The star demons descended with their ravening mouths, but Samšin struck them down. They surrounded her until she could not be seen, and the people feared she was lost, but Samšin feared neither the darkness nor its creatures. Five times, six times, seven times she swung her mace, until the star demons fled in fear of her.
Now the people were together. Cunning Imalkit struck stone against stone and made light. She said to the people, “We can fool the star demons. Let us make a large fire, and they will think it is the Maker of Above and Below, so they will not attack us.” Everyone gathered wood, and they made a large fire. The star demons flinched back and did not approach.
But without the Maker of Above and Below, plants did not grow, and the world was not green. Gentle Nahri showed the people what things could be eaten, from the worms of the earth to the tender bark of the pine. They [. . .] Because of her the people did not starve.
Ektabr prayed to the Ever-Moving, the Source of Wind. Pious Ektabr prayed to the Ever-Standing, the Foundation of All. Faithful Ektabr prayed to the Light of the World, begging for its return. Wisdom came to him in the night.
He came to his siblings and spoke, saying, “There is a fourth power in the world, a fourth power that is not in the world. It is the shadow(?) of light(?), the starvation(?) of life(?), the undoing(?) of doing(?).5 This power has taken the Maker of Above and Below. It is the thing we do not know, and I fear it.”
They [. . .] with the people [. . .]
“Why has this power taken the Light of the World?” Imalkit asked, but no one could answer.
“Where can we find this power?” Nahri asked, but no one could answer.
“How can we defeat this power?” Samšin asked, but [. . .]
Ektabr spoke, saying, “Let us seek out Hastu, who [. . .]”
Together they went, for the sake of the people.
1 I want to hunt down whoever Gleinleigh had conserve these tablets and shake him. I don’t know for sure that it’s his fault these parts are too damaged to read, but it’s easier to blame a person than a few thousand years of time.—AC
2 A solar eclipse?—K
The part about the river flowing backward makes me think it was something more like an earthquake. A volcanic eruption, maybe? A plume of ash could be said to blot out the sun.—AC
3 The first night, I think. Which explains why the previous reference was to “the time of noise” and “the time of quiet.”—K
Wait, they didn’t have night before? Or do you mean everything up until now somehow all happened in a day? No, because it said before that the siblings grew to full size in a year. You can’t have a full year without night.—CF
In my thol ogy, anything is possible. I’ve read stories where someone was raised to adulthood by a birch tree, or pissed all the oceans of the world into being.—AC
4 In the royal library in Sarmizi there’s a tablet that uses this word—nadjait is ibn Oraib’s best guess at how to transliterate it.—AC
Have you read Erica Pantel’s article on that tablet? She suggests that it may indicate a kind of star demon, based on a fragmentary prayer from the Library of Shukura that treated the night of the new moon as exceptionally dangerous.—K No, I haven’t! We’ll use that translation for now, then.—AC
5 I’m not even going to pretend I’m confident in that translation—hence all the question marks.—AC
It seems reasonable to me. If nothing else, the text clearly seems to be indicating some kind of oppositional structure, contrasting this fourth power against the Light of the World, or maybe against all three together.—K
So . . . what is that fourth power?—CF
I do not know.—K
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF CORA FITZARTHUR
Audrey and Kudshayn talked today about whether there were any volcanic eruptions in the early days of Draconean civilization, or just before it got started. Ones big enough to make it seem like the sun had gone away. Or a solar eclipse. If there were, then the epic might be describing something real.
Audrey is very frustrated that Uncle has made her and Kudshayn promise not to share information about their work with anyone, even to ask questions. I know this because she made a very obvious point of talking about how frustrated she is, right in front of me. When I asked her why—why she was being obvious, that is, not why she was frustrated—she sighed dramatically and said, “Oh, I was just wishing there was someone who hadn’t promised.”
She meant me, of course, though when I said that to her she just winked and then went to clean up for dinner. She wants me to go behind Uncle’s back and look into volcanic eruptions.
If I asked him, I’m sure he would say that no, I’m not allowed to share information with anyone, either. The only reason he hasn’t told me that already is because it never occurred to him that I would write to anyone—he thinks there’s nobody for me to write to, and normally he’s correct.
But I want to know if it was an eclipse or an eruption or something else Audrey and Kudshayn haven’t thought of. I want to know if the epic is describing something real this time. (Why can’t it just be one or the other? All made up, or all real? It seems to me like that would be much more useful. Then you would know whether you were supposed to be entertained or educated by what you were reading.)
If I don’t ask Uncle, then I’m not technically disobeying him.
I know perfectly well that this is a loophole. I’m already thinking about how to post the letter from Lower Stoke so that he won’t know I sent it and none of the servants can tell him, because if he has me reading Audrey’s and Kudshayn’s letters to make sure they aren’t breaking their promise, then he wouldn’t want me doing it myself. I know this is dishonest.
I’m going to do it anyway.
From: Annabelle Himpton, Lady Plimmer
To: Marcus Fitzarthur, Lord Gleinleigh
6 Floris
Priorfield, Greffen
Dear Marcus,
I have tried to be patient, but weeks have gone by and it has become quite apparent that you are insensible to your duties to the neighbourhood. Surely, I thought, Lord Gleinleigh is not so much a part of this careless modern age as to ignore his responsibility to make his guests known to local society—but it is all too clear that you are indeed a modern sort, keeping entirely to yourself what ought to be the common pleasure of your neighbours.
You may not have any care for such “out-of-date” proprieties, but I do. I have therefore determined to host a dinner, with dancing to follow. You are invited, as is your ward (twenty years old and still not out? Whatever can you be thinking?), and of course your guests. Yes, I mean both of them. Miss Camherst has been seen in town, but she has not come to call on me once! I understand the child was raised half feral on a ship, but she was presented to Society some years ago and really ought to know better. Naturally I expect no such thing of your other guest; indeed, I hardly know what to expect of him at all. But the neighbourhood of Lower Stoke has never played host to a Draconean before, nor are they likely to do so again in what remains of my lifetime, so we must not squander this opportunity.
I will send my girl around tomorrow to speak with your housekeeper about suitable food for the Draconean. I expect your party to arrive promptly at six o’clock on the evening of the nineteenth. Should you fail to show, I think you will find that the people of Lower Stoke will not soon forget or forgive your selfishness in hiding your guests away from us all.