As the Shadow Rises: Book Two of The Age of Darkness

by Katy Rose Pool

  You’ll have to finish what your father started. That was what Mrs. Tappan had said to Ephyra in Medea. If she had any hope of saving Beru, she had to find the Chalice.

  Shara interrupted her thoughts. “You aren’t the first person to come asking about Eleazar’s Chalice. Every so often, some fool comes poking around for it.”

  “My father wasn’t a fool,” Ephyra snapped.

  “I’m just saying,” Shara said, holding up her hands placatingly. “It’s not the first time someone looking for the Chalice has wound up dead.”

  “I told you, my father was sick,” Ephyra said.

  Shara raised an eyebrow. “There’s lots of ways to kill someone.”

  “You think someone’s trying to stop anyone from finding the Chalice?”

  “I have my theories,” Shara replied. “Come to think of it, there’s been quite a bit of chatter about this Chalice as of late. More than usual.”

  That startled Ephyra. Besides Mrs. Tappan, who else could be asking about Eleazar’s Chalice? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Shara eyed her. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me. Isn’t there?”

  Ephyra met her gaze evenly. She couldn’t tell this girl the true reason she was asking about the Chalice. That it was her only hope of saving Beru. That for years Ephyra had killed to keep her sister alive, until finally she’d gone too far—she’d killed Hector Navarro, and Beru hadn’t been able to forgive her. She’d walked away, ready to let herself die rather than let Ephyra keep killing. And now the Chalice was Ephyra’s only chance to stop that from happening.

  “You’re right,” Ephyra said at last. “I don’t just want to know why my father was looking for the Chalice. I want to find it, too. I need to find it.”

  “And you want my help?” Shara asked, crossing one foot over the other on the desk. “Even after everything I just told you?”

  “You’re the Thief King now, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” Shara replied. “But I told you only fools go looking for the Chalice.”

  Ephyra’s heart thudded in her ears, desperation clawing at her throat.

  Abruptly, Shara pushed her feet off the desk and stood, folding Ephyra’s father’s letter in her hands. “Luckily for you, I am a fool.”

  Ephyra blinked as Shara stepped up to her, her hand held out. “I’ll take your job.”

  “Job?” Ephyra echoed. “I told you—I don’t have much coin.”

  Shara shrugged. “We’ll work all that out later. So, are you in or not?”

  Ephyra’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you want to help me after everything you’ve just said?”

  Shara waved a hand. “I’ve a taste for glory and a penchant for ignoring consequences. And you caught me at a slow time. I get bored easily. Did you want to stand here and argue, or do you want to find that Chalice?”

  Ephyra clasped Shara’s hand, heart soaring in her chest. This morning, all she’d had was a name, a place, and her dwindling hope. Now she had a bona fide treasure thief on her side and her first, real belief that she could do this. Hold on, Beru, she thought fervently. Just stay alive a little longer.

  Shara smiled as they shook hands. “Glad to be doing business with you.”

  2

  JUDE

  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN JUDE’S NINETEEN YEARS, A TRIBUNAL WAS CONVENED at Kerameikos Fort.

  The last time a Tribunal had been assembled was before Jude was born, though he didn’t know what had occasioned it. It was the practice of the Tribunal to keep all records of their proceedings sealed. The only person who had access to those records aside from the Tribunal itself was the Keeper of the Word—though Jude had hardly had time to exercise that right.

  Two statues flanked the Tribunal Chambers’ entrance—one of Tarseis the Just, and the other of Temara, the first Keeper of the Word who’d sworn herself in service to the Prophets almost two thousand years ago. Jude paused for a moment beside the statue of his ancestor. She was luminous in the morning light, her fierce gaze overlooking the fortress. She was a warrior, a soldier like Jude. Devoted to a cause greater than herself. He wondered if it was easy for her, to give up everything quiet and warm for cold armor and steel.

  “Jude.” His father’s voice sounded from behind him.

  The former Captain Weatherbourne stood in the center of the walkway, the span of his shoulders taking up its full width. His thick beard had begun to gray, and though his throat was no longer adorned with the golden torc of the Keeper, he still looked every inch the part.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” Jude blurted. “Unless they’ve allowed you to attend?”

  His father shook his head. “I only came to see you beforehand. Whatever transpires is between you and the Tribunal.” He set a hand on Jude’s shoulder. “And I am not worried about you, my son. There are simply lingering questions around what happened to Navarro, what led him to desert.”

  Jude had heard some of the rumors. Some made him angrier than he thought possible, like the one that said Hector had deserted the Order to raise a child he’d fathered before he took his oath. And some of them—some of them hit much too close to home.

  “If they decide that Hector is guilty of desertion—” Jude broke off. He didn’t want to think about what would happen. Jude still remembered the grim look in his father’s eyes when he’d explained to Jude that part of his duty as Keeper of the Word was to be the one to enforce the Paladin’s oath and to administer—swiftly, irrevocably—punishment for breaking it.

  His father gripped Jude’s shoulder a little more tightly, his face drawn and solemn. Jude knew what he was thinking—that Hector’s conviction was inevitable.

  “No one even knows where he is,” Jude said quietly. That day in Pallas Athos, when he had fought Hector in the ruins of a priest’s shrine, had been the last time he’d seen his friend. “He could be halfway across the world.”

  “The Tribunal will decide what action to take,” his father replied. “Just tell them everything you know.”

  Jude nodded, nerves buzzing in his stomach. His father didn’t know exactly what had happened in Pallas Athos, beyond the fact that it had led to Jude finding the Last Prophet.

  “When the Tribunal is over, I will be here for you. And for the Prophet,” his father said. “That is what we must focus on.”

  Anton. Jude still had trouble thinking of him as the Prophet. When he’d first met him in Pallas Athos, he’d seen him only as a thief and a gambler—one who’d saved Jude’s life. Jude had been avoiding him since their return to Kerameikos. He’d read Jude with such ease and Jude feared that if they were alone together now, Anton would take one look at him and know every wretched thought crowding inside Jude’s head. He couldn’t afford that, not with the Tribunal looming over him.

  Jude’s father withdrew his hand and then let him go alone through the doors of the Tribunal Chambers.

  The Chambers were composed of stone platforms around a central circle, in which blue and gray tile formed the seven-pointed star of the Order. The members of the Tribunal were arranged on the platforms in a half circle, facing Jude as he entered. They were a mix of Paladin and stewards, although all wore gray cloaks on this occasion. Each also wore a pin with the scales of Tarseis the Just, and their faces were veiled to maintain secrecy. Anyone could be under those veils—Jude’s old teachers, the other wards who had resented him, even his father, had Jude not seen him two minutes ago.

  Jude bowed his head as he reached the center of the circle. To his left, Penrose and the rest of the Guard sat on stone benches at the perimeter.

  The magistrate, nominated to conduct the Tribunal’s questioning, stepped forward from the rest of the group. Unlike the others, he did not wear a mask, and Jude vaguely recognized him—not a swordsman, but a steward, involved in maintaining the fort’s defenses.

  “This eighty-first session of the Tribunal of Kerameikos has been called to order,” the magistrate said. “The Tribunal would first like to acknowledge t
he unusual circumstance in which we find ourselves assembling. Never before has a Keeper of the Word been questioned in our proceedings.”

  “I am here of my own volition and will cooperate in any way the Tribunal requires,” Jude said.

  The magistrate nodded, satisfied. “The goal of these proceedings is to determine whether the Paladin oaths of the Order of the Last Light were broken, what circumstances led to the alleged oath-breaking, and what steps must be taken to resolve these matters. We will be speaking with all those who have immediate knowledge of these circumstances. The Tribunal first calls Jude Adlai Weatherbourne to speak.”

  Jude took a seat on the stone bench that sat atop a black marble dais.

  “Captain Weatherbourne, please tell us the events that preceded Hector Navarro’s departure from Pallas Athos.”

  Jude took a breath. Maybe he could convince them that Hector had left the Guard in service of the Order. Maybe then, Hector could return one day. He began to speak, telling them how he and Hector had gone together to the citadel of Pallas Athos. How they’d discovered the Pale Hand there.

  “And how did you know it was the Pale Hand?” the magistrate asked.

  Jude hesitated. The truth would count against Hector and make it appear that he had been acting out of revenge. It was exactly what Jude had accused him of, after all.

  “He recognized her,” he said at last. “He had seen her kill before. Knew what she was capable of.”

  The same fury and heartbreak that had wrenched at Jude’s chest that day seemed to clog his throat now. He swallowed it down, forging on to explain how Hector had returned to the citadel the next morning, and Jude’s own decision to follow him.

  “And when you left the villa that morning, what were you intending to do?” the magistrate asked.

  It wasn’t the question Jude had anticipated. He wondered what the magistrate hoped to learn from his answer. “My aim was to find Hector. I thought I could persuade him to return with me.”

  He paused again. This was the most critical part of the story. For the Tribunal but also for himself. The moment when the two of them had fought and Hector had left him bleeding on the floor of the ruined shrine. Even now, in retelling it, Jude felt sick.

  “And you couldn’t?” the magistrate prompted.

  “He . . . he felt he needed to see his mission through. To find the revenant he believed to be the last harbinger,” Jude hedged. Like the rest of the Paladin, the Tribunal could all sense whether someone was lying by the minute changes in their pulse, their scent, and their breath. This wasn’t a lie—it just wasn’t the whole truth. “If he was right, then his actions might have stopped the Age of Darkness.”

  “Is that so?” the magistrate said. “Captain Weatherbourne, the question is not whether Hector’s actions were wrong. What we are here to determine is not what he did but why. The breach of the covenant always starts in the same place—the heart.”

  “Only Hector can tell you exactly what was in his heart when he left.” But Jude knew some of it. The words Hector had thrown at Jude—that he never should have accepted a place in his Guard—rang through his head.

  “And if he were here, I would be asking him,” the magistrate said pointedly.

  Jude looked down at his clenched hands. The magistrate was right. No matter what Jude said to defend him, the simple truth was that Hector wasn’t here. And yet Jude was still twisting himself into knots for the faintest hope that Hector would return one day. But deep in his heart, he knew it didn’t matter if the Tribunal named Hector an oathbreaker. He was never coming back.

  “Very well,” the magistrate said softly. “On behalf of the Tribunal, we thank you for your participation today.”

  Jude felt numb as he stood from the bench and retreated from the circle.

  “The Tribunal next calls Moria Penrose to speak,” the magistrate said.

  Penrose stepped into the circle, pausing for a moment when she was shoulder to shoulder with Jude. She didn’t look at him, but he could hear the hitch in her breath as she passed him to step up onto the dais.

  “Paladin Penrose, would you agree with Captain Weatherbourne’s version of the events leading up to Hector Navarro’s departure?” the magistrate asked.

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Have you anything to add on your own account?”

  Jude looked at Penrose. There were things Jude had left out, chief among them how desperately Penrose had tried to stop him from leaving. But when she met the magistrate’s gaze, she simply shook her head. “It happened as Jude said.”

  “Very good,” the magistrate said cheerfully. “Now, I’d like to go back, to the day that Hector Navarro returned to the Order. Do you remember speaking to anyone about Navarro’s return that day?”

  “I spoke with Captain Weatherbourne,” Penrose said. “Theron Weatherbourne, that is.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He had concerns about Hector returning to us and taking his oaths.”

  Jude dug his nails into his palms. He’d known of his father’s concerns about Hector being named to the Paladin Guard—he hadn’t realized that his father’s concern had extended to Hector returning at all.

  “Did you share those concerns?”

  Penrose seemed to choose her words carefully. “It’s rare for a member of the Order to leave Kerameikos of their own will. It’s even rarer for them to return once they’ve left. We all had questions.”

  “How did you respond to the former Captain Weatherbourne’s concerns?” the magistrate asked.

  “I told him I thought Jude might choose Navarro as a member of his Guard.” Penrose paused. “And that I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

  The magistrate latched onto Penrose’s hesitation like a hound catching the scent of blood. “Are those the words you used?”

  “No,” Penrose said.

  “Then what did you say?”

  Penrose glanced toward Jude. “I said I thought it would be the worst mistake of Jude’s life.”

  Her words cracked over Jude like a blow. He had known Penrose was worried when Hector came back, but he hadn’t realized the depth of it. Even more shocking was that she’d spoken to his father in such a way. It bordered on insubordination to her future Keeper. Penrose would have known that, which meant her distrust of Hector was important enough to risk it.

  “You felt it would be a mistake because of the questions surrounding Hector Navarro?” the magistrate asked, almost gently. “Because you feared Navarro would not be committed to his oath?”

  Penrose looked down. This was it. Despite Jude’s attempts to protect Hector, Penrose’s suspicion of him meant Hector would be deemed an oathbreaker. Sentenced to die.

  Penrose took a deep breath, closing her eyes. “No.”

  Hope fluttered in Jude’s chest.

  “What was the reason for your objection?” the magistrate asked.

  “I was afraid,” Penrose said, her voice shaking ever so slightly, “that Jude was in love with Hector. And that as much as I knew Jude to be committed and true to his duty, I also feared that if Hector was with him, Jude’s feelings would compromise him.”

  Jude’s whole body went hot and then ice-cold, as though he’d been burned by Godfire. Ash coated his lungs, the pit of his stomach. This was the moment he’d feared since he was sixteen years old and realized that his commitment to his destiny was not as unshakable as he once thought. The moment when all Jude’s shortcomings, his failures, his unworthiness was laid bare to the rest of the Order. When they all saw that instead of a staunch heart, inside Jude’s chest beat a wild and tender thing.

  “In your opinion, did Jude Weatherbourne’s feelings compromise him?” the magistrate asked softly.

  Penrose looked down at her lap and didn’t answer. The magistrate let the silence hang.

  Finally, in a tiny voice, Penrose said, “Yes.”

  “It’s as I said,” the magistrate said, almost pitying. “The breach of the covenant starts in the h
eart. Paladin Penrose, can you please speak the oath of the Paladin Guard?”

  Penrose swallowed as if fighting back tears, but when she spoke her voice was as hard as steel. “‘I swear to fulfill the duties of my office, to uphold the virtues of chastity, poverty, obedience, and devote myself, my Grace, and my life to the Order of the Last Light.’”

  “By chasing after Hector Navarro, by putting his feelings for him above his sworn duty as Keeper of the Word, did Jude Weatherbourne uphold this oath?”

  Jude sucked in a sharp breath. Even without looking into her eyes, Jude knew Penrose’s answer. He knew, too, how much it hurt her to say it. The sentence for a Paladin who broke their oaths was death. But Jude also knew that when he’d decided to go after Hector, he understood exactly what it had meant.

  “No,” Penrose said, her voice hollow. “I don’t believe he did.”

  “And this was your gravest concern, wasn’t it?” the magistrate asked. “Not that Hector Navarro would break his oath—but that Jude Weatherbourne would.”

  3

  BERU

  THE WHOLE PLACE STANK OF PISS.

  Beru pulled her blue linen scarf over her nose as she ducked through the crowd. It helped with the smell only slightly.

  The air roiled with the jeers of the crowd as they huddled like vultures over the blood-soaked sandpits. Below, fighters brawled fist to fist—sometimes to the vicious end. Some were prisoners carted in from neighboring villages, for whom a good showing in the pits might mean early release. Some were desperate wanderers who’d blown in on a desert wind, looking for a handful of coin or a thrill.

  This was what passed for entertainment in this dust-filled nothing of a town. People flocked here to attend matches and bet on their outcomes. Beru didn’t much see the appeal of watching someone get their face smashed in or collecting broken teeth at the bottom of a pit, but she wasn’t here to watch.

  She’d left Medea over a week ago, walking away from her sister and the only life she’d ever known. She’d had no destination in mind, just a voice in her head that whispered, Atone.