The City of Zirdai Read online

  “Magic is the real reason we’re called the Invisible Sword,” Jayden said.

  “Really? I thought it was because we can use it to make people think we’re invisible, and because we stay out of sight.”

  “That’s a part of it as well, but magic is invisible and it’s a weapon that we wield like a sword. Hence, an invisible sword. We call people who can use the magic wielders. When the organization first formed, only wielders were members of the Invisible Sword. However, in the five hundred thousand sun jumps since, there have been fewer and fewer people born with the potential to wield magic.” Jayden swept out a hand. “Sand responds to our magic like people do. We push our will at someone and suggest a person falls asleep. You start with one person but eventually you can work up to putting many people to sleep.” Jayden turned around, gazing at their three sets of boot prints that trailed back to the temple. “I’m going to concentrate on a patch of sand and suggest it cover one of the prints.”

  Shyla stared at their tracks. The movement was subtle, as if a slight breeze blew over just that narrow patch. The boot print slowly filled in and disappeared, leaving behind smooth, untouched sand. Impressive.

  “Why does the sand respond?” she asked. “It’s not alive. It doesn’t have a consciousness like a person.”

  Jayden bent over, scooped up a handful, and held it close to her. Piled in his palm, the mound of individual grains reflected various hues of pink, red, orange, tan, and purple.

  “Our ancestors are part of this sand,” Jayden said. “As it slowly and inexorably buried their cities and forests, as it filled their lakes and oceans, the sand consumed them as well. Over many circuits the sand is blown away, exposing the skeletons to the abrasive wind. Over time, the bones are reduced to the size of sand grains. This sand remembers who it used to be.”

  Not sure she believed that was the real reason, Shyla had to admit the sand followed orders. “What command did you use to move it?” she asked him.

  “Cover.”

  “I use smooth,” Ximen said. He swept his hand out with his palm facing down. Two boot prints faded away.

  “It doesn’t really matter what word you use. It’s your intention behind the command,” Jayden said. “Now you try it.”

  Shyla considered. When she stepped in the sand, the grains compressed under her boots and were pushed out to the sides. She focused on one of her prints, gathered her will and thought, Return.

  The print started to lose its sharp edges, then it stopped.

  “You need more force,” Jayden said. “Try again.”

  It took her multiple tries to erase one print. Each time the print softened, but she couldn’t get it to disappear with one command like Jayden had. It took her three or four times.

  “Try harder,” Jayden snapped, losing patience.

  She added her annoyance at him to her magical suggestion. Return! Six prints vanished at once.

  “Look at that,” Ximen said. “You should have made her mad sooner, Jay.”

  Jayden gave him a sour look.

  Ximen ignored him. “It’ll get easier with practice and eventually, as you walk through the sand, you’ll be able to erase your tracks as you go almost without thinking about it.” He demonstrated by striding away. As each of his feet lifted, the sand flowed right back to erase his print. Turning, he grinned at her. “Creepy, isn’t it? Another reason we’re called the Invisible Sword.”

  Shyla crouched in a shadow, watching for ambushers. This mission was dangerous but necessary. Jayden and Mojag waited nearby. The tunnels leading to the Invisible Sword’s last hideout were narrow and dark. No druk light shone from them. The fact that Tamburah’s temple connected to Zirdai and no one except the Invisible Sword had known about it for five hundred thousand sun jumps still amazed her. She wondered what other discoveries lurked within the labyrinthine depths of Zirdai. The city had ninety-nine underground levels, if she included the level with the prison and the special torture rooms, and the very bottom level where the black river flowed.

  “I don’t see anyone,” Jayden whispered.

  Neither did she. And that wasn’t comforting. It could mean the watchers were well hidden. It was angle two-twenty. Not many people were out and about at this time, but there were enough that the three of them didn’t draw unwanted attention.

  “Mojag, do you remember the route?” she asked.

  He huffed. “Of course. I’ve done this lots of times.”

  “No you haven’t,” Jayden said. “You’ve only been there once and that was right before we were attacked.”

  “That you know of.” Mojag smirked at him.

  “Did Gurice take—”

  “Nah. Followed you.”

  “How—”

  “You can discuss this later,” Shyla said.

  Mojag opened his druk. Orange-tinted light spilled out, indicating they were somewhere between levels thirteen and twenty-four. Druk light changed color with depth—a vital tool for those who were easily lost.

  Mojag headed into the tunnel. He was dressed in a green tunic and flared striped pants woven from gamelu fibers. The clothes were shabby but clean and warm. Jayden and Shyla also wore similar clothing except she had her wrap to cover her hair. Most of Zirdai remained at a constant ten degrees Celsius. Only the upper five levels fluctuated, going from zero during darkness to sixty degrees during the kill zone. Shyla had lived on level three. She enjoyed access to sunlight via a mirrored pipe to the surface, but she had to descend to level six every sun jump to survive the heat.

  They were currently on level twenty-two. The people who lived here had enough coins to pay their taxes and tithe, but not much extra. Mojag fit in without calling attention to himself. Tall for thirteen circuits old, he was all gangly arms and legs.

  Shyla clasped her hands together when he disappeared. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself. A surprise, since at one point she would have happily killed the little sand rat.

  If Mojag ran into an ambush, he’d claim he was lost. Neither the deacons nor the guards should recognize him. While his older sister, Gurice, had been an Invisible Sword for circuits, Mojag hadn’t been old enough to be invited and tested for magic. No longer. Desperate times called for desperate measures and they needed him. Once things settled down, he would be tested.

  Waiting for the boy to return was almost torture. Shyla stood up half a dozen times with the intention of running to Mojag’s rescue, but, each time, Jayden tugged her back down.

  “Relax. He’s been a vagrant since birth, he knows what he’s doing,” Jayden whispered.

  It wasn’t Mojag’s skills she was worried about. The Invisible Swords had been murdered by the Arch Deacons without mercy. And those same deacons might be lying in wait. They might not even bother to question Mojag before killing him. Shyla turned to voice her concerns but stopped. Tension rolled off Jayden’s shoulders. He and Mojag were like brothers. Jayden already understood the risks. No need for her to remind him. Instead she concentrated on keeping still.

  When Mojag returned, Shyla relaxed.

  “Well?” Jayden asked.

  “There’s two Arch Deacons watching the entrance into twenty-two, but I slipped around and checked the hidden one on twenty-four and there’s nobody there,” Mojag said.

  “Did they see you?”

  “Nah. Smelled them before I even got close. I covered the druk and crept up on them. Not that they would have heard me over their conversation. They’re bored out of their skulls.”

  It had been twenty-five sun jumps since the massacre. How much longer would the priestess keep them here? “How do you know they’re Arch Deacons?” Shyla asked. “By their clothes?” Deacons wore oversized green robes, but Arch Deacons wore green tunics and pants. They were the priestess’s elite fighting unit.

  “Nah, they’re waiting in the pitch dark. By their stench.” Mojag seemed to think that was all the explanation required.

  “Arch Deacons attend a special blessing ceremony
every sun jump,” Jayden said. “The Heliacal Priestess lights an incense that smells like burnt hair.”

  “It’s awful,” Mojag added.

  “Then let’s avoid them and go another way to twenty-four,” Jayden said, leading them toward a different tunnel.

  They followed Jayden through a series of tunnels, up a set of stairs, and down a spiraling ramp.

  “Is all this necessary?” she asked. Shyla remembered when he took her to the Invisible Sword’s headquarters the first time. She’d suspected he tried to get her lost so she wouldn’t be able to find the place again.

  “Yes. All the routes to reach the hidden entrances are complex. We couldn’t be invisible if anyone could accidentally find it.” He glared at Mojag, no doubt remembering Mojag’s earlier comment.

  The boy ignored him. Shyla considered. If Mojag was able to follow Jayden without alerting him, did that mean Mojag blocked magic like those torques? No. Shyla had been able to read Mojag’s surface emotions. There must be another reason. Perhaps Jayden put too much faith in the confusing tunnels and wasn’t as vigilant as he should have been. Too bad Shyla had promised not to read Jayden’s soul. Not without a good reason.

  Eventually they arrived at a dead end. Or rather what appeared to be a solid wall. Jayden ran his fingertips along an almost invisible seam until he reached a slight depression in the stone which he pressed with the pad of his thumb. Strange that Shyla noticed it now when the last time she’d been at one of these not-doors, the opening mechanism wasn’t visible. Was it due to the power of The Eyes? It could be she wasn’t as distracted. Back then she had just determined the Invisible Sword had tricked her into helping them, which had ruined her prior—trouble-free—life.

  The not-door swung open. A musty scent mixed with an acrid odor wafted out. No burnt hair smell or the putrid stink of decomposition. Yet. Shyla worried that the priestess hadn’t taken proper care of the bodies. When someone died, the body was wrapped in cloth and taken to level one to shrivel. Once baked until no moisture remained, it was buried in a massive sand graveyard. If not dried prior to burial, surface predators like the sand demons would dig up the body for a snack.

  Jayden ushered them inside and closed the door. They paused to listen. Silence filled the tunnel. She hoped that was a good sign that no one waited to ambush them. Once again Jayden took the lead. He’d covered almost all of the druk; its weakened light stretched only a meter in front of them. Soon they reached the living area. Dark red stains were soaked into the floor. Jayden’s expression hardened as he stepped around them.

  “The storeroom’s this way,” he whispered.

  Shyla and Mojag stayed close behind him. Jayden shone the light in the various rooms as they passed. All of them had been ransacked. They entered a large open area that appeared to have been a common room. The stone tables had been knocked over and broken. Jayden wove through the destruction, heading toward a tunnel on the opposite side. After a series of turns, he stopped at a T-intersection where another hidden door blended in.

  “This is it.” He set the druk on the ground, then pulled his knife from his belt.

  Mojag yanked his free as well. Shyla didn’t carry a weapon. Instead, she slid her feet into a fighting stance and raised her arms so her hands could protect her face and chest from an attack. Trained by the monks in the Ways of the Yarin, Shyla had learned defensive techniques that were very effective against swords and knives. Rendor had offered to teach her how to use a sword so she could handle multiple opponents. Deciding that was a good idea, she planned to take him up on it once they had some time. Unfortunately, that was in as short supply as food and water.

  Jayden found the latch and opened the door. The three of them braced for an attack.

  They weren’t disappointed.

  Two

  Two Arch Deacons rushed from the storeroom. Their knives glinted in the weak light.

  “Left,” Jayden called, pushing Mojag behind him. The boy was handy with a blade, but not trained to go toe to toe with an Arch Deacon.

  That meant the guy on the right was Shyla’s. He lunged, aiming the tip of his long skinny knife at her chest. Surprised, she shuffled back. He pressed forward, stabbing out again. Seven hells, the big man was fast. Unease swirled around her heart. Perhaps the theory that the priestess wanted her alive wasn’t accurate. Shyla met his gray-eyed gaze long enough to know he wore a protective torque.

  Twisting sideways, she knocked his next thrust wide and grabbed his wrist with both her hands. He jerked his knife arm, pulling her toward him and slightly off balance. The man was as strong as Rendor. She let go, but not quick enough. His punch missed her jaw, but the knuckles on his fist slammed into her shoulder. Pain exploded as the rest of her arm went numb.

  Shyla retreated, backing down a tunnel. The good news—the narrow area limited him to a straight-on attack with no chance of getting behind her. The downside was the fading light. The darkness increased with each step.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he said, picking up his pace. “You don’t get to disappear again.”

  Out of options, she blocked his lunge and clasped his arm again. But this time when he yanked his wrist, she used his momentum to shuffle close, kicking him hard in the stomach. She followed him as he stumbled back, staying right up against his chest. One advantage to being smaller than your opponent was the ability to tuck inside. Before he could recover, Shyla cracked his jaw with a well-placed uppercut.

  Instead of disengaging, the Arch Deacon cursed and wrapped his arm around her, holding her tight. His knife stabbed toward her side so she twisted and kneed him in the groin. The blade cut across her lower back instead as he bent in half with a groan. A distant part of her mind registered the burning pain. The rest of her struggled to break his hold. Son of a sand demon, he was a brute.

  Then the Arch Deacon yelled. He released her and spun around to face Mojag. Grinning, the boy held a bloody knife. A wet stain spread on the back of the brute’s tunic. When he advanced on Mojag, Shyla kicked him hard, aiming for his injury. The Arch Deacon dropped his weapon and staggered to the ground.

  Before she could draw a full breath, Mojag had his knife on the man’s neck.

  “Stop,” she ordered, putting magic into the words and stopping his hand.

  Mojag looked up. “Why? He was going to kill you.”

  “We don’t kill unless we have absolutely no other choice.”

  “But he’ll just come after us again.”

  “Probably, but he’s just following orders.”

  “So?”

  “So we need to stop the one who is issuing those orders.”

  “Yeah, but he’s going to go back and say we’re soft. They’ll think they have the advantage.”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps he’ll remember we showed him mercy. And he might start to think that we’re not the villains the Heliacal Priestess claims we are.”

  Unconvinced, Mojag huffed. Just then Jayden strode into view. Blood dripped from a small cut on his cheek. His rumpled clothing and mussed hair indicated he’d had a difficult fight as well.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Fine.” Then he smirked. “That Arch Deacon is going to have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, though.” He glanced down at the man on the ground.

  Shyla’s opponent’s gaze remained on Mojag whose blade still rested on his throat.

  “Mojag, remove his torque, please,” Shyla said, releasing the boy from her magical hold.

  He wrenched the necklace off the man, leaving behind scratches that welled with blood. The man touched his throat but didn’t move. Both Jayden and Mojag loomed over him with their knives in hand.

  Shyla, though, crouched down and met his gaze, reading his soul. In pain, his emotions flipped between fear, confusion, and hope he might live through this and not bleed to death.

  “Tell me how many torques the priestess has,” she ordered.

  There had been a dozen—nine now if they took his and Yarb’s, but h
e wasn’t telling this sun-kissed anything.

  “How about the food and water in the storeroom? Is it safe to eat and drink?” she asked.

  Of course not. The priestess was smart enough to poison it just in case he and Yarb failed. “Yes,” he said.

  Shyla suppressed a sigh over his lie. He either didn’t believe what The Eyes could do or didn’t know the extent of their power. Good news for her. “Does the priestess know where we are?”

  Until this encounter, the Blessed One worried the Invisible Swords had moved to another city. Learning they were still here and might eat the poisoned provisions would help him remain in her favor after this fiasco. “Yes.”

  “How?”

  He scrambled to come up with a convincing lie. “She has prayed to the Sun Goddess who has told her your location.” Hopefully the heathens would panic and leave their current hideout, making them easier to find.

  Turning to Jayden, Shyla said, “You were right. We better leave the city.”

  Jayden played along. “I’m always right.”

  The Arch Deacon couldn’t understand how these fools lasted this long without being caught and killed.

  Shyla kept her expression neutral even though she wanted to punch the man. “Last question. What are the priestess’s orders regarding me?”

  This one was easy. “She wants you dead or alive. It doesn’t matter as long as your stolen eyes are intact.”

  She laughed. As if The Eyes could be stolen. The Eyes of Tamburah had been in the Invisible Sword’s possession since they assassinated Tamburah nearly fourteen hundred circuits ago. They were crafted from priceless gemstones—sapphires, black diamonds, rubies, and pure white topaz—and resembled real eyes in both size and shape. They contained powerful magic but required a leap of faith and a sacrifice to use them.

  If The Eyes stirred in a person’s hands, that meant they had the potential to wield them—though there were no guarantees. The sacrifice was exchanging their real eyes for the gemstones. Shyla had taken that leap and Rendor had cut her eyeballs from their sockets. The Eyes had woken, healing her injuries and allowing her to peer into others’ souls along with other abilities that she was still learning.