The next day was to be the day of the contests of oration and magecraft. I awoke to find the house in disarray, Garvesh having spread out his books on every available surface. With an exaggerated sigh, he sat down at the table before one of his tomes and placed his chin in one hand, the other tracing the rows of characters on the page. I was tempted to close my door again and see if the scene was any more comprehensible upon opening it a second time, but instead I strode into the common room and wished everyone a fine good morning.
Garvesh gave me a look sharper than a javelin, but I paid him no heed. I was still in a good humor from my victory the day before, having won my team a lead over even the Ascended’s own champions, and despite a narrow loss to the warrior Heishiro in an arm-wrestling match outside of the games.
Aysulu, seated by the fire pit, yawned so hugely I thought her jaw might dislocate like the constricting serpents of the southern jungles. She removed two books from the hearth and set them, one atop the other, on the floor.
Garvesh sprang from his seat. “These are very delicate volumes!” he exclaimed, snatching them up.
“They were too close to the fire,” Aysulu argued. “We need to cook.”
Garvesh grumbled, but he looked around for another location on which to place them. There were none left, unless he commandeered each of our beds for his books.
Khalim was awake as well, and he was praying, though it was very little like the prayer I had learned in my homeland, or even the devotions done to the Ascended or even the old gods in Phyreios. He paced the breadth of the common room and did not speak, though his quick, long-fingered gestures looked something like conversation. Alternately, he pressed his hands to his brow or held them out, palms up, as he turned and turned again in the space by the back door.
I was not about to be driven from a house that was as much mine as it was Garvesh’s, but Aysulu pushed me by the elbow toward the door. She was right; there was no good that would come of fighting amongst ourselves, though it still left three of us with nowhere to go.
Once outside, Aysulu declared she was headed to the arena, to see if any of the food stands would offer a competitor something to break her fast. “You’re welcome to join me,” she added.
I looked to Khalim. “There are a few hours before the poetry contest at midday. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”
“I’d like to see the temple, if it’s all right with you,” he answered.
“Suit yourselves,” said Aysulu. “I’ll meet you at the arena.”
And so Khalim and I crossed the length of Phyreios, from the industrial quarter where the great forge lay at rest to the shadow of the mountain from which the city dug its iron. It was yet early, and the city stirred to life around us. The white stone looked silver in the pale morning light, and the mountain was red-brown in the sun. It was beautiful, and the temple was even more so, all pearlescent marble in soaring arches and elegant pillars around a vast open door. It was both the center of religious devotion in the city and the seat of government, temple and palace contained in one magnificent structure.
We joined a line of somber pilgrims and entered. A wide vestibule opened up into the temple proper, a vast dome of deep blue stone that glittered with points of light. It looked like nothing more than a starry night sky, with new constellations that shimmered and shifted above me as I crossed with Khalim to the center of the room. His eyes were enormous, staring at the high ceiling, and he turned in the same slow, watchful circle as he had in the arena.
“It’s amazing,” he said. “And terrifying.”
The dome was supported by seven white pillars. Between them stood great, empty thrones, exquisitely carved, each with a statue standing behind it in the likeness of one of the Ascended. I recognized Andam, the emperor, at the center, towering above us.
“There isn’t anything like this where you come from?” I asked.
Khalim shook his head. “Our gods are small. They live in our homes, or in shrines at crossroads. Or,” he added, looking down at himself and gesturing to his slender frame, “in me, I suppose.”
“We have not the means to build such marvels in the North,” I said. “But there is no need to, when the mountains themselves are just as magnificent.” I stopped staring at the dome, trying to hide my astonishment, but the sensation of standing within such a place was dizzying.
“Do you miss it?” Khalim asked. “The place you come from?”
In all the months I had traveled, I had chosen—though it may have been unwise—to look forward and to never turn back. The call of adventure had been loud enough to drown out the past, and no one had, until this point, asked me such a question. Aysulu had never inquired where I had been before she found me, perhaps somehow aware that I was avoiding thoughts of my homeland, and I had been content not to answer.
Khalim waited, patient and quiet, as I considered my answer.
“I think not,” I decided at last. “The things I would miss are no longer there.”
He did not press further.
Eager to change the topic of conversation, I asked, “And what of you? Do you wish to return to the place where you were born?”
“Every day,” he said with a distant smile. “I wish you could see it. It’s beautiful there—everything green, as far as you can see. The best honey-cakes you’ll ever eat. Pretty girls. Handsome boys.”
He favored me with a sidelong glance before turning his gaze to the statue of Malang, the warrior, for whom the competitors of House Kaburh had named their team.
“The world is so much wider than I thought it would be,” Khalim said.
“It is,” I replied. “It is.”
We did not speak for a moment, but the looming figures of the gods of Phyreios soon unnerved me enough to focus my thoughts on the reason I had been hired.
“So the Ascended mean to destroy their own city,” I said in a voice barely above a whisper. I did not want such words to carry here, in the seat of their power.
“I’m not certain if they intend to, but destroy it they will, if we cannot stop them. They will summon the worm, and it will crush the city in its coils,” Khalim said. He shivered despite the morning’s growing heat. “My visions have never been wrong.”
The last worm I had met in battle had bested me. I could not be certain if I would fare better against another. “What is this creature? Where does it come from?”
“I’m not certain,” he said, “but I’ve seen it burrow up from the ground.”
“How do we prevent this?” I asked. A chilling thought came to me. “How long do we have?”
“That I know not. I hope he will show me, soon, but…” He shrugged. “He has been quiet of late.”
“We shall just have to win the Sword of Heaven,” I said, boastful to cover my lack of confidence. “Shall we return to the arena?”
We crossed the city again, and found something to eat among the vendors outside the arena. The Ascended, or rather their bureaucrats, had paid in advance for enough food for the festival, and we luckily did not have to pay. Khalim ate no meat, even on feast days such as these, and I found it very odd.
“Some fish or beef would put some meat on your bones,” I offered.
He gave me an impassive look. “Thank you, but no.”
That finished, we found Aysulu in our team’s assigned quarters, where Garvesh was shuffling through a stack of papers, muttering to himself as he reviewed his notes.
“He’s been like this for an hour,” Aysulu told us. “How was the temple?”
“Impressive,” I said. “We have our work cut out for us.”
She nodded and turned her attention to the arena. An enchantment had been cast over it to amplify the sounds within even beyond the acoustic capabilities of the structure itself. The leader of the Divine Champions stood at the center, resplendent in pale blue silk. He gave his name as Ashoka and delivered an epic of the Seven’s victory over a rival city-state, whose council of advisors had demons whispering in their ears and standing among their armies.
He finished with a dedication. “I speak for Sotiris, the brave guardsman unjustly murdered in the riot,” he proclaimed. “May he find rest in the halls of the heavens.”
A murmur rippled through the stands. The nobles, in their cushioned seats, applauded him generously. The workers, standing in the less-favorable rows, left their hands at their sides. They dared not voice their disapproval, but it could be felt even from the distance at which we sat. I remembered Reva’s words, that five of their number had been slain as well, and it would have been six if Khalim had not healed Jora. Ashoka offered no blessings for them.
Jin of the Dragon Temple was next, and though his oratory was impressive, his poetry was foreign to me and to his audience. He spoke of the beauty of the mountains in his homeland, of the changing colors in the autumn and the trees erupting into bloom in the spring, reflecting on the passage of time and the impermanence of mortal life. The applause he earned was modest, but he earned a respectable number of points.
The next competitor was a young woman from the merchants’ team, the Golden Road. She introduced herself as Rhea of Burysia, and she carried a lute with pegs of silver, its body etched with images of birds. She sang a song of the foibles of the gods, though she called them names like Alcos and Galaser and not Andam and Malang: their petty squabbles, their jealousies, and their affairs with mortals and one another. She played beautifully, and there was some laughter in the stands, but the Ascended looked down on her, their faces forbidding and severe as the mountains. Her team was granted a few points, and she bowed with a sweeping gesture.
Garvesh strode out next. I did my best to listen attentively to his performance, but he spoke of no ships and no heroes. There was not even a fast horse or a sea monster to be found. He spoke of a city, ruled by divine benevolence, in which all citizens knew their roles and worked together to create harmony. The workers cheered for him, as he was their champion in this contest, and the nobles and the Ascended themselves showed their great appreciation.
I realized later the wisdom of Garvesh’s performance. After this flattery, the Ascended and their followers would believe us aligned with them, and not to the rebel miners. He had presented an image of a guild trying to distance itself from the actions of a few of its former members, and hidden our plans for a while longer.
The last competitor was Roshani of House Darela, dressed in a gown of silk the deep blue of her family’s crest, her long black hair in an intricate braid. She told the tale of a hero, born a prince but raised a poor farmer to save his life from palace intrigue and a wicked uncle. He returned to the city of his birth and showed compassion to the poor and sick, even those it was against custom to even touch, fought his uncle, and retook the throne to begin a reign of generosity and kindness.
When Roshani finished, a strange thing occurred. The workers applauded her, and the Ascended nodded in measured approval, but the nobles were all silent. She turned and left the arena, and her face held a look of fear.
The contest of magical feats would take place in the evening, to give a better view of the displays of lights. Until then, there would be feasting and music, as the people of the city celebrated their gods’ pretended benevolence.
I turned to Aysulu. Quietly, I said, “Do you believe we can do it? Overthrow the Ascended?”
She glanced up to where the gods of the city were seated, though we could not see them from our vantage point below. “Have you ever fought a god before?”
“No,” I said, “never.”
Garvesh came back in, fanning himself with his packet of notes. Emilia moved over to allow him to sit.
“I think it will be the first time for all of us,” she said. “Well done, Garvesh.”
He nodded, breathless, and continued waving his papers about. They stirred the dust in the air.
“Do you think they suspect anything?” I asked. Were these gods like mine, or like Aysulu’s four winds, able to see everything that took place in their realm? Or did living among their people limit them to a mortal’s eyes and ears? Surely they had informants all through the city.
“Maybe not now,” Aysulu said, “but they will soon enough. Keep your eyes open.”
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