Hirst frowned for an instant. “Go put on your Sreathan plate. You can rest in the belly cage while we travel. When we near the Lake of Skulls, however, you will leave the cage and guide one of the scrid.”
“Did the Visions show you that?” Wyand asked.
“No, that was clear without the Visions,” Hirst said bluntly. “With the cofa gone, there will soon be hundreds of battle-worn people from Cynmere and Dism Slyde assembled at the base of Aldhagen—where else would they go? Those people need to see the Stormheart, and that is yours to bear. More than the stone, though, they need to see you at the forefront of the conflict that is upon us. Even if you feel weak, they need to see strength. They need to see hope. They need to see their leader.”
Wyand stood in silence as Hirst went back to his preparations. I’m no leader, he thought, recalling his failures and the moments of chance that had brought him to this point. Still, it was impossible to deny the effect his presence—and that of the Stormheart—had on people once they understood who he was. Whether they saw him as a leader or a symbol of hope didn’t matter; if he could serve as a source of motivation during the liberation of Aldhagen, then that is the role he would fulfill.
After Wyand struggled through getting the pieces of his armor in place, he left his small hut for the last time. The scrid had gathered near the entrance tunnel that led back to the snow-covered lands beyond Crolun Raigh. Hirst and the other Guided were loading supplies when Wyand found them, but one person stood out from the others. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Carnan,” Wyand exclaimed as he reached the group of scrid.
The Stonebrother tied shut another sack of food and rose to face Wyand. “Someone has to carry you to Aldhagen, so it might as well be me,” he said gruffly, then he returned to securing supplies.
Wyand hesitated. “What about Laersi?” he asked carefully.
Carnan didn’t look up from his work to respond this time. “She’ll be fine. It was actually her idea for me to go with you—she believes that only you can defeat the Cultivators.” He glanced at Wyand over his shoulder. “Old ones help me, but for some reason I agree with her. Just be quick about it, all right? And don’t do anything foolish like dying before the task is done.”
Wyand was speechless, unsure whether to be offended, flattered, or a little of both. At last he chuckled; thinking through Carnan’s words, Wyand realized it was the nearest thing to a compliment he had ever received from the Stonebrother. “I’ll do my best, Carnan. I’m glad you’ll be with me.” Carnan grunted in reply but said nothing more.
Once the supplies were loaded and the other scrid were ready, Wyand lay on his back and crawled into the transport cage. It was a painful process, but the Sreathan plate offered some protection against the hard slats that threatened to bruise his shoulders and back. The night had passed, and now a faint light from the west brought streaks of grey into the dark sky above. Clouds tumbled and boiled, hastening across Crolun Raigh to continue to the south and west.
“To Aldhagen,” Wyand breathed.
50
Beneath an overcast morning sky, shadows lingered beyond the edge of night, casting Aldhagen into a dim and unsettling twilight. Edan stood at the base of the Hall of the Venerates, glancing again at the darker clouds looming in the distance to the north and wondering when the storm they foretold would finally arrive. The air around him buzzed with confused conversations from most of Aldhagen’s workers, and although Edan shared their uncertainty, he chose to remain silent as usual. They gathered at the Hall, just as they did every morning, but on this day its entrances were sealed.
The uneasy stillness only grew more profound as minutes passed. More workers arrived, and the hushed whispers of the crowd soon swelled to rival the sound of the Great River itself. There had been no Calling chimes to signal the start of the day, so many people slept past dawn for the first time in their lives. Beyond confusion, their thoughts were focused on food, but Edan knew there was no food to be had from the Venerates. Portions had diminished steadily over the course of the past week, until at last arriving at First Calling of the day prior during which no food was even offered.
The Venerates gave no explanation for the famine, instead choosing to continue their abuse of Aldhagen’s people for as long as they could. They knew—just as Edan did—that while the mind-altering poison lingered within the workers, they could still be convinced to believe anything. So, the Venerates lied, sounding the benediction chimes at the end of each Calling before telling everyone to remember what a wonderful and filling meal they had just eaten. Back to their tasks the workers had gone, certain that their bellies were full of food that, in reality, had never actually existed. But now the poison was beginning to fade, and the feelings of hunger were too strong to suppress.
Edan didn’t share their hunger, thankfully, but that fact also burdened him with guilt. If enough clean food was available, he would have gladly shared it with everyone; as it was, the caches used by the Observers of the Silent History were dwindling as well. There had been twenty-seven Castings in the last two weeks, and from what Edan had learned during his brief discussions with Grefstan, most of the men cast out had been Observers. Whether through torture or some other means, the Venerates had learned of the resistance within Aldhagen and were now fiercely dedicated to its removal. More caches disappeared with each Casting, leaving Edan and the remaining Observers with barely enough to survive.
Edan eyed the upper levels of the Hall warily until the sound of the crowd around him shifted suddenly from confusion to anger. Returning his attention to the blocked entrance, Edan saw a cluster of people standing with their backs to the Hall as the other workers shouted at them. In the middle of that group stood Stonecaller Galbrun. “You will all report to your tasks immediately!” he ordered, his gravelly voice thundering above the crowd. In an instant, there were dozens of replies to counter his command.
“They’ve abandoned us, Galbrun!”
“How are we to work without food?”
“What about the dreams? You told us you’d experienced them, too.”
Edan glanced worriedly to Grefstan and Scur, who both stood several strides to his left, but they shook their heads and looked away from him quickly. This wasn’t the first time in recent days that people had mentioned the dreams that felt like memories, but it had been confined to quiet conversations until now. Galbrun stared back at the crowd defiantly, his aged face growing red with anger. “I don’t understand what’s happening any more than you do, but losing our faith now is not the way to fix this. No one has abandoned us; this is simply something we must endure.”
“How do we ‘endure’ unjustified Castings, Stonecaller?” a Smelter from one of the other mines demanded. Many in the crowd nodded and echoed his question—they, too, had lost friends and Taskbrothers during the recent purges.
Chief Harvester Stelam marched from Galbrun’s side to confront the Smelter. “All of you stand in the sight of the Venerates and dare to question their decisions? Silence your blasphemy now and pray they haven’t taken notice.” The tall Fieldsman shook with righteous indignation; the sight was a reminder to Edan of why Keltin had detested encounters with the man while serving under him.
The old Smelter met Stelam’s gaze and never flinched. “Back away, Fieldsman,” he growled softly. Several other Smelters stepped beside him, their jaws set with deep-burning anger. The Chief Harvester looked as though his eyes might burst as he stared back at the Smelters. Galbrun was now by his side, and the Stonecaller’s arm muscles rippled as he flexed his hands from fists to open and back again. Tensions were escalating far too quickly, and with everyone tired, afraid, and hungry, Edan feared unspeakable violence would soon follow.
“I know where to find food!” Scur exclaimed suddenly, which made both groups forget their argument in an instant. Edan winced, his thoughts racing in the silence that followed as everyone waited for the Tailing to continue. “There isn’t much, and it didn’t come from the Hall, but we can�
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“You found unholy food?” Stonecaller Galbrun interjected in a horrified whisper. Scur nodded timidly and Galbrun stepped closer. “Did you eat any of it?” Scur nodded once more, leaving the old man stunned with disgust.
“You will be punished when the Venerates return,” Chief Harvester Stelam said grimly as he stared at the Tailing.
“It’s time to accept that they aren’t going to return,” Grefstan replied. Edan stared at both Tailings in disbelief—in the span of less than a minute, they had not only revealed one of the Observers’ best kept secrets, they had also overtly challenged those who remained faithful to the Venerates. Nothing Edan could say at this point would repair the damage already done.
“You think they’re just gone?” Galbrun asked, the indignation plain in his voice.
“Not gone. Hiding,” Grefstan said, staring at the top of the Hall. “They know change is coming and they’re afraid of it. They’re afraid of us.” Without warning, Grefstan’s eyes swirled with colors that couldn’t be explained—the same colors that had condemned many in recent days to the unforgiving waters of Wracandyr.
Realizing too much had already been revealed, a desperate plan rushed into Edan’s thoughts: perhaps enough of the Venerates’ poison lingered in the workers that the benediction chimes would still put them into the trance-like state they entered at each Calling. With no other option, Edan reached into his shirt and removed the small chime box Grefstan had given to him. The Tailing had explicitly forbidden use of the strange device except when faced with the threat of the Observers being exposed—the current situation undoubtedly qualified as the worst form of that threat. Edan closed his eyes and the benediction chimes sounded.
It was the first time Edan had used the chime box; since receiving it two days earlier, even the thought of displaying it in public had made him queasy. Now his stomach twisted around itself as he listened to echoes of the chimes fade and searched for the proper words to say. As with anything else, he decided it was easiest to start with the most glaring problem. “None of you noticed anything unusual about Grefstan’s eyes!” he shouted, then he continued. “First Calling was inspirational and you all enjoyed a filling meal. Now it’s time to get to your tasks.” He was ashamed for using the same lies as the Venerates, but he saw no other option.
Familiar faces surrounded Edan when he at last opened his eyes, but they did not bear the usual contented smiles that came at the end of a Calling. Instead, everyone frowned at him with a mixture of confusion, disgust, and anger, crushing Edan’s hopes that the use of the chime box would return everything to normal. “What in the Kingdom are you doing, Depthcarver?” Galbrun demanded as his appalled gaze shifted between the chime box and Edan’s face.
Fear took the air from Edan’s lungs as the crowd studied him—he had failed, and now everything was falling apart. In the awkward silence that followed, Grefstan appeared by Edan’s side and nodded to him before stepping forward. “The Venerates’ lies have ended,” the Tailing declared with a pained smile, his eyes blazing with surges of blue and green as he stared up at the Hall. “See for yourselves how they define peace and honor.”
Whether the Tailing had any control of the light in his eyes remained a mystery that forever haunted Edan, but the sudden appearance of something so spectacular saved many lives in Aldhagen that day. Uncertain what to think of the strange display, the workers backed away from Grefstan as he spoke. An instant later, a burst of deep green light hurtled down from the highest levels of the Hall of the Venerates and struck the exact spot where the Tailing stood. Sky and ground rushed past Edan’s vision as the shockwave from the blast sent him and the other nearby workers tumbling through the air, then all was still.
The smell of dirt filled Edan’s nostrils as he struggled to breathe, but it was quickly overpowered by acrid smoke. A dull thump from somewhere close by jostled his body and showered it with more dirt and stones. When he finally opened his eyes, Edan was forced to blink away the searing afterimage of the burst of light as he surveyed the chaos around him. Many people fled in all directions away from the Hall, while others had been forced to the ground just as he was, but one face was absent no matter where he looked.
“Grefstan!” Edan coughed as he rose to his feet and made his way back towards the entrance of the Hall. Another burst of green light struck the ground several dozen strides away and Edan watched helplessly as more workers were flung into the air. He remained desperately focused, though, until he reached the spot he’d last seen Grefstan; then his panic gave way to despair. The ground was charred and fissured in a ring five strides across, with smoke drifting up from its center. “Grefstan!” he called again.
“He’s gone, Depthcarver,” Galbrun said, his gravelly voice hollow with disbelief. The old Stonecaller limped forward with blood streaming down his ruined left leg. “Why would they do this?” His eyes, normally calm and confident, shook with bewilderment as he turned to face the Hall. More pulses of green light streaked towards the fleeing survivors, whose screams of terror and pain were broken by each deafening explosion.
Looking around him, Edan realized that he and the Stonecaller were alone at the base of the Hall; worse, though, was the realization that the protection of the nearest structure was dozens of strides away. Without a word, Edan gripped Galbrun’s sleeve and tried to tug him in the direction of the living quarters, but the old man wouldn’t budge. “Stonecaller, please…” Edan begged, but then he watched as the confusion and fear in Galbrun’s eyes was replaced by the bitter anger of betrayal. Tears streamed down the Stonecaller’s face as he stood defiantly before the false gods he had served his entire life. Seeing that there was no other choice, Edan had to let go of him.
Edan stumbled backwards across the charred dirt, then his legs finally became steady enough to allow him to run. Explosions thundered around him on all sides and he didn’t dare look back until he reached the first row of living quarters. No one stood at the base of the Hall now—only ash remained. Safely behind the building, Edan slid down its wall and sank to the ground. His body began shaking uncontrollably, and a sudden nausea forced him to lose the little bit of food he had eaten recently. Edan panted and looked to the sky for solace, but all he found were more bursts of light soaring overhead as the Venerates spread their murderous fury across Aldhagen.
51
The starry night sky that normally clung to the edge of dawn was absent when Keltin stepped out of his sick tent; in its place, a layer of barely-visible clouds loomed above. Their colors—what small bits could be seen—ranged from dark purple directly overhead to a muddy brown haze along the western horizon. Voids of pure blackness defined the walls of the canyon that surrounded this new camp in the Deadlands, but another area of darkness drew Keltin’s attention immediately. Mountains carved away the sky to the west, and one plateau among them stood higher than the others. Keltin looked to the spot where he knew Aldhagen and the Hall of the Venerates were waiting in the distance, and a chill raced across his skin.
This was his second night in the Deadlands camp, but the proximity to Aldhagen remained unsettling. Seeing it again conjured thoughts of all that had happened since his Casting, memories of his friends, and worrying ideas of the hardship that yet lay in front of him before this would all be over. These conflicting emotions had made sleep impossible, so Keltin at last let go of the idea of rest entirely and decided to see why so many people stirred within the camp at such an early hour.
The glow of Watch helmets was a common sight before sunrise, but never before in the quantities that Keltin currently saw. An unbroken chain of sickly yellow stretched throughout the camp and disappeared around a curve in the cliffs to the east. Keltin was confused for a moment, but then he realized who these people were. Where his journey had been relatively quick across the Plateau Desert, the main portion of the Cynmeren force had moved primarily on foot through the Eastern Hills and then into the Deadlands. After nearly four days of constant travel at a grueling pace, th
ey had now reached the staging area for the final assault on Aldhagen.
Where even the most determined workers in Aldhagen would have hung their heads from exhaustion, the Cynmeren marched into the camp with purpose, ready to confront whatever challenge awaited them next. Keltin watched this stream of fighters flow past him as night faded—it was reassuring to see so many people dedicated to freedom from the Cultivators. He was fascinated and impressed by their shared resolve, which made it all the more surprising when three of the Cynmeren spotted him and rushed over immediately. He could see that they were all women, even through the obscuring layer of Sreathan plate that each wore. They stood before him for a moment in awkward silence, spiked oars in hand, before the woman in the center removed her Watch helmet and pointed to his waist.
“That blade…you are Keltin?” she asked softly. Though the light of day had yet to arrive in this canyon and the nearby torches were faint, he could distinguish enough of her features to determine this woman was somewhere between six and seven turnings in age. A dark braid began at the front of her scalp and flowed into a tight sima that hung close to her neck. Her eyes studied him with a mysterious degree of interest that somehow both intrigued and worried him within the same look. Despite his limited knowledge of such things, Keltin knew she was very attractive.
“I am,” Keltin answered slowly. An elated smile suddenly blossomed on the Cynmeren woman’s face with enough energy and beauty to replace the absent dawn. Before Keltin knew what was happening, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you,” she breathed, tears shimmering in her eyes as she stepped back. “Thank you for bringing my brother back to me from Dism Slyde. He was a Servant there for many turnings, without any memory of his previous life until the cofa was finally cleansed from his body. I would embrace you, but I know your wounds are staggering.”
Kingdomturn Page 100
