Age of Swords (The Legends of the First Empire #2)

Every life is a journey filled with crossroads. And then there are the bridges, those truly frightening choices that span what always was, from what will forever be. Finding the courage, or stupidity, to cross such bridges changes everything. For me, the life-altering choice was a literal bridge, the one I followed Persephone across on the dock in Vernes.

—THE BOOK OF BRIN





“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Arion asked. “What it felt like to touch the chords of creation.”

The mystic and her wolf were sitting in the open field, out from under the wool. Suri had a string pattern in her hands. She’d been holding it for some time, just staring. She’d made the same design on countless occasions and knew hundreds of ways to manipulate the weave to construct any number of patterns, but she didn’t move her fingers.

Suri ignored the question, and Arion sat down beside her, wet and smelling of the ocean.

“Did you fall into the sea?” Suri asked.

“I bathed. You should try it. But I’m not as clean as I would like. I still feel dirty.”

“Of course you do. You’re odd that way.”

“No, I think it’s the salt. The water was full of it. Dries the skin something terrible. Fun, though; you would like the waves. They pick you up and heave you along. Like flying.”

Suri gave her a smirk. Arion had spewed nonstop butterfly metaphors for days. “Was raining, you know? Works even better than the ocean. No salt.”

“And yet you look no cleaner for it. Don’t smell better, either.”

Suri glanced down at herself, puzzled. After days of constant showers, during which she and Minna had explored the tide pools of the rocky coast and the windswept fields surrounding Tirre, she didn’t have a spot of dirt on her—except for her legs and feet, where there was no avoiding the mud. Finding no sense in the comment, Suri focused once more on the string between her fingers. She still hadn’t decided what to do next.

Arion watched her, making Suri feel self-conscious.

“What?” Suri snapped in Rhunic.

“That’s the problem with that game,” Arion replied. “And why only beginners play it. Once you’ve touched a real chord, a string is just a string. You realize there are only so many patterns to make. Worse, you see that it’s only a toy in comparison with the chords of nature. With the Art there are an infinite number of possibilities. Everything in the world is woven into the same fabric, all linked, and each moment lived creates a new connection, alterations to this unimaginably complex web of life. Some strands can’t be moved; others can. Some that don’t appear movable at first can be altered if the right conditions are met. Once the strands are aligned, you can strum the chords and play their music. The various tones are a language, the language of creation and the building blocks of all things. At times, it feels as if anything is possible if only you can work out the complexities.”

Arion reached out and stroked Minna’s coat. The wolf opened her eyes but didn’t bother to lift her head. “You have the gift of being able to see behind the veil, to view the mechanics of how the world was made and how it works, and the talent to adjust all that to your purpose. Of course, you yourself are part of that weave. You exist in the web. You create the web.”

“I am a spider?”

Arion shook her head. “No, you don’t spin the string. Just as you’re doing now, you always start with a loop. Artists can’t create anything new; they merely make connections from what exists. But we are also part of what exists, so we are the web itself, individual strands in our own string pattern. As you alter the patterns in that string, you are also altering the world around you, and because you are part of this world, you are altering yourself. If you can see this, then you can see the truth. The string you weave is really yourself, and the pattern you make is your own life.”

“Every time I hear you talk about the Art it seems less appealing.”

Arion smiled. “Tell me the truth. Just before I sat down, you were thinking that your beloved string game isn’t anywhere near as much fun as it used to be, weren’t you?”

“We don’t like her anymore, do we, Minna?”

The wolf lay on her side, a long tongue lying on the dirt as she panted.

Suri scowled. “You ruined my game, and now look what you’ve done to Minna. Must be someone else you can—”

Persephone came out of the dark, trailed by Brin and the little people, who jingled wherever they went. “Sorry,” Persephone said to them both. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Please interrupt,” Suri said.

Persephone looked puzzled for a moment. Then she said, “I need to speak with Arion.”

“About what?” Arion asked.

Persephone looked at the Miralyith, surprised. “You’re learning our language so quickly.”

“No, she’s not,” Suri said. “If you’re going to talk about anything important, speak in Fhrey. She has a terrible habit of nodding as if she understands. You’ll jabber on for an hour, and she’ll nod and nod, smiling all along, but she won’t understand a thing. Look, she’s doing it right now. Do you have any idea what I just said?”

Arion bit her lip. “You are speaking about me,” she said each word precisely, deliberately. “Something bad. Something…” Frustrated, she finished in Fhrey, “…insulting.”

“Maybe you are getting better,” Suri retorted.

“I’ll stick to Fhrey,” Persephone said. “Are you aware of the meetings in the lodge?”

Arion nodded. “You and the other Rhune chieftains are selecting a leader. Planning for war.”

Persephone nodded. “Not going well.”

“Can’t decide on a leader?”

“No, but that’s only one problem. We need supplies. Weapons. Without them, our people will be…how do you say…?” She made a cutting motion across her neck.

“Killed,” Suri provided.

“Slaughtered,” Arion said.

Persephone nodded, pointing at Arion.

“And they will supply you with weapons?” Arion asked, nodding toward the little people who’d followed silently behind Persephone. All three were there. The two long-bearded ones watched the conversation intently, while Rain, the one with the big pickax, knelt to pet Minna.

“That’s the plan—in exchange for a favor.”

“Nyphron’s idea?”

“No. In a way, it was Raithe’s. He refuses to be keenig because without better weapons we don’t have a chance.”

“He’s right. This war isn’t feasible. I have a better idea. A more reasonable way to mend the break between our peoples.”

“Feasible? Reasonable? A break?” Persephone’s brows rose as her hands reached for her hips. “Thousands have been massacred. I think that counts as a bit more than a mere ‘break between our peoples.’ I don’t think it’s unreasonable to—”

“To what? Kill thousands more? What good will that do? Why in Ferrol’s name would I…would anyone…want that? We need to find a way to co-exist. Waging war won’t bring that about.”