Ivanore continued to gaze out the window, though she saw nothing but her own grief, a black void that sucked at her soul. She wanted Arik gone. She wanted to be alone.
“Get out, Arik,” she said.
Seconds of silence passed. Her brother made no move to obey her.
“Ivanore,” he began, but she could take no more of his presence. Not today. Not ever.
“Get out!” she shouted, finally turning to face him with rage and agony burning through her.
She was startled to see Arik’s cheeks wet with tears. The realization that he had been crying was as unexpected as her waking to find herself in this room again. But whether or not his tears were real, she no longer cared. He wasn’t a boy anymore, to be comforted and consoled. He was a man, a man with a dark power, the kind of power that corrodes the soul. And his was beyond retribution. She knew that now and was resigned to it.
Arik stared at her, surprise in his eyes. It reminded her of how young he really was, barely twenty yet with an entire army at his beck and call. She steeled herself against this show of emotion.
“You are not my brother,” she said. “You are dead to me. Now get out.”
As her words descended on him, Arik’s expression transformed from surprise, to hurt, to hardness. The muscles in his jaw clenched. He lifted his chin and drew in a deliberate breath.
“Have it your way then,” he said. “Stay in this room or the dungeons, I don’t care. But you are no longer a guest here. You are a prisoner, a traitor to the Vatéz.”
“Have I ever been anything else?” Ivanore returned sharply.
Arik swiftly moved to the door and pulled it openly with a jerk. “Be grateful,” he said, “that I don’t kill you the way I had your husband killed. Slaughtered like the animal he was.”
Ivanore flinched when Arik slammed the door shut, and flinched again when the lock fell into place. Once she was alone, her self-control disintegrated, and she fell back onto her bed, weeping.
Grateful? How could she be grateful? She wanted, more than anything, to be dead along with Jayson.
5
The days following Brommel’s delivery of Arla to the mine passed uneventfully. Brommel helped out in the inn, serving drinks and meals, repairing damaged chairs, and running errands for Mrs. Peagry, though his thoughts were preoccupied by the promise he had made and how he would fulfill it, to find information on a princess that had been missing for years. He wasn’t even sure where to begin. Perhaps when he returned from his next trip for Prost, he would ask him about Ivanore. He might even make time to visit the library in Noam. But there was no rush. Arla had months of servitude ahead of her. In the meantime, however, Brommel had a different promise to keep.
He awoke one morning two weeks after returning home and felt more at ease than he had in a long time. He and Rylan left the inn early, before sunrise, and headed out across the city toward the Fortress. They would enjoy breakfast on the shore, then later, visit the festival.
Brommel suggested they take the inland route and bypass the watchtower altogether, and Rylan agreed. They gave the Fortress a wide berth and after an hour of walking came to the first of the famed water trees. They had been planted by the early inhabitants of Imaness a hundred years before Lord Fredric or any humans arrived from Hestoria. The narrow, sparse forest of thin-trunked trees grew right up to the shoreline and were spaced evenly about two yards apart. There were several hundred trees altogether, and the residents of Dokur prided themselves on having protected the forest for as long as they had occupied the city. They enjoyed picnics and long leisurely walks among them. Even Fredric was known for enjoying solitary hours roaming among the trees at night.
Rylan led Brommel through the trees until they came to the edge of the sea’s gently rolling surf. “Let’s eat here,” he suggested.
Mrs. Peagry had packed a feast of cheese sandwiches, and dried venison, and pears. They found a dry patch of sand just beyond the surf’s reach and sat down. Brommel leaned his back against a tree while Rylan retrieved their food from his knapsack.
“You’re quite right about this place,” said Brommel. “It’s truly beautiful.”
The sun was beginning to rise in the east, to the right over Dokur, and the colors along the horizon shifted from deep indigo to orange.
As the distant sky lightened, Brommel noticed a small silhouette on the horizon.
“Look there,” said Brommel, pointing in the direction of the shape. “A ship is heading this way.”
He and Rylan watched as the shape grew larger and more distinct. Soon the sails were visible, as were the colors of its flag, yellow and black.
Brommel sat up and peered more carefully at the approaching ship. “It’s from Hestoria,” he said.
A bellowing horn cut through the air.
“Isn’t that the watch tower?” said Rylan.
Brommel nodded. Ships arriving at Dokur were not unusual, though the watchtower was erected years earlier to detect incoming fleets of enemy ships. They had once been attacked by Hestoria and were determined to never let that happen again. Now, whenever a ship entered the massive Dokur harbor, the watchtower blew the horn to alert the King and the royal navy. If it was only a single ship, then it would be allowed to dock, though inspection was required. No ship arrived at Dokur without the entire city being made aware of it.
Brommel and Rylan had watched many a ship sail into port. For the boy, it was always an adventure to see what cargo would be unloaded, what sort of persons would step ashore. And today was no different.
“Papa, let’s go see the ship,” he said excitedly. “Please.”
“But I thought we were having a picnic,” laughed Brommel, already packing up his meal.
Rylan took his father’s hand and together they ran along the beach toward the docks. Dokur’s navy consisted of several dozen ships, some docked and others out in the bay. The sailors paid no heed as the new arrival maneuvered beside a dock, its bow rising and falling rhythmically in the gentle surf.
Moments later, the ship’s captain appeared wearing a smart leather coat that reached to his knees. He was met by one of Dokur’s leaders who sent three of his investigators on board. Not long after, they returned and reported all clear.
The ship sprang to life as men scurried about the deck as boxes and parcels were unloaded and organized on the dock, and the ship’s passengers began to disembark. There weren’t as many as Brommel had expected, just two dozen or so, families of men, women, and children. They looked tired, worn out from the journey, no doubt, but there was something else about them that Brommel noted as unusual. They were all obviously Hestorian, with their dark complexions and hair. Brommel was at first pleased to see so many of his own countrymen. Hestorians were not customarily welcomed in Dokur, but these arrived with seemingly no questioning.
The faces of the newcomers were drawn, fearful, and sad. It was as if they were at once grateful to have arrived and yet afraid of what awaited them. Children clung fearfully to their mother’s skirts. Husbands kept their arms protectively around the wives’ shoulders.
What were they afraid of, Brommel wondered?
He narrowed his eyes, examining each person as they stepped hesitantly off the ship and onto the dock, looking confused and lost. Then Brommel realized that they had no baggage with them. Not any of them. And their clothes looked dirty, as if they’d worn the same thing for many days.
Brommel drew in a sharp breath as a realization came to him.
Beside him, Rylan seemed to sense a change in his father’s demeanor. “What is it, Papa? What’s wrong?”
“These Hestorians,” said Brommel. “They’re not visitors from the mainland. They are refugees.”
6
“Where am I?” Jayson asked again, when neither Teak nor Dianis responded to his first question. Dianis glanced at her husband before finally speaking.
“We’re in a cabin deep in the forest. It belongs to a woman named Agnora, a friend of the Guilde. We’re saf
e here.”
“Safe? Safe from what?”
Teak reached over to straighten Jayson’s blanket, but their silence irritated him. He tried to push Teak’s hand away, but his muscles would not respond. Instead, his own hand twitched painfully.
“What happened to me?” Jayson asked. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
Dianis laid her hand on his. Her warmth calmed the rebellious appendage.
“Don’t you remember, Jayson?” Her eyes peered questioningly into his. He shook his head, though even that slight movement sent spikes of pain through his skull.
“We were attacked by the Vatéz. Arik sent an entire company of soldiers to Ashlin before sunrise and took everyone by surprise.”
Jayson absorbed this news. Vatéz. Attack at Ashlin.
“I want to go back,” he said. “The Guardians need me.”
“The Guardians are gone,” said Teak.
“What do you mean?”
“Ashlin is gone,” said Dianis. “The buildings were all burned.” She went on to explain how she and Teak had left Ashlin after their wedding. They had traveled to the nearest village to stay the night before their planned honeymoon excursion to the coast. But in the morning, a messenger brought them word of the attack. They returned as quickly as they could to find Ashlin in ruins, the grounds littered with bodies of the dead.
“Some managed to escape,” said Teak. “A few are living in the woods in makeshift shelters. Others were taken in by sympathetic villages. I gathered as many as I could and sent them safely out of Hestoria by ship. But others refused to leave.”
An image of fire, of blood, spread over Jayson’s mind. In it he could make out the burning silhouette of the big house and of blurred figures running from the flames. Their screams cut through him like a blade. He pressed his eyes closed. He was starting to feel dizzy.
“I’m trying to remember,” said Jayson, “but it’s all a blur. How did I end up here?”
“We found you in the field,” explained Teak. “We thought you were dead, like the others, but Dianis noticed that you were still breathing. Your wounds would have killed any normal human.”
Jayson thought of his Agoran mother and silently thanked her for endowing him with enhanced qualities. Perhaps that was what had saved him.
“So you brought me here?” asked Jayson.
“Yes, but —” Dianis’s voice broke off.
“But?” prompted Jayson
“You survived, Jayson, but for a long time you were close to death. You lost a lot of blood. Your skull was badly injured from a blow, which is probably why you’re can’t remember what happened. Then you struggled with infection after infection. We didn’t think you’d make it.”
“You said a long time. How long?”
“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for twelve days.”
Jayson felt the weight of his head against the pillow. Twelve days. His friends were killed twelve days ago.
“Gerard,” said Jayson. “Where is—?”
Teak shook his head. “Dianis’ father didn’t make it,” he said.
Dianis turned her eyes down to hide the tears. Gerard had been one of the first humans on Imaness to befriend the Agoran. The realization that he was gone was a deep wound in Jayson’s heart.
And the stone, Ivanore’s crystal—
But somehow he knew that was gone as well.
He didn’t want to hear any more. What could he do about any of it now, in this condition? How could he help the Guardians? From what Teak said, most were dead. And those who had managed to escape were in hiding. He thought of the children. He knew the Vatéz too well to expect that they had spared the children. Their suffering hurt him most of all.
How could he have let this happen? Where had he been? How had an army approached his land without his knowing it?
The muscles in Jayson’s stomach seized. He tried to turn aside before he vomited, but he had no strength. Dianis snatched a nearby bucket and braced the back of his head as he emptied the contents of his belly into it. Apparently, this had happened before and she was prepared for it.
When his muscles had stopped convulsing, Jayson felt weaker than ever. The room spun. Dianis held a cup of water to his lips, and he drank it. The cool liquid relieved the dryness on his lips and tongue. An overwhelming fatigue overtook him. He wanted to thank Teak and Dianis for looking after him, but before he could form the thought, sleep came for him.
***
The next time he woke, Jayson noted that the room was flooded with daylight. The place was a small one-room cabin, he realized, and he was lying in its only bed. The fireplace was on the opposite side from where he slept, and between them was a heavy-looking, rectangular table made of wood. Standing at this table was a woman. He remembered that her name was Agnora. Her form was short and squat, with thick arms and a determined look on her creased face. She repeatedly punched her fists into a thick round of bread dough, as though she were taking vengeance on an enemy.
Jayson watched, mesmerized by the rhythm of Agnora’s kneading. Punch, punch, press, roll. Over and over. He recalled watching his mother do the same thing with corn dough, which she would then flatten into a wide disc and heat on an iron skillet. The Guardians too made bread daily with wheat they had grown in the fields of Ashlin. The memory made him feel sick again, but he pushed the thought and the urge away.
The woman glanced up from her work and pierced him with an approving gaze. Her fists never stopped as she spoke. “Finally come back from the dead, I see. Up for a bit of breakfast?”
Jayson shook his head, happy to discover that he was no longer dizzy and seemed to have more control of his body than he had before.
“Too bad,” said Agnora, giving the dough one final, vicious stab. “I’ve got broth simmering on the fire. You’ll have a bowl of that. You’ve been in that bed hovering between life and death for long enough. Time to bring you back into the world of the living.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and crossed the room to a cabinet from which she retrieved a bowl. Then she moved to the fireplace and ladled out some steaming liquid from a caldron. She dipped her pinky into the soup and touched it to her tongue.
“Not bad,” she said. “Could do with a bit more salt, but I don’t want to overwhelm your stomach on the first go.” Agnora carried the bowl to Jayson, moving much swifter than he imagined a woman her age should be able to. “Now, sit yourself up.”
Jayson felt obliged to obey. He pushed against his elbows and got himself into an upright position, leaning back against the wall. The woman handed him the bowl. Jayson, still weak, accepted it and brought it too his lips. But as he tried to tip the contents into his mouth, his bandaged hands started to shake. Liquid sloshed out of the bowl onto the blanket.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered, unable to explain his sudden clumsiness.
The woman snatched a rag from her apron pocket and efficiently cleaned up the mess. Then she took the bowl from Jayson’s hands and helped him drink.
When he had drained the bowl dry and the woman had placed it in her basin, she returned to his bedside and straightened the covers, tucking them beneath his legs.
“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” said Jayson.
“It’s Teak and Dianis you should be thanking.” She pressed her fists into her hips and gave his bed a nod of approval. “If it weren’t for those two, you’d still be lying out on that farm, your flesh all eaten by crows and whatnot. It was they who saved you, and your own ferocious will, I have to say. Never seen anyone fight so hard to live, not I.”
“Where are Teak and Dianis?”
Agnora moved back to the table and resumed kneading her dough. “You didn’t expect them to stay here forever, did you? They left yesterday morning, but you’ve been in too much of a state to notice. Teak grew up not far from here, you know. Hasn’t been there since his uncle died a few years back. The man raised him. Teak and that young wife of his have gone back there to fix up t
he place, make it their home. It’ll be good to see that farm back in use again. Be good to have a family growing there.”
“Will they be back?”
“Of course, in two days, maybe three. Until then, it’s fallen to me to get your strength up.”
With the resolve of a soldier in combat, Agnora grabbed the unwieldy lump of dough in both fists and tore it into halves. Then she repeated the gesture with each piece, resulting in four smaller wads, each of which she deftly shaped into a perfect sphere. She set them, in a row, on the hearth near the fire and draped a cloth over them.
“We’ll have fresh bread by supper,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Hope you’ll feel up to some solid food.”
Jayson did notice that his stomach, awakened by the broth, had begun to grumble. He took it as a good sign. “What are you cooking?”
Agnora stepped back to the table. From underneath, she retrieved a bucket of water in which she dipped her hands. Then, drying her hands on her apron, she crossed the room to the door. Jayson hadn’t noticed before, but now he spotted the bow and quiver hanging on a peg. Agnora pulled off her apron and traded it for the bow.
“Not sure yet,” she said with a playful grin. “I’ll let you know when I get back in a few hours.”
And with that, Agnora headed out the door and was gone.
Jayson stared at the closed door for a long time after the woman left, astonished at the person whom Teak had given charge to care for him. Jayson wasn’t sure if he should be grateful to be in the hands of such a confident, strong woman — or concerned.
He settled back against his pillow, fatigue already claiming him. He had little strength and was in no condition to care for himself, that much was evident. He counted the days since the attack on Ashlin. He thought it must be at least fourteen now. Maybe fifteen. Might as well be a century, for all he could remember. For him, it was as if nothing had happened at all. If it weren’t for his injuries and the few remnants of what he assumed were memories, he wouldn’t have believed Teak’s story.
The Crystal Keeper BoxSet Page 22
