Summoned A Hundred Years Too Late

Samarand, the holy city, the city of gods, the valley of the seven temples. None of the names mattered to Louis. They were just words filtering through the heavy glass of a window he hadn’t been permitted to open since crossing the mountain pass three days ago.

When it came to the worship of Tash and anything knowledge-related, the Great Lens was second only to the Iron Library. The temple also served as an observatory, and the local keepers were supposedly experts in reading the stars.

That was where the delegation was staying.

The city was lively. Another reason to be frustrated at the restriction the high priestess had placed on him. Seeing an urban center so deep into the Kushtar mountains was unexpected. That it was busier than Kator was even more surprising.

Part of the reason was the conclave. Many people on the streets were members of the holy orders. Some local, others coming from far away to attend the meeting between the seven faiths.

The high priestess could lock the door, but she couldn’t lock out the shadows. Louis sank into the wooden chair by the window, letting his consciousness unravel, spilling downward into the deep pools of shadow gathering in the alleys below.

The mountains did the heavy lifting. Their massive, jagged peaks threw long cloaks of twilight across the slate roofs, bridging the gaps between grand temples and humble market stalls, turning his perception into a simple matter of paying attention.

He drifted through the market district first, catching sight of dried apricots from a woman’s palms, then the booming vibration of a man laughing so hard he clutched his ribs from atop a barrel.

He moved further out.

The conclave had filled the city with traffic. But even the faithful seemed lighter here. Something about the city loosened people. Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe it was the mountains themselves, penning everything in close enough that you couldn’t help but notice the person standing next to you.

A group of Wardens was sharing food with a street performer outside the second temple gate. They were soon joined by the Paladins the Keepers had met at the entrance of the mountain range.

This was the world he was barred from. In the bedroom, his physical body shifted, making the old wood groan, but his mind remained pinned to the cobblestones below, drawn toward the rhythmic sway of a festival procession.

Down in the market district, a festival procession was working its way through the streets. Lanterns on long poles, swaying. He couldn’t see the color through shadow, but the shape of the crowd was unmistakable. People had stopped their business to watch. Children sat on their fathers’ shoulders. An old woman leaned out of a second-floor window with a cup in her hand, looking down at the procession with what Louis read as contentment.

He flexed his hands on the armrests, then he went still.

A single figure. Moving against the current of the festival crowd. People parted without noticing they were doing it.

Louis sat up straight.

He knew that walk.

He watched the figure move through the lantern light, catching it every time it stepped onto a shadow.

An Architect. A man. A signature he would recognize among a million others. He’d been there that day. Samir Batsed.

The Legate’s right-hand man was there, which meant she had come as well. The Magus had claimed as much when he ordered him to join the delegation from the Iron Library, but the confirmation lifted a weight from his chest.

Samir slowed.

A half-step. It could pass for adjusting around a child cutting through the crowd, but Louis wasn’t sure. He turned his head, and Louis tracked the angle of it through the shadow pooled at the man’s feet.

Through several layers of buildings, Samir was looking in his direction. The corner of his mouth shifted. Then, he turned away. Rejoined the current of the crowd. Kept walking as though nothing had interrupted his route at all.

Louis pulled back.

He came back to himself in stages: the chair, the desk, the armrests pressing ridges into his palms. He hadn’t noticed how hard he’d been gripping them.

He let go.

Samir knew. Of course he did. He was the Legate’s instrument. He’d seen powers close to Louis’, and annihilated their owners. Samir had felt the weight of someone else’s attention moving through shadow. He had recognized it, and he had walked away.

Louis stood. His legs were stiff from the chair. He crossed to the door, turned the handle, and found Arnold on the other side of it.

The Keeper was in his blue robes. He was holding a cup of something warm and looked tired.

”Going somewhere?” Arnold said.

”Out.”

”Mm.” He took a sip. ”You’re not.”

Louis looked past him down the corridor. Another keeper stood at the far end, doing an unconvincing job of reading a folio.

”I need to—”

”Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” Arnold said, cutting him off.

Louis looked at him for a moment.

Then he stepped back inside.

*

By the time Arnold returned, the festival was a ghost, its lanterns extinguished. Louis hadn’t moved from the window. The phantom weight of Samir’s gaze was still at the back of his neck when the Keeper finally pushed the door open.

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“It’s time,” Arnold said. “The conclave will start soon.”

Louis joined up with the delegation. Osera Mume marched at the vanguard, flanked by the silent, imposing figures of two Diamond ranks. Their procession through the dark streets was deliberate, a calculated show of strength for the locals. Louis watched the torchlight flicker against the stone walls, bitter that his first real look at the holy city was cast in shadows.

They walked downhill along a wide avenue. People were watching in silence from the sidelines. Soon, they crossed roads with the Paladins, then the Wardens. Far in front of them, Louis spotted the Vigils of the Veil, servants of Nox, dark Hoods pulled over their heads.

The high priestess led the delegation into a temple supported by massive columns. Inside, under the high ceiling, countless pillars rose in a grid. Louis’s heart was beating hard in his chest. He was finally there. The Hall of Pillars, temple of Peshan in Samarand, the goddess of civilization.

Three groups were already gathered inside.

The Hands, the Arbiters, and the Architects. The delegations were sitting in their corner, not mixing. In the front row of the Architect’s section, he spotted Samir.

For a moment, he thought that the man was looking at him. Then the crowd shifted as three figures parted the assembly.

A man in saintly white robes. He wore glasses and stood slightly hunched. The Saint.

A large armored man with a thick beard and scars crisscrossing his face. It had to be the Executioner.

And then, Lila Erl. The Grand Legate stood unyielding at the forefront. A single glance at her posture, the sharp line of her jaw, and the Hall of Pillars vanished. Suddenly, he was breathing rough. He was back in the suffocating dark of his childhood home, Ummi’s arms holding him tight against her chest while the world burned outside.

A sharp intake of breath dragged him back to the present.

Osera Mume and the high priests of war, death, and hunt stepped forward, joining the three heroes in the center.

Silence settled over the hall.

“Welcome to Peshan’s humble abode,” Lila started. “It is our greatest honor to host this year’s conclave in this place, where humanity’s pillars are honored alongside our goddess.”

Louis watched the others’ reaction. The four high priests didn’t let any emotion transpire. The Executioner nodded along. As for the Saint, he looked uncomfortable, if such a thing was possible for a man of his level.

He turned his attention back to the Legate. She stood straight, but relaxed, her gaze taking in the entire assembly.

Lila’s voice carried effortlessly through the cavernous hall, its smooth, resonant quality belying the absolute authority she wielded. The silence among the pillars deepened, thick enough to stifle the breathing of the gathered delegates.

“We stand at a crossroads,” Lila continued, her gaze sweeping across the distinct, isolated factions. “The Seven faiths have fought against the demonic forces for centuries. But the world is changing. The balance we have meticulously preserved is shifting, and the gods have seen fit to send us a sign.”

A collective stir rippled through the assembly. Across the hall, the Arbiters leaned forward as one, their rigid postures fracturing under sudden tension. Louis kept his eyes locked on Lila, but in the periphery of his vision, he saw Samir Batsed gently tap a single finger against his knee.

“The lineage of the heroes is not a closed book,” Lila’s voice swelled, cutting through the whispers before they rose further. “Even now, as we sit beneath Peshan’s pillars, the divine spark has chosen its next vessel. A new hero has arrived in Laika.”

The murmurs rose again. The Executioner frowned. Only the Keepers and Hands kept quiet.

Louis didn’t move. He saw Osera Mume wasn’t reacting. The Keepers had to know Alexandra would be at the center of this conclave. Why hadn’t the Magus come himself?

Lila turned to the high priestess of Tash. “I find it hard to believe that our new heroine isn’t here. Keepers, are you planning on keeping her captive?”

“Spare us the accusations,” Osera said. “All in these walls know the true nature of the Architects. Yes, the heroine is with us, safe and learning within the walls of the Iron Library, far from your clutches.”

Lila stayed calm. “Watch your words, Osera.” She turned to the Executioner. “See, it is as I told you. Raymond wants to use her against us.”

“There is enough division as it is. The demons are gaining ground,” the Executioner said. “We cannot afford another variable. What do you say, Hakim?”

The Saint coughed. “We all know her. She could be of great help. I don’t see the point of antagonizing her.”

Lila shook her head. “I put forth the motion. Seven gods. Seven heroes. Who’s to say she will join our ranks, and not those of the apostles. Leaving her be leaves the risk she will pledge herself to the demons. Reports of her potential actions in Baleria are concerning.”

“My people are the source of those reports,” Hakim said. “There’s nothing conclusive there.”

“Nothing conclusive? Just signs of corruption and a missing city,” Lila said.

The Saint offered no reply.

“Who stands for the motion?” the Executioner called out.

He and Lila raised their hands.

“Who is against?”

Osera and the Saint.

The three other high priests abstained. The Executioner looked at them.

“We cannot pronounce ourselves without consulting with our heroes,” the high priest of war said.

“Their absence is enough,” Lila said.

The high priestess of death was old. Despite her rank, she looked elderly. “Legate,” she said. “The new heroine has been summoned by the Seven. Her fate rests not in your hands.”

Lila snorted. “The Keepers have forsaken the Seven.”

Louis’ eyes darted between her and Osera Mume. The latter was smiling. “Forsaken? Legate, I would advise you to temper your words, lest this conclave turns unpleasant.”

Lila laughed. “Osera, I’m afraid it was destined from the start. If you wished for a cordial affair…” She locked eyes with Louis. “Why did you bring a follower of Ummi into these sacred walls?”

Louis froze as he felt intense pressure fall around him. How did she know?

Everyone’s attention turned to him. From the audience, and from the Seven powerhouses who were talking in the middle.

”I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he said.

His voice came out steadier than he expected.

Lila tilted her head. ”You don’t?”

”Louis.” Arnold’s voice, low, from two seats over. A warning.

Louis looked at him. The Keeper’s face had gone still.

”Keepers.” The Executioner’s voice filled the hall without effort. ”Explain this.”

Osera Mume turned in his direction. For a fraction of a second, Louis watched something move behind her eyes. Her smile vanished, replaced with an expression of disgust.

”The young man is a member of our delegation,” she said. ”A student from the Iron Library. Nothing more.”

”Nothing more,” Lila repeated. She was looking at him.

Osera moved closer to him. “It’s possible that one of Ummi’s rats snuck into our midst.” She paused. “It’s their specialty, after all.”

Louis’ mouth was dry. He understood that there was no path through this room that ended with him walking out of it.

He thought about Ummi. The smell of smoke. Her arms, tight around him.

He took a breath.

”I’m not—”

“Wrong,” Lila said. She glanced at Samir. “My man over there has a really good memory. You look just like the child that evaded us that day.”

She raised her hand.

The light that came out of it was almost gentle. Golden, warm. It crossed the distance between them without a sound.

Louis felt it strike his chest.

He went down. Or thought he did. The stone was cold under his palms.

The last thing he was aware of was the pressure lifting, Osera’s smile returning, and the Legate’s indifferent eyes looking down at him.

The hall of Peshan, with its countless pillars, was silent.