Sleep rumbled on for Aya, the abyss of formless dreams and semi awareness holding her until at last she awoke in the early hours of the dawn. She stretched out, exhaling as joints flexed and popped under soft blankets. She held within her a peace that she’d not felt in months, maybe years.

 

Everything was comfortable, everything was soft, the monsters and cruel men were all far away memories. That thought was enough to jar her back to reality - there had been monsters, there had been cruel people, and they were still out there. But she was safe, that much was true. In her grandmother’s home, no one could touch her, or so she hoped.

 

She hopped out of bed, and went to wash her face, glancing about as she did so. The opulence of everything, the copper tub, the ivory basin, the wonderful woodwork, still felt strange. It might never be fully comfortable for her, but still, there were worse things to feel insecure about. When she’d finished, she propped herself on the edge of the bed, looking at the thin dawn rays beginning to creep across the water.

The view was one thing she felt no reserve over - the towers and canals, then theold wooden wall of the historic district, past that the dockyards, and outside the open ocean, the shoreline stretching into the distance. Light flickered and glinted as a red sun began to rise over the dark blue of the waters.

 

The vibrant pastels that brushed across the sky reminded her of the paper lanterns in the streets below. They’d lent their soft glow to the wood and stone of streets and bridges, lighting up the festival in warm hues of yellow, red and orange. Naia hadn’t lied when he said she should come to see it.

 

She’d been nervous, when her grandmother informed her that she would be coming onstage. Never before had she’d thought of ‘displaying’ her cooking talents to a crowd. Fainting seemed the obvious course of action when she saw just how large the crowd in question was. Her grandmother, seeing the obvious, whisked her onstage aside the other members of ‘their’ school, as she called it.

 

At first, she was lost, petrified at the prospect of the many feast preparations. The students, initially displaying a reverence of her that kept them distant, quickly warmed to her. Perhaps it was an attempt to curry favour with their patron, but their whispered hints and subtle directions had set her right. Not long after, she was lost in the work, and, with a glimmer of pride, reflected that she had held speed with the rest of them.

 

None of them, however, could hold a candle to her grandmother. The woman was a living tempest of knife work; cut, scrape, dice, mince, fry, swirl. Oil and water seems to stream into the pans and bowls at her command, never a movement wasted on anything but the meal. Aya vaguely remembered telling her mother that she could challenge the woman to a contest. Now that thought seemed hopelessly infantile, and she wasn’t sure even a whole life of training would be enough to catch up.

 

Her thoughts was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door. It opened before she could tell the person to come in. It was her maid, Miriko, a distant cousin from one of the many family branches. She was only two or three years off Aya in years, and had quickly established a genial relation with her. Aya appreciated it - she disliked being held in reverence or awe, just because she was the granddaughter of a great woman.

 

“My apologies. I thought to wake you,” Miriko said quietly, “the matriarch desires you to walk with her this morning.”

 

Aya hopped up out of the bed and walked to the dresser, Miriko stepping forward to help her dress. It wasn’t long before she was out on the front steps with her grandmother and two guards. Aysatra had a look over her and nodded in approval.

 

“You seem nice and rested,” she said, a glint in her eyes, “I obviously didn’t work you hard enough last night.”

 

Aya giggled - it was obviously a joke, she told herself, though with her grandmother it could be hard to tell sometimes.

 

“It’s good,” she said, starting down the steps, “so many layabouts sleep the morning away. All the better for me, not getting swarmed in the early hours. Boatmen!”

 

The two policemen on one of the smaller family barges snapped to attention at the words.

 

“Take us to main street,” her grandmother said, clambering aboard and helping Aya on.

 

Sometime later, with minimal conversation, they reached the large cobbled street where Aya and her other companions had first entered the city. The cargo lift running up the centre of the street had been stacked full of various boxes, and there were long benches and tables stretching alongside into the morning mist. Aystara was waved on with a bow by the conductor, the lift creaking and rattling as it made its slow way up the hill.

 

“A good investment,” said Aysatra, patting the guard rail, “Before we built this, we had to cart it down by horse or donkey. The streets were filthy.”

 

They stepped off at the top of the street, walking the rest of the way to the large outerwall of the city. Her grandmother steadfastly refused to entertain any of her questions and instead took them to one of the main gate barbicans. They were ushered through when the matriarch’s identity was revealed, and up to the top of the walls.

 

“Will you answer me now?” Aya said, exasperated, “no where else to go, unless you want to push me off.”

 

“You’re starting to sound like Assyeria,” laughed her grandmother, “good. I brought you up for two reasons, other than the simple pleasure of walking with my granddaughter.”

 

She indicated a jut from the wall on its top, not five paces from where they were. Set into the stone and brick work there was a metal apparatus, a knee-high frame rising from a smooth disk. One of the guard captains who’d accompanied them up to the wall departed with other men.

 

“One,” her grandmother said, leaning back against the battlements, “our family funds the defence of this city. I expect my heir to know her options to deal with enemies.”

 

Aya felt the feeling of security she’d woken with start to drain.

 

“Enemies?” she said, “I don’t… I don’t really understand. What enemies?”

 

“Oh, the common,” said Asyatra, waving her hand dismissively, “bandits, the occasional petty warlord. One crops up every few decades. Less and less frequently since we’ve built these.”

 

She patted the interlocking stone behind her with no small amount of pride.

 

“Speaking of good investments. Don’t ever underestimate the power of a good wall, Aya. As simple as it might seem, it’ll spare you many headaches.”

 

“And the uncommon?” Aya said quietly.

 

Her grandmother didn’t answer, merely looked out west of the city, eyes hardening.

 

Soon, the guard captain returned with several men, panting and puffing as they hauled along a large metal device, composed of various parts. Various springs and levers, a long cylindrical barrel, a strange stand. Aya wished that Sorore was here - she had a gift for identifying things.

 

The troop hoisted the device on top of the metal frame, sliding it into place with a clank. The guard captain and another man inspected it, turning the barrel this way to expose the springs to light.

 

“Ready for use, matriarch,” said the guard captain in Karkosian.

 

“Loaded?” she replied in continental, to a nod, “wait for the mist to clear up. I want a clear eye on the result. You and your men are dismissed for now.”

 

The man nodded, offered a small bow to her and Aya, and took his men down the length of the wall.

 

Her grandmother did not speak for some time as she looked out onto the still misty fields beyond the city wall. Finally, with her back to Aya, she sighed.

 

“What’s your best guess on how many people live in this city?” she said.

 

Aya took a moment to process the question, cocking her head at the strangeness of it. She thought about just how big the city was, and the houses built up onto the mountain.

 

“Fifteen-thousand?” she said.

 

Her grandmother laughed at it, not the usual forceful flinty laugh, but a softer, gentler sound. Aya’s face grew flushed as she realised that she’d been utterly short.

 

“Within the walls? Around seventy thousand,” Aysatra said, “if we count the surrounding farmlands and the various subcommunities that have sworn fealty? Closer to a hundred and thirty.”

 

Aya’s mouth went dry at the words. A hundred and thirty thousand?

 

“How many could wield arms in an attack?” her grandmother continued, “we have a legion of seashell warriors, plus the regular and household guards to keep the peace. All in all, about ten thousand. If we add levies, we could bring that number up to twenty-five thousand. Loosening standards, we might be up to thirty thousand or more.”

 

The numbers had Aya’s head swimming, amounts larger than she’d ever thought possible. Her grandmother was discussing them with a tired air of resignation.

 

“That’s… a lot,” she said, quietly, not entirely sure what response was wanted.

 

“Yes, yes it is,” Aysatra said, still not turning, “but our strength has always been focused in ships. Over sixty in our employ alone. Together, if every family pooled their resources, we’d have over four hundred large vessels. But we have little to worry about from the sea, for now.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” Aya said, trying to keep any quiver out of her voice.

 

“Because I have made a choice. A choice that reflects on the whole of the city and its people. I govern, in all but name, along with the more senior families. Many of them support me in this choice, some do not.”

 

Aya came around to grip the battlements, staring up into the older woman’s face. There was a glassy, distant look in her eyes, staring into the fields.

 

“It was thirty years ago when I stood on this wall, when it was nearly fully built,” she said, gesturing out to the fields, “and beyond, fifty thousand troops stood in those fields, every company with the banner of the church of heart.”

 

The full impact of her grandmother’s words crashed down on Aya as she regarded the wavering grass, imagining it drowned in row after row of soldiers. Naia’s company, repeated out into the far distance, drumming their armour and roaring battle cries.

 

“Fifty…?” she tried to say, the words coming out as a squeak.

 

“I want you to understand Aya,” her grandmother said, finally turning to grip her shoulders, “you, for some hodgepodge mystical reason I don’t claim to understand, are valuable. Those paladin’s words are proof enough. They were at the forefront, you know, thirty years ago. I remember their shining helms most of all, the masks that they all wore.”

 

There was something haunted in her eyes at the remembrance, before she managed to pull herself together. A familiar hardness returned to her as she pulled herself straight.

 

“The faces of dead saints, or some such nonsense,” she sneered, “we couldn’t oppose them then. They took our children, our friends, our family. ‘Wards’ they called them. Hostages in truth. Some came back, some didn’t; many of your mother’s friends among them.”

 

Aya nodded, clenching her jaw to keep it from chattering. She gleaned an insight from those words, the root of the conflict between her mother and grandmother.

 

“I, along with others, had to give them up. It was the only way to save everyone else. Still, it tore my heart to be giving up the children of this city to those dogs,” her grandmother said, eyes alight, “but we never forgot. I never forgot. We rebuilt the sandshell legion, we doubled the guard, made new forges and created stockpiles of weapons. And these.”

 

She gestured to the contraption that they men had brought.

 

“Among the few useful things that the Academy has created. They’re quite ingenious with springs and projectiles, when they put their heads to it.”

 

The morning mists were beginning to clear up, colour and definition leaping back to life in the world. Aysatra strode up and graped two handles at one end of the barrel. Aya could see a stack of wood several hundred paces away, a thick bunch of straw wound in a spiral lashed to it. The contraption rotated with a grinding, clinking sound as Aysatra pulled and angled it to face the target.

 

There were two cracks, the second a few moments after the other. The target exploded into a haze of straw and wood chunks as a ball of pure metal shot from the barrel end. Aya nearly jumped off the wall. Her grandmother peaked over to see the destruction and smiled with satisfaction.

 

“We’ll never match Angorrah’s numbers. Their lands are much much larger than our own holdings. But getting an army, even a small one, all this way is tough.”

 

“Why are you talking about war with the empire?” Aya said in a subdued voice.

 

“Because of you, silly girl! Don’t be dense,” her grandmother said, waving to a guard who was signalling something beside the distant target, “if you’re really as valuable as they say, sending an army to recapture you is possible.”

 

“Then just let them have me!” she exclaimed in shock.

 

“Oh my girl,” said her grandmother, ruffling her hair, “you underestimate how deep the grudge runs. We handed our children over to church axes before. Never again. Even if our city burns to the ground.”

 

That image of her grandmother’s beautiful city, her mother’s city, her city, burning, was too much to bear. Aya, quietly, began to shake, and then to cry. Her grandmother drew her into her arms, soothing her, telling her that everything would be alright.

 

“The second reason I brought you up here,” she whispered to the girl, “is to show you the best view in the city.”

 

Aya looked up, brushing away tears to gaze as the sun began to arc over the roofs of the city. She felt her heart still as colour raced up to meet them,roof tiles and painted wood of the houses lighting up bright. She was put in mind of a field of terracotta flowers, yellow, red, brown, beige, cream, glimmering in the dawn. Beyond them all was the sparkling waters, replete with hundreds of boats from small fishing crafts to large trading vessels.

“My favourite place,” her grandmother sighed, “only here can you see the full city and the rising sun at the same time. The guards who man this section should be envied. Come on. Let’s get some breakfast.”

 

The old woman walked away, followed by the two guards that had accompanied them to the walltop.

 

“Grandmother?” she said, coughed once to try and clear her voice, “I was wondering if…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I was wondering if I could see the mage. Efrain,” she said, “I think it would be useful.”

 

Her grandmother considered for a second, then nodded.

 

“After breakfast. Hop off girl, we’ve got some things to do before the festival begins again.”

 

Aya was about to hurry to join them, anxious to get off the wall despite the view. Something wasn’t exactly right, though she could not understand anything to specifically be wrong. She looked around, trying to determine the cause of her misgivings, but her neck seemed to jam before she could look behind her.

 

In that instant, as cold sweat began to trickle down her back, Aya knew that something immense stood behind her, past the edge of the wall. There was a subtle darkening, as if a thin cloud shaded the morning sun.

 

Thrum. Thrum.

 

It was a buzz of power, a tension of anticipation. The thing was… waiting? For what?

 

She pushed her body, finding it unresponsive to her command to turn and face it.

 

That rumbling abyssal voice echoed in her head, rolling across the rooftops just as the sunlight had. It was a gross imposition upon her, a wall of sound that crashed into her mind.

 

“THE TIME APPROACHES.”

 

Aya tried to say something, anything, but found her mouth impossibly dry.

 

The voice rolled again, waves thundering into cliff rocks.

 

“YOU MUST BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE. THE CHILD HAS NO ALTERNATIVE, BARRING FAILURE.”

 

Then, with a shade of contemplation:

 

“CONTINUING MIGHT BE CRUELER THAN FAILURE.”

 

Aya found her muscles suddenly unlocked, and she whirled to find… nothing.

 

“What are you doing girl?” her grandmother called to her, “you need to eat, don’t you?”

 

“Coming!” she shouted, glancing back at the rapidly receding mists.

 

She thought there was the faintest hint of luminous blues spots within, fading into the sunlit morning.