“Can you see anything? What is going on?” Tomias asked.
“What do you think is happening? There is only one thing that could possibly draw a crowd this big in a city full of crazy people.”
The structure she’d caught a glimpse of before was one made of wood, the edge of the platform stained a faded red. There was no longer any doubt what took place in that square, no longer a doubt what she was about to witness. A man, bloated and ugly, stepped onto the platform amid enthusiastic cheers. He was clothed in black robes and clenched in his hand was a blade, long and curved and deadly. His bald head was misshapen, a jagged scar marring the surface from the back of his head to his left temple. His eye on the same side was a milky white, the injury having robbed him of its use.
Excited cries rose from those nearest the platform and spread outwards, the giddy energy a plague afflicting them all. A string of prisoners was being marched into the square, guarded on all sides by Seekers in black robes. The prisoners were bound and hooded, their identities lost beneath black fabric.
“And now?” Tomias asked, keeping close to the crate. His hand hovered near her boots, ready to yank her to safety if things got out of control.
“They have prisoners. They are leading them up to the platform.”
“Kir, come down. You don’t need to see this.” He reached a hand out towards her but she shooed him away. She just wanted to see their faces, to know who the royal family feared so much that they would murder them for entertainment.
The prisoners were led one by one to the platform and forced to their knees before the crowd. Down the line the executioner went, tearing away the hood hiding each face. The first of the prisoners was an older man, his wild hair streaked with gray. He spat at the executioner’s feet and the response was a meaty fist colliding with his jaw. The man went limp, his chin bobbing towards his chest.
Satisfied, the executioner moved on. Another hood was ripped away, another victim revealed to all. He was young, his face round and pale and frightened. Fear forced him to shrink before the executioner, his lip quivering. The executioner reached out a hand, gave the boy a pat on the head. All around was laughter and Kirheen felt sick, a burning hatred awakening in her gut. How could anyone laugh knowing what would happen to him? How could anyone watch? It was monstrous what they were doing. It wasn’t enough to just kill them, they had to taunt and humiliate them too.
Rotting food went flying through the air, pelting prisoners with sludge. The joyful cheering that followed only fed her anger, stoking the flames until it roared through her entire being. It had to stop. Something had to be done. The executions and death and fear, it all had to see an end before it corrupted them all, before that joyful hatred became the core of all these people knew.
She felt Tomias grip her leg, only he wasn’t trying to pull her away. She looked down at him and he gave her a solemn, meaningful look. It must have been so easy to see on her face; the hurt, and anger, and disbelief. She turned back to the crowd, watching as the next hood was drawn back.
Her heart stopped, cracked, and shattered into a hundred tiny fragments. It was a face she recognized, a face that shouldn’t have been there at all. Gap-toothed little Tegan looked different than she remembered, but she’d have recognized him anywhere. He looked over the crowd with an air of strength and fearlessness she had never seen in him before. He looked ready to face his own death, as if he felt proud of whatever he’d done to end up on that platform.
“No.” Kirheen could no longer keep herself upright. She collapsed in a heap, her head in her hands. Tomias gripped her wrists, his voice frantic.
“Kir, what’s wrong? What did you see? Tell me, please.”
She lifted her head and met Tomias’ worried gaze. The words that left her lips were dry and brittle as kindling. “I-I can’t watch this. H-he’s up there. They’ll kill him. They’re going to kill him.”
“Who are you talking about? Kirheen, who is up there?” he demanded, his hands cupping her cheeks. “Who?”
“Tegan, damn it. It’s Tegan,” she cried. She couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t sit by and just watch his life be snuffed out. Pushing against Tomias, she tried to scramble off the crate. He grabbed her tightly, kept her rooted in place.
“Hey. Hey, just listen to me,” he hissed. “We can’t get involved. We can’t.”
Kirheen flailed. “They are going to murder him, my friend. He is one of us. I can’t let this happen, not after Sanctuary, not after what I did to them all. I can’t.”
Cheers erupted and Kirheen could swear she smelt blood in the air. She pushed herself back to her feet. The older man that had spit on the executioner was wearing a sheet of scarlet, his life blood pouring from a second smile slashed across his neck. As the last of his blood drained away, he was dumped into the square below. A torch was lowered onto his body, his clothes catching and burning along with his skin. Smoke rose, sickeningly pungent.
The executioner meandered up and down the line of prisoners, each stride long and exaggerated. He was biding his time, toying with his victims. Tegan could be next. Without thinking, Kirheen launched herself off the crate, running full speed towards the crowd ahead. There was a shout and the scraping of boots on stone behind her. Arms hooked around her waist, pulled her down onto the street. She fought, scraping and clawing with her nails. “I have to stop it. I have to stop it. Let me go. Let me go. Please, please, please,” she pleaded, but it was no use. His grip was too tight and she no longer had the strength to fight against him. She went limp in his arms, feeling something inside of her break as the crowd went wild. This is my fault. All of this…
Tomias pulled her into his lap, held her close. She shook, a maelstrom of emotion ripping through heart and soul. There was nothing she could do. There was no way to make it through the crowd, no way to stop it. The Seekers would see her and kill her before she even made it that far. I’m so sorry, Tegan. Please forgive me.
Smoke filled the square, bitter and sickening. Kirheen fought down a wave of nausea, forced herself to take small, shallow breaths. Tomias stroked her hair, his hands hovering over her ears. He was trying to block out the noise, to block out the triumphant howling that reverberated through the square.
A strange feeling worked its way over her body, like bugs crawling under her skin. The frantic mass fell eerily silent, heads swiveling from left to right as they searched for the source. They feel it too. There was an explosion from across the square, an ear-shattering sound that shook the very ground beneath them. Chaos followed, people fleeing for cover while hundreds of others made for the roads leading away from the square, funnels already clogged with bodies.
Those that had been standing in front of Kirheen and Tomias surged back, eyes wide, their panic contagious. They’d barely gotten to their feet when a man came launching towards them like a bull, his eyes crazed. He barely missed colliding with Kirheen as he dove for cover behind the crate, huddling in fear.
“We need to go. We need to move. Stay with me, whatever you do,” Tomias demanded, gripping her arm as if his life depended on it. He pulled her along, sticking as close to the outlying buildings as he could. People were pressing in closer and closer. With nowhere to go, they expanded outwards, away from the explosion that had sounded from across the way. Kirheen watched as a woman tripped only to be trampled by those fleeing. People fought and clawed like animals, fearful curses rising in panicked cries as they tried to reach the exit. There was no way to squeeze through, no way to leave.
Tomias seemed to realize it just as she did. He came to a halt only to have a surge of people from behind plow over them. A stray elbow caught Kirheen on the side of the face and she fell, scraping hands and knees on stone. She shook off the pain and the confusion and launched back to her feet. Her name was being called, chanted over and over, a sound frighteningly distant. She looked from left to right, her lungs expanding and contracting in painful bursts. Tomias was nowhere to be seen, lost in the raging tide of limbs and screams
and smoke.
Another collision knocked her off her feet. A foot stomped down painfully, crushing her leg. She hissed and scrambled away from the fleeing crowd, dodging feet and fists as she went. Her heart was a drum beat of fear and adrenaline as she fought her way through. There was movement on the rooftops, just barely visible through the smoke. The Seekers were on the hunt, tracking down the source of the attack. She thought briefly about unshackling her powers, about using them to force a path through the crowd. It was a stupid idea, one more likely to get her killed than it was to actually help.
She looked around for any place she could hide, someplace where she could sit and wait out the flood. There was a small alleyway visible in her peripheral, a little nook devoid of life. Letting adrenaline strengthen her, she shoved her way to the right, diving through a group of people towards that little space of safety. She broke through, stumbled and fell. Dragging herself the rest of the way, she hid in the shadows of the surrounding buildings, making herself small and unnoticeable.
It was all so overwhelming. She could feel the panic coursing through them all, could sense those tangled threads of emotion. Despite the danger to herself, she strengthened her mental walls, put her bleeding hands over her ears and tried to block out the sounds of anguish echoing through the square. All she could do was center herself, to not let her mind be pulled into that madness.
Her thoughts drifted to Tomias, lost out there in that swarm of unknown faces. They had been separated and the thought struck a chord of panic deep within her. She was alone, adrift on a sea and surrounded by bloodthirsty sharks.
It felt like hours before the noise died down, the square slowly draining of people. She refused to look up, refused to look upon the carnage left in their wake. There would be nothing but death and blood and the remnants of that chaos. Above all, she feared finding Tomias in the wreckage, bloody and lifeless.
Something moved nearby, boots thumping on stone. She jerked her head up, eyes widening with surprise. The man before her was tall and broad shouldered, his olive skin streaked with dirt and sweat. Dark eyes regarded her with concern, not the malice she’d seen in the past.
“If you’re trying to hide, you’re doing a terrible job,” Daris said, kneeling down before her as if he were speaking to a wounded animal. “Seekers are sweeping this place and we need to be gone before we’re the only ones left to blame.”
Kirheen was too shocked to speak. The two of them weren’t exactly on good terms and he was the last person she’d expected to see. Back in Sanctuary, she’d beaten him and his lover, Vienna, during the trials. In the end, they’d fallen under Nyson’s influence and she’d been forced to fight Daris. She hadn’t spoken a word to them since. They hadn’t stayed in the Greenspur for long after the fall of Sanctuary. Now she knew where they’d gone.
He sighed. “Look, I know you’ve no reason to trust me, Kirheen. I get it. You have few choices though. Come with me and I can get you to safety or stay here and let the Seekers find you. I’ll let you pick.” He stood, his eyes sweeping the square. There were still people about, many hovering near the fallen. A few grieved, others stole. Death seemed to have little meaning in a place like Val’shar and the citizens were nothing more than vultures picking through the corpses for anything of value.
Beyond them, Kirheen could see the Seekers inspecting the damage. There were still enough people fleeing that they could sneak out, blend in with the stragglers, and be off to safety. She only had to trust the wolf.
“Come on. We’re running out of time,” he hissed, staring down at her. He thrust out his hand, glaring at her as he did.
“Gods, don’t make me regret this,” Kirheen muttered, taking his rough, callused hand in hers. He yanked her to her feet and kept hold of her hand as he led her out of the square. She looked back over her shoulder to where they had burned the first victim. Only two corpses smoldered there, turned a sickening, charred black. Maybe he’d gotten away. Maybe he was safe.
She said a silent prayer to the Allseer that Tomias had been able to do the same.
CHAPTER 20
“Focus,” Samira said sharply. “You’re going to have to forget about being uncomfortable. You need to look past it.”
Garild was sweating despite the fact that he was very much immobile. He sat on the floor, legs crossed, his focus locked on his mental wall. There was a pressure there, an iron fist smashing against his defenses. To his right, Isa was breathing hard, straining under the pressure of protecting herself from a force equally as devastating.
A section of his wall buckled inwards, groaning and creaking. Much more and it would fall. He pulled from another part of his mind, tried to patch the crumbling barricade. It wasn’t enough. It had been too long. Too many months had been spent idle, ignoring his powers in favor of staying obscure. He was feeling the strain now. Things that had once been so simple were now as difficult as using his left hand, and like it, it was going to take time to relearn the basics, to be confident once more in his own skills.
“This level of focus is nothing. It requires far more than this to hone your energy into something useful, to turn it into something real.”
The pressure increased and Garild loosed a pained growl. A part of his defense crumbled in a shower of blue sparks. Any more energy spent defending himself and he’d be past his limits, putting his mind at risk of injury, or worse. As much as he hated to admit defeat, he dropped his guard and let Samira in.
“Giving up so soon, Garild?” she purred. She withdrew, her power playfully caressing his mind before slipping away. She stood in the center of the room, a hand on her hip, red stained lips curled into a smirk. The crystals dotting her chest glowed faintly, as if reacting to the vast well of power she’d been using to pummel them.
She was an aggravating teacher, constantly pushing and prodding. It almost felt like she went out of her way to provoke him, to drive him to anger. She knew it was his weakness, what he’d resorted to in order to cope with losing his hand, and she exploited it every chance she got.
“You broke through my defenses,” he sighed. “It would have taken more energy than I had left to fix it.”
He looked to his right. Isa was still focused, her hands gripping her knees tightly. Knuckles white and jaw clenched, she fought on, the sweat on her brow a clear sign of the battle raging within.
“She’s doing well,” Samira said, casually pacing around the room, the length of her dark blue dress trailing her every step. As she walked around the perimeter, she pulled up her dark curls, binding them high on her head. The room was stifling, the air thick with moisture. “Don’t think she’ll last much longer though.”
Garild could feel a change in the air as Samira put more pressure on Isa. He watched her crumple under that wave of power. She groaned, doubling over as she fought to keep her shield up. Samira stopped her pacing, watching Isa with an amused smirk. “She’s really trying.”
“I can’t say I blame her,” Garild said dryly, narrowing his eyes at his mentor.
“Oh, don’t pout. At least I’m having fun with it all.”
He ignored her, rising to his feet and heading across the room to one of the windows. A light rain had swept across the jungle, filling the room with the smell of damp earth and vegetation. He held his hand out, letting drops of water kiss his skin. He’d been given new clothing; loose pants and a billowing shirt of the darkest navy blue, both made of a material that managed to keep him comfortable in the heat.
Despite no longer being in the fight, Garild could feel a surge of power radiate from Samira. Isa lasted but a few more seconds and then her muttered curse carried across the room.
“Not bad, Isa. You outlasted Garild, at least,” Samira said.
Isa looked up at her, her eyes falling to the crystals protruding from her chest. Her breath rushed out of in ragged gasps. “H-how are you…so freakishly…strong?”
Samira laughed. “A mystery, dear, but the crystals have something to do with it. At least we
know that much.”
“I know it’s been months since we’ve used our powers, but that just felt ridiculous. I could barely keep you out from the start.”
“Energy management is an art and anyone that tells you otherwise is a fool. You have a good base to build up from, but you need practice. You both know the basics. You were trained enough for that at least, but beyond that, you’ll have to start learning how to juggle. You have to protect yourself both mentally and physically, and that is a lot more work than simply attacking and defending in a planned environment.”
Garild shook his head and made his way over to Isa. He held out his hand and she looked at it, her blue eyes wide with surprise. He was starting to forget what a jerk he’d been to everyone. They didn’t expect him to be kind. They didn’t expect him to help. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet, careful not to step on the fabric of her pale yellow dress. “You did good,” he said. He’d pushed everyone away with his anger. It was time he started repairing the damage.
Isa thanked him and quickly turned away, her cheeks tinged pink. Garild smiled only to catch Samira glancing between them. He glared, forcing a single thought towards her. “Don’t you dare.” She gave him a wolfish grin, her eyes shining with mischievous glee.
“I’ll be nice,” she cooed back.
“So, what exactly will we be able to do once we get this whole energy thing down?” Garild asked, trying to change the subject. The last thing he needed was Samira shifting the whole atmosphere into the realm of awkward.
Samira held her palm up to the ceiling. There was a slight shimmer in the air and then a thousand blue lines burst into being, wrapping around and around until they’d weaved into a swirling orb of light. She flung the ball of energy towards Isa and out of instinct, she caught it with a yelp.
“This is… it’s real,” she said with a bewildered gasp. “Garild, come here.”
The Allseer Trilogy Page 50
