Children of a Broken Sky (Redemption Chronicle Book 1)

by Adam J Nicolai

  Chanting? "What do you mean?"

  "Sorcery."

  "How do you know?"

  Syntal shushed her again, then started for the door.

  "Syntal, wait. Are you saying there's a witch—"

  Seth was standing guard in the hallway. Syntal hurried past him and toward the stairs. He threw a look at Lyseira and followed.

  "Syn!" Lyseira hissed.

  The lights were down in the common room. A makeshift stage had been set up at one end, and a man was crouched at its edge, holding a hat.

  "Thank you," he said as someone threw in some coin. "Too kind." He had close-cropped black hair, tinged with grey, and a long, sharp face. The goatee only made it seem longer.

  A sign had been posted on the wall behind him. It read, in glittering, grandiose lettering:

  Marlin the Magnificent.

  "You were so funny!" a young woman exclaimed as she approached. "The pigeons... how did you do that?"

  He winked. "Oh, my dear, a good magician never reveals his secrets."

  "Him," Syntal whispered to Lyseira. "It was him."

  Lyseira balked. "He was doing it in front of everyone?" How stupid could someone be?

  "Yes. I could feel it upstairs. And look at his eyes."

  Lyseira peered, but she could barely make out the man's face in the dark, let alone his eyes. "What about them?"

  "Exactly," Syntal said.

  Lyseira glowered, annoyed by the cryptic answer, but then she caught the other girl's meaning. If Syntal was right and he had been working real sorcery, his eyes should have been unmistakable. So why aren't they?

  Marlin glanced at them with a lingering grin, full of crooked teeth. His face abruptly sobered. "Joe, take the hat," he called. A younger man scrambled forward and did as he was told. Marlin jumped off the stage and swept toward them. Seth took a protective step forward.

  "Are you a fool?" Marlin demanded. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

  "I—I felt you chanting from upstairs," Syntal stammered. "I came down—"

  "Keep your sehking voice down!" He turned, flashed a broad grin at his patrons, and gave a short wave. The smile died as he turned back. "Get out of here, before someone sees your eyes. Someone who's not too thick to understand what they mean."

  Syntal blanched, but regained herself. Her face hardened. "Not until you tell me why your eyes are normal."

  Marlin scoffed and looked at Seth. "If your friend doesn't learn some common sense, she won't be long for the world." He turned away, but Syntal's next words stopped him.

  "I'll tell them what you are."

  He spun back. "You wouldn't dare. They'd burn us both."

  She changed tactics. "Please. My home is gone. I'm being hunted. I need to know how you do it."

  A flicker of sympathy crossed his features and was gone. He cursed and shook his head.

  "Master Marlin?" his apprentice called from the stage. "All finished, here."

  Marlin waved him off. "How old are you?" he whispered.

  "Seventeen winters," Syntal said.

  He cursed again and glared at her. "Room seven," he finally said. "Upstairs. One hour." He paused. "Do you have a book?"

  Syntal nodded.

  "Bring it," he said, and left.

  vi. Iggy

  The next morning Iggy found himself at the counter near the kitchen, waiting for the food he'd ordered and wondering if things would ever be normal again.

  Their situation had changed abruptly last night when Syntal returned from her visit with Marlin. Apparently the older man had been interested in some of Syntal's spells, and had offered to pay handsomely for them. Syntal now had three horses with tack and two golden crowns: enough animals to carry them all to Keldale, and enough money to cover breakfast with plenty to spare. Since he was least likely to be recognized, Seth had nominated Iggy to come downstairs and get food for everyone.

  Which was all wonderful, but it did leave Iggy unsettled. When he'd left Southlight, he'd been worried for his own safety. He'd wanted to get away from the Tribunal, certain they'd come after him next. He had ended up chasing down his friends to warn them about the blizzard, but since, things had spiraled out of control.

  Syntal was a witch, and Lyseira too—though she seemed loath to admit it, Angbar was right when he said her miracles condemned her in the eyes of the Church. Now there was another sorcerer, and they were accepting his payment to help them get where they were going.

  Iggy had wanted to get away from sorcery and strange eyes and the Tribunal, but every morning, it seemed like he was sinking deeper into all three.

  And what of it? he accused himself. Maybe this was where he belonged. He could talk to animals, for the love of Akir.

  You can also heal, just like a priest, his mind whispered, but he shut it out. He didn't like to think about that.

  "How was the trip from Keldale?" the innkeep asked, catching Iggy's attention.

  "Been better," the young man at the next stool answered. He took a long draught from a steaming mug.

  "You head that way often?" Iggy asked. Some news of the route could be helpful. Just don't attract too much attention, Seth admonished in his head.

  "Now and again." The other man looked at him. He had inquisitive eyes and sharp features, but the curl to his hair gave him a boyish look.

  "Oh now, Harth's just being coy," the innkeep said to Iggy. "He lives up there."

  "Is that right?" Iggy looked to Harth. "What brings you down?"

  Harth took another drink and wiped his mouth. "Just a little business. Got in yesterday—just beat the blizzard. Why? Heading north?"

  The innkeep disappeared into the kitchen, and Iggy hesitated. In his head, Seth glared. Don't say too much. "Got family comin' down this way," he said, feeling pleased with himself. "Was just hoping you might be able to tell me how the road was, with the blizzard and all, but if you got in yesterday..."

  "I wouldn't know. I came the long way. But you can expect your family to be delayed—even if the blizzard didn't catch them, the Church did."

  Sehk. How did he know? Iggy fought to keep his face casual, but couldn't resist a quick glance around the common room. It was nearly empty.

  "Easy," Harth said, chuckling. "I only mean they're stopping everyone on that road—headed north or south. Or so I've heard." He leaned forward and whispered, "That's why I skipped it."

  Iggy said nothing. He suddenly felt like this conversation had been a very bad idea. How long can a few flapjacks take to fry? he wondered.

  "If your… family were interested in avoiding all the trouble of the north road, though, they could go 'round, down through Fors and then east, into Coram. That's the way I came. Avoided most of the storm, too."

  "You took the Wolfwood road?" Iggy asked, surprised. The road ran right along the cursed forest's tree line for miles north. It was practically legendary. They said the Storm had turned the wolves of the wood mad. They killed any travelers who came too close. The old Wolfwood road had been abandoned for years.

  Harth spread his hands. "It's not always the safest route, but its reputation is worse than it deserves. Someone dies on that road, it's because they did something stupid. The wolves won't give you any trouble if you keep your distance. Usually. More importantly"—he actually winked—"they don't ask any questions about where you're headed or what your business is.

  "Besides," Harth went on, "that blizzard barely grazed the Wolfwood road. Most of the way is clear."

  The innkeep slid two plates of flapjacks and sausage onto the counter. "More comin'," she said.

  "Thanks. I'll bring these upstairs." Iggy jumped off the stool.

  "Your family familiar with Keldale?" Harth asked.

  Iggy debated his answer, and finally nodded. "Well, sure. It's their home. They've lived there as long as they've been alive."

  "Ah. Nothing to worry about then. I was just gonna mention they might not even be able to get out of the city right now. There's some kind of big Church even
t happening soon; they're watching everything. If your folks needed any help, I was gonna offer to hunt them down when I return. I know the city pretty well; I grew up there. They wouldn't be the first ones I've shown around." He shrugged. "But if they know their way around..."

  Rev'naas take it, Iggy thought. He glanced around again and leaned in. "You spend a lot of time getting people around Church patrols?"

  Harth matched his low tone. "A lot."

  "How much?"

  "Three shells a head."

  Eighteen shells. That's almost everything Syntal has left. "There's six of us," Iggy said. "Do it for fifteen?"

  Harth gave him a mirthless smile. "Nope."

  I tried. "Deal."

  Chapter 13

  i. Angbar

  The sign was like something from a story, one of the scary ones the kids would tell on the Night of Rev'naas. It was old, battered wood, jutting from the bare earth like a splinter, written in faded red paint.

  Danger—wolves.

  The road beyond was thick with dying autumn grass. It wended closer to the tree line as it ran north, until maybe a hundred paces of frozen earth separated the two.

  Veiling Green, sometimes called Wolfwood, was a sea of dark firs beneath a grey sky, stretching endlessly away toward the mountains of the Tears in the west. Trees whispered like devils as they rustled in the wind, the shadows between their trunks thick as midnight.

  Lyseira cast a final doubtful look back at Iggy. "We won't get twenty paces in Keldale without a guide," Iggy had said, and Angbar had agreed. She'd been the hardest to convince, but ultimately she'd gone along with the vote.

  They rode north and passed an old campsite, where a travel sack hung impaled on a tree; it flapped in the wind like a flag. "Leave it," Harth called when Iggy made to check the site for supplies. "It's been there for weeks." A mile on, Angbar saw the hulk of a broken-down wagon forty paces off the road. The winding grasses in its axles seemed to be hauling it slowly toward the trees.

  What happened to the people? Angbar wanted to ask, but he didn't want to hear the answer.

  "Stay on the road," Harth warned them more than once. "You notice how all the dead camps and broken wagons are on that side?" He jerked his head toward the wood. "Stay on the road."

  If the Church is right about the Rending, Angbar thought that afternoon, I wonder if this is what everything will look like at the end. He imagined a world consumed by rev'naas, all the people gone and the buildings overgrown, invisible monsters lurking behind every tree. The Storm had already reclaimed the Wolfwood road. Maybe it was just a matter of time until it got everything else.

  ii. Iggy

  They camped on the east side of the road, away from the wood. After being woken for third watch, Iggy sat huddled in the dark, alone with his thoughts, waiting for dawn. When it finally spread over the plain, his blood ran cold.

  The wolves had crept from the wood in the night. They were perched halfway between the road and the forest, sitting like soldiers at attention, their eyes trained on him. Their line stretched as far along the road as he could see.

  Wolves! Panic sparked in the horses. Run! Wolves!

  No! Iggy whispered. Wait! There were enough of the wolves that if they decided to attack, they would overwhelm the little group in seconds. Don't shout. Don't move. Do nothing. He froze and watched them, like his mother had always told him to do as a child when a bee landed on his arm.

  You're mad! his mount said.

  They haven't attacked. If they do, then you can run. Let me think.

  The sun crawled higher. In its light, the wolves' eyes flickered like fireflies.

  Finally, slowly, he rose. The line didn't move, but their eyes followed him. He cast his own gaze to their feet, trying to appear submissive.

  We mean you no harm, he said through the wind.

  Their ears flattened; their nostrils flared. One, a lithe grey with a ring of black around its neck and chest, pawed at the earth, whining.

  It speaks, one of the animals murmured. It was impossible to say which one.

  It lies, said another. Tall-walkers always bring harm.

  Stay away. The warning rippled through their line like a growl.

  We will, he returned. I promise. We're just using the road.

  There is no road. A huge white, its face twisted by an old burn across one cheek, took a step forward. Only a scar, slowly healing. It is ours.

  Iggy nodded, keeping his eyes low. His instincts screamed for him to wake the others and run. But he had never seen anything like this, and he couldn't let it alone. Why are you doing this?

  The white's eyes narrowed.

  You invite trouble by attacking travelers, Iggy pressed. It's not the way of wolves to attack men for no reason. Why are you doing this?

  We do what we must, the white said, but another answered, We guard the wood.

  The wolf to its left snarled and nipped it in the ear. It recoiled with a yelp.

  The wood? Iggy asked.

  The white gave a low growl. Ignore the pup. She's a fool.

  We need the road, Iggy said. A storm has blocked the other paths. We'll leave your wood alone. You have my word.

  The word of a tall-walker is nothing. Be gone.

  Not mine, Iggy insisted. I swear, I wish you no harm. I will keep my pack away from the wood—

  Be gone, the white snarled, or we will bleed you!

  Iggy took a step back despite himself. Then he met the white's eyes. No. He stepped forward again. We will take this road. We will leave your wood alone. And if you attack us, one of us will escape, and we will tell the other tall-walkers that your wood has treasure.

  Your flesh will be sweet, man-speaker.

  Do you know what treasure is? Iggy locked eyes with the beast, staring it down, willing his hands not to shake.

  Gold, the wolf said. The word was clumsy.

  Yes. Gold. And tall-walkers will do anything for gold. They will come here in numbers, from all around. You won't be able to stop them. I will see to it myself.

  The line erupted in protests.

  It lies!

  Our pack is larger than theirs!

  Bleed them now!

  The white gave a sharp bark, and the clamor fell away. Behind him, Iggy heard Seth leap to his feet.

  "Iggy? What—?"

  Iggy shushed him and waved a hand. "Be still. Be quiet."

  "How long have they—?"

  "Hush!" he snapped over his shoulder. His gaze never left the white. You see? he said. I can control my pack. Can you control yours?

  The white bared its fangs; its gums were a splash of red, dark as blood. Iggy felt the need to swallow, the need to blink, and fought them both. Instead he showed the barest hint of his own teeth.

  Watch them, the white finally said. If they cross the scar, take the horses first. He returned to the line and sat, then lazily scratched behind his ear.

  Slowly, Iggy exhaled. "M'sai," he said aloud, still not willing to risk turning away. "They won't attack us. Wake the others."

  "How do you know that?" Seth said.

  "I stared the white down. He's the alpha. Did you hear the noise he made? As long as we don't stray to their side of the road, they won't risk it."

  Seth scoffed. "Iggy, look at that. I've never seen... you can't know that."

  "Harth." Iggy knelt and shook their guide awake. "Harth!"

  As the man's eyes came open, Iggy shushed him. "Careful. Quiet. They're not attacking. We have to get moving."

  Harth sat up. His eyes grew wide. "Blesséd sehk," he muttered.

  iii. Angbar

  Angbar rode where they told him and kept quiet like they said, but he was resolute: nothing anyone could say would convince him this was a good idea. They might have faced down arc hounds and survived an onslaught from the Tribunal's archers, but riding all day fifty paces from a line of rabid wolves was scary in a way nothing else had been.

  Not rabid, he tried to tell himself. Iggy said they weren't rabid
. His eyes stole a glance at the wolves before jerking back to the road. They're not frothing. Hel, they're not even moving.

  That may have been the strangest part of the whole thing: the way the animals just watched. They reminded him of soldiers, following their general's commands. Now and again he would see a smaller group of ten or twenty race past from the rear of the line headed toward the far end, presumably to maintain the illusion that the line went on forever. Otherwise, none of the beasts moved.

  Maintain the illusion...? he accused himself. They're wolves! But it was impossible to draw any other conclusion: the beasts were blocking the little group of travelers from the wood.

  As far as Angbar was concerned, they were welcome to it.

  After dinner, Harth helped himself to a flask and crawled into his bedroll. Helix passed out near the fire, his back to a tree. Angbar was laying out a blanket of his own when Syntal crouched next to him. She had her book.

  "Did you still want to see?" she asked.

  They set up another small fire, separate from the main camp. Seth's and Lyseira's eyes chased them.

  Syntal laid out a blanket. She handled the old book with a caution verging on veneration. The cover was dark leather and unmarked. A metal band had held it closed once, but now it dangled open.

  There's no clasp, Angbar realized. Where the two strips of metal should have had some kind of interlocking mechanism, the metal was sheer. It might have been sliced in two by a knife.

  "That's incredible," Angbar breathed, running his finger along the smooth edge. "That happened after the Storm?"

  "Right on the marking." Syntal pressed the two pieces together. They formed an engraving of a symbol Angbar didn't recognize, like a stylized h. The break in the metal had split it, leaving half on each side.

  "What is it?"

  "It's a First Tongue word. Salgo." Her eyes left him, ranging into the past. "It means 'begin,' or 'speak the truth.'"

  Again, that reverence in her voice. Looking at her, he felt as if he had stumbled into a temple.

  The pages were thin and yellowed. Angbar couldn't read the words, but they still surprised him. He had expected clean margins and even script, like the time Lyseira had shown him some pages from Gilleus, the first book of the Chronicle. This looked more like a journal. The text was sloppy, written at long, loping angles; there were scribbles in the margins and whole pages left nearly blank.