Dream of a Vast Blue Cavern

Chapter 9: Iskalon Stands: Stasia

 Stasia reached the burial chamber just ahead of Glace. She knew he was behind her without even hearing his footfalls; she could sense his presence. The great chamber was full of activity, people taking advantage of a day without a council meeting to move around in the larger space, out of their tiny caves. Larc stood, strangely idle — her friend seemed always to be healing or singing or organizing or doing something—staring up at the ceiling and the amethyst glow of burial ice. The dark Icer did not notice her presence until Stasia placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Then she gasped and apologized. 

 “I was just thinking of them—they almost seem like they are still alive. The burial ice preserves us. All those souls who perished in fire, they will never be buried . . .”

 Stasia nodded. “Well, we have one more to bury today, Larc.” She did not know if Larc had been close to Kabre, but words weren't enough, so she entered her friend's mind briefly and showed her the image of the Icer coming out of the fog, collapsing on the tunnel floor. Tears came to Larc’s eyes and she began to hum softly, a burial rite. Glace approached and laid Kabre out on the Royal platform.

 “Save your song,” Stasia said to Larc. “Send out a call for all we can fit in this chamber to meet for a public ceremony. Tell them we have a hero to bury. He will be buried in this chamber, as a symbol of what we are fighting for.”

 So far, all of the dead had been taken to other Burial Shafts. It had seemed too gruesome to have to live and meet under the recently dead. It was one thing to look up and see long past, revered ancestors, but to see the faces of loved ones close enough to touch? On her walk back to the burial chamber, Stasia had thought long and hard on this decision. It was too easy for everyone to forget how cruel the Flames were, what evil monsters Iskalon faced. Kabre's body in the ice above would be a symbol of what Chraun had taken from Iskalon. It was a cold decision, but with luck, it would quell talk of surrender, and gain Stasia's efforts more support in Council.

 Normally, only a few people were present for a burial ceremony, close friends and family of the deceased. But for Kabre, she waited while the burial chamber filled with people. Because it was not an official council meeting, the stools of the councilors were given to elderly citizens. Soon, the chamber was crowded as word spread through the alcoves and down the tunnels that the Regent was holding a special ceremony. Only a small portion of the thousands of exiles could fit in the cavern, so Stasia had people stationed at the entrances to relay the ceremony to the rest.

 She mounted the platform and sat on her stool, with Glace, Casser, and Larc at her side, while Kiner spoke the Warrior Guild rites for Kabre and laid his glory medals on his chirsh. Then four Icers raised Kabre to the ceiling. They pressed his body to the ice, and the ice, which would not part for the strongest T'Jas, melted slowly around his body, reforming at the edges. It took a long time before he was completely subsumed. The copper-clad woman seemed to welcome him as he entered; her eyes brightened, her arms spread very slightly. Stasia shivered, reminded of the dream she'd had just before the war, of the burial ice parting and swallowing her alive. I'm not dead yet. Something tickled at the back of her head, as if there was more to the dream she could not remember.  Minutes dripped by, and finally Kabre floated free in the ice, timeless as the ancestors.

 Larc drifted toward the ceiling and began to sing. Haunting, echo-y, her voice conjured up the deepest sadness, bringing to the surface all of Stasia's fears and doubts and sorrows. It was a song without words, but there were no words to express what everyone in the chamber was feeling. After Larc's voice resonated through the chamber alone for a time, Stasia joined in, and then Casser, and then Cygnet, who had a lovely soprano, and soon the whole cavern was singing. The four Icers still hovering above placed their palms on the burial ice, a gesture of farewell.

 Deeply moved by the music, Stasia grieved, not just for Kabre, but for all that Iskalon had lost. She felt the loss of her family and her Kingdom deep in her heart. Even if they regained the lake, she realized, Iskalon would never be the same. Tears poured from her eyes, and she knew she was showing all her citizens weakness, but she did not care.

 Stasia was wiping tears from her eyes when she heard a thud and a gasp from above. She looked up in time to see a large, round, black object bounce off one of the Icers in the air and fall to the ground at her feet. Another fell, this one straight from the ceiling, and then the cavern filled with chaos. Screams and shouts echoed off the walls, and people on the ground began to stampede toward the tunnels. Icers rose and made ice-shields. Before Stasia could react, Kiner and Casser formed a dome of ice around the dais, protecting Stasia from the falling objects.

 Within seconds, it was over. The floor of the cavern was empty of people; the citizens who had not fled to the tunnels were pressed against the walls, looking up. Stools lay overturned amidst the smattering of black boulders. Stasia dissolved an opening in the dome, though she kept her cold close, wary of another attack. She was dimly aware of Casser and Glace flanking her, of Kiner hurrying out of the chamber, his whispered orders echoing off the ice ceiling like the calls of ghosts. She walked toward the nearest object and knelt beside it, picking it up and turning it in her hands. When she realized what it was, she was hit by such a multitude of emotions that she dropped it immediately. Shaking her hands convulsively, she rocked back and forth in waves of disgust, sadness, loss, and anger.

 It was a head, blackened by fire, but still intact enough that she could recognize her sister Pasten, staring at her with dead, agonized eyes. Stasia managed to reach around herself and clutch her arms with her own hands, holding herself tightly, still rocking. Her head shook as if she could deny what her eyes saw. She closed her eyes, but that could not block out the sight of Pasten’s eyes staring back at her, of Lotica’s high cheekbones, of the crown of Iskalon on Maudit’s head. Twelve heads, twelve sisters. Every member of her family, gone now. Except Casser. She was still rocking when he knelt behind her and took her gently in his arms. She wanted to lean back and soothe herself in his comfort, wanted him to make everything better.

 She could not.

 “Iskalon stands,” she said softly, but in the shocked silence of the cavern, her voice carried all the way to the tunnels. She pushed Casser away and stood. She remounted her platform and sat in her stool. Her whole body was shaking. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and join her sisters in death, but she had to be strong for Iskalon. People were coming back to the chamber, Kiner’s officers trying to organize the chaos; the air hissed with whispered questions.

 Stasia looked up. Large holes peppered the surface of the burial ice. They were closing up, smoothing over, but they told Stasia volumes. The Fire King knew where they were. Though no living Icer could penetrate burial ice, fire could melt right through it. At any instant, he could send anything out of that Ice—Flames, Semija warriors, more of her people's corpses. The tunnels below were well guarded, but they had never thought to guard the burial ice itself.

 “Yes,” Casser said, his voice loud, strong, resonant. “Iskalon stands. And today, we have a new Queen.” He stooped and plucked the crown of Iskalon gingerly from Maudit’s sooty brow, ran his hands over it, and placed it on Stasia’s head. She fought intense revulsion. She could not be ill, not now, in front of all of her people. The crown sealed her fate to Iskalon, and if she faltered now, Iskalon would fall.

 She rose slowly to the ceiling, staring at it defiantly. “Hear me! Iskalon stands!” she shouted. “You lake-slime eating sons of molebears! You'll pay for what you've done! The Ancestors bear witness to your crimes!”

 The ceiling erupted into fire.