by Brandon Barr
And terrified.
Was that what the gods saw? Only the wrong in her? Was there nothing of worth or praise? She’d done wrong, but she had righted herself. She’d dedicated her whole life to the Makers, to the teachings of scripture, to pleasing them with the way she had prepared herself to rule the Hold and bring peace to her realm.
This response from the gods, it left her cold.
Further, they’d asked her to confess what she’d done. She couldn’t tell Praseme! It wasn’t necessary! It would only serve to hurt her. And to tell her such a horrible offense…how could she broach such a topic?
A child’s voice broke the silence. “I want to say something,” said the boy, Shauwby. “It is not very much. Just a little thing to say. Or two things, I think. One thing is, the Makers know you did bad things. They are sad, but they still smile. I mean, smile at you. They love you.”
Meluscia found the boy looking up at her, concerned. It was his look, even more than his words, that made her knees collapse under her own weight. Just as Jauphenna embodied the gods’ judgment, in Shauwby’s face she saw their mercy. If both Jauphenna and this boy’s words were from the same source, their messages couldn’t feel more different. She had felt the sting of abhorrence and the kindness of forgiveness, both from a Maker’s Tongue.
Wiluit held her up. She didn’t know what to say. The sense of hopelessness had fled at Shauwby’s words.
The gods did see her. They cared for her.
“One more thing,” said the boy. “It’s a nice thing. But I think it’s a hard thing too.”
Meluscia looked at his small, round face. The boy’s lips broke into a smile. He reached out and touched his tiny hand to her stomach. “You’re going to have a little girl.”
LOAM
Chapter Thirty-Three
WINTER
Whisper’s wings beat the air, the eye-like dots lost in the blur of motion. The creature was not gliding as it normally would. It seemed disturbed. Restless.
Aven was by her bed, talking to her, but the nausea made listening difficult.
He said something about his farm hovel. Something that was supposed to cheer her up. But his joy and enthusiasm served only to push the knife deeper into her heart. There was a sense of the inevitable she couldn’t escape. She could not combat these visions, for there was no connection to the present. Where was this room with the unspeakable monster? Where was the cliff with green canopy of sickle-toothed trees below?
She cried out in her mind to the Makers.
Did you think I could handle this? You have the time to make a million worlds, but you can’t make time to give me direction? How do I stop my brother’s death? Why did the Sanctuss have to die? Why?
Your silence is cruel. Why do you tolerate cruelty?
Sanctuss Voyanta’s words echoed in her mind, and she found them on her lips. “‘Assuming they are tolerating cruelty? What if cruelty is part of their design?’”
“What are you talking about?” said Aven.
Winter turned her head on her pillow, her eyes sweeping past him without fixing on him.
“What if we suffer because they want us to? What if they make promises and give people hope just to see how far they’ll crawl before they break? They’re going to take you away from me, Aven! They’re going to, I know it!”
A shadow of fear swept into Aven’s eyes. She was saying what he had said all along. He had never trusted the Makers.
“I won’t let them take you,” she panted. “I’m going to kill that monster I saw. I’m going to find out where it is and kill it. Or throw Leaf’s gift in his mouth! I’ll do it, I swear. Do you hear me?”
“Please, Winter,” said Aven softly, trying to calm her with his soothing voice. “Stay calm. I’m here now. Whatever you’ve seen, it’s not certain. It’s never certain.”
Her brother looked down at her tenderly, but his softly spoken words could not stop the images of her vision that were racing through her mind.
Aven’s body torn in half.
His blood gushing onto the metal floor.
Her head began to swim. She closed her eyes, fighting off the bile rising in her stomach again.
_____
AVEN
Aven touched Winter’s hair with his fingers. If she felt his touch, she didn’t show it. He placed his hand on her forehead. The fever seemed to have gotten a little better since he returned from his trip to Core. He’d sat there for over an hour, listening to her babble.
During that time, she had said things she would never have if she were fully conscious. One moment she would express her love for the Makers, the next, shower them with curses.
Her doubts about the Makers’ goodness.
Her fear he would die.
The Makers’ words and visions were consuming her mind and eating away at her health. Her flawed gift was tearing her apart inside. She desperately wanted the Makers to be the good, lovely beings her heart longed for—but she could not deny the truth in the world around her. The contradictions. The cruelty.
He’d never seen her struggle like this. Not outwardly, at least. Her words drifted back and forth between devotion to the Makers, defending their goodness, to fierce anger toward them. It was as if a rift had been opened in her soul.
All the while, that horrible insect fluttered about the room. Landing for a moment, then darting back into the air. It would be so easy to strike it down. He watched its erratic flight with a deep sense of anger.
He hated the Makers. Would they ever let his sister go?
He stroked the side of Winter’s face. “I should stay with you tonight. I can take the Missionaries to the farm another time. They’ll understand.”
“No,” said Winter, the frailness suddenly gone from her voice. “I want you to go.”
“You’re feverish,” smiled Aven.
“If you don’t go and show off your new farm, I’ll be angry,” said Winter. “This means so much to you.”
“I want you to be there,” said Aven.
“I’d rather you show me when it’s just the two of us,” said Winter. “Take them this evening, and then tomorrow you and I can go alone.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“Don’t make me angry,” said Winter. “Go on, leave me to rest.”
Aven looked out the window, at the waning light. “I look forward to taking you tomorrow.” He squeezed her hand and gave her one last look. “Get rest, dear sister.”
He stood and turned for the door.
“Take Whisper.”
Aven stopped.
“Take my butterfly,” she said.
He came back beside her. “Lay back and rest,” said Aven, placing his hand on hers.
Winter lifted her hand and the butterfly swooped toward it, landing nimbly on the back of her fingers. She reached beside her bed and took the glass vial. The butterfly obediently stepped inside. Winter closed the lid and placed the twine string around Aven’s neck.
“Take it, for tonight.”
Aven stared at his sister. “Why?”
“Just take it. Make me happy.”
Aven sighed and nodded. He wanted to rescue his sister. If this would help ease her burden tonight, then he would do it gladly.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
Winter’s head sank back into her pillow, and her eyes closed.
Aven lifted the glass vial to his face. It was small—half the size of his hand. Winter had cut small holes in the cloth lid. Whisper stood inside, its spindly antennae slowly drifting upward, toward its wings. Exquisite, beautiful wings.
If not for your wings, thought Aven, you would be an ugly worm.
_____
KARIENCE
Karience’s desk was cluttered with the new legislation drawn up by the opposition. The next session in the Hall of Discourse was sure to be contentious. The sentiments of the three quorums had shifted in recent months, sparked by a movement of young Royals with new ideas and eloquent argum
ents.
It was nothing new for an Empyrean. Karience had studied the counterarguments of hundreds of worlds seeking to stay in control of their own planet. They just did not understand how that control was a facade, an illusion in the face of the threat from Beasts. But history had not always been won by reason. Passion won the day time and time again. A united movement with heartfelt belief in its cause was like a black hole, devouring logic.
She wanted to speak to these opposition leaders. Having studied the methods of previous Empyreans, she knew one of the quickest ways to defeat an enemy was to become their friend. And she understood their desire for autonomy, their fear of Guardian control. It required trust in the vast Guardian order of which they knew very little beyond what they were told. They had fears. Questions.
Much like her. How much did she really know about the inner workings of her order?
But as to Loam, she did know that they were vulnerable to the attack of a Beast. If the Royals did not negotiate, Loam could lose its protection. She feared the old opposition would not stop at legal action, and if anything close to war began to brew, it was a required, automatic response that the Guardians depart.
The thought grieved her. Loam’s charter was the work of her life. And now she knew Loam’s security was more important than she’d ever guessed.
Karience stood and went to her window overlooking the portal. The sun was close to setting. She realized she was probably alone in the tower. Nephitus would be returning soon from the Royal Palisade, where he’d gone to meet with Princess Liyza and King Darmelion about security matters. The rest of the Guardians would be heading to Aven’s farm.
A smile broke across her face. She was pleased for Aven. Such a simple dream, so easy to fulfill. If only more of humankind lived with such modest wants, the galaxy would be a kinder place.
The sun touched the water, its reflection bleeding into its true source. She would have to visit his farm sometime. With a contingent of Royal Protectorate, of course. It was too bad Loam was no longer a safe place to walk freely—at least not for Emissaries. She would have to inform Aven that security measures would need to be put in place at his new home. For his safety.
Something thudded against the wall outside the door.
Karience turned, startled.
“Who’s there?”
A moment of silence followed.
Something scratched on the other side of the wall. The door opened in a soft rush of air, but the entrance was empty.
“Who’s there!” shouted Karience.
Someone staggered into the room and fell to the ground. From behind a tangled mess of hair, Winter’s face looked up at her. Then she retched, her body convulsing.
Karience hurried to her side. “You’re ill!”
“He took it,” said Winter. “And I’m still having them.”
“I don’t understand? Who took what?”
“Aven took Whisper. I told him to. But I’m still having visions.”
Karience tried desperately to understand the girl. She appeared delusional. She felt feverish.
“You’re in danger,” said Winter. “I saw something. Something at your window.”
It suddenly occurred to Karience that the girl was talking about a vision. Chills crawled up Karience’s spine. It had only been a few days since the terrible events on Bridge, and the horrible memory returned fresh and vivid.
“What did you see?” said Karience.
“I saw a light at your window. And then your room. It turned into a bright fire. Brighter than the sun. You were standing there one moment, and the next, you were burned up. Gone.”
Karience could only think of one possibility. And, this time, she had no doubts about the reality of Winter’s foresight.
“We have to get to the ship.”
_____
AVEN
“Aven, I’m so excited for you,” said Zoecara. “The hills here are just gorgeous. You couldn’t have picked more beautiful farmland.”
“It is highly unlikely there are no other farms more beautiful,” said Arentiss. “Of course, it would be hard to measure something as subjective as beauty.”
Aven hid a smile.
“You know what else is highly unlikely?” said Rueik. “That you’ll ever understand nuance, Arentiss.”
Arentiss proceeded to provide Rueik with a definition of “nuance.” Aven couldn’t help but feel charmed by her literalness. Up to this point, he was glad she had refrained from taking his hand, but now, he had a strange urge to grab hers. Just to comfort her in some way. To let her know he understood her.
Aven placed his hand on her back and rubbed her gently for a moment. “Your definition of nuance was excellent,” he said.
Her intense brow softened, and the corners of her lips turned upward.
“Thank you, Aven,” she said.
“It’s too bad your sister isn’t feeling well,” said Daeymara, coming up beside Aven. “I was really looking forward to spending more time with her.”
Aven smiled playfully in Daeymara’s direction, and she returned it with a wink.
He was glad to find her mood had lifted. He put a hand in his pocket and felt the braid she’d given him earlier that day. In the time since then, his hand had reached for it many times, and he had thought of her, and the growing feelings he had for her. The thought of her leaving for her mission saddened him.
Their party had left the cobblestoned roads of the city behind and were deep into rolling hills. The sun was close to slipping out of sight behind the horizon, and ahead, ten soldiers of the Royal Protectorate began to prepare torches for lighting. The soldiers were there because Karience had insisted they accompany Aven and the Missionaries while outside the safety of the Guardian Tower.
“You really want to do more farm work?” said Pike, his eyes taking in the land with a dour expression. “I see those crops, and I say good riddance. Then I see you, with pride practically oozing out your ears. How did we end up so different?”
Aven avoided the truth. “Maybe I ate too much dirt as a kid and acquired a taste for it.”
Rueik and Zoecara laughed.
“I can see your farm from here,” said Daeymara, as they crested another hill.
“Yes, there,” said Aven. “The hovel is on the other side of that thicket.”
“That’s a lot of land,” said Hark. “What kind of crops are those?”
“Sape. The same that Winter and I have grown our entire lives.”
He wished his sister was with him. He longed to see her face as she looked upon their farm for the first time. He pressed a hand against his chest, where the glass vial with the butterfly inside hung. Had her burden lightened any? Were the dark questions slipping away, like the sun sinking into the earth?
A low thundering sounded from the sky. Aven glanced up at the scattered pink and purple clouds. Strange. There was no sign of a storm.
“That sounds like a starship,” said Hark.
“There,” said Arentiss, pointing at a dot in the sky. The soldiers ahead stopped their torch preparation, turning their attention upward.
“Where are they going?” said Rueik, staring at two figures running away from their group. “Zoecara! Pike!” he shouted.
Everyone turned as Rueik took off at a sprint after them.
Aven saw confusion on every face that remained. The roar of the ship grew louder. He looked up. The form of the starship was visible now, and it clearly was not the Guardian’s craft.
“Go!” shouted Hark. “Everyone scatter!”
“Why?” Arentiss questioned.
“It’s a merc ship!” screamed Hark, already running. “They’re after the VOKKs.”
“Headhunters,” said Daeymara. “Run!”
The words hit Aven’s stomach like a fist. He found his feet and spun, turning off the dirt road and running down a grassy embankment. As he reached the bottom, the roar of the ship landing shook the earth. He turned to see a mass of black metal resting on the road he�
��d just left. It looked like a spider, only turned sideways with a half dozen legs pointing out like spears from the main hull.
“Get to the trees,” shouted Daeymara, who was running not far from him. “We have to find cover.”
In their desperation, they’d both chosen a poor route across a large, barren field. It was a long run to reach a patch of woodland.
A pitched whir, like a hornet, sounded from behind. Against his good judgment, Aven turned to look back. In the red dusk behind him, lights sped away from the ship, racing down the hill in their direction.
“We’re not going to make it,” screamed Daeymara, now much closer to him. “They have riders.” She stopped running. He stopped as well, following her lead. Her short black hair was swept over her face. In the gathering darkness, he couldn’t see her eyes well, but he knew by the way her face was set on his that she was calculating something unpleasant.
“Don’t let them take you alive. It will be far worse.” She drew a knife from her belt. “Do you have a weapon?”
“No,” said Aven, her hopeless words echoing in his ears.
Daeymara turned to face the approaching lights.
“Then use your hands,” she shouted.
He looked at his open hands, then closed them into fists. The grinding noise of the riders was almost upon them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
ZOECARA
Zoecara looked back and saw Rueik gaining on her and Pike. Behind Rueik was Dheeg Sar’s ship. She trusted the mercs to take out the Guardian’s Tower, but she didn’t trust them with the opportunity to collect one more VOKK.
Hers.
The Guardians were disrupting the mercenaries’ covert extortion of Loam’s resources. They needed the Guardians gone. Though unpredictable, the mercenaries could prove helpful in securing Loam for her master—as long as they remained ignorant of her ultimate goals. But would they leave her alone to finish her end of the bargain—to ensure the Guardians’ charter would be rejected by Loam’s quorums? If they were smart, they would.
