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She woke at the pilot’s shout, and the thunder of footsteps overhead. Valara climbed the ladder to the deck. Straight ahead, a great dark shape loomed. The ruddy light of sunset outlined a series of high cliffs. Waves crashed into the rocks below. As she watched, a flock of terns wheeled away, small black dots against the darkening sky.
“Hallau Island,” Kosenmark said, as he and Ilse Zhalina came to her side.
“Where is my ship?” she said.
He glanced at her with an unreadable expression. “The ship is not here yet. We land and wait.”
The pilot brought them around the northern point of the island, where the cliffs fell away to a narrow rock-strewn strip of land. Around on the seaward side, the shore opened into a broad level expanse. Valara hissed at the sight of an enormous city. She rounded on Kosenmark and Zhalina. “You—”
“We’ve not betrayed you,” Kosenmark said. “Look again.”
She gripped the railing and leaned forward, staring, calculating what action she could take if Kosenmark had decided to hand her over to his king. The pilot was steering toward a great stone wharf. As the boat drew closer, Valara could see that the wharf was deserted. There were no other boats in sight. No crews or dockworkers. The city beyond stood silent and empty. Even
from this distance, she detected currents of old magic.
“What is this place?” she demanded.
“A trading port,” Ilse said. “It fell during the war between Veraene and Károví. The second one,” she added.
“I know the story,” Valara murmured.
Imre Benacka had hidden the jewels in Autrevelye, or so the legends went. Dzavek had recaptured the man but not the jewels.
Images flickered through her mind. Of a chase through Autrevelye, Anderswar, Vnejšek. She knew the magical plane by all three names. Her brother’s scent and signature close behind her. She had tried to lose him by a leap to Morennioù, to that other land on the far side of the world, but he found her, him, each time. It was only by the chance of a few moments she was able to hide the jewels. And then he had captured her. Captured him.
A shout from one of the sailors recalled her to the present. Valara blinked, drew a long breath, and pretended a great curiosity for the shore while she recovered herself. Ilse was studying her with narrowed eyes. Luckily, the boat came to the docks, and everyone burst into new activity to make it fast and transport their gear to shore. Valara accepted a pack from one of the guards, the woman named Katje, then followed her onto land.
At Kosenmark’s orders, the sailors hauled the boat into a slip behind a great block of stone. It wasn’t hidden, but a ship passing by the shore would miss its presence here at this empty dock. The pilot offered to remain behind to guard the boat but Kosenmark shook his head. They would stay together, he said. His people would know to search inland for them. Meanwhile, he wanted to find water and a less visible place to camp.
They set off in military order, even Valara and the fishermen. The closer they got to the city, the clearer the signs of destruction. What troubled Valara more was the absence of green growing things. The ruins remained bare of moss and vines, no weeds grew between the fallen stones.
My brother was a thorough man.
They picked their way through the debris and across tipped and shattered paving. Eventually, the avenue they followed fed into an open plaza, where Kosenmark’s hired pilot claimed they would find a well with sweet water.
Kosenmark gave orders to find the well and set up camp. They would spend the night here, then reconnoiter for a better site the next day. He and Ilse vanished for another conference. Or lovemaking. They were insatiable, Valara thought.
Detlef set a watch and gave orders for preparing dinner. Freed from their attention, Valara made a circuit around the plaza. Most of the paving stones were broken into dust. The ground beneath was bare and hard, in spite of the rains. Here and there, a few walls remained intact. That one might have been a prince’s palace. That other, a temple to the gods. Valara could not tell. Dust and wind had completed the war’s devastation, and time had reclaimed its own.
She made her way to a series of broken columns, which marked the entrance to another avenue, and detected a stronger rill of magic. At a distance, the signatures had merged together, indistinguishable from each other, but this one she knew as well as her own. Dzavek had come here.
Valara bent down and picked up a fragment of stone from the street. The stone was gray with dark blue motes, its once regular shape cracked and broken. Across the once smooth surface, she noted a rusted stain. When she pressed her thumb against it, a shudder penetrated her bones.
… widerkêren mir de zeît … widerkêren mir ane rivier de zoubernisse …
Though she had not summoned it, the current pressed against her skin. A shock ran from her fingers down through her body, and she felt the draw of memory from the stone.
… a mob rushed through the streets, pursued by soldiers wielding axes. One man fell. A soldier swung his weapon downward. Blood splashed over Valara, and its metallic taste filled her mouth. A heartbeat later, the vision disappeared. The city stood empty and blackened.
Not quite empty, she realized. A tall man stood by a broken statue in the now-deserted square. Valara recognized the face from prints in history books, from paintings in Rouizien’s Old Palace, and from all her life dreams.
Leos Dzavek crossed the square. His hair was as black as she remembered from their days together, and his eyes were bright and dark, though he had to be at least a century old. Only the fine lines crisscrossing his face, the slackening of flesh along his jaw and at his throat, spoke of the many years he had already lived. She watched as he stopped and touched a wall, a statue. His lips moved, silently, but she could decipher the words. Ei rûf ane gôtter. Nemen mir de tacen, widerkêren mir de zeît. Ougen mir de juweln.
He’s looking for the jewels.
Dzavek paused and turned around. By chance his gaze met hers.
Valara dropped the stone, and the vision of the past disappeared.
