She retraced the path that had brought her back to the Maw and her brother only weeks ago, but this time, the roads were mostly deserted. The sun still burned black on the horizon, and few were willing to venture out. A few more lights shone muffled from windows than they had two days ago, but the revelry for which the Maw was famous was nowhere to be found. No music, no laughter, no cooking fires and drunken revelry. No colorful clothes, no dancing, no joy. Before she had felt a mixture of outrage and jealousy upon returning to her childhood district, but now she only felt sorrow and a sense of urgency. She did not linger as she made her way through the streets and was glad to reach the gondola for the crossing to Titidi.
The district of Water Strider was much the same, shuttered and hushed, as if holding its breath in anticipation of what might befall the city next. She made quick work of crossing and found herself at the border to Tsay within the hour. She had worried about whether she would be able to enter the home of Golden Eagle, but the dozen guards at the border took one look at her Maw robes and waved her through. Servants moved more easily than priests, she reminded herself, and anyone from the Maw was presumed to be a servant or a thief, and what self-respecting thief looked like her? For once, she was glad for her unassuming appearance and the prejudices of the elite.
She reached the bridge to Otsa and found herself entirely alone. The foot traffic that had been sparse through the districts evaporated altogether here, as if the citizenry did not want to get too close to the place where death had come for so many. She could see the celestial tower now. Normally, a signal fire burned upon its ramparts, but now there was nothing. It looked not only empty but as if it had been abandoned for centuries. It had not begun to crumble yet, but the living heart of it had been extinguished. It had been a place of great power once, but, more important to Naranpa, it had been a beacon of enlightenment, a house of learning. The residents had been bound in common and higher purpose… until they had not. And for that she found herself already weeping before her feet even touched the Otsa earth.
* * *
The heavy wooden doors of the tower had been flung open and left that way. She pressed a hand to the carving at the entrance, the symbol of the Tovan sun that greeted all who entered. Would it ever shine here again, or would the city wither in darkness? That question is for you to answer, Naranpa, she thought to herself. Is that not the very reason you are here?
She passed through and paused. Everything looked in place. The benches just inside the entrance, the wide stone stairs that circled the perimeter and led to the half dozen levels above. Nothing was overturned, nothing broken or looted. Just empty, as if everyone had left in an orderly fashion and all at once.
There were still thick globs of resin in the lantern basins, and she lit one and brought it with her. Her steps echoed through the hall like the solemn toll of a bell announcing her approach. But there was no one here to hear it or to welcome her, and she was not sure if that made it better or a hundred times more difficult.
She reached the library level. Always there had been a ta dissa dedicant at the desk to greet those seeking knowledge in the great archives of the tower. The collection here, the scrolls and bound books and tablets, had no equal in all the Meridian. The other great cities, Cuecola and Hokaia, had libraries, but most of the books in Hokaia had been claimed by the Watchers and taken from the palace, their knowledge considered too dangerous for the spearmaidens to possess. The royal library in Cuecola had suffered a fire a century earlier, many precious works in their collection lost. That left Tova and the celestial tower as the seat of ancient knowledge in the world. What would become of it now?
I’ll save it, she vowed. I will save this library, if not for the Watchers, then for future generations, for scholars to come, in whatever form they might arrive. It was a bold promise and entirely beyond what one woman could do. But I am not just a woman, she reminded herself. I am the last Sun Priest.
She moved deeper into the library, past the more commonly consulted volumes and the sky charts rolled into scrolls. She wove her way through curving stacks until she found Haisan’s old desk. He was dead, killed by the Crow God Reborn, as were all the Watchers who had gone to Sun Rock that day, but for a moment, she expected the old man to come padding around the corner, grumbling about some new policy she wished to institute. She wondered how much he had known about Abah and Eche’s conspiracy with Golden Eagle and if he had approved. Or if the old scholar had just gotten caught up in the net, blithely unaware of the hook through her throat. She supposed it didn’t matter now, but she liked to think he had not known. It eased the ache in her heart.
She dug through the top drawer of the dead priest’s desk until she found a key. She took it and walked down another hallway. This one ended in a door marked with the same Tovan sun that had decorated the entrance of the tower. The key slid into the lock, and she turned it. Her heart sped up in anticipation. In all her years at the tower, she had never been allowed in this room. This space was sacred to the Order of the Historical Society, so much so that even the Sun Priest, or at least Naranpa in her diminished status as Sun Priest, was forbidden.
The room was round. Along its walls ran bookshelves populated with ancient texts. In the center stood a waist-high wooden table. On the table was a single document, written on bark paper and bound in book form. It was the original Treaty of Hokaia, the most sacred document on the continent. Naranpa approached it with reverence, her hands suddenly trembling. She knew what was in it; it was one of the first things all dedicants had to learn before they were divided into their respective orders. But she had never seen it, had only heard secondhand what it contained, and for a moment, she doubted. What if she had been lied to? What if they all had been lied to? What if the Order of the Historical Society had kept things from the other orders, concocted stories that favored themselves or distorted their sacred mandate? What if it was all a fabrication?
She flushed, feeling foolish. She sounded like Denaochi, paranoid and seeing trickery at every turn. The Watchers were not built upon a falsehood. And yet, as she looked upon the leather cover of the book embossed with the four seals of the great powers that fought in the war—the sun of Tova, the jaguar prince of Cuecola, the mermaid tail of the Teek, and the spear fortress of Hokaia—dread made her stomach clench.
She opened the book. It was divided into four sections, each section’s edges stained with a different dye. The first part of the manuscript was a series of recitations laying out the terms of the Treaty. It was dry and rote, and Naranpa recognized the words that established borders and responsibilities and proscriptions against a formal military and the like. The second part of the book was short but devastating and called for the execution of dreamwalkers, the banishment of all spearmaidens who had supported the insurrection, and the prohibition of magic and worship of the old gods in all the realms of the Meridian. There was also a sentence barring travel to the Graveyard of the Gods and a penalty of death for any who broke the edict. She thought of Zataya and her strange powders and wondered, again, if they were fakes.
The next section of the book set out the parameters for the establishment of the war college at Hokaia, as no longer a school to train the elite spearmaidens but a place open to all within the Meridian, so one culture could not master war the way the spearmaidens had and use their knowledge against the others. And it demanded that ways of peace be taught, too. Alternatives to slaughter and violence with an emphasis on diplomacy and compromise. She skimmed through these pages, too.