“I’m sorry,” he says.
She opens her mouth to say his name. Falls back instead, her head on the snow, her eyes gazing at the bright sky.
Chapter Eight
A flare exploded in the sky before Enosh could decide on anything. Yn Garr dropped his head.
“There goes my signal,” he said, almost cheerfully. "Perhaps we can reconvene, gentlemen.”
Enosh rushed him, sword out. He flung a barrier against him.
Bannal struck from behind. Yn Garr cut back.
“Might as well get rid of you, while we're at it,” Yn Garr said, a white cloud forming over his mouth.
“I had the same thought,” Bannal grumbled, pressing forward.
Yn Garr laughed. His blade met Bannal’s, which cracked. He poised for the killing blow. A block of ice engulfed his wrists and worked its way up the great sword. He roared. Bannal kicked out, taking advantage of the momentary confusion, and retreated into the woods.
The ice cracked. Daro appeared nearby, his hands glowing. “You’re desecrating my king’s tomb. Call your men off. Leave.”
Yn Garr's eyes gleamed. “I was just about to,” he said.
He glanced at him, and then at Mahe, standing nearby. He smiled. “Izo As’ondaro, is it?”
“What—”
“Farg married an As’ondaro. Their children took the mother’s name.”
Enosh struck. Yn Garr smashed his elbow into his chest, and then his fist into his jaw with surprising strength. Enosh fell into the snow, biting his tongue. Blood gathered in his mouth. He heard Daro stepping over him, running for Yn Garr, who did not, it seemed, want to fight him back.
Obviously.
“Get him, Daro,” he said. “He can’t hurt you!”
“Has that blow addled your wits?” Daro snarled at him. But he pressed into Yn Garr, his blade spinning closer than any of theirs could. Their swords met, they drew back, they spun; a true swordsman against another. If he wasn’t bleeding all over himself, he would've taken the time to admire their precise footwork.
“You children are starting to get on my nerves,” Yn Garr said. He tried to push Daro away with his foot, but the man jumped back. He relaxed his stance and smiled. “I’m glad you survived, in any case. A descendant of Farg and heir of Hyougen’s agan. No one else would've undone the double-seal on this mountain. If I had known Hyougen’s last action would be to cover the blasted island in ice, I would’ve never led the Dageians here.”
Daro's face tightened. “What are you talking about?”
“The shiar were mighty warriors. They would’ve made short work of my mercenaries. When I learned of the agan wells your people had been keeping a secret all these centuries—well, it was an easy enough thing, tipping the Dageians. What are you upset over? They would've found out, anyway. Dageis,” he said, “leaves no stone unturned.”
Daro screamed, sword raised, and threw a spell at him. Yn Garr deflected it easily. “Untrained little boy. Your ancestors would laugh.” He smiled. “He has it right. I don’t want to kill you. Not yet. But I don’t need all of you now, do I?” He cut low and sank his blade into Daro’s thigh.
Daro lashed out, but it was done. Yn Garr kicked him away, his leg crumpling under him.
A man appeared, holding a box. “We’re ready to go, sir,” he said. Enosh looked up.
“For what it’s worth, Enosh,” Yn Garr said, “you had it right. I have replaced you.”
“Do you want them dead?” Kefier asked.
“Not now,” Yn Garr murmured. “They’re useless.”
Enosh watched Kefier follow Yn Garr towards the cliffs, the box tucked under one arm. He yelled once. His brother never turned.
There was a ship waiting for them on the shore below. Sume recognized the Aina’s Breath from where she had been waiting in the trees when the fight erupted around her. She had tried running after Kefier when she saw the griffon, but she lost sight of him almost immediately, and then she saw the men and hid. There was a dagger in her belt, but she was no fool.
That felt like hours ago. Now she watched them return to their ropes by the cliff and climb down, one-by-one. Her heart pressed against her throat. How did they know where to find them? They hadn’t even come up the same way; for them to pinpoint their exact whereabouts…
Her thoughts scattered, and she found her answer. Kefier handed a box to the large, greying man she assumed was Yn Garr, before assisting him down with the ropes. She drew closer. When Kefier was alone, she called his name.
He glanced at her. He said nothing—a single word would’ve given her away—but the look in his eyes held her back. Everything he was doing became clear in an instant.
She heard the sound of footsteps and turned to see Mahe racing down the path with her sword. Kefier met her blow, but she dropped to one knee and struck him in the belly. He fell sideways; she kicked him away and dropped down the cliff.
Sume placed her hands over her mouth as Kefier lay motionless in the snow. Every fiber in her body urged her to go to him, but she didn’t move. Not long after, two men came running towards him. They bent down to inspect him and then one hoisted him up his shoulders. She saw Kefier’s eyelids flutter; when his eyes opened, the first thing he did was look at her.
She drew back, disappearing into the shadows.
Interlude
Arn sees the woman leap towards Yn Garr from that first bluff and is almost sure, from his vantage point, that she will reach him. He reins Faran in, unsure if he can help in time. He is too far away.
She reaches him; the tip of her sword slides into the spot under his armpit, but it is not enough. The sword breaks. He strikes her with the hilt of his sword, the only thing he can do in that narrow ledge, and she pulls herself out of the way.
One of the mercenaries slash at her. She draws a dagger and kills him.
This time, Arn urges Faran towards her, pulling out his own sword. But she sees him coming and sprints for the trees. Faran skims along the treetops before giving up.
He hears Yn Garr call for him and flies back. His master, breathing shallowly now, hands him a box. “Protect it with your life,” Yn Garr says in a low voice.
He nods. Faran returns him to the ship, and he takes it up to his room, where he sits at the edge of his bed with the box on his lap and stares at it until the sun sets.
The smell of the snow and the cold wind lulls her to sleep. Half in, half out, Sapphire dozes, snowflakes fluttering over her eyelids and her whiskers.
Something stirs under her. She opens one eye, realizes she is no longer lying on the snow. A hand comes up to rest on her head, past an ear, down her snout. It drops down to comb through her tawny fur before lingering on the silver necklace.
“You found it,” a soft, familiar voice says.
Her ears flick, and she forces her head up to gaze into the eyes of a girl she both knows and doesn’t.
“Enosh found it,” Sapphire murmurs. “I didn’t want to look myself. I was afraid.” She snorts. “Also, no hands.”
“You, afraid?” The girl laughs. She looks different, but Sapphire knows that laugh, would know it anywhere in waking or in sleep. She had almost been sure she would never hear it again. She draws a deep breath.
“It’s done, anyway,” Sapphire says. Her eyes droop shut. “I’ve missed you.”
“It’s not over yet, sister,” Moon murmurs.
“It is. Or else why would you have come?”
“Because you need me. I can close the wound and send you back. It is not fatal, if you wake up.”
“But I don’t want to,” Sapphire murmurs, looking at her. “I’m tired.”
“There are things you still have to do. Remember your task, your responsibility.”
“Ours,” she points out. “You left me.”
Moon gives her a sad smile. “If I could come back, I would. You know I would, Sapphire.”
Sapphire shakes her head, dropping her snout into Moon’s belly. The agan, shared between them, flows
into her. She does not want to move; everything about that moment, that now, feels right.
“It’s done,” Moon says, a moment later. “Go back while you can.”
“I cannot do this without you.”
“What, suddenly you need me?” She laughs again, her fingers caressing Sapphire’s whiskers. “I’m here. I’ve always been. Moon is gone, Sapphire; that body is split open, is rotting away somewhere. But I am here. I always will be.”
She presses her head against Sapphire’s.
“Go,” she whispers.
Sapphire opens her eyes. She is still lying in the snow, but now there is a sharp pain in her belly, and the snow is falling around her, gleaming like stars. She hears someone calling her name. Exhaustion grips her, and she considers closing her eyes again. Her sister’s words return to her. She forces her head up. And although it is the last thing in the world she wants to do, she opens her mouth and cries out.
Rosha runs through the choking agan as if she were possessed. Naijwa’s creature lunges behind her, mouth open, and smashes into the cliff on the other side.
She draws a line, while the thing is distracted, and steps through. It will know where she has gone, but it takes it longer to manipulate the agan and if she is careful, she can keep this up until it grows tired.
But lately, it is taking longer and longer for this to happen. Tonight, she must have been running the whole night, and though her body is still holding on—she is not in the physical world, after all—the rest of her is exhausted. She wants to sleep.
She draws another circle, steps in. Looks up in panic. The creature is on the other side, grinning at her. Did she make a mistake? Has it caught on to her tricks?
She drops down as it rushes at her. Its teeth miss her skin, but its energy touches her. She senses anger, anger that goes deeper than she figured. It wants her gone for reasons she cannot fathom. It thinks she has something to do with its prison, with this putrescence of an existence. She wants to ask it why it thinks so but it turns on its heel and aims for her head.
She feels a hand on her back. It drags her back. She turns her head and sees a large dog launch itself into the air and sink its fangs into the beast’s neck.
“Through the portal I made, child,” she hears the dog growl. It is a familiar voice.
“Sang?” she asks, trembling.
“All the goddesses forgive me—are you as daft as your parents? Run!” The creature tries to fling her away, but she digs in deeper.
Rosha scrambles to her feet. The portal beckons to her, promising a warm bed and sleep. She finds herself in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by low, green hills and rice paddies. There is a dark lake in the distance. There is also a small hut.
Narani appears beside her again. Though she is still a dog, and bleeding all over her dark fur, Rosha throws her arms around her and sobs into her neck.
“There, now, child,” Narani croons. “Did you think I had forgotten you? If my fool of a son didn’t take forever to find you…but hush, now. Old Narani is here, and we have little time. It is stronger than I feared. I don’t think I can defeat it, but maybe I can block it here; make it impossible for it to go elsewhere in the stream, for a time.”
“That will take a lot of power,” Rosha says.
“Perhaps you are not doomed, and smarter than your parents after all. Indeed…but here—this is my domain, and perhaps I have a chance.” She begins scratching on the ground. Rosha observes what she is doing, and then a moment later, runs to help her out.
“My son taught me this,” Narani says, after a moment. “I didn’t realize you were schooled in the short amount of time you were away.”
“I don’t know,” Rosha says, looking down at her own writing. “I just…I just know how to do this. I don’t think about it.”
“Hmmm.” She steps back and a new portal appears.
“That will lead you home,” she says. She shrugs. “Well. Home, for now.”
They hear a shriek and see the beast’s head tearing into the other portal they had left. Narani sighs.
“You persistent git. Come and get me. Go, child,” she adds, turning to Rosha.
“But…”
“My son has always wanted a glorious death.” She laughs. “May he forever envy his mother and die an old man in his sleep. Go!”
She grabs Rosha with her teeth and throws her into the portal.
She opens her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She is in her room, lying in the middle of the floor. Old Sagar is sitting across from her, an odd expression on his face. She pulls herself up. Jarche is there, too, and old Narani, curled up in the corner of the room.
“Did Mother…” Sagar began.
Rosha runs to Narani’s body. She shakes it, yells at it, but apart from the blood in the corner of its mouth, it doesn’t move. Jarche grabs her and she buries herself in her lap, sobbing.
“She put up the seal?” Sagar asks, after a moment.
Jarche nods. “I think so.”
He crosses the room and drops down beside the body. He places his own, withered hand on the even more-withered head. He strokes it.
“Ah, you old bitch,” he murmurs. “You’ve left me all alone, now.”
Outside, the sun begins to rise.
The story continues in Sapphire’s Flight…
SAPPHIRE’S FLIGHT
Prologue
Tiora’s brother returned to Gentigen on the nine hundredth and fiftieth day after he had left to study the agan arts in Dageis under the tutelage of the most learned mages of Eheldeth in the Dageian Plateau.
He arrived on the last trading ship for that season. It was a premature homecoming—Tiora had been counting the days, but she knew his studies were supposed to take years, and the unexpected sight of him crossing the plank to the docks with fire burning in his eyes unsettled her. She almost didn’t believe it was him at first.
But Tiora had known her brother from the moment he was born, would know him anywhere from a distance, in dream or in sleep. She held her breath for a moment and came to the conclusion that he was probably on a winter break and had come to surprise them. Tightening her cloak, she left the vendor she had been haggling with and crossed the street to meet him.
“Ja,” she said, when she got close enough for him to hear. Her voice was lost in the crowd. “Jaeth!” she called again.
Jaeth turned. For a moment, there was no recognition on his face. His dark eyes glowered as the sun cast shadows on his tawny skin, which seemed to look more sunburnt than usual. And then he smiled. “Sister.” He reached for her. His hands were bandaged and there were bruises on his face.
Tiora allowed him to wrap his arms around her before wagging a finger at him. “Why are you home so early? Did you get into trouble? You were chasing Dageian skirts again, weren’t you? If Liraine finds out, you won’t hear the end of it. And what would Father think?”
Jaeth drew back from her. “Don’t tell them I’m here. Not yet.”
The sound of his voice took Tiora aback. Jaeth had always been a cheerful boy—nonchalant to the point of foolhardiness, even. To hear such gravity in his usual, smooth voice was frightening. “Why?” she asked, trying to keep her own voice light.
“Just—don’t.” He took a breath so deep it seemed to rattle his bones. “I will be at Jor’s tonight. He knows I was headed back.”
“You’re not coming home?”
“Eventually. I need time.” He pulled away from her until they were an arm’s-length from each other, although he still held her hands in his. “You look well, sister,” he said, letting his fingers lace through hers. “Has Ossai come to court you at last?”
“Don’t change the subject!” She jerked her hands back to her sides and gave his face a closer look. There were deep lines under his eyes and along his cheeks, lines that didn’t use to exist before. “What happened to you back there? You can tell me, Ja, and if you don’t want Father to know, I’ll keep my mouth shut. You know I can keep a secret.”
<
br /> “I know,” Jaeth murmured. “That’s what worries me.”
She closed her eyes, trying to hold back her temper. “All right,” she said, at last. “Jor’s, then. Do you want me to walk with you?”
“I’d rather walk alone.”
“Ja…”
“Please, Tiora. You do not understand what the mere sight of you is doing to me. You, Father, all that is good and true at home...I cannot bear it.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Tomorrow, perhaps. Yes, visit me tomorrow. Bring me those wrap-cakes you make so well.”
“Wrap-cakes,” she snorted. “I don’t see you for nearly three years and you want wrap-cakes.” She sighed. “So be it. I’ll bring them tomorrow. I hope you choke on them.”
He smiled before he walked away.
Tiora made the cakes all night, layering each fold with slices of sugar-covered fruit before dousing them with caramel sauce and almond slivers. The servants helped her, but didn’t ask for whom they were for; she hinted that they were maybe for Ossai. Their father dropped by the kitchen to steal one, but if he suspected anything he didn’t say it out loud. He just stood by the window while licking his fingers, the impish look on his face quite unlike the imposing one he wore as High King Elian of Gorent. When he tried to ask for more, Tiora threatened him with the rolling pin.
She left before the break of dawn with the cakes in a covered basket. Jor’s house was by the foot of a hill half an hour’s walk south of Gentigen. She took her time, enjoying the sound of the waves as they crashed on the black cliffs below her. She hoped Jaeth would get enough sleep and be less short-tempered when she spoke to him.
The house was silent when she arrived, which was strange because Jor usually kept dogs and they would bark long before guests ever got past the garden gates. She pounded at the door several times before she found the courage to turn the handle. Cold darkness greeted her. She knew, even before she stepped foot inside, that there was nobody there. She ventured forward, hoping to prove herself wrong. One room was locked; she pressed her ear against the door and didn’t hear a soul.
An Elegy of Heroes Page 78
