“And it is time you learned,” a new voice said.
It was not a forge-wight that spoke, nor any of the honor guard. A gasp rose from the table slowly, like a wave breaking, as we realized who was speaking.
The Silent King’s voice was soft, but it resonated through the hall, through the table, through my very bones: a high, childlike whisper, sharpened on silence until each syllable formed a razor’s edge.
“How is it that your great tale begins?” he said. “Ah, yes. Many years ago, in the dark of the world, the gods shaped great creatures from those elements that were to each facet of the Godself most dear. Of that which you call Creator were born spirits of wind and air, fierce winged creatures that gloried in the storm. Of the Provider were born mountainous spirits and every creature that loved the greenly growing places of the earth. Born from the mind of the Protector were spirits of fire, awesome as they were terrible, and from the Fourth, the Unmaker, there flowed into the world turbulent spirits of water.”
A few heads nodded around me. It was a version, albeit a strange one, of the creation epic Henry Brandon had sung for years at Spring Quarters. Now, however, I recognized another story beneath it: Frega Mauntell’s tale of the first beings to walk the world.
“These were the pure beings at the beginning of all things,” the Silent King continued, “the great guards over all forms of lesser creation, loving only the facet of the Godself who brought them into being and the creatures who shared their elemental essence. For time beyond measure these Elementari lived in peace, shaping the world as the gods had desired.”
I tore my gaze from the pacing figure to look at Alastair. He was watching the Silent King intently. Julienna exchanged a glance with her aunt, who looked equally grim.
“But their peace was not to last,” the Silent King said, “for the lesser elemental creatures began to mingle their bloodlines and pollute their purity. The Elementari saw this and grew angry, not only with their adopted children but also with the gods who allowed—nay, encouraged such an intermingling.”
The Silent King paused and his pacing slowed. The courtiers in front of him turned almost all the way around in their seats to keep him in view. Next to me, Julienna let out a long, tense breath. There was the faint clink from the servants’ hallway, but even the chief steward seemed absorbed in the Silent King’s tale.
“This was their great folly, for in rising against their Makers they were themselves unmade. The Godself in the form of the Unmaker descended into the world,” the Silent King continued. “The lesser Elementari fled before her, abandoning the power they had once wielded and fading into the forgotten shadows of the world as broken and fragmented spirits.”
I felt Alastair’s hand on my arm. It was Rushless Wood and the An-Eskatha all over again. I squeezed his hand.
“The others hid and watched as the gods gathered together the remaining creatures, half-breed disgraces calling themselves the Oldkind—for already they had begun to forget the greater spirits who had come before them—and had them bear witness. Before these outrages the Godself then made a new kind of creature, one they hoped would end such conflict forever. From the sand Ahla-Na Lehal’i sculpted the first human beings, Ket filled them with water and blood, Ah-Na-al Akhe’at breathed life into them, and An-Tyrekel ignited inside them a fiery spirit, combining in a single creature all the strengths and weaknesses of each element. Thus was humankind born.
“From its hiding places the strongest Elementar looked on this new creation and hated it. In its rage and its folly, the Elementar burst forth, hoping to destroy humankind before it had a chance to spread as the Oldkind had, but it was once again stopped by the Unmaker, who bound the great spirit, once the gods’ joy and delight, and cast it into a prison deep within the earth.
“While it remained trapped in its prison of stone, it knew not how the centuries were passing above, but as the ages passed, it writhed and struggled, shaking the earth from the highest gargoyle peaks to the deepest pits of the dark ocean. Though these struggles failed to free it, they were not wholly in vain, for cracks appeared in its prison, and the Elementar sent forth ten thousand arms through those cracks to taste the world above.
“There it found a good green land, full of Oldkind and humans alike, and it despised them. While in its prison it could not devour, it nevertheless began to suck the good land dry, and its inhabitants with it, until the land of Thell’s prison was little more than a desert, drained of life by the monstrous spirit trapped beneath its sands.
“But not all things died. Others were drawn to the mouth of Thell’s prison: descendants of those lesser Elementari who thirsted for power, rebellious Oldkind and discontented humans, traitors and the betrayed and every lost creature seeking vengeance.”
“Did they find it?” an overeager voice rose from one of the courtiers. The Silent King turned toward her, the bloodred fangs of his helmet-crown glinting with an ominous light. A hiss went up from among the Elsian honor guard.
“Oh yes, they found it. They found much.” The Silent King resumed his pacing. He was now quite close to our end of the table. “And in them the imprisoned Elementar found willing servants to carry splinters of its own spirit out beyond the walls of its dungeon and the land it had destroyed. So it was that the dark and doubtful rumors of the desert land spread throughout the world of humans and Oldkind.”
I wondered if the rest of the table could hear the thud of my heart as the Silent King passed behind us. I could almost taste the sunburnt sand at the back of my throat, almost see the cracks spreading in the desiccated earth and the darkness seeping out. Willing servants to carry its splintered spirit into the world. My hand trembled on the cut-crystal goblet in front of me. The imprisoned Elementar—the bound Fourth that the Mauntells so feared—the first ghast: it was all the same creature.
Alastair’s eyes had not left the Silent King. Lady Catriona leaned forward in her chair, hands folded beneath her chin, tense as a harp string. Julienna toyed with her meat knife with the air of someone calculating its effectiveness against enemies larger than a haunch of beef. I glanced down the table. Most courtiers sat enrapt, though a number of faces showed varying degrees of puzzlement as well, King Harrold’s and Queen Callina’s among them. Edmund, sitting a few chairs down on the opposite side of the table, had the gravest look of the lot. But no one dared interrupt.
“Those rumors spread even to your kingdom,” the Silent King continued, “a rich land, blessed by the gods with everything Thell’s prison lacked. The Elementar had heard of it in whispers among its servants, even glimpsed it through their eyes, and it wanted to know more of it. When it was that six hundred years ago, an Arlean princess came to the shores of Els, it sensed its chance had come.
“The girl was young and zealous, loyal to her kingdom but weighed down by the overweening ambition of her father. When her ship reached Elsian shores, she did not find the thriving kingdom she was promised, but rather a wasteland, a barren and empty fortress, sustained only by the lies spun out by the servants of the imprisoned Elementar.
“It was there before the gates of the long-abandoned Citadel that her despairing companions turned on her, demanding they return to Arle. With her father’s task undone, she refused, and in the heat of their argument they woke the Great Sphinx, sentinel of the waste and guardian of the entrance to Thell’s prison.