little off and rolled it in her fingers. “This isn’t from Nesher. The inner basin?” “Exactly. To the south of Fin’gal’s Gorge, to be exact.” Son’dali turned up an oil lamp and opened the little doors wide enough to drive back the shadows. “Brother Tarl’dali thought I might like to inspect it. As far as I can tell, it conducts no ether and might form an efficient receptacle. My next step is to get a potter to make me a jar.” “For holding magic? Won’t the Dwarves claim it a breach of the agreement?” “Yes, but if they’re going to play politics, we need to find alternatives. They promise the next shipment will make up for it, but they’ve been threatening this for some time now. Claims that we’re too wasteful in our use of the ether.” He took another bite of the apple and set the half-eaten core atop a stack of books. When Zini considered the light show she’d just witnessed, she decided they might have a point. She could do the calculation and come to the ether flow rate with some accuracy. Nesher had grown to rely on the steady flow of magic or ether, as Son’dali referred to it, using it to power machines that would otherwise sit unused. Without its help, she’d have been walking up the hill with the elves. “The upside is that my plan for an expedition to The Zento is finally getting the support it deserves. The empire has a natural collector but refuses to use it. It’s almost as if they prefer being at the mercy of the dwarves.” “I’d like to put my name forward as your assistant if you ever go.” It wasn’t Zini’s choice to make, but for a chance to visit The Holy Isle, she’d risk angering her employer. Remembering the book in her pocket, she withdrew it and set it on the bench. Son’dali picked it up and flicked through the pages. “Everyone will want to go, but rest assured, you’ll be at the top of my list. You show more interest in the subject than most of my colleagues.” Despite his attempts to convince the others of the importance of his research, most saw it as secondary to their other duties. To Son’dali, it was everything. It wasn’t just a practical science but a way to commune with Erensal herself. “What did you think of the book, by the way?” “Fascinating,” Zini said honestly. She’d read it the first day he’d lent it to her and more than once since. “The idea that a nation can just lock itself away in the mountains in this day and age is wild. The work that must have gone into researching the book is truly impressive.” “You didn’t find it dry? All that talk of historic tithing levels and flood myths nearly put me to sleep.” “On its own, maybe, but this is The Dragon Eyrie. When they ruled the entire western coast of Nostvary, they rivalled the empire and came close to defeating our legions in battle.” “Technically, no one won the war of the sands. Only a handful made it out on either side.” “They lost,” Zini said with a certainty that had Son’dali stroking his beard. He closed the book and gave her his full attention. “Dr Wolven is quite clear in his argument. The bones of the dragons that died in the Jennerian desert are still there to be counted. Seventy-two dragons lost compared to four legions.” “It took twenty thousand soldiers to kill fewer than a hundred dragons,” Son’dali said solemnly. “Men of your father’s ilk would refer to that as a pyrrhic victory. It took the empire generations to replenish their ranks, and by that time, our period of expansion had ceased. We’ve been in a decline that we’ve yet to arrest.” “The Dragon Eyrie also experienced decline,” Zini pointed out. “They withdrew to their valley and their influence over kingdoms, such as the Jurati, has dwindled to where the elves are now considering joining the empire voluntarily.” “There’s nothing voluntary about it,” scoffed Son’dali. “Your father’s legion is stationed on their ziggurats. If they withdraw, the horrors from the Sea of Ghosts will continue their northern migration, and your Dragon Empire will be reborn. Granted, it may merely be a flight of dragons casting their shadows over the city, but the Jurati will take note, and their wagons will soon join the line of tithes.” “When I was a child, my father would tell me that victory comes in different forms and isn’t always recognisable. Just being alive is a victory for some.” Her true father had been a quiet man that rarely uttered a word. The world had worn him down to where he no longer felt the need to speak, but Zini had listened. “Who am I to argue with a general’s daughter,” Son’dali said with a slight bow. He retrieved a jug of water and poured a little into two glasses, setting one in front of Zini. “When I suggested there was no lesson, I was mistaken, wasn’t I? The lesson is mine to learn.” Son’dali settled onto a stool and drew his stave to him. As he listened, he ran a thumb over the runes, centring his focus. “Please, proceed. Let’s see if you can unearth a flaw in the esteemed doctor’s work. He’s been gone a decade, so he won’t object.” “He predicted that The Dragon Empire was in terminal decline because of the drop in volcanic activity.” Son’dali nodded. “Their method of dragon-rearing involves harnessing magic. Initially, a dragon egg requires a prodigious amount of ether to shake off its dormancy.” Rising from his stool, the priest sauntered over to a blackboard and began jotting down numbers. “Of course, this is all speculative since I’ve never actually measured a dragon egg, but I’ve studied the reports on the Jurati and their breeding techniques.” “The water dragons,” Zini said excitedly. She knew there was an important reason she was there, but it could wait. “Exactly. They’re nurtured using water magic as opposed to fire. But we know from our experiments that water is less ether-rich than molten rock.” Chalk dust gathered on Son’dali’s sleeve as he scratched out the formula for measuring the ether. Zini knew it by heart and followed along, filling in the numbers just before he wrote them out. “Though you can compensate for that by increasing the flow of water. The fountain demonstrates this principle. By employing a network of tapering pipes encircling a Jennerian glass sphere, we can capture some of the ether and convert it back into a spray. The drawback for dragons raised in this manner is that they are flightless. They lack the ether necessary to power their wings, while dragons reared in a volcano have an excess. They are larger, more potent, and the mightiest among them can spew fire.” Neither of them had seen a dragon, let alone a fire breathing one, but the reports were quite clear. Just one dragon was enough to route anything less than a regiment. “The predicament for the Dragon Eyrie is that their volcano is on the brink of dormancy, and with it, their ability to hatch the dragons they depend on will disappear.” “I’m not convinced it’s entering a state of full dormancy, more like a century-long slumber.” Zini knew she was going against the accepted belief, but she had confidence in her reading of the data, at least enough to talk to her teacher. Son’dali set the chalk down. “Is that pure conjecture, or do you have supporting evidence?” Zini reached for the book and flipped to the back pages. “All the information is here. He just failed to connect the dots. The university in Rekrar maintains meticulous records of volcanic activity in the region, particularly concerning Gorphin’s Mount, the volcano that underpins the kingdom’s power. They even have an outpost in the mountains tasked with monitoring the Eyrie. You can see how the doctor arrived at his prediction of the volcano entering a period of dormancy, but if you cross-reference it with the river levels, a pattern emerges.” Son’dali took the book and flicked back and forth through the pages with Zini pointing out certain entries. “A drop in water levels precedes an increase in volcanic activity. It’s tenuous but there. However, the chart indicates the river level is stable.” “It was twenty years ago.” Zini took the book and pointed at the last entry date. “But the last few years, the levels have started to drop.” “And how do you know this? Have you flown across the continent and seen this for yourself? Are you, in fact, a dragon?” As much as Zini wished she could take to the sky, she had so far failed to sprout wings. Although if she did, she was sure Mother Olo would put them to use. “A neighbour of mine is a wine importer. He was complaining of a drop in quality in the Talidar Red, that’s grown along the banks of the Gopal which originates—” “At the base of Gorphin’s Mount.” Son’dali scratched at his beard. “Your source is questionable, but the information is interesting. Concerning, I should add.” “Can I use the machine?” “Of course, you helped calibrate it. It’s your blood, so swing away.” Zini crossed to the corner of the room where a large box stood on wooden legs. Under the lid was a relief map of Nostvary, with mountains and lakes marked along with the major cities. At the centre was a soaring peak almost twice as high as the surrounding mountains. The dwarves named it the ‘The Heaven’s Spire’ and proclaimed it the heart of Nostvary. Hanging above it on a wire framework was a series of miniature vials, each containing a drop of Zini’s blood. At this point in the construction, the cleric of the god of war had admitted to growing faint at the sight of blood, so it had been up to Zini to prick her own finger. She removed a panel on the side and made some fine adjustments to the set of weights dangling under the map. Once that was done, she turned a handle part way clockwise and set the machine in motion. There was a moment of activity when the wires hummed, the weights went up and down, and the vials drifted along the wires pulled by strands of Zini’s hair. Son’dali peered over her shoulder but let Zini take the lead. “Heaven’s Spire is the primary ether collector and here is the Zento.” Zini pointed at the cluster of vials dangling over the very centre of the box and the highest point on the map. Over to the east, a single vial shook slightly above a crater sculpted from clay. It was Son’dali’s hands that had crafted the relief map, an accomplishment that Zini thought he never got enough credit for. “Fluctuating wildly, as usual. This spike in the east is the Dragon Mount. If only there was a way to measure it more precisely.” “The dwarves can, but they won’t share the information with us. They’d rather keep the knowledge to themselves than see us harvest our own ether.” “What’s this?” Zini moved a little so that Son’dali could see where she was pointing. One of the vials hovering over the Heaven’s Spire was sticking out at an angle, as if torn between two places. That the spire had the greatest pull wasn’t in doubt, but there was a contender somewhere nearby. “It’s to the north of the Heaven’s Spire.” Son’dali loomed over his map. The mountains had been tricky, and he wasn’t sure how exact he’d got them. “Is that in The Thousand Lakes?” Zini asked. “No, it’s still within the Intraana Mountain Range.” He leaned closer until his beard brushed the wires. Grey eyes narrowed as he stared at the errant vial. “The dwarves have opened another collector.” Son’dali almost pushed Zini out of the way in his eagerness to reset the machine. Zini watched his expert adjustments, noting what he did differently. “This isn’t a judgement on your skill, Zini. I just need to be sure. The dwarves have claimed they aren’t producing enough to meet the empire’s demand, but if they have another collector...” They both stood back and let the machine run through its motions, but once it was settled, they pressed together to inspect the outcome. “Still there. Darson Fic’dars will be interested in this. Well done, Zini. When I go to the Zento, you’ll be my assistant.” “Thank you, Son’dali.” Zini beamed. Mother Olo had made it clear that Nesher was where Zini belonged, but a chance to have one of her children be a part of an imperial expedition to the Zento would be too valuable for her to say no. “I need to calculate a more exact location.” Son’dali fetched a notebook and a quill. “Will you be at the coronation tomorrow?” “Of course, the entire city will be here to see it.” Zini suddenly remembered why she was there and almost kicked herself for forgetting. “People are saying he died of heartbreak.” “Only if heartbreak involves rotting of the insides.” Not content with the oil lamp, Son’dali snatched an ornate bronze lamp from a shelf and turned it on with a sharp twist of a nob. Bright white light leapt from behind the frosted glass to fall upon the relief map. “He was sick then?” Zini hated the idea of Ell’ha having to see his father so ill. It was another thing they shared, although she’d been the same age as Sas’ha when her parents had passed. “Harmonic disruption. It normally only affects those exposed to unnatural environments.” “Machine operators?” Zini’s skin went cold. “A badly maintained one. Imagine clanking, high-pitched whirring, but you’d have to be exposed to it for most of your day.” “What about sleeping under one?” “That would do it. Although I’m not sure why anyone would be that stupid.” Son’dali turned off the lamp and caught the strained look on Zini’s face. “Are you okay? You’ve gone pale.” “I’m fine.” Zini smiled despite the familiar pain in her heart. No matter how many years passed, it was always there, or rather, they weren’t. “The emperor wasn’t near machinery, so how could he have suffered from harmonic disruption?” “I’m going to tell you, but this is a secret. Only a handful of people know this, and I only found out this past month.” “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” “Dromae’s Eye,” was all Son’dali said, but from the look he gave her, Zini knew he expected her to deduce the rest. “The emerald they all wear?” Zini said, confused as to its relevance. Her head was far away under a conveyor belt, watching her mother shoving a pit prop into place while dust fell around them. “It’s as big as a chicken’s egg.” “It’s more than a mere symbol of their power. This jewel also provides protection from harmonic disturbances. I had the privilege of cleaning Emperor Kow’ho’s emerald before his funeral, during which Darson Dromae shared its significance with me. Before his own coronation and now his son’s, the emperor journeyed to Sentinel, the dwelling place of the Dromaens. Here, they were required to spend a week in isolation, deep within the cavernous rock, far from any living being. The solitude and the rock’s presence were such that their soul’s frequency would be cleansed as much as possible. Throughout this week of solitude, they’d wear the jewel, imprinting their frequency upon it.” “How?” Harmonic imprinting wasn’t a new theory to Zini, but she’d always thought it a passive effect rather than deliberate. It was why some old buildings had an aura around them, sometimes sinister but often good. Mother Olo’s kitchen was a prime example. Decades of laughter had imbued the walls and the table with a calming peace that soothed even the most troubled souls. “The Order of Dromae safeguards this knowledge, contending that understanding the procedure could jeopardise the emperor’s life. However, given the recent death of one, I’m not sure that argument still holds.” “So, it serves as a shield? A reservoir of his own soul?” “Precisely,” Son’dali said, admiring his pupil’s quick understanding. “Illness can distort a soul’s frequency, and the more severe the illness, the greater the alteration. The eye serves as a buffer, aiding the emperor in combating illnesses and, in theory, poisons. However, this particular emerald was damaged. Not physically, but harmonically. Something had corrupted it from within.” “They wear it constantly. It would have been like a barb to the heart.” Zini sat down as the weight of what she’d learned hit her. Son’dali watched her closely, aware that the emperor and his family weren’t just images on coins to her. “In essence, you could say he died of heartbreak.” “How do you know it won’t happen again? If Ell’ha wears it, won’t he die?” Son’dali was already shaking his head, eager to put his student’s concerns to rest. Her friendship with the imperial family was well known to him, although he was adamant it had nothing to do with his favouring her. Zini’ma’s accomplishments were all her own. “Ell’ha won’t be wearing his father’s.” “But it’s been handed down for thousands of years, hasn’t it? Dromae’s Eye is older than the empire.” Zini asked her question, but she could see from Son’dali’s expression there was more to the secret. “Fic’dars told me that the Dromaens have a room full of them, all cut to look the same. Apparently, emperors are as clumsy as the rest of us. They drop them, lose them over the sides of ships or even down the privy.” A smile crossed the cleric’s face as he mimed dropping an emerald down a hole. “Once they realised the problem with this one, they decided it best to dip into their supply. It’s why The Temple Guardian allowed me to inspect it. The Dromaens would never have otherwise.” “But if they made the emerald, it’s their fault. They killed him, the Dro—” “No!” Son’dali snapped. “Don’t even entertain that thought. They take their duty seriously and would never harm the emperor.” “I’m sorry, it’s a lot to take in.” “I shouldn’t have shared this with you.” A look of regret crossed Son’dali’s face when he realised the distress he’d caused his student. “I sometimes forget that you’re not one of us. We lead lives dedicated to our gods and their earthly vessel. Everyone in the grand temple reveres the emperor. It was an accident and one that no one else can ever learn of. Do you understand?” “Yes, of course.” Zini bowed her head. She didn’t enjoy lying to the cleric, but her loyalty lied elsewhere. “May I ask what’s going to happen to the broken one?” “Would you like to see?” Son’dali smiled warmly at her. “I suspect it’s the real reason you came here.” “May I? I thought the temple was off-limits to outsiders?” “The main floor is, but we’re above it,” Son’dali chuckled as Zini looked down at her feet in surprise. “The passages can be disorienting. Follow me.” Opening the door to the corridor, Son’dali strode ahead at his typically brisk pace. Zini kept up with him, nearly colliding, when he abruptly stopped to open a door halfway down the corridor. He motioned for Zini to enter and then shut it behind them. “What’s this?” Zini asked as she squeezed into the small room. It was barely large enough for two people with Son’dali’s beard competing with Zini for headroom. The back wall curved inwards, creating a slope with a wooden hatch set halfway up. Son’dali opened it and made room for Zini to peek through. They were above the central section of the temple, looking down on the glass-covered casket of the emperor, his body laid out inside. Zini forgot to breathe and gripped the wall, suddenly aware of the long drop beneath her and the thin skin of brick holding her up. “If you feel sick, please do so in this room and not through the hatch,” Son’dali advised in a whisper. “Jennerian glass can endure for a thousand years without fracturing, but it can be discoloured. If you look to the sides of the coffin, you can see into the crypt below. The engineering is remarkable. In fact, during your next visit, I’ll show you the view from the opposite angle. Once lowered, the floor folds up, and the coronation occurs right there.” “He looks like he’s sleeping.” Zini thought about how much he looked like Ell’ha and couldn’t help but imagine the young man stretched out the same way. At each of the compass points around the coffin, a soldier from a different legion stood guard, all attired in ceremonial uniforms. “The soldiers have been standing guard in shifts. There’s a Karalon Ranger in the far corner,” Son’dali pointed out, guiding her gaze. “Can you see him?” Zini craned her neck. The soldier was dressed in lizard scale armour, with the head of the dangerous creature worn over his own. In his hands, he held a golden spear with a flag affixed to the shaft. “Only a few are asked to join the order of the hunters. Those that do must venture into the badlands and kill a Rakrak with their bare hands. It’s like a crocodile but with longer legs, and it lives in the sand,” Zini said. She didn’t want to talk, but a part of her knew it was expected. “The imperial army tried to ban the practice, but the legionaries threatened to march on Sondara if they did.” “They are truly formidable warriors. Look, over there.” A group of clerics in full regalia were nearing the coffin. The woman leading the group held a white cushion. They were tiny figures from this distance, but Zini could make out the shining emerald. “Is that the original one?” Zini whispered to Son’dali. “No, that’s already in the coffin.” A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, and she looked up to find him stern of face. “Zini, you must never repeat what I’ve revealed, or we could both face repercussions. This is the last time I want to hear you speak of it.” “Of course.” The cleric approached the casket with the cushion in her outstretched arms and placed it on the glass before stepping back. “That’s Loder’dars, a darson of Dromae, and an expert in harmonics. I’m hoping to speak with her before she returns to Sentinel.” “She oversees the entire process?” “Indeed, Loder’dars is a veritable genius. Now, come along, I’ve duties to attend to.” Son’dali closed the hatch and escorted Zini back into the corridor. “Thank you for taking the time. I always learn so much from you.” “Zini’ma, your intellect is a rare treasure. I only wish I had more time to offer. Visit me again in a week and I’ll show you the mechanism for lowering the casket. I’ll also discuss your volcano theory with a colleague.” He snapped his fingers and turned on his heels. Zini stood awkwardly alone, unsure whether she should find her own way out or follow. What she really wanted to do was sneak back into the closet and open the hatch. Of all the views she’d had of the city, that one was the most surprising. Just as she was working up the courage to retrace her steps, Son’dali reappeared with a book in hand. “If you’re to be my assistant, you should prepare yourself.” He handed it over and Zini read the cover eagerly. “A History of the Zento and the Holy Isle. Thank you, I’ll study it diligently.” “I’ve no doubt that you will. Remember to visit me next week.” With that, Son’dali departed, leaving her alone in the corridor. Zini clutched the book to her chest as she headed for the stairs. It was time for her to return to Mother Olo and share with her all that she’d learnt. She only hoped the walk would give her time to understand it herself. [/userstate]If you'd like to read this as an ebook, please follow the link.
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