The Fhrey’s head lifted.
“We’ve got armies behind us and a giant snake-thing in front. Could really use that lightning again because my arrows aren’t doing Tet.”
Fenelyus shook her head weakly. “Bankors are figments, not souls.” She pointed at the serpent in front of them. “That ariface is real, as are the soldiers behind us. They won’t vanish any more than I just did.”
Rain continued to stand within an arm’s length of the giant worm, staring up at it.
In a blink, Brin appeared at Tesh’s side, and he felt her take his hand. She was trembling. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“Aren’t you the same girl that jumped into a pool of slime?”
Brin tried to smile, but it came out as an overwrought frown. “I was scared then, too.”
Tesh took hold of her by the shoulders. “Listen, you made me a promise. You said you’d run, that you’d leave me if you had to, remember?”
“There’s no place for me to go, Tesh.”
He glanced back at Rain, who was inching closer to the snake.
Tesh pointed at the armies. They were close enough that he could see the eyes of those in the front rows. “We don’t stand a chance against them, but there’s a possibility that you might manage to run past that snake.”
Brin was shaking her head. “But, Tesh—”
“Shut up and listen to me. I can’t make it. You understand?” His voice was desperate, cracking under pressure. “You must have noticed how slow I am.”
“Tesh—”
“I can’t run at all, Brin. But you . . .”
“Tesh, I can’t—”
“You can run, damn it! You’ve always been fast, but not like now . . . I’ve watched you. You’ve been holding back. Whatever is dragging me down is somehow speeding you up. You’re not even tired, are you? I can see it in your eyes. I’m exhausted, can barely stay on my feet, but you look fresh as a newborn fawn. I don’t think any of the rest of us are going to make it. Do you understand what that means? Brin, you have to take the key from Tressa and run for that bridge.”
“But I—”
“Take it and run as fast as you can.”
“But—”
“You run for that bridge, and you don’t stop until you get through the gray gate on the far side.”
“But, Tesh!”
“I want your promise!”
“Tesh!” Brin grabbed his face and turned it so that he could see the bridge. The snake was gone, leaving the route clear.
“Everyone!” Brin shouted. “Run for the bridge!” The high pitch of her voice carried, and Moya was the first to react. She pulled Fenelyus up. “Go! Go! Go!”
“With Elan as my witness and Eton as my judge . . .” Fenelyus muttered, stunned.
She wasn’t the only one to see they still had a chance. Horns sounded, and with a thundering roar, thousands of soldiers gave up their orderly march and charged.
With Tressa still in his arms, Gifford sprinted forward with Roan at his side. Half dragging a groggy Fenelyus, Moya chased them. Brin pulled on Tesh, and he tried to run, but all he managed was a slow walk. His feet were heavy and as awkward as swinging buckets of water. There was no hope.
Tesh jerked his hand back. “You promised!”
“Tesh, we can do this.”
“You can. I can’t. My feet don’t work anymore. Go!”
“But, Tesh!”
He could see the buckles on the belts of the charging line, hear the jingle of their gear. Some had spears, others javelins.
“Brin, you don’t need me! Run!”
She didn’t move. “You’re wrong. I do!”
“No, you didn’t come here for me. That’s not why you died. Go save Suri. It’s okay. I can’t die, I already have.”
The first javelin flew. He saw it fly at Brin’s back. Tesh shoved her aside.
Pain burst across his chest. He didn’t have a body, but it felt like it. His legs gave out and he fell to his knees.
Brin grabbed his arms. She pulled, trying to drag him.
“Go!” He coughed blood and pushed Brin away. “Pl—please. You prom—”
In terror and tears, Brin looked at him one last time; then finally, mercifully, she did as he asked.
She ran.
For a moment, Tesh was scared a second javelin might hit her, but as he watched, as he saw her run, his breath caught in his chest. Nothing could catch her. He was right; she’d been holding back. The girl was a bolt of light.
Chapter Fifteen
Dragon Secrets and Mouse Slippers
Poor indeed are the infallible, for facing failure teaches us how to prosper. — The Book of Brin
Suri’s second meeting with the fane was not in the throne room. Instead, she was escorted under dual guards to a smaller chamber in the palace. A long table of polished wood dominated the space. She was instructed to sit in the chair at the far end. This delighted Suri as it was the seat nearest a tall window. She sat in the chair, but sideways so she could look out. She hadn’t had much chance to see Erivan, and the view was beautiful. From her position several stories above Estramnadon, she could see across the plaza to the far hill that was crowned by a white, domed building. Trees dotted the landscape. Most of them had lost their foliage, and what remained was yellow and brown. Without the leaves, the sunlight was able to reach the ground. It glistened off homes, shops, and dew-slick streets.
Although she still wore the collar, the Orinfar markings had been negated. Suri was free and once again connected to the world of the Art. On the first try, she had mastered the blocking shield that Makareta had demonstrated and she had received a concerned look of astonishment from the young Miralyith. If the fane attempted to betray Suri again, she would surprise him as well.
Lothian entered quite a while later, yet it seemed far too soon for Suri. He walked in with the two bodyguards she had seen before, the big and the little. The fane moved to the chair at the opposite end of the long table, which seemed a bit absurd given there were many closer seats. While still in the process of sitting, he asked, “Are you prepared to tell me the secret of dragons?”
“Yes,” Suri replied.
The Fhrey ruler shooed out his escorts and sat down. He waited until they were alone, then leaned to one side and propped an elbow on the chair’s arm. He appeared calm, but his eyes were as bright as full moons. Thoughtfully, he rubbed his lower lip. The fane and the mystic watched each other in silence. The glass of the window let in light but not sound: no wind, no songs of birds, no murmuring voices. The eye of the world was on her, waiting to see what would happen.
Suri thought about Arion.
Is this what you expected? Is this the moment you saw?
“Before I tell you how to make dragons, I must ask that I be granted Ferrol’s Protection in return.” Suri expected the fane to explode, to demand that she not make requests, but he didn’t.
Imaly had stressed that she must obtain this concession before telling him anything, and she also cautioned Suri to be specific about the term. This two-word demand was something the Curator had drilled into her, insisting it was Ferrol’s Protection and not the Protection of Ferrol, as the latter was something completely different. Ferrol’s Protection was the decree by their god that Fhrey cannot kill Fhrey; the other had to do with the horn and the choosing of a new leader.
The fane was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I thought you only wanted peace?”
Suri frowned. “I was made to understand that’s not going to happen.”
“I see. And who told you to ask for Ferrol’s Protection?”
Imaly hadn’t specifically asked Suri not to reveal how she learned about the law, but given the situation, Suri felt it was best not to name names—at least not anyone the fane could take action against.
“Arion explained many things about your culture.”
Lothian accepted this without question, almost as if he had expected the answer. “If I were to grant that, it
would make you an honorary member of the Fhrey, but I should mention that Ferrol’s Protection only prevents other Fhrey from killing you. The edict doesn’t apply to me.”
“I’m told that even you can’t kill someone without cause.”
“I can. I’m the fane; I can do what I want, but it’s true that it wouldn’t be prudent to kill anyone who enjoys Ferrol’s Protection.” Lothian shifted forward. “Very well, I will grant your request. However, there will be other restrictions placed upon you. First, you will never be allowed to leave Estramnadon. Second, you will be placed in the custody of someone who will be responsible for watching you at all times. And in case you dreamed of getting your powers back, you should know that the collar has been magically sealed, and as such, it can never be removed.”
“Are you sure you want this secret? Because you’re not making it very enticing.”
“You will have your life, a good deal of freedom, and you’ll be allowed to live out the rest of your days in our glorious city. Would you prefer death? Because I see that as the only other alternative for you. Do you still want Ferrol’s Protection?”
“Yes.” Suri nodded.
“All right then.” Lothian extended a hand and waved at her. “I bestow upon you Ferrol’s Protection and decree that no Fhrey will be allowed to kill you under the law, except—as previously explained—myself.” He showed her an apathetic smirk. “It doesn’t matter to me. After you give me what I want, I’ll have no interest in you whatsoever. When this meeting is over, we’ll never see each other again.”
Suri wondered if she ought to ask for anything else, but she felt it wasn’t wise to push. She’d gotten what Imaly had told her to ask for, and Suri didn’t know enough to bargain for anything further.
“So, tell me. How can I conjure a dragon?”
Suri nodded and began, “Well, first off, it’s not actually a dragon.”
After the meeting with the fane, Suri was returned to Vasek’s custody, and he took her to where Imaly was waiting. From there, they escorted her to the Curator’s home. The trip between the palace and the house through the free air had been rapid and utterly lost to Suri, who was covered up in a bulky cloak with a large hood—the same outerwear that Makareta had worn when she had visited Vasek’s house. She saw almost nothing as they rushed her through the streets while carefully avoiding any potentially curious Fhrey. Within minutes, they were at the door to a small home with glass windows blinded by closed drapes.
Suri entered the little house and was pleasantly surprised. Nicer by far than Vasek’s stark accommodations, this place was a home. The door had a carved relief in the shape of a tree. Support beams were similarly adorned. One showed a series of branches with animals hiding among the leaves. Another was made to appear as a series of fanciful smiling creatures standing on one another’s heads. All were worn smooth by hands and time. Shelves were filled with curiosities: cups, plates, candles, statuettes. The furniture looked comfortable, and Suri had the sense she was entering a place where every corner held a story, each inch a tale.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Imaly told her, “but it really would be best if you stayed here and didn’t go outside.”
At such times as this, Suri wished she could growl the way Minna used to. Instead, she conveyed her message by grinding her teeth.
Imaly’s hands went up, warding off the expected explosion. “I’m not saying you can’t, only that it wouldn’t be wise. And I don’t mean forever. Things will change. They must. And soon.”
Suri was about to reply and level a few rules of her own when movement toward the back of the house stopped her. She stiffened as another Fhrey emerged from a darkened room, then recognized Makareta. Free of her hood and cloak, she didn’t look like other Miralyith. Her head was wrapped in a multicolored scarf. It tried but failed to hide little sandy tufts of hair that peeked out. She wore an old smock that was wrinkled and stained. Her hands were dirty, covered in what looked to be dried mud, and she had a smudge of the same substance on her nose. This was unusual for a Miralyith to be sure, but what interested Suri the most were Makareta’s slippers. Adorned with embroidery, the portions that covered her toes were made to look like mouse faces complete with whiskers. Just seeing those slippers and before a single word was said, Suri decided she liked Makareta.
“Oh, there you are, Mak. Come on over. This goes for you as well. Let me start by saying that the two of you must peacefully coexist,” Imaly explained with all the authority of a parent. “I will not tolerate any magical foolishness. Cross me, Mak, and out you’ll go. And you . . .” She turned to Suri. “We have an agreement. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, and I expect no less from you.”
Suri wasn’t certain what sort of magical foolishness Imaly anticipated, or why she was concerned that Suri and Makareta wouldn’t get along. Perhaps Imaly thought Artists were territorial like squirrels, badgers, or eagles. She thought it was odd that while Imaly lived in a forest, the old Fhrey appeared ignorant to its ways. Only males were territorial; females rarely engaged in aggressive behaviors.
Imaly’s expression softened. “The three of us need to work collectively. As strange as it may seem, we’re one odd little family now because we each share the same danger—and the same goal. If nothing else, that makes us related.” She shook her head. “Two Miralyith, a Rhune and an outlaw—I do pick up the strays, don’t I?”
Makareta continued to stare at Suri with a baffled expression.
Imaly waited a moment longer, looking from one to the other. Then taking a deep breath and letting her shoulders relax, she said, “I need a drink. Play nice and don’t destroy the house.”
Once Imaly had departed through one of the archways, Suri turned to Makareta. “What is an out-law?”
Makareta looked at the floor. “When someone breaks the rules, they are supposed to be punished. If you run away, you’re putting yourself outside the rules, outside the law. That makes you an outlaw. Most of the time, an outlaw is considered a bad person.”
“You don’t seem bad,” Suri said. Of all the Fhrey she’d encountered, aside from Arion, Makareta appeared the most normal. She was dirty and wore mouse faces on her feet. “What did you do wrong?”
Makareta still looked at the ground. “I—I killed another Fhrey.”
“Just one?”
Makareta looked up, disturbed. “That’s all it takes.”
“What would happen if you were caught? What is the punishment?”
“I would be killed—slowly, painfully, publicly. And then . . . after that, I don’t know.” Makareta’s face turned sour. Her nose wrinkled up, her mouth squeezing tight. She looked down again.
Suri did, too. “I like your slippers.”
This broke Makareta’s malaise. The Fhrey wiggled her toes and smiled. “Imaly thinks they’re stupid. She’s afraid I’ve lost my mind.”
“I think they’re nice.”
Makareta smiled. Then looked at Suri’s bare feet, followed by the rest of her. “Do you—is that how Rhune—are these your normal clothes?”
Suri shook her head. “I came here wearing a nice asica. They took it. This was a present from Vasek.” Suri pulled on the simple tunic.
“Oh.” Makareta frowned. “Doesn’t really fit, does it? I would . . .” Makareta made a subtle movement with her hands that Suri understood to be the suggestion of a reclaim weave, something that if completed might alter her garment. “But . . .” Makareta glanced in the direction that Imaly had gone and whispered, “I’m not allowed to use the Art—at all. Taking off your collar was the first thing I’ve done in years. She’s afraid there are Miralyith watching the house or something. Terrified that they will smell the residue and investigate.” She shrugged. “It’s not entirely impossible, but seems an extreme precaution.”
Suri felt her then. The Miralyith’s power was warm, strong, and vibrant. She also sensed frustration, and on top of all of that—glistening like morning dew—was a coating of sadness, mixed with equa
l parts of fear and regret.
Makareta grimaced at Suri’s dress, then beckoned for her to follow. “I don’t have much, either, but we can find something better than that. Maybe we can make you a pair of slippers, too. That way Imaly can think we’re both crazy.”
Makareta’s room was small and cramped. A mat lay on the floor, and she rolled it up the moment they entered, stashing it behind a cluster of clay pots. There was a mattress against one wall, a wardrobe in the corner, and a little table where a bowl of water sat and a pile of clay glistened. There were also a dozen little wooden tools, some small and pointed, others broad and flat. What Suri had first seen as a pile of mud, she realized was a sculpture in progress. Only partially formed, two vague figures were emerging.
There were other sculptures in the room. Most were tiny things, but all of them were beautiful. She spotted a perfectly depicted heron and a stag. On a high shelf, a very delicate clay tree appeared to grow. Of the dozen figurines on the shelves, one that rested on the windowsill halted Suri. Sunlight bathed the perfect figure of a wolf.
As a child, I found the courage to sleep in sealed rols because my head lay on Minna. She was my sunlit window.
Suri felt her stomach tighten. Her teeth locked together.
“Are you all right?” Makareta asked.
“No,” Suri replied.
The Fhrey waited, expecting more, but Suri didn’t say anything else.
Makareta nodded. “I understand.” The Fhrey looked at the sculpture in progress and wiped a rising tear from her eye. “Life is awful, isn’t it? And it just keeps getting worse.” Makareta threw herself onto the mattress. “Have you ever lost anyone you loved?”
“Yes,” Suri said.
“Were you responsible for them leaving?”
“Yes . . . yes, I was.”
Makareta looked up, revealing more tears building. A hand went to her chest. “Me, too. I feel hollow, empty.”
Suri nodded and looked at the wolf on the windowsill. “Part of me is gone, destroyed forever. Maybe the best part.”
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