The Garden of Stones

chapter THIRTY-ONE





“By refusing the various calls we hear throughout our lives, we often condemn ourselves to later years of regret. We see them, those elders, bent under the weight of doubt: living their twilight years thinking might have, could have, or should have. Let me answer the calls which come to me, so perhaps I will look back at my life and say, I did.”—Janchriquoi, inventor of the Wind Loom, 756th Year of the Awakened Empire


Day 325 of the 495th Year of the Shrīanese Federation


“We going to make it?” Hayden asked, knuckles white on the rail. There was a hiss, a groan, a crack as another part of the galley broke away to tumble into the wetlands that scudded below.

“Not in one piece,” Indris replied through clenched teeth. His hair was damp with sweat, rivulets trickling down his brow and temples. It felt like his hearts were about to burst. There was a pain shot through his forehead like a crossbow bolt. The galley he carried was not laced with filaments of witchfire, or silver, or gold. It had not been designed to have disentropy sear through its bulk. Indris felt the increased temperature of the vessel through the soles of his boots. Entropy had accelerated. The galley had started to fall apart around them. “At least the cursed thing is lighter now.”

“We’ve not far to go,” Shar observed. Indris could see the smear of trees that rose to Sycamore Hill, the sparkle of sunlight from the crystal formations of the Hai-Ardin. The walls of Amnon formed a low line of gray, bright here and there with flashes from quartz fragments.

Ekko and Mauntro padded up on certain feet. As pieces fell away from the galley, it became more erratic in its flight. The two Tau-se veterans eyed Indris with curiosity. They shared a long look between them, though it was Ekko who spoke. “Amonindris, you realize this conveyance of ours is breaking?”

“No? Really?” Indris said caustically.

“Yes, really,” Mauntro replied. “We just lost most of the rear castle. It was a wake-up for some of my warriors, that much I can say. So…are we going to make it?”

Indris gave the Tau-se an insincere smile, then turned his attention to where he was going. With the amount of mass the galley had lost, it was easier to keep airborne, but its irregular shape was harder to steer. As he turned the vessel northward, to skim across the canopies of the sycamores, the railing in front of him hissed. It shimmered brightly for a moment, dazzlingly bright, then broke away into streamers of ash and motes of light.

He spared a glance at Changeling. The blade was striated, as if it were a raw flexed muscle, lines of shadow rippling between ligaments of bright opalescence. Steam rose about her, and the deck nearby was scorched from her heat. Indris felt the strain of so much disentropy to the point of bursting, yet it was Changeling who bore the worst of it by far. Without her to strengthen him, he was sure he would have died long before they reached Amnon.

The galley dropped. Indris felt as if his stomach had risen into his mouth. The wobbly boat rose again quickly, much lighter.

“What did we—” he began to ask.

“Well,” Hayden drawled, “looking down through the cargo hold, I can see the tops of the trees where part of the hull used to be. Reckon that ain’t good.”

They rose higher as they circled the southern, then eastern faces of Zephyr Hill. Wind whipped Indris’s face as they swept by the pale incline, almost cliff sheer. In a few moments the galley was careening past hillocks of sparse grass, on course for the splintered teeth of boulders that dotted the hillside where it stretched toward the Marble Sea. To the east and south, Zephyr Hill descended in a series of sharp terraces dotted with trees and huddled stones rounded smooth by wind and rain. Sea eagles nested there, plumage ruffled, their voices shrill in the wind of the galley’s passing.

“Tell Ekko they’ll have to jump as soon as we stop moving,” Indris choked out to Shar. “This thing won’t last much longer.”

The Seethe war-chanter dashed away, sure-footed despite the deck bucking beneath her. Indris spared his shipmates a glance. A few of the Tau-se shrugged as they sauntered to the edge of the deck or to the few rails that remained. Others jokingly threatened to push their comrades off. Some even had to be kicked awake where they had slumbered in the sun.

As the fragmented hull touched the ground, part of it sloughed away. Timbers flew into the air, snapped as if rotten. Brass and iron fittings pinged into each other, then ricocheted into nearby boulders. Great clods of earth were hurled up as the sharp prow sliced into the earth. Then it, too, gave way.

The galley shuddered to a halt in a long furrow of soil and stone. No sooner had the vessel stopped moving than the Tau-se bounded for the ground. Shar leaped gracefully, so light she seemed to glide to the ground. Two Tau-se grabbed Hayden, then hurled him into the waiting arms of two of their companions who had already made landfall. Indris pulled Changeling from the deck. Wood puffed away as ash as he dashed for the side and jumped over.

As he hit the ground, Indris urged the Tau-se further away from the wreckage. From behind them came ticking creaks, the dry snap of wood, and the bellowed protests of metal bent out of shape as what remained of the galley collapsed. The galley slumped as parts of it were consumed in smokeless tongues of nacreous light. When it settled, finally, there was little left except for the top deck and jagged beams of the forecastle.

“We really did make it,” Ekko observed. “Though I doubt the galley is going anywhere soon.”

Indris laughed weakly, then lay back on the sun-warmed grass. He folded a forearm over his eyes. Lightning flashed behind his closed eyelids and his hearts tolled. The taste of bile built up in the back of his throat, and he sat up. He could feel the acid burn in his chest. He imagined a lightning rod might feel like this after a violent storm, if the same lightning rod was thrown from the roof and run over by a herd of stampeding horses.

Changeling was in his hand, the weapon silent as even she struggled with the reaction from channeling so much disentropy. Despite his fatigue, to hold her was intoxicating. The way her energy had flowed across his soul like honey over a lover’s skin. He could almost taste it.

Ekko assembled his people. The Tau-se split into five-person formations. Three formations ranged up the shallower incline here near the top of Zephyr Hill. The others took position around Indris, eyes focused outward. One of the squads near the crest of the hill loped back to speak with Ekko.

“We are only about one hundred meters away from the Garden of Stones,” the woman reported in a purring voice. “There are soldiers wearing the colors of the Great House of Näsarat guarding the Lotus House. They wear the insignia of Roshana’s Whitehorse. There are others with them.”

“Heavy cavalry.” Ekko’s opinion was quite clear from his tone. The Tau-se rarely rode animals for any reason.

“Ekko, please tell me you still have the Angothic Spirit Casque?”

“I still have the casque, Amonindris.”

“Then gather the Lion Guard, if you would. There’s a daughter who’s lost a father whom I may need to help become a rahn.”





“You’re late,” Femensetri observed as Indris entered the Lotus House. Roshana and Siamak looked up from where they sat. There was no sign of Mari, which he found more disappointing than he would have expected.

“I’m here,” he pointed out. “Where’s Mari? I thought she’d be with you.”

“She’s with Nazarafine.” Rosha crossed the room to stand beside Indris. She scanned the ranks of the Tau-se, Shar, and Hayden. Indris knew she looked for a sign of the father who was not there. He ignored the question in her eyes as he turned to Femensetri.

“We need to talk, you and I,” he gestured outside.

“Indris, we really don’t have the time to—” Rosha began. She stopped talking when Indris raised his hand.

“We need to make time. Ekko?” The Tau-se handed Indris the cloth-wrapped bundle of the Spirit Casque. Indris faced the others. “Where’s Corajidin?”

“He arrived shortly after noon, much earlier than we anticipated.” Siamak hooked his thumbs through the sash at his waist. “He’s been at his villa ever since. He sent several couriers, one to Knight-Marshal Narseh, another to Nadir, second in command of the Erebus armies. Belamandris and his Anlūki seem to be in control of the city, supported by four hundred or so Iphyri and several companies of nahdi.”

“Our forces are outnumbered, Indris.” Rosha’s expression was pensive. “If more of the Erebus soldiery manage to enter the city—”

“We’re not here to fight the Erebus army,” Femensetri interrupted. “Nazarafine should be at the Tyr-Jahavān by now, with the two motions to depose Corajidin as governor of Amnon, as well as Asrahn-Elect. Usually the suspicion of murder would be enough to raise questions, but he has too many supporters who’ll not speak against him.”

“And for Nazarafine to veto the Teshri’s decision would lead to more civil unrest,” Siamak said.

“So it’ll be difficult for us to force Corajidin out of power.” Rosha shrugged with equanimity. “We doubted the sun would set without blood being spilled.”

“True enough.” Indris nodded. “Remember though, we don’t want to kill unless we have to. These are our own people, not monsters. They deserve mercy.”

“Even Corajidin?” Ekko growled.

Indris rested his hand on the big Tau-se’s armored shoulder. “Were I Belamandris,” he said, “I’d seize control of the Tyr-Jahavān. Whoever holds the council chamber will control the flow of information to their allies. The Teshri will only get to make one decision about this.”

Ekko walked away to speak with his fellow Tau-se. Indris meant to follow when Rosha grabbed him by the shoulder. “You stay. We know things didn’t go as planned in the Rōmarq and Daniush is dead. Please, just tell me. Where’s my father?”





“Vahineh assassinated Yasha?” Indris could not keep the incredulity from his voice. “And Mari did nothing to stop her?”

“Well, that should calm Corajidin right down,” Ekko said wryly. “We may as well open a keg and sing our victory songs.”

“It’s not funny, Ekko.” Femensetri eyed the Tau-se darkly. “Vahineh’s put us in a right hole. Mari’s right. Corajidin will be even more intractable now.”

“I’ve seen what the man is capable of,” Indris reminded her.

Rosha remained silent as the four of them reached the Vault of the Echoes, nestled among weeping figs on the hill overlooking the Garden of Stones. The Vault of the Echoes stood on a broad diorite pillar some ten meters high, surrounded by a wide stairway secured by steel gates. A hot wind scoured them where it gusted between the double row of carved marble columns that supported the vault’s domed, moss-colored marble ceiling. There were no walls. The alabaster floor of the vault was inset with an intricate, six-petaled lotus mosaic of polished quartz pieces. A faint blush of fire shone in each petal.

“You failed.” Femensetri leaned with her back against one of the pillars, her crook resting between her folded arms. Her expression was bleak as she scowled at Indris. Rosha stood on the edge of the vault, her back to the others. Indris had been so young when his own mother had died. So much time had passed, he had no words of empathy for his cousin’s loss.

Failed. There was nothing that would change the moment they were in now, so what benefit in trying to explain what had happened to bring them here?

He knelt in the middle of the lotus flower pattern in the floor. He hesitantly unwrapped the Spirit Casque, then set it before him. The diamond in the forehead of the casque rippled with light. Indris looked up at his former teacher. “It could be—”

“Worse?” she said sullenly. “It is worse, boy. Far-ad-din’s not coming back either, so you say.” The Stormbringer looked at the Spirit Casque with revulsion. Her mindstone flared to black life, a vortex casting a ghastly pallor over her features. The blues, greens, and blacks of her eyes were lambent. “We’ve only one course of action to offer the Teshri. There’s no need to commune with him, Indris. I know what—”

“I’ll not have you tell me what I can find out for myself,” Indris said. “I spent too many years with your voice in my ears, and all it got me was trouble. Ariskander needs to be released from this thing anyway.”

She began to speak, but Indris ignored her. He allowed his eyes to unfocus on the shattered-window surface of the mosaic floor. Radiance danced in each cut piece; it pooled around the casque, then trickled along the grooves between each tile. He opened himself to the weft and warp of the ahm, woven into the stones and mortar of the Lotus House. It came in fits and starts at first. Then the cracks between the tiles began to fill with viscous gray-blue light, so sluggish it seemed to take on mass the way no light should. He looked more deeply. Valleys and plateaus of quartz dipped in sharp canyons. It rose in flattened plains. Colors at different heights took on shape, became geometries, pathways, a map of thought, cause and effect for him to follow. The lotus flower floor folded upward in his mind. Became a faceted shield around his mind. His breath chimed against the walls. Sent ripples into the spirit world beyond.

The High Communion began.

Indris knelt there, his breath deep, even, eyes intent on the lick of shadow and light around him. Petal shapes, pale as ivory, seemed to float just beneath the surface. Motes of color swarmed in the floor, like the amber-and-onyx bees long believed to serve as the speakers for the dead. Theirs was the keeping of sacred trusts. Indris could feel their buzzing in his skull, though he could not understand what they tried to tell him. Their droning vibrated along his skeleton, pins and needles inside his body. His face felt flushed. Had he the choice, he would have waited until he was better rested, but Ariskander and Rosha deserved better.

The diamond in the casque chimed. Facets exploded outward as an amorphous, dappled shadow flickered back and forth. Indris stared down, watching as the shadow rose from the depths. As it drew closer, it flickered with a nimbus of sapphire light, the heat of which curled about Indris’s face. Perspiration beaded his forehead. It trickled down his nose. A single drop formed, perfect and round, before falling to the floor and striking the mosaic with the sound of a hundred bells in his ears. There was a disconnect, a stutter in his mind, then—

The escape from emptiness. Fear rose up in a sea to swamp him. Pain. Searing pain. A diamond nail through his brow that gathered…him. All of him. The casque brought darkness to the world. Corajidin’s rabid features. His snarl. The madness of obsession. The scent of mint over sour breath. His threats. Oh, dear Ancestors, I will be trapped forever in—knives sliced his skin. The witch’s questions questions questions. The qua—the Font of all life—so calm so cool so clear. Awakening! They want to know about the source of Awakening!—

Sunlight kissed his face. He could feel it in his hair. The wind on his skin. It carried with it the susurrus of the leaves where they told of all they knew, heard, saw. The pounding of the elk’s great heart as it bounded through ivy-wreathed ruins. The cool mountain air was beneath his wings as he looked down with his eagle’s eyes. The release from the embrace of the river, to arc in blinding light, gills open though he could not breathe until he felt water immerse him once more. Watching his flock, a huge hound at his feet, the warmth of grass where it grew between his toes. Beneath, in the slow, deliberate, peaceful darkness of the soil the seeds as they—

Power surged through him, a maelstrom that infused his limbs and ignited his mind. Names, places, facts, thoughts memories desires fears lessons plans places faces—

“No!” Indris configured his mind into a maze of faceted walls, crystalline mirrors that turned Ariskander’s thoughts into reflected fragments. “Ariskander! No! I’m not your heir! I’m not Nehrun!”

“You are my heir, Indris!” Ariskander’s disjointed face appeared in hundreds of facets. Eyes here. Lips there. His voice rippled through Indris’s mind. “Finally, a Scholar King to—”

“Ariskander, no!” Indris bolstered his defenses. “You’ve no idea what this will do.”

“We all agreed, Indris.” Ariskander’s was the voice of the wind through pine needles. “Vashne, Femensetri, Nazarafine…Far-ad-din. Years ago we decided you were the one. Since you were born, this was meant to be.”

“Without asking me! Don’t do this, I beg of you.”

“It is what your mother sent you to us for.”

“Sent me?” Indris looked at the whorling cloud of Ariskander’s spirit that coiled about his spiritual refuge. “What do you mean?”

“My sister was a vessel, one who willingly accepted her great burden. Your mother risked all when she sent you forward. Sedefke saw that one day the Scholar Kings would be needed—”

“It’s not in me to rule, Ariskander.” Indris wrapped his arms around his abdomen. A vision blossomed in his mind as Ariskander swamped Indris with his Awakened mind—a pregnant woman in a small house by the shores of the Faladin River. A cat sprawled on the small veranda, tail thumping the weathered wooden planks. Indris felt the baby kick inside him/her. Could feel his/her husband’s strong potter’s hands on his/her belly. Could hear the clear tenor of his voice as he sang to his wife and child. Encompassing awareness and the power of an Awakened rahn surged through him, a terrifying heat in his soul that trickled outward through his limbs. “Why would you risk everything to raise a mahjirahn to the throne?”

“Because Shrīan needs to be guided by compassion, wisdom, and strength. We need you if we are to survive. Once was a time when all rahns were scholars. A better, saner, more refined time. Corajidin was right, after his fashion. He was a student of Sedefke’s teachings, but he read them differently. We must return to our origins.”

“And become the target of the Iron League?”

“That will happen regardless. How long did you think Shrīan would stand, while others coveted her strength? Scholars must rule so the witches may not!”

Strength flowed into Indris as Ariskander poured his Awakening in. Profound, deep-rooted, eternal strength. Indris marveled at its purity, glimpsing in those moments the transformation every Awakened rahn underwent in this moment of unity. A sense of stillness pooled in his mind, the cool calm of the mountains where they watched yet another sunset. Indris gasped with the sensation. It was not pleasure; it transcended pleasure. Was it rapture, this thing coursing though him? Was this what true bliss felt like? Such power! He felt the breadth of Ariskander’s Awakening: the ability to influence the weather, to make crops plentiful, to see and hear and feel with the senses of any creature in his prefecture. To be infused with the solid strength of the earth or the solemn endurance of the mighty cypress trees overlooking the Marble Sea. To look back across the collected wisdom of all his Ancestors and dwell with them in living memory, events of a millennium ago as fresh as if they had happened today. To be at one with the dreaming consciousness of Īa.

When merged with what he could so as a scholar, he could end wars, feed the hungry, cure sickness! He could raise armies so vast no person would ever think to oppose him. He could make the pillars of Īa shake, and all would be terrified to break the peace he had wrought. He could know the secrets of the ages, buried deep in antiquity. He could raise the dead if need be, to fight for any cause he named. Nothing would be beyond him, all because he willed it so. The strength of the world could be his: a Scholar King, a mahjirahn with a power unseen for centuries.

And if an enemy threatened what he loved, then he could—

Indris smoothed his mind. The diamond facets of his shell flowed. Vertices disappeared. Color and shape blurred. All around him the structure of his mind groaned as edges disappeared. He sheltered his soul in a perfect sphere of pearlescent light upon which nothing could gain purchase.

“Indris!” Ariskander’s voice was softer now, a snowfall on glass. “Please, we need you to do this.”

“No,” Indris said with difficulty. “No. It’s too much. You need me out there, to do what I do, so no Scholar King ever needs to wield such power again.”

“Indris, you must!”

“I’ve done everything you ever asked of me, but not this. Never this.”

Tears streamed down his face as the tendrils of Awakening withdrew from his soul. His newfound strength faded. The profundity of peace tumbled down the mountain of his psyche. The borrowed insight into his forebears slipped away, the roots of a newly planted tree dead before its time.

“Find your heir, Ariskander,” Indris murmured, exhausted. “Give your power to somebody with less talent for destruction than me.”

There was a sorrowful cry of farewell. The swirl of blue and gold around his pearl fortress, the powerful surge of phoenix wings, then all was quiet.

Exhausted, Indris allowed his barriers to drop. His sight returned to the world around him. Femensetri knelt before him, her hands on his shoulders to prop him up. Her magnificent opal eyes were bright in her timeless face.

Indris spared her a wry smile. He opened his mouth to speak, yet—





Indris opened his eyes. Femensetri sat some distance away, holding a supine Rosha in her arms. Somebody had laid him upon blankets in the sun, with a rolled-up over-robe for a pillow. He sat up with a groan, as much mental as physical. Changeling had been laid by his side. She had started to repair the damage she had suffered on their trip across the Rōmarq. Though she was mottled in places, she shone with a healthy light. She purred as Indris rested his hand on her hilt to sheathe her.

Ekko helped Indris to his feet. The other Tau-se silently knelt in rows nearby, their faces expressionless in the Tau-se way.

“How long was I…” Indris asked apprehensively.

“Minutes only.” Ekko’s eyes narrowed with pleasure. The giant golden-furred warrior fell into step beside him as Indris rose, walked to where Rosha lay. Indris had become accustomed to Ekko’s solid, laconic presence.

The Stormbringer raised her head as Indris approached. There was a combination of awe, fury, and pity in her gaze. Though there was no way Indris was a match for the Stormbringer in power, he was also past the days when he would let her cow him. Too much blood had flowed under the bridge, his blood, for them ever to go back to where they had once been, as master and pupil.

Femensetri gently lay Roshana down in the long, windswept grass. His cousin looked as if she slept. Her eyelids twitched with visions only she could see. A slight frown creased her brow.

“You’re a damned fool, Näsarat fa Amonindris.” Femensetri shook her head ruefully. “You could’ve solved so many problems, had you done what was asked of you.”

“How many other secrets do you keep from me, I wonder?” Indris’s shoulders slumped in fatigue. “You know as well as I do that I can be of more use in the wider world than perched on some throne.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. She grinned suddenly, her face rendered beautiful. “Perhaps. Though I thought you’d forgone the days of public service?”

“Ariskander spoke of my mother,” he said abruptly.

“Oh?” she replied with a wary smile.

Indris chewed his lip as he scrutinized his former teacher. Femensetri’s expression remained fixed as she stared at her former pupil. The two of them remained frozen in tableau until Indris knelt by Rosha’s side to take her hand in his. Her skin was surprisingly hot, a dry fever. Memories of Awakening thrilled his fingertips, gone as rapidly as they had come. “I don’t need to serve the Teshri, or the Sēq Council of Masters, to serve either Shrīan or my people. Ariskander Awakened Rosha?”

“It appears so. She wasn’t prepared, yet she’s a keen mind and strength of spirit. Rosha’s the daughter of Scholar Kings and Scholar Queens. Īa is in her soul, as it is in the soul of all Näsarats. I’ve no doubt she’ll survive.”

“How long till she’s—”

“Stop talking about me,” Rosha complained. “I’m awake. But there’s so much to…understand.” Indris helped Rosha to sit. When she opened her eyes, they were dark, almost black, flecked with her usual light brown. There was a sense of age to them, a weight, an ancient and profound depth. “How did you ever say no?”

Indris coughed, then looked away from her penetrating gaze. He could have done so much good with the power Rosha now had. Only an ahmsah adept could fully understand the true potential of the energy provided by the qua, or harness the awesome power of being Awakened. Even so, the world was safer with scholars away from thrones. Every time a scholar monarch had used the extent of their power, it had ended in disaster. Mahj-Näsarat fa Amaranjin, the first Awakened Emperor, had sunk the center of Seethe civilization beneath the Marble Sea. Many Avān and Humans, as well as Seethe and members of the other Elemental Masters, had died for his greater good. Mahj-Näsarat fe Malde-ran, the last Awakened empress, had cursed a great number of her people to either an undead, or undying, existence, for which she had been reviled ever since as the Empress-in-Shadows. The scholars of the Great House of Näsarat had a checkered past when it came to wielding power.

“Will you be able to lead your people, Rahn-Roshana?” Indris asked with a smile.

Rosha’s eyebrows rose as she heard the honorific. She swatted Indris’s hands away as he tried to help her to her feet. Rosha swayed for a moment, her hands held out at her sides for balance. After a few moments, she appeared to gain possession of herself once more.

“Knight-Colonel Ekko?” she asked. “Are the Lion Guard ready to pledge their service to me?”

“They are, indeed, my rahn,” he said with fierce pride.

“Then let’s gather what numbers we have, shall we?” Indris heard overtones of Ariskander in the way she spoke. “We’ve a great deal of business to settle with the Great House of Erebus before the sun sets.”

“Indeed we have,” Indris said, his thoughts on his missing friend, Omen.