“Hello, Queen Xandera.” His tone was quiet, his manner simple. “Hello, queens.”
The five young blazeborns bowed their glowing heads, and Queen Xandera flowed forward to reach her pool’s edge. “Scorio. I’m glad you’ve come at last.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been…” He didn’t know quite how to say it, so he just let the words trail off.
“I understand. I am no stranger to grief.” The queen considered him, her manner frank, open. “I can tell you that Naomi is not within my domain. I don’t sense her in the caverns below, nor in the immediate area around my spires.”
“Oh.” Scorio blinked. “I hadn’t known you could sense that far. Or that finely.”
“I can. I doubt my younger selves have the ability, however. It is the Noumenon within me.”
One of the younger queens smirked. “Luckily for us we all share in our mutual glory.”
“Hush,” said Xandera. “My spire crawls with Great Souls. More have arrived to replace the dead. Soon I will demand that they leave.”
“I understand.”
“You may remain as long as you desire, however.”
“Thank you. But… I’ll be going soon.” He realized it was true even as he said it. “I’ve enemies to find and kill.”
“The Herdsmen,” said Xandera.
“Yes.” It was a purpose he could hew to. “I’m going to take Bravurn’s books to a friend in LastRock and see if she can translate them. Then… then I’ve a mind to try and find this Lost Cube. A fortress or hideout of theirs. I guess… I guess I want answers.”
She smiled. “Then I’ve no doubt you’ll secure them. I have an offer for you, however. Both a gesture of thanks as well as an indulgence to that self of mine.”
“Oh?”
The young queen who’d spoken up before leaped lightly to her feet. “I’ve asked to travel with you. My mother-self says I’ve a duty to populate our empty spires, but I’ve argued that you’re short on allies and I’ve a yearning to see more of hell. Can I come?”
“She is me,” said Xandera wearily, “but a version of myself that has great trouble controlling her natural curiosity. She’s asked about you nonstop since the battle.”
“But!” The young twelve-year-old queen raised a finger. “I am no natterer. I can be silent. You’re grieving. I’ll be a warm shadow, and a source of inalienable loyalty in what’s to come. You’re hunting traitors and spies, aren’t you? You’ll need someone you can trust without reserve.”
Scorio thought of Naomi, and felt a pang through his heart. “I… yes. Thank you. If you like. I’ll not be good company.”
“That’s alright.” The young Xandera twirled on the spot, her orange hair and black dress flaring out. “I’m all the company I need. Royalty is endlessly self-sufficient.”
Scorio considered the young woman, and couldn’t restrain a smile. “Very well.”
“When do you depart?” asked Queen Xandera.
“Soon. Now that I’m…” Again he trailed off. What had he wanted to say? Back? Alive again? “Aware of what my next steps will be, I’ll not wait. I’ll gather the books and the treasures we found in Bravurn’s vault, and leave by whale ship or foot.”
“Very well.” The blazeborn queen smiled sadly at him. “I am and will forever be grateful for the help you have given me. When I was alone, you were my sole ally. When all hope seemed lost, you appeared. My many selves and children will never, ever forget what you have wrought here. My blazeborns will always be at your service.”
The emotion that had swelled in her voice brought tears to Scorio’s eyes. Throat thickened, he simply bowed, and when he straightened, it was to see to Queen Xandera and the five young queens bow to him in turn.
“You are by far the noblest Great Soul I have ever met or learned of,” said Queen Xandera, her tone again forthright. “Do not lose faith in yourself. Trust in your instincts, and you shall surely change all of hell.”
His instincts. Again he saw Naomi, but this time with the Nightmare Lady looming large just behind her. He fought the urge to sneer.
Instead, face composed, he bowed his head. “Thank you. It’s been an honor to help you, and a privilege to become your friend. If ever you have need, don’t hesitate to send for me. I will come.”
Queen Xandera inclined her head in return.
Scorio took a deep breath. The audience had come to an end. Looking to the young queen, he forced a smile. “I’ll send word when I’m ready to leave. Is that alright?”
“Assuredly!” She beamed. “I have no bags to pack, no goodbyes to tender. I am and shall be ready to depart at a moment’s notice.”
“Good. Thanks.” He took a step back, and raised his hand. “Until we all meet again.”
Queen Xandera smiled. “I hope that it will be someday soon.”
Scorio turned and left the royal quarters, and this time each Titan and drudge that he passed bowed to him as he walked by. Startled, he sketched a quick bow to each in turn, and to his surprise, he found himself heartened, his pain if not lightened, then displaced slightly by something new: gratitude and a newfound pride in what he had wrought.
Chapter 61
It took Scorio and Lianshi nine days to reach LastRock. Four by whale ship, one spent at the remnants of the war camp, and then four by dunerunner.
He didn’t talk much during the voyage, which was fine, because Xandera and Lianshi couldn’t seem to stop. The young blazeborn was curious about everything, and Lianshi only too delighted to expound at length about the night and day cycles, the known habits of various fiends, Great Soul politics, meta-mana studies, and just about everything else.
Which was fine.
Scorio didn’t mind the chatter. In fact, he found it kind of comforting. He’d sit close by, a hat made from woven grass shading his face, and half-listen in. Mostly his thoughts wandered, or simply faded away so that he gazed out over the geography of the Telurian Band without thinking much at all.
Just taking it all in.
There’d been so much violence. Okozs bellowing. Angraths hissing and leaping. The swipe of claws. Symmetron’s swinging their huge clubs. People screaming. People dying.
When he closed his eyes he could see ghastly images projected against the darkness. While it’d been happening, he’d been too immersed in his need to survive to think about it. But now, in the stillness as the dunerunner maneuvered across the desert, it was like he could finally exhale.
Not that he felt traumatized. He didn’t think so, at any rate. After so many fights, he was staring to come to terms with the fact that violence didn’t really bother him. Not that he liked killing. But when it was needed, he didn’t flinch.
And it seemed like there was still a host of folks out there across the depth and breadth of hell in need of dying.
Lianshi didn’t press him. The young Xandera had enough innate wisdom to leave him well enough alone, other to beam at him occasionally as if so thrilled to be along for the ride that she couldn’t restrain herself.
Day became dusk. The Telurian Band’s blazing sun dipped and hovered above the horizon. They and the dozen other passengers on the dunerunner would set up camp and gather around a campfire, the wood ported in on the giant insect’s back. A couple of the Great Souls had brought along instruments, and when the conversation around the fire faltered they’d pull them out and play.
Those were Scorio’s favorite moments. He’d lie back, gaze up at the stormy skies, and let the music carry him away.
He was aware of latent Pyre Lord powers that he’d yet to explore. His vortices, more nuanced appreciation of mana in all its hues, and even a different relationship to how to ignite and burn.
But he was too worn out to probe, so for the most part he just let it all lie.
One day followed another, and then the pilot announced over breakfast that they should reach LastRock by late afternoon. Xandera clapped her hands, and earned indulgent looks from the rest of the crew; her natural exuberance and winsome ways had made it easy for everyone to accept her amongst their number. If anybody had any reservations, at any rate, they took one look at Scorio and decided to keep it to themselves.