Interlude - Lianshi

The light of Amber streamed in through the rose window and played over the ancient desk, upon the dozen journals scattered across its scuffed surface and the pearl inlaid tray of half-eaten lunch shoved off to one side. Lianshi sat back in the heavy leather chair, her legs stretched across what little table surface remained, her dove-gray calf-skin boots crossed at the ankles. Across her lap lay one of the purple-bound tomes she’d recovered from her private locker, one of over a hundred and fifty, the faded lettering across the pages already so painfully familiar.

One of her journals, chosen at random, written over the course of the ninety-seven lives she’d lived.

Eighthday of Third Month, 456 AE

What a wondrous sight. My soul still thrills at the memory of riding the Black Whale into the Fiery Shoals’ air dock, rounding its burning promontory as the city celebrated the Festival of Lanterns. It’s a sight I’ll never forget, at least, not till I am reborn once more. Countless white plumes of smoke arose from the sluggish lava that oozed in hundreds of rivulets to the cliff’s edge, and there fell like a cataract of roses to the sea miles below. The pink blossoms of the flame trees that grow so improbably upon the cliff’s edge were gentle beacons that guided us in, even as the thousands of lanterns arose like the ghosts of fireflies within the rising clouds of smoke.

Captain Marhab pretended to be indifferent to the view, but he didn’t fool me. He’s redeemed himself countless times now since our horrific first encounter, and I daresay I consider him a friend. At the very least, I now consider the Black Whale a worthy vessel; I’ve grown fond of its old, aerite bones, its vaunting skull and the eerie manner in which it swims through the air. The reservoir of Silver mana in the great bladder is nearly depleted and looks like a vestigial organ clutched within the vast ribcage, but the dozen black sails yet catch the breeze and propel us forward, diving through the currents—

Lianshi brushed a lock of hair across her nose, then sighed and raised her gaze. The silence and isolation of this studying nook, which had once been so alluring, now grated; her gaze roamed over the shelves within the arched stone alcove before her, across the myriad books, scrolls, boxes, and bottles, each just asking to be pulled down and examined. The wall opposite the rose window was hidden behind towers of tottering tomes, and from the ceiling hung lamps of spun lead, the glass panes tinted gold.

The perfect retreat. The perfect place to ponder and reflect on all her past lives.

So why couldn’t she concentrate?

Lunch hour was almost over. Soon she’d have to hurry to Mana Manipulation, to focus under Instructor Hera’s watchful gaze as she strove to saturate her Heart and begin the painful process of making Emberling. But for now. These idle, precious minutes. How they slipped away, drifting unchecked like grains of sand between her fingers.

Scorio.

She summoned his handsome face, that impossible smile, and saw him again in the Gauntlet, somehow forcing himself to stand tall when everything was pain and horror. She felt again that pang of guilt.

Had she truly explored every possible way to help him? Had she overlooked something? Petitioning the chancellor had availed her and Leonis nothing but admonitions. Surreptitious scouting trips at night had revealed a tight cordon of guards who never abandoned their posts. They’d both asked their instructors for more information, and been warned to silence.

A wild, restless fury surged within her. Three weeks had passed. Was he dead? What had awaited him beyond the door? She’d debated endlessly with Leonis as to what they could do, and both had agreed that if anyone could survive against impossible odds it was Scorio.

But three weeks?

She bit her lower lip and then sighed. Trying to learn about Red Listers had resulted in another dead-end; all books and materials relating to such were restricted to higher-level Great Souls.

Reaching out to her lunch tray, she took up the Sublime Purification pill, as large as the tip of her thumb and gleaming like polished jade. She’d won it after an improbable victory in the initial round of the tournament. An incredible treasure, but one she’d immediately set aside for Scorio.

So that he’d be able to catch up when he finally returned.

Was it a futile resolution? She studied the pill. Where was he?

Dead, a cold voice whispered from the depths of her soul. He’s three weeks beyond the Final Door. How do you think he’s doing?

Her chest tightened, and what little hunger still gnawed at her disappeared.

There had to be a way to help him.

She just couldn’t think of one.

Eat the pill, Lianshi, that same voice whispered. Stop being a child.

Blinking rapidly, she picked up another journal, a newer iteration, and turned the pages till she came to another of the mysterious torn-out sections. The next page was written in her looping, elegant hand:

Now I understand. Always I break this same oath: to put down in clear language everything pertaining to the First Trial, what I saw, how I passed it, and what it did to me. What mockery, to repeat the same mistake, over and over, and then be forced to correct it once I gain more understanding. Dear future self: do not be irate. And spare yourself this chagrin. Don’t make the same oath to finally break the cycle and write down the truth. I swear to you—and this is the only oath you and I inevitably keep—you’ll break it.

Like I just did.

Those pages are cinders now in my hearth. A cold wind blows through LastRock, and I can hear the howls of the Termin Beauties, which chill me more than the gale. How I loathe this place, with its hollowed-out granite hallways, its echoing stark beauty, and inhuman scale. It’s all too easy to remember the Academy on nights like these, my two fitful, glorious, painful years treading its halls, and the youthful vows I made and have failed to keep.

I wonder where Juniper is. What I’d say to her if I could see her now. Would she talk to me? Forgive me? Would I accept that forgiveness if freely offered?

Or would she seek her revenge and draw my blood?

Old thoughts. Old memories. Old wounds.

Lianshi sighed and closed the journal. She’d need a lifetime to read them all, and a room filled with scholars to correlate and make sense of every allusion, every reference, every name and location.

But one thing had become painfully evident: the hell outside Bastion was endlessly vast and varied. At times that prospect delighted her, awoke an itch to get out there and explore. At others, like now, she felt defeated, wearied by the prospect of revisiting locales that she had seen countless times before in previous lives.

She opened her journal to the last page.

The assault on Aegik tomorrow is doomed. I know this in my soul. Were I braver, I would abandon my friends, but alas, loyalty has always been a unique flaw of mine. No matter. It has been a joy discovering the hells with them. Brave Previc, delightful Mewui, and the ever enigmatic and brooding Rombelier. I pray that we reincarnate together again, dear friends! For one truth has become self-evident: all the wonders of hell are as nothing if you don’t have boon companions with which to enjoy them. Farewell, dear journal. I’m sending you back to Bastion by eel-sprite. Next I write in you, I’ll be a nauseatingly naive and eager Char once more.

~ Pyre Lord Lianshi, Thirdday of Eighth Month, 699 AE

Lianshi stared down at the faded ink, heart thudding, and for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, her eyes prickled with tears and a terrible, lurching emotion arose within her chest. How to balance wonder with futility? How to check the cynicism that leached off these pages so that they didn’t sour her nascent joy?

She read again that salient line: All the wonders of hell are as nothing if you don’t have boon companions with which to enjoy them.

Her heart quavered, and she closed the book with a snap. The golden lanterns overhead flickered, indicating the end of the lunch hour.

Time to get back to class.

She rose, stashed the dozen journals into her pack, and took up the Sublime Purification pill once more. Held it up to the light so that it glimmered with fey power, and then dropped it into her side pouch.

She’d save it for Scorio.

A bubbling sense of relief arose within her, and with a smile that felt fatuous but which she couldn’t deny, she strode away from the studying nook with its rose window and perfect lighting, to rush to Mana Manipulation.

She’d see him again.

She just knew it.