Dark Rise: Dark Rise 1

by C. S. Pacat

  ‘You need Steward blood to drink from the Cup,’ said Will. That was what Beatrix had told him. Only those of Steward blood could withstand the Cup’s power.

  ‘They only drink to give themselves strength,’ said Violet. ‘I’m already strong.’

  He knew what she was really asking. Do you think a Lion could ever be a Steward?

  ‘I think if you took the test you’d pass,’ said Will. Her eyes flew to him. ‘You’d never let some belt defeat you.’ She drew in a breath, then gave him a crooked grin and knocked his shoulder with her fist.

  He meant it. She seemed born to be a warrior of the Light, with her fierceness and her dedication.

  He was the one who couldn’t light the Tree Stone, who spent hours with the Elder Steward with nothing to show for it but dead branches, like cracks spreading through the firmament.

  A sound nearby made them both stop and turn, not wanting their words to be overheard, but it was only Carver and Emery on the staircase, taking a private moment of their own.

  ‘I’m proud of you.’ Emery’s voice. Will could see the faint pale gleam of his tunic in a nearby alcove.

  ‘For a moment, I thought I wouldn’t make it. But I kept hearing Leda’s voice: “Steward, hold to your training.”’

  Emery said softly, ‘I wanted to take my test at the same time that you took yours. I always hoped that – I might be your shieldmate.’

  ‘Emery—’

  ‘I’ll train hard. So we can be Stewards together.’

  ‘There’s no rush,’ said Carver. ‘I – take your time. Don’t rush for me, Emery. There isn’t—’

  ‘Will, Violet!’ said Beatrix, waving to Carver and Emery too, and breaking the moment for all of them as she approached. ‘Let’s go join the others outside.’ Violet stepped forward, but Will hesitated.

  ‘Will?’ said Violet, looking back at him.

  ‘You go,’ he said to her. ‘I’ll come down later.’

  After a moment she nodded, then turned and went down to the courtyard. He watched her follow the novitiates out, and then join up with Justice. Will stayed on the dark, quiet balcony alone, looking out at the revelry below.

  He could see the Stewards and novitiates like glints of light, the music still drifting upward to his balcony, but it felt distant, like the occasional murmur of laughter or words that he couldn’t catch. The air here was crisply cold, the balcony lit with only the blues and greys of moonlight. He drew in a long breath.

  A battle was coming, and these were the people who were going to fight. These people against the Dark. He had seen how seriously they took their duty. Carver had fought through agony to show his mastery over the Dark influence. In only a month, Cyprian would take the same test. At sixteen, he would become the youngest Steward to drink from the Cup.

  The Lady’s medallion was around Will’s neck. He could feel its tangible weight. He reached up and closed his fingers over it, remembering that his mother’s old servant Matthew had died to give it to him. You must go to the Stewards, Matthew had said. He had believed in Will’s destiny, his part in the upcoming battle.

  ‘You’re not celebrating with the others,’ said the Elder Steward.

  She arrived as a companionable presence, quietly climbing the stairs to the balcony. Her eyes were kind as she looked out with him at the celebrations below. A distant burst of laughter drifted up to them, and he glimpsed Carver, white flowers around his neck, speaking to his new shieldmate. Will’s fingers tightened around the medallion.

  ‘Everyone says Carver took his test earlier than he should have,’ said Will.

  She looked at Will, acknowledging his words. ‘His test is a year early. I ordered it brought forward, though it greatly increased the chance that he might fail.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t lie to you. Your training is very important. We have very little time. You must succeed in summoning your power.’ Her attention turned back to the soft glow of lights below. ‘As for the Stewards, we will need all our forces at the ready.’

  ‘You think Simon’s about to make his move,’ said Will. ‘No, it’s more than that, isn’t it. There’s something you aren’t telling me.’

  As the far-off sounds of the revelry filtered up to them, he saw secrets in her eyes.

  ‘You should go down and celebrate with the others,’ she said. ‘Time is short. Enjoy these moments of high spirits while you can.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  HE WOKE TO Violet tugging his shoulder. ‘Something’s happening.’

  He came groggily out of sleep, and she’d already hauled him half out of bed, propelling him stumbling through a mess of bedding towards the window.

  She was right. There was something happening on the walls. He could see the cluster of Stewards gathered in the dark without torches. He thought he glimpsed the figure of Jannick, the High Janissary. ‘Come on. We can find out what’s going on.’ Violet thrust his novitiate tunic towards him.

  The halls were deserted: it was the dead of night. Outside, they crouched in the frozen cold behind a cart, hidden in the dark. Will could see the High Janissary waiting in his long blue robes, and beside him, the smaller, thinner figure of the Elder Steward in her white cloak. There were six other Stewards gathered with them, including Leda the captain. All of them had their eyes fixed on the gate.

  White horses and their white-clad Steward riders appeared like visions in the archway. A secret expedition, thought Will. He had seen Stewards return from missions before, but never in the dead of night, while the heads of the Order waited for them in the dark without torches. As he watched, he saw that the returning Stewards were badly injured, two slumped in the saddle, the other three barely riding upright. And of two dozen white horses, only the first five bore Stewards. The other horses were riderless, carrying grey sacks that were the wrong shape for packs.

  Leda rushed forward to take Justice’s weight as he slid down from his horse in obvious pain. She lifted a flask to his lips, administering the waters of Oridhes. Others were doing the same to help Stewards covered in blood. Will looked again at the riderless horses and realised to his horror what he was looking at.

  The grey sacks were not packs. They were wrapped bodies.

  ‘Marcus?’ said Jannick, and Justice, looking more defeated than Will had ever seen him, shook his head.

  ‘So you came back without him,’ said a voice. Will turned to see Cyprian standing on the steps to the Hall. He must have woken up and come to see what was happening. But Cyprian wasn’t creeping around hiding behind carts like Will and Violet. He had come like a blazon to challenge Justice directly. His lip curled. ‘Again.’

  ‘Cyprian,’ said High Janissary Jannick, stepping forward. ‘This isn’t the time.’

  ‘But of course you survived. You’re good at surviving while you leave my brother behind—’

  ‘I said that is enough, Cyprian—’ said the High Janissary.

  ‘No,’ said Justice, pushing himself up out of Leda’s hold to stand by himself. ‘He deserves to hear.’

  Justice’s face was grey with fatigue. There was blood soaking through his white surcoat. Will felt his stomach turn over. What could have done this to a squadron of Stewards?

  ‘We found the convoy transporting Marcus,’ said Justice. ‘It was right where our information had said it would be.’ Justice’s expression changed. ‘But it wasn’t carrying Marcus. It was bait for an ambush. James was there.’

  James, thought Will, his skin prickling, all his attention fixing on the name. He felt the way he had at the river, when he had seen James for the first time and been unable to look at anything else.

  ‘The Betrayer,’ said Cyprian, in a hard new voice. ‘He did this?’

  ‘A mist had come down in the valley,’ said Justice. ‘It gave us the perfect cover. We saw the convoy, four carriages bearing Simon’s coat of arms. We thought we had him.’

  Will imagined Stewards riding down into the mist-wreathed valley, ghostly white shapes
descending on the four shiny black carriages.

  ‘We were mid-charge when our front riders just – lifted out of their saddles,’ said Justice. ‘They hung in midair, and their bodies started to jerk. In front of our eyes, their bones snapped, and their flesh tore. I saw Brescia’s armour crumple like paper.’

  Stewards hanging limply, suspended in the mist, their bodies cracking and contorting into unnatural shapes. Horrifying and impossible, but Will had seen James lift a crate with invisible power. Why not lift a body, move it, break it to your will?

  ‘It was chaos, screams, careening horses smashing into each other. I called for a retreat, but it was too late, that invisible force let loose among us. There was no way to fight it. We barely returned with our lives.’

  ‘But you did return. No one else was captured?’ Jannick’s clipped voice.

  Justice nodded tightly. It was obvious that to return and bring home the bodies had cost him something, in lives, in pain. But he had done it.

  They can’t fight magic. The Stewards, with their supernatural strength, could outmatch any fighting force in the world. But they couldn’t fight what they couldn’t see.

  That’s why they need me. They think I can.

  Will’s stomach twisted as he thought of his failed lessons, his inability to light the Tree Stone or shift the single candle flame.

  The Stewards are losing to Simon. They’re safe in here. But out there … he’s grown too powerful.

  Leda had taken Justice’s weight again, his arm over her shoulders. She beckoned Jannick over, glancing around to make sure they were out of earshot. Then she spoke in a low voice. ‘High Janissary, if we don’t free Marcus soon, he—’

  ‘Not here,’ said Jannick.

  Will followed Jannick’s gaze and saw a huddle of shapes in the doorway, a small group of other novitiates who had crept out after Cyprian and were watching. Will made out Emery, wide-eyed and pale, and Beatrix, still in a bed shirt with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  The Elder Steward stepped forward. ‘All of you to bed. We have wounded to tend to here.’

  Cyprian and the other novitiates were escorted away, leaving Will and Violet hidden dangerously close to where Jannick and the Elder Steward were standing. He tried to stay very still, barely breathing.

  ‘The Betrayer toys with us.’ Jannick kept his voice low, but it was thick with disgust.

  ‘He knows we will do anything to get Marcus back,’ said the Elder Steward.

  ‘I blame myself. I’m the one who – the Betrayer. I had him. And he slipped out of my grasp. Now Simon has the power he needs to pick us off one by one—’

  ‘We stand between him and the one thing he wants,’ said the Elder Steward.

  Will shivered. She was talking about him. She believed that Will could stop the Dark King. Based on what? A few words of old language and the image of a lady in a mirror?

  ‘You cannot blame yourself,’ said the Elder Steward to Jannick. ‘You could not know what the Betrayer would become when you—’

  She broke off, stumbling slightly on the uneven cobblestones. Jannick immediately rushed to her aid, taking her arm and letting her lean her weight on him.

  ‘Euphemia—’

  ‘It’s nothing. A missed step.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes. I’m certain.’ She smiled at Jannick, a reassuring hand on his arm. ‘I’m certain, Jannick. There is no need for concern. Now come. Let us speak further.’

  The last of the survivors had dismounted, and the Stewards in the courtyard had started to untie the grey sacks, others leading away horses who had forever lost their riders. The Elder Steward spoke at last. ‘Leda. Justice. Follow us.’

  Will exchanged glances with Violet. Their agreement to follow the Elder Steward was unspoken. Soundlessly they slipped out from behind the cart, waited until the way was clear, then followed the others.

  The High Janissary’s office was deep in the Hall. Glimpsing it through a sliver in the door, Will saw that it was filled with books, even the desk strewn with manuscripts and scrolls. Jannick’s role as High Janissary meant that he oversaw all the work that the janissaries did in the Hall, and that included its scholarly aspect, the teaching of history, the keeping of records. Through the crack in the door, Will could hear the low voices.

  ‘This the first time that James has taken on a squadron,’ Justice was saying. ‘Last year he could not have won that fight. He gets stronger with every day … He is coming into his true power. And he knows it. He goaded us into that battle, confident he could win.’

  A woman’s voice that might have been Leda’s answered, but Will couldn’t quite hear what she said. He glanced at Violet and the two of them moved closer to the door.

  ‘Every year, there are fewer of Steward blood born to the Hall,’ said Justice, ‘and fewer still of Steward blood Called here from outside. We have so few novitiates, and of those barely a handful strong enough to drink from the Cup and become Stewards. Cyprian, yes. Beatrix – Emery, perhaps. But the others—’

  Jannick frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Soon there may not be enough of us left to fight.’

  ‘That is Simon’s intention?’ said Jannick. ‘To pick us off one by one?’

  ‘Clearing the way for his master,’ said the Elder Steward.

  There was an awful silence as her words sank into all of them, and Will could almost feel the tension rise in its wake.

  ‘Are there no janissaries who have the strength to drink from the Cup?’ Leda’s voice. ‘Many who wear the blue yearn to take the white.’

  ‘If I was strong enough to drink from the Cup, I would be a Steward already,’ said Jannick. ‘But I’m not. I cannot drink, and nor can any of weaker blood. It is too dangerous.’

  ‘There is still the boy,’ said the Elder Steward.

  ‘The boy! He is nothing, shows no sign of any talent. No spark of power. The line of the Lady died with his mother.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time to tell the others,’ said Justice. ‘The truth. About Marcus. About Simon’s plans. The novitiates and the janissaries deserve that much warning—’

  ‘And break our sacred oath?’

  ‘If the others knew what was really happening—’

  ‘If they knew, there would be panic, chaos. And then how would we—’

  Jannick broke off. Will felt a prickle of unease.

  ‘Did you lock the door?’ Jannick said.

  ‘I thought so,’ said Leda.

  ‘Go,’ mouthed Will, and he and Violet were pushing and pulling each other to get quickly out of sight. They ended up huddled behind a column, having turned several corners until they were deep in the Hall.

  Staying silent though they were breathing hard from the run, they waited for footsteps to recede.

  ‘It’s worse than they’ve told us,’ said Will, when they knew they were alone. ‘Simon’s getting stronger and they don’t have a way to stop him.’ Not even me, he thought, and the words seemed to hang in the air even though he didn’t say them.

  ‘Will—’ she began.

  ‘The High Janissary is right,’ said Will. ‘I can’t use magic. In all this time I’ve never lit the Tree or moved the flame.’

  ‘You stopped the sword on Simon’s ship. I saw it.’

  ‘The Stewards are fighting for their lives,’ said Will. ‘They think I can help them. But what if I’m not – what if I can’t—’

  ‘You are. You will.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  He looked over at her. Her hair had grown long enough that she had started to wear it in the Steward style, and it gave her the appearance of one of them.

  ‘I don’t know. I feel it,’ said Violet. ‘You fit. Even more than the Stewards. It’s as if these halls were built for you, the same feeling that I get when I hear the Elder Steward speak, or learn one of the old legends. It just feels right somehow.’

  She was the one who fit. She had mastered the sword dri
lls the novitiates practised; she ate with them and talked with them; they had accepted her presence, seeming to forget that she lacked Steward blood. She looked like a warrior of old, walking the halls in her old-fashioned clothes.

  ‘My mother could have done it,’ said Will. ‘She had a toughness … I can see it when I look back at what she did, at what she—’

  ‘You’re her son,’ said Violet, and Will drew in a shaky breath and curled his fingers around the scar on his palm. He nodded once.

  They pushed up and saw that the room they had come to was old and broken-down, with a huge fallen column running through its centre, chunks of stone still lying near its shattered portion, even though it looked like the column had fallen centuries ago. The architecture here was different from that of the main citadel and reminded him of the ancient style of the rooms near the Tree Stone.

  ‘Which part of the Hall is this?’ Violet took a step out into the room.

  ‘I think we’re in the western wing.’ The for bidden part of the Hall, thought Will. ‘Do you think we’ll be in trouble for coming here?’

  ‘Not if they don’t find us.’

  ‘Be careful where you tread,’ said Will as he looked down at dust that hadn’t been disturbed in a long time.

  It was dark, so he doubled back and returned with a torch from one of the wall sconces behind them, and they moved from room to room, looking at old carvings and frescoes. They saw a door made of stone too thick to push open. There was an inscription carved across it. Will found himself staring up at the words.

  ‘“Enter only those who can”,’ read Will with a shiver, only to find Violet looking at him with a strange expression.

  ‘You can read it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just can.’ He remembered Farah’s reaction to hearing him speak the words. She had just stared at him, though she had never asked him about it. The truth was that speaking words in the old language made him feel strange in the same way the Hall’s familiarity made him feel strange. Like there was something he ought to remember and couldn’t, a phantom at the edges of his vision. ‘It’s like something I’ve always known.’