DEMYS
The western side of the Wagato pass
The horse reared, and Demys’ world whirled around him. He leaned forward, releasing his hold on the reins and digging his hands into the horse’s mane. Don’t pull on the reins while he’s up, Ovat had told him. You might pull him over backwards.
Whinnying, the horse brought its front hooves back down onto the cracked dry earth. Demys forced himself to release the horse’s mane and gather up the reins again.
“Straighten up in your seat,” called Ovat. “Keep him moving. He can’t rear if he’s moving forward.”
Demys straightened, nudging the horse into motion again and trying to wipe his sweaty palms off on his trousers. He couldn’t help but compare this horse’s walk to Bhoro’s. His old mare had had such a comfortable gait, and she had never reared, no matter how poorly Demys rode.
He directed the horse in a loop, focusing on his knees and heels, his hands on the reins, and shutting out his surroundings―except for Ovat’s voice. “Bring him into a trot now, there you go. Don’t be so abrubt in your turns. Give the reins more slack; you’re holding them too tight.”
A while later, Demys realized the light had vanished from the sky, and he could only see what he was doing thanks to the blaze of the fire and the lanterns nearby. An owl hooted, spooking the horse. It pranced sideways, snorting, its ears flicking back and forth. Demys nudged it again, trying to keep it moving.
“Over here,” said Ovat. He waved a lantern from the other side of the small plateau. Demys directed the horse toward Ovat. He reined in beside him and slid out of the saddle gratefully, feeling the ache in his thighs, buttocks, and arms. Ovat took the horse’s reins and grinned at Demys. “You did well. Didn’t fall off once this time, did you?”
Grumbling, Demys headed over to the campfire. His stomach growled, and he wanted something motionless to sit on.
“He rides well, our imperial prince, doesn’t he?” said the one-eyed woman, raising her voice from the other side of the fire so Demys could hear her.
“Almost as if he was born not to fall out of the saddle,” said her companion, and laughter drowned out the crackle of the flames.
Demys still didn’t know how to feel about this new form of teasing. It had started gradually, as Gyara’s riders grew more comfortable and less guarded around him. He had seen them make fun of Gyara when she had trouble with her stallion, when she missed a shot with her bow. They mocked and teased each other companionably about all sorts of things, from romantic conquests to moments of clumsiness, and every day and night seemed to pass in dozens of friendly competitions. He thought their teasing him meant they accepted him, but it still felt odd―he had spent most of his life enduring the ridicule and veiled scorn of the imperial court.
Gyara sat on the ground beside him with a tired exhale. She and a handful of riders had scouted ahead after they set up camp for the evening.
“Where are we going tomorrow?” asked Demys.
“The Wagato pass is a few hours’ ride from here.”
“Are we going there?” Demys and Gyara accepted meat hot from the spits. For a few minutes they didn’t speak, worrying the tough but flavorful antelope flesh with their teeth. Converasation swirled about the campfire, punctuated by raucous laughter.
“I thought we could go east,” said Gyara at last, spitting out a piece of cartilage.
“East? You mean… to Amrato-feg?”
She met his eyes, hers dancing with the reflection of the flames. “I’ve always wanted to see the capital of the world.”
“But you don’t belong there.” Demys could no more imagine Gyara in the streets of Amrato-feg than he could imagine his mother riding through the desert and tearing at charred meat with her teeth. “I don’t think you’d like it. Amrato-feg is a city for… for scholars, merchants, and courtiers. You can’t do whatever you want or go wherever you like. It’s all about bureaucracy, academia, ranks, and money. It’s all rules, not freedom.”
“That’s not how you described it before. Don’t you want to go back there?”
“Yes….” He looked around at the dark shapes of the cliffs that sheltered them and the mountain chain rising beyond them, at the great expanse of star-spattered blackness overhead. The fire crackled, horses stomped; he could smell cooking meat, manure, sweat, and cool desert air. He missed his books and the libraries of Amrato-feg. He missed eating something other than meat and taking hot baths. But even though he still didn’t know exactly how he fit into this group of Gyara’s, and he seemed to have so little in common with them, he liked sitting around the fire trading stories with these people and getting riding instructions from Ovat. They teased him, but they didn’t look at him with barely-disguised condescension. “Well, there are good things there, but there are good things here, too.”
Gyara shook her head, taking another bite. “I’ve never left the desert before. It’s my home. But Vebara owns Pehmato now; she has―” She glanced at him. “She has a lot of men.” She still must not trust him with the true numbers, even though she’d betrayed her sister by saving him. “The villages won’t trade with us, not if she tells them not to. We can’t avoid her army forever. And we don’t have to stay in Amrato-feg―we could just take you there. You can tell your mother we saved your life, and maybe she’ll give us some lands to… farm.” She made an uncertain expression.
He couldn’t imagine her farming, either. “Isn’t Vebara going to attack the empire? Isn’t she planning a war?”
“Then we’ll ask for lands far away.” Gyara snorted and threw some bones into the fire. “We can’t stay here.”
“Tell us another of the stories about your grandfather, prince,” called one of the men.
Demys looked at Gyara for a few more moments before turning to the speaker. “I’m not much good at telling stories about war and conquest.”
“Tell us a different story, then.”
He thought about it. Most of the stories of his grandfather involved war and conquest. “My mother did tell me about one time when he had a man killed because he wouldn’t proclaim my grandmother the most beautiful woman in the empire. I don’t know if she was exaggerating. My mother didn’t like her father very well.”
That night, after collapsing onto his pile of furs in his tent, Demys had another dream. He stood on a mountain peak, the wind howling in his ears and his robes snapping and fluttering about him. Squinting, he turned in a circle, trying to see where he was. The sun blinded him, just rising in the east. At the foot of the western slope, he could see the red sweeping gabled roofs of Amrato-feg. The river pounded far below past the imperial palace, and he could make out the switchback pathway that led up from the palace to the Academy.
His sense of balance lurched and he threw himself back away from the slope, but once he calmed himself he realized he wasn’t in danger of falling. He stood on a flat, firm surface, and the wind didn’t buffet him as strongly as it might in reality.
Wingbeats drew his attention upward. Golden plumage filled the sky overhead, catching the glint of the rising sun. The dawn bird circled and came in to land beside him. Demys had a moment of uncertainty, but the massive beast’s wings were in no danger of hitting him. Grey eyes the color of the minutes before dawn blinked at him from the proud, aquiline face.
Earth Prince, said the voice in his head.
Another pair of eyes met his from atop the dawn bird’s back―human eyes set in a girl’s face. He thought for a moment it might be a younger version of Avaho, but he didn’t recognize her.
“Who’s that?” asked Demys.
“Is that Prince Demys?” said the girl at the same time, her eyes widening.
“Yes. Who are you?”
The girl slid down the glossy feathers, landing on her feet in front of him. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, dressed in the clothes of a high-level imperial servant. As soon as she had her feet under her she bowed. “Ebeya, Myag-myos. I’m… I was the empress’ head servant.”
He looked down at himself. He still wore the tattered robes he’d ridden in for the past few months, his feet shod in battered boots that had belonged to one of Gyara’s riders. “How did you recognize me?”
“I’ve seen you before, Myag-myos. I’ve served your mother for years.”
“Oh, of course. Sorry I never noticed you.”
Ebeya’s shoulders shook. He realized she was crying.
“What’s the matter?” He stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, making her look up at him. “Are you all right?”
She wiped away tears from her face. “No, nothing’s all right, Myag-myos. The empress is broken, Councilor Liwing is Head Councilor now, the High General’s gone off to war, the mountain birds are attacking Amrato-feg…. And I’m probably dead. I jumped out of a window. I thought the dawn bird had caught me, but she must not have. My soul’s going to slip out of my body any moment now, and I’ll be in darkness, or in a baby’s body, or in the Peaceful Realms….”
“You jumped out of a window?” said Demys.
I did catch you, said the dawn bird, nudging Ebeya’s arm with her great head. Rest now, child.
Tears still streaming down her cheeks, Ebeya faded, as if a gust of wind had blown her away. Demys stood alone on the mountain peak with the dawn bird.
Do you know what question you must ask now, Earth Prince?
“No,” said Demys. “How can there be only one question? There’s so much I need to know. Is what Ebeya said true? What did she mean when she said my mother was broken? What war is my uncle fighting? What should Gyara and her riders and I do now? Should we go east?”
There is only one question because only one question matters. Think on it, Earth Prince. Time is running out.
Demys woke to early morning light brushing the sides of his tent.
After the usual breakfast of dried meat and dates, Gyara and her riders set off toward the Wagato pass. Demys’ body ached, but at least he had more confidence in his ability to stay in the saddle, even if his horse reared. He spent most of the ride in silence, thinking about his dream. He should never have listened to Geyas. Now his mind spun legends in his sleep, confusing and unsettling him.
By midafternoon, they could see Wagato-feg in the distance. It felt like a mirage after the months of seeing nothing but desert dunes on the horizon. The mountains parted to admit their riding party, and nestled the collection of dusty buildings with the palace rising above them.
They reached Wagato-feg an hour or so after darkness had fallen. Demys rode the last stretch of the way with several furs wrapped about him to keep from freezing. The city dwellers barely paid heed as they rode past; he supposed small groups of riders must come into the city to trade every now and then. Everyone looked too excited about something else in any case.
Ovat found them an inn with stables large enough to house their thirty-odd horses. Demys looked forward to a bed, some rice and vegetables, and perhaps a bath. They took up half the common room when they settled down for supper, the serving girls pushing together several of the rustic tables. The riders passed around mugs of sour spirits, which Demys declined. He dug into the rice, however, not minding that it was overcooked and not as fine quality as what they had at the imperial palace.
The rest of the inn’s customers avoided the Pehm nomads, casting them suspicious glances as though fearing Gyara and the others would sneak into their rooms at night and steal their purses. They didn’t look at Demys any differently than at his companions, which for some reason gratified him, even if the looks were unfriendly.
Murmurs ran through the common room, even after the stir over the new arrivals had settled. Tension hung in the air. Demys wondered if something had happened in the city recently.
“We’re dry,” said one of the men, banging his mug on the table.
“I’ll get more drinks,” said Gyara, rising. Demys watched her approach the bar and lean her elbows on it, speaking to the innkeeper. The man looked wary at first, but soon appeared to almost smile. Gyara must be acting more charmingly than she had the first time she met Demys.
She returned a few minutes later with two large, overflowing jugs. She slammed them down and sat next to Demys again.
“There’s news from Amrato-feg,” she said.
“What?” asked Demys.
Gyara eyed him, taking a swallow from her mug. “The empress abdicated.”
Everyone near enough to hear fell silent, watching her and waiting for her to continue. Quiet moved up and down the joined tables as the rest noticed.
“The empress? Aqetoyo Myagadhar?” Demys stared at Gyara, unable to grasp what she’d said. “Abdicated?”
“Apparently, she handed over the empire to a foreign councilor. The rumor is he’s put some spell over her. The High General is in Hassal, fighting the lords who’ve joined up against the empire, and the Sky Prince is a captive in Miihing.”
“No,” said Demys. His mind whirled, returning bits of his dream to him. “That can’t be. What foreign councilor? When did the Hassali lords declare war on the empire? And my brother, a captive? He went to tour Miihing. He can’t have been captured. Who would capture him?”
“It’s chaos everywhere.” Gyara took a larger swallow.
“Here,” said Ovat, filling a mug and pushing it across the table toward Demys. “Have a drink.”