Chapter 1- Silence


Against the darkness of the sky, the mound loomed heavily.

The sounds of the night rustled around the two women who stood before the blackened wooden pillars of its sealed entrance. There were a scattered dozen who knelt wordlessly behind the pair of women, heads either bowed in thought, or uplifted in prayer, moonlight reflecting on their faces. Though the two who stood were veiled and the slightly cool night air would, at times, stir the netted fabric so that their lips could be seen.

The old one sang. To those who stood behind, they often could not tell if the words were indeed the names of the departed as they should be, or if the old priestess instead sang prayers now. The language was too old for their ears, the tone of voice too reedy for them to follow. Few of these had ever come before, and were unfamiliar with such a liturgy. There was a cool chill of fear whispering amid the people, brought by the lips of traders and travelers from the east, the south. Tonight the twin moons of the sky swelled to their fullest. The Eyes of the Dark Goddess, fully watchful of the people this night. As the fear of the people grew, so too did their attendance when Dirge called upon the Goddess Nie on their behalf.

If the strange rumors were true, there could be much to fear. So they prayed. At this, at the time the Goddess had fully opened both Her Eyes, the dead were remembered and so the living came to appeal for their intervention, for the Goddess’ help and protection. In the hands of the younger priestess was a sensor, its chimes silent now, but the incense burning in it carried their prayers skyward, into the Goddess’s Arms, towards those now passed, who rested within them.

The song slowed, quieted, grew soft. From a chant to a whisper, from a whisper to a murmur. And then there was the silence of the grasses and the trees beyond and around the mound. Dirge knelt, as did her apprentice, the chimes of her sensor ringing quietly.

One of the old ones who would often come to remember her resting husband stood and left. And, one by one, the others followed her, leaving the two dark robed women kneeling alone before the burial mound.

“They’re getting afraid. Always more when they’re scared of something. Or if it’s a holiday,” muttered Dirge. She glanced behind her in time to see the last of the assembly disappear down the path through the forest.

“So then you believe the rumors?” the younger one asked, standing up and reaching out a hand to help pull her teacher from the ground.

Dirge shrugged, taking the offered hand and pulling herself to her feet with a grunt. “Don’t tell me you doubt them after that message we got, girl.”

“I suppose not,” she said, voice uncertain and somewhat fragile in the night. “But it’s hard not to doubt a story like that, even if the letter was from one of your friends. It sounds more like a child’s nightmare. Perhaps it’s some of those men coming out of the southern lands? They’re also rumored to be quite frightening. It would be a much simpler explanation than monsters on the loose.”

Dirge sniffed, and began to walk towards the path into the forest. “You’ve been reading too many of those southerner books again. Shouldn’t try to order those anymore. Those people, ha! Your brain will turn into a set of metal wheels with their kind of thinking. Bah, nonsense.”

The girl hung her head and followed Dirge, soundless but for the chimes hanging from the sensor in her hands. As they stepped onto the path, the gravel crunched and scattered beneath Dirge’s feet. “Silence, you will go to the Council in my place this year.”

The girl named Silence looked up from the sensor swinging in her hands. “But I can’t.”

Dirge turned to look at her sharply. With only the moonlight above, and her veil drawn, it was impossible to see the girl’s face. But years of raising her allowed Dirge to know precisely what her apprentice was thinking, what expression was set on her thin features. “Oh, yes you can.”

“They wouldn’t listen to me even if I did have something to say. Who would….”

“I can’t keep making the journey,” Dirge interrupted. “It’s too far. I’m old, girl. I trained you to take my place and every year I go to First and I sit and I listen to the Council and I bicker with them if I think they’re being thick headed.” She paused in her litany and looked intently at the dark figure standing before her, head bowed and shoulders bent. “You’re grown up, girl, like it or not. You can’t keep hiding here in the village. You can’t keep being afraid of what others might think of you when they hear your name. Not every person in this world is going to think you’re a walking curse, girl, and I’m sick to death of you hiding under that veil. You’re taking my place this year and you’re going to First and you’re going to listen to what they say about the rumors in the south and the east. You’re going to listen and you’re going to act like a Priestess of Nie, not a scared child. You’ll go with Mosaic. He’s taking that daughter of his. You get along with that girl, at least, don’t you?”

Silence hesitated and the chimes sounded as she twisted her hands. “Yes, Dirge.”

“Good.”

As Dirge turned and began again to walk down the path, the sound of chimes quietly followed her.


Chapter 2 - Dawning


Against the darkness of the sky, bright flames leapt upward, their fiery glow illuminating the people that walked and danced, laughed and sang and ate and celebrated. It was late; very late. So late that, in fact, it was early. The smells of burning wood and coal and smoke filled the air and at various places mingled with the smells of beer and early breakfasts or late dinners. The fires crackled and popped in harmony with the drumming pounding out from the central fire’s pavilion, and the bright sounds of a flute twined themselves with the vibrations of the beat.

At the center fire several men held long torches, fire blazing upward from one end. They leapt forward and back, swinging the flames around their head in burning orange arches, the light seeming to scar the air behind them for a moment; then the flames would circle around again. The drums pounded faster, and the dancers and their flames spun quicker. As one, the men thrust the torches toward the center ring, then jerked them back only to spin them upward again, waves of heat spilling outward into the cooler morning air.

“Savagery at its finest,” grumbled Notch. “Those torches could as well be spears, you know.” He grimaced, and gave a glare down at the armful of pretty flowers he was being forced to carry around. “And I feel like a fool carrying these things. Exactly when is the great barbarian queen going to make her grand appearance?”

Rubbing his smoke-dried eyes, Back answered him with the sigh of a man who was tired and not in the mood for a younger companion’s complaints. “Princess. And she’ll be out soon enough.” He made a vague gesture towards a ring of heavily decorated tents just beyond the main circle, for members of this particular tribe’s ruling family.

Back found himself glancing east. There was the barest hint of color along the otherwise night blackened horizon, and hopefully that meant the Princess would be making her entrance in a moment. It had been a nightmarishly long night, and being completely surrounded by Plainsmen did little to ease his mind. Twenty years ago if his people had seen this many gathered, it would have been for a battle, not a party.

The one called Princess Dawning was special. Some of the more religious Plainsmen whispered that she was formed out of the damp earth by Dei’s hand directly, like the First Ones who lived so long ago. It was no coincidence that Rise began to grow in power just after he claimed the foundling baby girl as his own, or so it was said. Dei favored who the girl favored. As the girl aged, his power grew until he became head of his tribe and then consolidated the power of several tribes under him, effectively making him a king among the tribes.

Roughly, he took the roses from Notch. “Get the others. If any of them are drunk, leave them and I’ll deal with them later. Make sure the path she’ll take is lined with our group. If we’re first it’s to our advantage. Get going.”

Notch, relieved of the roses, bowed quickly and rushed off towards one of the bonfires their group had staked out as their own. Back began to walk towards the edge of the circle, not towards the dais where Rise and his wife sat waiting for the dawn, but for the trampled down grass where the night’s performers had made their exits and their entrances, the break in the rope that was strung in a circle, making a stage. It took good money to learn Dawning herself was to be Dei this year. If his gift was first, it would be an advantage, a chance to set the stage for the other four competitors against his Prince. They were already in place around the circle, in front and close to the main pavilion so that Rise could see how attentive they were and recognize them.

It had to be nearly time. People were beginning to scurry closer to the main bonfire and the rope ring that was loosely formed around it. A tap on his shoulder and he glanced to his left to see Notch appear with all five others in their group, all looking tired but alert. Too scared of the Plainsmen to go getting drunk, party or not, he realized. They fanned out just as the drums of the last dance stopped, and the flute ceased its trilling. The men who had been dancing changed, became sentries, standing at points around the ring, their tall torches high above their heads and imposing in the pre-dawn darkness.

From one behind the array of great drums, a group of men rushed out and fed the main bonfire again with new wood, releasing a fresher scent into the air and sending the blaze towering even higher. They moved away as quickly as they appeared, and Rise stood from his seat.

His solemn voice was not lifted in a shout, but it carried through the crowd, which grew silent as he spoke, deep throated words that were formal, rehearsed, old.

“Our people came out of the west. Dei who formed us gave Bound a path to follow, even when he wandered in the unending darkness of the forest. She opened the land for him, and gave us the means to live on the Sea of Grass. Her shining face guides us even now.”

There was a moment when nothing stirred, no voice was raised. The sounds of the night’s festivities died. In the darkness of morning, the fire crackled and the sparks rose high into the air and danced before blinking out.

Then the first beat of the great drum sounded. Against the silence surrounding the crackling of the fire it echoed like a heartbeat of the air. Again the drum was struck, and again. Then, from the tents behind them, there was a soft crack, the sound of wood striking wood, and the soft ring of metal on metal.

Three women emerged from the tents. Garbed in the same scarlet, the center one only wore an intricate golden crown and mask, the upper portion of her face transformed into the image of the Sun.

They stepped forward, small, bright red wooden castanets in their hands. They clapped them together again, hands lifted over their heads. With each snap of their hands, they stepped forward once, each strike counting off a moment and a step towards the center fire. The two who accompanied the woman in the mask stopped at the entrance to the ring. Only the middle one emerged into the center, the yellow of the decorated mask shining golden in the light of the fire, rays streaming away from her face and coiling into her bright yellow hair.

She faced the fire. Her eyes flicked around the circle of spectators. There was a faint ringing from her small, decorative metal jewelry, which circled her wrists and ankles. Spots of light shone from her where firelight touched metal. She paused, rich red silks hanging loosely from her uplifted arms. The steady drumbeat ceased again, and for a moment there was once more only the sound of fire and breathing of people.

Then the pitch of the flute rose high into the air, and those who watched noticed for the first time that the sky in the east was turning a rich shade of morning red.

A roll of thunder flowed from the drums, and with it the dancer moved.

Slowly, very slowly, she slid backward, one hand forward while the other moved around, power building around her, until her two hands met. Then a burst of moment so swift it she seemed a swirl of scarlet silk and gold, her arms going down and her body spinning in a smooth circle before again coming to a stop, a hand paused forward while the other rose in an arch over her head, building up power before her hands met again. Russet silk rippled in the firelight, loose drapes flew away from her arms, and then she was moving again, back, to the side, motions sharp and precise, then loose and fluid as she leapt, the percussion that backed her building power up into the pattern, and as she danced and paused, the slower moments allowed an energy to grow around her, a brightness that was slowly beginning to come from the colors gathering in the east, as the sun began to break over the horizon. As the drums gained speed, so too did she, slowly turning faster as her movements gained strength, and the fire began to burn lower though the sky lightened.

A golden sliver of the sun slipped over the horizon, and the drums ceased, leaving the dancer paused before the fire, hands once again moving slowly around, power building. This time, when her hands met, there was no new quick step. The dance ended there, and she slowly straightened, facing the day’s newly born sun. The quiet crowd turned to follow her, hands folding across their chests reverently.

“Be ready,” a whispered voice said, close to Back’s ear. He turned abruptly from the entrancing foreign scene before him to see a small woman standing beside him, her hair covered in plain black shawl that draped forward and obscured her face. He saw only a thin sliver of rich olive skin before she glanced slightly up at him, revealing wide almond eyes. “She’ll slip away if you’re not careful.” Startled, Back stared for a moment at the woman’s words, but before he could reach out, she slid backward and away between some men who were still watching the sunrise with a sense of sacred admiration. Any thought he may have spared toward searching for her was gone in the next instant, as he saw the Princess step quietly away and towards the exit, her dance complete with the dawning of Dei.

Back nearly swore at the sight, mind refocusing on the job he was there to perform. He pushed his way past the first row of people that lined the path past the exit, Notch and the others seeming to awaken with his movement and shoving their way through to follow. A murmur and a stir went up around them, and the spell of the dance and the dawn was broken as people moved as though waking from a dreamy sleep.

He quickly dropped to his knees before the dancer, head bowed though painfully aware of sharp, grass green eyes on him and small stones pressing into his skin from the ground. He could feel the prickles of the thorns though the thin sheath of starched silk wrapping the roses. He was entirely too old for this.

“A present of roses for you,” he said, trying to hand the bouquet to her with some sense of formality since it lacked any grace. He kept his gaze firmly downward, offering the flowers. It was difficult to judge what her reaction may be. A bold move, made immediately after the performance, could be perhaps interpreted as a sign of courage…or perhaps a sign of disrespect to their patron Goddess. Back was gambling on courage but much depended on the Princess’ own reaction.

The grumbling crowd paused as they waited to see what happened. After a moment, Back felt the bouquet lifted out of his hands. It was accepted. He did his best to scramble out of the way and heard his companions trying to do the same from behind. Before him there was a sweep of crimson cloth as Dawning moved past him, flowers resting lightly in one arm, her two companions trailing her once again.

The people once again began to murmur.



A young woman named Moss was sitting cross legged on the floor of Dawning’s lavish tent. She suppressed a yawn and leaned back against an oversized yellow pillow, tucking her hands behind her head and watching as her sister investigated her first gift.

“Well, the man’s either crazed or desperate,” Dawning was saying, annoyed, fingers plucking at the intricately knotted ribbon that held the flowers together. “I refuse to believe it was sheer ignorance.” She frowned at the knot, debating if she wanted to just cut it. “That was that dirt-eater, wasn’t it?”

Moss failed to stifle a yawn and shifted position on the pillow. Dawning knew perfectly well who it was, she was merely running through the situation again in her mind, and Moss knew that if she waited awhile she’d hear what Dawning was actually thinking. Her sister continued, “Unbelievable. Does he think he’s just getting ahead of everyone else by intercepting me before I could even remove the mask?”

The ancient golden sun mask was resting on a small trestle table, the yellow silk threads that held it in Dawning’s hair untied and lying around haphazardly, though it should have been resting in its ornamental box. “Though I must admit it’s clever. He’s sure to have confused the other competitors with that display.”

“Which is why you accepted them?” Moss offered, chin in hand and attempting not to smile. She lifted her eyebrows delicately.

Dawning glanced over her shoulder with a slightly wicked looking grin. “Certainly. You don’t think I’m not going to at least enjoy myself.”

“You? Of course not, you couldn’t possibly allow things to be simple.”

Dawning’s grin grew into a ringing laugh, rolling warmly through the tent, filling it with her amusement. She finally gave up on the knot to sit down across from her sister, folding up her legs and resting the bouquet in her lap. “It could very well be you out there. You are the elder after all,” she reminded, now attempting to peel back the stiff silk wrappings.

Moss snorted, waved her hand dismissively. “Not in this lifetime. I’m not particularly inclined to marriage and babies.”

“And you think I want to be breeding all the time?” Dawning glanced up from the flowers long enough to give her sister a droll look. Then she wrinkled her nose and frowned down at them again. “Roses.” She gave the wrap a final tug and it peeled away to reveal several long stemmed red-budded blossoms. The two women looked down at the unwrapped gift, spilling out across Dawning’s lap onto the floor.

Moss picked one up carefully, used a finger to test out the stem. “Interesting choice. Flowers that bite.” She looked over at Dawning, whose manner had shifted subtly at the revelation of thorns. Moss waited until Dawning’s eyes refocused away from the flowers. “What are you thinking?”

“Something is strange,” she said with a frown. “The people might have grabbed him and his kind for disturbing the end of the ceremony. The gift is flowers with thorns.” She ran a hand over the stems, then the soft blossoms. “Moss, please carry a message for me to the dirt-eater man. Tell him this: ‘Many have called me beautiful as your flowers, but beauty withers. If you would pay court to me, you would do well to look beyond simple fragility for beauty’.”

Moss nodded once, but gave Dawning a warning look. “You’re not going to consider the dirt-eater Prince, are you? That’s a very serious response.”

“I want to see what he does. The old man’s following orders, unless I miss my guess. I want to know what his Prince is up to.” Dawning leaned back and slowly began to slip off the bright gold bracelets on her wrists. “I want to know why flowers with thorns, and what he’s scheming next. Besides, it will make the rest of this entertaining. I don’t have to pick one of the men that’ve come calling. Father’s just making it all into a big party.” Dawning sighed and waved a hand, the charms on the bracelets tinkling together merrily. “It would be just as well if it were quieter. I wonder if any of these little suitors would have come if Father hadn’t made such a great announcement out of it.” She picked up a rose, and looked at its blossom. “Red as a morning sun,” she said, then closed her eyes. “I think it’s time for a nap.”



Chapter 3 – An Earlier Day, At Capitol, A Plan Begins


It was in the richly decorated outer chambers that Back met his Prince. Beautiful frescoes adorned the walls, and with the windows opened, bright silk hangings stirred lightly in the afternoon’s sea breeze. Ancient yellow parchments cascaded across the table before the Prince, their scripted letters browned with age.

He was not as Back remembered him. Quieter, distant, worried, his mind occupied elsewhere. As a boy Catalyst was lively, mouth filled with questions. There were troubles on his mind, and Back wondered what the source may be.

“My father gave you lands on the border of the Plains,” the Prince had said when all servants were dismissed and Back stood alone before the Descendant of One. “You know them better than any other man I know. You were a friend of my father. And I need your assistance now as he did then. Hopefully you won’t believe I’ve succumbed to a fit of insanity.”

Back had said, “That will depend on what you’re asking my help with.”

Catalyst smiled again, and when the smile faded, he looked out the window towards the wide blue sea. “I wish to marry the Plainswoman named Dawning.”

And so Back traveled into the Plains, to represent his Prince in Rise’s camp.