The Aether of Night, Page 2

  “Darro… .” Raeth warned.

  “It shouldn’t be you. You should be the Heir. Hern should—”

  “Darro!” Raeth snapped. “This is a holy place.

  Darro sighed, then placed the box in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said with sincerity.

  Raeth snorted. “With four thousand recitations, she’d better be downright gorgeous,” he said. “Come on. I only get out of these robes one day a year, and I don’t want to waste that day in here. I assume you have a Corpate waiting outside—”

  “Darro!” A feminine voice said through the crowd of Irae-goers. “You’re here!”

  Raeth shot a look at Darro, who blushed slightly. A blonde form emerged from the crowd, approaching Darro with a determined step. Her dress was sleek and well-made, but she didn’t wear much jewelry. Her blonde hair and full figure meant she was probably of Aedin blood, but the lack of jewelry meant she was likely just a regular Aedin, rather than a High Aedin—a citizen, but not one of noble blood. Not exactly of the breeding suitable for a son of the emperor.

  Of course, Darro rarely paid attention to such things. The fact that she was buxom and had an innocently beautiful face was about all he ever noticed.

  The girl latched onto Darro’s arm, her eyes wide as she regarded Raeth. “Is this your brother?” she asked.

  Darro coughed slightly. “Um, yes. Saela, this is Raeth.”

  She smiled, regarding Raeth with wide eyes. “You’re a Dari,” she said—as if it was some important revelation.

  Raeth sighed. Typical Darro fare.

  “Run along now, dear,” Darro said. “We’ve got to get ready for the ceremony.”

  The girl nodded, smiled once more to Raeth, then moved back into the crowd toward a small group of Aedin women, who were probably coming to petition Ynaa poems.

  Raeth turned, raising an eyebrow at Darro.

  “Saela,” Darro said, an almost wistful look on his face. “We met last night at the officer’s tavern.”

  “Last night?” Raeth asked incredulously. “Darro, you’re getting married today!”

  Darro nodded, his eyes almost forlorn. Then he smiled broadly. “All the more reason to have a good time last night, eh? Marriage. I guess it catches up with all of us sooner or later.” He fished in his pocket, producing the sand-filled glass box. “The Ancestors had better have listened to you, brother. If my bride turns out to be a disaster, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  Raeth rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless,” he informed, walking toward the Irae’s exit. Darro followed behind, chuckling lightly to himself.

  You’re hopeless, and you don’t have any idea how lucky you are. Dari can’t marry. You get to spend your life with someone, Darro. I get to spend my life with my own bad poetry. Somehow, I can’t make myself feel sorry for you.

  The two brothers passed through several carved archways and stepped into the Irae’s main hallway, a wide mudstone tunnel whose walls were so covered with reliefs that there wasn’t an inch of smooth space left. Several of the more talented Dari worked on various sections of the wall, carefully etching reliefs that had become worn or broken away. In a way, the Irae itself was a monumentous work of art. Vae gloried in art, and it was the means by which man raised his mind beyond the mundane. Unless, of course, his art was as bad as Raeth’s—then his mind wasn’t raised so much as it was nudged, if that.

  “How is our brother?” Raeth asked as they walked through the tunnel toward the daylight at its end. It had been nearly a year since he had seen his twin.

  “Hern?” Darro asked. “Arrogant, annoying, and insufferable.”

  “Pretty much his normal self then?” Raeth asked.

  “Pretty much,” Darro agreed with a smile. “The fighting up north has been laughable since he took charge of the defenses. The men have no respect for him. The generals try to make a show of listening to him while making proper orders, but Hern’s so belligerent he’s single-handedly destroying the morale. And, of course, he’s a horrible tactician.”

  “He always was,” Raeth mumbled as they stepped into the daylight.

  “You are much better,” Darro noted.

  “Darro… .” Raeth said warningly.

  “Just making an observation,” Darro said innocently, turning to wave to the side.

  Raeth sighed, shaking his head. Darro was of the imperial Line. On one hand, that meant he could get away with more than a regular person could—such as questioning Hern’s authority. However, being of the Imperial Line also brought with it obligations. Loyalty, filial strength, and responsibility. The cores of High Aedin belief. Darro had never been very good at any of them except, maybe, loyalty.

  Sure enough, Darro had brought a Corpate with him—one of the perks of being the Emperor’s son. “Come on,” Darro said, waving Raeth toward the vehicle. “Let’s get moving.”

  #

  “Blessed creator,” D’Naa breathed, looking down at the city. “It’s enormous.”

  Hlin chuckled from atop his mule. “I warned you,” the old man replied.

  D’Naa blushed slightly. Her grandfather had, indeed, warned her. She hadn’t believed him, however. She had been raised in the capitol city of Kavir—she’d assumed she knew what a large city looked like. Now, staring at Vae Annitor, she realized that her home city was little more than a shepherding village.

  The Aedinor capitol spread out through the entire valley. If it had boundaries in the distance, she couldn’t see them. Even from her vantage atop a small hill at the very lip of the valley, the buildings and streets seemed almost infinite. Structures a dozen stories high stretched into the air, defying her understanding of architecture, and masses of people flowed through the streets. At various places, large mound-like structures rose from the ground, the largest one dominating the center of the city. The Irae, temples to the High Aedin ancestors, were dark and brown, representative of barrows.

  “By D’Lum,” D’Naa breathed. “We really are rustics, aren’t we?”

  Her grandfather laughed. “I tried to prepare you. But, I suppose sight is the ultimate proof, eh?”

  “Stop gloating, you old sheep,” D’Naa’s grandmother snapped. “I seem to recall you were just as wide-eyed when we first visited Aedinor.”

  D’Naa turned, ripping her eyes away from the fabulous city to look back at Shaad and Hlin. Besides her grandparents, her company bore only three soldiers—men who were really nothing more than glorified packmen. In all, they had four mules, three Kavir workhorses, and D’Naa’s white Mahallen gelding. It had all looked so much more…impressive back in Elekar.

  She turned back to the city. “We’re going to get lost down there,” she said.

  “Nonsense!” Hlin informed, kicking his mule into motion. “I’ve been here dozens of times.” His mule began to trot down the road toward the city.

  D’Naa’s grandmother rolled her eyes, guiding her own mule forward as well. She was a stately woman, calm and thoughtful—the complete opposite of her excitable husband. “Come, child,” she said. “We are late—the delay at the southern passes cost valuable time. If we don’t hurry, they’ll start the ceremony without us.”

  D’Naa kicked her horse into motion, snorting quietly to herself. “I’d almost rather it did,” she informed.

  “I know this is difficult for you child,” Shaad said, her aged eyes understanding. “The king knows it as well, but he also trusts you.”

  D’Naa nodded, though inside she still had difficulty reconciling herself. She realized there was little chance the Emperor would choose her—no woman from Kavir had ever been picked to wed an imperial son. Even still, the idea of presenting herself before the Imperium, before the High Aedin… .

  “I’ve been through worse,” D’Naa said firmly, more to herself than her grandmother.

  “Don’t worry, child,” Shaad said comfortingly. “It will all be over by the end of the day.”

  D’Naa nodded again, studying her grandmother. The aged woman wore h
er typical unconcerned look, but D’Naa could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. Despite her words, Shaad was concerned too.

  However, other than that single hint, Shaad was utterly composed. She wore her gray hair up in a simple bun, after the utilitarian Kavir fashion. Despite Shaad’s age, D’Naa could see a lot of herself in her grandmother. They both had short Kavir frames with thin faces and dark hair. D’Naa kept her own hair cut short, just above shoulder-length. Buns had never suited her.

  Of course, the resemblance was mostly physical. Though she didn’t like to admit it, D’Naa had much more in common with her impetuous grandfather than the composed Shaad. Hlin rode up ahead, bouncing happily along on his mule, excited to return to Vae Annitor, capitol of the Imperium of which Kavir had long been a province.

  D’Naa force herself to smile. She may not look forward to being presented as a potential bride for the Emperor’s sons, but there were perks to the visit. It was worth the aggravation of dealing with the High Aedin to finally visit Vae Annitor. Her people’s docile lives of shepherding and farming didn’t leave much time, or desire, for travelling, and few had visited the western lowlands. However, stories—mostly brought in by teachers such as her grandfather—were as plentiful as they were fanciful. Tales of Aethers and magic abounded.

  Some of them, at least, have to be true, D’Naa thought to herself. Though some Kavir laughed at stories of Aether Bonds, D’Naa had good reason to be less skeptical.

  Her eyes flickered down, to her wrist. Though her long-sleeved woolen Kavir dress covered it, she could feel her Aether—the Aether of Verdant. It resembled a small green vine, about the width of her smallest finger. It clung to her skin, wrapping around her wrist. A smaller shoot of the Aether ran up the side of her arm, across her back, where it split, sending ivy-like runners down the backs of her legs and down her left arm.

  She could feel it. The Aether wasn’t intelligent—not quite—but it did have emotions and feelings. It was more than a plant; it was something else. Something that connected to her soul, that lived and grew with her. It was a piece of her, like a limb.

  And it shouldn’t have been there.

  Only Aedin were supposed to be able to Bond Aethers—or, so they said. What would the High Aedin do if they knew that she, a Kavir rustic, had Bonded one? How would they react when they found out that their secret was out, that the truth was known. D’Naa wasn’t the only Kavir who had Bonded Verdant.

  I wonder what the King expects me to do if I do get chosen? D’Naa thought, not for the first time. The wedding night could lead to some embarrassing situations. She could hide her Aether if necessary. Only the ring around her wrist was really necessary; she could retract the vines that ran down her back and legs. Still, wasn’t marrying a High Aedin just a little bit foolhardy?

  Of course, that is only a problem if he picks you, D’Naa reminded herself. And you already know how unlikely that is.

  As they approached the city gates, D’Naa’s concerns were slowly replaced with wonder. A massive, stone archway spanned the distance between the walls, and D’Naa could see that it was covered with tiny carvings. Even their walls are pieces of art! She thought with amazement. Of course, how much of that wealth and art did Kavir see? They farmed, they herded, and they paid taxes to the Imperium, yet they rarely received any sort of aid from the Aedin, even though their villages were constantly in danger of Harrmen raids.

  However, even her sour opinion of the Aedin government couldn’t completely squelch her awe. The city looked even more impressive up close, with its tall buildings and bustling crowds. A squadron of twelve soldiers in tight, Aedin uniforms stood at attention on either side of the massive gateway—a sharp contrast to Kaad, the single, lazy guard who watched the gates of her home city. Most of the men wore no swords and carried no pikes, and only about half of them wore armor.

  Aedin, she thought. Their Aethers are their weapons. While the regular Aedin people weren’t supposed to be as powerful as High Aedin, their Aethers were sill a great advantage.

  Her grandfather climbed off his mule to speak verbosely with the captain of the soldiers, and D’Naa sat quietly, trying very hard not to gawk. She failed in her attempt when she saw her first Corpate.

  It appeared from a side-street, entering the crowded street with a careful step. It stood as tall as a small building, its silvery skin gleaming in the morning light. It had four long, pointed legs, like enormous swords, and a platform at its top that carried a small group of people. Its spindly legs moved as if on gears, walking through the crowd, bearing its occupants toward their destination. But D’Naa knew it was no machine, like the hand-pumps used in some of the Kavir mines. There was a human soul entombed inside the Corpate’s body. The Aether of Ferrous, it was called. She had heard tales of it, though she could still hardly believe what she saw.

  Several soldiers saluted in response to a barked command and moved off into the crowd. Hlin strolled back toward his mule, noting the Corpate with a raise of a bushy eyebrow. “I haven’t seen one of those in a while,” he noted. “Of course, we’ll be seeing one up close very soon.”

  “What?” D’Naa asked with surprise.

  “The captain sent for one to carry us,” Hlin informed with a self-satisfied smirk. “You’re cousin to the king of Kavir and a potential bride to the future Emperor. I’ve never been this important before in my life—and I’m going to make certain to take advantage of it while I can.”

  Shaad frowned slightly. “Is that really necessary?” she asked her husband. “We have horses.”

  “The brides are already gathering for the Sending, my dear,” Hlin said, pulling off his floppy, Shorriken hat and scratching his bald head. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss them. We have to keep up appearances, don’t we?”

  Shaad sighed, but said no more, instead sitting quietly as they waited for their Corpate to arrive.

  #

  “Wait a moment,” Raeth said with a frown. “I’ve been locked away in the Irae for a while, Darro, but I think I still remember the way to the palace. I did live there for fourteen years, after all.”

  Darro smiled, leaning his bulk against the railing. The Corpate stepped in the steady, rhythmic way of its kind. A woman in a white robe stood at the center of the platform, her hand resting on a silver pillar that melded with the rest of the Corpate at its base. Raeth had never been completely comfortable with the idea that there was a person encased within the silvery Ferrous pillar. He had trouble believing that anyone would voluntarily allow themselves to be shaped into a living machine—even when the prize was immortality.

  “We’re not going to the palace yet,” Darro informed, watching the people below, his red cloak flapping in the wind. “I want to make a slight detour first.”

  Raeth raised a speculative eyebrow.

  “It won’t take long,” Darro defended. “I just want to take a peek at the brides. They’re supposed to be assembling for Sending right now.”

  Raeth rolled his eyes. “You’re going to see them in a few hours anyway,” he said with exasperation.

  “But the suspense is eating me alive, Raeth!” Darro complained. “I’m going to end up married to one of these women—I have to get a glance at them first. Maybe if I take a liking to a particular one, I’ll be able to influence father… .”

  “Influence father?” Raeth asked dryly, the Corpate rocking beneath him. “Darro, you know better than that. Father will do his duty to the Imperium—he doesn’t care what you want. He’s probably already got your bride chosen.”

  Darro sighed. “You’re probably right.”

  Raeth paused. He didn’t like the bitterness he’d heard in his own voice. Their father wasn’t an unkind man, just one who understood his responsibilities. Emperor Vaetayn always did what was best for the Imperium. If that included taking the birthright from one son to give it to another, then so be it. Raeth had been raised knowing that he would probably be made Dari. He had lived for four years as a Dari. Why was he suddenl
y letting his jealousy burn away his good sense?

  He sighed, leaning against the railing beside his brother. “This had better be a quick ‘detour,’ Darro,” he informed. “We don’t have much time left.”

  Darro smiled broadly, clapping Raeth on the back. “Don’t worry. We’ll just take a glance and be gone. Nothing more.”

  Raeth nodded distractedly, watching the buildings pass around them. Vae Annitor was a wonderful city, the gem of the Imperium. The buildings were straight and tall, most of them with wide grounds around them. They were all beautiful constructions, even the residences of the poor had been designed by master architects—a requirement funded by the Imperial budget. The finest artists and engineers in the world lived in Vae Annitor, and they created technological marvels—often enhancing their structures with Corpate pillars for strength, light, or heat. Not all members of the Ferrous Line became walking machines. Many more served less dramatically; their metallic bodies were incredibly strong, and they allowed the construction of massive structures.

  Raeth gazed upon some of the buildings as they passed. There was a lot of variation—the architects liked diversity. Some were stone, others wood. Some had flat tops, others domes, though peaked roofs were most popular. Brick buildings were also a favorite. All of them were moderately tall—space was an increasingly valuable commodity in the city, for relatively few could afford Corpates to carry them. The resulting structures were marvelous simply to look at. He missed the simple pleasure of walking through the city.

  As a Dari, he didn’t have much opportunity to leave the Irae. When he wasn’t petitioning the ancestors through Ynaa poems, he was either painting, writing poetry, or doing his part to keep the Irae clean. He was never given any serious artistic projects, of course—he wasn’t talented enough. Fortunately, his position as the Emperor’s son afforded him some measure of prestige. Otherwise, he’d spend all of his time cleaning floors.

  All families should have three sons, the Protocols read. The first is the heir, whose Place should be Shaeth, and should be trained in the ways of duty, leadership, and responsibility. The second should either be made Shaeth or Sworded, and should be prepared to take leadership of the Line should the first son perish. The third son must be made Dari, lest the Line lose its connection to the Ancestors.